Midnight's Sun: A Story of Wolves

by Garry Kilworth

  ‘Ah, but in the first fight,’ called Skassi, ‘I had the weight advantage. You were only a yearling then.’

  ‘And in the second, I had nothing to lose, and you had everything. Yet you walked away with your dignity.’

  ‘We were always too dignified for our own good.’

  ‘And look at us now. Two moth-eaten old pelts held together by nothing but deeds past.’

  Skassi shook his head, sagely.

  ‘There are glories yet to come, brother, of which you can be part if you so wish. I would like my kin by my side. Not of the same womb, but of the same muscle and sinew …’

  They were now face to face.

  ‘Come and talk,’ said Skassi, after a moment.

  ‘We haven’t got much time,’ said Athaba. ‘The hunters are working their way up the mountain. There are too many of them this time. We’ll be cut down.’

  ‘Perhaps, but there’s still time to talk. Come up to the summit. We can watch their progress from there, and talk at the same time. You’re looking fit!.’

  ‘I’m looking terrible,’ remarked Athaba, ‘and you know it. You look terrible too.’

  ‘Then we’ll terrorise them with our joint appearance,’ said Skassi. ‘Come. Tell me about your travels. Your mate thought you were dead, you know. I said you weren’t. I told her, they have to be giants to kill wolves like Athaba, and there have been no giants on the earth since Groff turned to mist …’

  The pair of them walked through the fragrant-smelling pines to the peak of the mountain, where the winds wheeled and the air was clear. They passed no sprinkling of alpine flowers or scattering of dead cones without a sniff or a glance, and were for all the world like two wolves out for a daily stroll, with nothing more serious on their minds than the brightness of the sun and the aroma of the morning.

  Athaba recounted his adventures to his old enemy, watching Skassi’s expression changing as each new event was unfolded. On the summit they lay and talked, about Skassi’s trials, about Athaba’s tribulations, and about old times with the pack when they were both still young and in tune with their bones, with their muscles.

  Skassi said, ‘But this Koonama? I find it difficult to believe that a wolf can tame a man.’

  ‘Not so much a wolf taming a man, but the man having to adapt to brutal forces of nature. If he had not changed, he would have died, and I think he knew that. But you? You really are a killer of men? If wolves do not train men, they don’t kill them either.’

  ‘Plenty of wolves have killed men.’

  ‘But not sought them out, hunted them down. This is a very unwolflike thing to do, Skassi. You should give it up. You’re leading all these other wolves into forbidden areas, on foolishly dangerous enterprises. Don’t you see that? Can’t you see how wrong it is to condemn these creatures to death?’

  ‘They know what they’re doing.’

  ‘Only partly,’ said Athaba. ‘It’s you they’re doing it for, not themselves. They’re not dedicated to your cause – they’re dedicated to you, Skassi. You’ve got them mesmerised.’

  Skassi, who had been getting irritated by Athaba’s questioning, seemed to be pleased by this remark.

  ‘Yes, it’s true that I have a certain persuasive power over them, but the cause is good and right. I don’t feel guilty about using any power I have to further that cause. Have you forgotten what men did to our pack? Our brothers and sisters, our kin? You and I are cousins, Athaba. Surely the same fury runs through your veins as does mine? I was hoping you would join me. Share the responsibility for heading this pack.’

  Athaba wondered whether his son had yet managed to lead Grisenska, Mook, Wassal and Riffel out of the camp. He hoped they were well on their way to the small camouflaged hole, halfway down the mountain. Perhaps Ulaala was with them?

  ‘I’m very honoured, Skassi. I mean that. Under any other circumstances, finding you alive and wanting me to join you – why, I would have been ecstatic. But I find this situation, I don’t know, unnatural I suppose. Yes I felt the same terrible fury. When I saw our pack slaughtered I was blind with hate and hopelessness, even though I had not been part of the group for many seasons. I can’t even imagine how you felt. It must have knocked your world off kilter. But this is not the answer to such feelings. Wolves do not organise wolves to hunt down men. It’s not in our nature.’

