‘One sun, Fren was fast asleep in the sunlight,’ growled Brassa, ‘when Tor came padding slowly by across the clouds. Now Fren heard Tor, but he pretended to go on sleeping, for he guessed what was coming next. Tor was furious with Fren because he was always disobeying her and stealing things from the wolf gods, food and magic and the secrets that they for ever kept hidden in the den of the night. Above all, he had tried to steal the golden deer pelt that once worn would bestow not only freedom, but all knowledge and wisdom on the wearer. It hung from an ancient branch in a forest of almond trees.’
The children’s eyes were glittering.
‘Just as Fren had expected, Tor grew angrier and angrier as she saw him sleeping there and, in order to wake the wolf, she let out a howl that rose to the stars.’
Huttser and Palla were padding slowly down the hillside as Brassa told her story, side by side, matching each other’s pace and trying to enjoy the warm evening. The hunt hadn’t gone well though. Palla was tired and again her thoughts were occupied with Morgra. She was looking up at the heavens.
‘Huttser, it’ll be almost full again. Do you think...’
But Huttser wasn’t listening. For the last few moments Huttser had grown deeply unnerved. He stopped as the valley opened below them. From where the wolves were standing they had a perfect sweep of the forest, clear to the castle on the mountaintop. Its great black walls loomed above the endless pine trees and not even the gentle glow of the setting sun could soften its battlements. The wolves could see the river and, through a break in the trees, the little waterfall. At this angle they could not see the entrance to the den, but Huttser’s heart began to pound as his eyes ranged back and forth across the hill above the cave.
‘Where’s Bran?’ he growled suddenly, ‘I told him to stand guard.’
‘There,’ sighed Palla with relief, but the she-wolf’s tail came up and she began to sniff the air. Palla’s eyes were not as good as Huttser’s, but her nose was telling her more of the faint shape she had spied in the distance. A Lera was moving back and forth across the hill right by the big boulder. Its head was down, scenting the ground and its tail was wagging. But its coat belonged to no Varg that Huttser or Palla knew. It was a light beige colour and perfectly svelte.
‘A dog,’ snarled Huttser.
But suddenly the dog turned away from the den and ran straight back into the trees.
‘Do you think he found it?’ whispered Palla.
‘He’ll have picked up the scent all right, but perhaps Bran scared him off.’
In that moment they heard a sound lifting over the valley that made the wolves tremble to their bones. In the distance, among the trees at the base of the Stone Spores, voices rose in a baying frenzy. Not one voice but ten, twenty voices, crying together. Now, through the wood, the wolves could also see strange oranges lights flickering about the branches, like little eyes of light moving up the valley from the direction of the village.
‘Man,’ cried Huttser desperately, ‘Man is hunting and that dog is one of his hounds.’
Palla began to shake. A wolf’s instincts are perfectly balanced between the need for fight or flight and a she-wolf will sometimes abandon even her own cubs if the threat to them is too great. Palla was wrestling with her own nature.
‘My pups,’ she cried suddenly, ‘hurry.’
Huttser could hardly keep up as the she-wolf bounded down the slope. Palla’s springing limbs were seized with a furious energy and every muscle was trained towards a single purpose: reaching her cubs in time. Night came down and the hungry darkness consumed the forest, but the wolves’ desperate eyes began to glitter in the shadows as they ran. The dog pack’s frenzied barking sounded nearer every moment and Palla’s heart was beating so hard it was fit to burst.
‘But Fren had howled so long and so hard that his call had filled the whole world. And there was plenty of howling left over for every wolf in it. And for every kind of feeling too. The howl of the hunter and the mate, the howl of friendship and of loss. The howl of danger and of mourning too. Which is how, my dears, Fren stole the secret of the howl from Tor and Fenris. And how he showed his cunning too.’
Brassa was smiling down at the cubs but she swung round immediately as Palla bounded into the cave.
‘Brassa. Quickly. We must move the den.’
The cubs leapt up, their tails going and their voices breaking into delighted barks. Brassa could see Palla’s desperation and she was immediately nervous that the cubs were already so large.
