Midnight's Sun: A Story of Wolves

by Garry Kilworth

  The non-hunters who lived in the clouds were rarely seen. There was one that visited the group of huts from time to time, and when the Outcast had caught his odours as he was walking from his bird towards the huts, the human had smelled mostly of machine himself. The Outcast wondered if the men from the sky were machines of some kind. Certainly they walked stiffly when they emerged from their metal birds.

  Finally, there were the cloud-dwelling hunters in their flying machines, who were death itself. They came down out of the sun and hovered over their prey, shooting them from the air. There was no way a wolf could escape, if it was in open country. The machine would follow, spitting all the time, until the wolf went down. Only trees or caves offered any kind of safety whatsoever.

  The Outcast left the slope and wandered in a bemused way over the icefields, his brain buzzing. Long-tailed jaeger birds dive-bombed him, as they will do from time to time, and he had to duck continually to avoid them. They were getting their own back for the times when wolves raided their nests. They must have been puzzled by his lack of interest in their audacious attacks.

  His head was still full of the dak-dak-dak sound, and wolves continually tumbled down the slope in front of his eyes, leaving bloody streaks on the snow. His pack was gone! His pack. What could he do now? Follow that invisible umbilical cord into the land of the dead? It had been so long since he had been one of their number, that he had forgotten what pack life was like. Yet he felt an enormous sense of loss, as though the whole world were a vacuum and he the only living thing on it. There was no sense to life without the pack. It was true that he would probably have gone on until death without ever getting back into its ranks, but it was always there, and there was ever that faint unquenchable flame of hope which burned in his breast, that one day, one day he might achieve some great status through an act, a deed so heroic that they would have to let him back in.

  He walked, he did not know where, until the cold began to hammer his brain, and hunger forced him to stop, whereupon he blacked out.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked a voice. ‘Why were you shaking so violently?’

  He opened his eyes, and she was there. Ulaala, of the wind-coloured coat. He sniffed her fur for a moment. Had she come to him by accident or design? He felt weak from his fit, as though a giant had picked him up by his forelegs and shaken him violently for a long time. There was an enormous hollow inside him, and he turned from her to lick the ice, to get some liquid into his empty stomach. Once his thirst had been satisfied, he felt a little better, but still craved food. However, he could not just get up and walk away. She had asked him a question. What was it? Something about the shakes.

  ‘I probably had a fit,’ he said. ‘I told you, before, I have these things. A bear mauled me when I was younger and now I black out sometimes and my body shakes. It’s what they banished me from the pack for …’

  Then he remembered: the sound of thunder in the sky, the sudden swoop of the mechanical bird, dak-dak-dak-dak-dak, snow-spurts on the ridge, wolves dropping where they stood, the whole pack, dead.

  The horror of those moments returned to him and he threw back his head. They filled his mind. He lifted his head and let out a high mournful howl, which rang out over the icefields.

  She backed away from him, startled.

  ‘That’s the Death Howl,’ she said. ‘Are you dying? Here, I have a hare.’ She indicated a stiff corpse some distance away from the pair of them. ‘You may eat it. You seem to be starved.’

  He had not had any food since before the storm and gratefully he took the carcass from her and began to feast. As he ate he told her about what had happened on the gravel mound, how the attack was so sudden it was over almost before it began, how he had managed to save himself only by falling a great distance into a snowdrift. She was guardedly sympathetic. He imagined this was because she had not known any of the victims.

  ‘I can’t imagine my whole pack being slaughtered,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard of these massacres of course, but it’s never happened around here before.’

  She then added in a more cautious tone.

  ‘You must be feeling revenged. The wolves that banished you and caused you so much grief are now all dead.’

  He had not even considered that way of looking at it.

  ‘No,’ he said truthfully. ‘At one time, if you said such a thing might happen, I may have indulged in a little satisfaction – but when it actually does happen you just feel … empty. Well, they’re in the Far Forests now, if you believe in that sort of thing, which I’m not sure I do. I’d like to think it was true, but when you think about it, it doesn’t make sense …’

  She interrupted him.

  ‘That’s the trouble, you shouldn’t – not in that way. It’s not a place to be thought of, to understand. It’s a place to be felt, to be approached emotionally. Why should things make sense in a material way in the world of the spirit? That doesn’t make sense. You won’t have a brain to think with in the Far Forests.’

  Well, he hadn’t asked for a lecture, but he had got one anyway. He decided he would be more careful in choosing his subjects in future. She was obviously a wolf with strong opinions. He pitied her mate, whoever he was, because she did not seem a wolf fond of making compromises. A little too strong-headed.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked.

  The wind was lifting the surface snow around the icefield and blowing it gently over the ground in the form of veils. The low sun burned with a dull polished sheen on the landscape and the light was the colour of dying leaves. Out there were a million possibilities, and none. What was he going to do? He was free. There was no cord tying him to a group now. He had to make his own judgements. There was no headwolf in front, making decisions on behalf of the pack – where to go, what to do – decisions that he could follow blindly, without responsibility.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly.

