The Last Wild

by Piers Torday

  *A whiterforce,* says Wolf-Cub, in awe. *They’re heading straight for a whiterforce.*

  I strain my eyes, scanning upstream, until I can just make out a tiny tip of white coasting along the water, on top of a black bob. We are moments ahead of them – but only moments.

  ‘Kester, help me!’ Polly calls out across the water. I wish I could shout out to her to hold on. I wish. She just has to believe that I am saying it deep down inside, because I am.

  I wade out into the fish-road, the stag and wolf-cub splashing in behind me, until the water comes up to my waist. But I can feel the bottom beginning to fall away sharply beneath us.

  Polly calls out as they start to spin faster and faster towards the edge. ‘Help me. You have to help us!’

  I rest one hand on the stag’s broad chest, and feel the steady thump of his heart as the wind blows right through us.

  *Ask the fish-road!* he yells over the roar of the whiterforce. *Ask the fish-road to help you.*

  *I don’t understand!* I shout back.

  *Do not give up, Kester. You have a voice. Call to the fish-road for help.*

  The wolf-cub takes my hand between his jaws and yanks it under the water.

  *What are you doing?!*

  He glowers at me. *Ask them! You must ask them! We cannot ask for help to save a human. But you can. You have the voice, the voice that can command all creatures. You have to believe in it.*

  The voice that can command all creatures. A gift. If there were any left to call – if I knew how to call –

  *Help!* I cry out. I can’t do anything more to stop this on my own. *Please! If there is anyone there who can save a girl and a cat from the whiterforce – show yourself now!*

  The water drags Polly right to the edge, spinning her round and round as if she was only a piece of rubbish. She lunges out, grabbing one of the branches wedged between the rocks, trying to stop her and the cat going over the edge –

  I close my eyes.

  And I hear something – not water roaring, not the wind – but a rushing, slithering sound, speeding through the water. A rushing sound followed by a voice, and then voices. Not voices like the animals with me on land, or the birds in the sky. This is more like chanting, an underwater chant.

  *Ommmmmm!*

  The wolf-cub tugs my hand. *Look!* he says.

  Something is tunnelling through the water, towards the whiterforce and Polly, clinging for her life to the stuck branch. The chanting grows louder in my head –

  *Ommmmmm! Ommmmmm!*

  The ripples, wave-like ropes of water dragging across the surface of the fish-road, bear down on Polly as the branch she is holding on to begins to loosen and wobble, slowly slipping over the edge.

  *Quick! Quick! You have to go faster! Faster!* I yell at them, whatever they are. And then I see them, coiling through the water, just visible near the surface now, in the night light – long, dark, twisting lines.

  Snakes.

  Snakes that swim.

  *Water snakes,* says the stag from the bank. He can see the look on my face. *Have no fear. They do not bite.*

  I look over at Polly as the branch tumbles over the edge, churning in the white spray. With a little cry she lets go, scrabbling to grab a rock instead, but her hands can’t grip – and the foaming water drives her over the edge of the whiterforce.

  *Polly!* I shout, even though I know she can’t hear me –

  I’m running through the water, not caring about being swept away –

  And a dozen long thin lines coil out of the fish-road, so fast you could easily miss them, and I just catch a flash of yellow eyes in a spear-point head, before the snakes dive under the water again, over the edge, after Polly –

  Then, nothing.

  I stop, bent over, heaving for breath.

  They’ve all gone – the snakes, Polly and Sidney.

  All that’s left to hear is the churning of the whiterforce and the sound of my heart.

  I lost them.

  But just as I turn back to the stag and the wolf-cub, there’s a commotion at the edge of the drop.

  Black lines are appearing in the water again, pulsing strongly against the current, their yellow eyes gleaming, as they drag behind them, wrapped tightly in their coils –

  A small girl who is whimpering and shaking, but alive.

  Slowly but surely the water snakes pull Polly towards us. The wolf-cub and I stumble through the fish-road to help, the snakes slithering between our legs as they bring her like a ship into harbour. Polly is crying softly, and as I take her in my arms the snakes begin to disappear again.

