Howling Bonds

20

“Nataya…” He let out a sorrowful sigh of regret and despair. “I can’t escape this dreaded name, yet no matter how much we hurt each other, our fates remain intertwined in this cruel joke of fate. The entire universe is just a collection of misdirected lies and unrealistic expectations, and I can’t help but fall into this trap, even as the most difficult times try to break me. All I want is for her to appear before me and deliver the final blow.”

The name, Natalya, had never been uttered by the members of my pack. It was not my mother’s name.

I held my breath as the fog grew darker and thicker, searing my skin. My father’s prayers rang around me, and I finally understood why Faye had spoken of the secret. I had not been born out of love and the blessing of the sacred tree, but had been an act of tribal duty. Understanding sunk into me like a brand, and I understood why Plank was so hard on me, using rules, fists, and feet to torture and control. That was the answer. Then, I noticed I had cut the bottom of my foot on a branch and my arm was bleeding from a gash.

The chilly evening breeze blew past me, rustling the leaves and causing Plank to look up. Without thinking, I acted without choice, like when I was a child trying to escape my father’s view and I threw the firecracker.

The putrid stench of sulfur filled the air. I leaped from the tree and my vision was awash in white light. A mass of bees descended from the sacred tree, chasing Plank in a cloud of smoke. They each had tiny pheromone trackers glued to their backs, like little flying gauges. I sprinted forward, listening to their buzzing, the symphony of the night, Plank’s pleas, the muffled thud of the railing smashing into clay, and the sound of broken bones hitting metal. Something didn’t feel right. It shouldn’t have taken this long.

Two hunters burst out of the hedgerow, pinning me to the mud. I was eleven years old, but felt like a ghost in the living world. They pressed their weapons into my ribs and snarled. “Don’t move, little wolf boy!”

Then I saw him emerge from the shadows at the far end. Andrew Fox cut an imposing figure draped in leather armor with a long knife strapped to his thigh. His presence was as cold and resolute as death itself, his unspoken commands more powerful than any emperor or tyrant.

I realized Faye had betrayed us, and I was an accomplice.

My father’s mighty form blocked Andrew’s view, despite the hovering bees that buzzed in his ears. I could smell the stink of hemlock radiating from their yellow-black shells—the witch’s spell, enough to seep past my father’s iron exterior and into his blood. “Andrew Fox,” he rumbled with a booming resonance. “To the death.”

The memory of my father stationed before this same man fifteen years ago flashed in the back of my mind. Not another tragedy! A rush of raged filled me as I fought against the hunters that held me captive and lunged toward Andrew Fox, baying like a wild animal. “You bastard! You’re going down!”

I took a few steps and stood between Andrew and my father. Fury and hatred ran through my veins like boiling lava. I could feel the energy of the tree surge around us, the fluttering wings of the bees, and the power of my father’s iron will.

Without warning, I dashed toward Andrew and threw a punch at his face. But it was too late; he had already pulled out his long knife and stabbed me in the chest. Pain seared through my body as I felt myself being lifted off the ground. His face changed shape and soon enough, he looked like Uncle Memphis, then Yorick, and Faye.

“It’s just your illusion,” he said. “This has already happened fifteen years ago.”

The little buggers circled around to Faye’s side, following his voice as it froze in a halo of light. His eyes were distant and placid, as if they had never held life. I felt my chest heaving as a tumult of emotions rushed up through my throat. My father charged toward him, and with a single move, he smashed Andrew’s face back into place, yanked the blade from my chest, and drove it deep into his heart. A shrill wail rose in the air, one that seemed to transform him into something else.

A frenzied surge of fury rushed over me like a raging train in the night, shaking and muffling everything else around it. The tall trees rumbled as I rushed up and suppressed the howl that was welling inside me. My hands turned into claws as I sprinted forward and threw myself at Andrew, who flipped me onto the ground and shattered my spine with one swift kick. I felt something wild struggle within me before exploding outward with an almighty boom, crushing all souls within miles.

A boulder pressed against my chest and my internal organs refused to give up the struggle with the world, but the past came up unbidden. The summer cicadas chirped, a darkness so deep and nothingness so profound that the world seemed dead.

After what felt like centuries, I heard a familiar voice in the darkness. “Nell,” Emilia’s voice cut through the dense black fog like a white bird above the harbor, drumming its wings in the pouring rain. “Stick close to me and don’t drift off. The curse may try to drag you down, but your spirit will always stay strong.”

I followed the sound of her voice as she led the way. It was almost like it had a sparkle of its own. “Emilia…” I muttered. “Am I still in the human world?”

“Of course.” The air felt hot and sticky, the smell of oil and mud heavy in my nostrils. I heard the dull thud of an air-conditioning fan, a few horns, the clanking of a motorcycle tire against concrete, and the sound of an engine revving up. ”Rem said I was human and couldn’t do this. But I worked overtime to save your life.”

My eyes opened and my head felt filled with a soggy newspaper. As my vision cleared, I noticed I was in some flea-bag motel room. The balcony door was wide open and the moist Seattle air blew in from all sides. There stood Emilia on the railing, her body silhouetted against the night sky.

For fifteen years, the same dream haunted me. It came to me every time something earth-shattering happened—like when I was cursed. I tried to call numbers that weren’t real and even if I could find someone on the line, they never answered my questions. Late at night I’d listen to these alien metallic tones from all over the globe—from Cantonese women, from Indian men. They seemed far away and dead for ages. There was a thick lump in my throat, so I grabbed a can of cold Coke off the bedside table. As soon as it touched my tongue, countless bubbles burst, reminding me I was alive.