  ‘Why not,’ she began, her voice seeming to drift away with the rising wind, ‘why not start your own pack?’

  At first the words did not register. After all, the idea was so ludicrous, so impossible, he hadn’t considered it, not for a second. When he did understand what she was saying, he was puzzled. She was far from foolish, yet it sounded like a stupid solution to his problems.

  ‘Start my own pack? What do I do, go out and gather recruits. Gather in all the outcasts and outlaws roaming around the countryside and weld them into an obedient group? Tell them that I’m the headwolf and they are obliged to do as I say?’

  She raised her eyes into her skull.

  ‘No, you idiot. I mean, start your own pack. There’s nothing wrong with you is there? … I mean, you have fits, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have pups, does it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s the breeding season,’ she said bluntly. ‘Do I have to say more? Are you really that dim?’

  He still couldn’t get it into his head. The idea had been thrown at him too suddenly. He needed time.

  ‘You mean, you and I …’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’

  ‘Do you know what you’d be taking on?’

  ‘I think so. A tired old outcast who’s lost his pack and doesn’t know which from what. On the other hand, I see great things in him. I see a spark of youth that hasn’t quite gone out. I see strength – certainly strength – and fortitude. I see loyalty. You’ve never had much chance to be loyal, have you Athaba? I think you could be one of nature’s constant wolves. A wolf who would die for his own. Furthermore …

  ‘… I want you,’ she said, simply.

  Excitement stirred in his breast. He could see the rolling dunes of snow stretching out to the base of low hills. Somewhere out there the hares were dancing their mystical dances. Somewhere out there a bloodthirsty stoat had banished all thoughts of killing from his mind and was gorged with another kind of lust. Somewhere out there, further away still, weasels were standing on hindlegs and swaying rhythmically.

  ‘What ab
out your pack?’ he said. ‘Won’t they object?’

  ‘Ours is not a strict, regimented pack. The leadership is a little loose, has been for some time. There’s no really strong member. It’s kind of drifting at the moment. One day a wolf will emerge with leadership qualities. Perhaps more than one? That’s the way it usually happens – you need a strong personality – you wait and wait – then three come along at once and there’re battles fought over what could have been had for the taking a few months previously.

  ‘Anyway, what I’m saying is, no one will miss me. We can leave right now.’

  ‘Leave for where?’

  ‘I suggest we go back south. This is a hard land to rear pups. Once we have our pack, we can move north again.’

  ‘What about the hunters down there?’

  ‘There’re only two of us, not twenty-two. We should be able to keep low and hidden. If it’s too bad, we can always come back.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Well?’

  He felt full.

  ‘Of course, of course. But I still don’t understand why you chose me. You could have had one of your own kind, one of the northern wolves.’

  ‘Some of us like to be different. There’s something about you – I can’t put it into words. Something a little strange, but attractive.’

  ‘And the fits? They don’t worry you?’

  ‘I would worry for our pups, but you told me the fits came because of an injury. You weren’t born with them. In which case there’s no reason why our pups shouldn’t be healthy. As for the two of us, you have coped with your fits now for many seasons, and you’ve survived outside the protection of the pack. You’ll do, Athaba. You’ll do.’

  He finished the hare and then stood up, his hunger appeased. He could see a flock of long-tailed jaegers getting ready to mob the two of them. This would normally have irritated him, but suddenly he saw an amusing side to their behaviour. He wondered what his new mate would think of him, once his coat had been soiled by those birds. (They were extremely accurate.) It took a while to get the mess out of his fur after they had dive-bombed him.

  However, if the two of them hurried, they might get out of range.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere now,’ he said, ‘away from the birds.’

  They found a place out of the wind where they could be together. In the hollow, they nuzzled one another, fur touching fur. It was the first time, for both of them, though both had approached, been approached before. The feelings were almost frightening in their intensity, especially for the Outcast, who always believed in being in control, in keeping his reserve.

  They stayed in the hollow for over a day before he reluctantly went out to hunt. The hare had satisfied him only in part. He was now hungry enough for a feast: a feast which might last him several days. He felt light, buoyant, as though if he just flicked himself off the ground he might float. It was a tremendous feeling, of confidence and strength.

  That day he caught three hares in quick succession. The hare population did not know what had hit them. One was for her. The other two he devoured himself.

  Back in the hollow again, he settled beside her. He saw no reason why they could not stay as they were for ever. It was all so comfortable. But then, when he thought about it hard enough, he realised that, as Ulaala had said, it would be better if the pups were born further south, where the cold was less like a blow in the chest every time one left the den.

  Lying beside her, he felt it was a time for cleansing his spirit. The pack, his pack, had gone now. There was no Skassi to despise, to help nourish a red burning in his breast during a long winter. He missed Skassi now. Missed having someone in the world to blame, when the scavenging and hunting was bad, and the ice was creeping into his veins. Enemies have their uses. They give us a reason for living, for battling through the hard times. No one wants their foe to hear that they have gone under, given up, so they pretend that all is well. There is the story of the wolf caught by its hindleg in a gin trap, who says to the birds, ‘Tell my enemy, I am quite well’. And the birds say to him, ‘But you’re caught in a trap!’ The wolf looks down casually and shrugs. ‘Only a tiny section of my leg,’ he says. ‘The rest of me is in wonderful health.’

