Irina and the White Wolf

by Leah Swann

  Hours later, a mark remained upon Amicus’s beautiful white chest feathers. Raizel checked to see if the wound had been bleeding. It had not. The mark was not the dirty brown of dried blood – directly above the sylvan’s heart was a vivid, red glow, bright as a sunlit ruby.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Long Live King Andor!

  In a prison cell made of stone, many miles north of Pavel, Irina the Wolf Queen paced back and forth. She felt like a wild creature trapped in a cage. She sank to her knees and sent imploring thought-messages to Raizel and Baruch. Can you see where I am? I can’t stand it in here. I feel weak and desperate. Please tell my father to help! Her thoughts turned to her mother. Dear Chloe, what will become of you? You must wake up. You must!

  Even as Irina thought these things, she knew King Harmon would likely be preparing for war with the Narrowlands. He’d be distracted with worry for her mother, and saddened by the loss of his old friend King Niklas. But surely you could spare a thought for me, your firstborn daughter. I’ll be hurled to the Dragon any day now . . .

  She tried not to think of the Venerated Dragon. Nor of Amicus, and the terrible thud on the sand when he fell. She blamed herself. How easy it would have been to hide the sylvan in her furs. In goading Vilmos she had let her pride take over. If she’d been more humble maybe Vilmos wouldn’t have tried to hurt her. His desire to inflict pain made him shoot Amicus, just as his desire to hurt Chloe made him kidnap Irina all those years ago.

  Standing on tiptoe, Irina could just see out of her cell’s barred window. The moon gleamed high above Lake Onkar. The water was as black as a crow’s wing, with the same glossy indigo sheen. She pulled on the steel bars till her wrists ached. The bars held fast. If only they would magically loosen.

  She wondered what was happening with her sisters, Mahila and Julene and the little ones. They’ll go to see Andor crowned, she guessed. They won’t waste any time making him King. Irina remembered his brave, boyish face. She could hardly imagine him as King of Pavel. He was too sweet and gentle for such a job, surely. It may be those very qualities that make him a good king, she thought. The people of Pavel are lucky to have him. He will be fair. He will listen . . . Not like these poor Narrowland folk, enslaved by the Great Sorcerer and Matoskah.

  If they kept to tradition, Andor would be crowned at sunrise. How she longed to be there! But she wasn’t. She was in prison, and no amount wishing could change that. I’ll just have to imagine it, she thought. The next time I see Andor, he’ll be a king. If I see him again. Irina shook her head. Don’t think that. I will see him again. Of course I will.

  With these words, Irina comforted herself as best she could, watching the sun’s first rays flicker on the dark surface of Lake Onkar. Even the lake has to submit to the light, she thought. Steaming, dark waters cannot hide from the purity of the shining sun. She shut her eyes and tried to picture Andor being crowned. The thought gave her hope.

  ‘Everything will be all right,’ she said aloud in her most determined voice. ‘We will find a way through this, I know we will.’

  In Pillan’s Field, Prince Andor felt the stones beneath his knees. Around him, a fresh, earthy aroma rose from the damp soil. The field was alive with tiny creatures – cicadas and dormice and bright blue butterflies – while the air was filled with early birdsong – robins and swallows united in a melodic chorus. Far above, a dove flew soundlessly by.

  Thirty years ago, Andor’s father had been crowned King in this very place. Thinking of Niklas, Andor recalled being trapped with him in the dungeon, and how, even when their situation seemed desperate, he had felt reassured by his father’s presence. That same feeling was with him now, as though King Niklas was really standing there, a hand upon his son’s shoulder. With the fresh morning sky overhead and the fragrance of damp grass and wildflowers all around, Andor was glad he would be crowned in a humble field.

  ‘What kind of King will I be?’ he whispered to himself. ‘Will I rule wisely? Will I be able to help my people should war come?’

  In the soft light, the wise-man, Baruch, looked enormous in his dark, flowing robes. Slowly, he lifted the golden crown and held it above his head. ‘Here kneels Prince Andor,’ he began in his deep and resonant voice. ‘Descended of the warrior kings of Pavel, son of Niklas, son of Walter, descendants of Pavel, son of Uche.

  ‘Andor, as I place this crown upon your head, remember that it was forged, and worn, by your honourable ancestors. Know its tremendous power. With that power, will you lead your people with justice and fairness?’

