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by Shayna Krishnasamy

  It was only when he saw the wolves approaching that the child began to feel unsure. His body began to shake with fear, but the chief remembered best the expression on his face. He realized he’d made a terrible mistake. The person he’d come to meet wasn’t coming at all. He was devastated.

  The chief ordered his kin not to harm the boy, commanding them to choose between their hunger and death. Liam’s protection was all that mattered now. He would gladly have killed his own to keep him safe. He had them take Liam on their backs and comforted the child himself as they left the black wood behind.

  They brought him to Trallee, a place the chief knew held people of Liam’s kind. On the green, a ring of wolves stood guard around Liam, waiting for the dawn. During that long night the chief learned much from the boy. The child took instinctually to the wolven form of communication, in which two minds open to one another and thoughts flow freely between the two. The chief was surprised at the boy’s talent, for humans often couldn’t calm their minds enough to manage the wolven speech. As the hours passed, the chief found himself more and more impressed by this human child, and fell to talking with him as he would his own children.

  As they exchanged stories, the chief learned that Liam’s home sat in a place away from the wood, unharmed by its deterioration. The chief resolved to collect his people and bring them to that place. He knew that his protection of the child had already set the wheels of the prophecy in motion. In gratitude for all he knew Liam would do for his kind, the chief bestowed a great gift upon the boy.

  He gave him the wolven sight.

  In the morning, before the village began to stir, the chief bid farewell to the boy, assuring him they would meet again soon. The chief would return home, rally his people, and come back for the child. Then, together, they would find their way to the promised lands of bright open spaces and lush greenery.

  “Of course, all did not go as planned,” Shallah said. “Upon returning home, the wolves found the clan much changed. A strange sickness had taken many lives and the survivors were reluctant to take on a great journey. At the same time, I was agreeing to take Liam away. When the wolves finally made their way to Trallee, Liam and I were long gone. They settled into a pursuit.”

  “But why didn’t they step in when the dark oaks captured Liam?” Petyr interrupted. “If they’re sworn to protect him, why did they hold back?”

  “They lost us when we fled,” she replied. “Our scents were masked by those of the other animals. Then they were sidetracked by their own battle with the oaks, losing three of their kin in the process. Only when we halted after the buck’s death did they pick up the trail again. Only now have they caught up with us.”

  Petyr watched Liam scampering about with the wolves, the child’s demeanour so much changed in the short interval they’d been together. They had healed him.

  They had healed “They’ve come a long way to protect a child,” he said.

  “They’ve come to survive,” she said. “These eleven are all that’s left of their kind.”

  “There are none who do good deeds for their own sake anymore, I suppose.”

  “Only you, my friend,” Shallah said.

  “No,” Petyr replied, shaking his head knowingly. “Only you.”

  The travellers ventured forth with a formidable escort. The wolves, loyal to the prophecy, would accompany Liam to safety, protecting him from all foes. They kept together by marching single file. Petyr and Shallah were at the centre of the line, with six wolves ahead and five behind. Liam was at the head with the chief.

  Petyr estimated that their direction held true to that set upon by the animals who’d met such a terrible end. With any luck, they would reach the goal those creatures had so tragically missed.

  They moved slowly. Petyr was still greatly weakened. His arm pained him less, it seemed to have set itself finally, but the lack of water was taking its toll on them all. He was suffering dizzy spells and often had to rest. Shallah complained of a constant throbbing in her head. The wolves themselves were not faring much better. One in particular looked slightly crazed and kept up a sickening whine, often darting off without warning after a fluttering leaf it mistook for a bird. It always returned salivating profusely, its jaw snapping at the air.

  Shallah’s limp also appeared to be getting worse. Such an injury, Petyr knew, required that the foot be rested, not walked upon day after day. He feared she might be doing herself permanent damage and encouraged her to lean more heavily on him. And though Shallah did as he asked, Petyr often felt her weight lifting after only a few steps. Her courage didn’t uplift him, for the reason for it was clear: he no longer had the strength to carry her.

