Irina and the White Wolf

by Leah Swann

  Irina leapt from the boat and began running as fast as she could up the beach with Amicus flying above her. Meanwhile, the wolves leapt over the other side of the boat and ran in the opposite direction as she’d told them to, a blur of white and silver fur.

  Vilmos hurried after Irina, but the wolf-girl easily outpaced him as she tore up the beach, hair flying.

  ‘You don’t have a hope!’ Vilmos shouted. ‘Look around!’

  The rocky shore was suddenly full of soldiers wearing the blue-feathered helmets of Matoskah’s army. They emerged from behind boulders and trees, bows raised and aimed at her. Irina saw a gap and ran hard towards it, dodging arrows and jumping over rocks. Twice she fell, which slowed her down, and finally she was tackled to the ground by Vilmos.

  ‘You won’t escape me this time,’ he sneered, his fingers squeezing her arms as he hauled her to her feet. ‘Nor will your beloved pets.’

  Irina cast an agonised glance in the direction of her wolves. Durrell and Gunda had heard Irina’s warning. As they fled up the beach they had run straight into a group of soldiers, but they made short work of them with their bared teeth and claws, and kept running. Gunda was like a white streak, determined to get away from these stinking humans. She smelled their aggression. Durrell followed close behind, glancing back at Irina. Go to King Harmon, she had growled at him. He knew he must carry out her wish, but he found it almost unbearable to be parted from her. Irina sensed this and silently urged him onwards. Go, Durrell, go! I will join you in time, dear wolf-brother!

  Vilmos, seeing that the wolves were getting away, grabbed a bow and arrow from a soldier, took aim and shot, once, then twice. The arrows sailed through the air and landed in the sand. ‘Go after them!’ he shouted at the soldiers, and three men on horseback rode off. Vilmos saw that Irina was smiling. ‘They won’t escape,’ he snarled.

  ‘I think they will.’

  ‘I am taking you to the Lair of the Venerated Dragon.’

  ‘So you say,’ Irina said, pride hiding the fear that Vilmos longed to see.

  ‘No-one survives his lair,’ he said, poking her in the ribs.

  ‘So I have heard.’

  Vilmos looked at the wolf-girl with pure hatred. Her calm infuriated him. He gave her a bullying scowl. Taking another arrow from his quiver, he placed it in his bow, leaned back and aimed at the sky.

  Why is he doing that? Irina thought.

  Then, in horror, she understood. The arrow soared towards Amicus and caught him in his side. The sylvan plummeted to the sand.

  Irina saw blood on his feathers and screamed. ‘No!’ She lurched towards the sylvan, but Vilmos grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her down.

  ‘Bind her!’

  ‘Amicus. No. Amicus!’

  Irina wept, tears pouring down her cheeks, struggling against the men pinning her arms. Why hadn’t she told Amicus to fly far away, where Vilmos couldn’t hurt him? She hadn’t protected him. She had told the wolves to escape; why hadn’t she said something to her sylvan?

  ‘Blindfold her!’ shouted Vilmos.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  King Matoskah

  Durrell saw Amicus fall from the sky and told Gunda they would have to rescue him. Three soldiers on horseback were hot on their trail.

  ‘No, we’ll be caught,’ said Gunda. She pitied Amicus, but she didn’t share Durrell’s devotion. ‘The poor thing will be dead, and so will we if we go back.’

  ‘Follow me,’ said Durrell. He turned sharply to the left and ran hard up a ridge, towards a copse of trees. ‘In here,’ he grunted.

  They pressed into the bushes. They found a small hollow and Durrell pushed Gunda towards it with his nose. ‘Get down. Your white coat stands out too much.’

  The wolves lay low and watched as the soldiers galloped past.

  ‘Horses have nothing like our sense of smell,’ said Durrell. ‘They won’t be back.’ When he was sure they were gone, he sprang from his hiding place and ran back to the beach. The light was fading, but Durrell soon found the sylvan’s limp body on the sand, an arrow protruding from his side. Tenderly, the wolf picked up the bird in his mouth, careful not to disturb the arrow. Amicus made no sound, but Durrell could feel his heart still beating.

