Koonama fell in beside the wolves and began trotting with them.
Athaba continued, ‘Oh, yes, I remember that day. My whole pack was slaughtered by a sky human – came down in a machine and dak-dak-dak-dak-dak, there they were, all lying bleeding in the snow. Not one of them alive. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I had been outside the pack for several seasons, but you know how it is, you tag along – you’re still part of it, even though it’s a detached part. Once they had gone, I felt as if I’d been cast adrift on broken pack ice. Floating over the ocean, not knowing where I was going. Just spinning gently on a platform of ice, subject to the wind and current.’
‘Exactly!’ cried Moolah.
They came to a nest of rocks and settled down, the wolfman leaving one of the hares and taking himself off somewhere alone. He came back a little later and curled up on the ground close to Athaba. Athaba knew this surprised Moolah, though the other wolf said nothing. The sky was scored with lights as they began their discussion.
‘What lies ahead of us?’ asked Athaba.
‘Timber country, mountains, if you keep going south that is.’
‘And the game?’
‘Moose, sheep, the usual. Some good waterfalls where you can wash the dust off your coat. Pike in the streams, and pickerel and grayling. Geese and ducks on top.’
‘Bear?’
‘Grizzly and black bears. Don’t mess with them, if you can help it.’
Athaba nodded. ‘I don’t intend to. I think we’ll strike west again now that we’re almost at the tree line.’
‘Where are you trying to get to?’
Athaba described the landscape which had been his stamping grounds since a pup. Moolah was a well-travelled wolf, having been itinerant for several seasons. He knew his own country well and had talked to other travellers. When Athaba spoke of the Howling Rock of his homeland, Moolah said he had heard of it.
‘That’s just somewhere north-east of volcano country. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard tell of it. I’ve always been fascinated by volcanoes. There was a bald eagle once, he spoke a little Canidae, and he told me about these hills that spit fire. Always intrigued me.’
‘You mentioned volcanoes before, when you were talking about men being untamable. What exactly are they?’
‘Well, they’re places where the rock has turned to liquid and pours from the ground. The eagle called the rock lava. When it cools, it turns into all sorts of things, like pumice stone. Pumice is so light, it floats on the water …’
Athaba’s head came up.
‘Pumice? It floats?’
‘That’s right.’
Aksishem: ‘the stone that floats’.
Athaba said, ‘And this lava – it can be said to “run” because it’s liquid, right?’
‘True.’
‘What happens to trees that get caught in the flow of this lava?’
‘Well, they burn I suppose. Lava is very hot – fiery rock.’
‘But if they got pressed down, underneath all that rock, became like rock …’
Moolah looked puzzled.
‘Then they would be – rock.’
‘And would sink in water!’ cried Athaba.
Startled by this outburst, Moolah moved away.
Athaba said, ‘Don’t be alarmed. I’ve just learned the answer to a riddle given to me by my father. All these years. Listen:
I am –
the stone that floats,
the wood that sinks,
the rock that runs,
the air that stinks
– what am! I?’
‘A volcano of course,’ cried Moolah. ‘That’s pretty clever. Yes, “the air that stinks” – it does top. The eagle said it makes your eyes water, the smell is so pungent.’
‘That’s it then,’ said Athaba, and fell silent.
After a while Moolah said, ‘So, what does that tell you? The riddle I mean?’
Athaba thought for a moment.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all – except that my father made that up I think, which puts him in your category. I wonder if he kept his talent for doing such things a secret from the pack? I expect he did, otherwise they would have banished him, like they banished you, for inventing new stories.’
‘Lies, they would have called them.’ nodded Moolah.
‘And my father told me that rhyme. He must have known I was a little like him – inclined towards a mystical nature. When you get these stories of yours, I suppose it’s difficult to keep them to yourself?’
Moolah snorted.
‘Almost impossible. They have to be told, you see. They trip out of the brain, on to the tongue, and there you are. It’s like there’s another creature inside me. I get so excited when I make one up. I want to tell the whole world. I suppose some of it’s because I think I’m such a clever devil and want everyone else to know what I can do.’
