New Story: The Smoke Wolf

This week, I’m sharing a fairy tale I wrote, based on the Appalachian legend of the Smoke Wolf. I hope you enjoy it!

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The Smoke Wolf first appeared the winter the machines arrived to take down the trees at the edge of town. The sightings were infrequent and irregular at first, so people (excepting those who were seeing, of course) credited them to overactive imaginations. Understandably so—the reports were of a creature made of mist, the size of a lion and the shape of a wolf, with burning yellow eyes. 

By the spring, however, when the logging operation was well underway, the Smoke Wolf was more than legend. Small animals, mostly cats and rabbits kept in outdoor hutches, were disappearing. And the sightings were becoming commonplace. Most people now understood the Smoke Wolf was no figment of fancy.

Jada first saw the Smoke Wolf one evening in February as she walked back from the library after school. She was almost home, where the road ended at the long driveway lined with apple trees. The evening was damp, a light drizzle falling from the steely sky. Pale blue light from the moon pierced the clouds, illuminating her path.

As she stepped onto the driveway, a swirling mist arose between two of the apple trees, mixing with the drizzle, and the Smoke Wolf took form. Its fiery yellow eyes watched Jada as she stumbled and dropped the books she was carrying. She stood motionless, staring at the Smoke Wolf as the Smoke Wolf stared at her. Seconds passed, and the mist that made up the Smoke Wolf thickened, becoming opaque. The fire it its eyes settled, revealing irises the color of gold. Then the Smoke Wolf turned and padded away, fading into the gray. 

Jada gathered the books, dried them off as best she could, and walked the rest of the way home. Her father was still in his workshop behind the house. She didn’t tell him what she had seen.

The summer of 1880 was desert dry. The village had waited for rain for months, and half of the wells had dried up. The villagers had argued but finally agreed to ask the witch who lived in the small cabin in the woods for assistance. 

Marena was bundling rockcress when motion from the window caught her eye, and she saw the group of villagers coming up the path to the cabin. Her chest tightened. Ren was up the mountain, gathering water from the spring, so Marena was alone. 

“We’ve come to ask for help,” a deep, muffled voice called out from behind the wooden door. “We’re in need of water.”

Marena looked up at the protective runes etched above the lintel and traced a sigil into the air. Then she opened the door. 

“And how can I assist?” she asked.

“You’re a witch,” stated one of the women, at the back of the group, matter-of-fact.

Marena’s lips thinned. “I am a water dowser.”

“Well, that’s what we need,” said the man with the deep voice. “Our wells are going dry with this drought. We need to find new water.”

Marena studied their faces. Some of the faces were the same ones that had yelled, “Sorceress!” and “Evildoer!” when she was last in the village with Ren. Now they were eager, desperate. She was silent for moment, then said, “I will help you.”  

After the villagers had gone, Ren returned to the cabin with the spring water, and Marena told him what had transpired. 

Ren’s face darkened. “They do not deserve your help.”

“Maybe this will be a fresh start,” Marena replied.

By mid-April, the machines had finished plundering the forest. Beyond the narrow buffer of trees that ran the length of the edge of town, only a few small pines and scattered bits of underbrush remained in the barren swath that swept to the base of the mountain. Everyone in the town was glad to see the loud machines go. 

Shortly after the last tree fell, the Smoke Wolf took down a small pony in the night, picking its bones clean. The pony had belonged to an influential member of the town council, who quickly called a meeting to determine how to rid the town of the Smoke Wolf.

The meeting would begin with a forum that was open to the people. The council members alone would make a decision on what action to take, but they had no plan that was likely to work. They would solicit ideas before a closed-door meeting of the council. 

Marena followed the path into the village carrying her forked willow branch, acorns from the previous autumn crunching under her feet. Ren walked beside her. As they came into the village, the sky glowed orange as the sun rose. Dozens of people began lining the road to watch them. Ren scowled. Marena ignored them, keeping her face passive. 

They crisscrossed the village as Marena held the branch horizontally in front of her in an underhanded grasp. She stayed focused on the branch, feeling for the almost imperceptible vibrations that were the water’s call. She found water quickly, but it was too deep in the earth to be of use. She kept going.

When the sun was high in the sky, Marena’s branch dipped with decisiveness. “Here,” she announced. The villagers cheered.

By the end of the day, she had discovered a second source that was within reach, and again the villagers cheered.

The forum was held in the community center attached to the town hall, and it attracted the interest of nearly every resident. After months of living with the Smoke Wolf, the people were angry, grieving the loss of their animals, agitated by their fear, and frustrated by the lack of action. 

