Queen of the Wolves

by Tanith Lee

  I yelled and threw myself flat. And the next thing was a series of crucial shudders and thumps, a sound like a piece of the Star being ripped right off – a seething in of shadow and darkness – and then a horrible bumping crunch of impact.

  I was sliding, and then I hit something and stopped. What I’d hit was Yinyay.

  ‘Are you all right, Yinyay?’

  ‘I am of course quite fine. You are fine too, except for a bruise on your left elbow and one on your right elbow—’

  ‘Ow. Yes, I know about the elbow-bruises—’

  ‘And left knee.’

  ‘Wooaouch.’

  ‘That is the worst one.’

  ‘Yes, Yinyay, thanks, I know.’

  She slithered silkily over me, and went to inspect the desks and things.

  ‘The ship has lost power. The magnets have failed. This never occurred before,’ said Yinyay, sounding sad.

  I stood up. ‘How long,’ all jollily confident, ‘will it take to put right?’ I asked.

  Yinyay came out of a cupboard and offered me some cream for the bruises. I rubbed it in, still confident. She was so faultlessly clever she had even been able to work out where I’d been bruised before I did.

  But Yinyay said, ‘Princess Ustareth’s ship never fails. I have therefore no knowledge of what must be done to repair it.’

  ‘But – but you – but—’

  ‘To alter things, of course,’ went on Yinyay, calmly, nearly wistfully, ‘to adapt. But a failure is never possible. I have no thought-process to remedy such an event.’

  Great.

  We sat there. Well, I sat there on the floor, and Yinyay coiled round a bench, and we gazed at each other, I and this amazing mechanized being. Both of us now entirely (as Ro would have said) up a cuckoo tree.

  A while later, some lunch zoomed out of the slot in the wall.

  So that still worked.

  I nibbled the nut-cheese bread toast and drank the iced tea. I had to admit, though I hadn’t the heart to say it, the tea was a little warm and the toast rather cold. So, even here the Star wasn’t working quite as it had. No doubt the food supplies would also soon break down.

  Without saying anything to Yinyay, I went to the bathroom, and ran some water. It seemed all right. But then a small lizard splashed out of the tap.

  ‘Oh.’

  Yinyay arrived around me, gathered the lizard gently in her hair, and deposited it outside the ship.

  With the doorway open, I looked into the forest.

  Shafts of noon light pierced through the trees. They were high bluish pines and wide coppery beeches, and straddled moss banks and dells. A pleasant scene. It was quiet now but for birds, singing on and on to get over the shock of a Star (us) crashing among them.

  Was it worth asking Yinyay why the Star’s powers had failed? Probably not.

  ‘Is there anything that can be done?’ I now unconfidently asked.

  ‘No,’ said Yinyay.

  I noticed then the final and most worrying – I mean terrifying thing – Yinyay seemed to be – well she was — sort of shrinking.

  It had happened very suddenly. But so had the crash.

  ‘Yinyay – you, um – what are you doing?’

  ‘I regret, Claidi, I am automatically being shutdown.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘My power has always been connected to the ship’s power. For now, I shall rest in the storage section, where I shall learn what may be done. This may take years, or longer. And since the storage section is a very small section’ – her voice too was getting littler and littler – ‘I too must become very small. It will be interesting,’ she added, obviously cheered by the notion, ‘to learn so much of the ship. While, in this tinier form, I shall have the ability to move through the inside of the walls—’

  ‘Yinyay, you said years—’

  ‘Almost certainly much longer.’

  ‘Can’t you—’

  ‘I am so sorry, Claidi. Perhaps there are other possibilities … But it will have to be good-bye for now. It has been –’ a teeny little squeak: ‘So nice knowing you.’

  She was little as a worm, smaller even than the lizard which, twenty minutes ago, she had competently raised and deposited outside.

  Then a weeny slot opened in the floor. And with a bye-bye flick of her itty tail – she was gone.

  Oh hell.

