The Child Thief

WHEN THE MEN left, Peter stood and walked down the hill. He didn’t
cry, he didn’t feel the cuts in his side, the gash across his head, not even the
ground beneath his feet. He did not feel. He moved slowly, methodically.
He found Goll’s bone-handled knife and cut the moss man down. To
Peter’s surprise, Goll opened his eyes.
“Be brave, Peterbird,” Goll rasped. “Kill the wolf.” And that was it. The
moss man’s eyes glazed over.
Peter slipped Goll’s knife into his belt, gathered up his spears, and
headed north, away from the village. He had no clear thought of where he
was going, only that he was going away from the village, away from the
men.

---

It wasn’t long before Peter heard the wolf trailing him. Peter stopped in
a clearing, turned, and waited. The one-eared wolf appeared. Its lips curled
up like it was laughing at the boy, like it knew it had him.
Peter didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. He dropped the light spear and hefted
the stout one to shoulder level. He slipped the bone-handled knife into his
other hand, locked eyes with the wolf, and came at the beast in a dead run.
The wolf looked confused.
Peter’s eyes flared and he let loose a terrible howl.
The wolf fell back.
Peter threw the spear.
The wolf hunkered to avoid the spear, and when it did, Peter leaped
forward and drove Goll’s knife deep into its side.
The wolf let out a yelp and took off, but after only a few strides it began
to weave and stagger, its hindquarters collapsing, its breath coming out in a
harsh, wet wheeze.
Peter snatched up his spear and followed the wolf.
The wolf stopped, unable to do anything but stand and watch the boy
coming to kill it, panting as blood dripped from its lips.
Peter’s eyes were hard, without hate nor pity, the eyes of a predator. He
thrust the spear into the wolf’s heart. The wolf thrashed, twitched, then lay
still.
Peter stared at the wolf for a long time. His eyes began to well. A single
tear ran down his bruised, swollen cheek, then another, and another. Peter
fell to his knees before the wolf and began to sob. The tears were for Goll,
but they were also for himself, a six-year-old boy without a mother, or a
friend, scared, hated, and with nowhere to go.
A SCREAM SNATCHED the child thief from his thoughts.
One of the little kids, a boy, lay on the ground in front of the monkey
bars. Two older boys stood over him laughing, not teenagers, just bigger
boys, maybe eleven or twelve.
The small boy climbed back to his feet and tried to wipe the mud from
the front of his T-shirt. Two chubby girls of about seven or eight ran up and
stood on either side of him, braids sprouting from their heads.
“Leave him alone,” one of the girls said. She jutted out her chin and
planted her hands firmly on her hips. Her friend followed suit.

---

The handful of children in the playground stopped playing and began to
gather around.
“You want me to kick your ass too?” the big boy said and shoved the
girl, knocking her to her knees. His pal chuckled.
“Don’t you push her!” the little boy shouted, his muddy hands balled
into fists, his face full of fear and hate. Peter shook his head, knowing that
soon this little boy would be just as mean as these bigger kids, because
meanness had an ugly way of spreading.
“What you gonna do about it?”
“We was here first,” the second girl shouted as she pulled her friend
back up.
“Well, we’re here now,” the big kid said. “So get the fuck outta here less
you want me to kick all your stupid little asses.”
When none of them moved, the big kid stepped forward. “You think I’m
fucking around? I said—” He saw Peter standing next to the little boy. A
confused expression crossed his face as though unsure just where Peter had
come from. He glanced back at his pal, but his friend looked just as
surprised.
The child thief pulled his hood back and locked his golden eyes on the
two big kids, the same eyes that had backed down a full-grown wolf. He
didn’t say a word, just stared at them.
The big kids seemed to deflate. “C’mon,” the kid said to his pal.
“Playgrounds are for candy-asses.” They left, casting anxious looks back
over their shoulders as they went.
“Hey, kid,” the little girl said. “You got funny ears.”
Peter grinned at her and wiggled his ears. The kids all burst out
laughing.
“You wanna play with us?” asked the boy.
“I do,” Peter said. “I most certainly do.” His eyes gleamed devilishly.
“But not today. Today I have to find a friend.”

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