Wolf Totem: A Novel

by Jiang Rong

  Waves of sound and beams of light filled the gaps between the people and the dogs. The humans, the horses, the dogs, the sounds, and the lights formed a loose but effective, powerful, and dynamic net spreading over the wolf pack.

  Chen Zhen, Yang Ke, and all the other Beijing students were so excited by the extraordinary scene that they whooped and hollered and gestured wildly. The people’s morale soared, their voices rocked the heavens. Chen was now able to see where he was. It was a spot just south of the site of the horse massacre. Bilgee had unerringly led the party to the northeastern edge of the great lake, where they had then fanned out to form a net. Before he knew it, men, horses, and dogs had all skirted the lake and, with amazing speed, set up an encirclement on its northern edge.

  Bilgee whipped his horse as he galloped down the line of hunters, anxiously searching the ground with his light for tracks in the snow as he inspected the formation, moving people when necessary. Chen followed close behind him. The old man reined in his horse. “The pack passed by here not long ago. A lot of them. See those tracks? They’re fresh. It looks like we’ll get them this time, and all these people won’t have frozen out here for nothing.”

  “Why not just encircle the wolves here at the lake?” Chen asked.

  “That wouldn’t work,” the old man replied. “The pack feeds on frozen horsemeat in the early-morning hours and slips away before the sun is up. If we surrounded them while it was still dark, how would we be able to trap them? The dogs couldn’t see them, and the wolves could run in all directions. We’d come up empty. The party had to set out after midnight and have the encirclement in place before daybreak.”

  Flashlight signals continued from left and right. Bilgee stood up in his stirrups, holding on to the horn, and sent a stream of light commands in both directions, some long, others quite short, with crosses and circles, all part of a complicated set of signals. The semicircle of hunters moved ahead nervously but in orderly fashion, with human shouts, horse whinnies, and dog barks advancing in waves. Beams crisscrossed on the snowy ground and in the air, creating fans of light. Humans, horses, and dogs shrieked and snorted and yelped when they spotted wolf tracks in the snow, a sure sign of excitement as the battle loomed.

  “What are you signaling?” Chen asked.

  Without a break in his signals, the old man said, “I’m telling the people to the west to slow down and the ones to the east to hurry a little to link up with the people coming down the mountain. And I need for the people in the middle to hold the line and not get overanxious. Moving too soon is as bad as starting too late.”

  Chen looked up into the sky, which no longer resembled a steel curtain; he could make out the shapes of clouds that were drifting to the southeast and a bit of gray on the edges.

  The big dogs had already picked up the scent of wolves, and their barks took on greater ferocity and irritability. Erlang was biting his leash, fighting it, struggling to burst ahead. Holding him back with all his strength, Chen reached out and tapped the dog on the head with his lasso pole to get him to obey.

  While most of the wolf tracks pointed northwest, some went in other directions. Bilgee never stopped inspecting the tracks or flashing signals.

  “How did people manage before there were flashlights?” Chen asked.

  “With torches, wood wrapped with butter-soaked felt. They were as bright as these, and the wolves were scared to death of them. If one came at you, you could burn its fur.”

  As the sky lightened, Chen could make out the sights of the grassland; it was where he had grazed his sheep for several months. Off to the northwest, in his mind’s eye he could see a broad basin ringed by mountains on three sides, with a gentle slope on one. That was likely where Bilgee planned to tighten the noose. The horse herders were lying in ambush behind the mountains, so as soon as the wolves were driven into the basin, the men, horses, and dogs behind them would close the door, and the war of annihilation would begin. But Chen could not even guess how many wolves might be caught. If the pack was really big, the cornered wolves would fight back, and the hunters would have to engage them in close combat. Chen removed his herding club from the saddle and looped it around his wrist, ready to try Batu’s special wolf-killing skill but still feeling jittery.

  The wind was getting stronger, the clouds moving more rapidly; the sun’s rays seeped in between the clouds to bring some hazy light to the grassland. Cries of surprise erupted from the men when they reached the mouth of the basin. In the faint morning light, they saw two dozen big wolves pacing and stopping, looking all around, but not daring to move into the basin. Near the opening to the pass, another pack moved in and out of sight; they too appeared concerned about the lay of the land. For all he knew, they may have already gotten a whiff of the danger ahead.

