The king and the wolf

Issue eight: flash fiction by Stetson Ray

This week’s story is an original fable that examines the way humans treat the environment compared to the way animals walk in the world. What happens when animals take control of humanity’s future? Read on, and find out.

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Moonlight, Wolf by Frederic Remington, 1904

The wolves crept into the village at night, and left with the villagers’ babies clamped between their teeth. With the rising sun came the cries of mothers who awakened to find their sons and daughters gone from their cribs.

Since the king of the village, Helmskar, was already out of favor with his subjects, and most of the men were away at war, he saw this as a chance to prove himself. He set out on his own to find the beasts and get the children back, even though he was old and fat and scared and cold.

He marched into the snow-covered forest and followed the wolves’ tracks deeper into the woods than he had ever gone. It wasn’t long until he reached a large cave. He stood peering into the black void, the smell of wet fur pouring over him. The wolves yipped and whined somewhere inside. The sound grew louder so he drew his sword, but his eyes could find no target.

“Who are you?” a deep voice growled from within the cave.

“I am King Helmskar! I’ve come to reclaim the children of my people!”

A chorus of growls and snarls echoed from the wolf den. The animals were laughing at him, and rightfully so. His voice lacked any power or authority. He was just an old man lost in the woods. So what if he had a pointy sword? It would do him little good against an army of sharp teeth.

Dozens of eyes glowed within the darkness, maybe hundreds. Helmskar scolded himself for coming into the woods. What a fool he had been. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

“Please, I beg of you, release my people’s children.”

The wolves quieted, then the largest wolf that Helmskar had ever seen emerged from the cave. Its fur was black and streaked with silver. Its eyes were white as cracked ice. Its teeth were as long as a child’s fingers. Helmskar wanted to run, but he remained on his knees.

“Why should we return them?” the wolf asked. “You humans come to the forest and take what you need. We have only done the same with your village, have we not?”

“But our children have done nothing wrong. They are innocent.” Then Helmskar had an idea. Since the wolf was surely going to kill him anyway, maybe he could make his death mean something. “You may take my life, eat my flesh and gnaw my bones, if only you return our young.”

“That is generous of you,” the wolf said, “but we are keeping your children.”

“Why?” Helmskar breathed.

The wolf slowly circled him, its eyes level with his. “To raise them,” it said, “to show them our ways and teach them to reject yours.”

“But humans cannot live as animals. Humans need—”

“Food? Shelter? Love? We will give them these things, and more.”

“But—”

“If you question me again, I will kill you.”

Helmskar held his tongue, and the wolf paused in front of him and blew hot air onto his face as it spoke. “We believe you humans will destroy our world for the sake of the one you seek to build. Soon there will be nothing left for us, nothing for any creature of the natural world. There is but one way to stop this destruction. We will teach your children to respect our world, and when they are grown, they will not seek to conquer it, but live within it. These new humans—born of man and raised by animals—will inherit the land. And when they are older, they may return to your world if they wish.”

Helmskar waited a long time to be sure the wolf was finished speaking.

“What am I to tell my people?” he asked.

The old wolf circled him a final time, then disappeared into the shadows of the den. A final whisper came from the darkness: “Tell them what you wish.”

The wolf and the lamb by Jean de la Fontaine, 1876

Helmskar followed his tracks out of the forest and reached his village near dark. His people gathered around him and begged for news.

“What has become of our children?” a young mother asked.

“Have they been eaten?” asked another.

“Do they live or die?” asked a third.

It broke Helmskar’s heart to hear such desperation in their voices.

“With the wolves, your children will stay,” he said.

The villagers cried out in confusion. Explaining what the wolf had told him would be useless. They would never understand.

“Your children are dead,” Helmskar told them, for he knew their children would never return.

Stetson Ray lives in the hills of East Tennessee and spends most of his time writing.