“What happened?” Edme gasped.
“I’m not sure!” Faolan replied.
There was the unmistakable voice of a puffin outside the den. The orange beak of Dumpette poked in from the darkness. “Don’t worry. It’s just an iceberg hatching.”
“There’re icebergs out there?” Edme gasped.
“Yes, they break apart when the weather gets warmer. We call it hatching.”
“B-b-but … but … if the weather gets too warm, this mhuic bridge might hatch.” Edme’s swearing, calling the Ice Bridge crow scat, was surprising. She rarely swore. For her to hurl an imprecation at the bridge that she never seemed to want to leave was extreme.
“Oh, the bridge has been here forever. It would take forever for it to melt. You need not worry about that. Come spring, it gets a bit slippery and little pieces might break off here and there, but it’s nothing to bother you.”
“Little pieces here and there!” Edme screeched. “What if we are on one of those little pieces?”
“Hush, Edme!” Faolan said. “A shriek like that is enough to split ice. Do calm down.”
Edme suppressed a growl. She hated it when someone told her to calm down. She glared at Faolan until he laid his ears back and sank down into a submissive posture.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Edme immediately felt terrible. She hadn’t meant to hurt Faolan’s feelings, but even though she only had one eye to glare with, she’d been harsh and sent a hurtful message.
“No, I’m sorry,” she quickly replied. “We’ve just got den fever I suppose. How long have we been shut up here? Three days?”
“Just two.”
“It seems like forever,” Edme said.
They would be stormbound for another two nights. They dared not venture out of their den, let alone onto the Frozen Sea, where the starry maps of the night sky were obliterated by roiling dark clouds. Each evening, Faolan poked out from the den just far enough to scan the sky for those four extraordinarily bright stars on the Narwhale’s tusk, but he could not catch the slightest glimmer of them.
The winds that had been behind them before the gale had turned yet again, and now they presented a barrier as solid as any pressure ridge. The puffins advised the wolves move their camp to the base of the ice pillars. There were snugs down there, and the pillars themselves offered more protection from the wind. Thus the wolves took refuge beneath the bridge, huddling in snugs between two ice pillars, the very same ones that the puffins used to roost in. But the adult wolves were driven half cag mag by the puffins’ incessant chatter and terrible jokes.
The pups and the cubs found the birds endlessly amusing. Abban did not laugh out loud as the others did, but appeared to enjoy some sort of special relationship with the puffins that made him quite content with their babble. As Edme pointed out, he seemed to have such a special bond with all sea creatures that he even whispered what sounded like a little prayer before eating one of the many capelins that the puffins brought them daily.
“Look at him, Faolan,” Edme whispered as the pup bent over the dead carcass of a silvery olive-colored fish. “What’s he muttering?”
“I guess giving thanks to the fish for giving up its life.”
The Whistler blinked in astonishment. “You mean lochinvyrr? He’s actually performing lochinvyrr for a fish that is already dead? Lochinvyrr is for the dying, not the dead.”
Lochinvyrr was the ritual that wolves followed when a prey they had brought down was breathing its last. It was a demonstration in which the predator acknowledged that the life it was taking was a worthy one. But in this case, Abban was not the predator. The barely weaned pup had not killed anything in his life yet. His mother, Caila, did the hunting, and until recently, she had even chewed up the raw meat of the lemmings and regurgitated it for her pup to make it easier for him to digest. But here he was performing lochinvyrr for a dead fish.
“It’s quite irregular, I agree,” Edme said quietly.
On the fourth day, when the puffins had just brought in their last load of capelin, the gale began to break. The sun was rising and splinters of light bounced off the bridge. It was still too windy to begin traveling in their Fortress formation on the bridge or to travel on the Frozen Sea.
Eelon arrived with Zanouche. The two eagles alighted at the base of the ice pillars.
“It’s still blowing like stink out there,” Eelon said. “But in a few hours it should be good for travel.”
