Laura S. Fox
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Hungry Heart - Book #4 - Ch. 5
🕑 Added 2022-09-25 18:00:05 +0000 UTCChapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four
Chapter Five – The Mistress of the Marshes
Varg eyed each of the young wolves mostly to assure them without words that he was a kind stranger and on their side. However, each time his eyes landed on one of them, the youngster averted his or her eyes, shyly and hesitantly, like they didn’t know what to make of him.
“If you are in danger for telling me anything about your situation, then I will just see for myself what you are going against.”
He sniffed the air to sense where the entrance was and began walking, but Atlaz jumped in front of him. “Don’t go out there on your own.”
“Are you afraid for my wellbeing, pup?” Varg asked. “If something happens to me once I’m out of the cave, that’s all the better for you. No challenge will be necessary, and you will be your brothers’ and sisters’ alpha.”
Atlaz looked at him, struggling to understand whether Varg was joking or just telling the truth. As undecided as the rest of the lot, he started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. “There is danger outside,” he said. He straightened up. “Someone has to tell you about the curse, and that someone has to be me as the stand-in alpha.” That decision, once made, straightened his shoulders and gave him the strength to face Varg’s stern stare.
“No, no,” the others whispered. They were scared as they were, but they thought that their fear would turn into terror if they were without Atlaz, as unfit to be their ruler as he was. Varg didn’t need the young wolves to tell him what was in their souls. He could so easily read it in their eyes, and how they moved together to be close, as little as that provided them with strength and faith in their own pack.
“I must. Curse or not…” Atlaz didn’t continue for a moment. “Curse or not,” he said in a stronger voice, “I must assume all responsibility for this pack. And if I’m struck dead--”
A few gasps and small cries interrupted his ardent speech.
“And if I’m struck dead,” he continued, “then you will be in good hands with your new alpha. He’ll know how to protect you better than me.”
Varg turned his head slightly and saw the tenderness and awe in Hesaia’s eyes. Atlaz was half-turned toward her, so all that bout of generosity toward Varg’s character was for her sake, just like the rest of it. He could run his mouth all he wanted; he either saw in Hesaia a true sister or - Varg thought and couldn’t keep himself from smiling - Atlaz wanted a lot more than Hesaia’s obedience and loyalty. Even if his young heart didn’t understand its burning urges just yet.
“Atlaz, don’t go,” a meek voice rose from the ranks.
Atlaz brushed it off with the nobility of someone who has already decided to sacrifice himself. “Follow me, old man.”
He was the old man. Varg let out a small suffering sigh but gestured for Atlaz to take the lead. Whatever they had to face, they wouldn’t defeat it if they just remained inside the cave.
“I’m coming with you,” Hesaia announced.
“You’re not a wolf,” Atlaz said brusquely and stopped.
“And that is why curses and evil witches cannot touch me the same way they can touch you,” Hesaia said stubbornly.
It looked like the young woman wasn’t all that scared of the curse that seemed to have paralyzed the rest of the pack.
“We’re all coming,” the rest of the pack began clamoring. “You’re not going to leave us all alone here! Take us with you.”
“Are we going very far?” Varg asked dutifully.
Atlaz had clenched his hands into fists and pursed his lips. It was hard for him to assume the role of leader. He couldn’t even convince his young subjects to stay behind, where it was safe. What the others considered safe wasn’t the warm cave; no, they wanted to be with Atlaz and, most probably, Hesaia, too, by how they looked at her as if she were their mother.
“They should stay here. It’s hard to make a path, and we used our favors when we went out to get you,” Atlaz explained.
“I think they want to be with their alpha. That’s you,” Varg said and gestured at Atlaz.
Without even wanting to, Atlaz stood straighter and puffed out his chest. “Then, they should come,” he decided.
Varg smiled to himself. At least the young alpha was not a complete hothead and could overlook having been influenced to make a certain decision or another for the sake of playing his role.
