The Fisherman and the Wolf

By Alexis Halloran

SHE, UNLAWFUL, WOLF, FISHERMAN

For as long as Kian could remember Wolves were considered a threat to his people. In the dead of night they came to scavenge over provisions and shred vulnerable livestock, only to drag carcasses to their lair. Trails wound through the village of blood, guts and torn flesh, deep into the forest and beyond to the sheer mountain cliffs. There were many attempts to salvage their losses, but few returned, missing limbs or mauled to a mortal end. Each story from the Elders concluded with the one great law, “all forms of lycanthrope are to be killed on sight, these beasts shall no longer bring disease and devastation onto our world.” All who hear it must recite and obey.

The children played “Wolves and Men” a sport to capture and “kill” the “pups” in hiding. But none desired the part of the pups so a weapon decided the losers, by the hilt and spear pointing out its prey once fallen from the sky.

At the ripe age of thirteen they learned the true art of killing beasts. Boys and girls stood in rows and were given staffs fixed with chiseled blades. For hours they slashed and jabbed at berry stained targets, that were slabs of tree trunk as thick as a balled fist. The first to pierce through the red wolf face earned themselves a prize; extra rations, valuable items or leather gear. Kian himself earned most, the quickest shoes, most valuable armour and the sharpest of weapons. He held the record fastest speed, sunrise to high noon, with hatred unlike any other.

His own Mother was of the few who had not survived the attacks. Creatures snuck into their hut at night when Kian was only a babe. They traced the sweet scent of new born flesh and sought its savoury taste. It was rumoured his mother woke from instinct and attempted to fend the monsters off. But there were too many, and she was slaughtered despite her bravery. Kian’s father arrived too late for her but tossed the rest back to where they came, protecting his son with a powerful fury turned to grief. Father used grief to find harmony in all things, but that rage was handed down to the child, who sought to one day avenge his dear mother. And that day would soon come for Kian.

In mid-winter frost clung to every branch, a blanket of snow coated the forest floor and the biting wind slipped beneath their clothes. Kian had then grown into a young man, he hunted with the children to build stores for the cold months ahead. However, for days they could not find any trace of life; nor were there roots or berries left to forge. Their land was never scarce before, in summer they hunted, fished and gathered at will. Yet now even ice fishing yielded only thin fry no longer than a finger. If they had not already gorged through Yuletide, they may have had enough to survive. So, it would be left to the hunters to save their starving people.

And their keenly deprived ears would catch the soft crunch of swift steps in the dense powder and rustling underbrush. Kian drew his bow with quiet sharp precision, the other boys mimicked, aiming blindly at the empty white landscape. But before they could release a breath, he saw it. A black snout and blue eyes colder than ice, gliding through the woodland ahead. Without hesitation he darted after, leaving the rest in a cloud of dust. He wove through the trees smooth as needle and thread, having memorized each trunk and every bush of his familiar forest.

No longer was it for sustenance, now it became law. Because having sighted the wolf made it his duty to kill the beast. Four legs were often too quick for a man to follow, but Kian never lost sight, owing his endurance to that deeply cultivated rage. The white coat matched snow so perfectly, the black features of anxious tracking eyes seemed to float through the landscape.

Finally reaching a wide glade he steadied his pace with expert skill, and drew the bow as they fell in line. Kian focused on his beating heart, dilating pupils and releasing breath. In the very instant the arrow found its target and he relaxed his grip, Kians vision dropped. Oblivious to the thick roots, his foot caught beneath, hence his falling sight. Even as he fell, the arrow shot up again, and in one blink the shot was realigned. But the wolf was already gone, having slipped beyond the shield of the tree line.

Though Villagers did not speak ill of Kian, he took the blame for himself. Not only had he lost their next meal but he also felt unlawful for allowing that beast to roam free. Worst of all was the pang of regret in not avenging his Mother. Kian vowed then to strike down the next Wolf he faced, even if it took his own life.

Somehow they survived those dreadful winter months, but their anticipation for a fertile summer was quickly stanched. Unlike it had once been, the rain season was short, crops became wilted and the land fell barren. The only good came in Zia finally accepting Kians hand. They were to be wed before the frost could settle, to ensure the cold months could not steal their last bit of joy.