When they set out later, everyone seemed enthusiastic except for Edme. Faolan glanced at her. What is it with her? he wondered. She always seemed to want to stay on the bridge. Yet the way was so much easier out on the sea, even when the winds were sweeping across it. Faolan could tell her hip was not improving, that it was possibly even a bit worse. The bone she carried seemed to help some, but not enough. He felt the seeds of dread begin to take hold in his gut.
“I have an extra capelin if you’d like, Faolan,” Banja said.
“Oh, I’m not really that hungry. You take it, Banja.”
Edme looked around. Now what’s wrong with him? Faolan never passed up food.
By dusk, the wind had died down and was barely a riffle across the ice. Soon the last of the setting sun’s colors vanished behind the Distant Blue, the sky became very black as the moon had dwindled since they had been stormbound, and the stars broke out. There were great clusters of them unfurling like hot white banners in the night.
“There he is!” Faolan exclaimed.
“Who?” asked Edme.
“Beezar. He’s back. Remember, we hadn’t seen him for a while. Look I can clearly see that first star in his stumbling paw. Now, what is that star’s name?”
“I don’t recall there was ever a name for that star,” Edme replied.
“Oh, yes. Yes, there was….” Faolan looked up at the star that twinkled with a slightly pink glow. “I think, I think it was Kil —”
“Kilyric,” both he and Edme blurted out the name at the same time. They swung their heads toward each other in stunned amazement.
“Where did that come from?” Faolan asked.
“It’s an Old Wolf word,” Edme said. But the sound was so familiar to both their ears, and the word didn’t feel old at all.
“See, Edme, you know more Old Wolf than you ever thought.”
Edme felt her marrow quicken. She had been carrying the bone under her chin but shifted it and gripped it harder between her teeth. Had the word come from the bone? Now more than ever she wanted to stay close to the Ice Bridge. Had she not known better she would have thought there were flakes of strong rock metal embedded in the ice, for it was as if the bridge were pulling at her. But she knew Faolan would not want to return. They were traveling fast. What little breeze stirred the air was with them.
Faolan was completely absorbed with the stars of Beezar and Kilyric and then sighed joyously as the starry tusk of the Narwhale appeared. “You see, Kilyric is pointing the way. We just keep it slightly to starboard and then the tusk of the Narwhale to port and we won’t lose our way to the bridge or the Distant Blue.” He tipped his head up and spotted the Masked Owl. “Gwynneth! Gwynneth!” he called excitedly. “I spotted the star in the port forepaw of Beezar. Beezar’s back.”
Gwynneth flew straight up and out ahead of the brigade. Squinting into the starlit night, she thought she almost saw it. She knew her vision was deteriorating, but if a star was bright enough, she could usually get a fix on it. It took her a bit, but finally, it came into focus. She was thrilled. Between that and the very obvious stars in the tusk of the Narwhale, she could navigate now. She carved a broad turn and came sweeping back in.
“Faolan, keep the tack you’re on. That’s two points off the paw star of Beezar, so you are between it and the first star of the Narwhale’s tusk. You’ll go true.” She hesitated. “I think …”
“You think what?”
“You know the star we owls call NeverMoves?”
“Yes, I’ve heard you speak of i
t.”
“Well, I think we have found the NeverMoves star for this world. It’s Kilyric.”
“But it’s in Beezar’s paw. Beezar moves,” Faolan said. “He was gone for several nights.”
“Yes,” Gwynneth replied. “He was gone for bright nights when we could have seen him. I thought perhaps he was one of the many things we had to leave behind. But I think he was near, very near. He stumbles, you know, and maybe he blinks just a bit when he stumbles. And when he blinks, the star in that stumbling paw dims. But it’s still there. You’ll find it, Faolan. It will become easier and easier for you.”
“How?”
“Because you have a kind of starsight.”
“Starsight? What do you mean?”
“You understand the stars and how to navigate.”
Edme tucked the bone in her mouth back under her chin. “You do, Faolan. You have it. What Gwynneth says is true. Starsight. I’ve always known it.”
“Always?” Faolan asked, turning to her.
