We were only hundreds of wolflengths from Laan, and TaLi and BreLan intended to go there.
Tlitoo krawked in alarm. “You should have told us that first, dimwolves!” he screeched to Gaanin. “There are several Laan humans coming our way, wolf,” he said to me. “I saw them. They will find your humans.”
Which meant I had to get TaLi away quickly. And I had no way to communicate with her, no way to ensure she would not walk into her death. Or did I? She had come, in that one moment, to the Inejalun, and she had spoken to me. She had understood me.
I staggered to TaLi. “Take us!” I gasped to Tlitoo.
He didn’t ask me where, just quorked at me in concern. Ázzuen looked back and forth between us.
“I told you it is not safe, wolf. You are still weary. You have been to the Inejalun too many times.”
“There’s no choice!” I said, beginning to panic. “She has to know before the Laan humans find them.” I was disoriented and shaking from exhaustion after taking the Sentinels to the Inejalun, but it was my fault, not TaLi’s, that the Sentinels had killed the strecks on the grassless plain and made Gaanin threaten to go into hiding. It wasn’t her fault I’d been too long in the Inejalun. I would not fulfill the Promise only to have her die.
“All right, wolf,” Tlitoo said. “But we must go quickly.”
I sat next to TaLi on the ground and whined to get her attention. She crouched down and put her arms around me.
“What’s wrong, Kaala?” she asked.
For just a moment, I allowed myself to sit next to her, letting her scent fill me and the warmth of her skin next to my fur comfort me. She had grown in the last moon, her long limbs and straight angles beginning to soften into the curves of womanhood. She and BreLan could mate soon. They could have pups not long after I would have mine if Ázzuen and I decided to mate this year. The thought of raising our pups together made me happy, though TaLi’s young would grow much more slowly than mine. They would still be pups when I was long dead. I shook off my thoughts and looked up to Tlitoo.
“It has to be now,” I said. “Are you able?”
He picked up a twig and tossed it in the air.
“I am fine. It is you who must be careful.” He hopped down.
“Guard us?” I said to Ázzuen.
“Of course,” he said. I touched my nose to his muzzle and settled my aching muscles as the streckwolves watched us curiously. Tlitoo pushed in between me and the girl.
The cold was more intense than it had ever been before. At first Tlitoo and I were alone in the Inejalun. Tlitoo blinked rapidly at me.
“Wait, wolf,” he said. “I am not sure how to bring her here.”
He disappeared and I was alone. The cold increased so much I thought I would break into pieces. Then he was back.
I didn’t see it happen, but a moment later, TaLi was sitting on one of the rocks.
“Silvermoon,” she said. “Kaala.”
I walked over to her, and touched my icy nose to her skin.
“TaLi,” I said, and she smiled. She looked exactly the same as she did in the world of the living. “You’re here.”
“I thought I imagined it,” she said. Her grin grew. “You sound just like I thought you would. I talked to the wolves before,” she said, “when I was small. To Jandru and Frandra.”
“I know,” I said. “NiaLi told me.” I licked her face. Just as the Inejalun had no scent, it also had no flavor. I tried again. I didn’t like not being able to taste her. I couldn’t wait to get back to the world of life so that I could savor her scent of herbs and smoke, and lick her warm, salty skin.
“The first time you did that,” she said, “I thought you were going to eat me.”
“You were my pack from that day,” I said. “You’re always my pack.” For some reason it was important for me to tell her that. I couldn’t believe I could actually talk to her. I wished I could stay there forever. I wished I could tell her everything I’d never been able to communicate. But there was no time. I couldn’t feel my legs at all, and my muzzle was beginning to freeze.
“The little wolves,” I said, “the strange ones. They’re going to stay with the humans instead of us.” As quickly as I could, I told her what we had learned about the streckwolves and the humans, about how the not-quite-wolves would help the humans keep the Balance, and how they would remind them to protect that which was wild.
“That which is loved but not feared,” she said. She was just as clever as Ázzuen.
“I can’t stay here long in this place,” I said. “You can’t either.” She was already shivering. I wanted to curl up against her, but that would only have made her colder.
“And you can’t go to Laan. DavRian is telling everyone that you’re the reason Kaar burned. They’ll kill you. There are Laan humans coming now. You and BreLan have to come with us to escape them, right now. Then you have to find other krianans, or teach more. You have to tell them to keep the stories of the wild.”
“Will you help me?” she asked.
I licked her hand in answer. Of course I would. I started to tell her I loved her and that she was the best thing that had happened to me, but the words didn’t seem sufficient. I’d thought that not having words was what kept us from understanding each other. But, now, all I wanted to do was to press up against her as I would in the world of life.
“It is time to go, wolflet,” Tlitoo quorked. He hopped over TaLi. A moment later, the girl was gone.
