The children looked a little more cheerful though, for they had all liked this story of the bird.
‘Mother,’ whispered Larka, ‘we’ll be safe here tonight, won’t we?’
‘Yes, Larka. Not even the Night Hunters can follow us in this.’
Fell growled softly at the thought of the Balkar, but he had never fought another wolf before and his eyes suddenly grew large with worry.
‘You needn’t be frightened, Fell,’ said Palla, as she saw it in her son.
‘I’m not frightened,’ growled Fell immediately. ‘I’m a wolf. Putnar. Are we hunters or not? Even Bran...’
Larka felt another desperate pang of guilt. She was already beginning to blame herself for his death too.
‘I’m frightened, Palla,’ whispered Kar beside Fell.
‘I know,’ said Palla kindly, looking even more closely at Fell, ‘even Huttser and I are frightened sometimes.’
Fell growled again and he was suddenly tempted by a strange thought. He thought in that moment what a fine thing it would be to wield a power over all the Lera and never to be frightened again. But as the others stared at him he felt strangely embarrassed too.
‘Your mother is right, Fell,’ said Huttser. ‘Fear is an instinct, like hunger or anger. We need it in the wild to help us survive and it is nothing to be ashamed of. It tells us whether we should fight or flee.’
‘But, Father,’ said Fell suddenly, ‘the curse. It spoke of fear. Warned us of fear.’
‘Giving in to fear is not the same as feeling it, Fell,’ growled Huttser, ‘and listening to it too. To learn to control fear and to face it, that’s the thing. But to know when to run too.’
Fell felt confused, for it seemed to him suddenly that by leaving their boundaries they were not facing it at all. Huttser could see this in his son and he was worried. Even without the curse and the legend, or the Balkar so close behind them, Huttser knew how many dangers lay out there in the wild for a wolf. He only prayed to Fenris that they had taught the children enough in the den and at the Meeting Place, to prepare them for the adult world.
‘But you have nothing to worry about,’ Huttser went on suddenly, ‘we are with you. Your mother and I will protect you, whatever happens. And we will always love you.’
There was something caught and almost guilty in Huttser’s voice, for his words came like a promise that somewhere he knew he could not keep. One day he knew, as surely as the others had gone, that they would not be there to protect their children. If it did not come naturally, they themselves would force their own children from the pack to confront their future. As Huttser’s parents had done. As their parents had done before them. Yet even as he thought of his parents, Huttser pushed the memories from his mind. For now at least his words were true and if it came to it he would prove it with his own life.
‘Yes, Fell,’ whispered Kar suddenly, ‘and remember the Pact.’
Larka looked at her father lovingly, while Kar thought sadly of Skop and felt a strange stirring in him for Huttser and Palla, a mixture of need and resentment. Fell laid his head on his paws and for a moment he remembered again the terrible anger he had felt towards his father that sun he had grabbed his neck. But now he needed to be comforted and he let the warmth of safety spread like a fire through his limbs.
Huttser went on talking softly to the young wolves in the night, and his growling voice seemed to surround Fell and block out the sound of the storm. Fell was telling himself to be strong, to be fearless and grown up, but even as he did so he wanted to relax, to sleep safe by his parents’ side. He closed his eyes and let those words thrill through his mind.
‘We will protect you.’ Fell suddenly felt calm and, as his mind drifted into darkness, the young wolf gave a deep and trusting sigh.
But as the little family slept Larka felt restless. She wanted to help them somehow, and again she wished Tsinga could have taught her more of her strange powers. She got up and wandered round the courtyard. She came to a doorway and inside there was an old trough where the animals that once lived here had come to drink. It was just warm enough in here for the brackish water not to have frozen.
Larka was going to drink, but she suddenly remembered what Kar had said about using her powers. Tsinga had told her something of the second power. Of memory and sending out her senses to the present.
‘I wonder,’ she whispered.
Larka closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. A great weariness overcame her. Though she was only a young wolf, already the past seemed to be a curse, stretching from the darkness of her earliest half-formed visions. But as soon as she opened her eyes again Larka started.
