Farraclaw looked toward it, allowing me to catch my breath. “You are searching for your brother. I have known the terrible wrench of loss. I was torn from this land by the furless, thrown in a cage for their amusement. I would have died there.” He turned to me with blazing eyes. “A brave fox saved me. Isla, know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do to help you.”
I shifted beneath his bold gaze. “Do you remember what I said in the Snarl? ‘A fox is lost to the Elders, beyond the fur and sinew of the greatest of Canista’s cubs.’ It’s the only clue I have.”
His ears twisted. “What does it mean?”
My tail crept to my flank. “I wish I knew.” Why didn’t I ask the Elders to explain when I had the chance?
“You mentioned a Wildlands skulk. Yet you came here alone.”
I sighed, my tail creeping to my side. “They were good to me. They took me in, along with Siffrin and Haiki.”
“Other foxes?”
I dipped my head in acknowledgment. “I met Siffrin in the Great Snarl. He’s a messenger of the Elders. I didn’t trust him at first … but I was wrong.”
Farraclaw tilted his head to watch me. “What happened to him?”
“He’s still in the Wildlands. Safe … I hope. There are so many Taken there.”
Farraclaw’s ears rotated. “Taken?”
“Dead-eyed foxes, slaves to the Mage, an Elder who broke from the others and uses his foxcraft for wicked ends. He is building an army of foxes, sapping their will. Draining their maa.”
The wolf frowned. “Is that the same as maha?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It is the essence of all things. It is the water that runs through the Raging River, the force that makes the blizzard rise, the grass grow, the rain fall. It is the light that shines from the stars. A great warrior bursts with maha. When he or she has passed, it dissolves. It becomes part of the great whole, rejoining the earth and the air.”
“That sounds like maa,” I said, though I’d never thought of where maa came from, or where it went when someone died.
He inclined his head. “You spoke of two foxes. Siffrin and another. A friend?”
“Haiki.” My ears twitched. There was something about Farraclaw’s frank, bold manner that demanded frankness in return. “I thought he was but he tricked me. He was spying on me for the Mage, using me to get to the Elders.” My tail bristled and I gave it a shake. A shadow passed over my thoughts and I stared at the tundra, no longer seeing it. I didn’t want to talk about Haiki.
Farraclaw seemed to understand. He turned his attention on the view. “Most of what you see now is in the Bishar of Claw. Wolves are territorial. For us, it is all about family—for what is a Bishar if not our brothers and sisters, cousins, elders, and pups?”
His husky voice was soothing. I relaxed and listened.
“Life in the frozen realms isn’t easy. We are at the mercy of the wind and ice, at the will of our ancestors. We look out for one another.”
I craned my neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the Raging River. I could just make out a blur of blue. “Are there other families in the Snowlands? Other Bishars?”
“Oh yes,” said Farraclaw darkly. “Look to the sunrise and you’ll reach Growl Wood. There our territory ends, and the reign of the Bishar of Growl begins. It is ruled by Queen Ravengrowl. Her lands are humble but not without benefits. The Bishar faces the sea so their pups can practice hunting with seabirds and feast on eggs every day. Our pups aren’t spoiled like that.” He turned his head. “Now look the other way.” Farraclaw’s ears pricked forward and his whiskers flexed. “Beyond those low trees lies the Bishar of Fang. Our old enemies. If a member of our Bishar meets one of theirs, only one will walk away alive.”
The hair trembled at the back of my neck.
Farraclaw went on. “Their territory is rich in fresh pools, and it is crossed by bison in their search for grasses. But much is inhospitable. Even a snow wolf would think twice about venturing onto the White Mountains, or the Ice Razors in the far west. There are few trees in the Bishar of Fang, few places to hide or take shelter. It makes the hunting much tougher. How can you surprise your prey when they can see you coming?”
I looked beyond the low trees. I could see clouds of blue spiraling into the air. “What’s that smoke?”
“The land there is torn, and heat bleeds from the wounds.”
I blinked at him. I had never heard of anything like that. I drew my gaze over the vast horizon. The sun was high overhead, a pulsing globe of orange.
I wondered what the hot, torn earth looked like up close. “Have you ever been there?”
