Into the Bloody Wood

As the soft shadows of early evening began creeping over the village, the men wrapped themselves in furs and trudged down the path to the main gate. Beth stood at her kitchen window as they went, fingers gripping the edge of the scratched wooden bench. All it had taken was the death of one arrogant woodcutter to rouse them from their barstools and take up their spears and bows. They would be looking for the wolf that ripped his throat out, but not for her daughter.

She collected her bits of prepared food to wrap in a cloth. Two pieces of bread, two apples, a skin of water. When Beth had sent Lizzy off to her grandmother's three days ago it was with a basket full of food, but her daughter had to run from wolves that killed the woodcutter that basket of bread and jam was probably abandoned somewhere on the floor.

Beth shoved the food package into her satchel, swinging it around her shoulders. She glared at her husband as she passed him, asleep in his rocking chair by the unlit hearth. When he stopped working at midday she assumed it was to join the men on the hunt and look for Lizzy. Anger had squeezed her heart he drunkenly dropped himself in that damn chair and fell asleep with sweat and sawdust still in his hair.

Beth had spent years waiting for this man. Not today though. Wolves waited for no one.

Her old trunk had sat under their bed for over a decade, though her regular dusting left no dust that could blow into her eyes when she pulled it out. She could see the sunlight slowly fading outside. With quick hands, she pulled her on her old hunting boots and double-laced them. Her father’s old crossbow and arrows were still in good condition, so she strapped those to her back and a long knife around her thigh.

She had tried to refuse her father when he gave her the old hunting gear. Now she was grateful for his stubbornness.

She slammed the trunk lid down and kicked it back under the bed. Her husband was still asleep in the cold living room. She hadn’t made him dinner. Had better spent her time hemming up her skirt several inches above the ground in case she needed to run. He would be angry when she returned, not just because she abandoned him but because she would do what he couldn't. She would find Lizzy and bring her back. Without another glance, she let her creaking front door slam behind her as she left.

Her cottage wasn’t close to the high wooden wall that encircled the village of haphazard houses. Being the village’s only carpenter, her husband had preferred to be closer to the centre of things. So unlike her father, who had raised her in their forest cottage.

She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head as she weaved her way around the backs of the buildings. On the main path, someone would stop her, question her. The village gate shut just after sunset, but since two days ago when the woodcutter’s body was found the gate had remained shut even during the day.

Beth had thought, hoped, that Lizzy had spent the night at her grandmother’s until she saw the slash marks in the body someone had dragged into the village centre. All that blood. She had begged her husband to go searching for Lizzy. She had pleaded and screamed at the gatemen. She had bashed her fists against the gate until they were bleeding and she couldn’t see through her tears and the women had taken her gently by the arms and brought her home to sob in an empty bed.

The sun was dropping fast behind the village walls, illuminating the bottoms of the clouds in pink and orange. Small candles softly lit the windows of the houses she passed. Beth hoped she had timed it right. She hoped they hadn’t shut the gate yet.

She approached the last house before the gate, hiding herself in the shadows and avoiding the windows. The guardsmen were laughing, probably playing cards. Their own lamps had already been lit and the small streaks of light in the sky were slowly fading. She peeked around to look at the gate. Still open.

Beth picked up the biggest rock that lay near her feet. She took a deep breath, forcing the tension out of her shoulders. Her arms were strong and muscled from her constant housework and when she flung the rock at the lamp in their card table, it fell to the ground and shattered.

Immediately the shouting started and Beth darted around the other side of the house and raced out of the open gate without looking back. She could still hear them yelling, though she didn’t know if it was at her or the lamp. She didn’t stop to look. She didn’t have time.

There was a few hundred metres from the village to the forest tree line. Each time her foot hit the ground the tremor of it pulsed up through her leg, along her bones to rattle her spine. She wasn’t as fast as she used to be, but her body couldn’t give way to the aches and pains tonight.

Beth broke into the forest with heaving breaths and a wild heart. She shoved herself behind a tree off the path as she caught her breath, shoving her hands over her mouth to quiet herself. She heard no footsteps behind her, no gatemen screaming for her to come back. She slumped against the tree, finders gripping the flaking bark for support. They hadn’t seen her. Or maybe they just hadn’t cared enough to chase her.

She readjusted her satchel and crossbow which had become askew during her mad dash. The forest sprawled out in unrecognisable shadows before her. The last wispy rays of sun had faded into the deep blue of the night, illuminated by an almost full glowing moon. It was the only thing that illuminated her path through the woods.

She knew the forest, even if she didn't walk through it often anymore, and traced the familiar track to her mother’s house, constantly scanning either side of the darkened path for any sign of her daughter. A dropped basket, a tear of cloth from the grey cloak Beth’s mother had made for Lizzy’s last birthday. There was nothing but grass and fallen leaves.