  As they walked, Shallah tried to make sense of the many emotions coursing through her being. She was immensely relieved that the wolves weren’t a threat. It was also gratifying to have protection against possible attacks, and a guide through the wood. She felt genuine hope that their quest would reach its end.

  But even as she held to this hope, she couldn’t deny that she was hoping the other way at the same time. For if this prophecy came true, didn’t the other two have to as well? If this prophecy came true, didn’t it mean death to them all? The contradiction in the prophecies was a nagging worry at the back of her mind, keeping company with her atrocious headache. Even the most delightful happenings couldn’t quite make her forget it.

  When next they stopped Petyr sat down in a pile of cones, his head between his legs, waiting for the spell to pass. Shallah sat by his side, rubbing his back, as Liam chased the wolves through the spruce trees. She’d never known the boy happier than he was now.

  “You were right,” Petyr said.

  Shallah turned to him. “Right?”

  “Liam does come from a place beyond the trees. Such a place does exist, just as you said.”

  “Yes,” she said faintly. With all she had on her mind, she’d forgotten there’d been any doubt on the matter.

  Petyr shifted his position with difficulty. He leaned toward her so he could whisper in her ear. “I believe again,” he said softly. “I believe we will find our way there, so you don’t have to worry about it. I relied on your dreams once, and your belief in them. Now, you can rely on mine.”

  Shallah had never known what it was to rely completely on another. Even as a child, her father’s forgetful nature had forced her to depend on herself. The Shallah she’d been would have scorned the idea of relying on another’s conviction, of displaying such helplessness. But these past few days had changed her. Now, she felt only gratitude to Petyr for his kind sentiment, and wonder that he could care so much for her.

  She took Petyr’s hand and pressed it to her lips. Then, turning suddenly shy, she hid her face as she confessed, “I fear I’ll fall without it.”

  “Then hold firm,” Petyr said, turning her face toward his. “I will not let you fall.”

  The wolves began to mill about in a restless fashion that Petyr had come to understand as the signal to start out again. Getting to his feet, his mind was on the tangled underbrush that would plague them until nightfall, the ringing that had started up in his ears, and Shallah’s hand on his arm, her presence by his side.

  Certainly, the idea that the day held another surprise in store for them didn’t enter his thoughts. For, Petyr knew nothing of another trail that was at that moment snaking its way through the woods. It was a haphazard trail, often doubling back on itself and twisting alarmingly. Still, unorganized as it was, this trail was on a course to meet their own.

  The travellers strode resolutely on, unsuspectingly closing the gap between the two paths with every step.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The wolves were the first to sense the approach.

  They were winding up an irritating incline, red cedars covered in hanging withes looming above their heads, when the wolf chief slowed his pace and cocked his head. One by one the other wolves did the same, each of them slowing in turn, until they found themselves at a standst
ill. The only movement was that of Shallah’s awkward steps as she fought to climb a web of laced trees roots with Petyr’s help, both unaware of the change in the wolves’ attention. Once they’d reached the top of the incline, the wolves had carried on, having lost interest when no threat appeared. The only indication that anything had taken place was Liam’s backward gaze towards Petyr.

  Petyr waved at him. The boy smiled weakly.

  Nearly a quarter of an hour later their line was broken by the commotion.

  He came scrambling through the bushes, whipping at the backs of the wolves with a broken tree branch. His clothes were ragged and his dirt-stained face gave him a desperate countenance.

  “Back, you horrid beasts!” he yelled. “Get back! You won’t have me.”

  The wolves scattered, compelled by their surprise, but soon recovered themselves when they saw that he was naught but a spindly child. They circled him as he thrashed about, their yellow eyes trained on the flashes of pale skin. The wolf chief stood back in the shadows, Liam’s fingers laced through his dark fur.

  “Petyr …” Shallah said uncertainly. “Who … ?”