  Skassi’s eyes narrowed and flicked to his two shoulderwolves who lay not far off.

  ‘If you think it’s unnatural, you must believe me to be insane. I once accused you of mysticism. I wasn’t wrong then, but you seem to have changed a lot – sloughed your aura of magic like a snakeskin – so much so that now you appear to be accusing me of a similar vice. A mad wolf is a mystical wolf. There’s no getting round that fact. Are you accusing me of being mad?’

  ‘Accuse is the wrong word …’ as Athaba was speaking there was a commotion amongst the pack below the trees. He pretended he had not heard this, since Skassi seemed to be taking little notice of it either. One of the shoulderwolves got up and wandered a few paces down the track to the den, but stopped there and merely listened for a while. Athaba continued ‘… I believe you are mistaken in your actions, that’s all. This is not for the good of the pack, Skassi, this is for your own vengeance. It will feed no wolves, nor will it keep the pack safe. Quite the opposite in fact.’

  Skassi shook his big-boned head.

  ‘You disappoint me, brother.’

  ‘I’m sorry …’

  At that moment a wolf came hurtling through the trees.

  ‘Skassi! Skassi! Hunters, below.’

  The creature came skidding to a halt in front of them. Skassi motioned to his shoulderwolves that it was all right, and then turned his attention on the agitated intruder.

  ‘Slowly,’ he said. ‘Now, what’s this? Hunters?’

  ‘Humans – guns – dozens – coming up – the slopes.’

  Skassi was on his feet now.

  ‘Up the hill?’ he turned his savage expression on Athaba.

  ‘You? You led them here?’

  Athaba said, ‘No, of course not. Why should I do that, and trap myself as well?’

  ‘But you must have known they were coming.’

  ‘I knew they were there, that’s all. Yanthra and I were caught inside the ring before we even began climbing up here. We were surrounded. There’s nothing I could have done. They were all round the hill. There’s no way through them.’

  ‘You could have warned me.’

  ‘I could have, but I didn’t. Now you know, without having to rely on information from me.’

  There was still menace in the expression.

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  Athaba remained silent, but the messenger from the pack answered for him. He seemed strangely reticent and shame-faced as he delivered the following statement.

  ‘The she-wolf, Ulaala, and her pups. They’ve disappeared. Nidra went after them, but hasn’t returned.’

  ‘This too? Why wasn’t I told?’ growled Skassi. He shook his head violently, as if he had warble flies in his ears. ‘What’s happening here? Communication seems to have broken down.’

  ‘We – we didn’t want to disturb you,’ said the wolf. ‘We thought we could handle things without bothering you.’

  Athaba said, ‘You’re paying the price of distancing yourself from your pack now, Skassi. They were frightened of disturbing you. They would rather face your wrath later than sooner. You can’t sit up here in the clouds and still have the same sort of control as a headwolf who sleeps amongst the pack. You’ve let it slip away from you.’

  ‘I don’t need lessons from you,’ said Skassi.

  The messenger was looking from one to the other of them. There was the sound of a rifle crack from lower down the slopes. Probably a trigger-happy hunter shooting at a hare breaking. The messenger said to his leader.

  ‘We have to do something – organise – quickly,’ he said.

  Skassi motioned at Athaba.

&
nbsp; ‘Kill this one,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ cried the younger wolf. He stared at his leader in disbelief. ‘This is the legendary Athaba. There’s no time …’ he looked behind him. ‘The hunters … we have to …’

  At that moment one of the shoulderwolves started forward, towards Athaba, his guard hairs bristling. He ran in a straight line and Athaba crouched to receive this onslaught. None of the other wolves moved. The second shoulderwolf merely watched her mate, as if she felt he could deal with this affair without her help. Athaba stared intently as the big male came flying through the mottled shadows. The shoulderwolf’s lips were curled back, revealing his teeth, and there was a redness in his eyes that spoke of a brain which breathed the mist of death. There was nothing that would stop him now, not even a command from his headwolf. His mind had locked into the action of attack and his movements were almost mechanical in nature, though fluid in motion.

