A Whisper from the Wilds

The fence shuddered as Cassie hammered an iron nail into damp splintering wood. The heavy thump of her blows and the faint clang of metal was a discant in her ears. Taking a step back, she regarded the wonky plank covering the gap in the fence. It looked good enough to hold. If it had been the first fence panel she fixed that morning, Cassie might have put more effort in. She pulled another heavy nail from her apron, beating the other side of the fence post into submission. The clang of her work continued as a fainter sound reached her ears. Hoofbeats. She paused, her hammer held in mid-air as the rhythmic thump grew louder. 

“Cassie, watch out!” 

Dropping the hammer, Cassie leapt over the fence. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she turned to catch a blur of snorting nostrils and sharp horns as the bull’s hooves pounded the ground. Behind him ran her mother and Sarah-Ellen, trying desperately to catch his harness. The broken metal dragged under the beast, leaving claw-like grooves in the dirt. Cassie gripped the wooden plank she’d just hammered into place.

“Stop right now you great beast!” Sarah-Ellen hopped on one leg as she pulled her boot off and flung it. 

The thick sole hit the bull’s haunch, and Fitz stopped. His nostrils flared as he turned with wild eyes to find the source of the attack. The beast was terrified, but his ire settled on the two women chasing him. They turned on a step. Sarah-Ellen cleared the nearest fence in a leap, and their mother dived for the old oak tree, scrambling nimbly up between the branches. The bull let out a bellow of anger, shaking his head from side to side. 

“What happened?” Cassie brushed the mud from her skirts, looking from the cornered beast to her mother and sister. 

Fitz looked ready to charge. Sarah-Ellen stood, facing Cassie from the opposite side of the lane.

“He burst out of his stall,” their mother clutched the trunk of the oak, the tips of her toes dangling in the air. “Almost got Sarah-Ellen on the way out. We came running after him—he’s not calming down.” 

Sarah-Ellen clutched the fence, her knuckles white. “Yes, because he’s usually so docile!” 

“He’s scared of lightning,” Cassie reminded them. “Have you tried singing to him?”

Her sister raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of singing a gentle lullaby to a stampeding bull.”

“Sarah-Ellen.” Their mother warned, brushing hair off her face.

Her cheeks reddened as she watched the bull pace below her.

“More fool you,” Cassie said, holding her hands out to Fitz, but the bull backed away. “Hello, Fitz.” 

His nostrils flared as his eyes flashed with fury.

Sarah-Ellen’s glare matched the bull’s. “How in the All-Father’s hells are we getting him back in?”

Cassie stepped backwards as she eyed the beast. “We could just leave him there.” 

“He’s in the lane,” their mother said. “He could gore anyone who comes to visit.” 

Sarah-Ellen’s hands flew to her mouth. “But Jack will be here soon.” 

“Oh no.” Cassie tried to sound like she meant it.

Her sister’s eyes narrowed, snapping to her face.

Their mother clutched the trunk of the oak as tightly as her dignity. “Unless you plan on talking that bull back into his pen, then this is not the time for your impertinence, Cassie.” 

“Well nothing else is working, we may as well give impertinence a try,” Cassie said. 

Sarah-Ellen’s eyes flashed in frustration. Her skirts were covered in mud, there was a large brown splatter up her leg, and she was missing a shoe.

“Don’t get me started on you, Sarah-Ellen, because I can see your young man about half a mile up the lane.”Amelia Carpenter waved frantically, trying to tell the boy to stop and turn around. “By the All-Father’s hells, he sped up.” She brushed her wheat blonde hair from her forehead like she was on the verge of pulling it out. “If we don’t hurry, that boy won’t have the time to make you an honest woman.” 

The bull paced back and forth in the lane.

“Jack’s here?” Sarah-Ellen leaned over the fence, craning her neck to see down the lane. “He must have come early. Tell him to go away.” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Amelia gestured frantically. “The foolish boy is running now. Every time I tell him to go away, he speeds up.”

“Of course he is! You look so distressed. He must be coming to save you.” Sarah-Ellen’s expression was a mix of pride and frustration.
“Maybe he could help us? He’s good with ropes isn’t he?” Cassie asked.

Sarah-Ellen threw her a glare, her lips pursing before she turned back towards their mother. Cassie didn’t know if Jack could lasso a bull, but he was certainly capable of using a rope to climb the three storeys to reach their bedroom window each night.

“You know what we have to do, Ma.” Sarah-Ellen’s expression paled as she spoke. “How else are we going to calm him?”