The youngsters crowded them from behind, but they strove not to get close enough to touch Varg by accident. It seemed that he did impress them with his height. Their stares of awe weren’t bound to stop anytime soon. That made Varg believe that even the grownups in that pack weren’t very big. They were a smaller, nimbler breed, given the circumstances of their birth and living conditions.
They walked down a long corridor until they reached the cave entrance. Atlaz took a deep breath and stepped outside.
The cave was located, as Hesaia had mentioned, on high ground. Around it, at the foot of the hill on which it rose and ran deep into a mountain, all the eye could see was a sea of fog. It reminded Varg of the trick the youngsters had used to catch him and drag him there. If they had such powerful magic on their side, and they also knew how to catch prey, they were well-equipped to be a pack destined to grow stronger and stronger by the day.
However, whatever took their parents and elders must have put the fear of everything holy into their bones and souls, by the way they were shivering behind him, still not letting go of the idea of following in spite of all peril.
Atlaz walked in front and Hesaia rushed to keep by his side, wrapping an arm around his, in a gesture that could be interpreted as a plea for help in the eyes of those who didn’t know a lot about the ways of the world, or as an encouragement, as it more seemed to Varg. She looked over her shoulder, at him, the imploring look in her large pretty eyes too clear to be mistaken for anything else.
They descended into the fog and, as they did, the terrain under their feet turned slippery. Varg almost fell, having been taken by surprise, but the youngsters of the pack hurried to support him from all sides. It was a bit amusing, seeing how only moments ago he had promised to be the one the help them. He grasped two of them by the shoulders, and they seemed grateful to accept the request for assistance. This way, Varg remained aware of where they were in that fog, and could also find his footing and understand his surroundings without worrying about every step he took.
“Where are we going?” he asked in a hushed whisper. Seeing how the others were so quiet, it only seemed fitting that he didn’t speak too loudly, either.
“We’re going to see the mistress of the marshes,” Hesaia was the one to explain. The others hissed at her to hush her. “I don’t fear her,” the young woman added. “As you can see, she hasn’t struck me dead yet.”
The young pack was too scared for this mistress of the marshes to be nothing but a superstition. And yet, Hesaia appeared not to share their fear of her. Maybe the human girl knew a lot more than the rest, but out of respect for their lack of knowledge, she didn’t say it. Varg wished he had had the time to ask only her about the strange circumstances of this young pack, but the situation demanded him to think on his feet and ask questions only when possible.
His feet felt that the slippery slope had turned into stone steps, and they were still descending, while the air wasn’t getting any clearer. The young wolves seemed capable of walking through the fog, without any cues, so they had to be accustomed to it.
Varg felt his nostrils flaring at a change in scent. He had sensed the humid air from the moment he had set foot outside the cave, but this was more than that. As his eyes appeared to adjust to his surroundings, he understood why.
The air cleared and, in front of him, stretched marshlands, as far and wide as eyes could see. Atlaz and Hesaia were by his side, and his assistants to that point took a step back, as their leaders took upon them the roles they had assumed by coming here.
“The mistress told us that our parents were punished for their pride,” Atlaz began. “She had been taking care of our pack for so long, and yet, they dared to go against her. That is why we are cursed.”
Varg listened intently. He could tell Atlaz’s eyes were searching the vast surface of the marshlands, probably expecting its arrogant mistress to emerge from the fumes floating above the patches of soil and water.
“Aren’t you allowed to talk about her? Why the secrecy when I asked you about what happened?” Varg demanded to know.
“She decides what is good and what is bad. She said we should bring you here.”
Varg quirked an eyebrow. He had a vague feeling that this mistress of the marshes, whoever she was, knew more about him than he about her. That was an unsettling thought. “When did your parents disappear?” he asked.
Small cries of distress emerged from behind him. He could tell that some even wept.
“They didn’t disappear,” Atlaz said, his head hung low. “They were… taken. Down here.” He gestured at the marshlands.