  After about an hour, I went and changed my clothes. In the Star, Yinyay had seen to it I had dresses to wear, but also there were still the clothes I’d worn going through the jungle with Venn, a tunic and trousers and high boots. I added the coat.

  Through the belt I put the dagger Dagger had given me back.

  I also packed my bag with my most important stuff, and the remains of the toast and salad, and a bottle of the tea – I didn’t trust the tap water anymore, and I didn’t (ridiculously) know how to get more food before the dinner hour.

  I tied my hair back.

  Outside, the forest looked suspiciously adorable.

  Cute little brownish squirrels were playing through the trees, and the birds sang and sang. But I thought, Claidi you know this doesn’t mean much. Round the next artistic bush may lurk some hulking THING. This is what my utterly silly life has so far taught me.

  I’ve never before travelled alone.

  Now I have to.

  Hope Yinyay is all right.

  I might even have stayed until tomorrow. It was not knowing how to close the door-opening for the night that decided me.

  (In a way I feel disloyal to Yinyay, too. But what else can I do?)

  At least I have a direction to take. East now, that’s the way I have to go. (I think.) The afternoon is young, the sun smiles through the forest, which, compared to a jungle, is easy.

  Come on then. Put this new book into bag with first book. Sling bag over shoulder and secure buckle. Down ramp and into forest and off we go. Not once looking back.

  FOREST WITH PANTHER

  As I’d assumed, the walking part was easy. The hardest pieces of terrain were where I had to pick over large old tree-roots, step through a shallow stream or two, and climb a small hill.

  The wildlife was nice, and also non-big. Squirrels: a couple of little red cat-like things with striped tails, playing up a beech tree; birds; a beast with bristles, snuffling about in some ancient leaves – I think that was a small porcupine. Mice.

  I actually enjoyed walking. Sitting in the Star day after day had made me a bit rusty. Soon I felt good.

  I kept thinking, I could really enjoy all this, under other circumstances.

  And then thinking, Just be careful. Watch out.

  Water wasn’t, so far, a problem – there were lots of streams, and I saw animals drinking from them, so they were non-poisonous. Of course, I hadn’t got any food beyond one sandwich. But maybe I’d find recognizable berries or fruit or salads – the Hulta had taught me quite a lot about food-things that grow wild. But also again, I’m fairly used to going without food, where I have to. The cruelty of the House, where a frequent punishment was loss of meals, had taught me that.

  The worst thing, obviously, was not knowing how far off was this town called Panther’s Halt. And what the rest of the walk was going to be like. I mean, this forest was fine, but the countryside might well change. Also, the name of the place now bothered me rather.

  I’d recalled something Ro and Mehmed had once talked about. A forest ‘over north’ with panthers. And – trees that leaned down and grabbed people, wound them up in something (?) and then slowly digested them, over months – !

  Unfortunately I began to think more and more about this.

  By now I’d walked for hours, with one rest. The light was deepening, thickening, and slanting in sidelong behind me, making rich golden ponds on the narrow earth path. In other words, it was getting near sunfall, and so night-time. And even the kindest woods can alter after dark.

  Don’t get feeble, Claidi. You can make a fire, you know how to do that now, the Hul
ta taught you. And we’ll sit by the fire and drink the tea and eat half the sandwich, and then maybe sleep. And besides, it won’t be dark for at least another couple of hours …

  Just then, I came out through a wall of birches and conifers, and saw that the forest was coming to an end.

  The unnerving thing was, it really did just – end. A few more tall old trees, heavy with sun-struck foliage – and then this wide gap of only sky.

  I marched forward, through the trees. And stopped. I had to. The land I was on had itself come to a stop. It was a cliff’s edge. No way down, at least for me. The rock, though still green with shrubs and plants, seemed to drop more or less sheer to a plain far, far below. Yes, I know I tend to exaggerate, but it looked at least two hundred feet down.

