I ran with the wolves. The wind whipped wild through the sagebrush, powdering snow into our eyes. I blinked, shaking my head. Straggling behind, I spotted Cattisclaw, who bounded over to Farraclaw. Mirraclaw and Norralclaw ran alongside them. For a moment, their heads swung around and they all looked to the bison with the bad leg. Then Mirraclaw and Norralclaw sprang forward, just ahead of the injured bison, scaring the herd into running faster. Farraclaw ran alongside the creature as Cattisclaw fell into step behind him.
The injured bison dropped its head and ran faster, closing the gap between itself and the herd. Sweat streaked off its back and clung to its haunches, shimmery in the moonlight. At a wide outcrop of sagebrush, it burst clear of the wolves, who had to scramble around the brush. Mirraclaw fell into its path and the massive beast dropped its head, running at the white wolf, who scrambled away just in time.
As the herd burst free of the sagebrush, the wolves lunged forward and I dropped onto the snow, panting furiously. I couldn’t keep up. I collapsed onto my belly, watching between the tall brush.
Out in open tundra, the advantage shifted. The bison forged a path through thick snow. Even for such enormous creatures, it had to be exhausting. The wolves had an easier job, following the path that the bison had cut. Still, they were falling behind. The bison were getting away.
I thought of the pups back in the den. Dorrel wouldn’t make another day without food. But how could wolves catch such powerful beasts? The injured bison ran swiftly, keeping pace with the others. There was no way past its pointed horns.
I sighed, glancing up at the sky. Countless stars twinkled against the velvet of the night. Among them, I saw Canista’s Lights. They were larger, brighter than I’d ever seen them before. A sharp call wrenched my gaze back to the chase. Farraclaw had stopped on the tundra, head thrown back in a howl. I recognized his rich, pure cry.
The other wolves gathered around him. They started howling too, their voices rising in harmony. The howls grew bolder, impossibly loud, as though with the voice of a hundred wolves.
The wolves bounded forward.
To run as a Bishar—that’s what it means to truly hunt. Farraclaw had said that, back in the Snarl. To sprint across the frozen realms, a hundred paws pounding the snow in time, with a blizzard at your face, the bite of frost in your throat, and the spirit of your ancestors urging you on.
The earth vibrated, like it had in malinta. Though the wolves no longer howled, the echo of their voices still trembled in the frozen air. I saw the bison falter, bewildered by the sounds that rose around them. It was almost as though the wolves were karakking, but no … this was something else.
I squinted, gave myself a shake.
Against the darkness of the night, a haze of silver circled the bison. The silhouettes of countless wolves. The ancestors of the Bishar of Claw. Their paws glanced the snow as the ghostly howls rose over the dark horizon.
A single beast, a single heart, as the hooves of your quarry beat a path like thunder.
The voice of the earth: ka-thump, ka-thump.
I watched in amazement. The silvery wolves were transforming. They merged together, joined Farraclaw and the Bishar. The shapes of legs, and ears, and tails faded from view. For an instant, I saw not the wolves of the Bishar, or the countless silvery figures of their ancestors. What stormed over the tundra was a solitary shape.
A giant, fearless wolf.
It tore after the herd, swift on their tails.
A single beast, a single heart.
The herd exploded into panic. Bison charged chaotically over the snow. The silver wolf blurred into the bodies of the Bishar. The predators rushed at the injured bison. The beast staggered between spruce trees and turned toward the sagebrush. It thrashed its head, unsure where to go.
Ka-thump, ka-thump.
In that moment, Farraclaw struck, launching himself at the beast’s flank. Cattisclaw sprang at its tail as Mirraclaw clamped his jaws around one tough back leg. The beast came down to howls of triumph. The Bishar closed around the fallen bison. Its death was swift and merciful beneath Canista’s Lights.
“May the fallen rest in the peace of the forest,” uttered Farraclaw to a volley of howls.
The rest of the bison were already regrouping in the snow. They hurried away, casting doleful looks over their shoulders. But their movements had lost their frenetic pace. For now, they were safe.
The wolves had caught their prey.
There was enough juicy meat to be shared among all of the wolves, enough to be taken back to the pups, the king, and the queen. Enough for Amarog, though she scarcely seemed to eat at all.
