The crowd hushed and parted, scrambling out of the way of Old Kitta, lest she taint them with the evil eye or, more likely, whack them with the carved branch that was never far from her hand. Her cane thumped against the hard-packed earth that marked the village center, and her heavy body, bent and twisted by age, shuffled behind it with a slow, halting gait. A ruse. Galen had seen her chase down rabbits and pluck them from their burrows with her bare hands. She approached the accused, both of whom she’d nurtured from birth. Galen may have abided in his uncle’s house, but any mothering had come from the witch.
She stumped up to the tavern steps, turning to face the crowd. “I see you’ve come prepared,” she said, gazing out over the harvest-tool-armed crowd. “But you know the law; weapons have no place at a judging.” At the collective, “Aww…” she added, “Of course you’ve come for a banishin’ and you shall have it. But first, we must pretend we come for justice!”
Galen gulped hard, the last remnants of his feeble hope vanishing along with the sun’s fading rays. Was this Kitta? The one he’d counted on for deliverance?
The villagers remained stock still. “Go on, now.” Kitta flapped her hands at them. “To the smithy they go.”
Much grumbling followed, the villagers following the old woman’s orders, lining rakes, hoes, scythes, and shovels against the smithy wall.
Kitta shouted at their retreating backs, “Be sure it’s your own scythe and not a neighbor’s that you take away again!”
With the area somewhat cleared, she whirled and spoke in hushed tones. “Do as I bid.” Both Galen and Esja inclined their heads. “Child,” she said, addressing Esja first.
“Yes, Auntie.” She appeared far less frightened now with the witch near. She darted troubled eyes back and forth between her aunt, the baby, and Galen. “So soon? I’d hoped to keep him longer.”
“Aye. You knew the offspring of…” Kitta broke off her words, casting an anxious glance at Galen. “…that this child couldn’t be allowed to remain here.”
Esja kissed the top of the babe’s head and handed him to Kitta, combing her fingers through his fine hair. “Don’t worry, little babe,” she said. “All will be well.” She raised a delicate brow.
“No!” Galen shouted, ready to risk life and limb for his childhood friend. “I won’t let them take the child!”
“Shhh…” Kitta whispered, as much to Galen as she did the young one bouncing in her arms. She smiled at them both, a bittersweet smile. “You know the law concerning men who have no affection for females?” She gave Galen a pointed look.
“Aye, Old Mammy. They must leave the village at sundown. Never to return.” He closed his eyes, exhaling a heavy breath. The sinking feeling in his chest crept toward his stomach. “They go to feed the wolves.” An icy fist squeezed his heart.
A youth howled, joined by several others, marking the villagers’ return. Cruel laughter followed. The sun’s slow slide beneath the world’s edge heralded the coming darkness, when true wolf cries would echo through the night. Any god that’s listening, please help us!
Old Kitta leaned closer. “Remember me tales of the forest lord?”
A faint hope sparked in Galen’s heart, then died a cold, hard death. Tales, they were but tales. And what of the wolves?
In answer to his unspoken question, a lone hunter howled in the distance, silencing his tormentors. Chills raced up Galen’s spine. Since boyhood, he’d witnessed other men being chased from the village, to starve or fall prey to the forest beasts. He’d always hated each and every time, hating himself as well for being powerless to intervene in any other way but to pray to the gods of old to spare those men’s lives. Shivering on his pallet, he’d covered his head when the wolves bayed on those nights, haunted by images of those men running for their lives and coming up short.
The gossips’ tongues had started wagging the day he celebrated his elevation from childhood, when he left behind more simple chores to labor in the fields beside the men. They’d wondered why he’d remained unpromised at his age. It didn’t escape his attention that they’d worked him like a slave all summer and were only now addressing the joining issue with the harvest secured in the barns. He’d heard several youths, and a few of the adults, howling behind his back for four full seasons. Then again, up until now,