‘So my father had to tell someone, and he chose me. Mother knew about it, of course, this secret side to him, but she obviously managed to keep it from the rest of the pack.’
Moolah agreed.
‘If your pack was anything like mine, you only had to twitch without there being an established ritual, and they came down on you. I think I’m well rid of them – and you of yours too. I quite like the itinerant life. I think I’m a rover by nature. Yes, it’s dangerous, moving around without the protection of the pack, but where isn’t there danger in this life? Sometimes a pack will draw attention to itself simply because of its numbers, whereas a lone wolf will escape.
‘Anyway,’ Moolah sighed, ‘I have to tell you that from all I’ve heard, – well, you’re a long way from home. You certainly won’t make it before winter sets in. Maybe not even before next spring, depending on the hardness of the weather.’
Athaba was dismayed. He felt as if a tree had fallen across his heart.
‘But we’ve come so far!’
‘You’ve come so far, but the edge of the world is further, my friend. This great land of ours is vast – vaster than vast – and from one ocean to the other …’ he shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but I thought you ought to know.’
‘Koonama will never make it.’
‘Best to abandon him. He’s only a human after all. And you. He imprisoned you. Why should you feel any responsibility for him? Better to leave him.’
Athaba thought about this. Since it was true that the wolfman would not survive the whole journey, it seemed kinder to abandon him now than drag him on until he dropped. It required a decision which Athaba did not want to make. There was no doubt about it: the human would not last very long if Athaba were not there to help with the hunt. Without their guns or fishing rods these humans were hopeless hunters. He might manage to survive the autumn. But the winter? Never. His belly would turn to ice within a few days.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, wearily. ‘This is such depressing news. I kept thinking we would hit something recognisable soon, that home was just over the next lake or river. So far our travels have been mostly through the season of full light, but we’re moving towards the season of all darkness. What am I going to do with him?’
‘I wish I could help. Anyway, if you take him to your home, he won’t last a minute. If my memory serves me well, that’s the area patrolled by Skassi’s pack.’
Athaba was jolted by the sound of the name.
‘Skassi? I knew a wolf by that name once. He was killed in the high ice country.’
‘Well, from what I hear, this Skassi is the most savage wolf to come amongst us for a long time. He’s dedicated to the destruction of mankind. His pack numbers between thirty and forty wolves – one of the largest packs ever – and they roam the countryside looking for humans to attack and kill.’
Athaba said, ‘Why? I mean, we have always been enemies, humans and wolves, but such action will only lead to more hostility. There are humans out there who are not concerned by us and leave us alone. Does this pack attack them too?’
‘Any human. Children,
whatever. They say Skassi has a hatred for men that goes beyond all considerations. He collects renegades and coerces other wolves to join his group. Once they’ve killed, the lust of human blood sticks. The whole country is in a turmoil. No wolf, whether part of his pack or not, is safe. The humans are striking back, of course, but they’re hitting the wrong wolves. Innocents on both sides are dying.’
This information further served to dampen Athaba’s spirits and raise his anxiety level. His family, his pack were up there, where this Skassi was creating mayhem and havoc.
‘Does anyone know why Skassi hates men so much? I mean, none of us has any love for them, but we all have to live in the same world.’
Moolah stared hard at Athaba.
‘It’s said that he was out hunting alone one day, up in the northlands, when his whole pack – his family pack – was slaughtered to a wolf. A massacre. Not one of them remained alive. From that moment on he vowed to kill ten humans for every dead wolf in his old pack. When I last heard, Skassi had attacked a group of southern humans – the type that only visit the north and jabber a lot – harmless creatures that don’t even carry guns. They use those small black boxes instead, which just click instead of firing bullets. Two of these people were torn to pieces by Skassi’s pack… there was a lot of human blood let that day …’
‘Skassi,’ said Athaba to himself. ‘Is it possible?’ To take on the human race was sheer madness, whatever the injury to the nation of wolves. Men had proved, time and time again, that when their kind was threatened they became completely ruthless. They would move with cold efficiency towards eliminating the wolf and removing any threat for good. Those who tolerated wolves, even those who liked wolves, would not deter those who had called for their extermination since the first battle after the Firstdark. When they were ready, men would move across the land in a swath, cutting down all before them. Was this indeed his old arch enemy, the Skassi he once knew?