The remains of the bison were left in the snow where eagles and ravens gathered. A lone coyote hung back, watching. Waiting for the wolves to leave. He reminded me of the coyote chief from the Wildlands, and that made me think of Siffrin.
I wished that the red-furred fox was here with me. I wished he’d seen the hunt. I would never be able to describe the beauty and power of so many wolves acting as one.
I wasn’t sure how long it had lasted, or how long we had feasted on the fallen bison. As Farraclaw stood over the remains, it was still dark as pitch.
The Bishar began the descent along the frozen hill. The wolves no longer marched in formation. A lightness had entered their movements. Up ahead, Rattisclaw and Norralclaw were ramming against each other with gentle snarls.
Cattisclaw gamboled alongside me. “What did you think of your first hunt?”
I remembered the time I’d caught my first mouse, slimmering in order to trap it. A bison was very different from a mouse.
“Amazing,” I said. It was true. The great, silver wolf still trembled through my thoughts. “You were very brave.”
“It is easy, with a leader like Farraclaw to inspire us.” Her eyes glowed with devotion.
“I guess the king used to lead the hunt?”
“Yes. Before he grew sick, King Birronclaw Valiant-Oolf was fierce. Under his rule, the Bishar was strong.” She glanced over her shoulder, padded closer to me. “But he was different from Farraclaw.”
I cocked my head. “Different how?”
“He didn’t care for the wolves in the same way. He pushed the Bishar hard. Farraclaw’s sister, Hessaclaw, was made to run up front with the nobles. For the king, it was a matter of pride. She was small for her age. She wasn’t ready.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“She was caught in a stampede.” Cattisclaw looked away. “The king didn’t even pause, didn’t give rites. Amarog led the grieving that night, when the hunt was over—but it should have been the king.”
“That’s horrible,” I murmured.
“Of course, we all wish for the king to recover. And yet …” Her words trailed away. She gave herself a shake. Her voice became upbeat. “You ran with us. You’re an honorary wolf now, Isla.”
My tail drooped. “But I didn’t help.”
“Of course you did.” It was Farraclaw who’d spoken. I hadn’t noticed him stepping up behind us. I hoped he hadn’t heard what Cattisclaw had said about his fa. “You came, you shared your maha. It isn’t about the individual.”
I thought again of the great, silver wolf. “I can see that.”
As we reached the aspens, soft flecks of light rose over Growl Wood. The triumphant wolves bounded across the snow. Most made for the pup den, eager to offer meat to the hungry pups.
Farraclaw held back. With a tip of the muzzle, he led me beneath an aspen. “Are you still determined to venture west through the Bishar of Fang?” His moon-yellow eyes stared into mine.
“I have to,” I answered. “If there’s a chance I’ll find my brother …”
He drew in his breath. “Then you have quite a quest before you.”
“A quest,” I echoed. That’s what the Elders had called my journey to the Snowlands. My tail flicked anxiously. I thought of Jana and the others, the mysterious guardians of foxlore. Enviously, I recalled their incredible grasp of fo
xcraft. How useful such crafts would be in finding Pirie!
“You can’t go alone; it’s too dangerous. I will come with you.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. You lead the Bishar!”
“You haven’t asked—I have offered. You gave me freedom, and I cannot forsake you, knowing what it is to be divided from family.”
A great warmth rose inside me and I leaned my head against Farraclaw’s chest. His fur tumbled thickly around my ears.
“We’ll leave at nightfall. First, we must rest long and well. The hunt is tiring, and what awaits us in the territory of Fang may be more tiring still. We will take another wolf; there is safety in three.” Farraclaw nudged me with his snout. “You’ve spent time among us and learned something of our ways. You may pick a warrior to join us.”
I drew my head away from his mane of fur, thinking for a moment. I looked past Farraclaw, where the rest of the Bishar were a disappearing blur between the aspens. “I’d like to take Lop.”
“Lop? He’s the under-wolf!” The prince didn’t disguise the disgust in his voice.
“I thought every member of the Bishar mattered?”
“They do, but … How could Lop help in a crisis? He cannot fight. He will not lead.”
