Star Wolf

by Kathryn Lasky

  “We should do it. We should do it now,” Edme burst out.

  The wolves all turned to her in amazement. Edme had been the most stubborn of all the creatures about staying on the bridge. They all assumed she was deathly afraid of the water.

  Faolan was stunned. He walked up close to her. “You’ll swim, Edme? You’ll actually leave the bridge?”

  Edme dropped her voice so low no one could hear her except Faolan.

  “Faolan, I found what I needed to on the bridge. I know the place.” She nodded but did not speak more for fear someone would hear her. But Faolan knew what she meant by “the place.” It was the place of cleave hwlyn, the place where her first gyre had died nearly one thousand years before. “I am at peace now. I can leave the bridge. And I can swim better than you might imagine.” There was an impish glint in her eye. “Let’s go!”

  When the last scrap of the moon slipped over the horizon into the Distant Blue and the world turned black, when the night was in its darkest phase and the constellations rose, the wolves and the two bears slid into the water. Myrr and Maudie, much to their consternation, were left behind with Gwynneth to watch over them.

  Myrr watched as Edme swam away from the bridge toward the ice tongue. His anger at being left behind had receded. Instead he felt fear growing inside him. What if she doesn’t come back? What if something happens to her? This was not the first time someone he loved had left him behind. This situation was different from the time his parents had turned their backs on him, but the feeling, the terror, was the same.

  Airmead and Katria led the slink melf as they swam out and around the bend of the ice tongue. Bobbing silently in the breaking dawn were shimmering ice floes that had been sculpted by wind and storms into amazing shapes. Had their task not been such a deadly one, they would have perhaps taken time to read creatures into these shapes as they liked to do in clouds, to discover an elk or a crouching wolverine or a rearing grizzly. But they swam on, their tails lifted out of the water so as not to put a drag on their speed, their heads held high to avoid the splash of waves. Luckily, the water around the tongue was fairly flat, and the wind was low. Their first objective as they circumnavigated the ice tongue was to understand the geography of it. The structure was more intricate than they would have ever suspected when viewed from the top of the bridge. There were small inlets that narrowed into tapering channels and penetrated the ice. In these channels, numerous ice caves had formed, but the channels were so tight that the eagles with their broad wingspans could not fly through them.

  They had surmised that Abban would not be found in one of the caves close to the water since the outclanners were deeply fearful of the sea. However, there were also tunnels in the ice that most likely wormed through to the top, and there could easily be caves in the tunnels. It was crucial that the wolves find a way into these tunnels from the bottom, from the water. And this was where they hoped Dumpette would be helpful. For with a wing-span much smaller than an eagle’s, she could fly high up above the channels and scout. She could ascertain if there might be an entrance from above that Heep and his followers had used to sequester themselves, as well as poor Abban.

  The wolves also kept an eye out for Caila and Banja. It had been foolish of those wolves to set out by themselves. Faolan understood that they had been desperate, but this was a situation in which pack mentality was needed. That mentality was at the core of the ethics of wolves. They worked together as a team, whether it was defending their territory or hunting.

  As the morning grew brighter, the ice seemed to turn bluer. Edme glanced at Faolan. His silver head now seemed tinged in the blue light of the floes. There was such silence, too, as whatever wind that had blown seemed to expire in the ice maze they were swimming through. Silence and ice. That was all there was as they wended their way through the crystalline architecture of the ice tongue. Silence and ice.

  RAGS CROUCHED DEEP IN A TUNNEL, his belly aching with hunger. How had everything gone so wrong? When he knew that he could not endure another second in the rout, when the memory of the wolf called the Sark began to seep into his dreams every time he shut his eyes, he had finally decided to leave. He was careful to stay behind the rout. There was no choice: Faolan would have attacked instantly. They knew that Heep’s rout was behind them, looking for a chance to strike, to reclaim Heep’s mate, Aliac, and their son, Abban. If Faolan had spotted him, Rags would have been torn to pieces. He was in an untenable position on the Ice Bridge.