  When he was about three lengths from Athaba, he suddenly spun over sideways, several times. There followed the sound of a shot immediately afterwards. Surprise, shock and agony appeared on the victim’s face and remained in his expression as he climbed slowly to his feet. He looked at Athaba, accusingly, as if Athaba had been responsible for inflicting the wound. Then a second shot took him in the shoulder and once more he twisted, sinking on to his belly where he stood.

  ‘They’re here …’ cried the messenger, unnecessarily. Then he too kicked up his back legs as he received a blast from a shotgun. Athaba slipped into the trees with Skassi close behind him. The pair of them dropped down low, into some undergrowth, and waited. Athaba’s heart was beating fast. Skassi growled in a low voice, ‘This is your doing.’

  ‘No, it was your presence that brought them here. Now be quiet. You’re a fool, Skassi.’

  ‘We’ll settle this later.’

  ‘Quiet …’

  They could hear the sounds of shots all round them now, and men were barking at each other. A wolf ran crashing through the bracken, seemingly blind, and into a row of saplings. A withering fire snicked through the young trees, cutting many of them to stumps, sending chips of wood and stone zinging through the air. Several more barks followed and a man thumped by in big boots, his feet missing Athaba’s nose by fractions.

  When he had gone, Athaba began sneaking down the hillside, heading towards the small cave within which he hoped was his family. Skassi came after him, keeping close to the ground.

  Obviously his old pack brother was not so mad he wished to be executed along with all the other rogues that were lying around the slopes, pumping out their wolfblood on the pine needles.

  Several times the pair of them had to stop and hide in thick brambles and ground cover, using the shadows to keep them from the poor eyes and even poorer noses of the human hunters. Noise was their biggest problem, but they were wolves enough to be able to use the mosses as padding whenever they could, and to avoid any dead branches. They slipped between old logs and under the arches of fallen branches, using their noses to guide them through the hunters.

  The men themselves seemed to have broken the ring they used to surround the hill and were now in groups, crunching through the forests, turning this way and that, and probably more cautious now since there was a chance of being shot in error by one of their own kind. They kept calling from group to group, no doubt to ensure this kind of mistake did not happen, at the same time watching the shadows carefully for movements.

  From time to time, shots were heard, echoing through the spruces. Each time this happened Athaba’s heart jumped, thinking, ‘That might be my young ones!’ but hoping that his pack had made it to the cave under the guidance of his mate Ulaala.

  When the pair of them were over halfway to the hole, they came across the carcass of a wolf. It was Nidra. She had not been shot. Her throat was torn open.

  ‘Ulaala!’ said Athaba.

  Skassi muttered, ‘That’s not Ulaala … oh, I see. You think she killed Nidra?’

  ‘She may be hurt. That’s what I’m thinking.’

  ‘She’s dead, for certain. The hunters will have got her. She can’t have got through.’

  Athaba said, ‘She doesn’t need to get through. There’s a hidden cave halfway down the slope. My son Yanthra has led them to the entrance and with any luck they’re holed up there now.’

  ‘I see …’ said Skassi.

  They continued through the ferns and bracken, slipping quietly along, staying under the canopy of the lower greenery. Finally, there was just a sunlit glade in between them and the rock overhang which hid the cave. Athaba stopped on the edge of the clearing. Crossing it was clearly going to be the most dangerous part of the journey. There was absolutely no cover and the sunbeams would pick out and spotlight any creature going from one side to the other. He collected his thoughts, wondering whether to make a dash for it, or go cautiously, stealthily.

  It seemed like the whole journey, all the journeys of his life, had led him to this moment. There was something about the shadows on the far side of the glade that troubled him. Something about dark within dark. He could smell no human, but then there was no wind. All was still and not a leaf fluttered or blade quivered. Was there a hunter there? Like all wolves, his sight was not his best sense. He waited and watched, for a movement. Listened for a sound. The shapes of the shadows remained still as death, silent as death. Surely a human could not remain motionless for so long? They were restless creatures, that relied upon poor use of senses. He was aware of Skassi, just behind him, knowing that his old pack member was patiently waiting for his move, not urging him at all, but content to remain Where he was for seasons out of time if necessary. This was the old way of the hunt, with the leader showing infinite care and patience, choosing the time to move, exactly, to the moment, the right moment, whether that pulse was the last beat in the history of time, or not.