I met Farraclaw’s eye. “There are other qualities.”
For a moment, he stared at me, saying nothing. Then he dipped his head in agreement. “When the sun is over the aspens, we will start our journey. It will be long, and especially tiring for you. You will set the pace.”
“Thank you!” I gasped, throwing myself against his chest once more. For a moment, Pirie’s face flickered before me. His breath rose with my own. This quest isn’t over.
It had only just begun.
* * *
The wolves were still huddled around me in sleep, snoring gently, curled tail to paw. A navy pelt hung over the sky. Dusk. I blinked, my whiskers flexing. We’d slept all day. I remembered how exhausted I’d been after maa-sharm in the Wildlands; how Siffrin had slept after saving my life. The hunt must drain maa too. It made sense: the tension of the stand-off, the energy of the chase. The single, great wolf danced over my vision.
What is it you seek?
My head jerked around. The wolves were still asleep. Except one: Amarog sat at a distance, her bicolored eyes on me. My ears were flat against my head—she had spoken without words. She had entered my thoughts!
“How did you do that?” I stuttered. The fur was rising along my back.
You can hear me … I thought you would. Her lips did not move.
I was wary of this strange wolf. Uncertain of her power. Yet gazing into those eyes, I found myself saying, “I’m looking for my brother. He’s disappeared.”
I have sensed a trespasser. A fox.
“Pirie?” My voice rose, but the wolves around me slept on.
I do not know his name. The wind touched the wild mane of her fur and the small leaves tinkled. How far will you go to find him?
“Anywhere,” I said. “To the ends of the earth.” Although I spoke with words, the wolves of Claw didn’t stir—as though a mantle of sleep hovered over them.
And what are you prepared to do?
“I’d do anything to have my brother by my side.”
Anything?
With a sickening lurch I remembered what Haiki had said. I’d do anything to get my family back.
A shadow passed the shaman’s eyes. Beware of whom you serve. Your quest is not a solo journey. Others watch. They too care how it ends.
The hairs prickled at the back of my neck. “What do you mean?”
She tilted her muzzle. You have the maha of a warrior. Have you the stomach of one? Will you carry the blood of the dead on your maw?
“I’m not planning to kill anyone,” I said defensively.
Amarog didn’t reply. Her gaze lingered on me. Then she rose and padded over the snow between the aspens. As she departed, the wolves started stirring. The deep breath of their sleep fell into a shorter rhythm. Eyelids fluttered and opened. The wolves started yawning and stretching. Some murmured excitedly about last night’s hunt.
Farraclaw rolled to his paws, clearing his throat. “Wolves of the Bishar of Claw, I have something to say,” he announced. One by one they turned to the prince. “Isla must leave us for the Ice Razors. She is on a journey of her own to find her brother, Pirie. I respect her need to be with her own kind.”
Lyrinclaw whined in disappointment. “You’re not going, are you, Isla?”
“I’m afraid she must,” said Farraclaw. “And I with her.”
Tails stiffened. Cattisclaw gave a small whimper. “You’re leaving, Sire?”
He cocked his head. “Not for long. In my stead, I ask Lord Mirraclaw Fierce-Raa to lead the Bishar, guided by Amarog the Wise.”
The white wolf bowed his head. “It would be my great honor to serve,” he replied. His cool eyes trailed over me.
Norralclaw rose to his paws. “The Ice Razors are deep in the Kingdom of Fang.”
“I know where they are,” said Farraclaw peaceably.
“But that’s King Orrùfang’s territory!” Cattisclaw’s tail was low. “Why do you have to go there?”
Farraclaw glanced at me. “Isla seeks something that’s been buried there. I know it makes little sense now … Perhaps I can explain it better on my return.”
Norralclaw stood up. “If they catch you, Sire—”
“Then I will invoke the ancient Custom of Serren, by which King Serrenclaw and King Fironfang agreed free passage for a noble cause. We do not enter to steal or dominate, only to assist our friend. The Custom of Serren applies.”
I wondered where the shaman had gone, still troubled by her words.
“When are you leaving?” asked Briarclaw.
Farraclaw’s ears rolled forward. “Straightaway.”