  He heard wolves above him on the tongue. Why were they staying? He could not leave until they did. He could only guess that it was still too foggy to find the way back to the Ice Bridge. For now he was virtually marooned on the tongue with the rout. How much longer could he last here? The ice tongue seemed bereft of any of the small rodents that had provided food for them, such as lemmings, voles, and the occasional fox. There was fish, of course, but fish meant getting close to the water. Rags’s only consolation was that Heep and the rest were as hungry as he was. So why didn’t they leave? Surely by now they could find the attachment, even if it was still foggy, and get back to the bridge where there was plenty of small game.

  He thought about all this as he crouched in the tunnel. He managed to doze off briefly until an alien smell penetrated the air. He saw it. Four green slits slashing the darkness.

  I’ve been found! He knew those eyes. Aliac! Rags began to tremble.

  “Rags!” Caila growled. “Where is he? I’ll tear your throat out.” The wolf beside her gave a low snarl that seemed all the more frightening because of its softness.

  “Aliac, what are you talking about?”

  “My name is Caila, and I am talking about my son, Abban. They took him.”

  “Took him? I can’t … I can’t …”

  “You can’t what?” Banja snarled again and stepped close to Rags. She was a fearsome wolf, with heavily muscled legs. He knew in a flash she must have been a Watch wolf at the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes.

  “I … I … I can’t believe they took him. How?” Rags stammered.

  “How doesn’t matter. Where is he?”

  For the first time, Rags felt a flicker of an emotion that was foreign to him and almost indescribable. It was a sense of decency. He stood up and lifted his tail slightly.

  “I don’t know where he is, Caila. I left the rout. I am a lone wolf now.”

  “You left the rout? You left Heep?”

  “Yes, and now I am kuliak.”

  “Kuliak?” Banja repeated the word.

  “Yes. A kuliak has been pronounced upon me for leaving.”

  “What does kuliak mean?” Banja asked.

  “It’s an outclanner word. It means cursed to death by the rout.”

  Banja sniffed. “Well, I would say to simply be an outclanner is curse enough! To be an outclanner and cursed by a rout is twice cursed and thus a positive thing. In my mind, you have been blessed. Yes, precisely. Twice cursed equals once blessed.”

  “Why did you leave?” Caila asked.

  Rags sighed. “Because somewhere deep inside I felt a yearning for something I’ve never known, something decent, to live righteously and with honor.”

  “And yet you’re here, still here.” Caila’s eyes narrowed.

  “I’m trapped. I didn’t know the ice tongue was forming. If I go ahead, I’ll run into your group and be attacked instantly. If I go back, I’ll find the rout and Heep. But now I know why they stayed. They’ve got Abban.”

  “Exactly. He was fishing. The child fears nothing about the sea. And the puffins bring him fish.”

  “And you set out to find him.”

  “Of course. I am his mother.”

  “But where are the rest?”

  “They’ll be coming,” Banja said. “Faolan and Edme were scouting ahead when Abban was taken. But I can assure you they’ll be coming.”

  Abban crouched in a tunnel nearby. It had all happened so fast. A thousand times in the brief hours since his capture he went over the details.
Was there anything he could have done? Any way he could have reacted more quickly? Why hadn’t he heard his father creeping up on the other side of the pillar? He had been very busy eating and right before that peering down into the sea, dreaming about all the lovely creatures he had seen and those mysterious and deadly brinicles.

  I am too dreamy, thought Abban. But, oh, if he could have one of those brinicles now, he would stab his father in the heart and happily watch him die. He had heard his father talking about his mum. He had declared her kuliak. He didn’t precisely know the meaning of the word, but he was sure it had something to do with murder, with killing his mum. Abban knew he had been taken to lure his mum to her death.

  Elsewhere on the tongue of ice, Heep, Bevan, and three other wolves had their noses close to the ground, following a new scent. Or was it two? Heep was not quite sure. Scent tracking on ice was difficult, and he had noticed that since he had been driven out of the Beyond and into the Outermost, his sense of smell had worsened. Some had said you can’t smell your own if you eat your own, and the Outermost wolves were no strangers to cannibalism. During the famine, they had attacked the dazed and cag mag Skaars wolves and fed on them. It had helped the outclanners survive.