‘What’s happening?’ cried Brassa.
‘A hunting pack,’ snarled Huttser from the cave mouth, ‘and humans are on their trail.’
Larka and Fell didn’t really understand what a hunting pack was, let alone humans, but they immediately sensed the tension in their father’s voice. Larka looked nervously at her brother, but the black wolf’s eyes shone.
‘Then we must hurry,’ growled Brassa. ‘Follow the stream and the river and use the water to cover our scent. Further down the river to the east, there’s an old badger’s set by the big oak.’
‘Good, Brassa. Take Palla there. I’ll draw them off and try and get to you when I can. It’ll be quicker if you carry them.’
‘But, Huttser,’ cried Palla.
‘Don’t argue with me,’ snarled her mate.
Huttser sprang out of the cave. As soon as he emerged into the evening he saw Bran running up the slope towards him. Bran had picked up the scent of a squirrel near the den a good while earlier and it had made him completely forget about his charge of guarding the entrance. His face was full of guilt as Huttser spotted him.
‘Huttser, I’m sorry, I just wanted—’
‘Silence, Bran. Follow me.’
In the den Palla grabbed Larka. She was quite heavy, but as Palla held her by the loose folds of fur around her neck, the wolf pup instantly went limp, and Palla found her easy enough to carry.
‘What is it, Brassa?’ whispered Fell as the old she-wolf dipped her muzzle to pick him up too. ‘Is it that cub killer?’
‘Hush, Fell. You must be quiet now, and as brave as you can.’
‘I’ll look after you, Fell,’ growled Larka suddenly as she hung from her mother’s jaws.
The she-wolves sprang out of the cave, splashing into the stream, with the pups swinging from their mouths. As they followed the stream down the hill, Palla turned to see Huttser and Bran watching them from beside the boulder. Huttser nodded gravely and then sprang straight towards the sound of the approaching dogs.
Little Larka’s thoughts were consumed with fear as her mother ran through the deep, black night. Yet she was excited too. She hardly knew what was happening, but one thing was for sure. This sudden adventure had carried them beyond the confines of the den, and as she peered about at the looming trees flashing past them, her very first taste of the outside world thrilled the young wolf to the marrow.
‘How far?’ panted Palla in the darkness. They had stopped to rest the cubs.
Suddenly the air quivered. Behind them through the dark came the furious barking. Palla’s hearing seemed to have become even more acute with the adrenalin pumping through her body and now she could even hear paws churning through twigs and leaves.
‘Hurry,’ she cried, ‘they’re on to us.’
For a time the pack had followed Huttser and Bran, moving so fast that they had left their human masters far behind, but after a while they had split into two and half of the hounds had turned back to the den. They were furious when they discovered the den empty, but they had wandered around by the river and one of them had stumbled on the scent of the she-wolves by an elm tree.
They had followed it silently, noses locked to the ground, sniffing the pungent, feral odour of the wolf and losing it in places where the she-wolves had crossed the water. But they had just picked it up again and set up a chorus of barking. This was the sound the wolves could hear now and they knew there was no time to lose. Brassa grabbed Fell again and bounded ahead, searching
desperately for the badger set. As the dogs called behind them, she was almost at her wits’ end.
‘I’m just a forgetful old fool,’ Brassa kept thinking bitterly to herself.
At last Brassa spotted the big oak and then a wide hole high on the far bank and mostly obscured by a log. Brassa waded into the water and soon they were on the other side. The set went a good way back into the bank and it was certainly wide enough for a wolf and two cubs, but Brassa realized immediately there would be no room for her.
‘Hurry, my dear,’ she trembled, ‘go as deep as you can, it’s their only chance. Keep the little ones quiet and I’ll try and make it into the mountains until it’s safe again.’
‘Don’t leave us, Brassa,’ whispered Fell.
Brassa dipped her head and licked Fell’s nose.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be safer with your mother,’ she whispered.
There was no time to argue. Palla began to back into the hollow, pulling the cubs after her.
‘Good luck, my dear,’ cried Brassa, and the old she-wolf sprang away.
