Page 10 of Echo North
One look.
But wasn’t she right? Why did I expect the university to be any different from my little village? There was no place for me there, and if my father was truly gone, there was no place for me anywhere. I refused to stay another minute with Donia, and I couldn’t burden Rodya. He needed a life of his own, unhindered by me.
I walked without purpose or destination and my thoughts ran in circles, vipers swallowing their tails—there was no end to my despair and self-loathing. The lamp burned steadily through its oil and the snow fell on and on, heavy even through the trees. All was awful and empty and brittle, biting cold.
And then my lamp winked out.
I stopped short, realizing the folly of my actions with sudden clarity. I fought off the burgeoning panic and scrabbled in my shoulder bag, where a packet of matches and a half-burnt candle were wedged beneath a couple of books. I jammed the candle down into the chimney of the lamp and lit it, the glass shielding the flame from both wind and snow. Light flared once more in the wood and I turned back the way I came, but my footprints had already vanished.
I tried to retrace my steps anyway, bending my head down against the wind, but it was snowing so heavily I could barely see past the candle flame. I didn’t really know what direction I was headed—I could be wandering in circles, or deeper into the wood.
I kept going, my whole body numb with cold, watching the candle shrink too quick before my eyes. The drifts came up to my knees. I shoved my way through them—as long as I didn’t stop moving, there was still hope.
What do you even have to live for?whispered a needling little voice in my mind.
One look at your monstrous face.
I scrubbed angry tears from my eyes and thought about my father and Rodya, about a white wolf watching me through summer trees. I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.
I pressed on, snow seeping under my collar, ice stinging my eyes. The candle burned down to a stub and guttered out, so I abandoned the lamp in a snowdrift, grabbing the packet of matches and lighting them one by one. I walked on in those brief flares of light, the tiny orange flames burning down to my fingers or hissing out in the wind.
The matches dwindled. I forced myself to wait between striking them, until the clamor of the dark made my head wheel and I knew I couldn’t go a step further without another precious spark of light.
And then there was only one match left. I cradled it to my chest, forcing each foot in front of the other. My right hand grazed against a tree trunk, and I sensed space opening out around me—the wind swirled angrily, unhindered by the wood, and the snow fell even thicker. I hesitated a few moments, wondering if by some miracle I had found my way back through the forest, and the cottage stood just out of sight.
My fingers trembled as I lit the last match. Light flared.
I stood in a clearing in the midst of the wood, and a man lay in a crumpled heap in the snow not three paces ahead of me. I recognized his jacket, his pack.
It was my father.
I cried out and moved toward him, as quickly as I could through the drifts. The match burned out but I didn’t care, sinking to my knees beside my father, feeling his neck for a pulse and finding it, faint but steady beneath his skin.
“Papa,” I breathed, “Oh, Papa I found you.” I threw my arms around him, hugging him close.
“You need light,” came a sudden voice, gruff and strange. “There is a lantern in his pack.”
I jerked my head up. “Who’s there?”
“Light the lamp, and you will see.”
Bewilderment sparked through me, but I wasn’t afraid—my father wasalive,and my elation at finding him overshadowed everything else. So I obeyed the voice, digging through my father’s pack until I found a handful of matches and a lantern heavy with oil. I crouched on my heels, lit the lamp, raised it up.
The white wolf stood among the trees, his fur blending into the snow, his amber eyes huge and bright. He padded toward me and I gripped the lantern tighter, its metal digging cold into my palm.
“We do not have much time,” said the wolf, stopping just a pace away.
I screamed and dropped the lamp. Every impulse raged at me to run.How could the wolf be speaking to me?
But I couldn’t leave my father.
“You will be sorry if you lose the light,” the wolf said gruffly.
I snatched the lantern before all the oil could spill out; it shook in my trembling hand, metal rattling, light jouncing. I set it gingerly on level ground. I must have been dreaming—I must have fallen asleep in the wood and was freezing to death, my father and the wolf phantoms invented by my dying mind.
The wolf’s breath rose like smoke from his nostrils. “I am not a dream, and neither is your father. But we’re running out of time.” He came another step nearer.
I grabbed my father’s hand, trying not to panic at the bluish tint of his skin. Desperately, I massaged his fingers. “What are you?” I whispered to the wolf. “Why are you here?”