  Durrell led Gunda towards the Forest of Rondel, hopeful that he would find his way back through the eerie darkness of those tall, dense trees. It was a pity the snow had melted, it might have camouflaged Gunda’s moon-bright fur. Before returning to Harmon, he must find Raizel. She was the only one who could help poor Amicus now.

  When Queen Chloe awoke, she found herself in a vast, beautifully furnished room. This must be the palace the raven spoke of, she thought. The floors and columns were made of polished marble. Lanterns cast a pale red glow over the courtiers dressed in opulent costumes and the tapestries of peacocks hanging on the walls. The padded velvet chair she sat on was low and comfortable and was placed at the foot of two large, gold thrones studded with glittering, precious stones.

  She raised her head drowsily – in the Kingdom of the Narrowlands the bracelet’s spell was even stronger – and beheld two unknown monarchs. Both were large, ruddy-skinned and vividly dressed. The round face of Queen Anona peered back down at her.

  ‘I see you’re awake now, flower,’ Anona said. ‘So nice to have you with us as our guest.’

  Chloe didn’t like being seated at the strange Queen’s feet. She noticed a gold chain was tied to her pearl bracelet and attached to the leg of Queen Anona’s throne, as though she was a pretty pet dog, kept for this woman’s amusement.

  This will not do, Chloe thought. I must leave at once. If only my body weren’t so heavy, my thoughts so foggy . . . Every breath was an effort. Perhaps she would have a nap before planning her escape. She rested her head and dozed until a bugle sounded.

  ‘Vilmos,’ a servant announced, ‘apprentice to Iniko the Great Sorcerer of the Narrowlands!’

  Vilmos! Chloe sat up, rubbing her eyes, trying to wipe away the stupor that clung to her like a sticky veil. Vilmos. The name filled her with unease although she could scarcely remember why.

  The evil magician strode towards the thrones with an air of confident victory. Beside him, two soldiers dragged a third, bedraggled and masked figure. Vilmos bowed low and then stood upright, his cloak swirling around his boots. His fangs were hanging over his lip; he hadn’t had time to file them. ‘The prisoner you requested, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And the white wolf?’ demanded King Matoskah.

  ‘The wolves escaped. We have our best riders after them. In any case, the white wolf is meaningless without the daughter of Ragnor.’

  Chloe blinked a few times.

  Vilmos looked down at her, giving his ghastly grin. How delightful to see the magnificent Chloe humiliated, he thought. ‘A pretty pet you have there, Queen Anona.’

  ‘The prettiest!’

  Chloe wished to speak, but the effort was too great. Her eyelids drooped over her lovely eyes and her breathing was slow.

  ‘Let’s see the prisoner,’ said King Matoskah.

  Vilmos pulled the sack from the head of the prisoner and removed the cloth that blindfolded her eyes. Irina squinted, and looked defiantly into the face of the Narrowlands’ King. Her hair was matted and her skin puffy from crying. Her dirty cheeks made her eyes appear shockingly bright.

  King Matoskah didn’t like the wildness in them, the lack of fear. ‘Do you deny that you crossed the Crystal Sea to fetch the white wolf?’ he thundered.

  ‘Why would I deny what is true?’ Irina replied. ‘I went there to find the white wolf to save my wolf family from dying out.’

  ‘Yet you know about the prophecy?’

  ‘I have seen the words inscribed upon on the doors of Ragnor Castle’s Great Hall, but I never dreamed they had anything to do with my quest until a Skyling told me that I may be the one.’

  ‘And now you are in the Kingdom of the Narrowlands. We worship Knartesc and his vessel, the Venerated Dragon. The Age of P
eace means nothing to us. Your quest is an act of treason.’ King Matoskah clasped his hands together; his sausage-like fingers were covered with rings.

  Irina stared. ‘It could only be an act of treason if I was your subject, which I am not.’

  ‘You are now.’

  ‘I am not and never will be!’ the wolf-girl cried. ‘I am the daughter of King Harmon and Queen Chloe of Ragnor!’

  At this, an audible gasp passed through the Court. A prisoner arguing with the King was unheard of!

  Irina lowered her gaze, and for the first time she noticed Queen Chloe. ‘What’s this? Mother?’

  Chloe stared up at Irina miserably. She felt drawn to this bedraggled girl with the voice of flame that seared her heart. Tears, deep and silent, rolled down her cheeks and her head lolled helplessly. Only her finger moved, stroking the pearl bracelet around her wrist with stupid adoration. Irina saw the gesture and knew with a sudden, sharp ache that her mother was under a powerful spell.

