The Wild (17 page)

My wolf
, he thought, and for a moment his heart leaped. Was it possible that this wondrous woman had been with him all that time in the wild? But he closed his eyes, certain that was not the case. The wolf had been something that Lesya was not, and vice versa. He would have
known
. Lying there, he breathed in her scent, and it was like nothing he had smelled before.

“I can show you,” she said softly.

“Show me what?” He opened his eyes, reveling in the sight of her once again.

A slow smile grew on her face. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Yes, I can show you!” She clasped his hands and pulled him from the bed. “Outside, Jack! Come with me.” And she turned and rushed to the door.

Jack swayed where he stood, dizzied. But her sudden enthusiasm was catching, and he felt invigorated once more. “What are you going to show me, Lesya?”

She stood in the open doorway, the sun throwing her shadow back into the cabin. Jack imagined that shadow flexing and changing: a bear, a fox, a snake.

“I'll show you how to answer when the wild calls.” And then she was gone from the doorway, back out into the open.

As Jack followed, Lesya's laughter drew him on. She took him to sit below the apple tree, and he smelled the blossom that was impossible here in the Yukon.

“This is the call of the coyote,” Lesya said, and the sound that came from her mouth could have issued from no human throat. Jack drew back a little, unsettled. But when Lesya stopped and tilted her head, listening as an answering call came in from far away, he could not help smiling.

“Now you try,” she said.

“Me?”

“Why not? Here, I'll help.” She sidled up close to him, touching his throat with her left hand, his chest with her right. “The call starts here, in the chest. Bring it up through your throat, turn your head…like this…let it flow out rather than shouting. Try.”

Jack tried, and Lesya's hands pushed at his chest, drew up to his neck and throat, turned his head, and stroked across his Adam's apple. He felt something give way within him, as though a door had opened, and then a stirring…an awakening. Whatever magic Lesya had, Jack had the inescapable suspicion that she had placed a small piece of it deep within him.

She continued to caress his throat as though guiding and drawing the call up out of him, and he opened his mouth to release it. The result was a poor imitation of the call she had produced, but Jack still opened his eyes wide in surprise.

“Try to
think
of yourself as a coyote,” she said. “Let the call come from deep inside, rising naturally, not pulled out. And don't be shy.”

“Shy?” Jack said, scoffing. The last thing he'd ever been was shy. But Lesya raised one eyebrow, and he found himself blushing.

“Self-conscious,” she said. “Feel free and natural, not watched. It's only me, after all.”

He smiled, nodded, and tried again. Lesya's hands and fingers did their work, but this time he felt them as movements of his own flesh and skin, not someone else's. And the call that he uttered was answered by that distant coyote.

“Did I…did I speak coyote?” Jack asked, staggered.

“You did,” Lesya said, laughing. “Do you want me to teach you the language of birds?”

 

That afternoon, and for the next couple of days, Lesya showed him incredible things.

Jack's facility for learning had always been immense. A reader almost since before he could talk, during his short life he had consumed countless books, both factual and fiction. He was a sponge for information, soaking it up wherever he could get it, but his true intelligence rose from applying that information. His mind was not just a repository of knowledge but a factory in which that knowledge could be sorted and combined. He was
hungry
for learning, and in all the months he had spent in the Yukon so far, this time with Lesya sated that hunger more than any other he could remember.

She told him how to track the flights of different birds, anticipate their paths, and be aware of their habits and natures. Some of their calls he found quite easy to learn,
but others were more difficult. Lesya worked on these with him, and he felt her magic opening more and more doors within him. Some of what he learned was not magic at all, however, and it was always the most obscure advice that seemed to make things click into place.
Think of butter melting in a pan
, she said, and the next time he tried whistling a northern shrike's call, he could have been the bird itself.
Smell the bloom of the rose
, she suggested, and as he whistled, he heard yellow warblers answering from the trees around the clearing.

