For Nancy Eveline, a friend to all animals – KH
For my mum, Patricia – CC
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
Alice hurried through the narrow streets of Catchwood. Today was market day and the village was packed with traders from all over the mountainside; boots, hooves and cart wheels rumbled across the hard-packed mud. Alice clutched a heavy wicker basket and the jars and pots within clanked together as she wove through the market-day traffic.
She stepped aside to allow a line of mules to pass and, as she did so, she noticed an elderly man sitting beside her in the doorway of a low-ceilinged cottage, carving a chunk of wood. Alice nodded at him politely as she waited, but the man simply narrowed his eyes, casting her a look of unconcealed suspicion.
Alice turned back to the street, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger. She should have grown used to this by now, but her visits to the village remained as uncomfortable as ever. She tried to believe what Moraine, her mentor, had told her: that although the villagers feared her now, they would come, in time, to respect her as their Whisperer. But how long would she have to wait? She was twelve years old now and had been living here, apprenticed to Moraine, since she was old enough to walk.
She stared down at her boots and the mud stains on her long, patterned skirt – the one Moraine always insisted she wore into the village. When the last of the mules had gone by, Alice left the old man to his work, wishing she were back in the forest already.
The market square was a chaos of stalls and wagons. There were so many people – and so many animals, pulling carts or tethered to the posts and fences around the edges of the square. Colourful awnings flapped in the breeze and the stallholders bellowed their prices, vying for the custom of the crowds. Above it all stood the festival tree: a solitary pine that rose up, ancient and proud. And above the tree, the autumn sky raced with clouds.
Despite the cries of the sellers, with their ferocious bustle and salesmanship, one fact could not be hidden – most of the stalls were pitifully empty. There was simply not enough food to fill the market.
It had been a hard summer on the mountain. Edible plants had grown sparse, the streams and rivers were all but empty of fish, and those who hunted rabbit and deer were forced to travel further than ever before. In fact, the village’s main hunting party had set out four days ago and not yet returned. This was the first time in years that they had missed a market day and people were beginning to talk.
Alice edged through the crowd. She hefted the wicker basket and aimed for Sal’s grain stall, her first call of the day. The shadow of the festival tree slid over her and with it, like an all-powerful tide, came the smells and sounds of the traders. Alice was shoved aside by people carrying huge sacks and crates; elbows jabbed at her from every angle. It was simply the bustle of market day – she knew this – but every nudge and push made her feel even less welcome in the village than she already did.
These errands were vital to Alice’s training as a healer, but Alice knew there was more to being a Whisperer than quietly producing medicines for the villagers. There had been a time when the Whisperers were respected, and even obeyed, throughout the kingdom. Under the leadership of Queen Amina they had protected Meridina from the Narlaw and banished the demon armies back to the Darklands. Nowadays any mention of the Narlaw was greeted with a condescending shake of the head. They were little more than monsters from the history books, used for scaring children into doing their chores.
Alice wished that the demons were just ancient history, but she knew better than that. The missing hunters and the changes in the forest were small things, coincidences perhaps, but Alice felt a growing fear that something sinister was behind it all – and she knew Storm and the other wolves shared her suspicions.
She felt a pang of loneliness at the thought of Storm. But she could only ever enter the village alone. The people of Catchwood didn’t understand her bond with Storm, and a fully grown wolf was not a welcome guest in any village.
She arrived at the grain stall and made her way to the front. The goods on display were meagre: half a dozen loaves, a stack of wheat-flour parcels, some salt and a single coil of dry red sausage. There would normally be four or five times as much, and an extra table of wheat and barley sacks in reserve behind the stall.
Alice waited her turn, listening in as Sal finished her conversation with another customer.
“They’ve been gone four days now…” said the boy. He was about Alice’s age, but his face was drawn with worry. He wore the short leather apron of an apprentice blacksmith or carpenter.
“Don’t you fret, Owen lad,” said Sal. “I’m sure they’ve just gone further out, looking for a better hunting ground.”
“Four days, though,” said Owen. “Something has to be wrong. Dad’s never been away so long before.”
Sal smiled sympathetically and the boy glanced sideways at Alice as he turned to leave.
Alice met his gaze silently. Perhaps he recognized a similar, troubled expression on Alice’s face because he nodded to her solemnly before he turned and vanished into the crowds.
“The usual, is it?” Sal asked cheerily.
Alice smiled and nodded, putting the frightened eyes of the apprentice boy out of her mind. She picked two jars from her basket: one ointment for the gums and one powder to help with aching of the joints – both for Sal’s elderly father. Alice liked Sal and hoped she was right about the hunters – that they had simply extended their search and would return soon with a healthy stock of meat to trade. But she couldn’t help agreeing with Owen.
The tension she had noticed in the village over the past few weeks was even more obvious now. The people here were forest people, just like she was. They too would sense the change in the woods – small things, hard to pin down – as well as the lack of food and the poor hunting. To Alice it seemed as if everyone knew something terrible was looming, but nobody wished to voice their fears. It made her keener than ever to return to the forest and see what news Storm had from the wolf packs.