“The mistress killed them,” someone wailed. “She thought they went against her, but that’s not true. Mommy would never--”
“Silence,” Atlaz barked.
The wailing subsided, but Varg could still hear that pup sniffling. She sounded very young. Without asking, he could guess on his own that the mistress had made sure to make an example out of the punishment she had inflicted on the grownups of the pack. Not only had she left the youngsters without any support, she had put herself in their parents’ stead. That seemed such an unusual and cruel thing to do. Could it be that she wanted him, Varg, and that is why she had destroyed this pack on what seemed like a whim?
Any questions he had needed to wait. The fumes above the marshes swirled to braid themselves into thicker swathes of fog, and soon he could make out the shape of something or someone walking toward them.
“She’s here, she’s here,” the youngsters murmured among themselves, their voices filled with dread and despair.
Varg waited calmly. Whatever spirit inhabited these marshes, she would have to pay for what she had done to these young wolves and their parents. And he would be the one to bring her to a justice of his own.
***
“We should come with you,” Toru said stubbornly. Claw didn’t seem too happy with his insistence.
“We cannot know if the oracle will respond to Claw’s plea,” Duril explained.
The healer meant well, but Toru wasn’t sure that he could bear any more long hours of waiting and doing nothing. “We are three. If we pray to the oracle hard enough, she will have no other choice but to reply. And then, we will ask her about Varg.” Even to his ears, that sounded like not a very strong argument.
“Toru,” Duril began again, but Claw interrupted their little quarrel by putting his heavy paws on their shoulders.
“The oracle knows who Toru is. I don’t think it can hurt to be together while I’m trying to gain the oracle’s attention once more. It may be that I’m the one seeking her this time around, but the situation we find ourselves in is quite peculiar, so the end justifies the means.”
“You know better,” Duril acquiesced. “She might want to see Toru, although I cannot see what good my presence will bring.”
“We will stay together. What if that evil magic tries to pick us off, one by one?” Toru asked.
“Not an impossible thing,” Claw agreed. “Although, the fact that we were close to Varg when this pack the trees know of took him with them tells a lot about how skillful these burglars are.”
“There is something about this magic that stands between us and Varg,” Duril said. “The faint magic I have inside me is restless because of it. I don’t know what it means. I wish the trees would have told me more.”
Toru understood Duril’s frustration. He had plenty of it himself. “This oracle Claw and Varg went to meet, she has magic, too, right? She must know a lot of things about other magic.”
“We cannot argue with that,” Claw admitted. “My chances of calling the oracle and having her reply to my wish are pretty slim, so I don’t think it’ll hurt to have you two with me.”
That was settled. Now all that remained was for the oracle to respond to their plea. Already, Duril’s gift from Lady Amethyst had offered them news about Varg, and it wasn’t necessarily the bad kind. However, if Duril felt restless because of the magic that stood between them and their friend like a veil, that could mean that there was still danger ahead.
“What do you do to call the oracle?” he asked Claw curiously.
“It is more the other way around,” Claw explained. “From time to time, I feel that a certain voice is calling out to me, and it’s not one belonging to this world around us. It comes from a different world and it opens a path for me when it deems me worthy of it.”
Toru scratched his head. “But why?”
“Usually, to give warnings. Such as was the case with my earlier walk down the secret path with Varg. It’s never the same magical being talking to me. This oracle, Cha’da, I never saw her before. But it is my strong belief that they are all manifestations of the same spirit. Let’s see if she will answer our call.”
Toru followed Claw’s every move, sitting with his legs crossed and closing his eyes. Then, he reconsidered; with his eyes closed, he wouldn’t be able to tell what Claw was doing, so he kept them open.
Claw appeared lost in thought and focused on something only his mind could tell. Duril’s lips were moving without making a sound, probably delivering a plea to the oracle in the best way the healer knew how.