They walked into the forest and she taught him more calls—elk, bear, bison, caribou, moose, cougar. Some he found easier to imitate than others, but it was never the shape of his mouth or throat that caused the difficulties. Lesya guided him past the physical constraints nature had given him, and deeper inside there was a spiritual contact she taught him to make with these animals. He stretched, listening to her voice to guide his way, and sometimes the contact came quickly. Once that touch was made, he would smell the scent of the animal in question, hear it sniffling across the ground seeking its prey's trail or crunching tough grass between its grinding teeth. He would see it in his mind's eye, and as he attempted its call, so his image of the creature would utter its own roar, whine, or growl. He could reach out and feel the touch of its fur or pelt on his
hands, and at the same time his own skin seemed to bristle, and he felt the cool touch of unseen ground beneath his feet.

Other times, seeking out an animal was much more difficult, and he soon realized that it was some animals' stealth that kept them hidden away. He spent a long time reaching out in his search for a cougar, and as the sun dipped toward the forests and hills in the west, he began to despair of ever realizing one. He had uttered the roar of a grizzly bear and the mournful howl of a wolf, but such incredible feats suddenly seemed insignificant if he could not touch a cougar. He felt like a fool for thinking that way, and perhaps arrogant in his newfound talent, but the sense of failure at the end of that day did not sit well with him.

“Perhaps they're too far away,” he said. “Maybe there aren't any close enough for me to…” Still he could not vocalize what he was doing, because he did not really know.

But Lesya shook her head, her lovely hair swaying as it caught the dusky light. “There's one watching us right now,” she said.

Jack caught his breath, staring at her. “Where?”

Lesya closed her eyes and whispered, “Find it with me.”

Jack tried. He stretched, reaching out with his senses, and this time where he sensed nothing, he probed deeper. Lesya closed her hand around his, he felt her claws, and then he touched the cougar, growling low in his throat,
looking down into the valley from the high mountains and focusing on the small clearing and the people there.

He gasped, opened his eyes, and sat back against the tree.

“So you see,” Lesya said, but she said no more.

“Yes,” Jack said, nodding. “But I'm still not sure I believe.”

“You wait here,” she said. “I'll go and cook dinner. Something special tonight to celebrate, and a glass of wine to seal what we have become.” She walked away, and Jack watched her go.
What we have become
, she'd said.

Jack frowned, chilled.

What we have become.

 

Jack waited in the clearing and watched the sun set. All the while he was thinking about what had happened to him, and what they had done. He felt renewed, remade as a larger, more elaborate version of his old self, and the things he had achieved were amazing.
No one will believe
, he thought, but that idea did not concern him. This was not something to share, an ability to wear on his sleeve and boast about on cold nights around warm fires. This was intensely personal, and it reinforced his connection to the wild.

As the sunlight splashed across the wooded, hilly
horizon, broken into shards by trees and ridges, he cast his mind out again as Lesya had shown him, trying to sense past the forests she inhabited. He felt a thrill of fear doing so, because in all her teachings she had never gone beyond a certain point.
It's dangerous
, she would say, or,
It can't work that far
. But Jack was a man who had to experience such things for himself.

Even Lesya's word was not the same as experience.

So he probed outward, eyes half closed and half open so that he could watch the cabin. The oil lamps were lit in there, and he saw shadowy movement within as Lesya went about preparing their meal.
Maybe she will sense what I'm doing
, he thought. But he could not let that scare him off. Part of what he felt for her was fear, yes, and there was still something about her that he could not quite perceive as clearly as he'd have liked…but he remained his own man.

He pushed out, out, past familiar forests to less-known lands. And then somewhere before him was a presence he knew so well—the wolf! It started at his intrusion, howled; and it was so far away that he could not hear it on the dusky air.

Jack smiled, delighted, and tried to connect with the mind of the beast he had come to know as his spirit guide. But then he frowned. The contact remained, but the wolf
was pacing back and forth across his mind, skirting the boundary of Lesya's domain as if keen to enter but unable. He sensed concern and fear, and a pent-up frustration that was almost violent in its potential.