My chest had grown so cold that I couldn’t breathe. Panicked, I tried to whimper for Tlitoo to come for me, but nothing came out. For one terrifying moment, I couldn’t feel my heart beating, and the pressure behind my eyes was so great I thought my skull would break open. Then the heat of the summer sun flowed through me. My chest warmed. My muzzle thawed and my throat loosened. The Inejalun was flooded with scent. Tlitoo returned. I thought he would take me back to TaLi, but he just blinked at me.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked.
“I am sorry, wolflet,” he said, lowering his head between hunched wings.
“It’s all right,” I said. “Just take me back.”
“I cannot, wolf. We waited too long. You spent too much time here before. Look.” He peered down.
I followed his gaze. The Stone Circle dropped off abruptly and, below us, TaLi, BreLan, Ázzuen, and all of the streckwolves surrounded something. It was a dead wolf, a young one, with the mark of the crescent moon on her chest. That was what Tlitoo meant. We had waited too long. I could not go back. I could never go back.
Ázzuen howled, a hollow, dismal sound, and TaLi crouched at the youngwolf’s side. I could see, just beyond the trees, the villagers of Laan approaching. DavRian was with them, as was IniMin. I barked a warning.
“They cannot hear you, wolf.” He disappeared from my side again. Below me, in the woods, a raven landed on Ázzuen’s back, pulling hard on his fur. Ázzuen looked toward the woods. He tugged on TaLi’s tunic. The girl looked up, her face contorted with weeping, and spoke to BreLan, pointing in the direction of Laan.
BreLan bent down and picked up the limp form of the young wolf. I was glad he didn’t leave me there. They moved quickly away from Laan as the streckwolves ran to greet the approaching humans. Gaanin looked back at BreLan carrying me in his arms and shook himself once before following the others.
BreLan set me down by a shady stream in a part of the woods the fire had not touched. They stayed with me until the sun set and the moon rose in the night. Then BreLan took TaLi by the arm and led her away. Ázzuen buried his nose deep in my fur, then walked slowly after his human. I yearned to walk beside them. This time, I could not do so.
After the moon set, I left a scent mark on the largest rock in the Inejalun so that Ázzuen might find me when it came time for him to leave the world of life. I wanted to feel his fur against mine and TaLi’s warm, damp skin against my nose. I wanted to smell the smoky, rich scent of the humans, and lie with them by their fires. My heart ached. I c
ould not be with TaLi or Ázzuen, but they would live and carry on the Promise, and I would help them do so in any way the land of the spirits would let me. I watched what was left of my pack a little longer: one wolf, a raven, and two humans, making their way to the distant hills.
TaLi would do her part, and the wild wolves theirs. The streckwolves would do their best with the humans.
They might fail just as I had. The streckwolves could not force the humans to accept them, nor compel them to embrace the wildness that was so much more a part of them than their clever tools. All the streckwolves could do was to give the humans a chance. They could give humans the opportunity to love something they did not fear. What happened after that would be up to them.
The humans marched purposefully through the woods. Tails lowered and ears folded over, the little wolves walked beside them.
Epilogue
It got warm.
It got so warm, the legends say, that the ice at the top and bottom of the world melted, and the great bears that lived upon it swam the endless waters looking for a place to rest, until their strong legs failed them and they sank to the bottom of the sea. The forests turned to desert and the creatures that depended on streams and rivers lapped at the dry ground until they could move no more. The oceans rose, swamping those who lived at the water’s edge, and great storms raged across the land.
On a hot summer day, not long after the last of the forests burned, a young boy threw a red rubber ball. He sweated in the heat but did not stop his game. The creature at his feet would not allow him to stop. It panted up at him, tongue lolling, begging for one more throw, one more moment of play.
Off in the distance, a mournful howl arose. Once, the boy’s mother had told him, wolves roamed everywhere. Then, like the bison and the tigers, they were hunted nearly to extinction. It was said that only a few were left. The boy threw his ball again and his companion brought it back, tail awag. The boy thought that he did not want to live in a world without howls. He looked toward the barren hills and the howl rose again. The creature at his feet whuffed softly in response.
The boy looked down into brown eyes filled with love and smiled. When the distant wolf howled again, he threw back his head and answered.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The strength of this wolf is most definitely her pack, and this book would not have been written without a packful of remarkable people. I don’t have the words to express how grateful I am to my wonderful family and friends. I was lucky enough to hit the family jackpot and to have the infinite support of my father, brother, and sister. Their wisdom and encouragement helped bring Spirit of the Wolves into being. My mother was my first writing buddy, and her influence is on every page, including the story of Kaala’s involuntary bath. Thank you to Shannon McClenaghan and Carl Shapiro. It’s wonderful to have you in my life. A deep and heartfelt thank you to my other family—my dear friends who are as loving and loyal as any wolf pack. I would never have been able to do it without all of you.