  The state of one’s mind is much more important than the state of one’s body. The wolf who refuses to acknowledge that she is sick, that the cough is only a temporary lodger, which will eventually be evicted and sent back where it belongs, will often live many seasons longer than the wolf who sees his illness as part of him.

  The Outcast had for many seasons now been ignoring the actual state of his physical health. He was run down. Since he was not looking his best, it was strange that Ulaala found him so attractive. Perhaps she saw the potential in him? And, of course, he was an experienced wolf in more ways than one. Still, he was sure she would prefer a less lean mate: one with a sleek coat. He now set about putting himself on the path to full health, by getting back on a good diet. Otherwise, he was likely to lose this female who was mad enough to take him on.

  ‘You’ll soon be completely fit again,’ she said.

  They spent a few more days preparing themselves for the long journey south.

  Chapter Nine

  In the beginning, just after the Firstdark, the wolves were being slaughtered by the hundreds. Man, with the help of his slaves the dogs, spent much of his time discovering the whereabouts of wolf packs. Once a pack had been found, men would mount those horses whose spirits had been broken, and run down the wolves, cutting them to pieces with spear and sword, with lance and arrow.

  This state of affairs was, of course, extremely distressing to the wolves and they sought some way of living in peace. They sent emissaries to man’s creation, the giant Groff, pleading with him to intercede for them. The giant said he was willing to help, but what he needed from the wolves was a promise of complete capitulation, a surrender without terms, a willingness to be subjugated. Naturally, the wolves could not agree to this, and went away again. None knew at the time whether Groff, having become very powerful since his success on behalf of the humans, was taking things on his own shoulders without first consulting his masters. It was possible that man wanted some kind of peace with the wolves. After all, the wolves made it difficult for lone men and their children to walk through the woodlands without being attacked. Since they stood no chance against the horsemen and their superior weapons, some wolves had taken to raiding the woodsmen who lived in the great forests that then covered the earth. Left to themselves the woodsmen would have quietly gone about their business of cutting down trees and making carts, furniture and ploughs, and may not have bothered the wolves. But an enemy driven to desperate measures will attack the opposition at its weakest point, and in this case it was the shacks and cabins of the men of the forest.

  The woodsmen in their turn were incensed at these raids by the wolves and called on the horsemen and their weapons to annihilate Canis lupus from the face of the world. This served to initiate revenge attacks from the packs and the whole bloody cycle continued.

  It was thus possible that man might listen to the wolf and offer some sort of compromise in order that their forests remain safe for travellers and woodsfolk. But first the wolves had to get past Groff, the intermediary who had grown too big for his boots and who was taking it on himself to presume the wishes of men.

  One day, from the far north, there came a wolf by the name of Magitar, whose intention it was to seek out another path to the ears of men. He came down from a stronghold in the mountains, from the place of parched rocklands and rushing torrents, through the low foothills of rounded earth and stone, to the plains beneath where the rivers were wide and lazy and the reeds rustled in their beds. Down from the high citadel where the winds had teeth that tore through thick fur, to the quiet country of warm breezes that ruffled his tail. Down from the treeless walls and crags, to the land where the skies were vast stretches of blue.

  The first creature that Magitar met was a dog, out on its own, and on
its way between towns. It hesitated when it saw the wolf, but had nowhere to run. Magitar called out to the hound that it had nothing to fear, that he was on a peaceful mission and merely wanted to talk. The dog approached him warily.

  ‘Might I ask who you are?’ said the wolf, ‘and what is your position in the world of men?’

  ‘I used to be a sheep dog,’ was the reply. ‘My breed is Border Collie. I helped men round up their sheep from the hillsides and watched over them. I helped protect them from bears and wol …’

  The dog stopped abruptly.

  The wolf chose to ignore the slight.

  ‘What I would like to ask you,’ he said, ‘is whether you see any way of wolves coming to terms with men, without losing their freedom? Tell me, what freedom do you and other animals who live with or closely to man enjoy?’

  The dog sat on its haunches and scratched behind its ear with its hindleg, clearly nervous.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t recommend the life of a dog,’ he said, ‘if it’s freedom you want. We used to hunt for our own food before man came, but now it’s given to us. Some of us have to work for it, like myself, driving sheep or cattle. We don’t have to live in houses, but we are usually chained outside in a tiny wooden place we call a kennel. Then there are those who are forced to live in houses, who are retained to guard property. Then there are pretty-pretty dogs, who are overfed on cream chicken and who are kept simply for what they are. Some of these never see green fields or proper trees, but are carried or led on a leash through concrete towns. In all cases the freedom is very limited. I suppose hunting dogs, pointers and such, are the closest to what you want, but I wouldn’t say that they had any more freedom than the rest of us, really. They are still kept in kennels or houses, and only let out when their masters are ready.’