Meataphor

If you feed a wolf, what will you get? Bea and Annie know that there are wolves in their heads, but just because they’re in their minds doesn’t mean they can’t hurt the twins.

The shimmering black dunes surrounding the little village seemed to take in the sunlight with an endless hunger, and at night mirrored the stars overhead as faint flickers of light drifted over the sands. But the treacherous sands were not the only danger, for iron wolves maraudered over the desert and often in the night a child would vanish into the shadows, never to be seen again.

***

Tears streamed from Annie’s eyes as she gathered up the tattered remains of her doll, its woven cloth body shredded and torn to pieces and its fluff interior floating away on the wind like sand-puff clouds in spring. She reached out and grasped at one but it slipped away from her fingers.

“And don’t come back!” A little way from Annie’s kneeling form, an identical version of her, a small graze on her cheek and bruises raised on her legs and arms screamed at a pair of fleeing figures, who disappeared towards the distant, low-lying shapes of the village.

“Don’t be angry, Bea…” Annie managed between sniffles, and her twin turned to her, a scowl still etched across her features.

“But they were being mean. And stupid.” Bea kicked at the sand, raising a small plume of black dust that fell and settled on her feet. “They deserved it.”

“Don’t be angry. Don’t feed the wolves, Bea. Please.” Annie’s lip wobbled, but she sniffed and wiped away the tears with her sleeve. Bea hurried over and wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders, helping her to wipe away her tears. “See, I’m… not sad anymore. Don’t be bad, Bea.”

Bea huffed a sigh, plopping down next to her sister. The threat gone, her body relaxed and she leaned her head against Annie’s shoulder, though her face still showed signs of frustrated thought. Annie hugged her sister and kissed her cheek. As the warmth of the day began to rise, the sands darkening as the light crept over the dunes, Bea forced her face into a weak smile.

“I’m good, Annie. See?”

***

In the cool night air, Grandpa Lagora would whisper tall tales to his grandchildren as their parents pretended to turn a blind eye to his outrageous stories and wild claims. One such night, as the youngest twins crowded around him with wide eyes and bated breath, his drew himself upright and began his story.

“Have I told you about the Twin Wolves, my little cacti?”

Bea, the braver of the two with a little nick in her left ear from a tussle with a briar rabbit, frowned as Annie shook her head excitedly.

“There’s loads’a wolves, Grandpa!” Bea rocked backwards and forwards on her haunches, partly intrigued but mostly distracted by the unending energy and enthusiasm of youth.

***

“She’s so pretty,” Bea sighed, her thirteen-year-old eyes fixed on Datura’s smiling mouth and flowing black hair. Beside her, perched on the low wall bordering the edge of the village, Annie smiled and she nudged her twin in the ribs.

“So, you going to ask her out?” Bea flushed, pink rising to colour her tawny cheeks and creeping down her neck and along her ears.

“Uh-n-no, I-uh—” Annie’s heels drummed against the stones before she leaped to her feet.

“Don’t be scared, silly!” And she turned, Bea sitting frozen with mounting horror, and waved madly at Datura. “Hey! Hey, Datura! Hi! Hey, my sister wants to ask you something…”

***

Grandpa Lagora smiled, showing teeth missing and ground down by years of living. He seemed impossibly old to the two children knelt before him, and his smell – of old tobacco, dust and oiled leather – was the smell of story and adventure.

“Ah, but these two wolves are different. These two are special.” With a quiet sigh, he settled back in his chair, and both Annie and Bea’s mouths snapped shut as they stared up at him with unabashed anticipation.

There are two great wolves, who clasp the world between their iron fangs.

These two wolves, they’re brothers. Twins, though they are not identical.

“Like us!” Annie blurted out, nearly vibrating off her cushion. Her hand squeezed Bea’s and Bea squeezed back, turning to give small, secretive smiles to each other. Their grandpa smiled indulgently down at the pair of them, as in one corner of the room their father clattered a pan of stew across the hobs. The smell of meat and sweet, pungent herbs filled the still air of the dwelling.

“Yes, just like you two.”

And these wolves are very special, because unlike the iron wolves they can’t be hurt or killed by normal means. Your father’s guns and your mother’s spears would be no help against these great beasts.

For you see, these two wolves do not exist in the physical realm.

Although they cannot be seen or touched, they are as real as you or me—

“Or Jezza?” Bea piped up as the huge grey and black tabby plopped itself across her lap, a purr already rising and rumbling through her heavy, thickset chest. The cat’s long, fluffy tail swished in a languid arc and brushed against Annie’s knee.

As real as you, or me, or even Jezza, yes. You see, they exist in your mind.

***

Bea was going to go insane, she was sure of it. There was nothing to do, and only so much time she could spend counting the moons embroidered on the canopy ceiling. Her leg itched abominably under the bandages, and of course she couldn’t scratch it over even move to a different position, and the few books piled on her bedside table were boring, boring, boring.

“You awake?” The familiar whisper drifted through the curtain hanging over the doorway, and Bea had to bite back a smile. It might have been years since they’d shared a room and she might be fuzzy with pain and analgesics, but those words still carried the same magic they had when they were cushioned by the cool night air and the promise of mischief.

