He stood alone in the growing darkness outside the palisade, sniffing woodsmoke from the village, hearing the rustlings of the forest, waiting, shivering a bit in the chill from the cooling earth, rather wishing he'd brought more with him than the one lightweight, silken caftan. But then, there was a limit to the bulk his talons could carry easily. He'd refused to allow the villagers to wait out here with him, fearing that if the wolf really was Stefan, the shock of capture might well drive an already shaken human mind past recovery. But I wish I'd at least had the sense to borrow a warm cloak.
The wolf appeared suddenly, materializing out of the forest and padding silently towards the village palisade, for the moment unaware of him. An adolescent wolf, this, still too long of limb, lanky, but surely no more than a lonely, curious, perfectly ordinary wolf.
Or was it? Finist stirred slightly, and the animal started, staring at him. For an instant, the prince saw something glint strangely in those greenish eyes; for an instant he wondered uneasily if this mightn't be a rabid beast after all, and him standing there without a weapon to hand, his magic not being of the dramatic, fireball-hurling sort.
He'd risk it. But if the wolf charges me, Finist thought with a flash of wry humor, he's going to see the fastest avion transformation in royal history!
Warily, the prince let down his mental guards, sending out a careful, wordless query… brushing the other mind, the lupine mind… No; he'd felt the animal thoughts of wolves before, the basic instincts for food and pack, but there were no such thoughts here, only a half-formed vagueness, and behind it the hint of some lost, frightened consciousness…
Finist hastily drew his senses back into himself lest he too get snared by vagueness. «So-o…» he breathed. «Feodor was right. You are Stefan, aren't you? I wonder who transformed you, and how.»
The wolf froze at the first sound of his voice, ears up, and stared at him intently.
«No," the prince continued softly, «the problem is that your untrained mind doesn't know how to deal with the change. Humanity is sliding away from you. And how am I to draw you back?»
The wolf couldn't hold his gaze any longer. With a wor-ried little whine it began pacing back and forth, giving him quick, nervous glances.
«If I'm to do you any good, I must lay hands on you," Finist told it, taking a slow, cautious step forward. «But will you let me approach you, Stefan?»
He continued his patient, wary dance, now a step forward, now a step back, being always careful never to come between the uneasy creature and the safety of the forest, keeping up a steady, soothing croon as though this really was no more than some frightened beast. Finist knew he didn't dare move any faster: push the confused creature that was wolf-Stefan too hard, and he'd be sure to either run off or attack in sheer panic.
«So, and so… Another few steps and I'll be at your side, and maybe you'll actually allow me to touch you, and I'll be able to — "
«Stefan!»
A small, feminine form came hurtling out of the forest towards the wolf. This had to be Marfa, hiding in wait for her transformed lover, meaning only good—but Stefan didn't know her, not as he was. All he knew was that this screaming human was cutting off his escape. «No!» Finist shouted. «Get away!» Too late—the wolf was springing. So Finist sprang first, catching the thin grey form in mid‑leap, hurling them both to the ground, the wolf snarling like a true wild thing, Finist trying frantically to pin the lithe body writhing and snapping in his grip, trying to hold those powerful jaws together. God, the strength of the thing!
And then, in the middle of the struggle, Finist, hot animal breath in his face, glanced wildly up to catch the merest glimpse of a fine-boned, so familiar face, long hair shining like burnished gold even in the dim light: Ljuba. Ljuba, here? Impossible; she hated the forest, fearing its wild magic—besides, if she were here, she'd be helping him, wouldn't she? Aie, watching his council meetings was one thing, she had a perfect right to do that, royal lady that she was, but spying on him was something else entirely! Angry, Finist glanced up again and saw nothing but forest, and nearly got himself raked by the frantic wolfs claws for that moment of inattention. Panting, he fought till he'd managed to lock his legs about the straining beast. Slowly, painfully, he forced the lupine head about, forced the wild eyes to meet his gaze.
«Stefan. You are Stefan. I call you, I — "
He broke off with a gasp as fangs snapped and nearly closed on his arm. Finist caught the wolf in a fiercer grip, feeling Power blaze up within him, a fire in the blood, and began again, calling Stefan, coaxing, summoning, dragging the lost essence that was Stefan back and back and back…
And suddenly the lithe grey form went limp and submissive in his arms, gazing pleadingly up at him with human eyes.
«Stefan," murmured Finist, releasing his grip gladly, the fire fading within him. «Now‑let's see how to—break the charm… Get you back into your rightful shape.»
But there was a flicker of movement: Marfa, come to take the wolfs head in her arms, sobbing over him with adolescent fervor—or guilt? Finist studied her a moment, eyes widening in sudden comprehension.
«Marfa," he said sternly, and she turned to him, plainly terrified of his magic, his royalty, but determined to be brave: a small, pretty, defiant thing. The desperation in that slight frame touched Finist, and he sighed. «Why, Marfa? Why do this thing?»
«I—I didn't — "
«Don't lie. Not to me. Why did you do it? Do you hate Stefan so very much?»
«I don't hate him!» It was an anguished wail. «I never—Oh, Stefan! Stefan, forgive me! I—I was so angry, I didn't think; we'd sworn to be true to each other, and then Anna told me, that night the two of you had—had— How could you?»
Wolf-Stefan gave a little whine, seeming to shrink into himself, abashed, eyes fixed on her face, pleading, Forgive-, please, forgive!
Marfa hesitated. Then, with a little sob, she let her hand fall to his head, stroking the rough grey fur.
«I never expected it to work. Not really.» Her murmur was meant more for Stefan than Finist. «It was only an old story, you know the one, about how to make the wolf‑charm. Nobody really believes it.» She stopped short, biting her lip. «But I thought, what if? It probably wouldn't work, but if it did, it‑it wouldn't last, it would just change you long enough to—to teach you a lesson. Stefan, I didn't know! I didn't know you—you'd have to stay a wolf forever!»
Finist sat back with a sigh, rubbing tired muscles. «He doesn't.»
Human and lupine heads shot up to stare at him, eyes fierce with hope. «How… ?» Marfa began.
«You still have this, ah, wolf‑charm, I take it?»
She nodded, hand going to her bodice. «I've been carrying it with me to keep it safe. I was afraid if I didn't, something might happen to it and hurt Stefan. I mean, hurt him worse than—than — "
«Never mind that. First, girl, go back into the village and get Stefan something to wear. Go on! With any luck at all, he'll be himself again soon enough. And I doubt he'll want to be caught walking around stark naked.»
«Oh!»
Reddening, she went. Finist glanced down at Stefan, who was staring after her with longing eyes. Well, now, he really does love her! thought Finist, surprised at how pleased the thought made him.
And Marfa came scurrying out again, a bundle of clothing clutched in her arms.
After that, it was a simple matter of lighting a small fire with a flash of will and having Marfa cast her homemade charm—an ugly little thing of scraps of fur and knotted twine‑into the heart of it. These odd little backwoods spells did tend to work, there being enough Power in the forest to fuel them, but they also tended to be ridiculously easy to break.