Irina and the White Wolf

by Leah Swann

  ‘Enough!’ cried Andor, his face flushing with anger. He lifted his sword over his shoulder and, with a mighty swerve of his right arm, swung it down in a horizontal cut.

  The Captain leapt backwards to parry the strike, astounded at the Prince’s new force.

  ‘How dare you betray my father!’ Andor roared, his voice waking servants and courtiers. ‘ You are his captain! Where’s your loyalty?’ He lunged at Kadar.

  Captain Kadar backed hurriedly out of the stables. This was not the boy-prince he had fought only weeks ago. What had happened? How had he grown so strong so quickly?

  The fight began in earnest in the torch-lit courtyard beyond the stables. The first streaks of dawn made the ground silvery. People hurried towards them to see what the commotion was about. Chesca edged out of the stables and leaned against the wall to watch, her heart thumping. She gazed at the Prince. How handsome he was! His face seemed so noble and young. If Kadar kills him, I will be responsible, she thought, and again felt that strange throb of sadness and regret. Why did she even care? She didn’t know Prince Andor.

  An old washerwoman waddled up beside her, adjusting her bonnet. ‘I do love a swordfight,’ she said to Chesca, nodding. ‘Not often you get them first thing in the morning.’

  ‘It’s not for your amusement,’ Chesca snapped.

  ‘No, quite right. Terrible thing,’ said the washerwoman. ‘What’s it all about, then?’

  This was Chesca’s chance to say that Andor had unfairly attacked the loyal Captain Kadar. She could tell the washerwoman the Prince was jealous of Kadar’s skills, and watch the rumour spread through the growing crowd. It was easy to tell lies and make them sound true. She’d had lots of practice.

  But she didn’t want to lie. ‘Captain Kadar is under the command the Great Sorcerer of the Narrowlands. He plans to overthrow the King.’

  ‘So the Captain is a traitor!’ gasped the washerwoman.

  ‘Yes, Captain Kadar is a traitor,’ said Chesca and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, amazed to find herself speaking against Vilmos and Iniko.

  ‘The Captain is a traitor with demons in his ear,’ said the washerwoman to the soldier standing next to her.

  And so it was that the true story – and not the false one Chesca had promised Kadar she would tell – spread like wildfire among the people of Pavel.

  As the sun rose, the crowd swelled; many called out words of encouragement to the Prince. But as the fight continued, one by one they fell silent. The two men were evenly matched in skill and swiftness and both were intent on defeating the other; just as one was about make a decisive blow the other leapt out of the sword’s path and answered with another strike.

  Although Andor was strong and skilled, Captain Kadar was the more experienced fighter. He kept up a stream of taunts that only the Prince could hear. ‘You lack the courage to win the fight. You’re too weak, too gentle, you will never win against me, the great Captain Kadar . . . You know this. You’ve always known it. I can see it in your eyes!’

  Hinuna and Irina crouched on the floor of the narrow mountain pass. The stench of onions and manure had gone, but the thin whistling had started again.

  ‘That one closest to us, he’s calling friends,’ said Hinuna. ‘To practise fighting. They fight all afternoon till midnight, till one of them ends up dead.’

  Irina could just make out a large bear-like shape by the rocks. She squinted. Whatever it was, it was big. Three times her own height, at least. Broad. It appeared to be standing on two feet.

  ‘I hate to think of Durrell out there,’ she whispered.

  ‘He should be all right. He’s faster than them.’

  ‘Than what?’

  ‘The Yeti,’ whispered Hinuna. ‘The Snowmen.’

  ‘But there’s no snow here.’

  ‘There used to be, high in the mountains. That’s where they are, usually. They hate us Skylings.’

  ‘Because you’ve destroyed the snow?’

  ‘Yes, exactly. I can see why you’ll be Queen Irina one day.’

  The wolf-girl clicked her tongue. ‘An easy guess, Hinuna. They’re creatures of the snow – and your people get rid of the snow. Why didn’t you tell me about them before?’

  ‘I don’t like to talk about them,’ said Hinuna. ‘It makes them more real.’

  ‘What will they do to us?’

  ‘Well, they’d kill me. They would know I’m a Skyling. I don’t know what they’d do to you and your wolf.’

