The Wolf Tree by John Claude Bemis

call. We were not sure what was summoning the sirens, but a group followed it. I did not go. None of the younger sisters did.
    “They returned with a strange tale. They encountered a place with an odd half-darkness. They never knew what was causing it, maybe an eclipse, maybe smoke. Or maybe it was something else. We have not discovered if the darkness carried a curse, but the well’s waters must be able to stop the sickness. That is why I must hurry back. I must bring the waters to those who can still be saved.”
    Cleoma ran her hand gently across the tears on Jolie’s cheeks. Then her pale-silver eyes widened as a curious expression came upon her face. “But why are you here at our spring, Jolie?”
    Jolie rose and took Cleoma’s hand, leading her to the mouth of the well. “Come,
sirmoeur
. I have something to show you.”
    As night fell and the ocean of stars drifted above, Jolie and Cleoma shared the fish and cattail tubers before the fire. Jolie finished telling her sister the long tale of her time with Nel’s medicine show and their encounter with the Gog. Cleoma often turned her troubled gaze back to the well.
    “But how do you know he will awaken?” Cleoma finally asked when Jolie had finished. “It has been nearly a year.”
    “He has started moving lately,” Jolie said. “When I first brought him here, his body was broken. Now he is mended, blessed are the waters. I think it will not be long until he wakes.”
    Cleoma’s brow twisted and her lowered eyes narrowed. “Then he may no longer need you guarding over him, Jolie. Come back with me to the Terrebonne.”
    Jolie’s stomach felt as if she had swallowed the hot stones that had cooked their dinner. “I cannot.”
    “Why not?”
    “Conker is my friend. He will need my help when he awakens.”
    Cleoma’s eyes saddened. “I know your sisters would want badly to see you again, Jolie. They need you. I needyou.” Cleoma leaned closer to Jolie. “Return with me so we can tend to them in this dark time. Do not abandon them,
sirmoeur.”
    An old anger rose in Jolie. When she lifted her eyes to her sister, Cleoma flinched.
    “Sirmoeur
, you call me!” Jolie hissed. “You, dear sister, accuse me of abandonment? Who abandoned me almost two years ago, Cleoma? Who left me alone in the Terrebonne when the Gog’s Hound was hunting us?”
    “The Rambler men … they were protecting you.”
    “The Hound killed them all. Only Buck saved me.”
    Fear crackled in Cleoma’s face. “You know we could not have taken you with us, Jolie. You are not like us. Your father was not song-bound. Your mother violated tradition when she took him. You could not survive in the open sea. We … we had no choice.”
    “No choice?” Jolie whispered. “You had a choice and you made it. Conker had a choice on the Gog’s train. He could have made it to safety, but he chose to save me. I had a choice when I found Conker in the river. I took him here. I have tended and watched over him for this past year. I will not leave him now.”
    Cleoma’s lips trembled as a long silence passed between them. “You are right,” she said at last. “If what you say is true, only Conker can destroy the Gog’s terrible engine. I should not ask you to leave him.”
    Cleoma got to her feet. She pulled the skins, filled with the spring’s waters, over her shoulder. “The journey home is long, and who knows how many of our sisters will perishbefore I return. I hope you will forgive us, Jolie. We never should have left you.”
    Jolie stood. The long-festering resentment that had so swiftly erupted was dissolving. Jolie’s heart grew sick at the thought of Cleoma leaving, sick with desire to be once again among her sisters.
    “I do forgive you,” Jolie said softly. “If you had stayed with me, the Hound might have captured you, and who knows what the Gog would have done with you. I have been angry with you and our sisters for too long, Cleoma, and I want no longer to hold