They both kept their eyes closed, and Toru thought that he should follow their example. He was just about to do so when something caught his attention out of the corner of one eye. Although the evening was getting closer, something glinted in the grass, as if a single ray of sun had found a single green blade in all that field to mirror its reflection. He turned his head, stretching it as far as he could, without breaking his stance, but it wasn’t enough to identify what that small patch of light was all about.
He stole a glance at Claw and Duril but they seemed so caught up in the world behind their eyelids that he decided against disturbing them. He would move only a little and try to get a better look at what held his interest at the moment.
The light patch moved and bounced, landing on another blade of grass, not far away. Toru shifted slowly, as his paws were more likely to not make any sound while he moved about. He lifted his right paw and tried to catch the patch, which by now he suspected to be some kind of creature. The thing bounced up and he tilted his head to follow it. The light grew stronger, blinding him for a moment and forcing him to close his eyes.
When he opened them the next moment, he was no longer by the river with Claw and Duril. No, he was in a completely different place, flooded with light and made of gold.
***
Varg could feel the fear rolling off the small pack of youngsters behind him in waves. Atlaz, perhaps emboldened by his earlier decisions, stood straight and at least hid his true feelings well enough for someone his age. Hesaia was the calmest of the lot, and rightfully so, since she had made her point of view on witches and whatnot clear enough.
After assessing the state of the pack quickly, Varg focused all his attention on the apparition closing in on them. At first, she looked as if made of fog, a trick of the imagination arranging a mundane weather condition in such a way that it appeared astonishing. But no, there seemed to be a physical body of some sort under the veil of fog and soon Varg could make out a long grey dress with frayed edges. The mistress of the marshes was tall and thin, taller even than him, but since no footwear or naked feet showed from under the hem of the dress she wore, it could just as well be a trick to force them to look up at her.
He did so, just as the rest did. The cuffs on the sleeves of the grey dress were as frayed as the bottom hem, and just as the mistress appeared to not have feet, she also didn’t seem to have hands, either.
But she did have a face, opaque and grey just like the garment covering her immaterial body. Her hair flew long over her shoulders, the color of stormy skies, and her eyes were a deep black, with large pupils that covered most of the sockets in which they were buried.
Her nose turned downward, like a hook, and her mouth was nothing but a gap, a gate opening into inward darkness. No wonder the youngsters were afraid of her; since she had taken their parents, she wasn’t just a story, something to scare them before bedtime.
The wolf pups huddled closer and pressed, unconsciously or not, against Varg’s back, seeking his protection.
“I see you found the lost alpha,” she began in a shrill, unpleasant voice.
“Yes,” Atlaz replied, although some of his earlier determination had drained from him. “By the following full moon, I will challenge him.”
Varg waited calmly for the mistress’ unsettling gaze to move to him. Unlike Atlaz, who had averted his eyes when talking to her, he stared right into her nightmarish face. Some of the youngest pups were keening behind him in distress.
“You will lose that battle,” the mistress hissed at him. “Once it’s done,” she addressed Atlaz but continued to look at Varg, “bring me his body.”
“I will not fight,” Varg said. “I am not a lost alpha, either. What is it that you truly want?” His eyes bored into hers. The gift he had, of convincing others to talk even about things they didn’t want to reveal to others, could be used against witches, too. “And what happened to these pups’ parents?”
She laughed hoarsely, a gurgling sound like muddy water sloshing about coming out of her throat. “I cursed them,” she said merrily, in contrast to her words. “They’re buried in the marshes behind me, feeding the bottom waters with their flesh and bones.”
At that, one of the pups started crying. Varg didn’t move his eyes away from that foul creature. “What did you truly do with them? And what do you want with me?”
The mistress laughed again. “I only need your body to send it down, with the rest. I can see that you are arrogant, just like them.” She gestured vaguely, but it was clear who she was talking about.
