The Sight (36 page)

The hackles on Tsarr’s neck quivered and Skart nodded quietly.  The pupil was becoming the teacher.

‘And remember,’ whispered Larka, ‘the family.  By saving my parents, perhaps we may find that hope again.  If the verse is coming true, then should we not fulfil the rest of it?’ Tsarr growled, for he was thinking darkly what Larka already knew in her heart and yet her bold words stirred hope in him too.

‘But how will we carry the child?’ said Skart.

‘I will take it on my back,’ growled Tsarr suddenly and he lifted his muzzle proudly to Larka’s.

‘Then we go,’ cried Larka, ‘we go now.’

Tsarr padded towards Bran and lay down beside him.  The child reached out with its paw and tugged at his coat but it still sat there, looking at Larka.

‘Let me try,’ said Larka suddenly.

The white she-wolf walked over and licked the strange little creature in the grass.  Then, very slowly, she sank down beside it.  Bran reached out again for the soft fur.  He seemed reassured by Larka and Tsarr pushed him gently with his nose.  Suddenly Bran began to scramble onto Larka’s back.  Carefully the she-wolf rose on her paws as the child clung on to her.

‘Come,’ she cried, ‘summer is close and we haven’t much time.’

Tsarr and Skart gazed back at the white wolf as she stood there in the forest with the strange little human on her back.  Skart opened his great wings and took to the air, and Larka and the human cub began their race into terror.  In that moment Tsarr and Skart realized that they would follow Larka wherever she chose.

The rebel wolf whimpered pitifully and his parched tongue lapped at the blood around his own muzzle, as he lay on his side in the grass.  He had drunk nothing in suns and he was exhausted with the Balkar’s constant beatings.  Though his blood tasted thick and sweet at least it gave him a bitter moisture.  He lifted his head wearily as he saw Morgra striding towards him.  It was one of the rebels that had sprung on Larka and the child, that night with Gart.  Returning scouts had captured him on his back way to Kosov.

‘So,’ hissed Morgra as she sloped up to him, ‘you are still alive.  Then let us go through it again.  You set out to kill the human, but you failed?’

‘Yes,’ said the rebel wearily, ‘the she-wolf stopped us.’

‘She-wolf?’

‘Larka.’

As the Balkar saw the hatred blaze across Morgra’s muzzle they all felt a chill eating into their bones.  When Morgra spoke again her voice was as still as death.

‘The child,’ she seethed, ‘Larka is with the child.’ There was a terrible hunger in that voice.

‘Who else is with her? Is there a grey Varg and an eagle?’ Morgra hissed as the rebel nodded.  The sun rose in the sky as Morgra went on questioning him; torturing the truth out of him.  Evening was coming in as she pushed her scarred muzzle into his face once more.

‘Again,’ whispered Morgra, ‘Larka has the human and you failed to kill it, but now Slavka has threatened to kill her parents unless she delivers it up?’

The wolf began to snarl, but as soon as he did so, one of the Night Hunters stepped up and bit savagely into his flank.

‘I have told you,’ snarled the rebel in agony.

‘And the Gathering Place is in the valley of Kosov?’

‘Yes.  Below the human citadel.’ Morgra’s muzzle came even closer.

‘Human citadel?’

‘The ruined dens.  Hidden in the mountains above.’ Morgra suddenly felt a great sweep of energy pulse through her.

‘It must be,’ she cried.  ‘Very well.  Kill him.’

The Night Hunters next to the rebel looked relieved for even they were sick of the torture.  But as the Balkar stepped forward again Morgra lifted her head.

‘Stop,’ she whispered, looking up towards the trees.  ‘Let Wolfbane.’

As she named him the Balkar shivered and looked back too.  None of them would go near the forest now and, in the Night Hunter packs, they spoke his name with terror.  They had never seen him, but he was in all their dreams.  Morgra closed her eyes.  She was calling to him.

In the trees beyond, a shape began to stir.  Wolfbane twitched as he heard the faint whispering in his head.  But he could not disobey her orders to stay hidden in the forest.  She had kept him separate, away from the wolves, a spectral presence among the Balkar, a presence that had grown into its own legend.

‘Wolfbane.  I have a present for you.  Come to the edge of the wood, Wolfbane.’

Below the trees the Balkar were driving the rebel upwards, snarling and snapping at him.  He was literally dragging himself along the ground on his forepaws as his broken back legs trailed helplessly through the grass.  As he pulled himself into the trees and they heard a growl among the branches, the Night Hunters slunk back whimpering.  It was a pathetic sight.  Such strong and healthy wolves snivelling like whipped curs, their tails between their legs.  They looked anything but First Among the Putnar.  Suddenly there was a terrible howl from the trees.  Then silence.

