Kate Philbin The Wolf-Slayer’s Daughter

The Wolf-Slayer’s Daughter

prologue

‘Wait for me.’

Shruti’s voice – shrill and petulant – grated on Lana’s nerves as she strode along the muddy path, determined not to be any later. Her little sister trailed along behind her. Why did Mum have to get called out today of all days? It wasn’t fair.

Lana had spent weeks planning this. All the whispered conversations with Alyss at the back of Stealth Training, all the ‘accidental’ encounters they’d engineered with Dru beside the bathing pool, all the furtive glances and barely-suppressed giggles.

Finally, Dru – the most gorgeous guy in the whole of The Canopus – had deigned to notice her. Finally, he’d actually spoken to her. And finally – Lamia Be Praised – two days ago he’d said yes to meeting Lana for a walk. She’d had to fight hard to stay earthbound that day – she didn’t want to put him off by accidentally floating off into the sky and flapping around like a clumsy fledgling.

But now all Lana’s plans were ruined because she had to look after her little sister. All so Mum could lead the hunt.

Lana kicked out at the bracken fringing the path, cursing her bad luck that the Messenger Raven had arrived before she’d had chance to leave the cottage. If she hadn’t stopped to redo her hair, she’d already have set out to meet Dru and Mum would’ve had to get Linr to look after Shruti. Or hold off from hunting until tomorrow.

Lana was still smarting from Mum’s angry words – Is meeting some boy really more important than the lives of innocent people, Lana?

No, of course not, but Lana was tired of always coming second to The Veidr. Maybe, just once, Mum might like to stop to consider that Lana had plans of her own. Maybe Lana didn’t always want to babysit her little sister.

‘C’mon Shruti,’ Lana called, irritably.

‘You’re going too fast, I’m telling Mum.’

‘Tell her.’

It was the perfect day for a walk with Dru, too. The sky a clear ForgetMe-Not blue, with just a hint of Autumn chill. The smell of earth and woodsmoke crisp in her nostrils. The leaves of the great oaks – just starting to turn yellow and brown – drifting silently down towards the forest floor.

Everything in the forest was still and quiet. Everything, that was except Shruti, who complained that she had a stone in her shoe, complained that she was tired and needed a drink, complained that she’d forgotten her cuddly rabbit and needed to go home and get it. Any other day, Lana would’ve stopped to show her sister the entrance to the badgers’ set, told her the names of the different trees reaching high into the forest canopy, sung her favourite songs.

Any day except today.

‘Hurry up,’ snapped Lana, noticing the shadows starting to lengthen. Would he still be waiting for her? That was if he’d come at all. Maybe he’d just said he’d meet her for a dare.

Lana knew she was walking too fast for her sister’s short legs, but she didn’t care. It was Shruti’s fault they were so late and she wouldn’t let her make them any later. Even after Lana had finally agreed to bring her along, Shruti had insisted on changing twice before they left, excited about going to meet one of Lana’s friends and determined to wear her best bearskin boots.

Glancing behind her as she strode along, Lana could see that Shruti’s boots were now covered in mud and wet where her sister had fallen into a puddle. Something else Mum would be furious about. Lana sighed.

The path broadened out as they approached the crossroads. Lana’s heart beat fast. Around the next corner, where the path joined The Wolven Way,

Dru would either be standing waiting for her.

Or he’d be gone.

She stopped, momentarily afraid to turn the corner. Breathing deeply, she pretended to be waiting for Shruti, taking her pudgy hand in hers as the little girl finally caught up. It felt sweaty and sticky as Lana threaded her fingers through Shruti’s, the way they always did.

‘That was mean Lala,’ said Shruti. She sounded close to tears.

‘Sorry, Shru, I just didn’t want to be late.’ Would he still be there? Please let him still be there. ‘I promise we’ll walk home slowly. And we’ll sing The Lazy River. And I’ll make you drop scones before bed.’

