Night of the Wolf (15 page)

He trotted along, disoriented, lost in the circular settlement. He blundered, and almost got himself caught, when he suddenly became aware he was trapped in the middle of a street with hunting parties at either end. He turned away from the torches on one side only to find himself face-to-face with those at the other.

Being a wolf, he wasted no time dithering. He leaped for the roof of the nearest building, his paws managing some purchase on the frozen thatch. When he reached the ridgepole, he saw the toothed outline of the palisade through the blowing snow. He leaped.

The red glow glaring into his eyes showed his pursuers scrambling over the palisade behind him. He could run on a crust of frozen snow. They couldn’t, but floundered and sank to their knees. He was gone.

He tried in vain to find the gateway to his passage over the river. He hurried along near the shoreline, but he found the gate closed, the strange green bushes encased in ice, the berries frozen dark pebbles among the branches.

Moving with the wolf’s bicycling gait designed to cover distances on the hunt, he followed the riverbank a long way, but could find no ford. At length, he stopped at a spot where the stream narrowed between high banks.

The wind was blowing hard again, but the snow was ending. The flakes were fine, powdery, as they had been at the beginning and, high above, every so often the fast-flying clouds parted, showing glimpses of a star-filled night sky.

The ice along both shores was growing thicker. He committed himself to the river and found he had not a long swim or a very bad one. He shook himself dry on the other shore.

Guilt tugged at the edges of his mind as, for the first time, he thought about the Roman merchant. He stood, silent, as his brothers of the mountain began to sing. They were on the hunt now that the storm was ending, and Decius was injured and defenseless. The man might not interest them, but the two horses would and, in the process of taking them down, the pack would make short work of him.

The wolf stretched himself out and began to run.

IX

When the gray arrived at the hut, the snow outside was still falling thickly. When he rose to his feet a man, he found himself freezing cold. Shivering, he pulled on his tunic. The makeshift hut was dark. The fire had burned down to coals. He added some kindling, then a few blackened but not completely burned timbers he’d picked up outside in the weeds. The fire flared, lighting the hut, and he saw that the spot where he’d bedded Decius down was empty.

Maeniel hunkered down next to the fire for warmth. Not yet human enough to swear, he was beginning to understand why humans seemed addicted to this curious custom.

He rose to his feet, ducked his head to keep from cracking his skull against the roof, and peered through the door.

Nothing, only darkness and pale clouds of blowing snow. Over in the corner of the hut where he’d stabled the two horses and the mule, one of the animals stamped and whickered softly. He looked; the mule moved. The bridle fastened him to the manger where they’d been eating. He backed powerfully, testing the strength of the tether, his eyes rolling.

Maeniel moved toward the door.
They are out there,
he thought. He stripped off his clothing, ran into the darkness, and changed.

He found himself no longer blind. The odor was strong and coming from the open fields. He ran toward the faint sniffing sounds they made. He saw their eyes first, glowing in the dark, casting back the dim firelight from the hut. Then the slinking lethal gray shapes. They were investigating something on the ground. Probably Decius.

The wolf wondered if the man was worth worrying about. There was a good chance he was already dead. But he also knew, once having appointed himself Decius’ protector, he felt an obligation to continue in that role.
Such is my mind,
he thought,
and how am I different from the cur under the wagon?

A fragment of memory came to him. Memory or only a dream? They were the savage hunters of the dark tundra. Sometimes, when the winter seemed without end and hunger was not a titillation or pleasant encouragement to hunt and dine, but a savage agony lodged in the gut, an obsessive greed, these cruel lords of the chase turned on each other.

So it was when the wolves encountered the small, doomed band of women and children fleeing through the frozen night. There were only four shes and three boys not yet old enough to hunt. From the smells rising from the fire pits behind them, he was sure the meat cut from the bones of their men roasted in the cooking pits of another band.

These few were the only survivors fleet enough to escape the attack. The wolves spread out behind them in a semicircle, ready to trap their prey. Even though only shes and children, the wolves still feared them and waited until they took shelter in the shadow of a fallen spruce in the hollow between the trunk and the ground, kept clear of snow by the branches of the fallen tree. The humans dared light no fire for fear of pursuit, but lay together in the darkness, trying to keep warm.

In that, the night was against them all. The worst blizzard of the season swept down from the glacier. Even the strongest felt the bite of cold. Some, like the musk ox, formed a circle to block the wind and protect the females and young in the center. Deer, even the giant ones, died frozen where they stood, as did horses and giant elk and caribou. The old and the very young perished in the freezing darkness.

