The Hollow Gods (The Chaos Cycle #1)

Chapter 45

Chapter

Forty-Five

Mirek

Mirek could hear his brother calling him, tugging at the edges of his mind. He turned to see the large black wolf emerge from the trees. His little brother—always so brazen.

“You shouldn’t come so close to the forest’s edge looking like that,” Mirek told him sternly. “They’re not like us. They’ll shoot us dead and skin us for our pelts if they catch us.”

The wolf snorted, unconcerned, and disappeared back into the darkness of the woods. His favourite companion—a mischievous raven—followed closely at his heels.

Although Mirek and his brother Vuk were both wolves and men, it was as though one brother had taken all the wolf, and the other all the man. Mirek had his reason; his brother had his instincts. Mirek tried to keep them safe, but Vuk wanted to live unfettered.

That would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the settlers and their village nestled in the nook of their forest. Mirek didn’t know why they chose this place. They didn’t like it. They feared the forest and told absurd tales of its malevolence.

They rarely ventured in. Sometimes they came with their guns to hunt game, but they preferred their cattle—an easier kill. Mirek knew his little brother was responsible for at least a few missing chickens.

The villagers flew into a panic with every vanished hen. They scurried about with their pitchforks in search of some sinister monster they were convinced was lurking behind their sheds and devouring their flock—feathers and all. They couldn’t fathom that a hungry animal had simply found easy prey. When they ventured beyond what they knew, they found evil stalking in every dark corner. Mirek couldn’t believe he and Vuk were the wolves and they the men. The younger wolf found them amusing, fearful, and pathetic. Mirek supposed they were, but any wise hunter knew that a fearful animal was at its most dangerous.

Wolves especially were the stuff of nightmares for these settlers. The howls frightened them, and their fables were filled with wild beasts and witches that gobbled children whole. Then there was the Dreamwalker—a living, malevolent spirit that struck more fear into those fools than anyone, though Mirek never saw any sign of her.

He resolved to keep his distance. Concealment was wisest.

Mirek found his brother on his knees one day, clutching the dirt and gasping for air as his ribs snapped back into place to make room for his lungs. Between the two of them, Vuk changed more frequently, but for that Mirek was thankful. They were deep in the woods this time, far from any danger of being caught—or so Mirek thought—when he heard the snap of twigs nearby.

It was a young woman. Her clear blue eyes pierced right through him, freezing him to the ground where he stood. She was one of them—those villagers. Her golden hair fell past her shoulders, her face whiter than snow. Vuk struggled to stand, using Mirek’s shoulder as a crutch. Mirek could see his brother was intrigued even as he fought to gather his bearings.

“Did I scare you, girl?” Vuk laughed in his usual wry humour. She looked at them both as though they were ghosts.

“Are you Indians?”

Vuk looked her up and down. “Indians?”

“I’ve heard that Indians can turn into animals at will.”

“Indians are human.”

“And you are not?”

“No.” He smiled. “Not always.”

At first, Mirek was mistrustful, fearing she would run back to the village and declare there were demons in the forest—wolves wearing the flesh of men. Vuk dismissed his concern, claiming the girl was not of that sort. This time, he may have been right.

She—Cassia—often went into the woods to gather herbs and mushrooms, against the wishes of her father and the other villagers. Over time, it became clear that her reasons for returning were more than medicinal.

Cassia was with them almost every day. Rather than fearing them, she was curious—though her fascination was directed more at Mirek’s brother. He, in turn, seemed to take pleasure in divulging their secrets and playing tricks on her, but Mirek was weary of these indiscretions. They didn’t need more attention.

Mirek was grateful his fur was the colour of bark. It was good camouflage and distinguished him from his notorious brother—especially when rumours spread of a demonic black wolf roaming the forest, attacking unsuspecting hunters. The Dreamwalker’s familiar, they kept saying, though Mirek suspected it was only Vuk. The black wolf didn’t need the Dreamwalker to motivate his recklessness. He was putting them in danger. He was putting Cassia in danger. Mirek urged her to stay away from Vuk, but she wouldn’t listen. She had made her choice.

Cassia was cleaning Vuk’s wound when Mirek walked into the grove.

“What happened?” Mirek asked.

“A hunter shot at me.”

“And?”

Vuk’s mahogany eyes were still bright from the violent encounter.

“I tore the rifle right out of his hands.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Cassia chastised him, though it sounded more like a plea.

“They’ll come back with more men to hunt you down. These villagers are not just fearful, they’re proud.” Mirek paused. “Did you hurt him?”

His brother’s lips twisted into a smirk. “He may have lost his trigger finger.”

The hunts became more frequent, more persistent. Almost daily, they came into the woods in search of Vuk—the demonic black wolf they believed was a spawn of Satan. Mirek remembered their parents teaching them of the battle between God and Satan—a battle the villagers enjoyed re-enacting. In the end, their parents were killed in God’s name, hunted down by men who believed them to be the devil’s messengers. Now they brought priests who called out to the spirit of the Dreamwalker, demanding she expose herself and her familiar.

It didn’t help that Vuk put every effort into driving them off when he caught them poaching. Men who hunted simply to mount an animal’s head on the wall were not worthy of the right to kill, he said.

Yet Mirek couldn’t help but think him foolish. How could he be so brazen? So bold and unafraid?

And Cassia—seeing them together sickened him. Her warm smiles, the brightness of her eyes, the melody of her laughter—it haunted Mirek. Why had she chosen his brother? What made him worthy of her?

“They’re warning me not to come back here,” she told Mirek one night. “They say I’ll be taken by the Dreamwalker. Some even think I am the Dreamwalker.”

“Nonsense.”

“It’s what they believe.”

It was Vuk’s fault the rumours had spread. The black wolf had become the great evil of the forest. He abided by the whims of the Dreamwalker and did her bidding. Now they were offering a reward for anyone who brought in his brother’s head.

“I would keep you safe,” Mirek told her. “I’m more careful than he is.”

He searched her eyes for any sign of acceptance but found nothing resembling the warmth she radiated towards his brother. She did not speak, and in doing so spoke what Mirek most dreaded to hear.

He disappeared further into the woods, running from those clear blue eyes.

The villagers were falling ill—though it was a disease of the mind that consumed them. It spread like wildfire from one person to the next until dozens were afflicted. The Dreamwalker had taken her next victim, they said, and the name of this victim was one Mirek couldn’t bear to hear.

Cassia.

He knew she hadn’t been spirited away by any Dreamwalker, but only by the black wolf.

And yet they continued to whisper of her curse, this spirit whose thirst for vengeance was insatiable, eternal.

Mirek wondered, was the Dreamwalker even real? When had her story begun? How could he believe a story about an exiled girl when there was no record of her having existed?

For Mirek, there was no Dreamwalker.

There was only the black wolf.