  The first time Heep saw Caila, she had been attacked at a Skaars circle and was bleeding. He had followed her bloodstained trail, fully intending to devour her. She would be easy prey, weakened from the loss of blood. But when he recognized her as the distinguished turning guard of the MacDuncan clan, he decided to spare her. To be a turning guard in such a powerful clan, one had to be truly a superb runner — fast, strong, and relentless in pursuit. She was too much of a treasure to kill for food. He decided instead to make her his mate.

  Some treasure, he thought now. She had been docile enough at first, but soon after the Great Mending, when his tail was restored, something had turned in her. She became obstinate, always challenging him. The more he had wagged his tail, the more contrary she became. Then there was that last night. Just before they had come out of the strange cave on the edge of the Outermost, she had seized Abban, his only child, and sprung into the night. Heep had never seen a wolf run so fast. She was a blur, like a shooting star across the night.

  Suddenly, a familiar scent prickled his nostrils. His hackles bristled. It was her, Aliac!

  “I got something! I got something!” Heep was so excited his voice seemed almost strangled with a snarl. His marrow sizzled with vengeance.

  Bevan came over, and he sniffed the ground.

  “There are two scents. One might be hers,” Bevan said.

  “What do you mean might? It’s Aliac.”

  “Yes, of course.” Bevan laid back his ears, tucked his tail, and began to lower himself into the posture of submission.

  “She’s down there in that tunnel. Bevan, Krupp, go back and fetch the pup.”

  “Yes, sir,” they both answered. And as they went, each knew something else but dared not say it to the other. There was a third scent — the scent of Rags. Had Heep really missed it? If so, it was an indication that he was not nearly the wolf he had once been. Each of the outclanners thought to himself, Heep is vulnerable. I can take him down! They dared not say it aloud, for each one had dreams of becoming the most powerful wolf in the new world that was drawing nearer all the time.

  Meanwhile, the wolves and the cubs, led by Airmead and Katria, continued on their desperate swim. The slink melf had the same basic configuration of a byrrgis, and for the first time in many days, the wolves felt themselves back in a clan. It felt comfortable, despite the fact that they were swimming and not running.

  A scent began to waft their way, and Katria, out in the lead, was the first to catch it.

  She signaled to the wolves behind her as they had in a byrrgis, with the voiceless signs of flicked ears and tails. These subtle motions and gestures were dense with information.

  Faolan passed on the signal to Dumpette, flying above. This was tense, for he was uncertain if the puffin could really keep the code for the signals in her head after her one flashing display of intelligence. Unlike the cubs, who had learned the code immediately, Katria had needed to go over it three times with Dumpette.

  Faolan glanced at the cubs. They could hardly be called cubs anymore. They were huge and they were beautiful swimmers, along with possessing an extraordinary intelligence. He knew they missed their mother, Bronka, as much as he missed Thunderheart. He had vowed to try his best to be their protector, their big brother, their father. He and Edme, of course, had rescued Toby from the MacHeath wolves many seasons ago. But he had grown equally fond of Burney. How ironic that these two cubs, one of whom had been cubnapped himself, were now part of this vital effort to rescue Abban.

  Of course, rescue was only one part of the mission. Heep and his followers had to die. If they were to live in peace in the Distant Blue, there could be no outclanners. Not a single one could be left on the Ice Bridge. They all had to die.

  “COME ON, BOY!” BEVAN YANKED Abban by his ear. “And none of that cag mag talk of yours.”

  So this is it, thought Abban. They didn’t have to tell him. He knew he was being set up as bait, that his mother must be nearby. Bevan dragged him to where Heep was standing on the tongue in the first light of the graying sky.

  “Start yipping,” Heep snarled. Abban stared at his father. He had such loathing for Heep. How could they be of the same marrow? Abban clamped his mouth shut so none of his nonsense words would tumble out.

  His father stepped closer and grabbed him by the muzzle. “Did you hear me, boy? Start yipping. Make the milk yips. You want your mother’s milk.”