Even the well-protected wolves knew that to stay in the open was to die. So they slowly drifted into the shelter with the humans. The wolves bared their teeth at first, but the human she who led the escape spoke the command for stillness.

The male wolves were uncomfortable attacking anything so saturated with the female scent as these humans were. To the she-wolves, the children reeked of the den, warm milk, and soft skin.

In the darkness, a child began to cry. Its mother put it to the breast. This was something both wolves and humans understood. The heavy wolf pelts kept off the cold as well as fire would have, and the humans found the touch of the living consolation in a world of icy death. For here, the beast was kinder than kin.

When they awoke at dawn, the woman—or perhaps she-being, not quite human yet—knew that something new had happened. Something new had entered the world. Men might have ruined it. Men often ruin things by trying to find out too much about them, or worse, by distrusting an unusual event. But acceptance is woman’s lot and so she accepted the wolves that surrounded her as she trekked off over the snow followed by the others, animal and human.

In a short time she found, as she had known she would, a small herd of elk trapped by the deep snow near a riverbank. They all ate well that night. The new band of wolves and women traveled together for a long time. And the wolves remained wolves, but were always welcomed at the fires of the women.

Then the memory trailed away as he approached his comrades. The tallest and largest of the pack eased toward him, walking slowly, stiff-legged in the blowing snow.

Maeniel approached Decius’ body. Yes, he was warm, still living and, what was more horrific, he was conscious, eyes staring up in terror at the encircling wolves. Maeniel positioned himself next to Decius and snarled into the other pack leader’s face.

The others, including the leader, looked undecided. Was the half-frozen rag of human flesh lying in the snow-covered ruts of the field worth the trouble? Worth chancing getting wounded if the big stranger really decided to put up a fight for what he obviously considered his prey?

Maeniel advanced a few steps. The others drew back, almost disappearing into the swirling white.

Maeniel crouched, lowering his head and hindquarters. Surely an attack from behind was imminent, but he found he wasn’t the other pack’s objective.

The animals he’d left stabled in the hut screamed. A split second later, the pack leaped toward him, closing in.

One chance. Maniel turned human.

But it was perhaps Decius who saved the day. He let out the most horrible scream the gray wolf had ever heard in his life.

The terrified wolves exploded, running in every direction.

Maeniel snatched up Decius, threw him over his shoulder, and bolted for the hut. As he reached the doorway, he was pushed aside as Decius’ mare crashed into him, knocked him sprawling, and took part of the wattle and daub wall with her. One wolf was on the mare’s back; another hung from her throat. She jerked, twisting to one side. The wolf on her back lost his footing and fell, thrashing into a snowdrift. Then she reared, bucking, sunfishing, and the one clinging to her throat fell free, leaving a line of bleeding gashes on her neck.

She made it,
Maeniel thought.
Now I’ll have to fight all of them. Good, very good chance they’ll get us before dawn.
Leaving the still-screaming Decius struggling in the snow, he dashed into the hut and snatched up the sword, then ran outside again.

The mare stood at bay, facing the wolf pack. In one bound, he leaped to her side and drove the sword in, just where the neck joins the head. She died instantly, blood fountaining from her throat. Then he turned, snatched up Decius, and dove into the hut.

It took him a few moments to block the door, then build up the fire. He was shivering violently again as he donned the tunic.

Decius sat, teeth chattering, extremities blue, crouched near the mule and the remaining horse at the far wall. His hair was standing on end. Maeniel had never seen a human with his hair standing on end. He knew, in theory, they were able to manipulate their follicles in the same way as cats or dogs do, but he’d never seen it happen.

Outside they both could hear the snarls, growls, and wet slurps as the pack began to feed on the dead horse.

“Eeeee!” Decius screamed. “What are you going to do? Eat me, too? Eeeee!” he wailed again.

“No,” Maeniel snarled, sounding very much like his confreres outside. “We don’t eat each other. We leave that to you.”

Decius blinked at him, not understanding the statement.

“I killed the horse to save both our lives,” Maeniel said.

“You’re one of them.” Decius’ teeth were chattering so hard, Maeniel had trouble understanding him.

“No,” Maeniel said, almost dropping with exhaustion. “I’m no more one of them than you are.” He was surprised to realize he was telling the truth and found tears were running down his cheeks. Found himself grieving deeply, in sorrow over something lost that he could only barely comprehend and never explain.

His tears as much as anything seemed to calm Decius. He could not believe that whatever Maeniel was, he could seem to suffer so much pain and then commit an act of cruelty.