  I whip round. *Thank you!*

  A single spear-point head flips out of the water, looking towards me for a second, the yellow eyes blinking. *Ommm!* he says. Then, shaking his head, the snake dives back into the depths. The chanting fades away to nothing, and the water is calm again, as if they had never been there.

  I turn back to Polly. Her breathing is shallow, her eyes half shut. She turns her head stiffly and looks at me. Her voice is very low.

  ‘You saved me.’

  I feel embarrassed all of a sudden. She needs to rest now.

  As if she realizes this, she closes her eyes and snuggles up against the stag, also safely back on shore. We’re all back apart from the wolf-cub, who is still just standing in the water, staring into space. I pick up a tiny pebble and send it splashing behind him to get his attention.

  But he doesn’t even notice.

  He must be exhausted. I ruffle his head. He glances up at me for less than a second, before turning back to stare into the darkness. I shake him again, and he pulls away from me, snarling. So quietly I have to strain to hear him, he says, *The cat. You lost the cat.*

  And then – softly at first – it begins to rain.

  The pigeons wake me as soon as it’s light, settling on the stag, pulling seeds from his fur. At first I think they’re cleaning him but then I see they’re just feeding themselves. The wind has blown away the rain clouds and dried us as we slept, hidden behind the warm back of the stag. Behind us, the whiterforce tumbles down on to the rocks below as loudly as ever. Polly is still fast asleep, resting her head on her arms. The wolf-cub snores loudly at our feet, occasionally making gruff squeaks and twitching, like he’s having a bad dream.

  I reach out my arm to touch Polly – but I don’t.

  I didn’t save her cat.

  I’m so lost in my head that the pigeons have to repeat themselves several times before I realize they’re talking to me. *Kester, Kester!*

  *What?* I say crossly.

  *Kester – please listen. We must continue our journey with all speed.*

  I look at them, rubbing my eyes. *What’s the point?* I can only just bring myself to say the words. *We’ve lost Sidney. I can’t look after you all. I don’t know if I can save you.*

  The pigeons look at one another and give a bird-like shrug. *What is the loss of one cat compared to saving the many lives of the last wild?*

  *Yes, you’ve lost many lives, and one cat.* This time the white pigeon doesn’t make me smile. I explode at all of them.

  *Is that what you really think? How can you?*

  My voice must be only just audible above the crashing of the whiterforce, but in reply the pigeons flock together and launch straight up into the sky.

  There’s no panic – just a calm power into the air, more like they’re floating up through water. Just above tree height they join up into a circle of dots far above my head. As their wing tips meet up, the circle begins to spiral slowly and they start making a noise I’ve never heard the pigeons make before. A long, low moan, which echoes all the way along the fish-road, over the roar of the whiterforce, over the rattle of the wind. And then I start to hear words, strange words I have never heard before. Words sung in a list, repeated over and over again – *O lapwing, kestrel, turtledove, cuckoo, hawfinch, redpoll, grebe, swift, pipit, whinchat and wood warbler. Corn bunting, curlew, harrier, redshank, ring ouzel, twite, w
illow tit and wagtail. Bittern, grouse, godwit, capercaillie, chough, corncrake, nightjar and skylark …*

  *

  Every word is a ray cutting straight through me, like a laser.

  And there is nothing I can do to stop their sadness.

  I put my head in my hands.

  *Kester,* says the stag, standing up behind me. The pigeons’ singing must have woken him up.

  I just want to get away, get away from all of them. I look down at the water in front of me, and all I can see is my own stupid, angry reflection, pink and wobbling.

  *Kester, turn around,* says the stag as the pigeons continue to circle and call out above. His eyes look brighter than they did. He looks stronger, fitter than I could have imagined after what he’s been through.

