Wolven

My slumber is restless.

Nothing of clarity passes through my mind during the night, just brief flashes of blood and the smell of fear, as wolves run and nip at one another across my subconscious. Ferocity battles fear, dread combats hope. In a frenzy of jumbled scenes of war and wolves, only the clear sound of a soul-splintering howl rises to pervade all else. The lament lingers on a single note, claiming a silence over my mind as an all-encircling peace answers its call. The tone falls in pitch, and the void that follows settles in my mind like a crisp breath of arctic air in my lungs.

Then there is nothing. Glorious nothing. For a few refreshing moments, the beat of my heart is the only thing in existence. It quickens with the arrival of a presence. A misty light brings warmth, and relief of all things, soothing my being with its company. The soft touch of fur graces my mind.

I’m shaken awake by Rowan after what is probably the best night of sleep I’ve had in a very long time, and I actually feel drowsy when I come to.

“Been sleeping all morning, you alive under there?” he says as he jabs at me through the blankets.

“I’m up... I’m up,” I mumble, pulling myself to sit upright and rubbing at my eyes. “Where’s Ataneq?” I startle even myself with what came out of my mouth, barely passing through my brain before it did. Rowan cocks an eyebrow. “And do you know anything at all about what happened to our village?” I add. “About Halin? The hunters?” My brother picks up a tray that was placed on an end table beside the couch, and hands it to me as he takes a seat. Scrambled Ptarmigan eggs are piled on the tray, beside some berries, with a glass of goat's milk.

“Scouts visited the village last night, posing as hunters from another village who had heard of the attack. Halin’s fine, Rhea. He suffered some lacerations, and is being flighted back to the States where he belongs.”

“Everyone else?” I ask, pausing in picking at the eggs.

“Only a few dead. Two or three.” My fork clinks on the plate as I look at Rowan squarely in disbelief.

“We live close to the arctic circle, Rheaden. Our village knows how to handle their own.” Relief fills my heart at the truth in his words.

“I’ve still got a lot of questions, Row.”

“They’ll be answered. King’s busy at the moment, I’m sure he’ll be in to see you soon. Though, feel free to roam about the Vale. We’re very safe here.” Setting the now-empty plate down on the side table, I stand to rid some of the restlessness that’s been building as I face my brother directly.

“What is going on here, Rowan?”

He stares at me for a beat before his eyes look left, then right, around the cabin.

“As in...?” My mind has been an increasing whirl of thoughts and unanswered questions since I woke up, his games are trying my patience.

“We’re surrounded by werewolves. That’s fictional, Rowan! The tales aana told us when we were young are just stories...”

Or, they should be, I think to myself. Rowan looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “Surrounded by werewolves, Rowan!” I repeat through my teeth.

“You say that exclusively,” he snorts as he stands. Leaning toward me quickly, a rough animal snarl emits from his throat, sending me jumping back. “Did you know we can still do that when we’re humans? Growl, I mean. You gotta be good at it, though.” He winks at me like a fool, striding across the room to the door. “I’m not supposed to say much more. That’s King’s job. I’m just sorry your instatement into all of this was so abrupt. I really am, Rhea.” Snow flutters in on his way out, and the flash of light from the brilliant day causes me to squint.

Angered, I have the urge to get up and go. To run or find another way to expel all this frustration and confusion from my system, but an even greater displeasure at the thought of meeting anyone outside. The air in the room’s starting to suffocate me, though, and like it always does, the tundra calls.

I pace a storm around the room for a few moments in a fury, before grabbing my coat decisively. I try to block out all else and let the arctic air do what it does best. It feels instantly better being outside in the freezing day, and I avoid looking at anyone as I follow a path in the snow with my eyes fixed near my feet. The wind that bites at my cheeks is soothing.

The path leads to the edge of this closed-in area, and I walk beside the jagged wall of rock. Rounding a corner, a scent hits my nose just before its owner almost does.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize after jumping, nose-to-chest with Ataneq. He looks calmly down at me, a hand on my shoulder for stability.

“I was on my way to see you. Walk with me.” I nod as he turns, following him single-file down the path. We make our way to a section of the wall where the thin path winds up it in a zig-zag. My eyes travel up near the top of the towering, rocky wall, where the path disappears above. Ataneq leads the way up, back and forth across the side of the crag as the cut-out path travels up and up. Near the top, he warns me to watch my step as we reach the peak of the cliff. The top is only a few feet wide, practically the width of the path itself, as both sides plummet down sharply like an upturned tooth. I tread carefully after Ataneq as he leads us across the narrow peak, to a broad height ahead. Once on the flattened shelf, I have a spectacular view of the werewolves... den, and the expanse of tundra that’s spread out below on the other side of this cliff.

