E.R. COOK

He watched as the moons rose into the night sky. The first was full, the light shining brightly over the forest. Its light filtered down through the pine trees, bathing the ground in scattered shadows. The second moon was almost half-full, its light melding and blending with the first. The third was a slowly thickening crescent, while the fourth was barely visible in the night, a tiny sliver of silver among the stars.

“It will be soon, do you think?” A voice said to his right.

The shaman looked at the young boy, his apprentice. “Yes. Every night the moons dance away from the shadows of this world. Every night we grow closer to being free.”

“Tell me the story again.”

The shaman dipped his head. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness fall completely. He inhaled, his nose catching the scents of the forest. The sharp bitterness of the pine. The sweet decay of the forest floor. The hint of warm fur that told of a rabbit or deer not far off. He opened his eyes. “You have heard the story enough.”

“Please. We have nothing else to do tonight.”

The shaman sighed and raised his eyes to the moons again. “Long ago, our kind ran through these forests. We were kings. They feared our sharp minds and wit. They feared our teeth that ripped, our legs that could run forever, our muscles that knew no weakness. We ruled this land. We ruled over the ones who flew, who swam, who ran. But like many great nations, our enemies turned their fear to hatred and anger. They spread lies. They spread rumors. Our allies started to ask questions. Traps were laid in the forests. Raiders burnt our villages, killing our children. Slowyly, they tried to drip poison into our land.”

“But our king was wise and sent our armies to stop them. But our enemies had stepped over a line that we did not know.”

“They had gone to see Abba Gor.”

“Who is telling this story?”

The boy silenced, but he wriggled with impatience. When the shaman would not continue, he prodded him. “Tell me. Tell me about Abba Gor.”

“Abba Gor was a witch who lived deep in the mountains. He hated all things. He hated all creatures. He hated anything good that lived in the light. The men who went to him bade him that he would take us out. They begged and pleaded and would not leave. Finally, Abba Gor decided that he would help them, but for a price. They told him anything, anything to rid the world of us. So, he gave them a small rock. He said to toss it into the lake from where all our water came.”

“So, they took the rock and took it to the shining silver lake and tossed it in. At first, nothing seemed to happen. The men cursed their luck, and returned to their villages. But then, over time, a sickness fell over the land. Many of the Wolf died. Those that lived, could not transform into our true selves, but were stuck as humans. Our people mourned while the others rejoiced, for they saw their chance to take us out. But they should have known.”

“For they had not paid the price yet.”

“They had not paid the price. The other tribes began falling sick as well. Many died. Those that didn’t, could not transform. The Bird people lost their wings. The sea people lost their fins. All remained as human.”

“They went to Abba Gor, angry at the betrayal. But he reminded them of the price. What is more, he warned them of a day when the four moons would shine whole in the night. On that night, the curse would be broken for the Wolf people, and they would regain their abilities. But only the Wolf. For while we were true to our nature, the others had sought to deny us that which was ours.”

“So, the people in fear of that day, sought to destroy us. The wars have been bloody since that night, many years ago. But we have lived on, with the hope that one day the promise would be fulfilled. The day that the moons would all stand full, and we would be made whole again.”

The boy stared up at the moons. “Soon, right?”

“Yes, my boy. Very soon.”