The news was extremely grave. It meant that Ulaala and his pups might be in danger from huntsmen looking for Skassi. All the more reason he had to get home quickly.
‘Thanks for the information,’ he said to Moolah.
The other wolf remained silent. No doubt he was thinking that he had given his advice and it could be either accepted or rejected. They fell into silence for a while, both unused to talking at length and finding company awkward to deal with. Then the itinerant opened the way again.
‘You mentioned a Howling,’ said Moolah. ‘I haven’t had one of those in ages. How about it?’
Athaba agreed, but his mood was such that he wanted to begin with a mournful howl, a dirge of sorts, and positioning himself firmly in a sitting position, his head thrown back, he began:
‘OOOOOOooooowwwwwooooOOOOwwwwwwWWW …’
Moolah joined in. The wolfman, Koonama, woke, and on hearing his companions howling, waited for the chorus and came in with his own slightly inferior howls. He sat in his haunches, like the wolves, with his arms like forelegs straight down in front of him, knuckles touching the moss. He threw back his head, and:
‘HHHHoooowwwww-howwww-howwww-oooo uuu uuu uuu oooOOO …’
Soon Athaba’s despair had been washed away temporarily by the joy of howling, and he chose a howl which was full of rapture, a howl to the beauty of autumn. Koonama’s face was ecstatic: he was obviously completely entranced by his own role in this joint activity. He listened, he copied, he followed the others. There was happiness on his face. Once, he burst out into one of his songs, barking away to a kind of tune. Athaba had heard humans doing this and making shrill music with their lips. However, he and Moolah showed their disapproval at this unethical departure from the Howling, and reprimanded Koonama with a short display of aggressive postures and one or two nips. The wolfman soon learned to remain with howls, rather than depart into fiendish human barking, eerie enough to disturb any ancestors of ancestors. Athaba was very pleased with Koonama. He seemed to have a natural feel for the rhythms and nuances of tone necessary to impart the full feeling of any howl. Of course, there was a roughness to it and Koonama would not have gained any status in a pack with his renditions so far, but he showed pup-like promise, considering he was, after all, a human. There was potential there. He was certainly as good as many domestic dogs Athaba had heard.
‘UUUooooOOOOlllloooOOO owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww …’ howled Koonama.
‘That’s it, that’s it, swallow the moon!’ cried Athaba, and Moolah shook his head as if his ears were full of tics, looking first at Koonama and then at Athaba, as if he were not quite sure how he had landed himself with these two creatures: whether this was indeed real, or whether he was dreaming.
When the Howling was over, Moolah told a story, delighted to have an audience, especially one appreciative of a newly fashioned tale. It was a story of wolf as the hero, the vanquisher of great evil. Koonama sat and listened as if he were hanging on every word, though when Athaba cared to look deeper there was a complete lack of understanding in the wolfman’s vacant eyes, which was a shame because it was a good tale.
‘The world was in its infancy at the time,’ began Moolah, ‘a pup that had yet to grow to wolfhood. At that point in its history only tiny creatures like krill and plankton lived in the sea and the land was crowded not only with the creatures we see on its hills and in its valleys today, but with walking fish. There were herring and salmon, running around on legs, and squid and octopuses (who never lost theirs) roaming the pastures, grazing on grass. They didn’t look a lot like fish as we know them. Certainly they were as separate from other life forms as birds are from beasts, in that they had scales and preferred rainy days to sunshine. They seemed to bathe a lot too, in the streams and lakes, so were halfway to becoming watergoing creatures. Their legs, too, were of all different sizes. Some had long spindly legs and moved about, their bodies just above the tall grasses, as if they were floating. They ate the windblown seeds of dandelions. Others were closer to the ground, the bottom feeders on short rounded legs, and sucked on rotten windfalls.
