Red's Untold Tale (29 page)

“That's great, Red. What is it?”

“A drop of water from Lake Nostos.”

He whispered, “Lake Nostos,” to himself and then said, “I think I've heard of it, but I can't put my finger on it…”

“It's from the fairy tale about the washerwoman who was cursed to live in the water. Granny read it to us when we were children.”

“Ah, that's right. A magical lake from a fairy tale.” He arched his right eyebrow, and I could tell he was hoping I was only joking.

“I know it sounds crazy, and it probably is—all right, it definitely is—but I want to see if I can find it,” I said. “It will be my quest.”

“And I suppose you want me to come with you on this quest?”

“Well, I was going to ask if I could borrow your horse. But you can come, too, if it makes you happy,” I said with a little laugh. I scooted closer to him so that our legs
touched.

“I already told you, walking around the Enchanted Forest with you is one of my favorite pastimes. So, when do we leave?”

“The sooner the better,” I said. If the nightingales' song would help me find Lake Nostos, I needed to go before they migrated for the winter. Plus, there were, what,
twenty-four days until the next Wolfstime, and it was always safest to travel when the wolves weren't hunting. I already had the money I'd saved, since Knubbin had returned it to me.
“How about tomorrow night?”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “But Red, I can't leave the village. Not now. I have to help the hunters take down the wolves, and I have to help my father
with the blacksmithing. They're counting on me. And people are counting on you, too. You have to help your grandmother with her deliveries. And who is going to put Violet in her place, if not
you?”

I had to grin at his comment about Violet. And overall, his point was valid. However, if I didn't go in search of the final ingredient for the magic salve, no one would. Granny
didn't know it, but she was counting on me. “I just want to help my granny,” I said softly. “She's done so much for me, more than you know.”

“You've done so much for her, as well. You saved her cottage from being seized by the king, and that's no small feat. I'm certain your granny is very grateful and very
proud of you.”

His words made my breath hitch. I hoped that Granny felt that way.

“What's the harm in waiting just a little longer, Red? Not forever, but just until things are better here in our village.” He took my chin in his hand. “Don't go
without me. Promise you'll wait for me.”

Peter pulled me close and kissed me. He kissed me hungrily, and as our kiss deepened, I clenched the fabric of his sleeves, holding on for dear life with both hands. I straightened my posture,
wanting even more of him, but he abruptly pulled away. His eyes flashed dangerously. “Promise me,” he said again.

Once I could breathe again, I said, “All right, Peter. I'll wait.”

“Good. I can only hope that I get to play a part in your happy ending, Red.”

“Really?” I asked, wiping my tears. “I mean, I had a feeling…I really hoped it was true, I just…”

“Of
course
I do.” He whirled around and kicked a rock so high and hard that it landed near the opposite shore of the pond. The dog snuffled and perked his ears, but he
apparently didn't notice anything amiss, because he flopped back down and closed his eyes. “You're smart, beautiful, funny, and passionate—
and
you're the most
skilled archer I know.”

My heart fluttered in an unfamiliar way, and I was at once overjoyed and nervous. “My granny is a much better shot than I am.”

Peter shook his head and grinned. “That is not the point, Red.” He closed the small distance between us and placed his hands on my shoulders. “What I'm trying to tell
you—though you're making it awfully difficult for me—is that I love you.”

I opened my mouth—in surprise rather than to say anything—but he pressed a finger against my lips and said, “Let me finish. I love that you're the
second best
archer I know. I love that you made me a birthday cake. Although, for my eighteenth birthday, you'd better bake me one that I actually get to eat. I love the wildness in your eyes and the
kindness in your heart.” He moved his finger from my lips to my hair, brushing a piece of it off my face. “I love that when you get something on your mind, the world had better watch
out.”

“Right now, you're the only one who needs to watch out,” I said. I wrapped my hands around the back of his neck and pressed my lips against his.

“And I love the way you kiss me—” he murmured once we came up for air.

“Shhhhh,” I said, and then kissed him all over again.

I felt like I was in a dream—but not a Wolfstime dream. In this one, everything around me seemed enhanced. As the sun set, the sky, the trees, and the flowers were extra
vibrant, like a rainbow had fallen out of the sky and spilled over everything in the land. The ground felt springier and the sounds of nature more musical. Even in my bedroom, in the soft glow of
my sconces and bedside candlesticks, the same old furnishings and decorations seemed extra beautiful.

I pressed my fingers to my lips, amazed how they still tingled. With a little help from my imagination, I could still feel all of the places Peter had set my bare skin on fire with his magical
touch. He'd had to run from the swimming hole to town as fast as he could, and though he was a swift runner, there was no way he would've made it on time. I blushed a little as I
wondered if the other hunters would be able to see our tryst written on his face.

