Fell (The Sight 2) (17 page)

“You see,” whispered Fell. “And you say it’s ugly?”

Alina put her hand gently on her friend’s back.

“No, Fell. It’s beautiful.”

“Yet perhaps it’s true that you’re more than Lera, Alina,” growled the wolf softly. “I’ve often thought it. In the ice cave I could not control your mind, as I can those of other animals.”

The two wolf parents had got up now, and although Alina didn’t understand the growls, Fell listened as the Drappa called down the bank.

“Be careful, Brag. That mad Kerl might still be about, asking questions of a Guardian.”

The little cub wasn’t listening. He was too caught up in his adventure.

“And it’s dangerous by the water, Brag. Varg fear nothing so much as—”

“Hush,” growled the Dragga beside her. “Don’t fill the cub with fear. Teach him to be strong.”

Alina and Fell went on together that evening and, just before dawn, they came to the cairn and across the brow of the mountain, and looked down over a wide valley.

Alina’s heart lightened as they spotted a small wooden church on the hill below them, above a frozen lake. It looked just like the place Ivan had described—Baba Yaga’s valley.

Alina felt something strange stir in her, as she thought not of stories of the witch, but of going amongst people again, especially after seeing that little cub and its family. But at her side Fell was not looking down the valley at all. His sleek black head was raised to the sky, and his golden yellow eyes were sparkling. The Varg was gazing up at the millions of little lights, still twinkling and glowing like dust clouds in the darkness above them. Alina felt dizzy too and very small, as she stood by Fell and threw back her head to look up at the gigantic sweep of the Milky Way.

“We call it the Wolf Trail, human. The pathway between heaven and the earth.”

Fell wondered at the story. He had already discovered in his travels how dangerous stories can be. He had seen that the fear amongst the Varg of the mythical Wolfbane, the Evil One, had filled them with anger and hate. Indeed, under the power of Morgra’s mind Fell had, for a time, come to believe that he himself was evil, and the very conviction had inspired his actions. Yet Fell liked this tale.

“Heaven,” thought Alina at his side, remembering when she and Mia had crept into the wooden church in Moldov and listened to the priest’s sermons with half an ear. She thought again of a Garden of Eden, and of how many lies had already surrounded her changeling life. “Isn’t heaven just a story, Fell?”

The black wolf nodded.

“Perhaps, Drappa. Perhaps Sita never really came down to earth at all, I’ve often thought it.”

“Sita?”

“In the tales of the Varg, the holy she-wolf Sita was sent down by the wolf gods Tor and Fenris, but was reviled by the Varg, who would not believe what she was. Her death was prophesied and they let it happen, let her be killed. But Sita rose again, to prove to the Varg the power of love. My sister Larka believed that story. It drove her on to her death, I sometimes think, and her sacrifice.”

“The Christ,” thought Alina’s wondering mind. “It’s the tale of the Christ, Fell. Humans have the same story.”

The girl and the black wolf stood wondering on the mountaintop, feeling the chill air on their faces, seemingly lost in a dream, as they gazed into the immensity of the heavens. How could it be that wolf and man shared the same story? Or were they just in a story themselves, lost in a fable, as they hunted through the world for meaning?

The friends began to walk, side by side, down the slope towards the humans, as the Wolf Trail faded above them and dawn broke around them. As they went Alina WovenWord noticed that the wooden church was abandoned.

Light had come when they reached the edge of the forest below the church and stopped by a big freestanding oak. They saw a little homely house not far in the distance, with a corral for horses and a large barn.

The air was suddenly filled with human sounds. The “tink, tink, tink,” of hammering metal and of a man at work in the wooden barn beyond, where the glow of hot firelight warmed the freezing morning. It was a blacksmith all right. Fell hung back in the darkness of the trees, his black muzzle pressed forwards nervously, his ears cocked sharply for any sign of danger, as he scented the air. He felt torn by the girl’s imminent departure.

“Good-bye, Fell. I will spend a couple of days with them,” whispered Alina. “Then come and tell you of what we do next. Stay close, wolf.”

“I shall human, I swear it. And while you’re gone I shall start searching for the Guardian in these parts. But do not let these others know of my presence in the forest. They fear me.”

Again Alina remembered how they had feared and hunted her as a changeling. “I promise,”she said.