“We do not enter their territory, and they do not cross into ours. The Bishar of Claw is the strongest in the Snowlands. We respect our ancestors and the ancient laws that govern the wolves. To enter Fang without reason or provocation would be a challenge. It would almost certainly end in bloodshed. It could lead to war.”
A confrontation between so many snow wolves was a frightening thought. “You’d beat them, wouldn’t you, Farraclaw?” I couldn’t imagine any wolf fiercer than him.
“The bilberry does not speak of its own sweetness,” he said with a puzzling flex of the whiskers. “And it mightn’t be up to me.”
“I thought Claw was strongest?”
“Things changed when I was in the beast dens. King Birronclaw fell ill …” His voice dropped. “Word must never reach Fang or Growl. King Orrùfang is brutish and cruel, but beneath it, he is a coward. He would never challenge a healthy wolf. But if he ever found out about our king … Our lands command the best hunting spots—long have they watched us with envy. Under the ancient laws that govern the Bishars, a king may lay claim to enemy lands—he may demand to fight the neighboring king. If his challenge succeeds, or his rival cannot fight, the Bishar falls.” Farraclaw’s muzzle wrinkled. “Do you know the first thing they’d do if they seized our realms?” He turned to me, his eyes burning. “They’d kill the pups. Stamp out the bloodline.”
My belly flipped. It was so barbaric. “But you wouldn’t, would you, Farraclaw? You wouldn’t do the same to them?”
He held my gaze a beat. “I’d do what I had to.” His ears pricked and he rose abruptly. “See that dark mass? It’s bison.”
I’d never heard of bison and wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I spotted a large number of creatures trudging along the snow to an outcrop of bushes at the edge of Growl Wood.
Farraclaw rose to his paws. “Come. I promised you pups. Then I will call together the Bishar once more. The bison are on the move. Amarog must consult with the stars this night.”
I wasn’t sure what this meant. “Don’t you make the decisions?” I asked, following Farraclaw down the icy rocks.
“I make some decisions,” said Farraclaw carefully.
As I reached the base of the rocky outcrop, I caught a last glance of the Bishar of Fang. The blue steam was a distant swirl. “What happened between Claw and Fang to make them enemies?”
Farraclaw sighed. “Our king killed theirs when they were both young, in a skirmish over a stag carcass. They say the slain King Garrùfang’s spirit haunts their realms, that he has cursed the wolves of Claw.” Farraclaw dipped his head. “May the fallen rest in the peace of the forest.”
“Where is the king of Claw?” I asked. “Where’s the queen?”
“Queen Sableclaw is with the pups. She used to be our best hunter but she has lost interest in the Bishar. The change in the king … It hasn’t been easy on her.” He padded onto the soft snow, and I started after him.
I knew it wasn’t my business, but curiosity tugged at my whiskers. “What’s wrong with him?”
Farraclaw paused midstep. “King Birronclaw was the greatest wolf in the Snowlands: huge, powerful, potent in maha. The largest wolf in all the frozen realms.” Farraclaw sighed. “I do not wish to speak ill of our leader; I revere and honor him.” His face was troubled. “Sometimes maha fades, even in the living. A sickness t
akes hold, the mind becomes weak … The king is not as he once was.”
“How did it happen?” I asked, wondering what Farraclaw meant.
He didn’t answer me directly. “I had a terrible feeling, back at the beast dens. I knew the Bishar was in danger.”
“But you’re here now,” I pointed out. “If you became king, the Bishar would be safe from attack.”
Farraclaw turned his yellow eyes on me. The dark outlines made him look fearsome again. His voice was low, almost a snarl. “You must never let anyone hear you say that. Every wolf swore an oath to King Birronclaw. While he lives, I will not challenge him. All hail King Birronclaw Valiant-Oolf, Lord Protector of the Bishar of Claw, High Commander of the Snowlands.” He set his jaw, looking into the distance. “The Bishar comes first, under moon and sun. For friendship. For honor. Forever.”
We padded back through Claw Weald in silence, veering westward with the sun. I could hear the yelp of wolves up ahead and my tail stiffened instinctively. Farraclaw glanced at me. “You have no need to fear.”
