The Black Shuck.
A week passed before I saw Dog again. In that time, good news had been as scarce as sunlight.
Rumors swept through the Wetlands faster than wildfire, claiming that more men had died in a single week at war than there were days in a year.
When a knight appeared on our doorstep, I knew the fighting was far from over.
I heard the clanging of his armor before I saw him.
At first, I assumed it was a customer arriving at the smithy with some heavy iron for us to fix, but when I opened the door, I was startled to find a man who looked more metal than flesh standing in the doorway.
He stepped forward, his boot crushing my favorite bunch of forget-me-nots. I suppose they couldn’t hide forever.
“Is this where Finn Smith resides?” the knight inquired, his chain-mail hood clinking as he tried to peer past me into the cottage.
Before I could answer, Finn appeared.
The knight presented a scroll in his metal-mittened hand.
“Condolences,” he mumbled, passing the parchment to Finn.
Finn unrolled it, and I glanced over his shoulder at the text, but neither Finn nor I could read.
Mother snatched the scroll away, her weary eyes frantically scanning the swirly script.
Then, she let out a devastated cry that told us, without words, what was written inside: Finn had been called to war.
* * *
Since that fateful scroll arrived, snow had fallen gently every day, dusting Green Vale in white.
That afternoon, I stood shivering in the village square beside Mother and Henry.
Though surrounded by a crowd, there was no warmth.
The villagers applauded the conscripted men as they took turns being thanked by the Lord of the Wetlands for their courage.
Finn looked beyond the queue of soldiers to where Avice stood—cloaked in black, beside her father, surrounded by knights.
The Lord wore an array of jewels, as if to distract from his forgettable face and mousy hair—now beginning to gray on the sides.
Average in height and build, he was nearly swallowed by his velveteen cloak.
Standing beside Avice only accentuated his ordinariness.
Her perfect braids framed her rosy cheeks, the color bleeding into her ivory complexion.
After each new soldier shook the Lord’s gloved hand, Avice stepped forward to present them a wilting daffodil—a token of gratitude for their bravery in such uncertain times.
When my father left for war, there was hope for better days. But now, as young men who’d only ever fought off a cold were conscripted, a deep sadness lingered in the icy air.
By the time Finn reached the front of the queue, the snowfall had stopped.
Avice held the flower out to him. Even at this distance, I could tell by the way she chewed her bottom lip that she was trying not to cry.
As Finn accepted her offering, Avice mouthed something I doubted the knights surrounding her could hear, let alone me.
Clutching his daffodil, Finn walked over to where we stood.
Mother took the flower and held it snugly to her chest, sniffling back the tears as if we were already mourning Finn at his funeral.
Meanwhile, Henry clawed at Mother’s skirt, desperate to be picked up.
I think he wanted to console her but was too young to know how.
“What did she say to you?” I probed.
“She made me promise I wouldn’t get hurt.” Finn sighed. “Do you think I’ll die?”
I hesitated, weighing whether to tell the truth or not. “I think you’ll be remembered as a hero,” I said. It was the best consolation I could offer.
“I don’t want to die a martyr. I want to die an old man, warm in his bed, with grandchildren fighting over who gets to hold my hand.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, knowing that nothing I said could change his fate.
“Can you give Avice this?” Finn uttered, pulling a lavender ribbon from his pocket. “Tell her if she wants to flee the Wetlands with me, she must wear it in her hair tonight. We’ll leave before dawn. If not, I’ll go fight in a war I cannot win.”
Before he finished speaking, Finn was already walking away. Only his boot prints in the snow remained as he disappeared into the crowd, which watched the somber celebration of young men’s valor.
After the villagers dispersed, Avice and I drifted toward each other. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and the tip of her nose was red from the chill. For a moment, neither of us spoke; there was nothing to say—we simply shivered in each other’s presence.
“What’s that?” Avice asked, tilting her head toward the ribbon in my hand.
I cleared my phlegmy throat. “Finn said that if you want to run away with him, wear this in your hair tonight,” I whispered as I handed over the ribbon.
It felt like this piece of lavender cloth was Finn’s life, and he had given the responsibility of it to Avice.
“He’s asking a lot of me,” she murmured.
I nodded, realizing how unfair this was to her.
She sighed. “I need time to think.”
“He leaves on the morrow,” I reminded her. “There’s no time left.”