  *The birds are grieving, Kester. Singing a call of mourning for those they have lost. They call out the names of those they have lost from the skies. What about you?*

  I remember what the pigeons told me by the First Fold about their calls. But I couldn’t feel less like singing. He comes closer, lecturing me again.

  *I can see so much anger in your thoughts, behind your eyes.* He pauses, but I don’t say anything. *Is there anything you would like to tell me?*

  *Stop trying to be my dad all the time, because you’re not!*

  *You may rest assured, Kester, that I have no wish to be your father.*

  I beat my fists against his side. *You don’t understand – none of you understand!*

  Now the pigeons’ wailing is waking everyone up. The wolf-cub is murmuring now, giving himself a good stretch. And Polly is wiping her eyes and staring around in a daze, sitting in a heap on the ground.

  The stag leans forward, and I start, because it looks like he’s going to butt me with his horns. Instead he leans in and nuzzles my neck. He’s soft and warm, and it tickles.

  I hate him. I hate him for doing this. He tried this by the house, and I’m not falling for it again.

  *Stop it. Stop it. You just want to use me, you don’t care about me—*

  *I do care about you, Kester, I care about you very much—*

  ‘What’s going on?’ asks Polly from behind.

  *You don’t care about me. You had me flown to a place where I could have got this plague of yours—*

  *But you haven’t,* says the wolf-cub.

  *… You force me to help you, force me to be some kind of hero, which I’m not; I’m just a kid who can’t talk. I can’t do any of this. I can’t save you – I can’t even save a single cat. I’m not the person you think I am –*

  *But you are,* says the stag.

  *… This virus is still here, and it’s killed everything, and there’s no cure, and I don’t know if Dad –* I stop mid-sentence. *What did you say?*

  *I said, but you are,* repeats the stag, meeting my eyes.

  *I am what?* I say back, all suspicious. Polly takes a step closer.

  *You are a hero. You helped us escape from the Guardians –* the wolf-cub growls at this – *you tried to rescue the cat, you protected her and the girl against the man with the firestick. You led us free, into the fish-road. And you might not have saved the cat from her destiny, but you used your gift to save the life of one of your own. I do not know what it takes for a man to call another a hero. But I tell you, Kester Jaynes, by any animal measure of such things, you are just that.*

  For a moment I stare at him, not sure I quite heard him right. No one has ever said anything like that to me before – and then I’m crying.

  Like I haven’t for so long.

  All these animals and Polly looking at me, and I’m crying. Crying for Sidney, gone. I’m crying for Mum, also gone, and crying for Dad who I haven’t seen in six years, the Dad I’m beginning to wonder if I will still recognize. Crying just because everything is such a mess, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to fix it.

  I look at the stag through my tears. *I just wonder if I can do this – get us to the city. Everyone’s against us. It’s so far away. The virus is unstoppable.*

  The wolf-cub runs up and nearly knocks me over. Then he stands up on his hind paws and does the grossest thing – he licks me. He actually licks the tears off my face.

  *I am the greatest hero on this adventure, the greatest hero in all the world and nothing will ever change that. And you are still a smelly human. But that you have proven yourself the second-greatest hero on this adventure, I agree with the stag.*

  The deer grunts. *You cannot save us all, Kester. You cannot save everyone and everything.* He looks around the bank, sniffing the damp air. Almost as if Sidney might suddenly appear. But she doesn’t. *If you can only save some, then that is what you must do. You see, you are a hero. Now, will you start acting like one? Can you lead us? We need to enter the world of man to find the help we need – and we cannot do that without you.* He pauses, the first time the stag has hesitated saying anything to me, and sinks down to the ground.

  The great stag, kneeling before me.

  *You must now lead this wild to your city. We are in your hands.* Then, his head lowered, he says, *Can you be our Wildness?*

  A Wildness. The leader of a wild. What I thought the stag was. But now, here he is, bowing and asking me to lead them. What I thought only a stag could do.

