Wolven Path: Howls and Whimpers (4)

Read the previous chapters here: The Four (1) | Lullaby of Wolves (2) | Dead New World(3)

“There was a war. It was not a sudden one, but one that lasted for generations. It was a slow war, a war of attrition, some called it. And then there was the spark. A collision of worlds within our world. It wasn’t the first, but for many, it was the last war. The war that ended all wars…and everything with it.

“My grandfather told me about the war before, called it the Great War, and he told me about the consequent one. He told me tales of bravery, of vigilance, and of heroism. He told me of men who marched with nothing but their honor and their sense of duty. And he told me of the dead. The millions who died of no fault but being different.

“And then there was the Last War. It was not one of heroism or of tales. It was one of obliteration. He told me of the sparks. The world, to him, had ended.”

The doctor brought the tumbler to his lips and took a sip of that strange black drink. He had told me about the war before, and about the trees that grew from the shadow of the mushroom clouds. He told me of electricity and the wonders of the clouds. Yet, all of his tales were fragmented and disoriented. There was a somber tone to his voice, as if he had lived during that time long, long ago.

Illustration by Amr Abbas.

He spoke in a way different from everyone else I knew. Whenever I spoke of the Wolven Path, he would often speak of other things and the dangers of dwelling on such madnesses. Over the following weeks after he treated me, I longed for the world I had known, yet I enjoyed his company. He knew a lot about a lot of things, and he knew a lot of my people, those who survived over the grass and under the shadow of the moon. He told me that there were many dangers to the path I walk, and he insisted that I must reconsider, but the Wolven Path called for me.

Every night, he would apply the green paste on my leg; the grass, the cloth, and then he would let me rest. Every morning, I woke up to a good breakfast, sometimes of bread, often of mushrooms and leaves, sometimes of berries, and a sweet juice he called ‘honey’. He told me about the bees and the flowers they kissed and the ‘honey’ they made.

After I recovered, he had prepared a small sack for me to take with me. In it, he left me a jar of honey, a flask of water, and a container of the paste that he had made for me.

“Will you not go back to your settlement?” he asked before handing me the sack.

“I must find my comrades, Doctor,” I responded.

He watched me for a moment. Then he said, “I have never cared about the water that slipped between the cracks until recently. I have always thought that it was for me to watch the fish through the tank, but alas! Things have indeed changed. The world is whimpering, I can hear it. I can feel it. The earth shatters beneath my feet. The wind bellows, and the mountains that remain roar. The fire you seek burns like the sun. Its glow is no mere glitter, but the depth of Hel.”

He then patted my shoulder and went to the bed where I had slept for all those weeks. “Godspeed, Auiak,” he said as he lay.

“May we meet again,” I whispered as I marched out of the small house, Orson by my side. He barked thrice as he looked at the Doctor.

The woods awaited, and in the dark, the wind sang and the cold whistled. When night fell, we hastened to catch up to the path from which we strayed. It had been so long, and my companions, had they been alive, would be long, long gone. I knew the way of the stars, or what remained of them. And I followed the path of the Star of the Eve. For three days, we marched, only stopping for a brief rest or for a light meal. By the fourth night, we saw the mountain peaks.

Under the shadow of the moon, we sat down that night. Orson groaned and lay down. He placed his chin on my boot to keep me from standing.

“I, too, am tired,” I said as I watched the dog.

And while there was no one to watch us but the eyes of Fate, we decided that we must sleep if we were to continue our march in the morning. I wrapped the scarf loosely around my mouth and nose and slept.

“Auiak,” Calliope called. Her voice was like a whisper in the wind, lost, forgotten, all but to me.

She stood in the shadow of the moon, her arms extended to either side as if to call me for an embrace, and in her embrace I marched. I felt the warmth, and smelt the sweet scent of jasmine that surrounded her.

“You have been gone for so long,” she said, “they have forgotten your face.”

We woke up at the howl. When I opened my eyes, I saw two great yellow eyes and teeth as sharp as razors. My heart pounded as I watched the great beast rise. It was a great wolf of a shaggy gray coat, marked with scars and tints of blood on its back. The wolf bared its sharp, yellow teeth at my companion and me.

Written by Amr Abbas.

Illustration and cover image by Amr Abbas.