He had ordered the wolves to treat me as a friend. Was he really so sure they would all obey him? I took in his profile and the set of his jaw. Confidence rose from his fur.
He doesn’t doubt it for a second.
The yelps and snarls grew louder. A moment later, we reached a clearing. Two wolves were sparring in the snow as a circle of others surrounded them. The spectators were baying, alive with excitement. There must have been eight or nine wolves there, not quite half of the Bishar. With a crackle of unease I was reminded of the confrontation between Siffrin and the coyote chief, back in the Wildlands. The wolves didn’t look so different. They were like giant, magnificent coyotes. Their eyes gleamed, their jaws gaped.
But this time the fight was in play.
I recognized one as Norralclaw, the gray-and-white wolf who had found me with Mirraclaw and Cattisclaw. The other was a warrior called Rattisclaw. He had brown fur and a creamy belly.
“Lazy rat, you can’t catch me!” snarled Norralclaw, squaring up to the brown wolf.
His opponent sprang at him, and Norralclaw rolled out of the way in a froth of white snow. “Too slow, Ratty.” He stretched out on his belly and raised a forepaw. He started gnawing at a split claw, as though entirely untroubled.
Rattisclaw fell back on his haunches. “You’ll pay for calling me that!” he growled. The brown wolf noticed me and Farraclaw. He dipped his muzzle in acknowledgment and his posture stiffened as he grew more focused. The other wolves bowed briefly before returning their attention to the fight.
Farraclaw padded between them and settled down to watch. I hung a few paces back. Already, Rattisclaw was charging at Norralclaw. The brown wolf brought the gray-and-white down with a thud, snapping his huge fangs around his neck. “Who are you calling a rat?”
Norralclaw squeezed his eyes shut, drew himself into a tight ball, and bucked, sending the brown wolf tumbling.
The wolves around him yelped in support of one side or another, their tails lashing. “Kick him, Norralclaw!” or “Watch your paw, Rattisclaw!”
Farraclaw turned to me. “Come, Isla.”
Reluctantly, I padded to his side.
“Such mock fights are an important part of keeping up our hunting skills. When the pups are a little older, they will watch the fights daily. Then they themselves will be expected to spar.” His ears twisted forward. “The whole Bishar will be here for the pups’ first fight. It’s not to be missed.”
I thought of Pirie. Back in the Great Snarl we had often chased each other, though our play fights were more about who was faster and the occasional sharp nip. I watched the wolves, the power and breathlessness of their clashes. The force behind their paws and their muscular forelegs, the strength in their huge jaws. I knew they could really hurt each other.
Norralclaw pinned Rattisclaw to the ground, winning the tussle. They both fell back to the whoops and barks of the watching wolves. They licked each other’s muzzles and bumped shoulders with good humor. Unharmed, they turned to Farraclaw with quick bows. Then they shifted position and dipped their heads again. To my surprise, I realized they were bowing at me.
“A good fight,” said Farraclaw with pleasure. He rose to his paws. “Come, Isla. The pup den is along the stream.”
“Send our greetings to the pups!” said Norralclaw. “Tell them we’ll catch them a feast. They can have some juicy loin.”
As we started padding away, I heard Norralclaw snarl. “Dog, come over here a minute.”
I looked over my shoulder. The white-and-gray flashed his teeth at a wolf I hadn’t noticed before. He was snow white like Mirraclaw, but unlike him he had skinny legs and a slim tail. He was smaller than the others, only reaching Norralclaw’s shoulders. But the most striking thing about him was his ears—they flopped down at each side of his head, instead of pointing upward.
Norralclaw was watching this strange-looking wolf. “Maybe I’ll fight you next time.”
Rattisclaw padded to Norralclaw’s side. “What do you say, Dog?” He dragged his claws over the snow. “Wouldn’t you like to fight a warrior?”
A couple of the other wolves started growling.
“Fight!” barked the black-snouted wolf. “Go on, Dog-ka, let’s see you fight!”
“Fight!” echoed the others.
The floppy-eared wolf stooped low to the ground. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t give you much sport.” He threw his forepaws on the snow in a play bow. “Maybe another sort of game.” He started prancing, then turned a small circle around the wolves. They yipped and whined in amusement.