“Just the two of you?” asked Cattisclaw. “What if you run into the Bishar of Fang?”
“Three of us.” Farraclaw looked among the wolves, his tail straight behind him. “Lop will join us.”
From the edge of the group, the floppy-eared wolf looked up in surprise. “Me?”
The others gasped and glanced at one another.
“Why Lop?” blurted Rattisclaw.
Farraclaw’s ear twitched. “It was Isla’s choice.”
Lop rose warily, trotting over to me. His gait remained low, his tail drifting close to his flank. He gave me a deep bow. “It would be a privilege to join you. If you think I’m worthy of such a mission.” He looked to Farraclaw. “Sire, I am honored.”
“It was Isla’s choice,” the prince repeated sharply.
The wolves gathered around us to bid their goodbyes, nudging us and licking our noses. “Be careful,” they urged, “Come back quickly.”
“Come back quickly,” echoed Mirraclaw. His jaw was set, his cold eyes trained on the distant peaks of Fang. He touched noses with Farraclaw, but he fell short of bidding me farewell. The fur itched along the back of my neck.
I turned to Cattisclaw. “Tell the pups I said goodbye.” I hoped the young wolves would understand.
“I will,” said Cattisclaw. “See you soon, Isla.”
The wolves bid their farewells.
“Run fast, be safe, live free!” I called to them, remembering how the Elders had parted at the Rock.
“Is that what the foxes say?” asked Cattisclaw.
I paused. “Yes,” I replied. “It is what we say.”
“Run fast, be safe, live free!” she called back. The wolves howled, wagging their tails, shunting their wet noses toward me. I felt the hum of their maa.
“Come, Isla. Let us go now.” Farraclaw raised his tail. “For friendship. For honor. Forever.”
“For friendship. For honor. Forever!” echoed the wolves.
Amarog appeared between the aspens. She stood silently, her pointed ears twisting this way and that. Her bicolored eyes trained on me.
* * *
Farraclaw led the way through
the aspens, winding up the curved forest as darkness closed in. I trudged after him through the snow, with Lop padding behind me. When I glanced back, the floppy-eared wolf blinked at me encouragingly.
I didn’t make a mistake in asking him to come.
The Snowlands were so quiet—nothing like the rumble and din of the Graylands, or the chirping of the Wildlands. As the trees parted onto open tundra, the moon was high overhead.
Farraclaw paused to let me catch up. “We will cross the border south of the Taku Grounds. Do you see that dark mass of trees to the west? That is where we’ll enter.”
It was a strange route, taking us in a huge loop through the Bishar of Claw. “Can’t we go straight?”
I sensed Lop stiffen.
Farraclaw’s eyes flashed yellow. “We will not insult the ancestors by sullying their resting grounds.”
I thought of Ma, Fa, and Greatma. “They’re gone. What difference does it make?” My words were sharper than I’d intended.
Farraclaw registered no offense. “The flesh may perish, but maha never dies. It rises to the air and mingles with the soil.”
My mouth opened, then shut. He’d refused to hunt because Amarog said the ancestors weren’t ready. I knew the wolf prince wouldn’t back down.
It was almost dawn by the time we reached the small forest at the border of the Bishar. We had rested briefly on the open tundra and drank from an icy lake. I wondered if we might rest again, but Farraclaw was keen to keep moving.
“The sun’s coming up. We’ll go as far as we can under tree cover. It’s a shame we can’t wait for the thaw. Isla, your coat will make us stand out against the snow.”
My tail sank guiltily.
“The trees wind down to the Raging River. That’s something,” said Farraclaw. “We’ll have to look out for burning pools.” I remembered the blue smoke that I’d spotted from the black rocks. Looking back into the Bishar of Claw, I thought of what the prince had said to Norralclaw. “What about ‘Serren’? Do we really have to hide? Won’t the wolves of Fang let us pass?”
“I do not doubt that this ancient custom is known to the wolves of Fang. But I have never put it to the test.” Farraclaw cocked his head and his tail gave a quick wag. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not do so today. King Orrùfang is the son of the slain King Garrùfang. He has never forgiven my fa. I hope he’d be reasonable, but …”
The Mage Page 7