Palla drew Fell back into the darkness behind Larka and the moist walls closed around them. The air smelt heavily of badger.
‘Mamma,’ growled Larka. ‘Why are they chasing us, Mamma?’
‘Quiet, Larka.’
Palla was terrified of alerting the dogs outside and besides, how could she ever explain why animals chased each other?
Larka and Fell could hear the dog pack drawing nearer and nearer across the river and suddenly the full terror of their situation dawned on the cubs. Larka began to tremble, and as a reflex to her fear, although she was well beyond suckling, she tried to get to Palla’s milk.
‘Keep still, Larka,’ whispered Palla angrily.
But Fell had noticed a beetle scurrying across the low roof of the den and he let out a squeak that turned into a growl, and finally a little howl. Fell clamped his mouth shut again, startled at the extraordinary sound that had just popped out of his throat and terrified that he had just given away their hiding place.
The dog pack was far enough away for the sound to be muffled by the earth but two of them heard something and looked across the river. They saw the log, though not the mouth of the set, but while the others discussed what to do next, they splashed across the water and climbed the slope. Palla’s blood froze. She could hear the sound of the dogs’ footfalls just above them, through the thick earth, coming nearer and nearer to the entrance.
They would have discovered it too if one of the other dogs hadn’t called out to them from across the river.
‘What have you got, Vlag?’
‘I don’t know, boss,’ answered the larger of the two.
‘There’s something here all right. Smells like badger.’ Beneath them the cubs looked up, for they were amazed that they could understand most of what the dogs were saying. Palla readied with her claws as Fell and Larka squeezed closer to her warm belly. If they had been able to they would have climbed back inside.
‘You don’t want to waste your time on stringy badger meat,’ said the dog across the river. ‘ Not with delicious wolf cubs about.’
Larka and Fell shuddered.
‘He’s right, you know,’ agreed the dog next to Vlag. ‘It’s wolves we’re after. That’s the scent the humans gave us in the kennel.’
‘I suppose so,’ muttered Vlag irritably, ‘But why can’t they let us hunt what we want? Always chasing after wolves.’
‘I heard there’s a reason behind it this time, Vlag.’ In the set below, Palla’s ears came straight up.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you know? One of their own pups has been taken. A human child. Stolen by a wolf, from the village below the castle.’
Palla’s eyes opened in astonishment. It was all she could do to stop howling herself as she listened to the dog’s strange tale. A wolf steal a human. Would even the bravest of the Putnar dare to do such a thing?
‘Taken a human?’ growled Vlag, almost as startled as Palla shuddering below him. ‘But why, there’s plenty of game round here?’
‘That’s the odd thing. And there was no blood. For several suns that loner, the old female, was snooping around the village.’
‘Morgra,’ thought Palla nervously.
‘Then this happens and now the humans want their revenge. They’re fond of revenge.’
‘Then we should give it to them,’ cried Vlag.
He dropped his head again and was about to nose in the direction of the set when a mink that had her den nearby shot past him, straight across the river and almost through the legs of the pack hounds. The dogs saw her and, completely forgetting about their intended prey, bounded after her, barking and snapping, keen to make up for their lost quarry.
Palla’s mind was on fire and she couldn’t stop shaking as she thought of what she had just heard. Whatever it all meant, now the humans were roused, her cubs and her pack were in greater danger than ever. She was desperate to tell Huttser the news, but it would be a long while before it was safe to venture outside. As the sounds of the dogs disappeared into the night Palla looked tenderly at her little ones, trembling helplessly beside her, then laid her head down on the damp earth. They were all exhausted and it wasn’t long before sleep had folded them in her gentle paws.
Palla woke suddenly. Light was filtering into the badger’s set but it wasn’t the morning that had roused her. Again something was moving about above their heads. Palla heard a scratching and she thought that the dogs had returned. Again her claws opened and she readied to attack as a huge muzzle appeared in the tunnel mouth.
‘Huttser,’ cried Palla delightedly.