  I look around us. We are standing on a strip of pebbles, dotted in between with shallow pools, the loosely scattered stones spread thinner and thinner over a carpet of sludge as they run down towards the water’s edge. Ahead, the ground rises up steeply, covered with tall reeds, and I cannot see what lies beyond. Behind us, the water of the fish-road, tumbling and racing, and somewhere beyond that … a man on crutches, armed with a firestick.

  I say the new words over and over to myself, because if I am to lead these animals, I need to start thinking like them.

  The animals, insect and birds are gathered around me in a semicircle. My wild. Waiting for me to lead.

  *Yes, Stag,* I say. *I will be your Wildness.*

  *Very good,* says the stag. *Now tell me again everything that you have learnt about the berry-eye from this she-child …*

  As we turn again to walk back up the slope, something hits me very hard in the face. Something small and human-hand-shaped. Polly-hand-shaped.

  ‘I don’t care about your adventure any more. You’ve lost Sidney, so you can’t make him better.’

  Her face is red and angry.

  ‘I want to find my parents. I want to go home, Kidnapper – now.’

  I can’t speak to Polly, but I can show her I’m the Wildness now, so I step forward and put my arms around her. She struggles, and thumps my chest, and eventually wrestles free, but when she does there are tears streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Stop it! You can’t make me feel better through hugs.’

  She sits down with a thud on the grassy bank and slouches against a boulder.

  ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go on with you even if I wanted to. My foot hurts too much.’ Leaning forward to her swollen ankle, she gingerly rubs at it and winces. I kneel down to see how bad the bruising is. Straightaway she cries out, covering it with her hands. ‘What are you doing? Don’t touch it!’ Polly smudges her tears away. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing. Wait a moment,’ she says, and reaches into the sodden rucksack still clinging to her back.

  Rifling through the water-logged contents, she eventually digs out her black notebook, curling and soaked right through. She unpicks the pages carefully, and I can see that the scribbled notes and drawings – of plants, berries and seeds – are blurred and smudged by the water but still there. With that superior look on her face again she hands me the book, open at a picture of a skinny-looking tree covered in so many leaves that it is bent right over and weighed down, the leaves drifting and trailing in a stream.

  ‘You can’t make me better with hugs, but you can make me better with this.’

  She’s right. When it comes to swollen ankles, I really don’t know what I’m doing.

  ‘
It’s called a shining willow. Not because it actually shines; it’s a tree. But the leaves are silvery and golden, so when the sun is out it can look like they’re shining. The leaves are special. They can make bruises disappear.’ The tree looks peaceful. Polly looks miserable and gives a miserable sigh. ‘I don’t know where to find one though. And you’ll need lots for it to work. We need to go and look for help, Kidnapper. My ankle hurts, those men are chasing us – we can’t do this on our own.’

  I can sense the stag stirring uncomfortably, but he has no need to worry. We don’t need to find anyone else. I can help Polly. I need to make things up to her for losing Sidney. That’s the job of a leader. A Wildness. With a wave of my hand I call the pigeons over, who land on my shoulders and head, peering down at the book.

  *Yes. We know this tall-home, we will find it for you. We thought you were never going to ask. The tall-home that bends and shines, it is well known for cures. But you will need more leaves than we can carry in our beaks. You must come with us.*

  *Yes – we were never going to ask you.* The white pigeon joins the others, who are already in a semicircle on the ground, their heads pecking backwards and forward like they’re doing a funny dance. I turn to the stag but I don’t need to say anything.

  *We will obey your command. Go with the pigeons; fetch a cure for the girl’s foot. I will guard her here.*

  *You mean she can come with us to the city?*

  There is a faint trace of a smile in the stag’s voice. *You are the Wildness now. See how you begin to learn the power of the voice. The snakes, the pigeons, and now me – see how we obey your word.*

  Then the birds disappear away up the bank over the reeds and feathery grasses ahead, to search for the leaf-cure, the white pigeon calling, *Way this! Way this!*

  I follow them, but the wolf-cub immediately runs after us, getting in my way and nearly tripping me up.

  *What are you doing?* I say. *No one said anything about you coming.*