She looked down at her friend and smiled, then she stepped resolutely from the trees. For a moment the black wolf wanted to follow her, but he knew that he could not. He was wild. As Alina walked away, he growled and swung his head. He felt the sensation that somebody or something was watching him, and as he turned his head slightly, he thought he caught a movement in the trees behind him. Fell was sure now. Something was following them in the forest.

Alina was already well out in the open. Nervously she approached the blacksmith’s forge and felt self-conscious, realising that after so long in the mountains she must look terrible. She tried to think of a story to tell, a half lie at least, to explain how she had survived in the snows on her own and crossed the mountains in such weather.

She was inventing quickly, as she stopped in the doorway of the forge to see a powerful man with long black hair standing in a leather apron, hammering at a piece of metal. He was in his middle years, but still had a fighter’s form, strong and sinewy, and his sleeves were rolled up around his forearms. The sturdy blacksmith looked up, and seeing Alina, he smiled.

“Hello, lad. How can I help you?”

Alina opened her mouth to answer, but she felt caught, and realised that she had hardly spoken a human word in a whole month. She remembered too her promise to Ivan.

“You mistake me, sir, I’m no lad,” she answered, “although it’s safer sometimes to dress as a boy, when you travel the world alone.”

The blacksmith’s eyes sparkled with interest, and he put down the blade and hammer. He stepped forwards, picking up a cloth and cleaning his hands of coke and soot.

“A pretty girl too, if I may say, though you clothe yourself like a vagabond. This is a strange day indeed, yet what you say of safety is true in these times. Who do you seek here?”

“You, sir. If you’re the blacksmith Lescu.”

“I am.”

“Ivan sent me.”

The blacksmith hurled the cloth away and strode straight up to Alina, smiling delightedly.

“My dear friend Ivan. How is the old rogue?”

“Ivan … Ivan is dead,” answered Alina sadly.

The blacksmith’s head dropped and he sighed bitterly, although his handsome, intelligent face held the wise resignation of one for whom such news was not entirely unexpected. Ivan had been old, and life in this country was desperately difficult, and on their last parting Lescu had not expected to see Ivan again. He looked up now and smiled.

“Well, let me clean up here,” he said, “and over a good breakfast, you’ll tell me more of this strange meeting and what a young woman does, wandering alone out of the forests. Of poor Ivan too.”

“Oh, thank you, sir.”

Alina could think of nothing better than a good breakfast.

Lescu was already plunging his grimey hands into a barrel of water, but as he washed, he looked quickly towards the trees, as if he had just seen something there.

“You travel alone, you say?” he asked curtly.

Alina reddened a little.

“Yes, sir,” she lied. “Yes, I do. Why?”

Lescu’s keen eyes were still searching the trees, but he spotted nothing.

“Very well,” he said. “There are many strange things in Baba Yaga’s forests. Come then.”

He led her towards the nearby farmhouse, and as they approached, the door opened and a boy with long brown hair that tumbled around his shoulders stepped outside. He had a strong, open face, with bold, blue green eyes and was humming to himself happily, but as soon as he saw Alina, he stopped with surprise and embarrassment. Alina thought him tall and very fine. Suddenly a shape came tearing out of the house behind him. A large brown hunting dog, larger than any Alina had seen, bounded straight at her, barking furiously.

“No, Gwell!” cried the young man. The wolfhound seemed possessed though and came leaping at Alina, snapping and snarling.

“Down, Gwell!” shouted the blacksmith, who had just stepped in front of Alina. The dog stopped dead, but his wary eyes were locked on Alina’s, and he was still snarling.

“Has the devil got into you, Gwell?” snapped Lescu angrily. “Or a demon? Stop it!”

Alina held her ground. She knew dogs of course, and had had a powerful bond with Elak and Teela, but she had never caused a reaction like this before. Alina found herself shaking all over. The boy had run towards them, and grabbed hold of Gwell’s fur, crouching down and looking up guiltily at the stranger.

“I’m sorry,” he panted. “I don’t know what’s got into him today. He thinks you a threat.”

“Are you?” whispered the blacksmith, turning to look at Alina sharply, and then back towards the trees.

“No, sir.”

Gwell had calmed a little, seeing the two people he most loved in the world protecting the stranger, and now he stopped barking altogether, although he was still glaring at Alina. She realised that both he and the blacksmith were sniffing the air.