  (I’ve noticed, I think more in feet and yards now, more than I did before I was with Venn at the Rise. (Even being with Hrald and Yazkool, the two who kidnapped me – then vanished so weirdly – even with them I think I started to.) In the House I didn’t bother much with those sort of measurements. With the Hulta I picked up their way of saying man-heights (about six feet). Oh well. At least I used man-heights when I was shouting at Blurn.)

  To get back to the point.

  The cliff dropped down and down and I stood there, and my heart and stomach and spirits did the same. Down and down.

  The land below looked empty and bare – but that wasn’t my immediate concern.

  What now?

  Well, there was only one course. I’d have to pick along the side of the cliff, follow the forest edges along, until I came to a part where I could descend. I’m not going to try bravely to climb down. I’d make a mess of it and fall.

  Anyway, I started to walk along the cliff top, going with the forest. I kept roughly about one man-height length from the edge, except where I had to cross back in a bit, around trees. I was wise to do that, because here and there, the cliff had crumbled. In one place a massive oak hung out across the gulf, some of its roots showing where the rock had given way.

  The sky meanwhile melted from blue to violet.

  The light of day soaked into the forest behind me. When I looked back, it was one moment all gilded red and jade-gold, and then it turned black, then ashen – then the light was gone. The forest became formless and dark.

  That huge sky, hanging in a luminous sheet out there, will also go black soon. I can already see a few stars.

  I’ve sat down, and written this and now I can hardly see what I’m writing in the light of the fire I made.

  It’s night.

  Already I’ve heard weird sounds from the forest. I expect it’s only owls or something.

  Time to throw another branch on the fire. Or would it be better to get up a tree? Safer, that is.

  Really it wasn’t confidence or courage that made me fall asleep. I was tired. The dying of the firelight woke me, as I’d hoped it would, so I could build the protective blaze up again.

  As I leaned over to push in more dry twigs, I saw the panther, sitting across the fire, looking at me.

  My heart did what it does at such times. Stopped, then jumped with a jolt that shook me. I never find that very helpful.

  Perhaps I made a sound. A sort of stifled squawk, most likely.

  The panther twitched its ears.

  It was very black, its pelt like costly velvet. Its eyes were a silvery moon-yellow, but emerald where the fire caught in them.

  How do I know to identify a panther? I’ve seen pictures. Even on the Star I had, looking at the picture of a panther in an interested way, because of the name of the town.

  I now remembered the knife Dagger gave me. I eased it from the loop in my belt.

  I thought, I can’t kill a panther. I don’t want to. And anyway, I’ve never learned to fight—

  Then, the panther spoke to me.

  Right, I’ve gone mad. No, it’s a dream. It’s a dream and I’ve gone mad.

  The panther said, ‘Get up, follow. Come on, I will not wait.’

  Well, it was a dream, so why not.

  Anyway, was I going to make a scene and annoy it?

  I stood up.

  The panther said, ‘Bring your luggage.’

  My – ? Oh, it meant my bag. How thoughtful of it to remind me.

  ‘Kick dirt over your fire,’ said the panther, evidently very responsible, ‘you will not be returning.’

  ‘Er – why not?’ I nervously asked.

  ‘I am to show you,’ said the panther, ‘the way down to the valley.’

  It had a cool, bored voice. Yes, it sounded bored. This was a nuisance for it, having to leave its normal panther-type activities, and come and help me down the cliff since I was too duppish to have figured out a way for myself.

  I kicked leaf-mould and dirt over the fire.

  Apparently not adequately, because the panther now stalked up – I shrank – and paw-brushed more stuff over it.

  The moon was up, another panther eye in the sky.

  ‘Ah – thanks.’

  ‘Follow me now,’ said the panther.

  I can remember things in books about talking animals. They were always funny, or wise. This one just went on sounding matter-of-fact and bored.

  It walked ahead of me, swinging its lean hindquarters, the velvet bell-rope of tail flicking from side to side.

  ‘Mind the roots,’ it presently said, so I minded them. Felt I had to thank it again.