  ‘Mother,’ she said. ‘Mother. Remember me!’ She gazed fiercely into Chloe’s sleepy, wet eyes. ‘Wake up. Use your strength. Remember the truth. Remember the Junsong, what you were taught . . .’

  ‘Silence!’ ordered King Matoskah.

  Through her haze, Chloe heard Irina’s words. The truth. The Junsong. She remembered Raizel singing lullabies over her cot. How comforting they had been . . . Now, what were the words? She tried hard to remember, but couldn’t.

  ‘Why bother trying to break the spell?’ sneered King Matoskah. ‘You would only awaken her to hear me sentence you – to death in the Lair of the Venerated Dragon. That is enough to break any mother’s heart!’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chesca’s Confession

  Before dawn on the day of Andor’s Coronation, King Harmon’s party set out for Pillan’s Field. The sun had not yet risen and they were greeted with a layer of burnt-orange cloud and an immaculate sky of dark blue pierced with a single star. There was no time to revel in nature’s beauty, however: overnight, Harmon had learned of Chloe’s abduction. Stilling his anxious heart, he glanced down at the cleansed Bracelet of Uche upon his wrist. ‘I thought it would have had some power,’ he said to himself. ‘Perhaps it is just an ornament, after all.’

  Mahila and Julene rode beside the him; following were Jibade and Captain Kellen and four wolf-guards, including Hibah. The other wolves had been left with the soldiers guarding Ragnor Castle. By now, everyone knew that Matoskah did not intend to meet peacefully. War hadn’t been declared, but it was coming.

  ‘Look, Father,’ gasped Mahila, abruptly pulling up her horse, and pointing off into the distance. ‘A wolf. A white wolf!’

  Her father, startled, stopped and squinted. All he could see was a dark speck and a light speck moving against the radiant blue horizon. He held his breath; if Mahila was right, this could mean Irina had returned.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ said Mahila with a sigh. ‘It is Durrell and the white wolf – but they’re alone.’

  Harmon dismounted and Hibah immediately trotted up beside him. As Durrell neared, the King’s wolf began to dance in circles, his tail wagging madly. He was overjoyed to see his wolf-brother and meet Gunda. Durrell, meanwhile, seemed stronger than ever. He and Gunda had bonded over their journey – they were mates now.

  Durrell bounded over to the King with a small package of parchment, rolled in a strip of leather, in his mouth.

  Harmon unfurled it and read it aloud to the group.

  ‘Good King,

  Irina has been captured, but she is alive.

  Durrell and the white wolf, Gunda, came to me bearing Amicus, who has barely survived being shot by Vilmos.

  Consider giving the Bracelet of Uche to Andor. I suspect it is the true bracelet of Pavel, rather than Ragnor: another trick to stop power falling into your hands. I will be present at the Coronation, not in body but in spirit.

  Your servant,

  Raizel’

  ‘We must travel north at once,’ said Harmon. ‘We must rescue Irina and Chloe.’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ said Mahila, reading the note over his shoulder, ‘we must, but let us attend the Coronation first and give Andor the bracelet. It is important. We are near Pillan’s Field, and the ceremony won’t delay us for more than a few hours.’

  Andor woke after a troubled night. Bathing in a tub of fire-warmed water, he recalled his dreams of his father’s and Captain Kadar’s deaths. The faces of the two men haunted him; the stone-cut hardness of Kadar and the exquisite loving kindness of Niklas. The young Prince felt tired and anxious but knew he should be calm and clear. He was about to undertake the most solemn promise of his life.

  The cleansing water in the tub bristled with nettles, velvet flower, rosemary and thistles. It made his skin tingle. When he rose from the bath the tingling stopped and he felt utterly clean. He dressed in a long woollen tunic embroidered with the flowering sword of wisdom. He drank from a tumbler of chamomile tea. It was the tradition in Pavel for the King-in-waiting to take no food, only clear, warming tea, on the day of his Coronation.

  Footsteps sounded outside his door and someone knocked.

  ‘Come in,’ Andor said.

  Captain Symon entered. ‘Good morning, Sir. I found the woman you asked about. She was on foot, heading west. She’s under guard now. Is it wise to bring an unclean person into the Castle on the day of your Coronation?’