“Where on earth have you been, girl?” asked Lescu, with a laugh. “You smell like a badger’s set. Doesn’t she, Catalin?”

Alina blushed, especially in front of the handsome lad, but not as deeply as Catalin. His cheeks had gone bright red, from the realisation that this was no boy at all, but a pretty young woman, the prettiest he had ever seen in fact. He felt his stomach knot.

“I … I slept in caves and in the open,” answered Alina, stuttering, “crossing the mountains.”

“Wonders never cease,” said Lescu, looking deeply impressed. “Well, you must tell us of that, indeed. But first it’s a good hot bath for you, girl, to get that stench off you, and out of poor Gwell’s nose.”

“Yes,” said Alina gratefully, suddenly feeling weary. She looked down more kindly at the dog, then up at the man. “Thank you, Lescu.”

“If you come from Ivan, then you have nothing to thank us for,” said Lescu softly. “Now come, lass, let’s get you safely inside.”

FELL'S FOOTFALLS IN THE FOREST WERE AS silent as the noiseless air as he padded through the trees. When Alina had left him alone, the wolf had watched her meeting with the blacksmith and felt a jealousy he hadn’t known since he was a cub. Like the time when Kar had arrived in their pack and befriended his sister, or when Fell had first learned that Larka possessed the Sight. But then hunger had overcome emotion and the wolf had decided to hunt.

The black Varg was scenting now, looking for signs of deer or rabbit in the wood. Fell heard a chattering up ahead. The wolf knew instantly what it meant. It was the sound of feeding ravens, and thus the chance of a meal. Only the power of the Sight bestowed communion with birds, the Helpers, but in the wild, in real nature, a wolf had a far more basic bond with birds. It was one of fact and necessity.

When wolves hunted and made their kills, the smell of blood would bring those hooded black wings hurrying to join the feast. Equally, when a Lera stumbled and died naturally in the wild, ravens and other birds might find its body, and their cries alert the wolf. So part of the wild wolf’s nature, of Fell’s nature, was not the role of the “mighty” Putnar at all, but that of the mere scavenger. It brought Fell a kind of humility, as he ran towards the sound.

He growled hungrily as he spotted these flying scavengers up ahead. A dead stag lay on its side on the edge of the river, its stiffened grey back touching three large rocks. It was a young deer, a two pointer, and its antlers, as hard as tree bark, curled around like human daggers. Its staring eyes were open, as if it were still seeing out into the world, but its gaze was cold and dead, and on its back stood three feeding ravens, where a wound was already touched by the busy movement of insects. Two had their angry beaks at work in the carcass and one stood sentinel, while other cawing Corvidae winged their looming shapes towards the prize.

Fell was in no mood to share with anyone though, and with a snarl he leapt towards the carcass, and in a great flurry of beating wings and indignant cawing, the ravens rose like a black cloud and flew away.

Normally, in the almost endless and seemingly insistent struggle of nature, Fell’s meal would have been interrupted by the pecking birds, as they grew confident again at having a wolf in their midst, knowing a raven was hardly a prize for a Varg. But these scavengers had fed well already, and there were other morsels in the wintry forest that day.

So Fell found himself alone with the dead deer, and sank in his teeth with satisfaction at such an easy gift, pulling at the meat unashamedly. The wolf did not fear now that the Sight would suddenly show him a vision of its own being, its anguish, for the thing was long since dead. Fell ate peacefully, not with the bloodlust on him, but a measured intent.

When Fell had sated his hunger on the delicious deer, he turned to the river, and where the ice at the edge had frozen solid, he broke it with his paw and snout and began to lap away at the chilly water. Then he lay down. With a soft whine that turned into a long, delighted yawn, Fell closed his tired eyes and laid his black head on the frozen earth to rest.

If the ravens had stayed, they would have noticed that as the sleep came on Fell, his whole body began to twitch, and the ripples of life worked on his muzzle, revealing that he was dreaming powerfully. It brought a low growl from his belly, as one talking in sleep, or a Lera facing a danger he could not escape.

Before Fell’s dreaming vision was a human face—a man with brutal head and searching black eyes.