Huttser was standing proudly in the sunshine. Bran, Khaz and Kipcha were with him, but Palla gasped as she saw them. Huttser’s right flank was covered in blood and Bran was shaking badly. Kipcha’s face was terribly scratched and Khaz had a deep gouge on his back.
‘We had a scrape with our friends,’ growled Huttser, ‘and it was lucky for us these two turned up when they did. Though you didn’t fight badly, did you, Bran? I tell you, even a Sikla can fight when his back is really up against it.’
Bran smiled at Huttser and wagged his tail proudly. Huttser’s eyes suddenly glittered too as he caught sight of Brassa, limping towards them along the river bank. The whole pack was safe. There was a yapping and growling behind Palla now and the wolf pups popped up the river bank. As soon as they saw their father they bounded forward in the grass.
‘Children,’ cried Huttser, as the cubs jumped at his legs, barking and biting at his fur, ‘I bet I look worse than Morgra.’
Palla growled as soon as Huttser mentioned her sister.
‘Huttser,’ she whispered, ‘there’s news.’
The pack was exhausted and dazed by their battle, but Palla’s tale made them all gasp. Khaz snarled and Kipcha began to tremble. Brassa’s ears came up too. But it was Bran who was most affected by what he heard.
‘Palla, Huttser, don’t you realize? It’s the legend,’ he said.
‘The legend of the Sight.’
Huttser and Palla swung round to face the Sikla. He suddenly looked very nervous and Bran turned to Kipcha for support. Brassa was shaking her head.
‘Legend?’ whispered Palla.
Huttser began to growl angrily as Kipcha told Palla what she had heard of a wolf with the Sight stealing a human.
‘Brassa,’ Palla said suddenly. ‘You know more of this than you are saying, don’t you? Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?’
The nurse was pawing at the grass.
‘I heard a rumour about it once, Palla,’ she shrugged. ‘The legend of the Man Varg.’
‘Man Varg,’ gasped Palla, and Bran swung round to look at Kipcha. He had recalled what she had said on their return about the legend having nothing to do with some silly transformation.
‘But it’s rubbish. Just a bit of foolish nonsense,’ said Brassa.
‘Foolish nonsense?’ growled Palla angr
ily, ‘but a wolf has stolen a human child, Brassa. That is not nonsense. What is this legend?’
‘Tsinga told me about it once,’ muttered the nurse. There was something strange in Brassa’s voice.
‘Tsinga?’
‘You were probably too young to remember Tsinga, Palla,’ said Brassa almost hopefully. ‘The old fortune-teller who lived in the valley beyond the rapids?’
But Palla did remember, if only faintly. As cubs, they had known the valley as the Vale of Shadows and although she had never actually been there, the place was surrounded with stories that had always made the children shiver excitedly in the den.
Her father had told her once, only half jokingly, that it was guarded by a huge wolf with two heads, and a furious river that let nothing cross whose hungry waters were formed from the saliva of a thousand feeding packs. Palla had met Tsinga once as a cub and the fortune-teller had scared Palla and her brother Skop half to death. Tsinga had strange ways and some thought her quite mad, but others believed that she could see the future.
‘Go on, Brassa,’ said Palla coldly.
‘Tsinga’s kind, the fortune-tellers, they have always guarded the beliefs of the Sight. And among the stories of the Sight there is a legend, as Kipcha says, of a Man Varg. Told of in an ancient verse.’
‘Ancient verse?’ whispered Palla. ‘What does it say?’
‘I have never heard it, Palla,’ growled Brassa, dropping her eyes. ‘But I believe the verse tells of a time when a wolf with the Sight would steal a human child. The Man Varg. That together they would bring forth some final power of the Sight.’
‘Final power? What final power?’
‘I don’t know, Palla,’ snapped Brassa, ‘I told you. I’ve never even heard the verse.’
But Palla was glaring at Brassa.
‘What else?’
Again Brassa hesitated.
‘It has something to do with Wolfbane’s return too,’ she answered reluctantly, ‘and with Wolfbane’s winter.’
‘Morgra,’ shuddered Bran, thinking of her strange blessing to them.
The Sight Page 5