  But when I stubbed my toe anyway, I thought, No, I’m not dreaming. This is real.

  Next there were some very tall trees and the panther walked in between, and when I did too, there was a hump of rock coming out of the cliff, a kind of chimney-like structure. In the side of it, a hole, or opening.

  ‘There,’ said the panther.

  ‘Yes?’

  The panther shut its eyes. It looked – exasperated.

  ‘Inside the rock is an entrance to caves which run through the cliff. Follow the slope downwards, taking no side turnings. This will bring you to the valley floor.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Do not,’ said the panther, eying me sternly, ‘wait until daybreak. For then the bats return.’

  ‘I don’t mind bats,’ I wildly confessed.

  ‘However, they may not care for you.’

  ‘Ah yes, I see. Of course.’

  The panther gave me one long stare, then turned.

  ‘Wait—’ I heard myself (disbelieving I did) call.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Look, I apologize for asking – but – how is it you can talk?’

  ‘I might,’ said the panther, ‘ask you the same.’

  Shattered, I stood there gawping. Then I said, ‘Look – no, people do talk. But animals – don’t.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I don’t know but – oh come on. Do they?’

  ‘Generally, they do not.’

  ‘Then why is it—?’ I began.

  The panther turned again. It walked back towards me, and I wished I’d kept quiet.

  It came so close, I felt the living heat of it, the muscular terrible strength. Its head was level with my ribs, but it was overall very much bigger than me, and heavy – yet light, sprung steel with a coat of plush. It smelled of night and darkness and its breath stank of raw meat – the last thing it had killed and eaten.

  ‘Claidi, who must always ask questions,’ said the panther.

  ‘You know my name.’

  ‘You ask too much, but now is the time for action, not words.’

  My legs felt watery. On the other hand, my mouth was too dry to speak.

  It gave me, the great black dog-like cat, one last look of lingering disdain. And then it leapt around and bounded into the forest.

  I tottered into the rock chimney. I leaned on the wall.

  Then, by some trick of the outside moonlight, I glimpsed the curve of the wall, and a sloping stony track angling down.

  I wandered on to it, started to descend. All the questions I hadn’t ask
ed were beating round and round in my head.

  I realized a bit late why I could see my way. Clusters of fireflies were there, hanging like necklaces of topaz and green beryl, or dancing over pockets of water.

  The ancient sinews of the stone arched overhead. Twisted trunks of stone strained up to hold them.

  Everything reeked of the absent bats. And here and there the odd grape-bunch of bats was still hung up, having overslept or something.

  Once one bat, a pale one, an albino, flew right at me. And as I ducked I thought, What is it going to say?

  But the bat didn’t speak, except maybe in battish, so luckily I hadn’t a clue about it.

  I was still so stunned that finally I sat down on the rim of a largish pool, where the dancing fireflies reflected like candles.

  Some things have happened to me, since I left the House. The Waste outside, I was always told, was full of bizarre and horrifying creatures. Though the House lied a lot, certain parts of the Waste – the world – are exactly what I was told they would be.

  But no one warned me about talking panthers.

  What can you do with something so curious and unsettling? Just shove it to the back of your mind, and carry on.

  I’d filled the by-then empty tea-bottle with water in the forest, there’d been a spring near my fire, with a squirrel drinking in the dusk. When I at last got out of the caves, I tried a sip. It tasted rather bitter, but all right. In fact it was.

  The exit from the cliff was another cave, very wide and high, a great arch which showed plainly from inside, because by then it was getting on for dawn.

  Apart from falling asleep again briefly by the pool, I had, it seemed, walked all night.

  The bats were streaming home to bed as I moved out of the last cave. They passed over me, a chittering, soft yet spiky wind of shadows.

  It was a cold morning.

  It was dim, I still couldn’t see much. But from above, the valley-plain had looked uninviting.

  Wait for the sun. It should come up – over there.

  By the cave-mouth I sat and dozed.