The Beast Within

Ambrosia: Chapter Seven

Where Ambrosia's cottage once stood was charred earth and ash.

Gone were the walls covered in honeysuckle and sweet pea blooms. Gone was the rocking chair my love sat in each night while she told me stories. Gone were the books and parchments that held several hundred years' worth of precious knowledge and experience.

Cinders and mud were all that remained of a life full of adventure.

And Ambrosia was not among any of it.

The wolf sniffed at the embers and remnants of wood and stone. It rooted through the wreckage, desperate to catch her scent, but it wasn't until the animal turned to the trees that it found her—

Swaying gently from a tree several feet away, with a rope around her neck and her skin burned almost beyond recognition.

The wolf shrunk back inside and with great care I brought her body back to the earth.

She was as heavy as flowers in my arms.

What pain she must have endured at the hands of those hateful, wicked men. It wasn't fair that such a wonderful woman spent her final moments under their torture. A dozen vengeful plans filled my mind as I considered what pain would be an appropriate answer for her death.

'It will be even more difficult not to seek revenge', Ambrosia had told me. I looked at the mark on my wrist. 'Choose wisdom, Josiah.'

I carried her to the ruins of her once glorious garden. It had been trampled and there was a pungent odor of urine wafting from the soil. I removed what I could of the hate inflicted upon it and dug until I reached fresh earth. Satisfied with the grave, I laid Ambrosia into it and watched my tears rain onto her burned skin.

Now you will help new life grow, I thought, and something good will come from your suffering.

She would have wanted it no other way.

An idea struck me, of a final gift I could impart. I gathered green leaves untouched by fire, soft moss, and a handful of wildflowers that rested beneath a nearby tree. I wove these ingredients into a crown, and though it was not pretty, it was perfect. I placed the crown on Ambrosia's head and bent to kiss one of the flowers.

Words tumbled from my mouth, beginning in whispers and rising to loud wails. This was my prayer for my friend. All the words I wanted to say to her would have to be said now, so I didn't waste any of them. When my breath was gone and my mouth ached from moving, I began to cover her but left her face for last. When she was fully buried I placed a stick in the dirt to serve in place of a stone over her grave.

I wondered if the Grave Weeper would visit her. Hours went by as I guarded her resting place, trying to squash the fury and guilt steadily rising within me. I left her to die—alone—and even if that is what she wished I wasn't sure I could ever forgive myself.

When I looked up it was dusk and the woods were cold and empty. Something was lost inside of me. I didn't know what it was, but I could feel its absence. I dug around in the debris of her home one last time and found what I was searching for:

The cloak of stars and the twins' tapestry. As if by miracle, they were two of a handful of items that survived the destruction. I wanted to take the prophecy scroll that foretold this terrible day, but only discovered a burned corner of the ancient parchment. I created a makeshift sack with the cloak and placed the tapestry inside. I used the rope that tethered Ambrosia to the tree to hold the sack together.

Without a thought about where I would go, I gave control back to the wolf. It took my belongings in its teeth and moved from the cottage.

Night descended but the wolf had no interest in hunting. It moved without direction, deep in mourning, bereft of the energy to run or play. When its nose picked up the scent of smoke, the wolf followed it to a campfire nearby.

Men were gathered around the light, laughing and drinking and singing songs. Their voices were instantly recognizable as the ones who called for Ambrosia's death.

The wolf dropped the cloak and bared its teeth.

It would be easy, we both thought together, to take them down. It would be a joy to hear their screams and rid the world of their vile presence.

One of the men stood and left the group to relieve himself, and the wolf silently followed him into the trees.

I wanted to warn it against killing but my hatred was strong, and the longer I watched the man the more I wanted to see him suffer.

I should tear his throat, the wolf said.

Yes, you should.

It would make us happy, wouldn't it?

It would.

The wolf took a step toward the man.

I'll finish the rest and I won't eat any of them.

Yes, let them rot.

It's what they deserve.

You're right—Wait.

The wolf stilled with its paw hovering to take another step.

Why should I wait?

This is not what she wanted.

What about us?

It's not what we want, either.

It's what I want.

Ambrosia would be disappointed with you.

This stopped the wolf and it put its paw on the ground.

I want to make things right.

Leave them alone, that is what is right.

The wolf snorted and the man looked up.

"Who's there?" he slurred. "Someone playin' a joke?"

Go now, I told the wolf. Before you're seen.

It took tremendous strength for the wolf to pull away, and though it grumbled and complained I knew it understood the importance of leaving the men alive. To soothe it, I repeated Ambrosia's words about wisdom and caring for things. The wolf argued at first, but the further we got from the men the calmer it grew.

You were right, it finally admitted.

We are her champions. We will spread light in the world.

Yes, we will.

A soft rain began to fall. It traveled through the thick foliage to land on the wolf's face. The animal raised its head and took a deep breath.

A thousand kisses, I mused.

Yes, the wolf replied. Thank you, Ambrosia. We can feel them—

Josiah paused and Credence could see the pain in his face. He began to weep, and she allowed him a moment of silence before taking his hand and giving him a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It must have been awful to lose her."

Josiah answered with a nod. A shudder ran through him, and his sister wished she could reach into his body and pluck the misery from his heart.

Credence wanted to say that she understood heartbreak, for she had felt it herself all too recently.

Instead, she waited for her brother to calm and resume his story.

After several sniffs he wiped his face and blew out a long breath—

At this point, one could say I knew fear and danger intimately, enough that I might even call them old friends.

But fear and danger have a way of surprising us, and nothing, not the circus pit or Ambrosia's death, could have prepared me for what my old friends had in store next.