Beth’s eyes were heavy and the moon was high when she heard the howling. She froze, unslinging and loading the crossbow as fast as she could. Pointing aimlessly into the darkness, she held her breath as the wolf howled again, the sound ringing across through the forest. The cool night air settled on her cheeks now that she was still. She heard no breaking of twigs and saw no movement amongst the dimly lit trees. Slowly, she turned in a circle then lowered the crossbow and continued.

Soon after Beth emerged in the clearing of her mother’s cottage. The windows were dark but wood had been chopped and stacked by the front door. She pressed a hand against her chest, almost crying in relief. Lizzy had been here. She had made it to the cottage, at least.

Beth pulled the key from its hiding place in the pot by the door when she heard a low growl behind her. She froze, ice rolling across her skin, turning around slowly while trying to shove the key into the lock. She had a better chance of getting inside than shooting whatever was behind her.

The wolf stood just before the tree line, slowly placing one paw in front of the other to creep closer to her. It didn’t take its yellow off her but stopped moving when a cloaked figure emerged into the clearing behind it.

Beth couldn't see her face, but even in the dim light, she recognised the way her daughter walked.

“Lizzy!” Beth moved to rush towards her daughter but hesitated when the wolf growled some more. Any sudden movements and both of them could die.

Her daughter didn't seem to notice the danger. Relief and panic tore through her chest as Lizzy ran across the clearing and jumped into her arms. “Mama!” she cried into her shoulder.

Beth turned the both of them around, putting herself between Lizzy and the wolf. She tried to put the key in the lock again, not being able to see it in the dark. “We have to get inside!”

“No! It’s okay,” Lizzy said.

Beth ignored her, unsteady hands finally finding the keyhole.

“Mama!” Lizzy pushed Beth back, away from the door. She steadied herself, head whipping around to the wolf behind them. He hadn’t moved. “The wolf is my friend.”

In the moonlight, Beth could see the blood around his muzzle. She could feel the vomit in her throat. “Wolves are not friends Lizzy. We need to get inside, now.”

“No,” Lizzy insisted, grabbing her mother’s hands. “The wolf has been walking with me to grandmother’s house for years now. He won’t hurt me. Or you! I promise.”

Beth took a few moments to understand, holding back a reprimand for putting herself in danger with a beast. Lizzy’s face was dirty, her tired eyes hovering over dark, purple circles. She was alive, though.

She glanced at the wolf again, turning so she could keep it in her peripheral. “Did that wolf kill the woodcutter?” Beth asked.

Lizzy looked to the ground, drawing lines in the dirt with the tip of her worn-out shoe. “He tried to hurt me first,” she said quietly.

“The woodcutter did?”

Lizzy nodded, sniffling. “He tried to pull me into the forest when I was walking here, but Wolf scared him away.” She wiped at her eyes. “He must’ve run ahead and broken into the cottage somehow because – because he was already here and Grandma-”

Lizzy collapsed into tears, throwing herself against her mother. Beth clutched onto her daughter, staring at the door to her childhood home. Lizzy wouldn’t be getting any more cloaks from her grandmother.

“I buried her next to Grandpa,” she said through sobs.

Beth looked down at her crying child and noticed the splotches of mud dirtying her cloak. No, not mud, Beth realised. She kept stroking Lizzy’s hair, offering words of comfort, trying not to cover her mouth in horror at the sight of how much dried blood stained her daughter’s once-perfect cloak.

The wolf watched them carefully. The blood was his doing. The killing was his doing. Beth had never been more grateful to an animal.

Wolf's ears pricked up. He spun around to face the forest. Beth squinted in the direction he was looking. It was back towards the path, and she could hear the sound of the village men coming back from their hunt for the wolf that killed the woodcutter. The wolf that saved her daughter.

“Into the cabin, now,” Beth ordered. “Wolf too.”

Lizzy beckoned for Wolf to come and he followed them into the cottage without complaint. Beth knew that there might be tracks outside, but it was too late to clear them.

Kindling and wood had already been arranged in the fireplace. Beth quickly lit it, shaking out the match as she raced into the bedroom.

“Take your cloak off. Hide it and wash your face. Tell Wolf to get under the bed,” she ordered.

Lizzy jumped into action as Beth rummaged through her mother’s chest of drawers, pulling out exactly what she needed. She could hear the shouts of the village men as they drew closer. Suddenly appearing in the forest when the gates were meant to be barred and missing a bedridden mother would raise questions Beth didn’t want to answer.

“What are you doing Mama?” Lizzy’s face was clean again. She’d changed into one of the spare dresses her grandmother had kept for her.

Beth finished putting on her mother’s frilled nightgown and fastened the embroidered bonnet over her head. She climbed under the handmade quilts and settled herself amongst the pillows. “I’m pretending to be Grandma.”