He stood in a great fur cloak and his lips were curled into a cruel smile. He was in a kind of stone den, and at his side was a raised water pool. He opened his mouth and began to speak, but human words did not come out at all. Instead Fell heard the yelps and growls of a wild wolf. The man was addressing the sleeper in his own language, yet the voice sounded female.

“Fell. Listen to me carefully, Fell. We have been searching for you.”

Fell felt as small as a young cub again and shuddered furiously, for he knew that voice.

“It’s been so long, Fell my dear. Where are you wandering, my friend?”

“Morgra?” Fell growled in horror.

“Yes, Fell. You thought of me as your mother once. Will you not heed me again, my dear?”

“Never,” growled Fell’s sleeping thoughts as he shook uncontrollably. “This is just a dream. You’re dead, Morgra.”

“So I am, Fell DarkEyes, as is your beloved sister Larka, or was her voice just a dream too?”

Fell twitched. How had his aunt known of it?

“As you shall be dead too, one day, for all things die. That is the fate and destiny that nothing may escape. But the past may return, and I would help prepare you for the shadows.”

“That’s all you know, Morgra, with your hate. Shadows and darkness.”

In Fell’s dream, or his vision, Lord Vladeran smiled at the wolf and spoke again with Morgra’s voice.

“That is all there is, Fell, beyond the seeming of life. You know it now, above all the struggling Lera. Why do you pretend to be what you’re not? I know the power and glory you felt in the shadows.”

“The anger and hate,” growled Fell. “It was power, but it was also evil and lies. Like the lie that Wolfbane, the Evil One, exists.”

Lord Vladeran’s eyes flickered and he smiled knowingly, as Morgra’s voice came again.

“Don’t be foolish, Fell. Of course Wolfbane exists. The Evil One is everywhere. Just look around you.”

The sleeping wolf whimpered softly on the ground.

“And you’re a wolf, Fell, black and powerful and strong, gifted above even Larka with the Sight. So take your rightful place in the world. You journey too, searching and alone, as I did once in life, looking for a meaning to it all. But there is no meaning, Fell, except power. No purpose and no heroism, and thus no despair. Life is simply what it is, and only the strong and the ruthless prevail. Children learn that as they grow, learn to throw off the lies they were taught nestled in the bosom of their family.”

Fell began to struggle in the dream.

“You lie, Morgra. You always lied to me. And now I hunt down lies.”

“And do you not lie now, Fell, walking with a human and turning against your true nature?”

At that Fell growled. The man’s eyes seemed to be looking deep into him, searching something out, as if asking a question. He was looking for Alina.

“You know of it?” asked the dreaming wolf.

Lord Vladeran’s eyes flickered and Morgra’s mind spoke again.

“We know of it, yes. So where are you now, Fell? There’s blood on your lips. Have you killed this changeling already and left her for dead in the forests, as she should be?”

“Never. She is …”

Fell stopped his thoughts.

“Go, Morgra,” he snarled furiously instead. “Or whatever you are. Get out of my mind. You’re nothing but a phantom, and you’re dead.”

“Yes, my dear, but we saw together how the mind is shaped by phantoms, did we not? You guard her, I see. Very touching. But you do not love man, Fell HateThroat. You cannot.”

Fell twitched in his sleep and thought of words of nature and the child’s destiny.

“You know what they are, and what they will do to the wild world. You do not love the Lera, either. You alone see life as it really is, Fell. And if you do love the Lera, or care for their future in the wild, then do it for them. Go to her in the night and kill her. End this foolishness.”

The wolf snapped his jaws in his sleep. “Leave me be, witch.”

Again Lord Vladeran was smiling, filled with Morgra’s darkness.

“It will be so, Fell LoneTail. You know you will strike her. It is only a matter of time.”

“Never.”

A sparrow turned on a branch, as it heard Fell’s helpless cries, and fluttered nervously.

“You’ve sensed it already, have you not? The desire to kill her. To express the only nature that really matters. Your own.”

Fell’s growls turned into a guilty whimper, as he remembered pouncing at Alina in the ice cave.

“Of course you have, my dear. It’s only your instincts, nothing more. Accept it. Why should anything blame itself for its nature?”

Fell moaned as he tried to wake himself.

“Well, then, wake now and look into the water, Fell. Use the power of the Sight to see the future.”

“No, Morgra.”

“You must, Fell. I command you with the Sight.”

