Storm Wolf (9 page)

“Come down now, Spīdala,” called the Master of Wolves to the woman. “It is no use trying to hide there any longer.” There was quiet for a moment, the sniffling and aborted weeping growing louder, and then the scrape and scuffle of a person climbing down through the branches and foliage until Alexei could see her, and then she dropped from one of the lower branches onto the ground.

When she dropped from the tree, Spīdala, if what the Master of Wolves had called the woman was indeed her name, fell into a crouch and then, like Alexei, pulled herself upright and leaned against the tree’s trunk to support herself. She was about as tall as Alexei was now as a wolf leaning upright against the tree, and he looked into her pale lavender eyes. Her thin face was framed by long, tangled dark tresses tumbling down nearly to her elbows. Although Alexei could see enough pain for an old woman in those lavender eyes, he guessed that she was, in fact, not much more than a girl. Her simple, mud-spattered dark crimson dress reached her feet, and the rough-spun brown apron, stained with an assortment of colors and scents, reached nearly as far. Her feet were bare and dirty.

She managed to speak, saying something in Latvian that Alexei did not understand, wiping her face with her palms and pushing her hair back behind her ears, away from her eyes. Her eyes darted from the Master to Alexei and back again.

The Master laughed. “Say it again,” he instructed her, and Alexei realized that he and the Master had been speaking in Estonian before but now the Master was speaking German. “Our friend here, the
vilkatis
, does not speak Latvian like a good farmer should. Say it again in German. That he might understand, a little.” The Master laughed again.

“How do you know my name?” she repeated, in bad German, but this time Alexei understood.

“Your name is but one of the many things I know,” the Master answered her. “I saw you climb into the tree as I saw our friend the
vilkatis
here eating from my stores of provisions without my leave. You were here in the forest for a reason, Spīdala? Running from someplace? Running from someone? But then you saw the werewolf come down from the sky, did you not? You climbed into the tree… because, why? He frightened you, perhaps?”

Spīdala stood defiantly, refusing to answer. She glanced again at Alexei, who whined in an attempt to apologize for frightening the woman. She seemed to understand what he was trying to say and looked back at the Master of Wolves.

“Yes, I was frightened by the
vilkatis
,” she admitted. “I saw him come down and attack first a deer and then the rabbits. I was terrified that he would attack me as well. So I clambered up into the tree, hoping to not be seen. But then he collapsed against the trunk of the very tree that I had clambered up for safety and he fell asleep. I was even more frightened then. How would I climb down from the branches and escape if you were sleeping directly beneath me?” she turned and asked Alexei. “I was terrified that if I fell asleep, I would fall and break my bones, and the noise would wake you and then you would kill and eat me as you had the deer and the rabbits.” She still seemed to be frightened of the great wolf and stepped partly behind the tree as she spoke, as if that would offer her any protection if Alexei did choose to leap at her in attack.

“Even after I saw you change back into a man, I was too frightened to climb down,” she went on. “When I first saw you begin to stir and awake, I was hoping that you would simply go away and I would be able to come down then and go in any other direction but the one you had gone in.” She looked back up into the face of the Master of Wolves. “But then the Master came through the trees and began to talk to you,
vilkatis,
and I knew that I would have to wait until the both of you left. But I could feel the branches shifting and creaking beneath me and I was frightened that they might break or I would lose my grip and fall and be caught by the two of you together.” She looked down at the ground, shivering though the early August night was warm, and wiped another dirty streak across her cheek. “As I have been.” She looked back up at them.

“Yes, as you have been,” the Master sneered. “Caught by the both of us. But why were you here in the forest at all on a night during the harvest? You are running away from… your husband, perhaps? Why might that be?” The Master leaned forward, shifting his weight on his crutch, as if to see her better in the shadows beneath the tree that she still half-hid behind.

Alexei whimpered at her, wishing he could reassure her that she had nothing to fear from him. At least, that he had no will to harm her. But as to what might happen if he lost control of himself again, he couldn’t even promise himself that she would be safe. He took a step towards her and she gasped, shrinking back even further into the shadows, clutching the tree more fervently.

