10. SOMETHING GOOD

 

I take one last bite of my burger before wandering around the common living space in search of Amara. Room after empty room, I seem to be the only one left. Just before I head upstairs to our wing of the cabin I catch a breeze from a door that’s been left ajar. I walk out onto the deck, shutting the door quietly behind me, and instantly I’m struck by the sheer darkness. The moon hasn’t risen yet and the only light is from the Milky Way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars. I hear Amara humming quietly to herself. The tune is familiar, the one that Arden played on the violin the day I made my way up the apartment steps in Paris before he and I met — really met — for the first time. She has her back to me, sitting on a deck chair and staring out at the dark forest. She looks at home here. The cool spring air fills my nose with the smell of wood burning from the chimney that puffs a gray stream across the starry sky. I approach quietly and am surprised to see a small human child curled against her chest, asleep. I know it must be the whelp, but he looks so little and so much more vulnerable in this form. Amara doesn’t seem to mind that he’s still covered in dirt and that his hair is a tangled mess. She’s taken a flannel blanket from an outdoor storage chest and wrapped it around him. In this form I appreciate how young he is — maybe two, just learning to walk as a human, really.

“Where do you think his parents are?” I ask in a hushed tone.

She glances over at me and shrugs slightly. “He belongs to this pack now.”

The infant stirs a bit at her movement, and she strokes his back and returns to humming while I lean against a railing and look out into the night. His fate seems unfair. He’s not an orphan. His family is somewhere out here among the Wilds. At least I assume they still are. And yet he’s here following Amara like she’s all he’s ever known. We don’t say anything for a while. I listen to her tune set against nature’s soundtrack. The sounds of whispering breeze and croaking frogs fill the evening. Now that I have a quiet moment, I check my phone again. Amara watches me but says nothing. Her eyes fall on the device and its unnatural glow. I realize then how selfish I’ve been.

“I ... haven’t heard anything more from them,” I say.

She nods then looks away.

I try to assuage any concerns she may have. “It could mean anything.”

“It could mean nothing.” She winds up reassuring me.

In the distance, a series of whooping noises that have no place here are carried to us. The scent of a bonfire cuts through the night air from the general direction of the field. There’s a bit of a commotion stirring, and it sounds like the party Marrock was talking about is starting up.

“You should go to them,” Amara suggests.

I know she’s right but I don’t think the Founders would approve. That said, they’ve only given me their side of the story. History is written by the victors. The Wilds will have their own tale to tell about the system of rule that they live under.

“You are here to learn,” she presses.

I nod, straightening up, and peer back at the cabin. “Watch your back.”

“You as well.”

Without hesitation I step down from the deck and make my way alone into the night, led only by the glow of the rising bonfire. Each step I take away from the cabin, the more difficult it is for me to make out my path. It would be easy if I could shift, but then I’d have no clothes when I got to my destination. I don’t know if that would be a problem for anyone besides me. I’m still not entirely comfortable with the idea of being that vulnerable to public scrutiny. I’m so focused on watching my footing that I don’t acknowledge until too late that someone has set upon me in the dark.

“What’s doing?” a voice asks.

I spin around, surveilling my surroundings, and catch sight of the Wild we met earlier, Ben, just a few feet away. It’s a relief to see him. If it was one of the others, or a member of a different pack newly arrived, I might have had a fight right off the bat. He lopes toward me into a ray of moonlight, where his mismatched eyes shimmer. He clearly recognizes me.

“I’ve kind of had my fill of the princess and the warden,” I reply, hoping to put him at ease. “I heard noises and saw the fire.”

He smiles. “We’re having a time afore the others get here.”

“Is this part of the, uh ... Coinneachadh?” I know before the last word leaves my lips that I’m mangling it unintelligibly, but he doesn’t laugh.

“Nah, just a time, is all. Come morning, the place will be crawling with other packs. We wanna relax afore then.”

“So I take it. Will the Founders be joining you tonight?”

With that the polite smile breaks into a full and honest laugh. It lasts long enough that I can’t help smiling also. “That’s killer!”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Na-ah,” he says, stepping forward close enough that he can pat me on the back. “The Founders don’t mix with us unless it’s needed.”

Arm around my shoulder, he nudges me along so I walk with him, leading me toward the meadow and the party.

“I reckon Habbakuk woulda called on them if he hadn’t slipped his wind.” The look on my face must tell him I don’t know what he’s talking about, because he explains, “He was our chieftain. The one we’re holding the Coinneachadh for. The last of the old ’uns in our pack, too.”

I lob him a questioning look.

“Old ’uns are from the Old World.”

“Like Marrock and Esrin.”

“Ayuh. Born there afore making it overseas.”

Although I know the answer from the Founders, I ask anyway. “And what does that make you?”

He shrugs. “They call us the Wilds. Maybe ’cause we were born into the wilds. Or maybe ’cause it’s just in us.” He pauses in his tracks to scan his territory. “The Founders reckon we’re just a bunch of gaumy dubbers.”

Although I have no idea what the expression means, I smile, understanding the context. If Madison were here she’d probably have an easier time. Words are her thing. I’m just glad I played the right card joking about the Founders.

He can read in me that I’m not following, so he adds, “They treat us like we’re numb.”