  ‘I will,’ replied Andor.

  ‘Will you let the Junsong be the mark of your sovereignty?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Will you guide your people in the ways of truth united with love and wisdom?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Will you defend the truth and protect your people, in war or in peace?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘In the name of the Shining One, his Archangel and Jun, goddess of truth, I proclaim you King of Pavel.’ Gently, Baruch lowered the crown onto Andor’s head. The gold shone in the dawn light.

  The young King immediately felt the weight of the ages bearing down on him. It pressed into his brow and rippled around his head, down his neck and shoulders and throughout his entire body. As he got to his feet, it seemed they were rooted more firmly to the ground.

  ‘Behold King Andor, King of the realm of Pavel!’ Baruch proclaimed.

  ‘Long live King Andor!’ cried a dozen voices.

  Everyone – including King Harmon – then knelt in respect. Seeing the great warrior King bending before him made Andor tremble with awe. He wanted to tell them all to get up and not to make a fuss. He was only Andor. But I am no longer just Andor, he thought. I never will be again. From this day forth, I have to be King Andor – and rule.

  The candles flickered, their flames barely visible now that day had arrived, and the dewy grass sparkled beneath a sky laced with white clouds. At the edge of the field, bluish rocks and foothills led to Mount Pillan, the tallest peak in all Ragnor, its monumental presence presiding over the ceremony. Andor would have liked to climb Pillan and survey the kingdoms as all new Kings before him had done. But he could not spare the time.

  Taking a deep breath, he said to the gathering, ‘You may rise.’ The new King turned to lead the way back along the path they had come, now strewn with flowers and gifts. Inteus followed close behind, collecting the offerings. At the edge of the field stood the horses as well as three wolves: Hibah, Durrell and Gunda.

  King Andor stopped in his tracks. ‘The white wolf!’ he said in astonishment. ‘Has – has Irina returned?’ He searched the faces of the small group and his eyes finally came to rest on Mahila. The young Princess shook her head.

  ‘We have much to talk about, King Andor,’ said Harmon, noting Andor’s puzzled expression. He made an unusual clicking sound in his throat. Hibah bounded towards Andor and dropped a gift into his hands. ‘Please accept this.’

  Andor unwrapped the gift and beheld the Bracelet of Uche, newly polished. The picture of the carved hare stared up at him with its ruby eye.

  ‘But, Your Majesty –’ began Andor, almost too surprised to speak.

  ‘Raizel believes it was given to me falsely. I suppose this is no surprise – considering who delivered it. Raizel thinks it may be the cuff of Pavel. Put it on and let us see.’

  Andor placed the heavy, wolf-warmed cuff on his wrist. Instantly, an unusual sensation took hold of him – he felt like he’d stepped into a damp and empty room. His mind teemed with deep memories he had long forgotten. He saw clouds, and the basket fashioned from a rainbow from the story of Ragnor’s creation.

  Another strange sensation overtook him, even more profound than when the crown had been placed upon his head. He felt as dense as iron, almost too heavy to bear his own weight. He swayed and steadied himself by taking a step to one side and Inteus caught his arm. Feeling dizzy, Andor knelt once again on the ground
.

  A searing ache in his temples forced him to close his eyes. Behind his eyelids he saw the most incredible vision. Standing in a blazing corridor of light was his father, King Niklas, as a much younger man. Beside him, smiling at Andor lovingly, stood Queen Emmaline, the mother he could hardly remember. Joy rose in the new King’s chest at the sight of his parents reunited.

  When they moved aside, Andor saw old King Walter, his grandfather, and beautiful Queen Halima, his grandmother. They too moved aside and he beheld a procession of ancestors leading all the way to King Pavel, who stood beside two shadowy figures. They must be his brothers, Andor guessed – Kaveh and Kuiril. Behind them lay the grey and smoking landscape of Ragnor during the wars.

  Andor then saw Queen Joaquinna and the Princess Jun, writing the words of the Junsong as they hid in a cave. He saw Great King Uche, watching with horror from the Realm of the Shining One at the wars his sons had started. Beyond King Uche, Andor saw the vast stretch of water that was Lake Onkar and Iniko’s glittering cavern. And he saw Irina in a stone cell in the Narrowlands Castle, pacing back and forth, her hair wild, her lips moving, her hands firmly clasped.