Morgra growled delightedly and Kraar fluttered up beside her.

‘Mistress,’ cawed the raven, ‘do we move again, Mistress?’

‘Yes,’ answered Morgra, ‘Kosov is close.  It lies but suns to the south.  And the citadel, Kraar.  The lost citadel is found again.  But we must reach them soon.’

‘What of the Night Hunters’ search, Mistress,’ said the bird, ‘for the child?’

‘Idiot,’ hissed Morgra, ‘did you not hear? Haven’t you learnt to trust the legend yet? Besides, Slavka has given Larka an ultimatum.  If she is anything like Palla she will try to help them and bring the child to this Gathering Place.  But if she reaches the rebels before us, I fear for them both.’

Kraar opened his hood feathers stupidly.

‘It is ironic, is it not?’ Morgra went on coldly, ‘beneath the Stone Spores I offered them Wolfbane’s protection, and now again we shall work to protect dear little Larka.’

‘And her parents?’

‘The family,’ Morgra hissed scornfully, ‘no more obstacles will obstruct my way to the altar.  So far Huttser and Palla have evaded the curse, but they shall perish, Kraar.  They shall perish with the Greater Pack, when we are ready to attempt the howl.’

The raven opened its oil-black wings.

‘How soon?’

‘Have you not seen them too, Kraar? Waiting, waiting and watching? The Searchers are hungry.’

The bird shuddered excitedly.

‘So go, Kraar,’ cried Morgra suddenly.  ‘It is time.  The free Varg are going like sheep to the valley of Kosov and the Searchers shall be their nemesis.  But your kind must be there for the feast too.  Your cries must wake the dead.’

 ‘The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new.’ Samuel Beckett, Murphy

Two magnificent grey Varg were prowling through the grass as they made for the Gathering Place in the valley of Kosov.  But suddenly they stopped and started to growl fearfully.  Everywhere there were human tents spread out across the fields in front of them.  When Slavka and Huttser had seen them or when Morgra had spied them in her cave there had only been a few, but now there were hundreds.

‘What do they want?’ growled one of the wolves.

‘I don’t know,’ whispered his companion fearfully, ‘but the valley lies beyond.’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘Nor I, but we must learn what Slavka has to say.’

‘But some say a family comes to our aid, from a distant land.  A family of arctic wolves, and that to find them we should follow the Northern star.’

His companion shook his head scornfully.

In the valley Slavka lifted her muzzle and growled with satisfaction.  From every side wolves were drifting in from the forests in a steady stream that converged to form a shifting lake of grey wolves.

They were coming in their packs from the mountains and the forests, and now many of the wolves stood apart from each other, the families whispering nervously among themselves.  But Slavka would teach them.  She would separate them all into male and female contingents and train them in the combats.  They would be proud and strong and free.

But even as she thought it, Slavka felt the breath of fear among the wolves.  As the newcomers had arrived at the Gathering Place, the story had sent up a whisper among them.  Many had seen visions as they travelled, visions of wolves watching them, wolves that had suddenly vanished again.  Now the name of Wolfbane was everywhere, too.  Many of the free wolves had resisted joining a Greater Pack, but such fear was stirring through the land beyond the forest that at least they had come to hear what Slavka had to tell them.  Slavka rose slowly on her paws and prowled forwards.  She howled and the wolves began to pad towards her.

‘You are welcome,’ she cried and her words rang through the valley.  ‘Welcome all.  Our time is at hand.  Since Tratto’s murder and the coming of Morgra an evil has begun to stalk the land beyond the forest.’

There was an angry growling among the wolf packs.

‘But I am here to deliver you from evil.  To destroy the darkness of myth, the darkness of the Sight.  To help us remain Putnar, not become slaves to superstition.’

But among the wolves a little group were murmuring together.

‘But should you do this?’ asked the female.  ‘We swore loyalty always, and if we betray her now—’

‘Stop talking about betrayal,’ growled the wolf she was talking to, ‘there is no such thing as betrayal.  There is only breaking ranks.’

The grey wolf suddenly stepped forward from the group.  He was a huge Dragga and his eyes were keen and bold.  His name was Rar and his young family stood at his back.

‘Slavka,’ he cried suddenly, ‘you call yourself the Deliverer.  But is a Greater Pack really the way of the wolf? And there are stories too, Slavka.  Of your own methods.’