“This is the Vale,” Ataneq speaks, his eyes watching me as I take in the haven, “It’s very secluded, very safe. We’ve lived here for a long time.” I stay silent, not sure how to respond quite yet. The view is truly beautiful, and looks almost man-made with the way it is completely surrounded by jagged cliffs. “We have many reasons to need a safe haven, even in such a secluded region.” I look at him, and his gaze is scanning the cabins that dot the walled perimeter of the Vale. There’s a pause momentarily, before he sighs and returns my look. “Anyway, you have many questions.” A statement, not a question. I nod. “You’ve seen us transform a couple times, I know you believe what you’ve seen. It’s simple to accept a phenomenon you’ve witnessed first-hand, Rheaden. The real obstacle is accepting what is inside. The key to that is not just accepting... but welcoming it.” His tone is gentle and low, at a timbre that settles the distress in my emotions and my thoughts. I’ve started to realize that recurring effect that he has on me. His voice reminds me of my dream last night.

“What do you remember of your mother?” The question catches me off guard.

“My mother?” I ask Ataneq, still aware of the comfort I feel in his presence. He nods in reply, holding my look with eyes that mirror mine. I think back, remember her soft embraces and loud, raucous laugh... Her jet-black hair, her ancient tales of the Native Peoples who could turn into wolves and protect their people... Her clear, stunning eyes.

“Not much,” I answer, “She used to tell my brother and I stories of werewolves, from deep beyond the treeline, from times when no one but the Tribes inhabited the arctic.” Ataneq’s eyes fall to the floor of the shelf we stand on.

“Do you know how she passed?” he murmurs, very softly. My heart picks up pace, and my breathing threatens to do so as well at his inquiry. I look at him very pointedly.

“A heart attack.” My tone is firm. He returns my look with a strong one, diminishing it.

“She was killed protecting her children.” My throat tightens. “You’ve seen the black wolf that attacked your village before, Rheaden. When you were very young”

The massive muzzle full of fangs and blood flash across my thoughts, as I remember the other day.

“That’s impossible...” I breathe, searching Ataneq’s eyes as confusion and pain grip my heart. My knees feel weak, even though my mind screams at me that what this man is telling me is not true. His hand steadies me at my back. He explains his claim, telling me about how certain members of their clan has been hunted by another... By the Tornuaq Clan, and my mother was one of those members. She had been evading them, living away from Ataneq’s clan because she had fallen in love with a hunter from a human village, had started a family with him. The alpha of the Tornuaq clan found her, one night. Tried to kill her children because of a trait that she could have passed down to them. She died protecting us... She died defending Rowan and I when we were little.

Ataneq grips me as I sink to my knees, kneeling down beside me.

“Why? What trait did she have that they wanted Rowan and I dead as well?” I say, pain exploding with the thought that my mother was killed... Because of a threat to us. Ataneq soothes me with a calming hand on my back, on my side.

“Your mother was Highbourne. Like me, she had a rare genetic trait, passed down by the ancestors of those in the stories that she told you. Wolves larger, and more powerful than any common werewolf, capable of surviving longer, the warriors of our kind.”

“I have memories of my mother. I wasn’t too young when she passed, why don’t I remember anything about that?”

“She caught wind of the strike. Went out to meet him. Above all, your mother was fierce, Rheaden. The alpha female before me, before she left.”

As all of this sinks in, I find the grip of Ataneq’s hand around mine a stabilizing warmth. The shock of it all still shakes me, and I just sit with the cold of the rock seeping into my legs.

“Why wasn’t I raised here? Why did Rowan and I stay in the village?”

“Because of your father, and your mother’s wishes. She didn’t want this life for you, she didn’t want her children to grow up away from their father. She wanted this to be a choice that you and your brother made on your own. Rowan obviously made his after discovering what he was, and the choice for him was easy. You, on the other hand... You have marvelously resisted the deepest roots and instincts of what you are, and for that reason, I am sure you have more of your mother in you than you think.” I look at Ataneq, take in his glacial eyes with mine, knowing.

“I’m Highbourne.”