“No, absolutely not.” Their mother clutched her temple frowning. “Just calm down and let me come up with a plan.”

“Please, we have to, just enough to knock him out before Jack gets here and he gores him.” When their mother didn’t reply Sarah-Ellen stuck out her chin, her back straightening with determination. “If you don’t I will.”

Their mother fixed her daughter with a glare. “You have no idea how dangerous what you’re suggesting is—you will do no such thing.” 

Sarah-Ellen’s skin went blotchy and red with helpless frustration as her eyes brightened. “But what about Jack?” Her hands came together in a prayer to the All-Father. “That monster will kill anything that gets close!” 

Fitz looked up then, his gaze fixed down the lane as if he could sense the blacksmith’s son approaching. He pawed the ground, lowering his head with an angry shake.

“Ma, please.” Desperation was thick in Sarah-Ellen’s voice as their mother glanced down the lane, worried. 

Cassie could read her mother well enough to know Jack was getting uncomfortably close.

“Sarah-Ellen, we’ve discussed this too many times, not in front of your sister!”

Pain lanced through Cassie’s chest, driving the air from her lungs. Her face burned in shame as the faintest sting of tears pricked at the edge of her eyes. Why must they always treat her like a child? 

“I’ve got an idea.” Cassie loosened the straps of her apron, pulling it over her head. 

She stroked the soft scarlet fabric, winding it around her clenched fist. The hinges creaked gently as she opened the gate to the pasture. The other two women looked at her as if she’d grown a second head.

“What are you doing?” Sarah-Ellen clutched the edge of the fence, eyeing the lane between them as if it had personally insulted her.

“Fitz,” Cassie called, her voice carrying on the breeze.

The bull looked up, his ears pricking, as his head flicked towards the sound, pointing the sharp horns right at her. 

“Don’t you dare!” Sarah-Ellen’s voice was already distant to her ears.

Her sister’s eyes widened in horror as Cassie unfurled her apron, letting it flutter in the wind. The bull’s nostrils flared as his gaze flashed red.

“Come on Fitz, I’m right here.”

A blur of pounding hooves raced towards her. Cassie could see the slather dripping from his mouth. Light flashed from her sister’s hand as her mother jumped out of the tree just after the speeding bull passed, reaching out to catch his harness. She wasn’t fast enough, falling to her knees as the harness slipped through her grasp. She scrambled back up, reaching out with a look of disbelief on her face.

“Move!” 

Cassie jumped out of the way as the bull raced through where she had been standing. Too late to turn, he cantered into the pasture, his hooves pounding as he surged across the empty field. Cassie leapt the fence, pulling the gate closed behind her, and wound the rope tightly to secure it. 

Slowly, she allowed herself to breathe. Her skirts were covered in dirt, and her apron was waterlogged and soiled from where it had landed in the wet mud. The nails had spilt from its pockets, sinking into the ground. She picked up the apron. It was sodden, smeared in mud, and heavy in her hand, only good for rags now.

 “Thank the All-Father!” Sarah-Ellen grabbed her shoulders and spun her into a tight embrace. “Don’t do anything that stupid ever again.”

She drew back to arms-length, not letting Cassie go as she looked her over, checking for injury. Sarah-Ellen’s eyes looked paler than usual, the blue closer to grey, as she shook her by the shoulders. “If you risk your life like that ever again, I’ll kill you!” The shake was followed by a second bone-crushing hug.

Their mother joined them, brushing mud from her knees. “Calm yourself. Cassie has just saved your intended’s life.” She met Cassie’s gaze over her sister’s shoulder, her eyes filled with a pride tinged with the faintest hint of fear.

“Don’t ever put yourself at risk like that again, not for anything,” Sarah-Ellen muttered into Cassie’s ear, not letting her go.

A small smile tugged at Cassie’s lips, the shock clearing as she raised her arms to return the embrace. “Only for you.”

Their mother brushed her hands off. “That was foolish, Cassie.” 

Sarah-Ellen released her, turning on the woman with a mutinous glare. “You!” She brandished a finger like a butcher’s knife. “How could you not stop it?”

Cassie flinched as their mother’s expression turned thunderous, but Sarah-Ellen continued undeterred. “How could you put your own daughter in danger because you’re too selfish, too cowardly to…”

Their mother grabbed Sarah-Ellen’s waving finger, and the young woman froze. She had overstepped. “Sarah-Ellen.” Their mother’s voice was almost a whisper. “I have warned you before, you know nothing of what you speak. I will not indulge another one of your infantile tantrums.”