She added two pounds of flour and a fist of salt to her basket, thanked Sal and began pushing her way out towards her next stop. The villagers barged and jostled her, casting their sidelong looks as she passed.
Once her rounds were complete, Alice wasted no time in leaving Catchwood and the market-day crowds behind. She wove quickly towards the north gate, nodding to the guard as she passed through the wall of thick wooden stakes that surrounded the village. Immediately she felt the deep relief of being back on the wild mountainside. The breeze flowed over her, lifting her hair and catching in the folds of her skirt. The musty, human smells of the village were swept away, replaced by the sweetness of the pines and the crystalline mountain air.
Alice turned uphill towards the trees and reached out with her Whisperer sense. The tree line altered minutely as a familiar grey silhouette padded into view. Alice smiled. She ran the rest of the way, swinging the basket of supplies at her side, and plunged into the forest, letting its coolness envelop her. Dogwood and sagebrush whipped harmlessly at her legs as she ran. She ducked the low sweeping branches of oaks, and dodged between the slender aspens and pines.
And then Storm was
there, grey and black and golden-eyed, nuzzling into her. Alice ran her hands through the thick, soft fur behind her companion’s velvety ears. The bond between them pulsed with the warmth of their friendship – and with anticipation: Storm had something to tell her.
You’ve heard from the wolf packs? Alice said, her words entering Storm’s mind directly. She stepped back, sensing that bad news was coming.
There’s a trail, said Storm. Lifeless forest on the high ridge – scorched earth and dead trees. It leads to the mountain pass, to the Darklands.
Alice stared blankly off into the pines. Her heart thumped in her chest.
Narlaw, she whispered.
Yes. Storm bowed her head. We must tell Moraine. And the elders. The village is in danger.
Alice nodded in a state of shock. Generations had passed since the Narlaw had been banished to the Darklands. They were shape-shifters, beings who lived only to destroy the natural world. Their touch had the power to wither anything that lived. It seemed so wrong to think of such things, especially here in the great forest, with the trees swaying gently and the birds trilling their midday songs overhead.
But the wolves did not lie. And they had smelled the scent of demons.
Together, Alice and Storm moved swiftly through the forest. They had no need for roads or paths. This was their home and it always had been. Even before they had met, before they had been joined by the ancient Whisperer bond, they had each spent their lives in the cool, sweet-smelling shadows of the pine trees. Alice had been chosen as a baby, when the sacred raven had dropped a white feather on the doorstep of her birth home. For Storm it had been different; animals are closer to the earth than humans and are born with the knowledge inside them. But both Alice and Storm had left their families and come to Catchwood to be trained by Moraine.
Alice often wondered about her mother and father, and she knew that Storm also thought about her own parents, sisters and brothers out there in the roaming wolf packs of the forest. Alice felt sad sometimes, not knowing about her family, but this was part of the Whisperer life, and it made her bond with Storm all the more precious. As she walked, she ran her hand over Storm’s thick-furred back – a back that rose almost to her chest. It was no wonder the villagers viewed her with fear and suspicion, this young girl from the forest who walked with the wolves.
They continued through the dappled light, between hanging clusters of pine needles and the ridged bark of the trunks. The forest could give you everything you needed to live: food, shelter, water, even clothing – just as long as you took no more than you required. Greed upset the balance of the wild. As a Whisperer, this was the very first thing that Alice had been taught. And it was the reason why the recent changes in the forest – the lack of prey and plants – had to be taken very seriously.
As they approached the small hollow where their cottage lay, Moraine’s voice became audible. She was speaking with a man, but Alice was not close enough to recognize his voice.
Elder Garth, Storm told her. Perhaps they have heard of the Narlaw already.
Perhaps, said Alice, through the bond.
William Garth was the village’s chief elder. He was a shrewd man and he ran the village well, but Alice couldn’t help thinking he had much too high an opinion of himself. As they entered the clearing they found Garth’s horse tethered to a tree beyond the small cottage and outhouses. It shied nervously from Storm, and Alice reached out to the beast with her Whisperer sense, attempting to calm him as they passed. She could hear the deep tones of the village elder clearly now, along with Moraine’s soft, thoughtful voice. She unlatched the front door and she and Storm entered the cottage, their home.
“If it’s a seasonal thing then we must know when it ends…” Garth stopped mid-sentence as Alice and Storm appeared in the doorway. He was seated beside the empty fireplace and his jaw hung open for a second before he composed himself and nodded a silent greeting.
“I see you’ve finished at the market,” said Moraine. “Elder Garth and I were discussing the worrying changes taking place in the forest.” She stood in the kitchen area that was part of the large, open living space of the cottage. Behind her, on her favourite perch, sat Hazel, Moraine’s tawny owl companion.