Father tried to stop them, but no one would listen. The lands could not be stripped, for anything to remain in the years to come. As an elder, he pleaded for them to give back to the land as much as had been taken, but it would not be so. The villagers plucked every berry, fish or beast, from forest, sky and sea; desperate to get ahead. It was a race only met by their silver backed, razor toothed rivals following closely behind.

By Autumn the village was starving again, so a council meeting was held. On a peninsula, immigration passed the mountains was impossible, in fear of being overpowered by Wolves. The minimum portions divvied up were only enough for thirty persons until spring, but fifty existed in their ranks. First to eat were the vulnerable- the young, elders, pregnant and then the sickly- and the warriors last. Along with the twenty bereaved of necessity, Kian, his father and another elder gave up their portions so that others might survive. The elder lived to seventy, one week following and Kians father only one month more, having given their lives to spare another.

There were few lucky hunts, but rabbits and deer were hardly enough. They fended the wolves off successfully, sparing human lives in exchange. It would seem they too were at their weakest.

Father had tried to warn them, but empty stomachs made for empty hearts and minds. So nothing had changed, and without food nine more lives were lost through the Winter. The last lived to see the snow melt, the budding spring flowers, and the rebirth of the forest. With the turning of seasons they were blessed to bring a new member into the world. Zia gave birth to a stunning blue eyed girl, bringing them back to forty persons. This child turned Kians world upside-down, she became his greatest love and fear at once. After all that had come of his family, how could he think to protect her from the horrors of that world.

With new life there also came death, and in grief, a greed was born again. So they hunted and forged, not even leaving enough for birds to scavenge or maggots to rot. Kian could see the same events unfolding, but he was no elder so he had no say in council. Through Summer and late into Autumn the land would be ripped of all her life and beauty.

Kian learned much from his father before passing, but the most valuable were his lessons passed down as a fisherman. There was something to be said about the peace of weaving nets, hunting for placement and waiting in each other's company. His favourite memories were with his father in the hours awaiting the success of their catch. It was always a celebration of who brought the greatest haul to the evening feast. But one tradition remained a secret between them, they would select the healthiest looking salmon, and toss it back to sea. Kian cried as a boy, because it would always be his meatiest catch. And each time, father would recite his own law, “the fish are not our own, they belonged to Mother Earth. Nor are the animals we hunt, not even the Wolves. All creatures deserve life as much as any Man, they are only for what is necessary. Our duty is to replenish these resources, if no one were to return what is taken, there would soon be nothing left.”

Years later, as a man, Kian surprisingly caught a good haul with one of the largest fish he had yet seen. Before bringing his rewards to the village, he tossed that giant pink Salmon back to sea, and no one was the wiser. Except for Father smiling down from his place among the gods.

But he would find the village had done exactly the opposite, having hunted and gathered everything in the greater expanse. No matter the age or shape, the young and sick carcasses of every creature lay in a small heap at the village centre. Adding to the collection with his basket of fish, his stomach lurched gazing into the milky orbs of a bloody mangled fawn.

Snaps, slurps and snarls awoke him in the night. His instincts told him to go for the weapons, before creeping out of their hut toward the noise. The village slept softly despite what was at its center, scouring through their provisions. Squatting in the mud, her pale bare skin and ribbons of hair shimmered whiter than the moon light. She ate like a fiend from his basket of fish, but did not seem to notice him.

Once he stepped in line with her, she perked up and snapped from a trance. When their eyes met, he saw her for what she truly was. And the illusion of a naked woman in the moonlight was replaced by the silver body of a beast. He could have killed her in a mere 3 paces and cut her down for the monster she was. But Kian stood there shocked by the trick his eyes had played. Was it a dream?

Whilst he strategized, the wolf gathered a mouthful of flesh. And as she bolted for the trees, Kians instinct told him to chase. Again weaving through darkness together, their syncronized movements became something of a dance among the trees.

His fathers lessons flashed with guilt, until the imaginations of his mother, torn from flesh, replaced them. Then all that remained was hatred for every wolf that lived in her place. This time he prepared for the glade ahead, his bow ready and his feet gliding over the rough terrain. His vision narrowed and he steadied the arrowhead, but upon release it only caught her foot. He hadn’t drawn back the bowstring enough and the strength of the shot was lost, a novice mistake.