“What is it?” he muttered, and in his mind the wolf growled.

“Jack!” Lesya called.

He sat up and opened his eyes fully, looking across the clearing at the cabin.

“Jack!” Her voice sounded urgent.

“Yes,” he said, trying to affect tiredness. “I was dozing.”

“Dozing,” she echoed. “Well, the food's ready now, if you'll rouse yourself.” She disappeared back into the cabin.

Jack stood, stretched, and tried to feel his way back toward the wolf. Perhaps because he'd been disturbed, or due to the fear of discovery, he felt somehow blocked now, unable to probe with his senses anywhere beyond the boundary of this small clearing. It was as if the traces of magic that Lesya had put inside him were not within his control.

Why don't you come to me?
he thought. And he remembered the wolf's growl, and its pacing, and he realized that was
exactly
what it was trying to do.

 

Lesya had prepared a dish of fried meat—Jack thought mutton, though he had seen no sheep in the area—
with roasted vegetables. It was exquisite, and his stomach rumbled as they sat in the chairs and ate. Lesya was quiet, contemplative. She even looked beautiful like that, and Jack knew there was no expression that would ever steal her beauty.

“What is it?” he asked at last. Plates emptied, mugs filled with wine, they sat on deep soft rugs by the open fire, leaning in to each other. They were both staring into the flames.

“I don't want it to go wrong this time,” she whispered.

Jack frowned.
Is she talking to me?
The flames flittered; a sap bubble in one of the logs spat with a loud snap.

“Jack,” she said, turning to him at last. “I love you.”

His heart thudded, and he blinked several times to clear his vision.

“And you have to stay with me now.”

“What? Stay?”
I don't belong here
, he thought.
This is not my home, home is somewhere I need to be
, and other such thoughts jumbled over each other, as if Lesya's use of that single word had opened a door in his mind behind which he had been holding his true nature prisoner.

How long had he been here, now? Many weeks, surely. All along he had been pushing to the back of his mind the knowledge that in time he would have to return home, and as recently as days ago he would have said he wished he could remain with Lesya forever. But something had changed.
Something that sent ripples of unease through him.

“Yes, Jack,” she said, leaning in so that her nose was almost touching his. Her eyes were wide, and he saw a sheen of perspiration across her top lip. Was Lesya truly nervous? “Because I love you, and you love me, and I've told you so many secrets.”

“Love,” he said, savoring the word like the fine wine in his mug.
And just where does that fine wine come from?

“This place…it's magical, and it's mine, but…I get so lonely.” She looked away, frowning.

“Lesya, I'm not sure I can—”

“He'll kill you,” she whispered. “If you go out into the forests alone, he'll kill you. I've felt his rage growing out there, his jealousy, and he might be weak, but madness gives him strength.”

“You told me you'd protect me from your father,” he said.

“And I will. But not if you go out there on your own.”

And there it was. A threat. It felt to Jack as though a curtain had been drawn back to reveal parts of Lesya she had never before allowed him to see. He nodded slowly, turning back to the fire so that she could not read his eyes.

Lesya leaned against him again, resting one hand on his leg and molding herself to him. Her scent overwhelmed him, her hair was a sensuous breath against his neck and
cheek, and he could hear the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Love
, Jack thought, and he tried to ally that word with what he felt for Lesya.

Not if you go out there on your own
…

“What are you thinking?” she asked, and she sounded almost desperate.

“Nothing,” Jack said.

Prisoner
, he thought.

 

Next day after breakfast, Jack took a walk to the edge of the clearing. He felt Lesya's disapproval, and all the way he could sense her eyes on the back of his head, watching, waiting. But even though the past few days had exposed many wonderful things to him, and he felt more whole than he ever had before, Lesya's warnings last night had set a distance between them.