Placated a little, Shruti began chatting about the way her toe had poked its way through a hole in her sock as they walked, hand in hand, up to the crossroads.

He was there.

Lana caught her breath. A shaft of sunlight illuminated streaks of light chestnut brown in his hair. His skin was tanned and, as he turned his warm brown eyes to her, he smiled. Her knees felt suddenly weaker than before.

‘Hey,’ called Dru.

‘Hey,’ Lana replied, her voice sounding much higher than normal.

‘Thought you’d stood me up.’

Lana laughed, a little hysterically. Get a grip on yourself.

‘Sorry, unexpected hold up. I had to bring my little sister. Sorry.’ Lana’s insides squirmed. I bet Ellora has never had to take her baby sister on a date.

‘S’OK,’ said Dru.

‘Shruti, this is Dru. Dru, Shruti,’ said Lana, feeling immediately foolish at how formal this sounded.

‘Hi,’ said Dru, smiling at Shruti who smiled shyly back and hid behind Lana. ‘I heard about what happened at Bloodbeck. How many’ve died now?’

‘Four.’

‘Guess your Mum’s got her work cut out tracking this one down. It sounds vicious.’

‘Yeah, guess so.’

‘She’s amazing, your Mum.’

‘Yeah.’ Noooo. Not another one who just wants to talk about Mum.

‘Did your Mum really—?’ Dru began, but Lana interrupted.

‘Should we walk down to the river?’

‘We could do, but it’s a bit steep. It might be difficult for your sister.’ He sounded doubtful, eyeing Shruti and her bearskin boots.

‘She could wait here for us. You wouldn’t mind would you Shru, we wouldn’t be long.’ Just five minutes. I just want him to myself for five minutes.

‘But I want to come,’ wailed Shruti. ‘I want to see the river and search for water sprites.’

‘It’s just a game we play,’ said Lana, hastily, noticing Dru raising a curious eyebrow. ‘Shru,’ she said, kneeling down and speaking quietly into her sister’s ear, ‘how would you like to draw a picture of a water sprite and I’ll see if I can read your mind and bring you back that very one from the river?’

Shruti broke off wailing for a moment, pondering Lana’s offer.

‘And,’ said Lana, with a rush of inspiration, ‘You can draw it in my notebook.’

‘Your best notebook?’ Shruti’s eyes widened with wonder.

Lana nodded.

‘The one that I absolutely must not ever never touch?’

‘That one.’

Shruti beamed. ‘OK.’

Lana reached into her backpack, pulling out her precious doeskin-covered notebook and the coloured pencils Mum had given her for her last birthday.

Shruti’s eyes opened even further.

‘OK, so you’re going to draw a water sprite and I’m going to try and guess which one you’re drawing and search for it in the river. If I find it, I’ll bring it back and we’ll persuade Mum to let you keep it as a pet.’

Shruti beamed. ‘Thanks Lala. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ Guilt burned inside her throat, but Lana swallowed it down. She’d only be five minutes. Shruti would be fine.

She settled her little sister down beside a rock, using it as a table, a clean page of Lana’s notebook open in front of her and coloured pencils laid out carefully on the mossy ground. Lana glanced back at Shruti as, with Dru, she slid down the steep, muddy bank towards the river. The little girl was lying on her stomach, knees bent, tongue sticking out, concentrating so hard she was frowning. Holding onto tree trunks to stop themselves slipping all the way down the bank, laughing at their ungainly progress, Lana and Dru headed down towards the river.

Sunlight shimmered on the slow-flowing water. Sideways glances, secret smiles. The heart-stopping brush of his hand against hers.

Time slid silently by.

Lana was still smiling as she pulled herself back onto the path using an overhanging tree branch. He’d taken her hand. As they clambered back up the slippery bank away from the river, Dru had actually taken her hand. His grip was strong and he’d smiled at her with his deep brown eyes. Eyes the colour of oak bark.