Varg’s nostrils flared. There was a scent he could detect, and it was coming from the marshes. He had always taken pride in being able to sense other wolfshifters, and the smell his nose just caught didn’t come from the youngsters huddling behind him. No, it was the smell of wet bark and ash still clinging to the clothes Hesaia had offered him to wear. There could only be one explanation for that.
The grown-ups of the pack, or at least some of them, had to still be alive. He didn’t voice his finding out loud. It was most probable that only his nose could sense it. The mistress must have cloaked their scent from the young ones, but her magic wasn’t strong enough to keep it from someone with a trained nose like his.
There had to be a catch, something necessary that required this evil witch to bring him there, to the marshes. Atlaz and the young ones were nothing but tools in her hands. Varg suspected that she didn’t care in the least about the challenge for the alpha position in the pack. That was just a ruse, and he needed to get to the bottom of what was truly her goal.
“I don’t intend to fight Atlaz. I believe that he is kind and strong, and that he is already the alpha of his pack,” he said. “If what you need is me, then take me now.”
His eyes continued to hold the hard and unforgiving glare the witch was giving him. He didn’t blink and kept his breathing to an even rhythm to lull the mistress of the marshes into believing his every word.
There was a moment of hesitation, and she almost tore her eyes away. “It is me you want,” he insisted. “I’m right here.”
The way her gap of a mouth quivered, Varg sensed that his words were like a tantalizing appetizer to her ears. She wanted him, yes, and he had been right about that. But at the same time, she cared about staging this ugly play in front of the small pack of pups. Why was that? She had magic and was all-powerful, at least as she stood at the edge of the marshes behind her.
Varg focused his mind on that particular detail. The mistress seemed unsettled, angry. But there was also desperation in her bottomless eyes. He only needed to tip her over the edge and have her reveal her hand.
So, he took a step forward. “I will go with you right now. But you leave Atlaz and the rest of the children alone. They caused you no harm.”
Another quiver of her mouth told him that she wasn’t that keen on giving up the small pack just yet. “They’re young,” Varg continued. “And they are loyal to you.”
There were things he didn’t say, such as how the wolves would grow up and be of more service then, when they became of age. He was more and more convinced now that the pups’ parents were still alive, no matter what the mistress must have shown to the scared children.
And she needed him. He could sense everything, that hunger coming from her in waves, almost hitting him like a moving boulder. Whatever it was, he would uncover it soon enough.
“Very well,” the mistress replied and threw her sleeves at him.
The young wolves cried out, but Varg remained calm while the witch pulled him into a tight embrace and dragged him down, making both of them sink into the marsh.
***
Toru could hear voices nearby, but he couldn’t identify who was talking. The grass, the trees, and everything else, were golden, unlike anything else he knew. He took one blade of grass between his fangs, only tentatively, and then let it go, now convinced that it was made of some sort of metal that could just as well be gold. “What is this place?” he called loudly.
The murmurs stopped. “He’s here, he’s here,” the voices rose.
Finally, whatever those creatures were, they seemed to have chosen one to talk to him, because a shape detached itself from the landscape of gold and walked toward him. Toru shifted into his human so that he was tall enough to stare at the creature from above. The thing had an elongated shape and a smooth surface one could see his or her reflection in.
Toru watched it curiously. “What are you and what is this place?”
“We’re mirrors,” the thing replied, and its voice was echoed by everything around them.
“Why am I here?” Toru asked the next question he believed needed a proper answer.
“You are looking for magic,” the voice said. “We are magic.”
Toru nodded. Well, that was true enough. “What can you do?” he asked directly. “Can you take me to where Varg is being held?”
“We don’t know what a Varg is,” the voice replied.
Ah, so they were a bit of dumb magic, not like Demophios who knew so much, even if he spoke strangely, or the old witch Agatha, or Amaranth, or Torgar. That meant it was up to him to guide this magic to serve him as it should. Duril, Varg, or Claw wouldn’t lose their heads over talking with a bit of magic. What would they say or do?
