The Poison Season(30)

His mother, on the other hand. His mother he had always understood. She would get angry, of course, but her reasons were never a mystery. He had left his muddy boots by the hearth again, or he’d burned the bread because he was daydreaming, or he’d gone to market for apples and come home with potatoes instead. If she was upset about something, she would excuse herself to go for a walk or retreat to the bedroom she and Father had shared in their old, larger house, and when she came out she was herself again. She’d even offer an explanation of why she’d been upset, if Father couldn’t figure it out on his own. And when Jaren’s sisters were particularly volatile, Mother would tell the men to go make themselves useful, and by the time they returned, everything was right as rain again.

You’re spinning, Jaren, he thought as he meandered down the forest trail. He was so distracted he wasn’t even sure which trail he had taken, but he supposed it didn’t matter, as long as he returned by it when he went back.

Something crossed his path, a low, stealthy creature, most likely a fox. A night bird called somewhere in the distance, and every now and then he would hear something small rustle in the bushes. All typical nighttime forest activity. Less than he’d expect, in fact.

Suddenly, a long, mournful howl raised the hairs on the back of Jaren’s neck. He couldn’t help thinking of the monstrous wolf the townspeople spoke of. He hadn’t even brought a knife with him, he realized. He was as defenseless out here as a loaf of bread.

Still, the howl had been far-off, and turning around wasn’t necessarily the better choice, since he couldn’t be sure which direction it had come from. He kept walking, though his thoughts were decidedly not on the whimsies of women anymore. The howl came again, and this time, it sounded closer. Jaren froze on the trail, listening. Somewhere above him, an owl hooted and took off from its perch, likely in search of prey of its own. He glanced around at his surroundings and recognized the split tree off to his left, the circle of toadstools to his right. He realized with a sinking sensation that he’d done it again.

He’d taken the trail to Endla.

Another howl, this time much closer than the last. Jaren spun around, attempting to tell which direction it was coming from, until he was dizzy and even more lost than before. He laughed, a little hysterically, and wondered if he truly was going mad, if the magic of Endla had indeed ensnared him like a siren’s song. How else could he explain why his feet kept finding this same trail? How else could he defend the decision to go walking, alone, in the middle of the night?

The next sound Jaren heard wasn’t a howl, and it was much, much closer. It was the low, rumbling snarl of a predator. He turned slowly, eyes frantically searching the darkness, until he saw the two glowing eyes staring back. And they were far too large to belong to anything other than a massive, hungry wolf.

He bolted. Instinctively, he knew this creature wasn’t going to back down no matter how big Jaren made himself, no matter how much yelling and flapping and stick flailing he did. This animal was clearly the alpha of this forest, probably the entire mountain, and one measly, defenseless human was not going to scare it away.

By some miracle, Jaren didn’t stumble as he sprinted down the trail. His feet, at least, seemed to know the way. He could hear the wolf behind him, not snarling now, just breathing as it ran, and something told him that the beast wasn’t actually trying to catch him, because surely it was faster on its four legs and with its keen night vision than he could be. Was it trying to tire him? Or was it driving him exactly where it wanted him to go: into the waiting jaws of the rest of its pack?

Jaren didn’t have the breath in his lungs to scream for help, and he knew that no one would come if he did. He was completely alone out here, by his own daft will, and he was going to die that way. He hoped there’d be enough left of him for his family to identify his remains, although the loss would be devastating regardless. The girls had just lost their beloved mother, after all. I should have known better, Jaren thought bitterly. Even if he didn’t value his own life enough to stay away from this forest and that cursed island, he should have put his sisters’ safety and comfort first.

As his feet beat down the trail, that inane, insidious song returned to his frantic mind, and to his surprise, it calmed him, in a way. He focused on the melody, rather than the fact that a beast that was all claws and fangs and hunger was just behind him, its breath hot on his back.

And with what little breath Jaren had left, he said a prayer to whoever was listening to spare his life.



Chapter Seventeen


Leelo was only halfway home when she heard the howl. She’d foolishly fallen asleep below the pine tree. Now, her entire body erupted in goose bumps, and she could feel every hair on her arms standing straight up, like a lightning storm had just passed through.

For a moment she stood stock-still, wondering if she’d imagined it. Wolves never came this far up the mountain, and this one had sounded so close it could be on Endla itself. But then it happened again and again, and Leelo felt the sound in every part of her, as if this were a song she’d known all her life.

“Tate,” she breathed.

A sudden gust of wind blew past, making the trees around her creak like old, forgotten doors, and Leelo knew this time that she wasn’t imagining things. The Forest was speaking.

And a wolf was at the doorstep.



Chapter Eighteen