“Always.” She hesitated. “But can we get back to the bridge at the first streak of dawn?”
“Yes, of course, Edme. I promised.”
He knew there was a reason for this impulse of Edme’s not to leave the Ice Bridge. He sensed that she was not quite sure why she must do this. But one never could really explain impulses. One could only trust them. And he trusted Edme like no other wolf in the world.
Dearlea had been trotting not far behind the two wolves. She had watched them standing in a pocket of moonlight, carefully discussing the new star in the paw of an old wolf, a wolf from the skies of the Beyond. The star stirred her imagination. Why had they never seen it before? Was what Gwynneth said true? That when the old wolf stumbled, he sometimes blinked, and in the blink of Beezar’s eye, the star might have dimmed? It sounded like some old legend, and that was what excited her. It was a new legend. No skreeleen had ever sung of this star, Kilyric. The very name sounded like a song to Dearlea. A melody came into her head, and with it words, words to be howled by a skreeleen.
Oh, where do we go in this land of ice?
Oh, where do we go on this star-swirled night?
We go west with the sun
West with the light
Until it dips down so far out of sight
The Distant Blue is said to be there
But who is to know and who is to care
Except for the blind and stumbling wolf
We follow his star prints into the dawn
And hope that the next night the track is not gone
Kilyric is our great hope
Our prayer and our song
Oh, Lupus let not this star be gone
Gone over the bright flashing rim of the morn
To another world not yet born.
How can the blind lead the seeing?
How can the deaf hear the song?
How can the pup — a fool — sense the way?
How can a wolf read the stars in the sky?
How can we know if we’ll live or die?
League after league on this lonely sea
Where is the star ladder, the Cave of Souls?
For beneath us a watery grave does roll.
Beezar, Beezar, show us the way
The star in your foot we will follow
Blind in our trust to get to the morrow.
To the Distant Blue — who knows what waits
What time will bring and what might be our fate.
“Dearlea, what are you muttering? Don’t tell me you’re going cag mag, too?” Mhairie said, drawing up next to her sister.
“I was just humming really. The tune is an old one.” The words are new, Dearlea thought, but did not want to say. “Didn’t you recognize it?”
“One of those Old Wolf things?”
“No, it’s not that old. It’s one that Alastrine used to howl.”
“Alastrine?” Mhairie said vaguely. “I haven’t thought of her in … in … I’m not sure how many moon cycles. But you shouldn’t be thinking about Alastrine out here. Think about trotting. We’re making good time. We’re going so fast — there’s no time for idle thoughts, sister.”
But where are we going, really? Dearlea wondered. And how much have we left behind?
Dearlea had to fight the urge to turn right around and run as fast as she could back to the Beyond. Back to where the skreeleens once sang their stories. Back to the Ring, where the Watch carved tales and legends into bones.
IT WAS THEIR FOURTH NIGHT OUT on the ice since the storm. A sliver of moon was just rising, and Faolan looked back over his shoulder to check their position in reference to the forepaw of Beezar, which was just clawing over the horizon. Again there was little wind, and the surface of the Frozen Sea was hard and smooth. Zanouche had reported that Heep’s rout was having difficulty. One wolf had died when the winds had kicked up and he had been scraped off a ridge. Another had gone missing and was presumed dead. This was all good news.
From behind came a strangled little yelp. Suddenly, Edme was beside him.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Abban! Something’s wrong with him. He’s having a fit.”
The two wolves raced to where Caila stood transfixed over her pup. Abban was flat on his belly and seemingly insensate but writhing. His eyes had rolled back into his head. He was barking but not in singsongy verses. Faolan had never seen anything like this and wondered for a second if Abban had been struck with the foaming-mouth disease. Abban’s mouth was not foaming, but there was blood. He had bitten his own tongue.
“Quick, give me that bone, Edme,” said Faolan.
She didn’t think twice but instantly dropped to her knees and shoved the bone between Abban’s teeth.