  Chen gasped in admiration over Bilgee’s precise calculations and his guidance in the formation of the encirclement line. By the time the wolf pack realized where they had been driven and saw the array of hunters around them, the noose had been tightened; as soon as the flashlights lost their power to intimidate, the hunters’ lasso poles were in sight. The wolves were, in fact, trapped as the two ends of the semicircle neared the outer limits of the basin.

  After several of the leading wolves assessed the situation, they turned and, without a moment’s hesitation, led the pack back to where it had come from. They had just eaten their fill of horseflesh and were it had come from. They had just eaten their fill of horseflesh and were incredibly spirited. They ran with power and awesome ferocity. A terrifying layer of wolf mist rose from the snow as they streamed past; nothing, it seemed, could stop them. Shouts erupted from the herdsmen as they brandished their lasso poles and rode out to meet the charging wolves. The riders on the two ends moved quickly to seal the gaps that had opened up.

  The wolf pack offensive remained strong but slightly altered the direction of its main attack as it stormed the group of women, who wore the most colorful clothing and had the fewest lasso poles. None of the women, including Gasmai, blanched in the face of the attack. Standing up in the stirrups, they flailed their arms and shouted at the top of their lungs, as if prepared to block the way with their arms alone. But since the women had few lasso poles, the wolves saw this as the weak link in the chain and hoped to break through with a concentration of might and determination. Chen’s heart nearly stopped as the likelihood of a breakdown loomed.

  At that moment, Bilgee stood up in the saddle, raised his arm high, and brought it down sharply. “Release the dogs!” he shouted. From up and down the line, whistles and commands arose, as the handlers let go of the leashes and more than a hundred snarling dogs with harnessed power and red eyes exploded in the direction of the wolves from the east, the south, and the west. Bar, Erlang, and several other of the biggest, bravest, and fiercest assassin-dogs of the brigade headed for the leaders of the pack. The other dogs followed, anxious to show their mettle in the presence of their masters, barking madly as each tried to outcharge the others.

  Meanwhile, horsemen sped to strengthen the array, those with lasso poles spurring their horses on to join the charge by the dogs. Snow and dirt flew from the pounding hooves; the intrepid Mongol warriors filled the air with bursts of murderous shouts once feared the world over—Hah! Hah! Hah!—accompanied by the rhythmic tattoo of galloping horses.

  The daunting offensive rocked the wolves, whose leaders skidded to a stop, turned, and led the pack in a race to the mountain pass, their only means of retreat and a chance to link up with the wolves just beyond. They split up, heading toward three separate slopes to break out of the encirclement and take the high ground, either to reach the mountain peaks and negotiate a circular route or to charge downhill.

  The formation of hunters stretched out into a straight line and sealed the mountain pass. Bilgee had the wolves just where he wanted them.

  On the other side of the mountain, the director Uljii and the military representative Bao Shungui stayed hidden in tall grass, nervously observing t
he situation on the battlefield before their eyes. Bao excitedly hit the snowy ground with his fist. “Who said that Bilgee always takes the wolves’ side?” he exclaimed. “You see, he trapped this pack exactly when and where he was supposed to. He’s amazing. I’ve never seen so many wolves. You have to hand it to the old man. I’ll see he’s rewarded for his service.”

  Uljii too breathed a sigh of relief. There were, as he could see, forty or fifty wolves caught in the trap. In years past, a pack of ten or twenty was the best they could hope for. But Bilgee was the Olonbulag alpha male. At each year’s encirclement hunt, if he wasn’t in charge, hunters did not feel like participating. But the slaughter of the horses had enraged him. Uljii turned and said to Batu, “Pass the word: no one is to fire his weapon, not even into the air. There are too many people out here today, and we can’t take the chance of a stray bullet hitting someone.”

  “I’ve told them several times already,” Batu said.