  ‘Irina!’ he cried, startling his companions. Mahila and Julene looked up at Harmon in alarm. Harmon’s arms were folded, his eyes closed, his mouth set in a grim line. He shook his head.

  ‘Irina?’ Andor repeated. ‘Can you see me? Can you hear me?’ For a split second he was sure the Wolf Queen stopped, as though listening. But then she returned to her thoughtful pacing. She seemed older than when he’d seen her last. The expression on her face was strong and calm. Andor knew she was in trouble, but he also knew she was equal to it.

  Beyond Irina’s cell the light grew hazy, and in the middle distance Andor could make out the shapes of what appeared to be seven doors. One of the doors was tiny and around its edges was a rim of light.

  Show me, thought Andor. Show me what’s beyond that door . . .

  For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened. His eyes still shut, the newly crowned King of Pavel concentrated on the rim of light until the door seemed to dissolve, and Andor found himself gazing into a cupboard hewn from rock, with a single wooden shelf stretched across it. On the wooden shelf lay a leather-bound book. Andor willed his vision to go on; could he make the book open, could he read what was written inside?

  Baruch and King Harmon and the others watched the expression on the young King’s face intently, wondering at the visions he was seeing. Again Mahila glanced up at Harmon, but the King pressed a finger to his lips. Raizel had guessed rightly. The Bracelet of Uche had indeed found its true owner.

  At last, King Andor returned from his reverie. His breathing was heavy, his mouth trembling.

  ‘The Book of the Junsong,’ he whispered, his eyes flashing with uncharacteristic fire. ‘I have seen the Book of the Junsong.’ He got to his feet, shivering with excitement, and grabbed Harmon by the arms. ‘Did you hear me, King Harmon? We must find it! Only then we will have any chance of saving Ragnor!’

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Rod Morrison, David Henley and Jon MacDonald for the work put into this book, and to Roy Chen, for a second beautiful cover design. Thanks again to Tegan Morrison for many editing improvements, and to Elisabeth Holdsworth for introducing me to Xoum Publishing.

  To all my friends and family, especially Ruby and Peter Williams, Ray, Biserka, Frederick, Lachie, Anna, and Marguerite Swann, Adrian Anderson, Sue Blaze, Penelope Horsey, Jean Hare, Halima Vos and Martin Garrett, Esta Kanellopoulos, Karen Manton, Tony Esta and Julia Inglis, Sophie Wise, and Sharon Thompson, thank you for your support and encouragement. Luke Hunter’s lifelong commitment to saving the world’s big cats was a significant inspiration for Irina’s devotion to saving the wolves of Ragnor.

  To my darling Brigita and Amos, your wonderful comments on early drafts helped me understand the characters more deeply. And to my husband, John Hare, thank you for inspired suggestions for choreographing fight scenes, and for never tiring of discussions that made writing these books a joy.

  Also available

  Irina the Wolf Queen

  Book I of the Ragnor Trilogy

  ISBN 9781922057075 (digital)

  ISBN 9781922057112 (print)

  ‘This child,’ said Raizel, ‘will be the greatest

  ruler this kingdom has ever known.’

  Kidnapped at birth, raised by a she-wolf and then

  taken in by a kind farmer and his wife, Irina is no ordinary foundling. With her long hair and bright eyes, she is beautiful, but she can also see in the dark, hunt better than any farmhand and communicate

  with the creatures of the forest.

  One day in the woods Irina meets the ancient wise-woman, Raizel, who reveals the truth – Irina is a princess, the long-lost daughter of King Harmon and Queen Chloe of Ragnor. Unsure of her place, Irina returns home, only to find her kingdom threatened

  by a wicked magician intent on revenge.

  In the coming days of battle, could it be that a princess with the courage of a warrior and the instincts

  of a wolf is exactly what Ragnor needs?

  XOUM Publishing

  A subsidiary of Xou Pty Ltd

  Sydney, Australia

  www.xoum.com.au

  First published by Xoum Publishing in 2013

  ISBN 9781922057129 (print)

  ISBN 9781922057082 (digital)

  Cataloguing-in-publication data is available from the National Library of Australia

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright below, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Text copyright © Leah Swann 2013

  Cover, internal design and typesetting copyright © Xoum Publishing 2013

  Cover design by Xou Creative, www.xoucreative.com.au

  Cover illustration by Roy Chen

  Word count 40,000