The Wolf Age (64 page)

Morlock was not, in fact, shepherding the never-wolves to safety. He had sent them away south to fend for themselves, and he was, at sunset, rounding the edge of the city's necropolis and headed for the slopes of Mount Dhaarnaiarnon.

He had felt bad about parting company with the ex-slaves, but most of them had not seemed to expect his help. They were natives of the northern plains and knew the region better than he did. Also, some of them kept referring to atonement and some sin by their ancestors in the distant past, and he found it hard to stay patient with this. He had done things since noon that he felt some guilt for; if the never-wolves weren't committing their own misdeeds by now, it was long past time that they start.

As for him, he had to untie the knot of mystery surrounding the murder of his friends and find vengeance for them. He did not honestly think that he would succeed, but if he were even to try, he would have to confront Ulugarriu. Morlock was wondering if he might be a were-rat, or perhaps a colony of were-rats, passing the name Ulugarriu down generation after generation to create the legend of an immortal maker. But if he was not a were-rat, or among the were-rats, the were-rats certainly knew him and were working with him.

Morlock walked around the marsh south of the outlier settlement and came at his cave through the silver-tainted hills to the east.

He was surprised and pleased to see a sallow-faced Lakkasulakku hard at work over the forge, folding and refolding glass for weapons.

"Good evening, apprentice," he said, when the young citizen leaped up at his approach.

"Khretvarrgliu!" shouted Lakkasulakku. "They said they were going to execute you!"

"They tried. They won't again, I think."

"Then the Union won the rally?"

"I think so, though I left before it was done. I am here only to collect a few things and leave again."

"I hope-I hope you don't mind.... They needed weapons for the rally, and I thought-"

"I don't mind. Everything in the cave is yours as much as mine, save Tyrfing alone, because of the burden that goes with it."

"Chieftain," Lakkasulakku said, bowing his head.

Morlock pounded him on the shoulder. Together they gathered a cloak, some cold-lights and provisions, and a few other things Morlock thought might be handy. Before the sun disappeared behind the shoulder of the hill, he was off again, waving farewell to Lakkasulakku, who stood disconsolate before the mouth of the cave. Morlock never expected to see him again and, as a matter of fact, he never did.

Sunset found him on the lower slopes of the volcano. He was tempted to drive onward, but he knew too much about mountains to try ascending one in the dark. Also, he was deathly tired. He wrapped himself in the cloak, although the air was still hot, and lay down. He was awake for a long time, looking at a strange fiery light burning on the undersides on the incoming clouds. It was odd, as if the city were on fire and the clouds were reflecting it. But the city was not on fire.

The next morning, he ate some bread and drank some water, because he knew he must, and began the long climb to the mountain's summit. It took him most of the day, and throughout it he kept alert for the sound and sight-even the smell-of the were-rats.

Evening's red light found him lurking under the lip of the crater, above the great moon-clock in the mountain's face. He kept hearing fugitive sounds he thought were were-rats' voices. But whatever way he turned, he seemed to get no closer to them, and they often roamed farther away.

He wondered if they might have nests inside the crater. The idea took him up to the edge of the crater.

The sun disappeared beyond the eastern rim of the world. Two moons stood out abruptly in the night sky: Chariot was burning darkly on the red rim of the western horizon: it would set soon, and summer would begin. Trumpeter stood somber above: in a few days, it would set, too, and the night skies would be dark until Horseman returned. Morlock watched, his quest for were-rats forgotten, as Chariot slid down beyond the eastern edge of the world and its light was lost.

"Khul gradara!" Morlock said, when Chariot was gone. "Good-bye, moon."

He turned back to the vast echoing pit of the volcano crater. He thought he heard some sort of sound coming from it. He kept his eyes fixed on the darkness in the crater, hoping he might see something as his eyes grew used to the dark.

Something pushed him, hard, on the back of both legs and he tumbled helplessly into the crater. He heard were-rats chitter in triumph behind him, but he still could not see them. He slid down the surface of the crater and, before he could recover, fell into the open pit at the bottom.

He was falling straight into the mountain. Shadows spun around him as he fell.

At about the time Morlock was briefly encountering the were-rats, Rokhlenu was acclaimed First Singer of Wuruyaaria.

Heralds had been crying the election up and down the mesas of the city all night and day, and by sunset the surviving candidates and all citizens interested in voting were gathered on the great plain west of the city. The crowd was gathering around a dais built near the Bitter Road. On the dais were five couches, and in front of the couches stood five citizens, their necks a-bristle with honor-teeth: the incumbents of the Innermost Pack.

Rokhlenu and Aaluindhonu, with their reeves and cantors and supporters, stood on the south side of the road. The gnyrrands for the Alliance and their fellow candidates and supporters stood on the north side of the road. The candidates wore no colors or scents, but their supporters carried the pack banners high. As citizens arrived at the assembly, they joined one side or the other. They also had the option of standing aloof, but tonight few were availing themselves of this.

In fact, few stood by the Alliance candidates. Long before the sun set, it was clear that the election was a landslide for the Union. An election in Wuruyaaria could be a drawn-out business, with voters changing sides through the night as bite, or the perception of bite (which was the same thing, really, in the hour of choice), shifted from one pack to another. It could be complicated by the fact that one citizen's bite, and consequently his vote, might be greater than another's.

But tonight there was no question: the citizens were almost uniformly rejecting the Alliance. To be brutal, criminal, and reckless was one thing. To fail was another, and Wuruyaaria's citizens had no mercy on it. The only citizens standing with the Alliance were the candidates' closest relatives, ones who could not vote with the opposition (or stay away) without shaming their blood.

The sun set.