The wolves began to whisper again, but as Slavka answered Rar there was neither weakness nor doubt in her voice.

‘Some may resent me, Rar,’ she said scornfully, ‘and think me cruel.  Others find the separation of male and female difficult and the combats cause mutterings.  But we are Putnar, and I tell you now that we must fight strength with strength.  There are rumours that Morgra and the Balkar are on their way here already.’

But Rar was not to be put off.

‘We all know of Morgra, Slavka,’ he growled, ‘and the stories of Wolfbane too.  But not all believe the Sight to be evil.  And now there is other talk, of the white wolf.’

In a circle among the rebels a Dragga and a Drappa stirred as he said it and their ears came up among their guards.  Since that night in the snow, Huttser and Palla had been kept under constant watch.

‘You know it is not just talk, Rar,’ snarled Slavka ferociously.  ‘Her name is Larka and she travels with a human.  But no true wolf travels with Man.  We must destroy them both and end the lies that are infecting the Putnar with weakness and fear.’

‘Slavka,’ growled Rar, appealing to the wolves around him too.  ‘If this Larka has the Sight, then perhaps she can help us against Morgra.  Some say that she herself is the Deliverer.  That  her family have been tested by the elements...’

Some of the wolves had begun to mutter again and nod, but Slavka swung up her head furiously and she gave a jealous shiver at the mention of the Deliverer.

‘What are you saying,’ she snarled.  ‘That she could bring forth this Vision? This Man Varg.  Man is evil, and he is close enough.’

An angry growl came from many of the wolves.  Rar fell silent, for he could see that Slavka was stirring them.  Even as they had come in from the mountains, they had seen the human soldiers camped at the far southern edge of the Gathering Place and it had set their instincts on edge.  Like others, Rar had sought for hope in the stories of this strange white wolf, but even he would not dare to refute Slavka as she talked of Man.

‘If Larka pretends she has the Sight,’ Slavka went on, ‘she is no better than Morgra.’

The Dragga standing next to her looked up and there was a secret doubt in his eyes.  He had only just returned to camp and one of his number had been captured by the Balkar.  It was Gart.

‘But she will bring the human cub to me.  I promise you that,’ cried Slavka.  ‘Then, when I have killed it myself, my Greater Pack shall fight this darkness, tooth and claw, as Putnar should.  We have always found our freedom in our pack boundaries and that freedom shall swell as our boundary swells.  No longer separate and isolated.  No longer hunting the forests alone.  But together.  Now is not the time to doubt or waver.  Join together, for we face our destiny as one.’

Even Huttser felt a tingling down his spine and, despite all her cruelty, his heart beat a little faster for Slavka.

Slavka lifted her muzzle.  The note was pure and strong and the grey wolves around her began to answer, one by one, heads lifting until the whole valley was echoing with their howling cries.  Then, as the Greater Pack began to grow quiet again, another note came to them from the eastern edge of the valley, rising in unison, low and stirring.  A howling song, the Song of the Deliverer.  The howling subsided and as it did so the wolves began to call.

‘Slavka,’ they thundered, ‘Slavka.’

Even Rar found it hard not to take up the cry now, so mastered were the wolves, so strong did they seem.  As their voices carried across the air to the southern edge of the valley where the human camp lay, spread out across the plain, men leapt from their tents and seized their swords.

But Huttser and Palla trembled as they stood surrounded by their guards.  For suns their thoughts had been filled with terror for their daughter, and with the arrival of other packs another fear was stalking the valley.  The story of Wolfbane’s promise and where it had been made had begun to circulate freely again.  As the howls subsided, Huttser began to snarl as he watched Slavka.

‘Huttser,’ said Palla, so the guards could not overhear her, ‘if only we could escape.’

‘They never stop watching,’ growled Huttser angrily.

‘There are some who might help us.  I heard Keeka and Karma talking.  When they learnt that we were Larka’s parents.  That perhaps our family.  ..’

But Palla looked across to a nearby bush and she growled at what she saw there.  There was a beady-eyed bird sitting in the nest.  It was large and plump and it looked about it smugly.  The creature was a cuckoo, and Palla had watched with horror how its birth had come about.  For the nest did not belong to the cuckoo at all, but to a family of finches.  Palla had seen the mother and father weave the nest proudly and lay their little eggs.  But one night when the parents were off hunting, a female cuckoo had flown down and placed her own egg in the nest, too.  It was much larger than the others, but feeling the warmth of its life and being forgetful, the mother and father finch had mistaken the egg for their own and sat on it with the others.