“What a fool,” snipped Rattisclaw, but his tail was wagging.
“There are berries in the trees!” yelped the floppy-eared wolf. “Bet you can’t get them before I do!”
“Rubbish!” barked Norralclaw. “Any one of us could outrun you!”
The floppy-eared wolf started capering about, slipping clumsily over the snow. The other wolves barked in amusement. Then he scrambled to his paws and started running toward the aspens. He was much faster than I’d expected. The wolves broke into a chase. I watched them zigzag among the trees. “Isla?” Farraclaw was standing a few paces ahead. “Aren’t you coming?”
I hesitated. “Who was that wolf with the floppy ears?”
“Oh.” Farraclaw looked bored, and was already starting again toward the stream. “That’s just Lop-ka.”
“Why did they call him ‘Dog’?”
“Because of those ugly, misshapen ears.”
“They were all chasing him.”
“In sport,” said Farraclaw dismissively. “Don’t worry about Lop. He’s nobody, the under-wolf.”
“Under-wolf?” My ears swiveled as I looked back between the aspens. There was no sign of the wolves anymore. Their yips had faded on the sharp air. “What do you mean?”
“He’s no warrior,” said Farraclaw, a hint of repulsion in his words. He picked up pace and I bounded to catch up. It was clear that the subject was closed.
Farraclaw padded along the edge of a tall ridge of rock that ran along a lake. The bank was frozen, a hard shell of frosted white hanging over the water. But further in, I saw ripples and large numbers of long-necked birds.
It seemed to have grown colder as the day progressed. A sheath of ice crept over the snow.
“Does it ever get warm here?” I asked.
“Too cold for your liking?” Farraclaw’s tail gave a swish. “By the Eve of the Maha some of the snow will have melted. Flowers and fruit cover the land, at least up here—the Storm Valley remains unpredictable. We prefer the snow, though. The bison are hungry and tired … the hunting is better.”
“The Eve of the Maha?” I asked, cocking my head.
The prince’s eyes grew thoughtful. “A special time, when the Bishar reflects on those who have gone before. Our warrior ancestors, the heroes, the fallen …” His voice drifted. “It comes at the longest day of the year, drawing to a peak as the light fades.”
We neared two wolves who stood guard at the edge of the rock. “Warrior Briarclaw, Warrior Thistleclaw,” said Farraclaw. They bowed deeply.
As we passed the guards, my ears flicked forward. I’d heard a high-pitched squeak.
Farraclaw heard it too. “The pups!” His tail gave an excited wag. He led me along the rock to a small valley with low trees. I could already make out movement down there, clutches of beige fur. Farraclaw turned to me, his expression serious. “The queen may be close,” he murmured beneath his breath. “She remains our leader, even if she’s lost the will to rule. You must offer her respect.”
I didn’t know what this meant. Was I expected to bow? To stand in silence while Farraclaw presented me? I didn’t have time to ask. Farraclaw was already bounding toward the small trees.
The pups must have picked up our scent. They tumbled out from among the trees, yelping and shrilling. “Prince Farraclaw! Prince Farraclaw!” they cried, converging on him. They sprang on his paws, nipping and tussling, leaping up to snap at his tail. He licked their soft faces. “Who’s this, Prince Farraclaw?” They turned their dark blue eyes on me.
“This is my friend, Isla. She’s a fox from the Graylands.”
The pups stared at me in wonder. One, who was gray, padded up to me boldly. She was almost as tall as I was. “Isla, do you have snow where you come from?”
I thought of the day when the sky had rained wisps and the earth had swallowed the sun beneath ice. “A bit.” I looked around. The tundra stretched in all directions, like a great white hide. “Nothing like this.”
“Is it hot?” asked another pup, releasing Farraclaw’s tail.
“Not hot … or it wasn’t when I left. Warmer than it is here, though I guess that’s not saying much.”
Farraclaw nodded at each pup in turn. “That’s Gallin, Dorrel, Lupin.” He turned to the bold, gray-faced pup. “And this here is Jaspin. They’re too young for full titles.”
The Mage Page 3