The two women glared at each other. The tension between them was colder than a winter storm, and if it snapped, there would be a fight, a nasty one. Cassie bunched the fabric of her skirts in her fists as her sister opened her mouth.

“It’s all fine,” Cassie said before her sister could say something stupid. “I’m not hurt and Jack’s safe.” She pulled on the back of Sarah-Ellen’s dress. “There he is now.”

She pointed as he staggered round the bend. Jack exclaimed in relief at the sight of them. Sweat soaked his clothes, and his breath came in panting gasps. He was dragging a cart behind him, his free hand holding a large sack. Sarah-Ellen wrenched out of their mother’s grasp and raced towards him. 

Cassie looked away from the embracing couple. Her mother’s hands were clenched, and her lips were pursed, but her eyes troubled Cassie the most. They still seemed afraid. Shaking her head, she quickly dismissed the idea. Her mother wasn’t afraid of anything; Amelia Carpenter was the bravest person Cassie knew.

“Is everything alright?” Cassie asked.

“My brave, strong, kind Cassie-Anne.”  Her mother rested a hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “Please, be cautious. This world is full of dangers that can bring even the most powerful of us to our knees.”

Her mother wasn’t a tall woman. She stood a little shorter than Cassie, but she had a presence that made her seem tall. The spark in her eyes moved as quickly as her thoughts, and her butter blonde hair that always smelt of sage and chamomile was just beginning to thread with strands of brightest white. She looked over Cassie’s wild hair and ruined dress, shaking her head with the ghost of a smile. “What am I going to do with you?”

Sarah-Ellen and Jack made their way over. Her fingers rested upon the crook of his elbow, and though he stood a head taller than her, they looked like two perfect puzzle pieces, both with dark hair, light skin, and startlingly bright eyes. Amelia looked to Cassie, her gaze the grey-blue of storm clouds and as sharp as a knife’s edge. 

Jack’s dark hair had escaped its tie, and loose strands framed his broad jaw. “What have I done to merit a welcome party?”He asked, a twinkle of humour in his summer-sky blue eyes.

Amelia’s charming smile was a jarring change from the blind panic she had worn only minutes before. “Sarah-Ellen mentioned you were bringing gifts.” 

Cassie craned her head around his bulk. “What did you bring?” 

Jack moved aside with a courteous flourish allowing her to inspect the cart. It smelt unpleasant. A few flies sat atop the canvas cover, trying and failing to reach what lay beneath.

Jack pulled back the canvas. “Not just cake.” 

“Wonderful.” Sarah-Ellen clapped her hands together. “We can roast it on the spit, it will be enough to feed everyone!” 

Jack beamed at Sarah-Ellen’s praise. “It’s a gift for the celebration tonight, from Father.”

Cassie was transfixed by the carcass that the shroud had hidden. The piglet’s hooves had been chopped off and its eyes removed, though the eyelashes remained, framing gaping, empty sockets. A fly buzzed as it landed on the beast’s little snout, and Cassie could feel her breakfast creeping up her throat. 

Amelia’s expression tightened. “How kind of Jonas. We’ll have to get some more wood for the roast, some of your father’s offcuts.” 

“Father offered to bring some charcoal from the forge as well,” Jack eagerly announced.

“I’ll just bet he did.” Amelia’s annoyance resonated through the air.

Jack didn’t notice. He had the sort of good-natured thick skin that could brush off a hammer blow; light sarcasm had no chance of making a dent.

“Cassie, why don’t you help Jack haul that piglet back to the house, you can get your father to set up the spit.” Amelia’s eyes drifted back to her older daughter, and the suffocating tension between the two women returned. “Sarah-Ellen and I will secure this fence.”

Either Jack was entirely unaware of social cues or more devious than Cassie had ever imagined. He dropped the cart handle in her hand as he stepped to Amelia’s side. 

“Let me help you with that,” he insisted. “Father says I’m great with hammers.” 

Cassie left them there. Jack would insist on helping Amelia and keep asking her questions until she forgot that she was angry with Sarah-Ellen. It wasn’t the first time Cassie had seen him do it. Jack wielded charm like a soldier’s blade, slicing through frustration and stubbornness till all that remained was good humour and affability. 

