CHAPTER NINETEEN
What Hoole Saw
Hoole was fascinated by the new country. He had been sleeping in the cave with Fengo for fourteen days. When they had arrived, the moon had been full but now it was half dwenked. He had adjusted his schedule to Fengo’s and often went out with him during the day when he hunted for small game like the cinder shrews that could be found in the warm ashes of the volcano. Or the soot rabbits that hopped about. He would fly overhead while Fengo padded along on the ground. Every night he would ask the wolf when they would be going on a caribou hunt. He was tired of the little scrawny animals that plied their way around the perimeters of the volcano. He was impatient to see the large four-legged animals that were almost the same size as the dire wolves. And most of all, he wanted to see the moose, which were supposed to be immense. Grank called them the polar bears of the Beyond. Fengo’s answer was always the same. “You’re not quite ready, but soon.”
What Fengo meant by “not quite ready” was that Hoole had not yet had a significant fire vision, the vision that would transform his mind if not his body into that of a wolf. It was understandable. The volcanoes had been in their quiescent phase. Only a few small eruptions had occurred. No real flames scorched the sky. Grank, though tempted, resisted making a forge fire, much to Theo’s chagrin. Theo entertained himself with trying to pick up the few hot coals that were occasionally spewed from the volcanoes but he did not have the makings of a collier. Grank saw this immediately but did not tell him. Theo was purely a blacksmith. That was his art. Finally, toward the end of the dwenking, the volcanoes became more active. And then by the night when no moon rose or traversed the sky, the volcanoes erupted in a fury that was almost unimaginable.
The owls and the wolf were all on Fengo’s favorite mountain ridge. “Look at those flames!” exclaimed Phineas.
“Look at the coals!” Theo said. “They’re like thousands of red shooting stars!”
But Fengo and Grank were not looking at any of this. They were watching Hoole. Hoole’s amber eyes seemed to grow to twice their normal size. He became very still. It is like the time when we were on the island, Grank thought. He is in some sort of a trance.
The flames and fires that spewed from the five volcanoes were like no fires Hoole had ever seen before. He did not see the shape of his mother in the flames as he had before. He did not even think of his mother now. He saw wolves, only wolves, and something strange was happening to him. It was almost like the time he went fishing and felt that he had become more fish than owl. First, he felt a mighty heart beating in his chest. And his talons began to change shape. Yet, when he dared looked down for just a split second, he saw the same feet he had always had with their four talons gripping the ridge rocks. He was a Spotted Owl and Spotted Owls did not have ear tufts, but suddenly it felt as if his ear slits were moving to the top of his head and growing into little peaks. His beak began to extend into a squarish muzzle shape. And yet he knew it was still just a beak. And his feathers felt different. He was warmer.
I am not a wolf, but I am a wolf, he thought.
Grank nodded at Fengo. Fengo walked closer to Hoole.
“Hoole, my pup. You are ready to go on the caribou hunt. We leave tonight.”
Hoole instantly snapped out of his trance. “I’m ready, yes. I know I am ready.”
And so they left on that moonless night when the flames singed the stars, and the coals flew red-hot in the night. They were on a southwesterly course away from the ring of the volcanoes into what Fengo called the high plains. Hoole flew high, directly above Fengo. He could see his wings. He could see the feathers on his legs. If he swiveled his head around he could see his tail. He looked like a normal Spotted Owl. But in his heart, not his gizzard, in his wildly thumping heart, he knew he was a wolf. If he hooted, it would sound to him like a growl or a howl. I am a wolf. There were new sensations. One of the strongest was that of smell. He was bombarded by all sorts of strange scents. He realized that he had not rid himself of his body, but somehow entered that of another. Fengo’s, he guessed.