“Of course,” she whispered back, and Annie’s head poked around the doorway, auburn curls tumbling in wild, messy tangles around her face.

“Thought you might like some company.”

“I would love some company. I think I’m going to die of boredom over here.”

With a rustle, Annie flumped down onto the edge of the bed, careful to avoid Bea’s injured leg. A brief flash of pain flicked across Bea’s face as her broadening smile pulled the gashes across her face tight, but it wasn’t enough to make her stop smiling.

“Oh, your hair. Annie…” Quick as a flash, Bea pulled Annie into an awkward hug and began working to detangle her sister’s lank locks. “When did you last wash it?”

“Um, don’t know?”

“Well, when you head home, go do that. Gross.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Bea frowned at her sister’s tone, pulling her down so that she could rest her head on Annie’s shoulder, right by her ear. She smelled of old sweat and greasy hair, there was a sour tang to her breath that said she hadn’t eaten anything for a while.

“You okay, Nee?”

“I really feel like I should be the one asking you that!” Annie laughed, a thin, glass-panel sound that seemed hard and fragile, yet Bea couldn’t seem to peer through and see what lay on the other side.

“Psh, doctor’s stitched it up fine and I promised to go wrestling with iron wolves again.”

“Which will last for how long? Thirty minutes after you get out of bed?”

Bea grinned. “Maybe a whole hour. It really hurt this time. So what are you up to, now that you don’t have me to drag you into all kinds of trouble?”

“Oh, nothing much really. Just stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

But Annie only shrugged, and Bea couldn’t manage to get any more detail out of her before she left, the door curtain swinging forlornly shut behind her.

***

“In my mind?” Annie’s golden eyes were wide.

“And in little Bea’s mind and in my mind, too. Always the same wolves, for everyone that’s ever lived.”

“Woah…” Annie breathed, but Bea’s face was crinkled with a frown, her mouth already half open as curiosity and her fractious nature pulled words to her lips.

“But how can they be the same for everyone?”

Grandpa Lagora smiled at her and ruffled her chestnut curls. “They just are, child. They’re not real, but they still… exist.”

“But… but…” Bea’s small face was twisted with thought. “But what do they do? How did they get in there?”

Steaming bowls of stew were placed on the low table to the side of the sitting area, and the twins’ mother gave Grandpa Lagora a bowl and a kiss on the cheek. With a thin, gnarled hand he picked up a copper spoon and lifted a spoonful of stew to his lips.

“Ah, you do ask the most interesting questions, little Bea. They did not ‘get in’ to your head – they were always there; they were born when you were born, and you nurture them as you grow.”

***

“I’m a little bit jealous, you know.” Bea leaned her head against her sister’s shoulder, the room spinning ever so slightly beneath her. Annie’s warmth was almost furnace like in the cold night air, as the pair of them perched on a low wall and took turns swigging from a bottle of liqueur, and Bea closed her eyes for a moment and simply listened to the night breeze and her twin’s slow, steady breathing.

“No you’re not. You’re too awesome to be jealous of me.” The words were a little slurred, a little uncertain and hazy, but Annie’s sticky kiss on her forehead was firm and decisive, if a little closer to taking her eye out than Bea would have liked.

“Nope, definitely jealous. I mean, you’ve been studying for years and now you’re gonna be a master Storm-Shaper and I’m so so proud of you.” Bea paused, her brow wrinkling with the effort of stringing so many words together. “An’ a little jealous.”

From her position with her head resting on Annie’s shoulder, it was difficult for her to make out her sister’s expression. Annie looked blankly ahead for a long moment, before taking a sip from the bottle and passing it back to Bea, who pushed herself upright and took it.

“I guess…” Something about Annie’s tone caught and pulled at Bea’s attention, an uncertainty lingering just below the words like a iron wolf prowling the dusk dunes.

“You’re not excited?”

“I…” Annie’s mouth stayed open for a long moment as she seemed to struggle to find the words she was looking for. Bea couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else, so she just watched Annie closely out of the corner of her eye, taking another sip from the bottle. As she nudged Annie and offered her the bottle, Bea watched a change come over her sister – her posture stiffened, her face went hard as if a mask had simply slipped soundlessly over her features. And the mask looked just like her sister, that was the terrifying thing, because when Annie turned back there wasn’t even a hint of her earlier hesitation in her smile or her voice.

“Of course I’m excited. It’s amazing – just what I’ve always wanted. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

***

“I don’t want a wolf in my head, grandpa!” Annie whined through a mouthful of stew, thick juice dribbling down her chin.

“Ah, but these wolves you do want. One of them, at least. For one of them is all that is happy and good – joy and truthfulness and loyalty and love. The other, ah, now he is a nasty beast – he is spite and anger and hatefulness and cowardice. And you see, these wolves are always, always fighting one another. They fight forever, because they are diametrically opposed, one good and one evil.”

“And… and which one wins?”

Bea elbowed her sister, sending stew splashing to the ground as Annie dropped her spoon into her bowl. “Silly! Good always wins! Right, grandpa?”