All citizens turned eastward. The moonlit tide of transformations swept over them, and they cried out in voices human and lupine, bidding Chariot farewell and summer welcome.

When the major moon had set, when the citizens had recovered from their transformations, Aaluindhonu gave Rokhlenu a wolvish grin and trotted over to the dais, where the retiring singers of the Innermost Pack were leaping down from the dais.

He congratulated the retiring First Singer, an old acquaintance of his from the Neyuwuleiuun named Skuiulaalu.

Skuiulaalu thanked him loudly, then more privately wished him good luck: he would not have chosen to take the high couch at this strange and dreadful time. Citizens said the world was ending, and Skuiulaalu half believed them.

Aaluindhonu laughed, skipped past the old singers, and leapt up to the dais. He prepared to mount the high couch of the First Singer.

There was a storm of protests from the crowd. It broke forth without warning, and it was intense, furious. It raged on both sides of the road. Neither the Alliance nor the Union voters would accept Aaluindhonu as First Singer. The Alliance disliked him, and neither side respected him.

Instead, the voters chanted or howled the name of Rokhlenu.

This was not as the gnyrrands had arranged it between themselves and their fellow candidates. But the electorate was a fickle master, not under anyone's control. Strictly speaking, they had no say in the matter, but it was a foolish politician or a brave one who defied the unanimous wish of his constituents.

Rokhlenu met Aaluindhonu's angry eye and tilted his head sideways: an inquiry. Aaluindhonu hesitated, then lowered his gaze: a submission.

Rokhlenu leapt forward, bounded up to the dais, jumped atop the high couch, and stood there, looking out at the crowd.

The electors howled their approval. Even the Alliance voters seemed caught up in the moment. It was a triumph to make songs of, a tale that would be told for a thousand years. Half a year ago, Rokhlenu had been a prisoner in the Vargulleion. Tonight he was the First Singer of Wuruyaaria.

Least moved, of everyone there, was probably Rokhlenu himself. It would have meant more if his father and brothers had been there. Ghost, it would have meant more if Morlock had been there. His beloved was there, proudly waving a green-and-gold banner, and that meant a great deal. It meant more than the rest of the crowd rolled together in a carpet. Meeting her, mating her: that was his true triumph in this half year, the triumph of his life. That was what he would make songs of, when he had time.

When the crowd's shouting began to subside, Rokhlenu summoned the candidates they had agreed on to the Innermost Pack: two from the Goweiteiuun cantors and his own reeve, Yaarirruuiu. The Goweiteiuun were to have a majority of singers on the Innermost Pack, in return for their welcoming the outliers into the treaty. That seemed to be a settled question when the voters saluted him as First Singer, but he was determined to keep his deal with Aaluindhonu.

Rokhlenu's first song as First Singer was brief. He promised two things, though. First, there would be a new source of food in the outliers' colony on the Bitter Water; they could not control the weather, but they would not sit idle while it killed them. That was the behavior of a dumb beast, not a werewolf. Second, there would be justice for every citizen. He repeated that: justice for every citizen, no matter what his bite.

"Where are the prisoners of the Khuwuleion?" shouted someone-a semiwolf still wearing the day shape. Others took up the cry, in Moonspeech and Sunspeech.

Rokhlenu silenced them with a commanding howl. The question, he sang, had been asked, and asked again. It would never be forgotten. Soon it would be answered. There would be justice for every citizen.

Then he dismissed them to their celebrations. The first night of summer had come; the Choosing had ended.

Wuinlendhono and her mate spent the night going to other citizens' celebrations. They finally got back to her lair-tower just before dawn.

While they were grooming each other before lying down, she met his eye and whispered a question: Was he unhappy? They had succeeded, against very long odds. He was due a little triumph. Was anything wrong?

Rokhlenu had been singing the role of a magnanimous victor all night, and it was a relief to tell what he really felt. But he sang, in the end, he was glad: no one could take the outliers away from her now, not after what she had achieved-

-what they had achieved, she snapped.

-what she had achieved. And they would be together now, forever. That was the greatest victory of all.

She told him to prove it, and their minds turned to other matters.

The next morning he had not slept much, but his mind was clear as ice (which he wondered if he would ever see again: it was another murky glaring day). He and Yaarirruuiu woke early so that they could climb the long stone stairs up to Iuiunioklendon, where the first meeting of the Innermost Pack traditionally took place. Aaluindhonu had commandeered the audience hall of the Goweiteiuun's Inner Pack for the occasion.

The first issue they tackled was the admission of the outliers under the name of the Ekhaiasuteiuun ("the border-runners"), as chosen by a majority of the outlier citizens. A copy of the treaty was sent down to the outlier settlement for the First Wolf to sign.

As the other singers began to rise from their couches, Rokhlenu said, "And now for the main business. I want the Aruukaiaduun gnyrrand and the Werowance of the Sardhluun arrested."

This quelled anyone's interest in leaving. Three of the singers were standing with their mouths open, but no song or speech came from them.

Aaluindhonu smiled wisely, as if he had been expecting something like this from the hotheaded young First Singer and said, "Understandable, but quite impossible."

"Essential," Rokhlenu disagreed.

"What charges will you prefer?"

There was a smiling ambiguity in Aaluindhonu's question that Rokhlenu disliked intensely. He said bluntly, "The Werowance, as the representative of the Sardhluun Pack, is guilty of theft from the city. They took money every month for the feeding and housing of prisoners they had sold as slaves or butchered for meat. That's a crime against the city, against every citizen."

"Subject to a certain interpretation-"

"That is nonsense, my friend, and you know it. The disbursements were marked in the city accounts `For the maintenance of prisoners.' The dead do not require maintenance."

"Yurr. I see what you mean. You have actually read the city accounts?"