As Fengo loped along, other wolves joined him. They were mostly from his pack or clan. They were accustomed to going on hunts like this together. To bring down a caribou or a moose, one could not act alone. The hunt became an elaborate and intricate dance. The wolves numbered almost a dozen. Hoole understood immediately the configuration of the byrrgis, in which his position was in the rear with the males. They were slower than the females, and so the females were in the lead. Even Fengo had begun to fall back when more females joined the pack. Hoole felt himself pressed close between Fengo and Dunmore, a younger wolf who loped with an odd gait due to a crooked hind leg. His heart beat in time with theirs. Long strands of saliva hung from their mouths and although Hoole knew that he had no mouth as they did, nor saliva, he felt the long wet strings blow in the breeze. And the rhythms of the wolves’ footfalls became the rhythms of his wing strokes as he flew above them.
He noticed an earless wolf just ahead of him where the females ran. He had seen her before lurking about at the base of the volcanoes. She had seemed apart then. It was as if the other wolves avoided her, but now she was running with this clan. Still, Hoole could feel the tension of the wolves closest to her. They don’t like her, he thought. Wolves were very playful, always wrestling and nipping at one another, playing games of tag or bone toss, but he realized now that he had never seen this wolf play with any of the other wolves. They never shared food with her, never gave her the slightest friendly cuff. Never spoke to her. So why was she with them now? he wondered. They distrust her, he thought. They are afraid of her in some way. He knew this as well as he knew anything. But there was something else he knew, and his heart, not his gizzard, went out to her. She was not to be feared at all. He was sure. She had a terrible sadness about her. A terrible unbearable sadness. Can’t they see that? Can’t they feel that?
At dawn, they broke the formation of the byrrgiss to rest. No caribou had been sighted but they were coming closer to their range. The dry and scrubby hillsides here were riddled with caves. The wolves found a large one and went in. Hoole himself went in, and he wondered if they would notice him. For although he felt totally at ease as a wolf, he knew they would only see him as an owl. But they paid no attention to him. A small hunting team had been sent out to scare up some rabbits or weasels. When they came back, Fengo tore apart the animals they had found and divided the portions according to rank. The earless female, Hordweard was her name, was given the smallest gristliest piece of a rabbit. Even Hoole got a much superior piece, a juicy haunch. Again, no one paid him any heed. He slurped his food just as the wolves did, making loud chomping noises. Maybe to them I do look like a wolf, Hoole thought. But when he looked down he saw the same white-spotted breast, the talons, and yet…? It was a mystery.
Hoole did not perch in the cave but settled down, sprawled exactly like the wolves. When he began to edge himself closer to Hordweard, who slept in the farthest corner of the cave, Fengo motioned him away from her. He moved and quickly fell asleep. When he dreamed, he dreamed wolf dreams of running, bursting into attack speed, then slowing and crouching down in tall grass. Silent signals were given. The wolves slunk down in the thickest part of the grass and pressed their bellies to the ground as they approached the prey. He woke up in the middle of the dream. The wolves around him were stirring, and Fengo was just outside the cave with his muzzle lifted, sniffing the air.
Caribou!
The signal went through the pack. They headed off into the rising sun with their tails slightly raised. The pace was steady. Hoole saw the caribou herd ahead. The herd had speeded up for they were now aware of the wolves. Fengo gave a signal to turn the herd. Turn them west away from the rising sun. Of course, Hoole thought, in a few more minutes the sun would be blinding.
The wolves increased their speed a bit and four females split off to the north. They streaked up to the flanks of the herd. The rest of the wolves caught up, but then abruptly slo
wed down. They had positioned the herd where they wanted them, but were not yet ready to attack. Fengo scanned the herd. They were looking for a weak one. One that was old, hungry, or lame. One that could be easily brought down.
They spotted her. She was old and had been running in the middle of the herd but had grown tired and was lagging. As soon as she was several paces behind Fengo, they charged her. Just enough to split her entirely from the rest of the herd. In a surprising burst of speed, the old one took off. Now eight female wolves ran after her in spurts, tiring her out, making her think when they slowed that perhaps they weren’t interested. She became confused.
