Page 9 of Wolf's Providence

“Like priests?” I asked, engrossed even though I knew that this wasn’t what he was here to talk about. “Or monks?”

“Both servants to their God, yes?” he asked, seeking clarification.

“Yeah.” I was nodding. “I guess they are.”

The shaman nodded. “Then I suppose we are similar.” He tapped the corner of his eye. “Worldly possessions are not the only thing we give up.”

“Why take your sight?” The question was soft, but I genuinely wanted to know.

“My sight has not been taken,” he corrected me gently. “I see clearly what the Goddess wants me to see.”

Perhaps it was the fact I’d been in this room for longer than I wanted to be, but I held up three fingers. “Does she want you to see these?”

The shaman’s lips twitched as he gave me his attention. “I see beyond the mortal realm, no matter how many fingers are gestured at me.” There was no reprimand in his tone, but still, Ifelt childish and dropped my hand back to the bedcover. “Your three fingers were two more than I am used to,” he winked.

“That’s freaky,” I mumbled.

“In answer to your question, the name I carried before is not the name that suits me now.” He sat at ease and didn’t fidget. I envied him for the ability to sit still and not fidget. “My duty is to the balance, to the natural order of things. To carry out the Goddess’s Will.”

“Is she fair?”

“She is Luna.”

That was the answer? She was Luna? Maybe she took more than his eyes…maybe their Goddess robbed them of their common sense too.

“I came to talk to you, to tell you what I can.”

I tilted my head as I felt unease settle in my belly. “Tell me what?”

“The situation, as I see it.”

I had no idea if he was being funny or ironic with his choice of words.

“Ten years ago, Caleb’s pack was massacred,” the shaman spoke clearly and confidently. “The few that survived were not on Shadowridge Peak the day it happened.”

“Few?”

“More than Caleb remains of the Shadowridge Peak Pack.” He frowned. “Only one still calls himself of that pack; the others, the few who survived, were told to find new packs. Caleb did not want to lead them. He chose to grieve in solitude, and he has traveled far from his duties in the years that have passed.” The shaman produced a small wooden bowl and a leather pouch. I was already slipping my hands under my blanket. I recognized that bowl. I saw his lips curve into a faint smile and knew my stealthy move had been seen. “Your sickness…where were you when you caught it?”

“Where was I?” I blinked rapidly. “You mean what foster home was I in?”

“You said you caught a fever. The fever leaves you weak, and…illness can occur?”

For the first time, he sounded unsure, and I didn’t think he knew howhumanthat made him appear. Relatable. “Yes, I got glandular fever, or mono as it’s more commonly known. I developed ME not long after.” He nodded, but he looked at me expectantly. “I was in a place called Werben Hills, it’s south of Colorado Springs. Small, but big enough.”

“Your foster parents were already deceased?” he asked me.

“Yes, a month or two before, I don’t remember.” I looked away. “It’s a bit fuzzy.” Clearing my throat, I looked back at him. “I mourned them,” I added quietly. “The following months were hazy.”

The shaman listened, watching me, and then he opened his pouch, and I inhaled the pungent herbs as they hung heavy in the air. “I wish to make a potion for you. Will you drink it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He laughed, his hand patting the bedside table that stood adjacent to my bed. “There is always a choice, child.”

I wasn’t sure there was, but I didn’t say that. “Does it taste bad?”

“Probably.”

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