  With his nerves taut, Athaba slipped out of the undergrowth and into the arena of light. He stood there for a moment, and then began to cross the centre of the glade. Skassi was close behind him. When they were three-quarters of the way across, Athaba caught the movement in the corner of his eye.

  Incredibly, a hunter stood on the verge of the clearing, looking down the sights of his gun. How could that be?

  There was no way Athaba could avoid being shot. He could not cover the distance between the spot he was on and the safety of the trees without presenting his full profile silhouette to the hunter. The man would have to be blind to miss him. Already the trigger finger was squeezing. Athaba knew he was about to die.

  He waited a long moment before he saw a slight movement in the otherwise rigid face of the hunter, a relaxation. The barrel of the gun seemed to lower slightly. The man’s eyes opened wider.

  A breeze sprang up and the scent of the hunter came to Athaba: a smell he recognised instantly.

  The man had been silent as a wolf, as quick as a wolf.

  The reason was that the hunter was a wolf.

  Koonama!

  In that moment Athaba saw that he had been recognized, too, for the gun barrel was lowered even more, and a face frowned at him. Then the stance relaxed, the muzzle dropped. They stood, staring into each other’s eyes, knowing who they were, amazed to find each other in this place of death.

  Suddenly, there was a blur alongside Athaba.

  ‘Run, Athaba. I’ll get him!’

  Skassi, racing by him, on the attack. Skassi, never short on courage. Athaba knows the thoughts, the instincts. My brother wolf has frozen. I must make the kill. Personal enmity aside, two wolves against the common foe. ‘Skassi …!’ The warning stuck in the throat. He has no words to call a halt. What words? What words? Time is needed. Long explanations. He tries.

  ‘NO!’ he shouts. ‘Stop!’

  ‘Don’t worry …’

  Skassi, halfway to the hunter, the gun comes up again, quickly. The big wolf, his own advice ignored, flies at the human’s throat. Lean, hard, wolf body. Tight, narrow. Sunlight ripples along muscled fla
nks. Fangs bared, gums retracted.

  Koonama remained, steady and cool, unflinching.

  The muzzle of the shotgun flashed thunder into the hollow glade.

  Skassi twisted sideways.

  The rogue wolf crashed to the ground, thrashed a while, then lay still. Koonama pumped another shell into to the breech, sweating and breathing heavily. He stared at Athaba with a different expression on his face now. Having just faced death, the strain showed in every tense movement. A few moments ago, he and Athaba had been old travelling companions, caught in a conflict not of their making. Now they were again just man and wolf. Skassi’s attack had shattered any fragile relationship that protected them from each other. Trust had evaporated. Now there was only the gun and the jaws, lead shot and fangs.

  Athaba streaked to the edge of the glade as the weapon came up again. The muzzle followed him until he hit the greenery, but the weapon either failed to fire or the man remained Koonama for just a short while longer.

  Then the wolf was on his way down towards the hanging rock, not pausing for a moment longer. He wriggled through the undergrowth on the far side and wormed down through the cracks in the rocks, to the entrance of the cave: a narrow slit facing another boulder. He squeezed into the slit, having to twist his body into much the same shape that Skassi’s carcass was in at that moment. Once inside, in the darkness of the cavern, he called out softly.

  ‘Ulaala? Yanthra? Are you here?’

  His heart was beating so loudly he feared that the cave would act as a device to send its echo outside, to the hunters that still moved over the slopes. He could feel its pounding in his chest and the throb of blood in the pulses behind his ears.

  ‘Ulaala …?’

  Chapter Thirty One

  In the coolness of the cave, far from the sounds of the guns and dying wolves, Athaba found his family. Ulaala was there with the five yearlings, all sitting quietly and waiting patiently for their father to join them. They remained in the cave for two days, until they were absolutely sure there were no hunters outside.