  Petyr hadn’t the time to explain. He broke away from Shallah and leapt forward to restrain the wolves closest to him. They snarled and made ready to lunge from his grasp. The ragged boy held the others back with his branch, though they were flinching from its thrusts less and less. They bared their teeth at him, their eyes glittering.

  “Stop this!” Petyr cried. “Don’t anger them needlessly. They won’t harm you!”

  But the boy either didn’t hear, or wouldn’t listen. With his next thrust one of the wolves snatched at the branch with its teeth, wrestling it from his grasp. The boy struggled valiantly for his weapon, kicking at the animals as they crowded him. Disarmed now, he backed himself against a tree trunk.

  “Help me!” he cried as the wolves tensed to spring.

  “Raulf?” Shallah whispered. “Raulf!” she called out, tearing forward to come to his aid. Petyr reached out to stop her, for he felt sure the wolves would attack anything in their path. Releasing one of the wolves in the process, he caught Shallah by the hem of her cloak and held her back.

  “We have to help him!” she cried, prying at his fingers.

  Before Petyr was able call out a warning, one of the beasts had leapt for Raulf, its smoky grey fur blocking the boy from view. Out of the corner of his eye, Petyr saw a blur of motion. The wolf chief, Liam bent low on his back, hurdled the backs of his kin, also aiming for Raulf. By some stroke of luck, the chief landed first, blocking Raulf from attack with his body. Liam climbed down from the chief’s back in a hurry and took Raulf by the hand, trying to pull him away. But the boy would not be moved. His visage had frozen in an expression of amazed horror.

  He was paralyzed with fear.

  The wolf that had leapt for Raulf hurtled headlong into the chief’s chest and was knocked down. It wrenched itself to its feet with a furious snarl, the hackles raised all along its back. Its compatriots paced lustily. Only the commanding presence of their leader held them off.

  The chief arched his back menacingly, eyeing his opponent.

  The smaller wolf growled with pure malice.

  They fell on each other.

  It lasted no longer than a moment: one tense, violent moment. They went for each other like starving dogs fighting over a bone. They rolled over and over until Petyr couldn’t tell one from the other, their tearing teeth and claws all that could be seen. Snarling wetly, the wolf went for the chief’s throat. And it was all over.

  When they separated, the chief sat back on his hind legs as the other wolf cringed before him, bleeding from a gash across its snout. It slunk away to lick its wounds. Observing the defeat, the rest of the wolves calmed into submission. The chief surveyed them, his royal head held high, his chest puffed out.

  The scene was interestingly set. Shallah stood with her hands over her mouth, her cloak fanned out at one side where Petyr was clutching it. Petyr crouched close to the ground, his injured arm draped over the neck of a wolf that hung its head in shame. Raulf stood openmouthed, little Liam at his side, the top of his head reaching no higher than Raulf’s elbow.

  “Raulf?” Shallah gasped tentatively, as quiet fell.

  The boys looked up in unison, the one tall and pale, the other small and dark. But for all that, they could have been brothers being called in from the close to dinner.

  Raulf’s frightened expression turned to amazement.

  “Miss?” he said, before dropping Liam’s hand and fainting dead away at his feet.

  Shallah and Petyr waited among the cedars for Raulf to wake. Liam had wanted to keep watch with them, but Shallah had sent him away, fearful that too many faces in the dark might overwhelm Raulf upon waking. As she stroked his brow, she began to think she should have sent Petyr off instead.

  Raulf opened his eyes to find Petyr peering closely at him through the gloom.

  “Are you alright?” Petyr asked, blinking keenly in his face.

  “Wh-Where am I?” Raulf stuttered.

  “Among friends,” Shallah intoned soothingly, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “You’re safe.”

  Raulf sat up gingerly, pulling himself out of Shallah’s grasp, and edged slightly away from them both. She allowed him to go, but Petyr leaned towards him, crowding him without meaning to.

