Midnight's Sun: A Story of Wolves

by Garry Kilworth

  Chapter Nineteen

  In this land the light falls in soft slanting columns. It reveals the colours of the tundra, the burnt sienna reds, the saffron yellows, as if through a mist. The same hues in southern climes would be harsh on the eyes, but here on the tundra they are gentle and soothing. It is a light which softens rugged peaks like the first snows of winter, rounding edges and blunting points. Here, where cold, dense air produces the looming effect of bending rays, images of distant mountains are pulled above the horizon and hang, clear and still, against the sky. Here, the waters are so glassy that sunlight is able to bring flowers on the beds of streams into bloom.

  In this wide open land, the distances are vast beyond parallel. Even when you reach a place you want to be, you may not yet be there. It is a land where the imagination is the best guide to distances and where horizons always seem the same.

  Athaba was extremely distressed by Moolah’s information that he and Koonama were a long way from home. Each day, after rest, they had risen and begun their long walk home. In Athaba’s mind’s eye was a vision of home not far beyond the next clump of dwarf alders, or rise, or river. There was never any real disappointment, because there was always the ‘next’ field of cotton grass, or swath of dryas, or glacial waterway.

  Now he knew. He was still a long long way from home, even though he seemed to have been walking forever. He went down to a pool to drink, before despondently rousing Koonama. The wolfman was slowing him down, too. Without Koonama he could make twice the distance each day. He had to decide very soon whether or not to put the wolfman out of his misery. It would, of course, be kinder to kill him quickly than to leave him to die of illness or starvation.

  Athaba said his farewells to Moolah.

  ‘You won’t travel with us?’ he asked. ‘I don’t understand how you manage to hunt at all with no sense of smell. We could help you find game …’

  Moolah said no.

  ‘I’ve been on my own so long now, I wouldn’t know how to live with other wolves. As for feeding myself, well I suppose a pack would not praise my kills, but I manage to survive. You have to rely on sound, even sight, to indicate where prey might lie. When it’s a matter of survival, you soon learn to compensate for losses.’

  ‘Well, it’s your choice. Don’t be put off by Koonama – he’s really quite harmless. He’s been with me so long now, I swear he thinks he’s a wolf.’

  ‘No, it’s not him, though I do find his presence a little disconcerting. It’s me really. I like to live alone. I don’t have any responsibilities towards anyone. I can do as I please without so much as a word. It’s a solitary life – no, that’s not quite true – it’s a lonely life, but it’s one I’ve become used to. Good hunting, anyway, and I hope you find your home.’

  With that, they parted, Moolah setting off north and Koonama and Athaba going east.

  The way was ridged and rough, with mountains to the south. There were bound to be more humans in this area and Athaba decided to rest early and start early, using the dark hours (short as they were) in which to travel. Early on in their trek, an owl flew overhead and from its flight pattern, and the time of day it was airborne, Athaba deduced it had been disturbed by something. That something would no doubt turn out to be a humans: possibly a hunting party.

  Mid-morning became dark and gloomy, as if the winter season were already upon them. The reason for this loss of light was that black clouds had begun to gather in menacing groups above them, threatening rain. A storm was pulling its pack together, in order to attack the land below. The pair found shelter just as the dark wolves of the sky began snarling and rumbling in the backs of their throats.

  The rain did indeed come down: a cold, merciless rain that drove itself into the ground. Athaba and Koonama had found a cave in the side of a hill and they rested in the entrance, staring out at swirling wetness; at the lightning flashes that briefly lit the purple landscape. The inside of the cave smelled of bear, but Athaba was not too concerned by this as it was a very stale smell. Possibly the cave had once been used as a hibernation place by some bear which was now far away.

  At one point in the morning, Koonama obviously became bored with sitting watching the storm and went further into the interior. There was quite a network of tunnels within the system and for a while Athaba could hear his subordinate scrambling about, occasionally barking, to which Athaba would give some comforting reply like, ‘Don’t worry. I’m still here.’