Her smile faded the moment she stepped back onto the path. The forest was much darker than she remembered and a cold breeze blew between the trees.

Shruti wasn’t there.

Lana’s notebook lay open on the rock where she’d left it. The coloured pencils neatly laid out on the mossy ground. All except for one which lay on the path by itself, almost as though it had been dropped.

‘Shruti?’ Lana called. Maybe her sister was hiding behind a tree. Hide and Seek was her favourite game. ‘Where are you, you little otter cub?’

No answer.

‘Shruti?’ Lana called, a little louder, the flutter of anxiety inside her chest starting to beat its wings a little harder. ‘Shruuuti.’

Dru stared at her.

‘Don’t just gawp at me, help me call for her,’ snapped Lana.

‘Shruti. Shruti. Shruuuuti,’ called Dru.

But the little girl did not appear.

Panic rose up Lana’s throat like bile. ‘Shruti,’ she shouted in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.

She glanced down at the notebook. Shruti had drawn a beautiful water sprite on one page. The drawing was complete except for one green wing tip. It was the green pencil that lay in the middle of the path. Lana bent to pick the notebook up, pressing the picture against her chest. It felt like a chasm had opened inside her and she half expected the notebook to fall right through it.

What had she done?

Where was Shruti?

How was she ever going to be able to tell Mum?

chapter 1: the end

Prayer slips fluttered in the breeze like trembling birds. There were more of them than the last time she’d been here. Lots more. White slips laid on top of curling yellow slips, some scattering across the broken hearth in front of the Inglenook fireplace, others blowing across the cracked flagstone floor in the draught from the open door.

Lana stepped into the room, the sweet smell of damp and decay filling her nostrils. One hinge had worked its way loose and as she tried to push the front door closed it scraped along the floor, leaving deep, dirty gouges on the worn grey slate. She used her shoulder to shove it, bending down to pick up rock that had fallen from the walls and using it to wedge the door shut.

Standing up, she gazed around the room. Her heart sank. What had happened to this place?

The bed stood in the corner where it had always been, except now it leaned at a crazy angle as one of its legs had collapsed. The threadbare covers had grown a soft grey fur of mould and one of the pillows had burst open, spilling its contents of dirty grey feathers onto the floor like vomit.

As a child Lana had been certain she could still see the bloodstains on the sheets. But, whether she really had seen them or they were just the figment of an overactive imagination she couldn’t be sure. Either way there was no sign of them now.

The smashed-up furniture was still there though, or what was left of it. Splintered wood lay scattered across the room, barely discernible from the fallen roof timbers that littered the floor. Filthy curtains hung in sorrowful tatters at the grime-streaked windows, the desiccated bodies of flies heaped in dusty piles on the stone sills.

Since the last time she’d been here the rot had set in in earnest. There were now gaping holes in the roof, timber beams silhouetted like rib bones against the darkening sky. Rocks had fallen from the crumbling walls and the flagstone floor was slippery with green slime.

Heart beating painfully, Lana stepped further into the room, walking towards the kitchen and backdoor. As she passed the Inglenook and turned to her right, she gasped.

Melanie Woods

Melanie has worked as a photographer and graphic designer for many years. Lockdown gave her the opportunity to pour her energies into writing, and to complete the MA in Writing for Young People at Bath, for which she was awarded a Distinction. Whilst studying, she worked on a variety of genres, experimenting with everything from picture books to thought-provoking YA fiction, but ultimately led her to discover the joy and discipline of writing in verse. Her verse novel Hope, has recently been long-listed for the Bath Children’s Novel Award 2021.

Having lived and worked around the world, she has settled in Somerset with her family, on a gentle, quietly undulating hill just beyond Glastonbury Tor.

@HebeintheWoods / melanie.woods20@bathspa.ac.uk

About Hope

Hope is a novel in verse which follows the story of fifteen-year old Bambi, as she finds herself pregnant following a date rape and her subsequent battles to keep her baby and find hope for their future.