  ‘Do they talk?’

  ‘I’ve heard they can understand what you say to them. We’ll be fine in the morning. They’re at their most dangerous in the afternoon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The Yeti are children in the morning, grow up by noon, and are old in the evening. In the afternoon and early evening they are at their most warlike and murderous. In the morning, they’re quite playful. So I’ve been told. I’ve never met one, but I’ve heard stories, believe me.’

  It was a long, uncomfortable night. They lay down in the corridor of rock, and listened to the Yeti whistling and stamping and groaning and wrestling outside.

  In the distance, Irina heard Durrell howl. It wasn’t a howl of pain or fear, but a call that said, I’m out here and I’m all right. Irina gave a relieved sigh. Keep safe, dear one, she thought. Keep well away from these strange creatures.

  ‘This night seems to be lasting forever,’ said Irina, waking up after a restless sleep where she dreamed she was chasing the white wolf through narrow pathways, running till her legs crumpled in exhaustion.

  ‘Yes. I think Hinun might have made it longer to give us more rest time.’

  ‘How annoying.’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Hinuna. ‘It is annoying when he acts on one of his own ideas.’

  Finally, morning came. The onion smell had gone, along with the whistles and groans of fighting creatures. Irina got up and went outside. She scanned the Valley and saw Durrell loping down the side of the cliff. There was no sign of the Yeti. She stretched, aching from sleeping on stony sand. Glancing down, she gasped at the size of the huge, human-like footprints on the ground.

  Durrell sped up and barrelled into her, knocking her over with affection.

  ‘Careful, you big oaf,’ Irina said, throwing her arms around his neck. ‘Or I’ll set the Yeti onto you!’

  They made their way to a cave where Hinuna built a fire and cooked pancakes. She mixed a Skyling brew of water and nectar, perfumed with mint.

  ‘I must find the white wolf,’ said Irina, after breakfast. ‘Stay and guard Hinuna, Durrell.’

  ‘Remember, we’ve only got till noon,’ Hinuna called.

  ‘When is noon, in this strange land?’

  ‘Whenever Hinun and the Skylings decide. Who knows without me to guide them? Here, take this.’ Hinuna hung a walnut on a chain around the wolf-girl’s neck. ‘It’s a charm. All these years I have worn it, but I want you to have it. I’ve heard stories about Irina the Wolf Queen. Yes – don’t look so surprised. Your fame has reached even here. I thought nothing of the rumours, but now I’ve met you, I believe you can save us from our curse.’

  ‘Why didn’t you use this charm last night?’

  ‘You can only use it at certain times. It decides.’

  ‘What do you mean – the charm itself decides when it will work?’

  ‘That’s right. It grows so hot you can’t stand to have it next to your skin.’

  Outside, Irina was struck by the rose-coloured rocks. Some were like mushrooms, while others were tall, thin needles. Irina heard distant whistling, and her heart beat faster.

  ‘Today I find you, Gunda,’ she said, remembering Baruch’s name for the white wolf. Somewhere in this valley was the wise-man’s cave, with the pumpkin vine growing around it. She wished he was here to guide her. There were no human voices, no smoke from fires, no sound but that eerie whistling, and the whisper of Amicus’s wings overhead. No wonder no-one lives here, she thought. Who would put up with the unre
liable weather, and those terrifying Yeti?

  The walnut was cool and woody against her skin as she walked. She squinted in the sunlight. Cupping her brow with her hand, she glimpsed a white shape leaping in the distance.

  ‘Gunda!’ she shouted in excitement, breaking into a run. ‘Gunda!’

  She ran as swiftly as her feet would carry her. The wolf bounded behind some rocks and disappeared.

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Come back!’ Irina stopped and waited. She walked slowly in the direction that she’d seen the animal, scanning the cliffs that enclosed the valley. Eventually, she saw another white flash and broke into a run. But again the wolf disappeared.

  ‘This won’t work,’ she said aloud. ‘Gunda will have to come to me.’