  When the storm had cleared, Athaba called for Koonama.

  He received no reply. He was suddenly aware that there had been silence back in the caves for some time. After waiting for a few more moments, hoping to hear some faint cry from the depths of the earth, Athaba went into the interior himself, anxious that they should be on their way now that the storm had passed over. It was pitch dark in the caves, but a wolf needs no light. It is almost impossible for a wolf to lose itself in such a place, even though it might be a maze, for he sniffs his way in and out. If he gets ‘lost’ he has only to follow his own scent trail back to the surface again, like a line of string.

  Athaba followed Koonama’s scent down through the networks of narrow tunnels. His subordinate seemed to have been trying to explore the whole wormery of the earth: his trail took Athaba into thin passageways, chambers, boxed corners, blind windows, chimneys. Finally, Athaba found him asleep in the dust of a small ledged chamber. Koonama’a breathing was raising the cave-dust in small clouds. Athaba went to him and said, ‘Time to get up! We have to move.’ When this failed, he did something he normally avoided. He touched the wolfman, rousing him with his nose.

  On waking, the wolfman seemed to go berserk. He began screaming, the sound echoing through the caverns. Athaba backed away from this madness. Koonama had lost his reason in this closed area and was extremely dangerous in such a state.

  ‘Calm down,’ yelled Athaba, hoping the human would understand the tone, if not the words.

  Koonama jumped up at this point and ran smack into a wall of rock. Athaba could smell the sweet scent of blood, which judging from the snuffling sound, was now pouring from Koonama’s nose. This behaviour was making Athaba himself very agitated. The wolf had no idea how to handle this situation. There was no way he could communicate to Koonama that he should stifle his panic, follow, and the entrance would be found for him. All he could do was wait until the violent mental attack had worn down his subordinate and hope that he became passive.

  Koonama thrashed around in the dust on the floor on the cave for some time. His wailing was pitiful to hear and Athaba was more than once a split second away from attacking the creature that was causing him so many problems. Then, to Athaba’s relief, the wolfman began to crawl around, touching things. He found the exit to the chamber and followed Athaba’s growling. Every time he stopped, Athaba would encourage him with more sounds. In this way he kept the wolfman moving all the time, towards the entrance to the caves.

  It took an age to get the wolfman just a few lengths and through the right exits, since some of them forked into blind passageways. Once, a fit of trembling came over Koonama, and Athaba thought his subordinate was going crazy again but the nervous bout ceased and they were able to continue.

  When they finally reached fresh air, Koonama gave out a sobbing sound and ran into the daylight, falling on his face in the rain-sprinkled moss. That was when Athaba blacked out and presumably had a fit, because when he came to (that sweet time of funny faraway dreams) the wolfman was standing some way off, looking very concerned. Athaba could see the caked blood on Koonama’s upper lip, and the bruises on his face.

  This incident added to Athaba’s doubts about Koonama. They had been together for so long that Athaba had begun to think he could turn the human into a wolf, but underneath that superficial wolfish look, Koonama was still very human. No wolf would have panicked like that simply because he was in a confined place, in darkness. He would have sniffed, got a mental picture of his surroundings, and made his way to the surface. Suc
h behaviour, the way Koonama had acted, was dangerous for the pack and could not be tolerated.

  When he went over to where Koonama was standing, the wolfman immediately displayed submissive postures, because he knew he deserved to be punished. Athaba, however, did not chastise his subordinate. He had decided it was time that they parted company. In one, maybe two days, he was going to have to kill Koonama. The wolfman would not be able to keep up with his fast pace and would drop behind. There would be plaintive callings (it had happened in the past) but this time Athaba was determined.

  As if he had realised his headwolf’s intention, Koonama put in an extra effort to stay with the moderate pace that day. He trotted when necessary, never letting Athaba get more that ten lengths ahead of him. When they rested, Koonama always got up first and began the journey, so that Athaba would have to overtake him to get back in front. When they came to the long resting place at the end of the day, Koonama rolled on his back and let his hands flop like wilted flowers, the way Athaba did sometimes when he was scent-rolling on the ground. The wolfman was trying to make himself endearing to the wolf, trying to say he was sorry for being such a problem.