  But I have been weaned! Abban wanted to say. He feared it would come out all wrong. If I yip for milk, she’ll know something is not right. She’ll suspect a trick. Then Abban realized he wanted nothing more than his mum to suspect a trick. And so he yipped.

  In the tunnel of the ice tongue, Caila startled at the sound of the yip. “Abban!” she barked.

  “No!” Banja growled, and stepped forward to block Caila’s way. “It’s a trap. He’s weaned.”

  “I … I … know but …” And mysteriously she felt a sensation of milk stirring within her, although she had been long dry. “But I have to go to him!”

  “It’s a trap,” Banja repeated.

  “It is,” Rags said. “The rout will be waiting for you. It’s big. More wolves have joined since you left.”

  “I don’t care how many there are! If it’s a trap, we’ll be trapped together. Abban and I will die together on this tongue of ice.” Caila closed her eyes and imagined the star ladder to the Cave of Souls. She was slipping back into an old dream, a deadly dream. The dream that had lured her toward death when she imagined Skaarsgard, the keeper of the ladder, descending to fetch her and guide them to the Cave of Souls. In her mind’s eye, she saw an image of herself and her dear pup climbing the ladder together.

  The air in the tunnel was laced with the yips of Abban, and Caila was weakening. There was no way Banja could hold her back. No way.

  Caila burst out of the tunnel onto the ice tongue and saw him. A pathetic figure in the first rosy light of the dawn.

  “Don’t, Mum. It’s a trap! Run! Run!” Abban howled.

  Bevan grabbed Abban’s haunches. Heep locked his jaws around his son’s hackles as Abban twisted furiously in his grip. Behind them, more than a dozen outclanners had scrambled out of ice holes that pocked the bridge.

  And then several things happened at once. Eelon and Zanouche both plummeted from the sky. Eelon aimed directly for Bevan’s face, and there was a flurry of feathers and a terrible screech. Then Heep saw it — Bevan’s eyeball rolling across the ice. In his horror, he let the pup loose. Five wolves led by Katria burst from a hole in the ice tongue, followed by two grizzlies, no longer in their cubhood but almost full grown.

  Rags and Banja leaped into the fray. The rest of Heep’s rout charged down the tongue, which was turning slick with melt water in the early morning sun. The wol
ves were slipping, struggling to get enough purchase to even fight, but the bears with their longer claws and heavier weight were invulnerable. Digging in with their hind claws and swinging their forepaws, they batted at the rout wolves as if they were flies on a summer night. There was a terrible howl as a dusky wolf skidded off the ice and dropped like a stone into the water. He bobbed up once, still alive but too frightened to even move a paw, before the sea closed over him. The water dimpled as he sank, as if to mark his grave.

  Heep recovered his wits and was steadily fighting his way toward Abban, who was perilously near the edge of the ice tongue and in danger of falling into the sea. But this seemed to make the pup all the more fearless.

  “Come now! Come get me!” He danced on the slippery edge of the tongue. Heep trembled with fear, the image of what had just happened to his first lieutenant seared on his mind. Drool hung in long silvery threads from his mouth.

  Sensing the rout’s terror of water, Faolan and Edme had tried to move the outclanners close to the edge, where, like owls going yeep, they suffered bone freeze and could be easily shoved in. The Whistler made a bold charge at two wolves that went flying off into the sea, but lost his own grip and followed them. It was not a long fall, and he was not hurt. The wolves in the water looked at him in astonishment as he began to swim. “Help us! Help us!” But he turned away, ignoring their pleas, and paddled back to the tongue, where he clambered out ready to rejoin the fray.

  Abban taunted his father from the edge of the tongue.

  “I’ll get you … you worthless —” Heep screeched at his son. That’s when Caila charged him, clamping her teeth on his tail. Bevan howled and leaped toward Abban, but Zanouche plunged from above and scooped up the pup in her talons. Bevan skidded to a halt, then pivoted to attack Caila.

  “Get her off my tail! Save my tail!”

  But it was too late. There was a ripping sound, and the furry plume sailed out across the ice tongue, caught in a sudden gust of wind. Red drops trailed behind it like the particles from a bleeding comet.