“Varg is my friend and a wolfshifter. He was taken by someone with magic who knows how to hide his smell. Not even Claw – he’s another friend – can smell him, and he can smell anything.”
The thing seemed to consider his words carefully. Toru couldn’t know precisely if that was the case, because there was no face to see and examine for signs of understanding.
“You are looking for magic of smell,” the thing concluded.
Toru couldn’t tell whether that was right or wrong, but he somehow thought that the mirrors simplified everything too much. “No,” he said patiently, “just magic that can hide a wolfshifter’s scent. That is all.”
The voices murmured again. To Toru’s ears, they sounded like they were giggling and sharing funny stories. Of all the magic that existed in Eawirith, he had to be called by this. It didn’t seem fair, but maybe he didn’t know a lot about magic to begin with.
“You must look in me,” the thing told him. “We can only help you by showing you what you want to see.”
“I already know how I look,” Toru argued. Then, he reconsidered. Since they were magical mirrors, maybe they didn’t show your reflection but something else. Now, he was curious about what they could show. “Fine, I’ll look. So, do I just ask my question? What do I do?”
“Just think,” the mirror told him. “Think of what you want to see. If it is there, it will be shown to you.”
Toru pondered. “So, it’s an illusion? If I want to see Varg alive and well, is that what you’re going to show me? Even if it’s not true?” Now it sounded like a rotten deal.
“We can only help you by showing you what you want to see,” the mirror repeated.
“I want to see the truth,” Toru said after pondering for a moment. “Will you show me the truth?”
“We will show you what you want to see,” the same words were said back to him.
Then he needed to want to see the truth really badly. It wasn’t that hard if he thought about it. What he wanted was to find Varg and bring him back. Therefore, the decision made, he moved closer to the mirror. “I’m looking at you,” he announced.
“No, look in me,” the mirror insisted.
He leaned forward. The golden mirror showed his reflection and nothing else. Toru frowned and focused on wanting to find where Varg was. He was about to give up and call the mirror out for lying to him, when the smooth surface rippled and Toru saw himself, but not as he was right now. No, inside the mirror, he was surrounded by fog, and his mouth was moving. That was from the time when Varg had been taken away!
Pleased with his discovery, he looked harder into the mirror, but the image didn’t change again. It just repeated the same thing over and over. Toru pulled away and the image disappeared. “You’re only showing me a moment from this morning.”
“We are mirrors.” As soon as the thing said that, more elongated shapes emerged from the trees of gold.
Toru looked at them and then he looked inside the first mirror again. He understood now. Without a moment of hesitation, he moved over to the next mirror. Now, he could see Varg, or precisely, the side of his face as a spear cut through the thin skin on his temple. That was the way of moving forward.
The following mirror showed him how Varg touched his temple and then collapsed to the ground. It all played out before him as if it was happening at that very moment. Toru grabbed each mirror and stared into it with all the decisiveness he could muster.
He blinked when he saw a bunch of shaggy creatures crouching over Varg and then getting busy moving him onto a pallet made of furs. At a closer look, he realized that they were shifters, wolfshifters, as Duril had learned from the trees. At least, that was what he thought they were; without being able to sniff them, he couldn’t tell for sure, so he brought his nose as near the mirror as he could. He almost jumped back when he realized that he could detect their scent.
But they were all so young, children some of them. A few were a bit older, but they could barely be called young men and women. They disappeared into the fog, and the next mirror showed Varg inside a cave, talking to two young shifters, a male and a female.
Toru sniffed. No, the female was only human. She seemed kind. The young wolf was scared. And Varg was observing them and thought the same thing as him.
“Can I see Varg’s thoughts?” he asked out loud.
“We can only show you what you want to see,” the mirrors replied in chorus.
TBC
Comments
Laura S. Fox
Thank you, Margaret!
MM
Wonderful. Simply wonderful. ❤️