It was like Hoole’s dream. He knew exactly what he was to do. Even though he still flew above, he felt part of him descend, crouch in the tall grass, his belly scraping the earth as they approached. The caribou lifted her head. She thought they were gone and became more relaxed. But the stalking had begun in earnest. Closer and closer Hoole crept. He was between Fengo and Dunmore. Fengo lifted his tail. A scent suddenly wafted through the air. He felt the other wolves’ hackles raise. Two females darted out and leaped onto the caribou, bringing her down and ripping open a great slash on her neck. She looked stunned but managed to rise to her feet once again. Then three young males charged and tore at her flank.
Blood spurted from all of her wounds. She stood and stared at the retreating attackers. Hoole felt an immense surge of admiration for her, but no pity. She was meat and yet she was more than meat. She was magnificent. Fengo now signaled him. It was their turn. Dunmore, Fengo, and that part of Hoole that had become a creature of earth and not sky, burst out of the grasses. Hoole knew they were coming in for the kill. But still she would not bow. Fengo slowly walked around her, never taking his eyes from hers. She wobbled and then collapsed onto the ground, but she was not dead. Fengo signaled Hoole to come up. And then began the part of the death ritual that Hoole could never have imagined. He saw Fengo bow his head and make all the signs of submissive behavior as if this animal he was about to kill was superior to him in rank, and while he did this, Fengo’s eyes and that of the dying caribou locked together. An agreement was being made between predator and prey. It was a moment of great dignity. Something was being agreed upon. Fengo nodded and then sank his fangs into her neck.
“Lochinvyrr” was the wolf word for this odd yet beautiful ritual of death in which the predator respects and recognizes the valor of the dying animal. It would be one of the most valuable and important lessons that Hoole would ever learn.
When Hoole finally returned from the hunt he spent much time alone reflecting on all that he had learned in the time his spirit had become that of a wolf. He thought about the wolves and their strategies, their organization, the way they combined strength and planning; their tactics for traveling, hunting, and sharing food. He would never forget the flawless movements of that chase. He wondered if some of their strategies could be used by owls. He must discuss this with Grank, for although owls and wolves inhabited different realms, why couldn’t one learn from the other? He most especially revered the code of lochinvyrr. He had learned all about knightly codes of honor and behavior from Grank but there was nothing quite like lochinvyrr, which honored the prey that was giving up its life so another could live.
But it also seemed to Hoole that the wolves moved through their lives as easily as the stars in the night, as smoothly as the constellations that wheel through the sky. And yet they were deeply superstitious and often distrustful for no reason.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Two Wolves Head North
“I can’t believe it!” Theo exclaimed. “You caught a bonk coal on your first try! I’ve been practicing all summer.”
They had been in the Beyond for three cycles of the moon, and when Hoole returned from his hunting trip with Fengo and was completely restored to his old owl self, he began to take more interest in the volcanoes, not so much for their fires but for the coals they spewed forth He had quickly learned how to retrieve the cooler coals that lay on the ground. But it had taken him only one try to catch one of the hottest of coals, the “bonk” ones, that were caught on the fly.
“Look, Theo, I can catch them, but you know what to do with a bonk coal. I am not good at smithing.”
This certainly was true. Theo had tried to teach Hoole how to make one of the simplest utensils, a small container that he called a bucket, and Hoole’s bucket wound up completely flat and hammered as thin as a leaf. Phineas, trying to be encouraging, said, “Well, it’s not that bad. We could use it as a decoration in our cave.” The four owls were all living together once again.
Dunmore MacDuncan, to whom Hoole had become very close on the caribou hunt, now trotted up to him.
“Ready for today’s lesson?” Dunmore was now in charge of Hoole’s education, which focused largely on the activities of the volcanoes.
“I just caught a bonk coal. Isn’t that enough for one day?”
“Do you know what a bonk coal sounds like?” Dunmore asked him.