  Athaba ignored him. After the next long rest he was going to do what was necessary. It was something he thought he would never do to a pack member of his, but after all, Koonama was human. It was not as if he were a real wolf. To abandon Koonama was, of course, cruel and unthinkable. The pity of it all was that the wolfman had done so well, come so far, but now he was at the end of his energy. There was nothing else Athaba could do except to perform the final kindness.

  That night he slept well apart from Koonama.

  When he awoke, there were two fish by him for his breakfast. Koonama had been up to his old trick of damming a stream and snatching fish from the shallow waters. Koonama ate his fish raw now and was already halfway through a grayling. He showed his teeth to Athaba.

  Athaba ate the fish then went down to drink. He took in the scents of the land as he refreshed himself, smelling the cold coming through the rocks and up from the permafrost beneath. Not far below the ground the thick frozen layer was beginning to join forces with the surface cold in preparation for the winter. Soon the whole landscape would be solid ice, the braided rivers would grow sluggish and then gradually come to a standstill, the lakes would turn to plate and then disappear, becoming part of the whole mass. Ice droplets would hang from air flaked with light snow. Hard times were coming, and creatures would die.

  A man with only a musk-ox cloak would certainly freeze to death very quickly.

  At the end of that day, Athaba had almost changed his mind again. The wolfman was obviously trying to make amends and was doing his best to keep up with his headwolf. It was as if he knew that Athaba had plans for him and was doing his best to frustrate that decision. Athaba was mystified as to how Koonama could know. Perhaps the wolfman smelled death in the air and was determined to cling on to life until the very last moment? He stared at Athaba with sorrowful, almost accusing, eyes. But what if it were left? The wolfman could drag the pace down to a stop. He looked as if he were on his last legs even now, with his swollen ankles, his puffy knees. The lids of his eyes were like hoods and were bitten raw by insects. If he did not fall down, he would probably go blind. Yet, it was difficult to kill him.

  However, Athaba finally decided it was necessary. He postponed it until Koonama was asleep. The wolfman always slept on his back, with his throat expose Athaba did not want a struggle, for the sake of his companion. The deed had to be done swiftly. If Koonama resisted then Athaba might have to tear at a protective limb and cause more pain than was needed.

  However, before this could come to pass, something happened, something put itself in their path, which Athaba regarded as a sign.

  They came across a road.

  As soon as he saw it, the man fell on his knees and began sobbing. He rolled in the gravel, as if it were mud, and cast it into the air so that it fell like hail around him. Athaba was mystified by this behaviour. What good was a roadway to them? Yes, it was easier going than the tundra, but you could not follow such communications because men used them all the time, for their vehicles, their machines.

  Nevertheless, Koonama began walking along it and kept turning and gesturing for Athaba to follow.

  The wolf decided to stay with the wolfman for a while, but as soon as something came along that road he knew he would be off across country.

  Nothing did come that evening. They walked well into the lateness, until after darkness fell, and the road stayed long and empty, shooting away into the distance. They made good time though. When Koonama eventually decided he would obey Athaba’s instructions to stop, they settled down by the side of this flat strip of man’s work. They had reached a junction now, where the gravel road met an asphalt surface that crossed it.

  Athaba lay awake, under the stars, waiting for the sound of the change in Koonama’s breathing which would tell him his subordinate was fast asleep. Out in the night, there were whisperings, as creatures crossed the man-made barrier on their way from one landscape to the next. There were the swishings of wings as nightbirds flew overhead. When the time came, Athaba rose and padded softly to Koonama’s side. Sure enough the wolfman was on his back, his thin throat exposed to the elements, as if offering it to carnivores in a gesture of trust.