Jada had insisted on coming to the forum with her father, but she was beginning to doubt her desire to attend. The room was hot, and outrage filled the space like kindling. 

The mayor tapped on the microphone in front of him to begin the meeting. “Attention, please,” he called, over the cacophony of voices. The people quieted.

He continued, “As you all know, we are here to identify a way to eliminate the Smoke Wolf. I think we all understand, at this point, that we’re dealing with no mere animal. If you have an idea, particularly if you are familiar with any stories surrounding the Smoke Wolf that may prove useful, please line up along this wall here.” The mayor pointed to the wall to his right. “I will call folks to the microphone, one at a time. Our secretary will record everything suggested.”

About two dozen townspeople immediately rose from their seats. 

Many of the ideas shared were absurd. One man advocated arming everyone in the town with handguns. Another said that, since the Smoke Wolf was made of mist, they only needed to create a strong wind that would blow it away. 

Other ideas were more practical. A woman suggested poisoning meat and luring the Smoke Wolf to consume it. 

The ideas that were most popular involved fire. The people said it stood to reason that burning up the mist would eliminate the monster. 

Jada was sure burning would not work since the Smoke Wolf’s eyes were made of fire. As she mulled the memory of her encounter with the Smoke Wolf and listened to the litany of proposals to destroy him, her heart grew heavy.

The villagers began digging after Marena found the water sources, and soon they had functional wells once more. Rain was still scarce for several months, but the villagers never lacked water. 

When Marena was in the village, the people greeted her cheerfully, and Ren grudgingly admitted that Marena’s act of generosity had made their lives easier. Ren sold record amounts of firewood to the villagers, and Marena’s herb blends became highly sought after. Ren took up painting and drawing. And Marena continued her communion with the Earth, speaking with the animals in the forest, experimenting with plants and stones, and expanding her grimoire with new spells and enchantments. 

The day after the town council meeting, Jada was at the grocery. It was early evening, and the store was busy. People spoke of little besides the meeting and the Smoke Wolf. There had been no sightings since the loss of the pony, but anger still fueled the people’s talk. 

“I hope they choose poisoning!” said a woman at the checkout. 

“They should use multiple weapons at once,” said the man in line behind her. “Poisoning yes, but why not also burning and bullets? Make sure we get it done.” 

The mayor was scheduled to announce the plan of action the following day, and everyone was eager to hear it.

As Jada rode home, grocery bags tucked into the pannier on the back of her bike, she tried to forget the vicious words she had heard in the store and the dread that filled her chest. 

When she turned off the road and onto the driveway, she saw the Smoke Wolf standing as if he were waiting for her. His fiery eyes turned golden, and the mist quickly solidified to become a shining silver fur. 

Jada clicked down the bike’s kickstand and took a step toward the Smoke Wolf, holding out her hand. 

Life was good for Marena and Ren for two years after the wells were dug. Then illness came to the village. It arrived in the peak of summer, heat scorching and humidity hanging thick in the air. It came for the babies. It began with a racing heartbeat and a fever. Severe stomach sickness followed, and dehydration set in quickly. The babies cried out as muscle cramps racked their tiny bodies. Some of the babies recovered, but many died. 

As the villagers grieved, they became desperate to determine the cause of the illness. They noted that it affected no one over the age of five. And most of the children who died were in infancy. What sickness would target only babies?

In time, the villagers began to blame Marena. After all, she didn’t have children. She was probably jealous of the villagers who did. And she was a witch, likely sitting in her cabin working curses against their little ones. The villagers decided to take action.

The Smoke Wolf walked toward Jada slowly, gently. He dipped his head down in a greeting, then looked up at her. 

“You don’t deserve to die,” Jada whispered.

The Smoke Wolf held her gaze, then nuzzled her hand. 

“They want to kill you,” she continued as she stroked the soft fur on his head. “They’re planning to do it soon, but I don’t know how. You should go. You need food, and there is none for you here now that the forest is gone. You can’t keep eating the town’s animals.”

The Smoke Wolf ’s golden eyes met hers. He tossed his head in the direction of the ruined forest then looked back at Jada.

“Yes, beyond the old forest, into the mountains,” Jada said.

The Smoke Wolf looked again between the barren swath and Jada, moving his head in an invitation to follow.

Jada hesitated. What would it mean to follow the Smoke Wolf? She looked beyond the Smoke Wolf to her house, lights glowing in the windows. The air was stagnant, waiting.

She had another hour, at least, before her father would be home. “Wait here,” Jada said. She got back on her bike and rode quickly to the house, where she set the bags on the kitchen counter. She returned to the Smoke Wolf on foot.