“Abban? Abban, what is it?” she cried. But Faolan suddenly knew. He pressed his once-splayed paw hard against the ice, and he felt the same vibrations that Abban was experiencing. He looked up and spied the tusk of a narwhale.
“Urskadamus!” he cried. “Old Tooth. He’s come to warn us. There’s a lead opening up.”
They heard it, and next they saw it. The horrible cracking sound as if their own spines were splintering. A fissure of water opening up, slithering toward them.
“Run!” Faolan howled.
“Attack speed!” Mhairie called out in the voice of a seasoned outflanker.
Immediately, Abban seemed to recover. He was up and streaking toward the Ice Bridge like a small comet.
Edme ran like she had never run before. Lupus get us to the bridge. Lupus! She was frantic. They were all frantic, but Edme alone knew that if the sea swallowed her she would not only lose this life, but another. She must get to the Ice Bridge to find that life, that … that — gyre? What a strange word. But it was the right word. The right word for what she had lost and was about to recover.
“Maudie!” A shrill, agonized cry came from Banja, who had been running right behind Edme. “Maudie, she’s drowning!”
Edme’s mind went blank. Slowly the words dropped into her consciousness. I cannot run…. I must go back…. I promised Banja to … to … Moons ago, when they were still in the Beyond, she had promised to look after Maudie if something happened to Banja. Could she keep running away toward the Ice Bridge if it meant Maudie was lost? Edme knew what she had to do. She felt a sob break from her throat, but Edme reeled around and raced back to where Banja was swimming in the opening of the crack. “I can’t find her. She bobbed up once and I tried to grab her, but a wave washed us apart. The lead, it just swallowed her.”
Without thinking, Edme plunged in. She clamped her mouth shut tight. The cold was shocking, but she was numb to pain. If only she could become numb to the terror, the thought of little Maudie sinking to the bottom and her own terror of the ice closing the lead completely and being trapped beneath it. Where was Old Tooth? He had saved Abban. Could he not save Maudie?
Edme knew how to swim. She had swum all the time in the north branch of the great river in the Beyond. It was the only
place where a gnaw wolf could find food.
But it was different with so much ice around. She had a strange, suffocating sensation that any minute she might become confused, disoriented, swim off in the wrong direction and become locked beneath an ice grave.
The lead had widened. She saw something glimmering back up the channel, where a current flowed away from the bridge. It was two strange-looking creatures, similar to Old Tooth but white as alabaster and with no tusks. Oddest of all, they swam not on their bellies but straight up in the water. Between them, they held a sodden little lump — Maudie! They floated beneath her so her head was above the water. She could breathe!
Great Lupus! thought Edme. Something beneath her rammed Edme hard, and she was flung from the water. As soon as she landed, the two luminous heads rose and, as gently as a mother setting down a pup in the whelping den, set Maudie on the ice beside her. They said nothing, but they nodded as if to say, “Follow us, walk beside us to the end of the lead, and you’ll be safe.” So Edme took Maudie in her mouth as if she were a whelping pup and followed the two pearly white whales. The narwhale led the way with his tusk.
It was not like with Abban. Neither Edme nor Maudie came back speaking gibberish. They were clear-sighted, clearheaded, and able to recount exactly what happened when they had reached solid ice and climbed back onto the bridge. Banja pressed her shivering wet pup to her flanks, but Maudie didn’t stop talking. “Oh, Mum, they were so nice and their skin so smooth and polished. And they just held me up and they made these funny little soft sounds between them and then the narwhale made little tooting noises.”
“What were they saying?” Myrr asked.
“Well, I’m not really sure. I mean it wasn’t a language I could understand. There were just these soft airy little puffs and snorts. But I think the narwhale, the one Faolan said was Old Tooth —” Maudie broke off to glance at Abban, who merely nodded. “I think,” Maudie continued, “Old Tooth was showing them the way through the lead to where the ice was thicker and they could set me down. They held me all the way with my head above water. Imagine that! They are so smart. They know that we can’t breathe underwater.” She paused. “I’ll never forget the touch of their skin.”
Star Wolf Page 7