“Well?” the Master insisted. “Are you running from your husband? If not a husband, then from whom? Your father?”

“I am running from… from my husband, in a manner of speaking,” Spīdala finally admitted to them both. “My mother was a
ragana
who taught me everything she knew, but we would only ever use the magic to help our neighbors and to heal.” She paused and fought back tears again.

Alexei caught his breath. “Do I dare hope?” he wondered. “Can she be the one who is able to free me from the wolf magic?”

Spīdala turned to him as he whined and whimpered, pawing at the ground in excitement. The Master lashed out with his crutch, striking his back legs; he turned and growled at the Master but slunk to one side and waited there, glancing back at the Master.

Spīdala hesitated but then resumed her story, slightly whimpering herself. “My husband treated me well, so long as my mother was alive. I realize now that he was afraid of her. But when she was dead, he began to demand that I use the magic my mother had taught me to benefit him and harm our neighbors. He insisted that I steal the milk from our neighbors’ cows and that I send out a
pūķis
to steal our neighbors’ grain and coins and bring them back to him. He would beat me if I tried to refuse him, so I would always give in to him and do whatever it was that he wanted. But then—a few days ago—one of our neighbors had a baby girl who died nearly as soon as she was born, and my husband demanded that I imprison her spirit as a
lietuvēns
to torment and punish anyone who angered him. I refused to do this and he beat me again, many times, though I insisted that I did not know how to do this kind of wicked magic. But he insisted that I attempt to imprison the girl’s spirit, even if I did not know how to do the magic for certain. I kept refusing and he continued to beat me, nearly killing me—so I called out to
Veļu Māte,
the mother of the dead, to take him away and save me. And she did. She struck him just as he was raising his fist to strike me—she saved me! But then I knew that our neighbors would accuse me of murder and I would be imprisoned or killed. So I ran. I ran from my home, from my village. I have been running away, hiding in the forests and sleeping during the days, hoping to get far enough away that I can make a life somewhere that no one will find me again.” She wept again, unable to stop herself.

Alexei pawed at the earth in frustration. “We are both the same—forced to kill and then forced to leave our homes! I understand you, Spīdala! I know your torment!” he tried to cry out to her, but only the whines and whimpers of a wolf came from his throat. “I need you to free me from the wolf magic!” he tried to tell her, but only more whimpers could be heard.

The Master of Wolves looked from Spīdala to Alexei and back again, then burst out in guffaws. “Both of you!” he laughed. “Such miserable creatures, both of you! You shall both now serve me—you,
vilkatis
, until you have paid your debt for the animals you have killed and eaten without my permission, and you, girl, shall be my ward until I decide that you are not.” He turned and hobbled away on his crutch.

“Eat her if you wish, wolf. Or not. It matters not to me.” The Master
kept limping away. “You shall get nothing to eat from me except whatever weeds and vegetables you find. You shall have no meat while you are working off your debt to me, except her flesh.”

Alexei heard him but kept his eyes fixed on the weeping girl. “How can I make her understand?” he demanded of himself.

“But while you decide whether to eat her or not, you will both come with me!” snapped the Master back at them, over his shoulder. Alexei felt the snap of a leash and collar about his neck, calling him to attention, and he cried out involuntarily as his head was wrenched around toward the Master limping away through the forest. Alexei quickly turned to follow, trotting a few steps behind the Master.

Spīdala also seemed to be snapped forward as if on a leash held by the Master and dragged behind him. She and Alexei fell into a rhythm walking beside each other, and it was not long before she was resting her hand on his furry shoulder and then, not long after that, Alexei felt her working her fingers down deep through the thick wolf fur and wrapping it around her fingers. Alexei liked that she trusted and dared to touch him; he had not felt anyone’s touch since that terrible Midsummer night when he had slain his family. He glanced up at her and caught her looking down at him. They smiled at each other and simultaneously let go a sigh of relief that they had each found a friend while caught in the miserable company of the Master of Wolves.