At first it was as though the water was getting blacker and blacker and Larka could no longer see to the bottom of the trough. Then the waters seemed to be swirling on their own, and from the centre of the little vortex a kind of white mist began to spread out across the water’s surface. Then suddenly a picture began to appear. It was neither on the surface of the water nor at the bottom of the trough, but it hung there as real as day.
Larka found herself looking at the mouth of a cave, shielded by a trailing willow. It was the den below the castle where she had been born. Larka felt a violent tugging at her heart. Then suddenly the image began to change in the moving mist, and there were Huttser and Palla on the hill when the dogs had come. As Larka watched them she strained forward to try and hear what they were saying but she could hear nothing at all. As the pair seemed to growl and started to run, again the image gave way. Suddenly the pack was at the rapids and Larka was looking at Kipcha stepping on to the log.
‘No, Kipcha,’ cried Larka furiously. ‘Don’t.’
Larka would have given anything to stop her. To change that destiny and save her, but Larka felt a terrible sense of powerlessness as she realized that she could do nothing. That these things had already been. Suddenly there was Tsinga’s face. Old and blind and full of pain and sadness.
‘The past,’ growled Larka bitterly. ‘Must it always haunt us?’
But the picture was changing again. Larka saw a great rock and a spreading almond tree. By it was a stream, and she saw that below the surface was a sheep skin, held in place by a number of stones. Larka’s eyes opened wide as she saw that the fleece was a glittering gold like the oriel in the story, sparking and shimmering with the tiny specks of yellow metal that had been scoured from the mountain by the churning water, collected in the curls of hair. But as Larka wondered what it was, it vanished, and all that remained was the dirty water where the animals had once come to drink.
Larka slunk away, even more terrified than before and as she lay down by her family she shook her head and closed her eyes.
The next sun was bright and brilliantly blue and for a moment, as Larka stepped from those strange walls, she wondered if she had somehow made the storm retreat. They were glad to leave the abandoned castle behind them and the wolves’ coats glittered marvellously against the snow as they set off again.
But suddenly Larka stopped. Ahead of her in the snows, she fancied she had just seen three wolves on the brow of the slope, looking straight at her. But it must have been a trick of the light against the white, for even as she looked Larka blinked in amazement. The wolves had vanished completely.
‘Larka, what is it?’ said Kar at her side.
‘Nothing, Kar,’ answered Larka, shaking her head.
On they went and gradually Kar began to fall behind.
‘Come on, Kar, try to keep up,’ cried Palla.
Huttser looked back at his family. It was just the sort of clear winter day for play, when a wolf should teach his children the joy of running free, gambolling through the snow and making straight lines in the powder with their snouts, just as he had done when he was a cub. But Huttser was desperate now to leave the pack boundary.
‘Get a move on, Kar,’ he growled, ‘you’re always lagging behind like a Sikla.’
Kar caught up, though he looked very sullen but as the family neared the
ridge of the mountain they were climbing, Huttser caught something in the corner of his eye. In the far distance, behind them, coming over the horizon. Huttser screwed up his eyes and instantly he was sure. There were six large grey wolf Draggas, making straight for them.
‘Night Hunters,’ he snarled, ‘they’re following our tracks.’ They sprang forwards, but as they reached the ridge for a moment the sheer exhilaration of what they saw swept away their sudden fear of the Balkar. The wolves were looking out across the soaring Carpathians, vaulting over the central plains of Transylvania. The crags and slopes, the huge ravines and sudden precipices seemed to go on for ever. The mountains were capped with snow and others were bathed in red light that made them glow. The sun was sinking once more.
‘Hurry,’ cried Huttser.
The going got harder as they ran, plunging down the slopes in front of them and climbing again up another steep slope ahead. Huttser paused again to look back and he saw that the Balkar were coming over the ridge too.
‘Keep going!’ he cried desperately.