‘On the whole, the fish communities were a peaceful lot, not bothering other creatures too much. Except for the sharks, that is, who lived in caves and preyed on travellers. They would attack anything and everything, sometimes simply for the sake of bloodlust. They fell on birds and beasts in great numbers, dropping from the ledges of mountains and tearing their victims apart with unspeakable savagery. Then they would trot back up to their high caves on short stumpy legs, their crescent mouths gleaming and their triangular teeth dripping gore. In those far off seasons, they had short blunt tails which leaked a yellowish acid, and this viscous fluid killed any plant on which is dripped.
‘Everyone went in fear of these landsharks, and because the creatures were so successful at killing, they multiplied very rapidly. Finally, there was a truce and a conference arranged between all the other carnivores, who were close to starving because the sharks were killing off every living thing. Bears and wolves and big cats were among the most bitter in their condemnations of the dreadful killer fish. Finally, one of them, a she-wolf named Grensa, was elected to issue a challenge. To do this she had to travel across many lands, to reach the Great White Shark who was the acknowledged leader for all his kind.
‘On her journey, Grensa had to deal with many shark foes, not the least of which were hammerheads, tiger sharks, grey sharks and whale sharks. When she arrived at her destination, bleeding from the feet and scarred from her battles, the Great White himself was there to meet her. She told him this:
‘“I have come to challenge you to single combat. If you win and I lose, all the other carnivores of the earth have agreed to begin eating grass and to chew the cud. This will leave more meat for the sharks. If you lose, however, you must agree to eat only plankton and krill from that moment forth.”
‘The sharks were ignorant of many things, for as you know one only increases one’s knowledge about the world by talking to itinerant creatures such as birds, and sharks ate things on sight before a word c
ould be uttered either way. Consequently, the Great White had never heard of plankton or krill and asked what they were.
‘“Why, they’re animals,” said the wolf, appearing surprised at the question. “I’m sure you must have eaten them at some time. There are millions and millions of them. In fact, they’re probably the most numerous of all the world’s creatures.”
‘That didn’t sound too bad to the shark, though of course the wolf had omitted to add that plankton and krill are minute lifeforms that live in the ocean.
‘So the challenge was gleefully accepted, and the wolf Grensa fought with such courage and ferocity that she defeated the Great White Shark and won the world for the mammals and birds. When the sharks were told what plankton and krill were, they screamed that they had been tricked and refused to keep the promise of their dead leader. However, there is a Final Judge who steps in at certain times: someone greater than men, greater even than the giant Groff. No one has ever seen this mighty being, who always causes an eclipse of the sun before doing some work in the world, and indeed whether male or female is a question that has never been answered.
‘There was an eclipse, during which all the sharks were cast into the sea by their tails. They knew then that they could not escape their fate, but came up on land one last time, to drive all the fish-creatures into the waters with them, so that they would have meat to hunt in their new home. In the general stampede, certain mammals, like the porpoise, the dolphin and the whale, got caught up with the fish and ended up in the ocean with them. None of these mammals was frightened of the sharks, once the habitat of the killers had changed from mountain caves to watery grottoes. So the whale, porpoise and dolphin remained in the oceans and still live there today. On the other hand, seals, sea lions and walruses could never make up their minds entirely, and still spend half the time in, and half out, of salty waters.
‘Thus Grensa is one of the great wolf heroes and her spirit roams the Far Forests at the right shoulder of Shesta, the mighty warrior-priestess who defeated the dog-king Skellion Broadjaw after the battle of Steep Slope, in the canine wars following Firstdark.’
Midnight's Sun: A Story of Wolves Page 22