Cassie grew more frustrated as she dragged the rickety cart back home. The people of Riverfowl claimed that Sarah-Ellen had done well in catching Jack Smith’s attention. There had even been whispers that her sister was marrying above herself. The daughter of a penniless carpenter who people claimed was more beast than man and a woman who wasn’t even Eldish had no right to be marrying into one of the most respected families in Riverfowl. Cassie scoffed at the thought. Sarah-Ellen was the smartest, bravest, most wonderful person in the whole empire. She wouldn’t be marrying above herself if she married the emperor; the emperor would be getting above himself if he thought he could marry Sarah-Ellen. 

Cassie tugged hard on the cart, heaving it over a dip in the road. Up until last spring, life had been better. Their family had never had much, but the small farmstead grew enough to keep through winter, and her mother’s inventions made things easier. Her father sold work to the few villagers that would buy from him and to the traders that passed through Riverfowl in the spring. 

At night, when Cassie and Sarah-Ellen were alone, they’d speak of the world beyond Riverfowl, of joining a player’s troupe or a trader’s wagon and seeing a little more of it. Cassie didn’t know what more life had to offer beyond Caerwrythnir’s hills and valleys, yet it called to her heart so much louder than the whisper of the Wilds. 

Then Jack had given Sarah-Ellen a rose at the spring fate, and everything had changed. Her sister was just as enamoured with Jack as the rest of the village. She claimed her beloved was kind and sweet and decent, and soon the couple would be married. Cassie grimaced as she approached her parent’s workshop. Wood clattered from inside, and a cockerel gave an indignant screech.

“Get out, you little nuisance!” Willem Carpenter’s harried voice drifted out the open door.

Cassie gave the cart one last heave over the uneven ground before she dropped the handle, leaving it off-kilter in the middle of the path. A dashingly handsome cockerel swaggered out of the workshop, unfazed by his sudden eviction. 

“And stay out, or I’ll have you for lunch!” Willem cried after it. 

Tufty woke with a hiss from the shelf above the workshop door. Her tail flicked sharply from side to side at the sight of the cockerel. The bird’s feathers puffed out as he opened his wings, more than prepared for the cat’s challenge.

“Stop it, Edgar!”  Cassie pushed him gently with her shoe. “Back to the hutch before a fox gets you!”

Edgar let out a caw that resembled a scoff and strutted in the opposite direction. 

Cassie rapped her knuckles on the doorframe. When there was no response, she peered inside. The scent of sawdust hit her nose. Her father’s side of the workshop was a mess—wood chips littered the floor, and various half-finished pieces were stacked haphazardly on every free surface. An oak table hugged the back wall, also half-finished and littered with a disorganised mess of tools. Amelia’s side, in stark contrast, was perfectly clean and meticulously organised. Metal apparatuses were arranged on the workbench in order of size, and her tools may as well have been set in line with a square. A table lamp her mother called a folly spread pale silver light throughout the room from the stone in the centre. Nell, the family’s old sheepdog, lounged in her basket by the door.

Willem searched through the tools scattered across his table. “Have you seen my chisel? I suspect your Ma’s hidden it.” 

He brushed loose hair out of his face in frustration. The light from the window made the russet brown strands look red. Wrinkles gathered at the edges of his mouth and the corners of his golden eyes, the price of a life spent with a ready smile and a warm heart.

Cassie searched the room with him. “Are you sure you didn’t lose it in all that mess?” 

The clouds cleared outside, letting in more light through the window. Metal glinted from beneath the table he was searching.

Willem turned to regard her with good-humoured indignation. “That’s not mess—I know exactly where everything is!” 

Cassie raised a single eyebrow. “Everything but your chisel?” 

Willem mirrored the expression, raising one of his own. “Which is why I suspect someone’s moved it.” His eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. “Was it you, Cassie? Did you ransack my workshop?”

“I’m innocent Da, I swear!” Laughing, she gestured to the workshop around her. “I don’t even know what half these things do.”

Willem tapped a finger gently against the workbench. “They make magic.” His smile banished all seriousness.

“Don’t joke about such things!” Cassie shook her head. “Too many fools would take your word for truth.” She crouched and reached beneath the table, her nose tickling with a sneeze from the sawdust. “Your chisel is right here,” she said, pulling it from under a piece of wood and handing it to her father. 

Willem inspected the chisel with a frown, holding it up to the light. “Your mother must have moved it.”

Rolling her eyes, Cassie drew his attention to the crate outside the doorway. “The Smiths sent over a piglet to roast.”

“I’ll bet Amelia was thrilled!” Willem folded his arms, gently placing the chisel amongst the mess of tools on his worktop. “Jonas couldn’t help himself?”