  Irina sat down. She realised she had been so focused on getting to the valley that she hadn’t thought about how to approach the white wolf. She needed to be calm and present. With the discipline Raizel had taught her, one by one, she recalled the events that had brought her to the Valley of Carmine Rock. ‘And now I am here, waiting for you, Gunda.’ She pictured the white wolf, her shape, her fur, her sharp teeth and piercing eyes. With all the force she could muster, she sent a wish into the dusty, pink valley: Come to me, white wolf.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Last Words

  The stench from the Lair of the Venerated Dragon was so foul that Iniko winced with disgust. The Great Sorcerer knew his own power and feared little. Right now, however, his gut was squirming with nerves. He took another step towards the lair. Skulls crunched under his boots. Nothing grew, except for a few gnarled, leafless trees. Stagnant puddles crawled with insects, and everything reeked of rotting flesh. Iniko flared his nostrils, and almost gagged.

  From within the darkness of the lair came a harsh noise that seemed to be more than one voice, yet the voices spoke in unison. ‘We are hungry.’

  ‘When the war comes there will be plenty,’ said Iniko. He’d never actually seen the Venerated Dragon. No-one living had seen the mouthpiece of Knartesc.

  ‘When the war comes,’ the voices mocked. ‘As if it was something that simply falls on us, like the rain. Make war! Take Harmon’s kingdom! Bring me his pretty daughters to eat!’

  The Dragon was old. His followers thought he was immortal, but he was not; without the life-giving blood of Ragnorians he would die and find himself in the hideous realm of Knartesc.

  ‘You were fed only yesterday!’ Iniko said.

  ‘We are tired of goats. We are too hot and too cold. We are in agony. Until we drink the blood of the truth-lovers we won’t find peace in our body.’

  ‘We have a plot to lure Harmon away from Ragnor Castle and leave it undefended.’

  ‘All you are doing is giving him time to prepare his army. Harmon’s no fool.’

  ‘We’ve distracted him by enchanting Queen Chloe – she has always been a source of strength for him and now she is turning towards us. Our army is not yet ready . . .’

  ‘Knartesc is angry, we know it in our belly,’ came the snarling voices. ‘You failed to stop Irina and now she is close to the white wolf. If they find the Book of the Junsong before us, Knartesc cannot rule all of Ragnor. Call the evil bears of the ice forests. Call the ogres. You will need them all.’

  ‘We will have Pavel’s army, under Captain Kadar’s command,’ said Iniko.

  A foul slurping and hacking noise came from inside the lair, followed by several sizzling balls of dragon spit. These steaming gobs hurtled out of the cave and landed by Iniko’s boots, scalding the ground.

  ‘You know nothing!’ roared the voices. ‘If you cannot use the powers we have given you then we will put Vilmos in command. Bring me the truth-lovers, or you die.’

  Kadar was getting desperate. Andor seemed to be everywhere. His sword was relentless. I have one trick left in me, thought the Captain. He was so exhausted, everything seemed tinged with a red haze. Sweat ran from his brow into his eyes, and blood dripped from his side where Andor had nicked him. Andor had a cut on his cheek but no other wounds. Kadar fought grimly, his eyes glazed. I will pretend to fall to the left, then I will come at him from the right, he thought.

  Andor watched him stumble to the left, but he was not fooled. He guessed it was a feint. He knew Kadar’s every move from hundreds of fights in the Throne Room. With a single, terrible thrust to the right, Andor’s sword struck Kadar. The Captain sank to his knees, a look of surprise on his face. His skin turned a ghastly white, and he collapsed.

  As he lay on the ground, he whispered, ‘You are . . . your father’s son.’

  The crowd cheered. Andor wiped his sword and gazed down at the Captain, his hands shaking. Two servants came forward and rolled Kadar’s body onto a stretcher and carried it away. The washerwoman hurried up to the Prince with a bucket of water. Gratefully, Andor washed his hands and dried them on the washerwoman’s towel. He felt sick.

  Behind the washerwoman he saw a stranger, a girl with yellow hair and guilty eyes, and guessed she had something to do with what had just happened. But he didn’t have time to confront her; he must go at once to his father, to see whether Kadar’s taunts were true. He turned and strode towards the Castle. The muscles in his legs were trembling. It was as though a great fierceness had passed through him like a wind.

