Chapter 48: Vivianne – The Grey Wolf of Sátiron
Vivianne woke up. Blades of light pierced her eyes and she closed them again. She must have whimpered because somebody whispered kind words in her ears. She felt a hand under her head and a glass against her lips. She drank a warm, syrupy liquid then went back to sleep.
The second time Vivianne woke up, her head didn’t hurt as much as before. This time she raised her eyelids very slowly, taking time to get used to the light. Someone closed the curtains and Vivianne was able to open her eyes completely. It took them a few moments to focus on an unknown room with a wooden floor. Vivianne’s arm rested on a white and blue patchwork quilt. There was a vase with wildflowers on the bedtable right beneath the window that had flowery curtains aged by the sun. There was a wooden armchair, and on that chair sat a young, black woman wearing a pink dress. The wind moved the curtains and a ray of sun fell on the woman, then the curtain fell back, casting a shadow on her. The woman’s eyes were brown in the sun, purple in the shade.
‘Good morning,’ said Vivianne. Her throat was sore.
The woman stood up and curtsied.
‘Líran of Oz at your service.’
‘Never heard of-- ,’ Vivianne tried to sit up, but a stab in her leg convinced her not to move.
‘You’ve never seen me before,’ said Líran.
‘I meant Oz. Where is it?’
‘It doesn’t exist.’
Vivianne tried to find a more comfortable position in bed. Her head didn’t ache so much, which made more evident the pain in her leg. Moving made both her head and leg protest. She shut her eyes.
‘You cannot come from a place that doesn’t exist.’
Líran helped her to sit up.
‘I’m Líran, a storyteller.’
Vivianne rested her back on the pillows and tried to remember how she ended up in that bed. Her memory swirled on fire and blood. Vivianne’s skull felt like cracking. Líran put a glass of water in Vivianne’s hands and began to tell a story. The storyteller’s voice glided into Vivianne’s mind like a breath of wind. A glittering purple breath of wind that pushed away the blood and fire as if they were a veil.
In Líran’s voice there was a grey wolf. He was in a forest of ancient trees covered with fluffy snow, which filled with stars where the sunlight hit. Then there were houses made from the same green stone as the Emerald, stones that could only be found in the Frontier or in Sátiron when Sátiron still existed. Behind the wolf was a river as large as a sea. On the other side of the river dwelt darkness. Líran’s voice said in purple:
‘On that side is the Land of the Banished. Here is the Frontier.’
Standing by the wolf was a young man the same age as Vivianne. He had red skin, honey-colored eyes and his name was Pierre. Seven days earlier, he had crossed the river to the Land of the Banished, where no mortal had stepped in four hundred years. Today, he had returned riding a wolf of Sátiron.
‘How is that possible?’ Vivianne asked.
Líran didn’t know.
Pierre was surrounded by the Frontier, the Caravan, and the survivors from Lencon, which Neville had attacked. They wanted to see the man who had returned from the darkness. They surrounded him, but nobody touched him. Pierre was enveloped in mystery and darkness, his hand rested on the back of the wolf. Vivianne felt in her own hand the softness of the grey fur. She also felt the texture of Pierre’s hand.
She knew, even before he showed it, what Pierre carried in his shirt pocket. The Frontier, the Caravan, and Lencon watched as he raised a dragon’s scale as smooth as porcelain. Vivianne recognized the same red hue of her death.
‘I should be dead,’ she said.
Pierre spoke:
‘It is time to act. It is time the Frontier stepped out of the shadow and faced the darkness.’
The wolf turned around, crossed the Blood and disappeared in the dark of the Banished. From there he howled and the echo of that howl stayed in Vivianne’s ears.
‘Did you like the story?’ asked Líran.
Vivianne’s heart pounded in her chest. It is time to act, Pierre had said, and, in the back, underlining the wolf’s howl, an eagle screamed. Vivianne fell asleep again to the lullaby of wolf and eagle.