“Ah, in this case, not always, little Bea. These wolves are very evenly matched, you see.”

“But… one has to win!”

“And one will win, child.”

“Which one, grandpa?!” Both children cried out in exasperation, their empty bowls forgotten and their eyes wide as they looked expectantly up at their grandpa.

The old man smiled, his wrinkles deepening as he finished his final mouthful of stew. “Why, the one you feed, of course.”

***

“I’m f-fine…!” Annie’s voice hiccupped into tremulous silence, and Bea rolled her eyes and rattled the door handle.

“Annie, please. Please, just… Just open the door?” Silence greeted her plea, and she rested her head against the cool metal of the door. Her breath fogged a little on the steel-grey surface, until the heat of the day wicked it away to the sky. “Don’t make me pick this lock, Annie. You know I can.”

“Why d-do you even—” A huge sniff, audible even through the door, broke Annie’s reply into fragments. “—Even know how to do that?”

“I was bored. Seemed like a good life skill.” Soundlessly, Bea tapped her fingertips against the door frame, wondering if she would actually follow through on the threat. She could, but should she? “’Sides, how else am I supposed to read in the library after hours?”

“You can read?” A small smile tugged at Bea’s lips at the familiar, joking jab and Annie’s voice sounded a little lighter. Almost as if she might, perhaps, be smiling a little too. A real smile, not some porcelain façade masking some other emotion, the sort of smile Bea hadn’t seen in far too long.

“Well, some of the pictures are rather pretty, you know.”

There was another silence, drawn long by the unmoving air, the thick smell of dust and a cloying, floral perfume lending it weight. Bea nudge the door pensively with the toe of her boot, trying to swallow the lump of worry sitting heavy in her chest. It seemed as if it had always been this way, though she knew it hadn’t, her waiting and hoping and watching and Annie closed off by some barrier Bea didn’t really understand. Her sister always seemed so happy, always had a kind word and a positive outlook.

Sometimes it made Bea feel a little nauseous. As if she could be a better person, as if she wasn’t trying hard enough – jealousy ate away at her insides. But then there’d be a tiny crack. Something would happen, some tiny little thing and just for a moment Bea would get a sense of something untrue, a mask worn to hide something deeper and darker. Or Annie would just vanish, for days at a time or for months, no mention of it when she got back just as happy as always. And so, beneath the jealousy, in the heart of her heart, she worried for her sister.

And now here she was, outside her sister’s locked door having followed a sobbing Annie from the kitchen. Breakfast, haphazardly arranged on plates pulled from the towering pile in the washing area and quickly scrubbed down, was cooling behind her, a shattered pitcher lying on the floor in a puddle of milk and Annie’s unexpected tears. A tiny thing, but a reaction fit to swallow Bea’s whole world with concern, and so she braved the silence and fought the urge to pick the lock and intrude into Annie’s space. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but she could hear the answer in her head already – “nothing, I’m fine, I’m good” – and the mask would slip back into place.

The lock clicked open.

A puffy, tearstained face peered out at Bea, Annie’s lips trembling and her eyelashes dewed with the remnants of tears. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, just a faint croaking noise as if she had swallowed a frog.

Bea nudged the door wider gently, pushing her way into the room. The stale smell of sweat and old food crept into her nostrils and wound fetid fingers through her hair and clothes, piles of dirty laundry and old dishes pushed into corners and teetering on cushions. The bed was hardly visible in the gloom, a rumpled mess of sheets and dresses. Bea ignored it all.

She took Annie’s hand and, so gently, pulled her sister out into the corridor.

“Come on, Nee. You sit down, I’ll handle the breakfast, and then we can sit on the cushions and talk about, I don’t know, boys or something.”

Annie bit her lip, worrying it until Bea pushed her gently down onto a cushion, when she began fidgeting with the tasselled ends of the table runner.

“You don’t even like boys.”

“But you do. We can talk about whatever you want, Nee. Just… talk.”

“’M sorry…” Annie murmured over the clink of metal spoons in pans. “I should be cooking…”

Sunlight winked in the reflections on the copper pots hung over the sink and slid across the floor in warm, golden waves of light. Despite her words, Annie made no movement. She looked as though she was curled up in on herself, a crumpled heap of a human being, but for the first time in years she finally looked real to Bea. No mask, no play-acting, no pretend, just Annie.

And it wrenched at Bea’s heart, even as she tried to come up with a way to fix it. She wanted to make everything better, and not better in the way it had been for years – not in the fake, smiling, always-happy-always-glad way it had been, but in a real, tangible way.

But Bea didn’t know how. She didn’t know what she could say or do to make it all go away, to put a real smile back on Annie’s face, so she focussed on making breakfast and, once that was done, she’d figure out the next step. And the next.  

***

Annie nodded, an uncharacteristically solemn look on her young face. “I’m gonna make sure to feed the good one!”

“And so you should,” the old man smiled, ruffling her short auburn curls. As he settled back into his seat, the ancient leather creaking under his weight, he let out a sigh. “But just be sure to remember that no matter what you feed it, a wolf is still dangerous.”