Odds Are Good (11 page)

My mother found me soon after that. Torn between rejoicing that I was safe and wanting to beat me for my foolishness, she bundled me in her arms and carried me back inside. Then she began to cry. I felt very bad. I thought:
If I had a father, he could have taken care of this trouble.

 

It was three summers before I saw another wolf. I had lost my way in the forest and was just beginning to panic when one of the creatures stepped from behind a tree. I jumped in alarm, but it simply sat and gazed at me. When it was clear that my panic had passed, the wolf came and took my sleeve between its teeth. Its grip firm but gentle, it began tugging at my arm. As it seemed to have no inclination to harm me, I followed it—though the truth is I probably didn't have much choice anyway. Before long it had led me to a familiar clearing, where I saw a village girl named Wandis gathering flowers.

I paused before stepping into the clearing. When I looked down the wolf had vanished. Pretending that I had intended to come this way all along, I stepped into the clearing. Wandis and I walked home together.

Though she was a year or so younger than I, Wandis and I became friends. Her companionship was a comfort to me, for it was not easy to be fatherless in our village, where I was often taunted as “No man's son.” I blamed my mother for this, though later I began to see that it was as hard for her to raise me without benefit of a man as it was for me to grow up that way. Yet whenever I asked her about my father, she became vague and avoided answering my questions directly. This was hard, for I longed to know who had sired me.

A few times during these years I would wake in the night at some noise below me, and peering through the cracks in my floor I would see a tall, dark-haired man sitting at our table. Once he was holding my mother's hand. Another time he was kissing her.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted him to come live with us. I was angry at him for only coming at night, when I was in bed and could not get to know him.

I wanted him to love me.

 

My mother died when I was ten, and I did not see the man again. I went to stay with my grandparents.

About the time of my fifteenth birthday I began to see the wolves more often. Sometimes when I woke in the night I would draw open my window and spot one of them sitting beside the house, staring up at me. Or if I was walking home from a late visit with one of my few friends, I might hear a sound and turn to see a wolf behind me. Once spotted, it would sit and stare until I turned and went on. They never chased me, never made a move against me. But neither would they let me approach them. Whenever I tried they would bare their fangs and raise their hackles.

I did not mention them to anyone, for our village was a superstitious place. But in the end my silence was of little value; the villagers turned against me anyway.

Of all the people in the village Wandis was my closest friend. I thought her very beautiful, with her red hair and strangely blue eyes. Yet she was as much an outcast as I, somehow unable to fit properly into the life of the community. Naturally, this gave us something in common.

Sometimes when I went to the forest to gather wood, or simply to be alone, I would find Wandis on her hands and knees, examining some plant. She knew wonderful things about them. Once she showed me a small, low-growing vine called Sal-o-My-Heart; it was adorned with clusters of miniature red berries, and she claimed it could be used to make a man or woman fall in love. I asked her to give me some, teasing that I might use it on her. But she only blushed and turned my attention elsewhere.

I remember that day well, because a few weeks later one of the village women accused Wandis of witchcraft. She said Wandis had used her powers to steal her husband's love. I thought it more likely the woman's own nagging had turned her husband away, and his eyes had strayed to Wandis because she was young and very lovely. Even so, I asked Wandis if what the woman said was true. She patted my cheek, and told me not to be silly.

It was not so easy to turn aside the village elders. She could not pat
their
cheeks and tell them to go away when they came to take her. When I spoke out on her behalf, I was accused, too. (“Only a witch would defend a witch,” they said.)

We were given a trial, which was a mockery, and sentenced to be burned at the stake. And this they would have done, had not the wolves come to our rescue.

It was late October. I was bound with stout ropes and thrown into a woodshed built against the side of one of the elders' homes. The space was cold and cramped, and though a little light filtered in during the daytime, after sunset it became completely black. Yet my thoughts were less of my current discomfort than of the morning, and the flame. I wondered how long it would hurt. I wondered, too, how my fellow villagers could be so cruel.

 

Shortly after midnight I heard something scratching outside the wall of my prison. I felt a shiver run down my spine, for I had no idea what it was, and there were many tales in our village of the strange things that wander after dark.

The noise went on for some time. It seemed to be getting closer. Then it stopped. Suddenly a great, furry shape was pressing against me. Had I not become so used to the wolves I might have died of fright right then.

The wolf began to gnaw at the ropes that held my hands and feet. It was not long before they parted under his sharp teeth. Taking the leg of my trouser in those same teeth, he guided me to the wall, where I discovered the hole he had dug to get in. It took some work to enlarge the hole enough for me to wriggle through it. By the time we were done, I was hot and sweaty and filthy. But I was also free!

The wolf whined and tugged at my trouser leg again. Obviously he wanted to get away from the village as quickly as possible. But I would not go until we had freed Wandis, too.

As it turned out, the wolves were ahead of me. A familiar voice whispered to me from nearby. Only the soft growl of warning from the wolf at my side kept me from crying out her name. I moved forward to embrace her, but two huge wolves stepped between us, barring my way.

“Don't be foolish!” I hissed angrily.

They bared their fangs. The sound that rumbled in their throats was too soft to wake those sleeping in the house. Nevertheless, the menace it contained was genuine.

The wolf that freed me had been joined by another of the beasts. They tugged at my clothing again, even as the ones beside Wandis started to pull her away from me. She looked back once as they led her into the darkness. That was my last sight of her, for the wolves beside me began herding me, just as insistently, in the opposite direction.

It was a clear night. The sky was drunk with stars and a half-moon hung low on the horizon, silvering the trees, the village, the wolves. It was darker when we entered the forest, and I had to concentrate to keep from stumbling over the great tree roots that erupted from the ground at odd intervals. I bumbled and crashed along, but the wolves seemed to make no sound at all.