Cassie shrugged. It was no secret the sort of man Jonas Smith was. Willem smirked, reaching up to ruffle her hair.

“Da don’t! You’ll ruin my braid.” She ducked out from under his hand as he chuckled to himself.

“Sorry.” His face held no trace of apology. “Do you need me to help you get the spit from the barn?”

“Yes, please.” She smoothed down her hair with a glare. “Fitz got out and stampeded up the lane, did you not hear?”

Willem brushed sawdust off his arm. “I’ve been in here since the morning.” He turned towards her as he tilted his chin back. “I could have sworn we had a big, long rope that we used to tie him down when there was a storm.” Resting the palms of his hands on the worktop he watched her reaction. “You haven’t seen it have you…?”

Cassie’s thoughts drifted to the bull rope currently hidden under her sister’s bed. The same rope that dangled from the highest window most nights so Jack could climb up to their attic room.

She forced her features into a mask of innocence. “You say it’s missing?” 

He reached out to ruffle her hair again, and Cassie yipped in protest. “If it were to mysteriously appear in the barn, then nothing else need be said.” Willem straightened up and headed for the door. “Let’s set the spit.”

As he passed the cart that held the dead piglet, he frowned his lip curling in distaste. A drop of blood had leaked from the box, staining the pale wood and attracting a plethora of flies. Nell wandered up, sniffing at the stain before licking the side. Willem shook his head, his nose wrinkling. 

“Nell to me, leave it!” 

Nell gave herself a full-body shake, shivering from nose to tail tip before turning dutifully to follow him. Cassie looked past them to the border of the Wilds beyond the river. Perhaps it was the way the bare branches danced in the breeze or the patterns of light cast upon the forest floor, but she could hear the faintest call on the wind, like a whispered song. She knew then if she moved, it would not be to follow her father. She would cross the river and lose herself under the roof of the trees. 

“We’ll get Jack to set it up. Strong lad should be able to get the piglet on there.”

Cassie barely heard her father’s distant voice over the gentle whisper of the leaves. She stood holding the workshop door, the sharp edge of the frame biting into her palm as she squeezed her hand tight. Her eyes were fixed beyond the river, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Something tugged at her chest, gripped her stomach, and tightened the muscles in her calves. Something a bit like hunger and a bit like longing. 

The Wilds called to her.

“Cass?” Willem’s voice snapped through the haze of her thoughts. “Are you coming to help?”

She shook her head, breaking out of her daze, and turned to follow him. Cassie had always resisted the whispers, but today it had been hard. As she passed her father, he grabbed her shoulder.

“Hold on, there.” His expression was unusually stern.

Cassie tried to wriggle out of his hold, feeling unsteady. “We need to get the spit set up.” 

He was looking for something in her expression. She could tell by the tightening of his lips and the worry in his eyes that what he found was not what he wanted to see.

“Have you been wandering the woods on your own?” 

Her legs were unsteady as she forced herself to stand straight. “Of course not.” 

Cassie tried to shrug out of his grip, but the hand on her shoulder tightened. Whispers of breeze sent a murmur from the arbours of the Wilds. The fresh scent of the woodlands filled her nose, leaf mulch, oak, and wild grass. Father and daughter took a deep breath and Cassie knew he could smell them too.

“You know the wilds are dangerous.” Willem shook his head. “You’re not to go out there alone. You could get lost. Once it has you it doesn’t let go.”

The worry in his eyes made Cassie’s heart stutter. “I haven’t.” She couldn’t resent him for his fear, because he wasn’t the only one afraid. “You said it’s dangerous. I believe you, Da. I wouldn’t disobey you just for the sake of it.”

He searched her face, finally seeming satisfied with what he found there. He would know; Willem had spent so much of his youth in the Wilds that half the villagers of Riverfowl still believed him a demon of the forest.

Swinging an arm around her shoulders, he turned them towards the barn. “When did you get so grown up?” 

She leant into his warmth, letting the safety of his presence clear the last of the haze from her thoughts. She didn’t want to be lost, no matter how tempting the whispers were.

“Around about the time you got so old.” She laughed at his indignant splutter.

“You have no respect for your elders!” Willem brushed a hand through his hair as she shrugged his arm off her shoulder. 

Turning to face him, she walked backwards with her hands on her hips. “Respect is a measurement of character, not years.”

He considered the words as Cassie awaited his reaction. He grinned as he reached out towards her. “That’s my girl.” He ruffled her hair again, eliciting another squeal of indignation.

“Da, my braid!” Ducking she fled through the open barn door.