My profound thanks to Jennifer Weltz, amazing wolf agent and ally, for her fierce support, invaluable advice, and humor. My editor Emily Graff’s sharp eye, editorial prowess, and deep understanding of the wolves and their story made the book much stronger and richer. The fabulous Mollie Glick was the wolves’ first champion back when Promise of the Wolves was fifty pages and some big ideas, and continues to be an indispensable partner, mentor, and friend. Kerri Kolen masterfully shaped the first two books of The Wolf Chronicles and shared them with the world. Thanks to Amanda Ferber for great ideas on marketing and writing and to the publicity and marketing team at Simon & Schuster for sending TWC out into the world. Many thanks to Heather Florence for sound advice and guidance, and production editor Stephen Llano and copyeditor Anne Cherry. Thank you, Murray Dropkin, Rick Hanson, Frances Hesselbein, Cheryl Jones, and Tzipora Krupnik for your wisdom. Thanks to Lori Cheung and Melissa K. Smith for great wolf photos and to Sam Blake and the wolves and wolfdogs of Never Cry Wolf Rescue for the photo ops.
Everlasting gratitude to and admiration for my writing buddies Pamela Berkman, Mary Mackey, Harriet Rohmer, Elizabeth Stark, and writing buddy/on-call anthropology consultant Jaida Samudra, as well as to life consultants Bonnie Akimoto, Cheryl Greenway, Laura Mazzola, and Johanna Vondeling. The exchange of ideas, creative energy, and guidance has been precious, delightful, and challenging. Thank you to the women of WOM-BA for the inspiration and support, especially in helping me find my way back to writing after my mother’s death.
My martial arts practice is central to my writing and my life, and I am grateful to the wonderful White Crane Silat community. Special thanks to Peter Ajemian and everyone at Soja Martial Arts for creating such a warm and special place to call home. Thanks to Mark Davey for the story about the bear and the sack of food hanging off the cliff.
Always and forever, I am so grateful to those who have been there to talk to about life and publishing, and who were there for tea, a phone call, or a chat when I crawled out of the writing cave: Bridget Ahern, Diane Bodiford, Allison Brunner, Paul Foster Rafael Frongillo, Lesley Iura, Pam MacLean, Karen Murphy, Tom Murphy, Debbie Notkin, Jennifer Obrochta, Donna Ryan, Dave Shirley, Jin Tsubota, Kari Tsubota.
I read countless books and articles about wolves, ravens, evolution, and nature (see my website for a list!) and am deeply indebted to the authors of these works for their wisdom. Thanks to Amy Kay Kerber for being on call for wolf info, and to Susan Holt, Julia Charles, and Marc Lenburg for the articles and scientific insights. All mistakes are, of course, mine. Thank you to all the wolf conservation and environmental organizations that fight for wolves and the lands they need.
Many thanks to the librarians and to the bookstore owners and staff for helping to get The Wolf Chronicles to readers, and to the Squaw Valley Community of Writers, where I worked on the first chapters of the trilogy. Humble thanks to the science fiction and fantasy community for welcoming the wolves to your world, and to the libraries everywhere for the free access to all the knowledge on the planet.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to the readers of Promise of the Wolves and Secrets of the Wolves who have shared Kaala’s journey so far, and to those who have written to me expressing your enthusiasm for her story. Your notes and emails got me through many a long writing day.
I love to write in cafés and am grateful to the café owners who let me camp out in their lovely spaces. A special thanks to Espresso Roma and Philz and all the great people who work there.
Many howls and treats to my research assistants, including Burrito, Inna, Akela, Milo, Moose, Nike, Talisman, Lucy, Rollo, Shelby, and Flower, and those beautiful beasties who have gone to doggy heaven, Happy, Jude, Noni, Ice, and Kuma. Rufus, Sasha, and my beautiful, beautiful Emmi, who died shortly after this book was completed and who taught me every way in which dogs make us better people. And to their cousins in the wild. May we someday be wise enough creatures to deserve you.
© LORI A. CHEUNG/THEPETPHOTOGRAPHER.COM
Previously a senior editor at Jossey-Bass, where she published books for nonprofit, public, and social change leaders, DOROTHY HEARST currently lives and writes in Berkeley, California.
VISIT THE AUTHOR’S WEBSITE AT DOROTHYHEARST.COM.
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JACKET PHOTOGRAPHS: FULL MOON © MMPHOTOS/GETTY IMAGES; WOLF © ERIC ISSELEE/SHUTTERSTOCK
Also by Dorothy Hearst
THE WOLF CHRONICLES
Secrets of the Wolves
Promise of the Wolves
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Dorothy Hearst
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First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition December 2014
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hearst, Dorothy, 1966–
Spirit of the wolves : a novel / Dorothy Hearst.—First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition.
pages cm.—(The wolf chronicles ; bk. three)
1. Wolves—Fiction. 2. Prehistoric peoples—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.E27S44 2014
813'.6—dc23
2014001440
ISBN 978-1-4165-7002-8
ISBN 978-1-4165-7023-3 (ebook)
Spirit of the Wolves Page 29