  Behind the mountain, the horse herders and hunters were in the saddle, waiting for a signal. They were the best the pasture had to offer, expert riders with superb lasso-pole and herding-club skills. For this hunt, they had chosen their fastest, most spirited mounts, horses they normally pampered, for they were still filled with anger over the loss of the horse herd, anger they planned to purge on this day. The horses, hearing the frenzied barking of dogs, were in the grip of prebattle tension. Their heads lowered as they tugged on the reins, they pawed at the snowy ground, chest and leg muscles pulled taut. Their hind legs were like springs in a trap, and the moment their riders relaxed the reins, they would burst forward. The leashed hunting dogs had also been chosen for their ferocity, alertness, and extensive training. They too had heard the sounds of impending battle, but they remained silent, mouths open, eyes glued to their masters, well-disciplined and battle-tested veterans.

  Uljii and Batu slowly arched their bodies, ready to give the signal.

  The main force of the wolf pack seemed focused on breaking through the encirclement at the highest point off to the northwest. Neither men, horses, nor dogs are a match for wolves in gaining high ground. With their powerful physiques, unparalleled stamina, and enviable lung capacity, they are used to leaving their enemies behind as they race to the tops of mountains. Even the few hunting dogs and lasso horses, which can outrun wolves on level ground, quickly drop behind once the wolves begin running uphill. When they reach the mountaintop, they stop to catch their breaths, search for the surest way to elude their enemy—the steepest slope, a hidden valley, a ravine—and move like lightning. Often, by the time horse and rider are at the top, the wolves have vanished without a trace; if they happen to be in sight, they will already be far out of rifle range.

  The wolves ran for the mountain at full speed, their pursuers lagging behind. The fastest wolves were at the head of the force, the alpha male and several large wolves off to the side. Uljii pointed to one of them, a wolf with mixed gray-and-white fur on its neck and chest, and said to Batu, “That’s the leader! He’s the one who led the pack in the horse massacre. He’s yours. Let’s go!”

  The pack was several hundred feet away. Batu stepped back, grabbed his lasso pole, and jumped into the saddle. Uljii climbed onto his horse and yelled, “Attack!”

  Batu thrust his pole high into the air, like a battle flag, as the horse herders cried out “Go! Go!” Dozens of hunting dogs and horses were on the mountaintop almost at once. The dogs zeroed in on their targets like torpedoes. Two-thirds of the horse herders rode out in front and formed a semicircle nearly halfway down the slope, where they linked up with the hunters under the command of Bilgee. The remaining third rode straight at the wolves with their long poles.

  When the ambush was sprung on the wolves, their ranks were thrown into chaos. They were caught in the sort of trap they themselves used with such skill and familiarity. With that knowledge, they were more panic-stricken than the gazelles they had once trapped, and they were furious. As their sense of disgrace gave way to rage, they turned and headed back downhill, giving up the higher ground to engage in a decisive battle with the men and dogs. With reckless disregard for their own lives, they tore into the line of charging dogs, sending many of them tumbling. The snowy slope was turned into a site of terrible tangled warfare, with fangs—wolf and dog—ripping and tearing, sending snow and animal fur flying. Dogs whined, wolves howled, dog blood and wolf blood spurted from necks and heads. The horrified students, who had never seen such bloody warfare, were speechless.

  At that moment, Batu was staring down at the gray-coated wolf king from high up on the hill. Brandishing his lasso pole, he charged. But the leader did not dash downhill with his pack, choosing instead to turn and run due west. Four or five big wolves surrounded him in an attempt to break through the encirclement. Batu, along with three hunters and five dogs, took after the leader and his escort. But the wolf king, with his intimate knowledge of the area, had his eye on an alternative, but dangerous, escape route. The ground beneath the snow was covered with small but slick rocks, and as soon as the wolves landed on them, the rocks began to roll downhill. But with their large, thickly padded paws, they were able to race across the slippery rocks without sliding downhill themselves, leaving behind a roaring avalanche. The dogs, with their smaller paws, were able to stumble along and keep the chase alive, but the horses were not. The three hunters had barely reached the stony slope when one of the horses lost its footing, sending it and its rider tumbling down, his lasso pole snapping into three pieces. The other two frightened hunters reined in their horses, jumped out of their saddles, and ran to rescue their comrade.