In his sleep the wolf rose and turned towards the frozen river. As he reached it, although still dreaming, Fell opened his eyes, and looked out in startled horror. On the far bank stood a huge black raven, watching him with its beady eyes. Fell thought for a moment that it must be Kraar, Morgra’s faithful servant and helper, until he remembered that Kraar too was dead. It was just a raven, and it suddenly took wing. Although Fell’s eyes were open, he could still hear that terrible voice in his mind. His aunt’s voice.

“Look down, Fell, and use the Sight to see the truth.”

Fell lowered his muzzle. In front of him was ice, sprinkled lightly with snow, but on the surface was a moving image, like the pictures in the glacier. It was Alina WovenWord and she seemed stronger than before. The girl carried a bow and a sword, topped with an animal carving, and she turned suddenly and smiled at him. How could she have changed so fast? He knew this was the future.

To Fell’s horror he saw himself in the ice too, with the powers of the Sight, saw himself jumping at his friend, his great claws prone, his jaws closing about her throat. Alina had no time to draw the sword, or defend herself from her friend. Fell knew as he watched himself that the bloodlust was on him, and although he felt horror, fascination came too, and a kind of grim triumph, as he struck down the human creature, and raised his muzzle and howled in the vision.

“No!” cried Fell, trembling bitterly on the bank, and closing his eyes to stop the vision. The wolf backed away. But the voice came again.

“Yes, my dear. The Sight does not lie. You know that it did not lie to Larka, and that she could not escape the destiny she saw. You shall kill the girl anyway, so why not now, Fell DarkHeart, there where you are hiding. Bring on your destiny sooner, for it shall come in the end.”

“Never, Morgra. Get away from me. You’re a liar. A dead liar, and nothing but a dream.”

Fell growled furiously and shook his whole body, as if he had just emerged dripping from a river. He swung his head left and right, and snapped at the empty air. The wolf was fully awake now, and blinked stupidly as he looked about him. There was no one there. No human or she-wolf speaking to him. Just the busy, eager silence of the forest. It had all been a terrible dream.

Fell’s legs were still shaking, and he felt a dreadful sorrow in his heart, almost as great as the one he had felt when he watched his sister fall to her death.

“Alina,” he whispered desperately. “What shall I do? I’m a danger to you, I know it now.”

Then Fell realised something appalling. If the child’s survival was linked somehow to the survival of nature, wasn’t Fell a danger to all around him? He turned and began to run like one hunted, and as he ran he thought of those eyes that he had sensed watching him. Was his wicked aunt Morgra really alive? Or if not alive, had she returned to the land beyond the forest from the Red Meadow, to spread her hate and cruelty once more amongst the Varg, like the spectral Searchers had once done? It couldn’t all be beginning again, thought Fell bitterly. As if the journey of being simply took you in circles, from darkness into light, and back again into the shadows.

Fell suddenly remembered Ottol’s question,
Where do you draw your power from, Wolf, the darkness or the light
? As he thought of what he had just seen in the ice, he knew now, with all the strength of his being. “The darkness,” the wolf whispered bitterly, “only the darkness.”

Fell howled as he ran, and in the blacksmith’s home Alina heard him and looked up, but others heard Fell too in the forest and turned to follow the call.

Fell must have run for an hour, and when he finally stopped, panting for breath, the very effort had cleared his mind a little. But as he stood there he thought he could see a she-wolf approaching him through the trees. Could it be Morgra’s spirit? He set his teeth hard and waited, but he suddenly saw two wolves bounding towards the clearing where he was standing. His heart fluttered like a newborn chick, and his eyes widened in absolute amazement, as he looked at that wonderful face.

“Kar!” he cried delightedly.

Before him, panting and sucking in breaths, stood his adopted brother Kar. The wolf was about the same size as Fell, only he had the natural colouring of a grey. The whitening fur around his long, intelligent muzzle showed the advance of age, but Kar’s clever eyes were as bright and kind as ever. Fell wondered with an aching heart where all those years had gone.

Another wolf was standing behind Kar, a sleek she-wolf, whom Fell did not know. She was a beautiful grey, with bright, healthy eyes and a lovely, bristling tail.

Suddenly the two males ran towards each other, circling and scenting and wagging their tails delightedly, their nostrils filled with recognition, transformed into passionate memory. Kar and Fell were reunited.