  Lying upon the vast four-poster bed by the window in his bedchamber, King Niklas was clearly ill. The room was dim, lit by single candle and cloudy morning light. A doctor sat in the corner, sorting medicines with a manservant. A bearded wise-man was at his father’s bedside. King Niklas raised his head weakly from the pillow, his arm outstretched.

  ‘Come here, my boy,’ he said. He gestured at the old man. ‘Meet Baruch. A trusted counsellor of your grandfather’s, come to us in our hour of need.’

  Andor felt terrible. I should never have left him, he thought. And now I have to bear the news of Kadar’s treachery. He bowed to acknowledge the wise-man, then knelt at his father’s bedside. Niklas laid a heavy hand on his head.

  ‘I’m sorry to tell you that Captain Kadar is dead,’ the young Prince said.

  ‘I know,’ said Niklas. ‘They raised me up on pillows so that I could see out of the window. You did well, my son. Your skill – and your courage – took my breath away.’

  Andor raised his head. He was shocked at the change in his father’s appearance. The King’s mouth had sunk into his bony face, and his skin was as thin and translucent as a butterfly’s wing, revealing thick veins underneath. The old wolf-bite on his neck was oozing under the bandage and bright red lines ran from up it onto his cheek and down onto his chest.

  ‘You have a name for your sword now. You have learned from Sef that the way of peace is to defend truth, honourably, without fear. It is not aggressive.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Name your sword Jungrad. Grad means “guard” in old Ragnorian. Your sword is the truth guard.’

  Andor nodded. ‘Thank you. But there’s more bad news, Father. War with the Narrowlands.’ Andor looked into his father’s eyes, which glowed with the pure wisdom of someone close to death.

  ‘I know you will handle it with great wisdom,’ said King Niklas. ‘It’s no longer my work, but yours. Today I return to the realm of the Shining One, where your mother is waiting. I’m not afraid. I leave Pavel in good hands.’

  At this, Andor’s eyes filled with tears.

  Niklas turned to Baruch. ‘Do not delay the Coronation. In times such as these –’ the King began to cough violently. ‘In times such as these, we cannot wait. My son must be vested with the authority of the Kingship as soon as possible.’

  ‘It is the wisest course,’ agreed Baruch.

  Andor shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to see Sef,’ he said. ‘I wasted time I could have spent with you.’

  ‘No, son, have no regrets. By listening to your inner voice you’ve already protected Pavel from Kadar’s treachery. I wouldn’t change what you have done.’

  ‘But I’m not ready for . . .’
Andor paused. ‘I want more time with you, Father.’

  ‘Don’t think of what we cannot have; be grateful for that we have had. And remember: I will always be with you. Once there’s a bond of love between two people, it endures forever.’

  Irina opened her eyes, hoping to see the white wolf sitting at her feet. She had used every last shred of will trying to summon her. But there was nothing other than rocks and dust and gravel. A tear escaped her eye. She blinked it away. ‘Pathetic! I can do better than that.’ The teardrop fell nonetheless, forming a bead of mud on the red dirt. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all. I’ll keep trying.’ Kneeling in the dust, she scooped up the little ball of mud and rubbed it onto the back of her hand, making the shape of a sword.

  She waited a minute. Then closed her eyes.

  She heard something move behind her and turned, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

  There she was: the white wolf.

  Irina’s jaw gaped. Directly in front of her, Gunda paced back and forth on the red dirt. Smaller than Durrell, her presence radiated a fiery power; Irina could feel her heat, her movement, her fear and curiosity. The wolf’s muscles rippled under her snowy coat, while her eyes were as clear as the Crystal Sea.

  Irina returned the wolf’s gaze, forgetting to show submission in her excitement. ‘Baruch told me about you, Gunda,’ she said in a low rumble, putting a friendly growl in her voice. ‘I’ve travelled a long way to meet you.’

  The white wolf stood stiff-legged, her hackles bristling, her ears erect and forward, her tail upright and curling towards her back. She reared onto her hind legs and then back down, fixing Irina with her stare, her tail vertical.

  This wolf doesn’t know me, Irina thought. Her hand was still on the hilt of her sword. She was so familiar with the wolves of Ragnor, she’d forgotten she had to earn Gunda’s trust. Especially a lone wolf like this one. A wolf that has hunted alone, without a pack, all her life and has fought Yetis to survive . . .