Seven Endless Forests - April Genevieve Tucholke Page 0,16

outside. I heard a strange whispering sound, and the fires in the braziers died, leaving only thin wisps of smoke.

The Hall went dark.

I caught movement in the far corners and flicked my gaze across the long room. Shadows, long and spindly, danced over the walls. I watched them, entranced, as they began to shift from shadows into … creatures, dark, furry animals, snaking across the floor, black eyes, black paws.

I took a step back. Then another. One of the shadows opened its black mouth and let out a squawk, like that of some poor hen after Aslaug had sliced off its head, one hard strike of her sharp ax.

So this was wolf magic.

It was vile.

It was wonderful.

The rogue wolf-priest whistled, high and shrill, and the shadow-creatures jerked left. They began to crawl up the nearest wall, oily black stains dancing to the wolf’s tune.

Her bulging eyes met mine, and she hissed, two pink lips opening to reveal small, sharp teeth.

“Do you see my magic? Do you see my power?”

“Yes,” I said.

I saw fear in her eyes, and hunger … not for food or safety or family, but for power. For fire.

She lifted her arm and drew a finger across the air in a short arc. The shadow-creatures fell back to the corners, like a gust of wind blowing dirt into a wall. They were simple, bland patches of dark once more.

I stood still, frozen, savalikk. My mind ached with the yew berry haze. It was hard to think …

The wolf spat again. The flames in the hearth rose up, two feet, three, until the entire Hall was as bright as daylight.

She craned her small, dirty neck and looked me in the eye. “Skroll craves a sacrifice. You will do.”

She fetched her knife from the far corner and returned to me. She reached up and put the blade to my throat. She smelled of unwashed skin, raw meat, and ash. I tilted my neck backward to give her more room …

Let her slit my neck, I thought as my mind sank deeper into the poison. Who cares? Who cares about anything but the blood and the screams and the life and the death and the fire …

A shadow appeared in the open front doors. A real one. My mother moved to the left, as silent as the stars, and took the bow and quiver from the hook on the nearby wall.

“Let the girl go, wolf. I know your magic, and its limits, and your grubby wolf spells can’t stop me from putting this arrow through your skull.”

The wolf hissed, and the hearth flames flickered and died, leaving only bright red embers. The Hall fell back into gloom. She hissed again and kept her knife to my neck. “I came here with a purpose, and I won’t leave until it’s done.”

My mother loosed her arrow. It flew past the girl’s head and nicked her ear.

The wolf muttered a string of curses as blood began to drip down onto her shoulder. She tossed her head, drops of blood splattering across my cheeks, and then lowered the knife.

I reached up and rubbed my neck with my palm.

The wolf slunk to the left, cloak swinging. She wiped a grimy hand down one of the Hall’s tapestries, leaving black marks across yellow thread. “I need a sacrifice,” she whispered. “Either I take one of these girls with me or I set this tapestry on fire and watch as this Hall burns to the ground. You choose.”

My mother turned to me. “Torvi. Come here.”

I went to her, and we stood shoulder to shoulder. The cold winter wind hit my back, and it made me feel strong. Vorse. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. I felt my mind begin to ease off the poison.

The wolf watched us, her expression cunning and cold. “I’ve sworn an oath to Skroll. One of you in this Hall will die by morning.”

“No. We won’t.” My mother raised the bow.

The wolf-priest dropped into a crouch. She began to howl like the wolf she thought she was, a high-pitched wail. She writhed, back arched, head thrust forward.

The hearth flames flared up, higher this time, four feet, then five. Her keening grew louder, and the air began to sizzle, to crackle, as if the Hall were on fire …

I felt my hair lift up, spread out, roots pulled tight. I felt the heat, felt the skin of my face begin to burn …

The arrow pierced the wolf’s neck clean through and came out