  Batu, obsessed with vengeful thoughts, dismounted, stood his lasso pole straight up to use as a walking stick, the narrow tip threading the spaces between rocks, and continued the chase on foot, leading the horse behind him. “Catch him!” he shouted. “Catch him!” As he crossed a ridge, he heard the pitiful yelps of dogs, so he vaulted back into the saddle and rode quickly to where the sound was coming from. A moment later he saw one of the dogs lying on the ground, half dead, and another with a missing ear and a bloody face. The other three dogs were backing up in terror, their hackles raised. As soon as they saw the lasso pole, the wolves turned and ran into a reedy valley, followed by Batu, one of the hunters, and the three uninjured dogs.

  After Uljii saw Batu ride over the ridge, he led Bao Shungui to the best vantage spot in the encirclement, where he could observe the battlefield and effectively deploy his troops, slowly tightening the noose to trap the pack. All the battle-tested Mongol hunters had an instinctive grasp of the situation and a perfect understanding of their responsibilities; no one fought to gain personal glory. Any wolf that broke through the encirclement was immediately set upon by one or two of these “outside” hunters and either caught by a lasso or driven back inside the circle. Even the spaces that opened up when these hunters were on the move were quickly filled by others to maintain the integrity of the formation.

  The center of the circle was a mass of men, horses, dogs, and wolves. A few dogs and wolves lay on the ground without moving, blood and steam rising from their mortal wounds. Forty or more wolves had been surrounded by as many as 170 dogs. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, back-to-back, tails touching, fangs bared, facing death with a unified defense. The chests and shoulders of many wolves and dogs were torn and bleeding. Behind the front line of dogs, several dozen riders swung their lasso poles at the innermost wolves. The wolves and dogs fought viciously, biting and clawing; it was virtually impossible to tell where the wolves ended and the dogs began, making it difficult for the hunters to reach out with their lassos, since none wanted to snare a dog by mistake or catch one of each in the same noose. Nor did they dare launch an attack, since there were too many wolves with too much fighting spirit; not many had been taken out of the battle, and an inadvisable attack could initiate a coordinated attempt by the wolves to break through the ranks of dogs and men in the confusion, and from there put pressure on the loose net of r
iders beyond.

  A few of the more experienced hunters swung their lasso poles out over the heads of the wolves, waiting for one to separate itself from the pack; when that happened, they dropped the noose—not caring if it settled around the neck, the body, or a leg—pulled it tight, and dragged the animal far enough for the assassin dogs to pounce on it and tear out its throat.

  The students and the women and children were deployed outside the encirclement. Bilgee had sent Chen Zhen and Yang Ke halfway up the mountain, where they had an unobstructed view of everything happening down below.

  Inevitably, one after another, the wolves were lassoed, dragged away, and taken down by dogs. Husky howls burst from the throats of trapped wolves, who immediately changed tactics: instead of leaping up and going after the dogs’ necks, they lowered their heads to fight, making it impossible to lasso them from above.

  Chen observed the battle through his telescope and saw that even though the wolves had no chance of escape, they kept their wits about them. Not content to take down one enemy or to be overjoyed to take down two, they were driven to kill as many of the hunting dogs—the main force surrounding them—as possible. They fought in threes and fours, coming to one another’s aid, using their deadly fangs and tasting blood with every bite.

  Bilgee, who was directing the campaign from behind the ring of hunters, abruptly shouted, “Charge, Bar, charge!” Then he gave the sign to retreat.

  Chen and Yang knew what the old man had in mind. “Erlang, charge!” they shouted. “Erlang, charge! Charge! Charge!”

  The two savage, red-eyed dogs understood both the shouts and the hand signals; they backed up several steps and changed tactics. With loud roars, they made a mad dash for the biggest wolf in the pack, the leader. Erlang, the quickest, hit the wolf first, knocking him back some three or four yards; but he stayed on his feet, just in time for the fierce, heavier Bar to hit him like a sledgehammer and send him tumbling. Then, before he could get to his feet, Erlang charged and, without waiting for support, sank his teeth into the leader’s throat, sending four streams of blood skyward and onto the snowy ground; Erlang’s red-stained face threw a fright into the pack. The dying leader, fangs bared, clawed wildly with what strength remained, leaving bloody tracks across Erlang’s chest and belly; but the dog’s wildness was greater, and nothing was going to make him let go of his victim’s throat until the wolf was dead. The pack knew this savage dog; they had encountered his fighting skills before. They backed off, wanting to stay clear of their leader’s killer.