  ‘It might not be wise, but it’s important,’ said Andor. ‘Take her to the Throne Room and I shall be with you shortly.’

  Andor started after him, but a thought made him pause at the doorway. A sweet memory of Irina riding her mare Adriel had drifted into his mind. He recalled how she looked that day, radiant in her homemade dress, galloping through the village on her return to Ragnor Castle. Was she on her way to see him crowned King of Pavel? It wasn’t likely, but he couldn’t help wishing she would be there.

  He strode up the corridor towards the Throne Room. His servant, Inteus, and Captain Symon had lit several of the great torches in the corridor. When he opened the door, he saw a yellow-haired woman wearing a showy dress kneeling on the floor.

  ‘Wait outside,’ Andor told his men. Turning to the woman, he said, ‘I saw you in the stables yesterday before Kadar attacked me. And again after the fight.’

  ‘Oh sir!’ cried Chesca in a muffled voice, pressing her hands to her mouth. ‘Please forgive me. I’ve done you wrong.’ Once upon a time, the cunning young witch couldn’t have cared less about the Prince of Pavel. But, almost in spite of herself, she’d had a change of heart.

  ‘Stand,’ commanded Andor.

  Nervously, Chesca rose.

  ‘Explain yourself.’

  ‘I was sent, Your Majesty, by Vilmos. He threatened me with being thrown to the Venerated Dragon if I didn’t do what he said.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Sir, please believe me – I didn’t want to do anything for Vilmos. I suppose you won’t believe that.’

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Chesca, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Well then, tell me the whole story, Chesca. Help me understand.’

  Like a ball of string, Chesca unravelled her story. She described her apprenticeship to Iniko and said that he entrusted her with the special mission of capturing Irina. She told him how she’d cursed the wolf-girl with the evil wand brought by Ravenel and how she had stolen the wand and run away. She told him that she had spent the night on what she thought must be holy ground and that she had been visited by a goddess in her dreams . . .

  ‘Sef,’ said the Prince, almost to himself.

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty, I have heard of her.’

  Chesca then told Andor how Vilmos had captured her and magically transported her to the stables, where she had convinced Captain Kadar that Iniko would reward him with great power if he swapped sides. She told Andor of Iniko’s plans for all of Ragnor to come under the power of the Venerated Dragon.

  ‘You can’t hide from him,’ Chesc
a said, twisting her skirt in her hands. ‘He can see most things in his Mirror of Near and Far. You need covering spells.’

  ‘Why is your hair that strange colour?’ Andor said. ‘It reminds me of Trayton, the man who betrayed my father.’

  ‘It’s a glamour, Your Majesty. A spell to make me more beautiful, to charm and flatter people like Captain Kadar.’

  ‘Let me see you as you really are.’

  Chesca dared not disobey the Prince. She uttered a few secret words and the soft haze of yellow gold melted away. Her body also changed. Within moments, a scrawny girl in a plain tunic with limp hair and bitten nails stood before the Prince.

  ‘Now that I am not dazzled by your appearance, I can see you better,’ he said. ‘True beauty comes from a lifetime of good deeds, not spells and potions.’

  There was a loud knock at the door.

  ‘One moment,’ called Andor. ‘My meeting isn’t finished.’

  ‘Your Majesty.’ It was Inteus. ‘We must leave now if we are to reach Pillan’s Field by sunrise. Baruch is waiting.’

  ‘Chesca, thank you for telling me your story. It seems that you do have a choice. Not everyone is visited by Sef. You can bring her honour and serve her, or you can return to being enslaved by Iniko and his wicked ways.’

  ‘Your Majesty, I don’t have a choice. If I don’t return to Iniko, he will throw me to the Dragon.’

  ‘He will do that anyway,’ replied Andor. ‘Even if you go back to him willingly.’

  Deep in the woods, in her little hut of saplings and clay, Raizel tended the wounded Amicus. ‘You have been a true friend to Irina her whole life,’ the wise-woman whispered, feeling the bird’s body trembling beneath her hands. ‘You are the best gift I have ever given anyone.’

  Carefully, Raizel removed the arrow. She then bathed the wound in a mixture of diluted saltwater and alcohol. Finally, she applied a medicinal salve.