Higher the wolves climbed, fighting through the snow, and at last they came to the brow of the next slope. To the east, the mountain plunged down into a wide valley and Huttser saw, with relief, the snaking river winding south, through generous snow-clad forests of glittering white conifer trees.
‘The eastern boundary,’ he cried.
Even from here Huttser could see that the river had started to freeze. It might be possible to cross. Down the mountain the family leapt. Palla kept behind the children, encouraging them and making sure that none of them slipped. Fell was the fastest, though Larka almost matched him and even Kar kept up now. They reached the tree line and Huttser looked back once more. Still the Balkar were coming on. They had crested the second peak and were eating up the slope. As the family ran the wind cried in their ears and it seemed to be saying just one word alone: Escape.
It grew darker and darker as the family threaded through the pines, moving smoothly and steadily now across the ground where the snow was less heavy. As they looked up through the trees they could see that the sky had turned to coal and stars were beading through the black. A quarter moon was rising and the air had grown perfectly still.
At last they came to the far edge of the trees and the river lay before them. It was at its widest point here and they saw a perfect sheet of white stretching ahead and glistening brilliantly in the moonlight. Along the banks, willow and vine trees had bowed their heads over the frozen edges of the water and their trailing branches were shawled with snow. Below them the last residues of autumn grasses, strangling leaves and tilting bulrushes, had been seized into a static beauty by winter’s grip, glittering with tiny icicles and bulbs of frozen dew that flashed liked stars.
Fell gasped at the sight. Palla lifted her head to the heavens and felt a sudden gravity as she saw the full sweep of the milky way above. The moon was still low, so the carpet of stars was clear and bright.
‘The wolf trail,’ she sighed.
‘What do you mean, Mother?’ asked Fell.
‘Up there, Fell,’ whispered Palla, ‘where the stars sweep like the brush of the wolf. It is called the wolf trail, for many believe that to be the true pathway between heaven and earth.’
Fell shivered slightly as he thought of what Tsinga had said of the Pathways of Death and of the Balkar’s search for the citadel of Harja, the gateway to heaven.
‘Come on,’ said Huttser, ‘we should cross. We’ve nearly made it.’
Huttser felt a quickening in his heart. He could almost smell the end of the pack boundary. The end of the curse.
‘Not here, Huttser,’ said Palla suddenly, ‘it’s too wide. Look at the ice on the edges. It looks desperately thin.’
Here and there through the film of blue Palla could still see the water, moving steadily and noiselessly beneath the surface. Larka suddenly recalled what Tsinga had said of the fifth element. Huttser saw her look and nodded and he was about to turn south when he began to tremble.
‘Quickly. Back into the trees.’
Another group of wolves was coming along the river bank. Luckily, these Balkar had not seen them, for no call had come, and the family slunk nervously into the shadows and waited. The Balkar stopped about five trees away and the fur on Huttser’s back rose.
‘No sign,’ the lead wolf was growling irritably. ‘But they mustn’t escape alive.’
‘I wish we were back in camp,’ said another wolf. ‘Soon it’ll be time for another cub.’
‘We should carry on,’ said a third Balkar.
‘Yes,’ whispered the first, but as he did so Huttser heard a sudden howl from the north along the river. The Varg began to answer, and when he finished he seemed satisfied.
‘They’ve found nothing either,’ he grunted. ‘They’re turning north again. We’ll go back too. There’s no one here.’ Suddenly the Balkar next to him gave a painful growl and the lead wolf swung round. The Varg was lifting his right paw, for in their journey he had stepped on a thorn in the forest and now his paw was infected.
‘This blasted wound,’ he growled angrily, ‘it’ll be the death of me.’
‘Perhaps you should take it to Morgra,’ whispered the Varg next to him.
‘Why?’
‘When my mother taught me of the old beliefs, she told me that the Sight brings the power to heal.’
‘Morgra heal?’ growled the lead wolf with clear amusement. ‘Can a mountain lion become a lamb?’
The Balkar all began to chuckle, though the wolf with the wounded paw was looking around him strangely. But suddenly the lead Varg snarled.