  Athaba studied the white flesh under the starlight. One swift movement and the jugular could be torn open. Koonama would bleed to death in a very short time. It would be a kindness. It would be a merciful death …

  Yet he could not bring himself to do it. Something, some weakness held him back. He stood there, over his charge, ashamed of himself. Had Koonama been one of his pups, he would have had to do it or suffer terrible remorse. Yet he was prepared to abandon this creature who had been with him longer than his pups. He owed Koonama a swift death, but something stronger than this debt was keeping him from fulfilling his duty.

  The failure heavy on his mind, he padded back to his resting place, to stare at the sleeping form of the wolfman.

  Just before dawn there were lights in the distance.

  Athaba heard the sound of the engine before his subordinate and tried to force Koonama into shelter of some rocks. The disobedient wolfman refused to acknowledge the order. Instead, he stood in the middle of the road, a strange expression on his features as the vehicle got closer.

  Athaba turned and began trotting back out on to the tundra. Koonama called to him, but there was no way he was going to stay and fight with Koonama against hunters. When man came, the best thing to do was run.

  He was aware of the truck slowing down at first, as it approached the ragged wolfman. Then the wolf heard the engine race again. There was a clanking and grunting from the beast-machine as it speeded up, and Athaba turned to see Koonama leap out of its way in order to save his own life. The humans wanted nothing to do with this strange thing that had crawled out of the swamps of the tundra.

  There were obviously second thoughts. It slowed to a stop, some twenty lengths beyond the wolfman. Koonama ran towards it. Someone leaned out of the vehicle, then finally jumped down.

  Koonama pointed towards Athaba.

  The man who had caught him followed the finger and shook his head, urging his captive wolfman into the vehicle. Koonama was going to be taken away and put in a prison-cage, probably like the one he had kept Athaba in. Athaba was certain that the humans would not take back into their fold a man who had become wild, who had forsaken them for the wolves, who was a traitor to his kin and kind. If ever a wolf turned domestic dog, other wolves would kill it as soon as it tried to return to the wild again. Surely the human race had no use for a creature that was neither human nor wolf, but part of both? Surely it could never again trust a man with a wolf’s name, whose loyalties were towards its headwolf and its pack? Koonama, in order to survive, had sold his soul to the wilderness. Athaba was convinced that the wolfman could never rest again, but he would hear the call of the wind over the t
undra, the soughing of the breezes through dwarf willows. He would wake in the middle of night, hearing the fish breaking the surface of the water and the myriad bird life out on the lakes, in the reeds along the shores. His lips would crave the meltwater from glacial streams, his tongue the taste of freshly caught hare. His human spirit had been eroded by the landscape and replaced with something else, something not human.

  Athaba left that place, heading away from the road and out into the wilderness again. He wanted to be far away when his wolfman was thrust into a prison. Koonama, he knew, was terrified of confined spaces and would go completely mad. And it was Athaba’s fault he was there. It he had done his duty, Koonama would never have had to suffer such indignities. Athaba was mortified at his own lack of resolve. Such lack of moral fibre was more fit for a dog than a wolf.

  Athaba now travelled alone and his thoughts were ever for Ulaala and their pups. While he had responsibility for Koonama, he had something else to think about, something to occupy his mind as the long walk dragged on and on. Now he had nothing to distract him, the frustration of time and distance ate away at his spirit. He had to acknowledge to himself that Koonama had helped him, simply by being there.

  A day after he had left his subordinate to a terrible fate, Athaba found himself facing a distant range of mountains. These had to be crossed and since he had no knowledge of where the passes lay, he knew that more time would have to be expended in seeking a path through these rock giants.

  At noon the sky turned, first purple, then black, and it was obvious a storm was coming. The sky began to fracture with fork lightning and thunder opened holes overhead. Athaba sought shelter just as the first large drops began splattering the ground around him. Another delay. It seemed that apart from men, nature and the weather were also against him, determined to keep him from his pack.

  He sat under a rock hang, the dreary landscape before him. The mountains were hidden in the rainstorm now which lashed the countryside with its wet flails.