Finally we came to a small cave. The wolves led me inside, then settled themselves in front of the entrance. Obviously, I was supposed to stay here. It seemed I had only traded one prison for another.

But why?

 

I was kept in the cave for two weeks, guarded by the pair of wolves that had brought me there.

As soon as I saw them in the daylight I was able to tell them apart. One had a wild eye, blue and strange, that seemed to look into another world. The other was marked by a ragged ear, which I assumed had been earned in some youthful battle.

Several other wolves came to the area during this time. Usually they brought small game for me to eat, though sometimes I got the feeling they were coming simply to look me over. I felt that I was on display.

Wild Eye and Ragged Ear escorted me to a nearby stream whenever I wanted to drink. Once, convinced that they would not hurt me, I tried to run away. But they set up a howling, and before long the woods around me were thick with wolves. I was herded back to my cave like a lamb being herded by a shepherd.

The mystery finally ended on All Hallows' Eve, when Wild Eye woke me from a sound sleep by nudging at my face.

“What do you want?” I asked crankily.

He took my arm and pulled on it.

“For heaven's sakes,” I said. “It's the middle of the night!”

This didn't seem to make any difference. Realizing I wouldn't get any sleep anyway, I decided it was easiest just to follow him. Ragged Ear joined us at the entrance to the cave. Walking on either side of me, the two wolves led me deeper into the forest.

It was an eerie journey. The bright moon cast a glow over the trees that made the woodland seem entirely different than during the day. A cool breeze rustled through the leaves, heavy with the rich scent of the forest. To our left I could hear a tiny brook tinkling its way over polished stones. The silent wolves pressed against my legs.

After a time we came to another cave. A darkhaired man sat in front of it—the same man I had seen kissing my mother so many years ago. He was lean, and though there were deep lines in his face, I could see that he had once been very handsome. On closer inspection I noticed that the hair that had seemed so black was shot through with silver. His eyes were deep set, and dark as the night.

Wild Eye and Ragged Ear moved to his side.

The man stood and embraced me. “Welcome,” he said. “I am glad to see you, my son.”

How could I respond to this? I was glad, for my heart had reached out to this man even in those brief glimpses of him that I had had so long ago. But I also felt great anger that he had not been with me while I was growing up. I wanted to hit him. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to say all that, but didn't know how.

“Where were you?” I whispered at last.

“Here,” he said. “Where I belong.”

“You belonged with us,” I answered.

He shook his head sadly. “No man can do all the things he ought,” he said. He returned to his seat. The wolves stayed at his side. “It is always choices,” he said, resting a hand on Wild Eye's head. “I doubt any man is ever sure he has made the right one. But once you have made it, you have to live by it.”

He said these last words fiercely, as if he thought them very important.

“This was your choice?” I asked. “To live in the forest instead of with your family?”

“To be where I was most needed,” he answered.

“I don't understand,” I said.

“You will,” he whispered. “Soon enough, you will.”

Other wolves were gathering around the edge of the area where we sat. Their yellow-green eyes gleamed at me out of the night. A cub, small and fuzzy, came to nip at my father's foot. He poked the cub with his toe, and it rolled over to have its belly scratched. My father obliged, but only briefly. The cub's mother came and picked it up by the scruff of its neck, then carried it back to the circle that was forming around us.

“What do they want?” I asked, somewhat nervously.

“They are here to pay homage,” said my father.

My puzzlement must have showed in my face. “I am their leader,” he added, as if that explained everything.

I swallowed. “How can
you
be their leader?” I asked.

He smiled, a sad, wise kind of smile. “You know the answer,” he said, “but you have tried to pretend that you were wrong. Now the time for games, for hiding, is over. Now you have to examine the truth.”

A terrible thought had struck me when I first saw him sitting there. I had pushed it firmly aside. Now my father was forcing me to let it come forward again.

“You're one of them!” I whispered.

He nodded serenely. “I am one of them.”

I stumbled over the questions that sprang into my mind. “I don't understand,” I said at last.

“They need me,” he said simply. “The pack always needs a man to keep it together, to make difficult decisions when times are hard.”

I remembered the winter when the wolves invaded our town. “That was you in the henhouse!” I accused.

He nodded.

“Why did you kill my chicken?” I cried, remembering my childish grief and feeling doubly betrayed that it was my own father who had caused it.

He laughed, a short bark that bordered on contempt. “You sound as though you have never eaten a chicken yourself,” he said.

He was right, of course, and I blushed at my question. Yet he went on to answer it.

“I protected you,” he said. “As I tried to protect everyone in the village.” He sighed. “I brought the pack only because we were starving. Afterward, I wondered if it had been a mistake. I do not know. As for your hen—I thought you might as well learn early on that you were going to have to give up things you loved for the wolves.”

Something in his words disturbed me. “What do you mean, give up things for the wolves?”

He leaned against Ragged Ear. Suddenly he looked old, and tired. “My time is almost up,” he said. “The pack will need a new leader soon.”

I recoiled from him in horror. “You want
me
to become a werewolf!” I cried.

He nodded. His dark eyes were locked on mine.

I was appalled. My own father was asking me to become one of the creatures of the night our priest had warned us about.

“It's evil!” I hissed.

My father's eyes flashed dangerously. “I am not evil,” he snapped. “I made a choice a long time ago, a choice I have lived by, and honored—which is more than most men do. If that does not fit your little priest's petty idea of morality, it is no concern of mine.” He spat on the ground in front of him, dismissing the priest. “You know you do not belong in that village. Do you want to try to become like them? Or do you have the courage to reach for your true destiny?”

I pressed my hands against my head, as if that could keep out these frightening thoughts. It was true. I wasn't like the others. I had always known I didn't really belong there.