The Master led Alexei and Spīdala through the woods that night until the shadows crawled back into the underbrush and streaks of sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above them. Birds chirped and called to one another. Alexei’s haunches ached from walking all night and his paws felt raw on the earth. Spīdala was beginning to stumble alongside him, exhaustion overwhelming her as well. Only the Master, limping on his crutch ahead, seemed unchallenged by the night-long hike he had taken them on.

The trees thinned and the Master led them out to the edge of a series of fields, the harvest clearly having begun, but none of the workers had yet arrived that morning to begin the day’s work. The morning air smelled fresh and clean after the storm Alexei had driven off. Alexei blinked and dropped his head, rubbing his eyes with one paw as he whimpered.

The Master pointed with his crutch to the barns set at one end of the fields. “You two will find a place to sleep in the hayloft of one of those barns,” he instructed. “I will find you later this evening. Do not try to run away,” he warned them, turning back to them and making a fist. Alexei felt his throat tighten and constrict again, as if a gallows rope had been looped over his head and was being pulled taut by a hangman. Spīdala clasped her throat as well, coughing and sputtering as if she felt the same. The Master released his fist and the sensation was gone, Alexei and Spīdala both gasping for air.

“I will come after dusk,” the Master reminded them and hobbled back into the forest.

Alexei and Spīdala stood at the edge of the fields for a moment longer and then made their way along the edge of the trees towards the barns, where they did climb into one of the haylofts and quickly fell asleep in a corner beneath the eaves.

The hayloft was draped with shadows when Alexei awoke. Something had startled him in his otherwise dreamless slumber. He lifted his head and sniffed. Something smelled bad. Wrong. Spīdala stirred in the hay beside him. Then he recognized the stench of the Master of Wolves.

“Come down,
vilkatis
,” called the Master from the empty cattle stalls below them. “Bring the wench Spīdala with you. You both have work to do tonight.”

Alexei nuzzled Spīdala, still half-asleep in the hay. She stirred again and stretched, then sat up and rubbed her eyes. It seemed to take her a moment or two to remember where she was. And why. Alexei could see the confusion in her face at first, and then her shoulders slumped and her head bowed down when she recalled that she was in the hayloft of a stranger’s barn and how she had come to take refuge there. She scratched behind Alexei’s ears and nuzzled her cheek against his.

“Poor werewolf,” she murmured.

“Poor Spīdala,” Alexei tried to answer, but the only sound that came from his throat was a rapid series of short, sharp yips. He hoped she understood what he meant to say.

Spīdala stood and walked to the ladder leading down from the hayloft. She turned and gathered her skirt and apron in one hand, beginning to descend the rungs to the barn floor below. Alexei followed her to the edge of the loft and watched her descent. The last sunlight of the dusk was sliding into the barn from the open hatch above the great doors. He could see the dark figure that he knew was the Master of Wolves standing just outside the barn doors.

Spīdala looked up at him from the bottom rung of the ladder. He had attempted to clamber up the ladder into the loft that morning but had been unable to do so in his wolf shape. So he had resorted to jumping into the air and then flying into the loft. Looking down the ladder to Spīdala now, Alexei knew that he would be even less able to climb down the rungs than he had been able to climb up. So he leaped into the air and gracefully sailed down to the hay-strewn floor below.

“Well done, werewolf,” chuckled the Master of Wolves at him. “That is precisely how I mean to travel tonight. But first, I have brought you and the wench your supper.” He held out a basket whose contents were hidden beneath a linen napkin. Alexei and Spīdala hurried over to him. Spīdala took the basket from the Master’s hand and eagerly pulled back the napkin, revealing a dark rye loaf and a wedge of cheese as well as a flask of beer. She hurried over to a milking stool left in one of the empty stalls and sat down with the basket on her lap. She tore a piece of bread from the loaf and set it down on the floor in front of her, offering it to Alexei. He snapped it up and swallowed it, hardly tasting it. She tried to offer him a second piece, but he pushed it back towards her with his nose. He could see that there was hardly enough bread and cheese in the basket for one person, let alone two—especially if one was a great wolf! Spīdala took back the second piece of bread and chewed on it, gradually consuming the loaf between sips from the flask of beer and bites from the wedge of cheese. She tried to give chunks of cheese to Alexei as well but, hungry though he was, he only took one of those as well.