Page 28 of The Poison Season

“Why do you stay here?” Jaren asked. “I couldn’t stand everyone judging me like that all the time.”

“People will judge you anywhere you go. I know who I am. Why should I care what they think of me?”

Jaren wished he had that kind of confidence, the kind that only came with knowing who you were. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Lupin. I’m not looking to marry anytime soon. I haven’t even chosen a trade yet.”

She ran her finger around the edge of her pint glass and smiled. “Oh, silly boy. Who said anything about marriage?”

Jaren couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lupin’s wolfish grin. And every time he tried to find a comfortable position in his bed, a few notes of the first song he’d heard from Endla played in his mind. Jaren had never had the experience of getting a song caught in his mind before, and he thought it might be driving him a little mad. Maybe that explained Lupin and her strangeness.

Or maybe it was simply that he didn’t know the whole song, just that one little strand of notes, and some part of his brain kept snagging on it, trying to fill in what came next. If he’d had any musical inclination, he could have played the notes out on an instrument and attempted to finish the song. But he didn’t know anything about scales or melodies, and he certainly couldn’t play an instrument. So he was stuck with those same notes replaying in his mind. Yes, a person could definitely go mad from that.

Around midnight, when he was not a whit closer to sleep than he’d been when he first went to bed, Jaren threw back his covers, pulled on his trousers, and crept down the ladder as quietly as he could. As he tiptoed past his father, who generally slept so soundly that not even an earthquake could wake him, Jaren grabbed his boots from the hearth and slipped silently into the night.

An intense rainstorm had passed through this evening, leaving the air cool enough to help clear his head a bit. If he walked for a bit, he might be able to clear the song away altogether. It wasn’t the most brilliant plan to wander alone in the woods at night, but anything was better than slowly going mad in his own bed.

Unfortunately, Jaren had a habit of finding a topic that troubled him and ruminating on it until his thoughts circled around and around, like a dog chasing its tail. And if he wasn’t going to think about the music—and he wasn’t going to think about the music, damn it—there was little to think about other than Lupin.

Lupin, with her honey hair and meadow-green eyes, with her hollow laugh and her relentless flirting. With her insinuation that she wasn’t looking for marriage but was willing to do other things. Jaren knew if any of his sisters did those other things before marriage, they would be permanently ruined. But then, Lupin was already ruined in the eyes of the townspeople.

Despite the fact that he was surrounded by girls, Jaren found them predictable in one thing and one thing only: their unpredictability. One moment Story would be laughing and joking, and the next, she was angry about something. And worse still, she would refuse to acknowledge that she was angry. Tadpole’s crushes were as fleeting as a summer storm, and Summer, arguably the most even-tempered of the three, was not immune to changes in mood that could leave a man reeling in confusion. And these were the girls he’d grown up with! How could he possibly be expected to understand the motivations of a near stranger?

His mother, on the other hand. His mother he had always understood. She would get angry, of course, but her reasons were never a mystery. He had left his muddy boots by the hearth again, or he’d burned the bread because he was daydreaming, or he’d gone to market for apples and come home with potatoes instead. If she was upset about something, she would excuse herself to go for a walk or retreat to the bedroom she and Father had shared in their old, larger house, and when she came out she was herself again. She’d even offer an explanation of why she’d been upset, if Father couldn’t figure it out on his own. And when Jaren’s sisters were particularly volatile, Mother would tell the men to go make themselves useful, and by the time they returned, everything was right as rain again.

You’re spinning, Jaren, he thought as he meandered down the forest trail. He was so distracted he wasn’t even sure which trail he had taken, but he supposed it didn’t matter, as long as he returned by it when he went back.

Something crossed his path, a low, stealthy creature, most likely a fox. A night bird called somewhere in the distance, and every now and then he would hear something small rustle in the bushes. All typical nighttime forest activity. Less than he’d expect, in fact.

Suddenly, a long, mournful howl raised the hairs on the back of Jaren’s neck. He couldn’t help thinking of the monstrous wolf the townspeople spoke of. He hadn’t even brought a knife with him, he realized. He was as defenseless out here as a loaf of bread.

Still, the howl had been far-off, and turning around wasn’t necessarily the better choice, since he couldn’t be sure which direction it had come from. He kept walking, though his thoughts were decidedly not on the whimsies of women anymore. The howl came again, and this time, it sounded closer. Jaren froze on the trail, listening. Somewhere above him, an owl hooted and took off from its perch, likely in search of prey of its own. He glanced around at his surroundings and recognized the split tree off to his left, the circle of toadstools to his right. He realized with a sinking sensation that he’d done it again.

He’d taken the trail to Endla.

Another howl, this time much closer than the last. Jaren spun around, attempting to tell which direction it was coming from, until he was dizzy and even more lost than before. He laughed, a little hysterically, and wondered if he truly was going mad, if the magic of Endla had indeed ensnared him like a siren’s song. How else could he explain why his feet kept finding this same trail? How else could he defend the decision to go walking, alone, in the middle of the night?

The next sound Jaren heard wasn’t a howl, and it was much, much closer. It was the low, rumbling snarl of a predator. He turned slowly, eyes frantically searching the darkness, until he saw the two glowing eyes staring back. And they were far too large to belong to anything other than a massive, hungry wolf.

He bolted. Instinctively, he knew this creature wasn’t going to back down no matter how big Jaren made himself, no matter how much yelling and flapping and stick flailing he did. This animal was clearly the alpha of this forest, probably the entire mountain, and one measly, defenseless human was not going to scare it away.

By some miracle, Jaren didn’t stumble as he sprinted down the trail. His feet, at least, seemed to know the way. He could hear the wolf behind him, not snarling now, just breathing as it ran, and something told him that the beast wasn’t actually trying to catch him, because surely it was faster on its four legs and with its keen night vision than he could be. Was it trying to tire him? Or was it driving him exactly where it wanted him to go: into the waiting jaws of the rest of its pack?

Jaren didn’t have the breath in his lungs to scream for help, and he knew that no one would come if he did. He was completely alone out here, by his own daft will, and he was going to die that way. He hoped there’d be enough left of him for his family to identify his remains, although the loss would be devastating regardless. The girls had just lost their beloved mother, after all.I should have known better, Jaren thought bitterly. Even if he didn’t value his own life enough to stay away from this forest and that cursed island, he should have put his sisters’ safety and comfort first.

As his feet beat down the trail, that inane, insidious song returned to his frantic mind, and to his surprise, it calmed him, in a way. He focused on the melody, rather than the fact that a beast that was all claws and fangs and hunger was just behind him, its breath hot on his back.

And with what little breath Jaren had left, he said a prayer to whoever was listening to spare his life.

Chapter Seventeen

Leelo was only halfway home when she heard the howl. She’d foolishly fallen asleep below the pine tree. Now, her entire body erupted in goose bumps, and she could feel every hair on her arms standing straight up, like a lightning storm had just passed through.

For a moment she stood stock-still, wondering if she’d imagined it. Wolves never came this far up the mountain, and this one had sounded so close it could be on Endla itself. But then it happened again and again, and Leelo felt the sound in every part of her, as if this were a song she’d known all her life.

“Tate,” she breathed.

A sudden gust of wind blew past, making the trees around her creak like old, forgotten doors, and Leelo knew this time that she wasn’t imagining things. The Forest was speaking.

And a wolf was at the doorstep.

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