I felt so different. Did I
look
different?

As I sat on the foot of my bed in my nightgown, brushing the tangles and a few small leaves out of my hair, I examined my reflection in the looking glass. My cheeks and lips had taken on a
lovely shade of pink. Despite the tears I'd cried—or maybe because of them—my eyes were their brightest green. And, to answer my own question, I smiled at the glowing girl in my
mirror and said, “Yes, you most definitely look different.”

Moments later, my eye caught the reflection of the golden cross that dangled from my neck. It felt good to have it back where it belonged. Yet, on second thought, I hesitated to wear it on this
last night of Wolfstime, for fear of it being the darkest nightmare I'd ever had. Why suffer through another frightful, fitful dream when I could possibly have a nice one? I unclasped the
chain and let it slither into my open palm.

Then again, my mother hadn't seemed afraid of her Wolfstime dreams. She'd had Knubbin enchant the cross so that her Wolfstime dreams would expose her truest self. If she wasn't
afraid, why was I?

As clearly as if someone were whispering them into my ear, I heard the words that I'd heard in my dreams:
“Only when you refuse to be a victim of fear will you know your true
power.”

My feet sink into the mud, and with
each step, the ground hardens—around my ankles, mid-calves, knees—making it more and more difficult to keep
moving.

But I have to. I can't just stand still and allow the darkness to bury me alive.

Not tonight.

I reach up and out with all of my power, thrashing against an attack of dirt, branches, and rocks. I've lost my traction; it's all I can do to keep from slipping into the cavern
that's yawning wider and wider below me. My legs dangle helplessly into the void, and my fingers sear and throb with pain as they grasp clusters of grass and roots.

I hear my heart pounding and the blood gushing through even the smallest of my veins. Then the voice wafts past my ears on a gust of air, and I remember to breathe. As I fill my lungs, the
earth shifts, and I'm on all fours, crawling away from the hole. I can't tell if I've traveled a few seconds or a few days, but I'm making progress—until I hit my head
against something hard. A beam of silvery light illuminates a large gray rock. I push, trying to move it. It won't budge; it's as if it's rooted deeply in the ground.

Then, as the clouds open up and release the moon, I gasp. It's not an ordinary rock; it is a gravestone—weathered and overgrown. I peel away the veil of vines, pricking my finger
on a thorn. The shape of a crescent moon is carved into the stone. I trace my finger over the engraving, a strong sense of familiarity tugging at my soul.

A bloodcurdling scream slashes through the forest, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Before I run, I look to the gravestone one last time. Under the moon's pale
light, a single drop of blood glistens in the center of the crescent.

I woke with a start in my own bed, my fingers wrapped around my gold cross pendant. I felt winded and harried, and the mattress was clammy with perspiration. I'd been awake just long
enough to allow my eyes to adjust to the candlelight and to gather my bearings.

Just another Wolfstime dream,
I reminded myself,
and this should be the last one until the next full moon.

I closed my eyes, trying to bring back as many details of my dream as possible. And that's when I heard it again—the bloodcurdling scream. Only it sounded so lifelike, I could have
sworn somebody was actually screaming. My eyes popped open, and I jumped out of my bed. The same urge I'd had when I'd heard the frightening sound in my nightmare stormed through my
blood: the need to run.

After checking that Granny was safe, sleeping in her usual Wolfstime post, I took my red riding hood, bow, and quiver and raced into the deep, dark forest. Though mist shrouded the moon, I could
somehow see as well as if it were midday. Energy and power coursed through my body as I tore through the branches and hurtled the logs, bushes, and rocks. I heard the cries again—louder and
more desperate—and though it made no sense that I could hear the screams from so far away, I knew in my gut that they were coming from the clearing where Peter's birthday party had
been.

Peter!
Was he all right?

Speeding up, I had no sensation of my feet hitting the ground, only the wind ripping around me. The moonlight intensified and faded as its cloud cover drifted, and though the moment felt
surreal, it also felt meaningful—like it was all somehow part of my destiny.

A dying bonfire flickered and smoked as people scattered into the woods, some wailing, others sobbing. Beatrice was bent over something on the ground, rocking back and forth miserably. When she
shifted slightly to look at me, I saw that it was Florence lying there, her red curls splayed out around her, her eyes closed.

“Red!” Beatrice cried out. “Watch out! The wolf! It's here.”

“Is Florence…?” My voice stuck in my throat.

“No, no. She's going to be all right. She fainted when she saw the wolf,” she said, and relief washed over me. “It's horrible, Red! It's even more horrible
than your granny said it was! It's huge—the biggest wolf I've ever seen—and it has these terrible yellow eyes that glow in the dark. And now, now it's after
Violet!” She pointed to the tree behind which I'd hidden the last time I was there.