Alice shut the door behind her and nodded politely at the elder before addressing Moraine. “The wolf packs have found something,” she said, glancing nervously at Storm. “Signs of Narlaw moving down from the mountain pass.”
Moraine narrowed her eyes. “What signs?”
“Dead trees, lifeless earth. The pine sickness seems to originate there, too.”
Moraine stared down at the stone-tiled floor in contemplation. She calmly smoothed the folds of her skirt, as she often did when thinking.
“The wolves are sure,” said Alice. “The trail leads to the Darklands.”
Garth let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Come now. You’re letting your imagination get the better of you. There have been no Narlaw here for a hundred years – not in all of Meridina! They were banished forever, despite what your … animal friend claims.”
Storm glared at the elder, snorting impatiently, and Garth’s smile slipped. He looked to Moraine for reassurance. “Am I right? There can be no serious suggestion of Narlaw here – not in this day and age.”
“You must let me think,” Moraine said, distractedly. “If the signs are as Alice says, then…”
Garth stood up. “I didn’t come here to listen to rumours, I came here for help in returning the forest to its profitable best. Our hunters find nothing to trade and the village is suffering. That is the only problem here. Every school child learns how the Narlaw were defeated by Queen Amina. They cannot return. You of all people should know that.”
Alice felt a rush of anger as the elder straightened his coat and strode towards the door. “You can’t just ignore the signs,” she cried. “The wolves know far more than we do of the forest. If they say the Narlaw are coming, then we have to do something! The hunters may be in danger. We all may be in danger!”
Garth ignored her, turning instead to Moraine as he left. “You ought to keep her under control,” he said. “She’s a wild one. And when you’ve figured out what’s really wrong with the forest, let me know.”
As the door thumped shut behind him, Moraine remained deep in thought.
Alice rushed over, frustration flooding through her like a fever. She couldn’t stand the way Garth had spoken to her – as if everything she knew meant nothing simply because she was younger than him. “We have to find the hunters,” she said to Moraine. “Something bad has happened, I know it. Storm knows it. We have to do something.”
“Wait, child, wait.” Moraine raised her hand as if to ward off Alice’s words. “We have to think. Perhaps what the wolves saw was caused by something else; a natural sickness we can cure.”
“But we can’t wait,” said Alice. “The hunters are out there. It may be too late already.”
Moraine straightened. “You are a novice, Alice, and you will do as I say. Unpack those provisions while I see to my books. There is always something in them that will help.” She strode away into the back room that was both her bedroom and study. Her long, greying hair swayed as Hazel swooped silently after her.
Alice remained in the kitchen. She dropped the basket on to the floor as Storm came over to her.
All we need is some evidence that the Narlaw are here, Alice whispered. Then Moraine will have to believe us and the villagers will send a search party out for the hunters.
The thought of disobeying Moraine made her stomach churn with nerves, but it had to be done. No one else was going to help the hunters.
And if the Narlaw are coming…? Storm began.
But she didn’t need to finish. If the Narlaw were coming, if they were free from the Darklands, then the village, the forest and the whole of Meridina were in danger.
CHAPTER 2
Alice crouched amidst the towering pines, examining the trail left by the missing hunters. She
and Storm were halfway up the mountainside already, more than an hour into their search. With Moraine so absorbed in her books, their exit from the cottage had been easy. Alice had simply changed into her forest clothes – loose trousers and a long, deep green coat – and slipped away silently into the trees. She was sure this was the right thing to do, but her conscience bothered her even so; she had never disobeyed Moraine before in such a way.
They had stopped just short of a fork in the track. There was a small clearing ahead, in which lay a fallen juniper tree and the broken stone circle of an old fire pit. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the trees and covered everything in streaks of gold and shadow.
The carpet of pine needles was scuffed haphazardly by boot prints, a sign that the hunters had paused here. Alice could imagine them resting their legs and taking some water before resuming their hunt for deer or rabbit or boar. She rose and circled the clearing, feeling Storm nearby but unable to hear her. She never could. Storm moved like a ghost through the forest, born to the ways of stealth and silence. Like all wolves, she only let you see or hear her when she was ready.
Alice quickly found the hunters’ onward trail.
“North,” she said quietly, examining the tracks – deeper into the forest, out towards the snowy peaks. The hunters had made no attempt to conceal their passing. And why should they? They had not heard the rumours of Narlaw.
It was a cold, frightening thought. They were hunting for signs of Narlaw, she and Storm – demons from another land, another time.
She felt Storm approaching, then her companion emerged from the trees, grey-black fur like a thundercloud.
More pine sickness up ahead, said Storm. Her golden eyes narrowed. We must move quickly and find the hunters before dark if we can.
She started out immediately, brushing affectionately against Alice as she passed. Alice dug her hand into the thick mane of fur behind Storm’s ears and trailed her fingers along her companion’s glossy back. It was a good feeling, knowing that Storm was with her, that she was not alone.
A Whisper of Wolves Page 1
