Chapter 9: Freedom

The group continued to make slow southward progress over the next couple of days. Garan had to rest often, and his wound needed frequent care. Once, he slipped over a root in the path, fell hard, and tore several of his stitches. His attitude became even more sour with every step. Brynn couldn’t blame him. This was not a hike meant for someone with a leg injury, and Garan had gone from arguably the physically strongest group member to the weakest.

Brynn’s wrist bothered her, but keeping a tightly wrapped strip of fabric on the joint seemed to help. She found herself spending more and more time watching the wolf who, in turn, kept watching her. While they walked, she tried to keep her distance, not wanting to be too near Trevor or Cormac.

There seemed to be some unspoken agreement that she and Maeve would not take a turn pulling the cart as they had on the way north, and that was fine by Brynn. To her, helping pull the cart would make her feel complicit in the animal’s pain. She supposed she was already complicit, though, as she allowed it all to happen…was still allowing it. The thought was a knife in her gut.

But what could she do? She was one member of six, and her voice had been less valued than the others since the beginning. She did continue to give the wolf food, though. Brynn wasn’t again bold enough to take extra rations for it; she split her rations in half and slipped bits in between the crate bars in the mornings and evenings.

Brynn thought the food must be helping. The wolf’s eyes were more vibrant, somehow, and she noticed that it more readily swung its head from side to side to better see its surroundings. Or to follow Brynn’s movements through camp.

Spending shorter bits of time more frequently with the wolf seemed to help Brynn as well. She was able to remain more herself in its presence. In some ways, she felt like she was becoming immune to whatever power it had over her.

‘That’s not quite right, though,’ she thought. She still felt that glowing warmth within her. She still felt drawn to it like an invisible tether continually tugged her closer. But she was able to control herself. When they took her closer to the cart, her feet weren’t acting of their own volition. They were acting at her direction. She wanted to be close. Always.

The net still dug into the wolf’s skin, and the spots of blood that had gone brown and cakey sometimes became slick with bright fresh blood when the cart jolted too much. Brynn could tell the confinement was taking a toll. She could sense the tensing of its muscles and the restlessness of its limbs. It wanted to move. To stretch. To run.

And, strangely enough, Brynn thought that if it were free, it would indeed be able to run. There had been a time that she thought the wolf would never be able to use its injured leg again, but since freeing it from the bear trap, the leg had healed significantly. Strangely so.

No one else seemed to notice, and Brynn didn’t point it out to anyone. She feared they would use the information as proof of its evil, though she couldn’t see it that way. How could the Gods gift something evil with such swift healing? Garan hadn’t been gifted the same.

These were the thoughts that plagued Brynn’s sleep as Maeve and Vesta rested well beside her. Ingram was her home, and if Trevor was right, the wolf’s sacrifice was the key to restoring the village to the favor of the Gods. But now, every time her thoughts turned to those Gods, her mind filled instead with the moon – glowing and full – rather than the vengeful spirits she had been raised with.

She wanted to help Ingram, but this barbarism surely wasn’t the right course. It couldn’t be. She had been drawn here by forces beyond herself. She had always felt that pull. Her whole life, something called her. She loved Ingram, but she wasn’t really a part of it. All those whispers as she passed by and the rumors about her family were proof of that. But that ever-present call beckoning her to the wild culminated at this moment. It brought her here. It brought her to the wolf.

Had she been called here to help bring it back to Ingram to sacrifice? The image of its body, broken and bloody, on the village altar, left her breathless and queasy. That could not be her purpose here. So, if it weren’t, then there was only one course that made any sense.

With her decision made, Brynn dressed silently and slipped her dagger into her belt. At the tent entrance, she peered out the small gap in the fabric, careful not to rustle it. She held her breath as she scanned the area. Cormac was on watch, and he sat underneath a tree between the two tents.

His face was obscured in shadow. His torch, half buried so that it stood on its own, flickered lazily in the still night. Brynn waited a moment, halfway forming a plan to sneak out beneath the canvas at the back of the tent when a sound rumbled over to her. Snoring. Cormac was snoring.

Rolling her eyes, Brynn slipped right out the front of the tent and crossed silently past Cormac.