“Dumb,” I blurt in realization.

“Light dawns on marblehead!”

His carefree way is a welcome change. It’s like we’re equals. That’s a first among werewolves for me. Maybe it’s all this open space and fresh air that makes him so easy to get along with.

“I’ve been treated the same,” I say. “At first I thought it was just my jet lag.”

“What’s that now?”

He’s never been off the wildlife preserve. Without technology the Wilds are like Amish werewolves.

“Jet lag. It happens after traveling a long haul by plane through a bunch of time zones.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t make head nor tail out of what you’re saying.”

The only thing we seem to have in common is our inability to understand each other’s references. He has no idea about the outside world; his only knowledge of what goes on beyond the forest walls is probably whatever the Founders tell him.

“Not important,” I say. “Just a useless fact about plane travel.”

We walk on for a bit without saying anything, the fire growing closer with every step.

“As a yow ’un, I used to think planes were slow-moving shooting stars.”

I can remember believing exactly the same thing, but instead of admitting it, I say, “Maybe the Founders were right about you.”

When he looks over at me with a playful smile to see if I’m ribbing him, I try to maintain a straight face but my expression fails me and I grin. He thrusts his chest out, arms spread wide, faking outrage. “Oh, you wanna go, do you?”

My hands go up in surrender as I laugh. “Easy there, puppy tamer. I don’t want any trouble.”

This honest connection with Ben only highlights how long it’s been since I’ve felt comfortable enough to joke around.

With a subtle once-over, he continues. “You’re not like the Founders. But I still can’t make out why you’re here.”

I guess the Founders felt no need to fill in these Wilds. They clearly don’t take the threat of the Hounds and the Luparii coming overseas seriously enough. Maybe it’s not so dire to them, but if the roles were reversed I’d want to cover all my bases.

“I’m ... looking for an answer to a problem.”

Ben puts a hand on my arm and stares at me for a sober moment. “You keep talking in riddles like that and you won’t get a word outta any of us. The Founders may be full of pomp and circumstance and ... a bunch of other things ... but not us.”

“What do you know about the Old World?”

He scratches his jaw, pausing again as we near the edge of the meadow. “It’s where the old ’uns come from. What they left behind is none of our concern.”

“It’s part of your history.”

“History,” he repeats. “What’s any of that matter out in the wild?”

“Don’t you ever leave? I mean, are you allowed to?”

Ben shrugs noncommittally, picking up a pine cone and hurling it into the dark. “Don’t need to.”

“I think it’d surprise you to know this disinterest in your own history is something you have in common with the Founders.”

“Mind who you say that in front of,” he warns. “We got nothing in common with the Founders. Way Habbakuk told it they live in glass boxes, traveling underground like a breath of fresh air would kill them. They have food enough to throw away and most times they do. But for all their faults, they don’t trouble with us. We got ourselves a good faith agreement. The rangers keep an eye out for human hunters and manage our livestock through the winter.”

That makes it difficult to ascertain their current situation. For all I know the Wilds might actually be completely confined. From a human perspective they should be, not just for their own safety. The rangers are basically zookeepers. The Founders have already made it pretty clear about what happens to the Wilds who try to leave.

“Tell me something, Marrock said a hunter killed your last chieftain.”

He’s quiet and angles his head away in the dark so I can’t read his face in the shadows.

“Is that true?” I press. “Habbakuk, was it?”

“Ayuh,” he says. There’s a long pause before he looks up again. “Things haven’t been right since he passed. I reckon some of our trust died with him.”

“There are hunters in the Old World too,” I explain, trying to break it down into terms he’s familiar with. “They intend to drive us to extinction.”

He lets out a sigh. “The world out there, where you come from, got no place in here. Call it what you want but this — right here — is the promise of our forefathers. We live in the wilds ’cause we’re not looking to be found. By humans, by time, by nobody. That’s the simple truth of it.”

“What do the Founders get out of this arrangement?”

Ben shrugs. “Best ask Marrock.”

“He’s not exactly forthright.”

His eyes twinkle in the moonlight as he shakes his head. “Then I reckon we oughta stop talking. C’mon.”

He leads me into the meadow, where the party is in full swing, bonfire blazing. There are dozens of wolves, faces radiant in the orange firelight. Some lounge on the ground in groups while others run around the fire. They set a free-spirited ambiance to the party and I should have expected as much based on their earlier interactions. To them, this isn’t a prison or a zoo. It’s a sanctuary from the influence of the outside world. Ben strips out of his jumpsuit to shift and I follow his lead, loping into their inner circle. My unease at being a stranger in large crowds is quickly quashed. The beauty of being a wolf is that there is no judgment about superficial qualities. Time stands still in this form too, and after a while with the Wilds I decide to return to the cabin. Shifting back, Ben walks with me to the edge of the meadow, not saying much of anything, but the silence between us is an easy one. A rustle nearby draws both our attention and I halt in my tracks. Marrock emerges from the shadows. As he stalks toward us, he nods at Ben and his eyes flash over to me briefly. Not reading anything into it, Ben gives him a half-hearted salute. As the captain walks by, an anxious sensation washes over me. Even out here in the wild, the Founders see everything.