“Sounds like?”
“Ah, so you are in need of a lesson: A bonk coal has a very distinct sound compared to other coals. Now listen.”
Hoole crouched down and put his ear slit close to the bonk coal. “It sounds like water! Running water! How can something so hot sound like water?”
Dunmore shrugged. “Don’t know. But coals, the lava, the fires of the volcanoes, all have different sounds, and they combine in different ways so that each volcano has a unique sound and even that varies according to weather and certain conditions we don’t yet understand.”
Dunmore probably knew more about the volcanoes than any other wolf, including Fengo. Fengo had decided to form a guard—a watch—for the volcanoes, and he had made Dunmore the chieftain of the watch. But whenever Hoole asked Fengo or Dunmore why there needed to be a watch, they were evasive in their answers. Hoole sensed that they were watching for something more than just the activity and the sounds and moods of the volcanoes. As Dunmore padded along the perimeter of the ring of volcanoes, and Hoole flew directly above him, he would on occasion stop to point something out.
“You see this one here, Hoole?” Dunmore said. “Listen for a grackling sound.”
Hoole hovered. “Grackling? Is that like crackling?”
“Yes, but grittier. It sounds like rocks being broken apart. We think that is just what is happening deep in the volcano—rocks are shattering.”
So summer passed and the days grew shorter by slivers of seconds. Grank and Fengo watched Hoole. He had grown into a handsome owl. Both Theo and Phineas, younger and closer to Hoole’s age, had been excellent teachers. Theo had shown him rocks that he’d never seen on the island in the Bitter Sea and explained their properties, and which metals could be derived from them.
Phineas had a wisdom beyond his years. In spite of being so small, he had traveled widely, and coming from the Southern Kingdoms, knew every forest there. So soon he was giving Hoole instruction in the immense variety of trees and plants that grew in that unfrozen part of the world. Grank was pleased. The young prince’s education had been enriched by these two young owls. And how astounding it had been when Hoole had approached him that night shortly after he had returned from the hunt and told Grank he felt that some of the strategies used by the wolves would work for owls. And then most astonishing were those words he had said in innocent earnestness: “Uncle Grank, if I were king I would make lochinvyrr part of the H’rathian code.” It had taken Grank’s breath away. If he were king!
“Will he see the ember in the way I did?” Grank wondered aloud one night to Fengo where they perched high on their favorite ridge.
“That’s unanswerable.”
And when he does find it, will it be too late? Grank wondered.
There had been no news from the N’yrthghar about the war since they had reached the Beyond. Grank’s fires were unclear as to what was happening. Hoole, oddly enough, did not seem that interested in reading the flames these days. Grank suspected tha
t he was too fearful about his mother, that he did not want to know if she had perished after the encounter with the hagsfiend and Pleek in the Bitter Sea. He never talked about her anymore. But Grank thought of her constantly.
“I wonder what happened to Siv?” he said to Fengo as they perched on the ridge. “How thrilled she would be to see her son now. He truly is becoming a prince.”
There was a sudden scrabbling of rock beneath them. Fengo and Grank were immediately alert. They saw the shadow of a wolf dart off in the moonlight.
“Who was that?” Fengo asked nervously. “No one ever comes up here.”
But before they could chase the wolf, he had vanished completely.
Neither Fengo nor Grank slept well. Finally, toward noon when the owls usually slept, Grank went out and decided to make a new fire in his forge. As the flames built up, he thought he saw something in them but it was not any image from the N’yrthghar. What he saw was a wolf streaking across the Beyond on an easterly course. The wolf was staying far north on a heading that would take him to the northern edge of the spirit woods, and it looked as if he were heading for Broken Talon Point. This was most unusual. Wolves rarely left the Beyond, and when they did, they usually went south into the Shadow Forest. Most unusual! He would monitor the fires and check on the wolf’s progress again before he mentioned any of this to Fengo.