Avice glanced over her shoulder, checking her father wasn’t eavesdropping. “Meet me at the forest’s edge tonight,” she said in a hushed tone. “No matter my decision, I need to see him.”
I squeezed her hand, hoping to reassure her that I’d respect her choice, whatever it might be.
As I walked away, the snow began to fall again. I turned back to see Avice standing still; snowflakes rested in her hair like tiny white flowers woven into her plaits.
She was breathtaking.
Avice pressed the ribbon to her lips, kissing the silky fabric before turning to join her father. Even though I didn’t know the answer, I sensed she had made her decision in that moment.
* * *
I spent the rest of the day forging. At the anvil, my fears were kept at bay by the dangerous work that demanded my complete focus—a single stray thought of Finn being conscripted could cost me a finger.
At dusk, I ventured into the forest to meet Avice.
Though I never feared the dark, Mother’s warnings rang loud in my ears, filling me with unease as I lingered alone—so far from the village at night.
The faint glow of home flickered in the distance as I paced, the settled snow crunching underfoot in my effort to stay warm.
Suddenly, a branch snapped somewhere deep in the dense woodland. In the darkness—so dim I could barely see my hand in front of my face—something rustled through the undergrowth. A trickle of fear dripped down my spine as two piercing eyes, redder than blood, glared from the shadows.
A sharp bark shattered the stillness—a sound I recognized.
“Dog?” I called, my body trembling as those red eyes seemed to grow bigger.
Then I saw a tuft of familiar black fur.
Relief flushed through me as I knelt and beckoned her into my arms. “Where have you been hiding?” I murmured, wrapping my arms around Dog’s neck and burying my face into her hair.
After the devastating news of Finn’s conscription, I craved comfort—but Dog remained unnervingly still.
I scratched her neck as I always did, yet her tail didn’t wag; her bright red irises locked onto mine, unblinking.
“Wicce.” Witch, she uttered, her mouth moving as if all dogs could speak.
The sound of her uttering the forbidden language made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Wicce.” Witch. She repeated the Yfelle in an eerie tone.
My stomach churned. I’d spent my life seeking the magic hidden within me—especially as I grew older and Mother stressed how important it was to keep it concealed.
My desperation to uncover the truth compelled me to nurse Dog back to health, clinging to the hope that the rumors of animals possessing magical abilities were true.
Yet now, as something otherworldly presented itself, I felt unsure if I wanted to explore my forbidden parts.
“Yes,” I whispered, glancing around to ensure I was alone. “Thee’ar theurgy?” Are you magic?
I couldn’t recall learning Yfelle—it was simply a part of me. Even before I could crawl, I could understand the magical language.
Dog’s mouth curled into what looked like a smirk. “Gese.” Yes. “Seolfor’he Wicce doe beogran eall wiccean.” The Silver Witch is coming to save all wizards and witches, she told me. “Thee wana seon hwat pa cuman?” You want to see what is coming? she asked.
As I nodded, a relentless pressure began to mount inside my head—unbearable, unyielding. Clutching my ears, I feared my brain might burst. A loud pop echoed throughout my body as I squeezed my eyes shut.
When I opened them again, I saw only darkness. After a few disoriented blinks, I sensed something stirring inside of me. Then, my vision returned—but I was no longer in the Wetlands.
I stood on a coal-colored beach, watching as a white-haired man sobbed over something half buried in the charred sands.
He wailed my brother’s name. As I scanned the landscape, I saw hundreds of fallen soldiers strewn across the beach like scattered shells.
Dragon riders hovered above, slaying men as easily as blowing the clock off a dandelion.
The soldiers were as powerless against magic as infants were against grown men.
A monstrous creature—more terrifying than anything from my darkest nightmares—bounded across the sands. I covered my eyes, bracing for impact that never came.
When I finally peered through my fingers, the scene had changed entirely.
I now stood in the village square of Green Vale, which was ablaze—a warning beacon to the neighboring villages of the horrors headed their way.
Bloodcurdling cries echoed as maimed villagers fitted in agony on the cobblestones.
Even children were shown no mercy, subjected to the same brutality as the men who fought to protect them.
Their mangled bodies resembled lumps of coal more than anything that was once living flesh.
As the vision faded, a silver-haired figure appeared before me. She extended her hand, her palm a deep plum hue.