  “Petyr Fleete,” Raulf said warily, looking from Petyr to Shallah several times in succession. “Miss, I –”

  “What news of Trallee?” Petyr prompted.

  “Trallee,” Raulf repeated cautiously, as though testing the sound of the word on his tongue.

  “Yes, Trallee,” Petyr replied. “Our home: Trallee. What’s become of it? Tell us how it fares.”

  Shallah put a hand on Petyr’s arm, ever so gently holding him back. She feared if Raulf didn’t reply in time, he might pounce on him.

  Raulf glanced about himself as though searching for a possible escape.

  “I don’t …” he hesitated as Petyr watched him avidly. “I’m not …”

  “Maybe we should let him rest a little longer,” Shallah said, patting Raulf on the hand. “Maybe we should let him rest a little longer,” Shallah said, patting Raulf on the “He’s had quite a scare.” She tightened her grip on Petyr’s arm. “He needs his rest.”

  But Petyr could not or would not keep quiet. Shallah couldn’t help but sympathize. He’d been fretting over the fates of those he loved for days and days, and here he was faced with someone who could put his mind at ease … or crush his spirit.

  “What news of my children?” Petyr said. He took the boy by the shoulders. “How is it you ve come so far afield? I beg you, please tell us. What’s become of our home? What news?”

  Raulf’s smudged skin turned pale and it seemed for a moment that he might fall unconscious again. Shallah could literally smell the fear rising from his skin.

  “Enough of this!” she cried, pulling Petyr away with all her strength. He released Raulf easily and stared in astonishment as the boy shrank back into the ferns.

  “I’m sorry,” Petyr stammered. He looked down at his hands. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Shallah took him aside, facing him away from Raulf’s cowering form. “I won’t have you agitating him needlessly,” she said. He regarded her with bewilderment. “You will stay away until I call for you. Go and watch over Liam.”

  She released him and stepped away, but still felt him watching her.

  “You’ll hear the news as soon as I,” she reassured him. “I’ll call for you. Now, go.”

  The branches rustled as he parted them.

  Instead of going back to Raulf, Shallah sat down and waited for him to speak first. She waited for some time. Though she’d failed to notice it until now, the air had lost its bite. It was damp too, which let her know that far above their heads a thin fog coasted about the canopy. It wasn’t warm enough to go without a cloak, but she wasn’t cold anymore either.
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br />   The edge of the forest was near.

  “Where are the wolves?” a small voice asked. Shallah approached the sound.

  “They won’t harm you,” she said. “They are friends.”

  “Do your friends normally attack you? I’ve no need of such friends.”

  “It’s you who attacked them, if I recall correctly.”

  “I don’t trust them.”

  “That is your right, though I hope you’ll change your mind once you’ve spent some time with them. I’ve always known you to be fair.”

  Raulf’s face emerged from the ferns. Shallah felt the movement. She wondered what he saw as he looked at her. Would he recognize her as the friend he’d known?

  “Miss?” Raulf said. He didn’t sound sure.

  “It’ll be alright, Raulf,” Shallah replied. She tried to fill her voice with conviction. Raulf had admired her conviction most of all, as she’d admired his.

  Still he said nothing.

  Shallah sighed. “Please come out, Raulf,” she said. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed my friend.”

  A moment later he threw himself into her arms.

  “Oh, Miss!” he gushed. “I always knew you were alive. They claimed you’d met a terrible end, but I wouldn’t believe it. My sisters cried ever so much. My Da told me to give it up. But I waited by the path every day, even once they’d all given up hope. I knew, somewhere inside, I knew you’d find your way.”

  “Be calm, Raulf,” she warned, though her smile betrayed her delight. “I believe you.”

  “How has this come to pass?” he asked earnestly, seating himself at her side. “Petyr Fleete was thought lost. And what of the child? Is he here, as well?” Raulf seemed to have no memory of having held Liam’s hand as the wolves fought over him.