‘Enough,’ he cried, ‘this is no time for fooling.’
He turned and led the Balkar silently away into the night. Huttser stood trembling, a fury rising in him at the thought of these wolves stalking his family in his own territory. But he could do nothing now without endangering Palla and the children. They waited and waited in the shadows and at last Huttser spoke.
‘Come, we must try now.’
‘No, Huttser, not here. It’s not safe.’
‘But we can’t go north or south,’ said Huttser, ‘trust me, Palla. I’ll go first to test it. If you stay in my tracks there should be no danger.’
Palla came to see, very reluctantly, that to stay where they were was equally as dangerous as crossing the ice. Huttser led them forwards and Palla hung back nervously as her mate stepped out on to the film of white and felt it bending and ringing beneath his paws. He took a step forward and another, scanning the surface for the thickest part, and after a while he was a good way out on the frozen water. Huttser’s paws had made a fine trail in the film of powder.
‘Right, then,’ said Palla, ‘Children, follow carefully in our tracks and stick together. If you feel it cracking , move away from the sound.’
Palla led them nervously on to the ice and as Larka stepped out and looked down she saw little shapes, like dots of algae, held in its grip and she wondered what they were. The surface held though, and after only a short while Palla was with Huttser again. They pressed on, in single file, the cubs following carefully in their parents’ paw marks. They were so close to the far bank now they could almost leap across.
‘Safety,’ whispered Palla, ‘safety at last.’
But as Fell brought up the rear, and the wolves grew more confident, he found himself looking up into the night sky. What Palla had said about the Wolf Trail had stirred something in Fell and his attention began to wander as he gazed at the stars. ‘The pathway between heaven and earth,’ he kept thinking, and as he did so he started to drift away to the right.
‘Nearly there,’ cried Huttser as he saw the far bank.
‘Thank Tor, Huttser,’ growled Palla with relief behind him, ‘you’ve led us across.’
As Huttser turned back to Palla his eyes flamed. Fell had swung far out to a place where the ice looked desperately treacherous. Huttser’s voice carried straight to his son in the thin, blue cold. It startl
ed Fell from his reverie. Realizing he had wandered from the trail he lifted his tail and leapt forward.
‘No, Fell,’ cried Huttser, ‘don’t.’
The young wolf was bounding straight for the thinnest part of the ice.
‘Fell,’ shouted Huttser angrily, ‘listen to me, Fell. Stay where you are.’
Fell stopped dead in his tracks and looked around desperately. Huttser was scanning the surface, looking for the safest place for Fell to cross. From where Huttser was standing it seemed thick enough.
‘Fell,’ called Huttser as they heard the river sing treacherously around them, ‘move to your left, Fell, very slowly.’
‘No, Father.’
Huttser could not see the thin blue crack that Fell had just spotted exactly where his father had told him to go. The young wolf began to shake.
‘Fell,’ cried Huttser, ‘trust me. Don’t be frightened. Now do as I say and move to the left.’
Fell hesitated, but his father’s voice was somehow reassuring. His terror had closed off his thoughts, shut down his will, and now all he wanted was to be protected, to be told what to do, to be shown the path back to safety. Fell began to inch to his left and even as he did so he felt the ice bending beneath his paws. The young Varg froze again.
They heard it first. A fissure of sound running between them and Fell as the ice cracked and Fell disappeared with a splash.
‘Fell,’ cried Larka, springing forward. But her brother had vanished into the water.
‘Stop her,’ gasped Palla.
Larka was already at the freezing blue pool which had suddenly appeared in the moonlight. She was lighter than Fell and the surface around the pool held as she whimpered and stared in horror at the now still waters.
‘Ice,’ she growled. ‘Why didn’t we listen to Tsinga? This is what she saw that sun. Why didn’t she warn us properly?’
‘Larka, don’t move,’ cried Palla frantically.
Huttser and Palla suddenly saw Kar shivering, staring down at the ice beneath his paws.
The Sight Page 16