They shared the remaining food and wine. The heat of the fire inside the shed melted the snow and ice on the walls outside, but it refroze quickly, forming an insulating covering for the hut. In time, between the fire and the snow buildup, it began to be almost cozy.

Maeniel didn’t ask Decius what happened. The Roman seemed to be a bit fuzzy in the mind and that was very much all right with Maeniel. He decided he would probably need him to get across the river tomorrow and gain admittance into the oppidum where Imona was imprisoned.

He was still determined to rescue her. He believed she had not understood him. He had to get in again and make her listen to reason. All male creatures believe they have a corner on reason. Maeniel was no exception. He had no idea what the inhabitants of this particular settlement intended to do with her, but knowing humans as he did, he couldn’t believe their intentions were good.

In the meantime, he had to keep this silly Roman alive and, hopefully, sane enough to help him reach his objective.

Maeniel thanked the universal powers that the wine seemed to have calmed Decius. He huddled in the straw, covered by his mantle, very near the fire, while his extremities returned to their proper pinkish color and, for a time, the pain of recovery from frostbite distracted him from the sounds feeding wolves made.

He asked Maeniel, “In the morning, will they still be there?”

“No.”

“You’re sure? Do you know them that well?”

Maeniel was doing his best to knock a small hole in one of the wattle and daub walls to keep track of what was actually going on outside. He turned and gave Decius one of his long, slow looks. “No, in answer to your question. They are not friends of mine any more than the brigands were, but I know the habits of wolves well.”

“This I can believe,” Decius murmured.

“Yes, do so. I am an authority. This pack was driven down from the mountains by the blizzard. Likely they had not fed in several days, otherwise they would not have risked coming so close to human dwellings or anywhere else a fire burned.”

Finally, with the help of a sharp stick, he was able to drive through the ice-crusted wall and create a small opening. He peered out. Shadowy gray shapes still lingered near the scrappy horse carcass, and the snow was dying down. Indeed, only a few small flakes still fell. Above, the moon rose among ragged high-flying clouds and, from time to time, the glow of a few stars could be seen.

“No, the snowstorm is past. When they are full fed near dawn, they will leave and probably not return.”

Decius let out a deep sigh and then began to snore. Maeniel curled up on the other side of the fire. The hut was comfortably warm now. The surviving horse and mule slumbered in the corner, standing over the manger. Maeniel watched the smoke from the fire rise to the steeply pitched roof, seek the highest spot where the roof was joined to the only surviving wall, then curl and eddy, looking almost liquid before it escaped into the air outside.

Yes, once we were welcomed at their fires.
He remembered the face of the woman by whose side the ancient one had rested under the tree. Her eyes had been open and looked into his. The wolf then had seen a heroic vision in them. True, her brows were not as high as these humans’ now were, but he had seen in her face the vision of what a world directed by intelligence might be. That and the knowledge they were both allies, warm living things, flesh and blood, feeling hunger and love. And outside, in the bitter icy night, the dark, eternal cold of a lifeless wasteland reached out its claws to take them and lock their aspiring souls in everlasting darkness. In entering a compact to defeat it, they would both achieve the highest of victories. The ancient wolf had understood and now, so did he. He slept wolflike, lightly, waking when the mountain pack circled the lean-to just before dawn, then headed back to their dens near the tree line.

They set out well after daybreak. Decius tore through his packs and found some clothing for Maeniel, a clean tunic and some trousers, and leggings for both of them. Decius had boots, but Maeniel made do with socks and sandals. He was tolerably comfortable since the sun was up and the temperature was rising.

Decius repacked the baggage and saddled the horse and mule. He didn’t mention anything that had happened last night. Once or twice he said he felt dizzy, and was sure the blow to the head had addled his wits.

Maeniel did not contradict him. When they left the hut, neither man looked over to the drift where the horse’s head, hooves, and a few tumbled bones lay.

Decius was mounted on the brigand’s scrawny gelding. Maeniel followed on foot, leading the mule.

The sun was high in the sky when they turned off the overgrown road to the path along the river. They reached the ferry landing after a half hour’s travel. The boat was on the other side of the river. The two men paused on the landing and waited. Decius avoided looking at Maeniel.

The sun shone in the clear sky. Ice formed in the night was melting, creating a patterlike rainfall in the stark woods. Except for places in shadow, the snow had melted, and the river shone sparkling like a diamond, but the wind was still cold.

Decius shivered a bit at the breeze from the river. He drew back to share the shelter created by the big bodies of the two draft animals. “I can . . . not remember what happened last night, but I know you probably saved my life.”