Fortunately he kept pace after the failed shot, and did not lose sight of her, now she was wounded. He could not aim, however, darting between branches and shrubs. They could have ran for hours, deeper in the forest than he had ever been. That was when he saw the ridge of the mountains, and the trees opening ahead. So he attempted to focus one last arrow, but it splintered on the rock face as she escaped inside.

The sky was brighter, lighting the steps behind him, but Kian did not hesitate on entering the dark abyss of the caves. He had his torch and a pouch of prized flint to light his way. Striking the fire bright as the rage in his body, he followed the echo of distant scrapes on the damp rocks and the drips of her blood. He crouched to silence his heavy steps, soundlessly stalking his prey with his spear at the ready.

Fire brought the walls alive, showing him threats with every curve in the rock. His heart pounding to leave his chest drew him back to reality. He walked straight into the Den of wolves. He might as well have offered himself up with herbs and spices. But his blood screamed for revenge, so he could not turn back. And it was too late, he heard the scraping claws cease, and he carried himself to the end. Kians eyes reached the small pack, and he threw up his arms intending to release his cultivated rage into every inch of silver covered flesh. But then that colour of the woman’s hair glowing in moonlight flashed in his memory. And his eyes were forced to make sense of the scene.

A mother guarding her small pup in the corner of the cave, shaking in the fire light. She snapped her jowls protectively, but he could now see she was starved and weak. Her eyes told a different story, wide and terrified for the life of her young. He saw his own mothers eyes gleaning back at him, petrified by the monster before her. And both Mothers eyes closing, preparing for their death.

Then the pup's shimmering blue eyes peered out from under its mother, and Kian saw his daughter. She slept softly at the village safely in Zias arms, but it could have just as likely been them. Who was the real monster here? He saw his hands holding menacing weapons, still shaking from a primal instinct to rip skin from bone.

Kian broke down, realizing the truth. Wolves were not the beasts, they were weakened and starved by the greed of his people. Humans were the real monsters, clearing the land for themselves. These poor desperate creatures were forced to risk everything, for even a trace of food in the village. Of course they were forced to fight back against the beasts who destroyed their land.

Shivering in shame, he left the darkness of the caves behind to enter the morning light. Kian fell to his knees and shouted to his father in the heavens for his regret at not understanding sooner. Father gave his life to spare others, only to see his gift used against the vulnerable.

As a boy they were told stories of the arrival of their people from the previous lands. Kian had been convinced the animals left, rivers dried up of their own accord, and life itself ceased to exist. It was told his people were forced to leave the barren lands to find life elsewhere. But he now saw those decades of lies. Humans were responsible for bringing disease and devastation into the world, not anything else.

He traced his steps back through the greenery that was once more familiar than the lines on his palm. But now the forest felt foreign, somber, and empty of all life.

As the sun reached its peak Kian arrived back to the dwellings. It appeared the village gathered in celebration preparing for an early feast. A huntsman stood atop the pile of carcasses, boasting of his victory. He was the biggest villager with muscles as thick as his skull. The last of the sickly creatures had been added to their collection whilst he was away.

Kian began to yell insults of the damage they had done. Were these the last of the animals? Would anyone survive the coming Winter? Kian shouted, “you people are more savage than the Wolves, you are the monsters of this land not them!” And the village gasped in horror.

The Huntsman’s smirk was quickly wiped off with a tackle to the waist from Kian below. They brawled over that pile of dead bodies, until broken apart. Both busted and bruised, fumed at being unable to finish the battle. The village supported the other fighter to his feet and stood by his side.

Kian kicked the basket of fish in fury, and watched the shredded chunks of salmon fall to the dirt. Their message was clear, they supported a Hunter and themselves, over any other life. They were going to kill everything, including themselves. And he could tell them no different.

Father had tried to warn them, but they were not going to listen.

Finding himself in Zia’s arms, they knew there was no place for them in the village any longer. As he watched his daughter sleep serenely, Kian promised to teach her to love mother earth, as his father had done for him. If they learned that lesson sooner then he, then the children were all that could bring their world back from devastation.

They discussed their departure to hike passed the mountains, back to the previous lands. They had to risk their said to be foes, or the villagers would have them instead. They could only hope he was right in assuming, the Wolves were not the monsters they were made out to be. There was nowhere left to go, so they prayed to the gods that life had return beyond the mountains while the monsters were away.

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