‘The face of a trueborn leader,’ she thought as she passed, seeing his face slumped to the side and a small line of drool puddling on his shoulder. Anyone else caught sleeping on watch would be scolded. He’d even taken half of Maeve’s daily ration once for the same offense. Brynn resisted the urge to shake him and refocused on her task.

The cart sat just far enough from the tents that the men could forget it was part of their camp. The glow of Cormac’s torch didn’t reach it, but the lightly shrouded moon was so bright that Brynn didn’t need any additional light.

The wolf’s hefty bulk rose and fell slowly with its breathing, yet as she neared, the pattern quickened, and she knew the wolf sensed she was there. Deep eyes found hers in the night. Warmth snaked through her torso, out through her arms, and into her fingertips.

Again, she raised her arm out in front of her and stretched her fingers forward. She crept closer and closer, her heart thundering so loudly in her chest that she thought it might wake Cormac. The few clouds that veiled the moon parted, and the world was filled with the soft caress of white light.

Two steps more. Her fingertips tingled. The tether on her heart tightened. The wolf lowered its head, though its eyes never left hers.

One step.

The wolf stilled. And suddenly the warmth from her hands met the warmth of the wolf’s fur.

It did not bare its teeth. It did not growl or snarl or howl. It did not attack, and she knew in her heart that it wouldn’t. Not now. She lowered her forehead, small and insignificant compared to the mighty creature before her, and ran her hands through its pelt. Understanding raced through them both. Brynn lifted her head and set to her task.

It was tedious work. As she sliced through the net, she had to peel it back in sections as she dislodged the thorny silver. The wolf tensed and shivered back from the pain, but never made a sound. Maneuvering around the crate was difficult, and she hadn’t worked out how to break it open just yet. Her priority was removing the tiny silver barbs and with them, the wolf’s pain.

Brynn hardly noticed when a light snow began to fall. It wasn’t until little flakes speckled the wolf’s pelt that she became aware. Momentarily, her thoughts roamed to the Gap. With snow now falling, how long would it take for the Gap to seal? Surely mere flurries didn’t warrant too much alarm? She shook her head, pushed those thoughts aside, and refocused fully on her task.

The wolf shifted for her as she worked, exposing the bits of the net she couldn’t reach. Eventually, Brynn climbed right on top of the cart to get better leverage. The wooden cart and wheels groaned beneath her, and she froze. She heard a noise from camp but couldn’t be sure if it was Cormac waking or just a loud snore. She didn’t wait to find out, continuing her work much more quickly than before. She was close. So close.

“Who’s out there?” Cormac demanded. He hadn’t seen her yet, but in moments he would. Slice, pull, slice, pull, slice, pull. Footsteps padded the ground around camp and canvas rustled.

Slice, pull. Slice, pull.

“What is it, Cormac?” Trevor called, a yawn in his voice. Slice, pull.

“Wake them up,” Cormac ordered, low and somber.

Slice, pull, slice, pull, slice, pull.

Cormac and his torch edged closer, but Brynn crouched behind the wolf’s bulk, hidden from view. Seeing the cart within shadows, he hadn’t noticed that most of the net had been ripped away.

“What’s happening?” Vesta hissed.

“Something’s out there,” Cormac replied.

Slice, pull. Slice, pull. Slice, pull.

“I don’t see anything,” Garan called from behind, slower than the rest. Only a small portion left.

“Something’s out there,” Cormac repeated.

Slice, pull. Slice, pull. Slice, pull.

And then it was done. Brynn dropped the last of the net to the forest floor with a throaty, emotional sigh.

“Brynn?” Maeve asked.

Brynn walked slowly around the cart and into view.

“What?” Trevor asked, eyes roving over the wolf and then widening as he registered what he saw. And what he didn’t. He opened his mouth wide in what would have been a howl of anger. Before the sound left his throat, the crate exploded.

Wood cracked and splintered. Jagged pieces flew through the air to land heavily on the forest floor. The humans ducked and covered their heads as the wolf emerged from the chaos, massive and menacing. It leaped from the cart, deftly landing on all four paws. Its injury did not hinder it in the slightest.

Brynn stood near, transfixed by what she saw.

A low growl turned into a thundering rumble that filled the forest with quaking fear. Teeth gleamed in the moonlight as the massive wolf bore down on the humans before it. Finally, Brynn was afraid.