The villagers waited until Ren was away, over the mountain, hunting. Before dawn, they made their way silently to the cabin. They carried kerosene, rags, glass bottles, and matches. They gathered silently around the cabin, where Marena still slept.

They worked quickly, dousing the outside of the cabin with kerosene, soaking the rags and placing them into the glass bottles, setting the stage for the terror that would rid them of Marena and the illness. 

Marena woke to the sound of glass breaking as they threw the bottles, kerosene-soaked rags now lit, through the windows. Then villagers lit the ring of fuel around the cabin and ran back to the village.

Fire consumed the gingham curtains and spread to the cloth that covered the table sitting against the wall. Smoke filled the small cabin quickly, obscuring Marena’s vision. She desperately searched for the door through the acrid smoke until the smoke filled her lungs and she could no longer breathe.

When Ren returned from hunting, only the stone chimney and foundation remained, covered in ash—save for a perfectly-preserved grimoire, which lay in the center of the destruction.

The babies in the village continued to become ill and die for another four months, until it was discovered that the cause of the sickness was contaminated milk.

The Smoke Wolf led Jada through the ruined forest. The evening air was cool, and Jada wished she had brought a jacket. 

He stopped at a rectangular formation of stones—the remains of an old cabin’s foundation. The chimney had crumbled, leaving more stones scattered about. Jada watched as the Smoke Wolf dipped his head at each corner of the foundation and then laid down in the center, perfectly still as he rested his head on his front paws. 

She understood. This was where the Smoke Wolf had lived before the forest was cut down. But the cabin’s remains were old, at least 100 years old, maybe more.

The Smoke Wolf rose and continued walking. Jada trailed close behind. They made their way to the base of the mountain, where the trees remained unmolested, and a small cave, formed by large slabs of limestone, was tucked into the earth. The Smoke Wolf entered the cave, and Jada followed. In the back was a large rock that the Smoke Wolf moved aside to reveal a book, hidden away in a cavity in the limestone. 

As Ren grieved the loss of Marena, the authorities from the village determined that the fire was an accident, likely caused by a candle carelessly left burning. Rage mixed with his sorrow, and Ren began to crave revenge. 

In the makeshift hut he had constructed near the ruined cabin, he sat in a lonely wooden chair, hunched over Marena’s grimoire in his lap. He searched for a hex or a curse—something that would make the villagers suffer as Marena had at their hands. As his eyes grew weary, he heard a rustling outside. 

He left the grimoire on the chair, still open, and stepped out from the hut. His heart felt like the flight of a thousand birds. There stood Marena, her body appearing as pale blue glass. 

“Ren,” she said gently. “Do not poison your soul with vengeance. It will destroy you before it destroys the people you hate.”

Ren’s eyes filled as she continued. “Find peace in the mountains. The Earth will comfort you as revenge never will. And my spirit will be with you always.” 

When Marena’s spirit faded, Ren stumbled back into the hut. Her grimoire sat on the chair, open to a transformation spell: “To Become the Mist Wolf.” He read the spell as he felt Marena’s spirit beside him, though he could no longer see her. Then he rose and began gathering the materials needed to perform the spell.

Jada picked up the book. It was old, with a brown leather cover and yellowed pages. It contained poems, runes, sigils, spells, and enchantments. Between the pages were tucked a small collection of loose papers with pencil drawings—drawings of a woman with long, wild hair and a soft face, lips turned up in a smile. In one of the drawings, she sat at a table strewn with herbs, a book in front of her that looked very much like the book Jada was holding. The drawings were signed “Ren.” 

Jada looked at the Smoke Wolf. He dipped his head toward the book. Jada pulled aside the drawings and was startled to see a spell titled “To Become the Mist Wolf.”

Understanding settled over Jada as she took in the meaning of the drawings and the spell. She sat next to the Smoke Wolf—the Mist Wolf—on the floor of the cave, paging through the grimoire until she knew she could no longer delay returning home. As they rose, the Mist Wolf indicated she should take the grimoire with her.

They stood for a moment together outside the cave. The air felt charged, electric. Then the Mist Wolf looked up at the mountain, nuzzled Jada’s hand, and began climbing the mountain. A pale blue figure that shone like glass followed close behind him. Jada watched the Mist Wolf until he was out of sight and then turned to make her way back through the barren swath. 

The sky was darkening and the moon glowed blue-bright as it ascended, wrapping Jada its its luminescence. As she walked, she clutched the grimoire, now hers, to her chest. ✥

Photo by Ray Hennessy