Brassa expended all her remaining energy telling the children stories too, making sure that her best tales were passed on to the future, since she had always believed that they might help to protect them. Her talk was mostly of Tor and Fenris, the great wolf gods in the sky who looked down kindly on the Varg. She would whisper too that she was about to go on a great journey. Fell listened especially attentively when she spoke like this, and a new gravity seemed to have woken in the young wolf.
The weather began to change suddenly, as it can do in Transylvania. Autumn came, turning the leaves to burnished gold and fretting fire through the forests. The leaves began to fall and in the high mountains the first snows came. Like Brassa, the country was dying, but for the old nurse, the distant seasons would bring no spring.
Fell and Larka found Brassa one stirring autumn morning. She had not gone off on her own into the forest but instead was lying beneath the trees, and the falling leaves had settled on her back. It was as though the wood had begun to lay a shawl across the old she-wolf to cover her passing. Fell nuzzled Brassa and whimpered softly as he touched her old body with his paw but his friend would not stir. Her body was cold as stone and already stiffening beneath her coat. As Fell stared at her he could not believe that this had ever been Brassa at all.
‘At least she went peacefully in her sleep,’ said Huttser quietly, as he padded up beside them.
‘What should we do, Father?’ growled Fell helplessly. ‘Should we cover her up in the ground?’
‘No, Fell. Now we must leave her for the Lera and for the seasons. For the creatures of earth and air.’
‘But, Father, it’s too cruel,’ gasped Larka, looking at Brassa’s body and thinking suddenly of the ghastly birds feasting on the dead water buffalo.
‘She is not there, Larka,’ said Huttser gently. ‘She is with Tor and Fenris now. But what she was in life is now a gift to feed nature. To feed the future.’
Fell could not understand his father’s words and the thought of it made him turn away angrily. The pack padded over in turn to take their farewells of the old nurse. Palla licked Brassa’s nose gently, as Larka growled sadly beside her. The strange guilt that Larka had felt over Khaz was burning inside her again and Larka felt herself a threat to the whole pack. The children had all grown to nearly two-thirds of the adults’ size, but in that moment none of them felt they knew anything of the adult world.
‘Goodbye, Brassa,’ whispered Palla bitterly, and she lifted her head and howled. Apart from her brother Skop, the last link with her childhood was gone. The call rose into the skies, and the wolf pack took it up together sadly by the river. As the mournful elegy sounded for the old nurse and for Khaz too, its pain and sadness were in terrible contrast to the beauty of that wild autumn day.
‘There is one blessing,’ said Palla, as their call subsided. The pack followed the Drappa’s gaze up to the Stone Den high on the craggy mountaintop. ‘I was happy here as a cub, but now I shall always associate it with bad memories. I shall be glad to leave.’
‘Are we running away, Mother?’ asked Fell suddenly.
‘No, Fell,’ growled Huttser. ‘We will mark the boundaries while we go in search of the fortune-teller.’
Palla looked at her mate and shook her head, but it was not the time or place to argue with him about what lay ahead.
‘Come, then,’ cried Huttser. ‘Kipcha, walk with me a while.’
Kipcha stared helplessly at her brother. She could hardly bear to leave the place were she and Khaz had been so happy together, even for such a desperately short time. But something bitter had got into her gut too.
‘We never had a chance, Huttser,’ said Kipcha as she thought of Khaz.
Huttser couldn’t bear to see his sister like this and he turned away, shaking his head sadly. Kipcha padded slowly after him but as she went he had no notion that now Kipcha was carrying a secret with her also. Huttser looked back at the castle and its shadow seemed to be reaching after them. He tried to smile reassuringly at his sister, but his head was ringing with words that Morgra had cried out above the ravine, ‘Fear, betrayal, here begun’, and a cloud had just passed over the sun.
The children came next, Larka in the middle. Only Bran hovered about the river. He looked up towards the castle too and then across to the forests where Khaz had gone. Then to Brassa lying still beneath the trees.
‘One by one,’ whispered Bran fearfully. ‘One by one.’
As he spoke, a pheasant took wing and the startled flurry sent the Sikla bounding frantically through the leaves behind his friends.
If a bird had been circling through the blue, looking down as autumn painted its ripening colours across the forests of Transylvania, it would have spied a wolf pack weaving upwards through the dying grasses. The eight of them went in single file, with the largest wolf at the front, searching the land ahead with his cunning eyes. Now and then the bird would have seen him stop and lift his grey-red tail expectantly, but for the moment at least, nothing came to trouble the pack as they fled.
Yet if that bird’s eyes had been keen enough it might have noticed that there was something especially wary in each of the wolves’ treads. That at every sound one in particular, with a smudge round his right eye, would start and look behind him. The three young wolves trailing behind the adults kept scenting the air questioningly and two of them watched the third white wolf with special care.
As this bird watched the secret body language of the moving pack it might have thought that there was some dark secret troubling the wolves. Yet, knowing the laws of nature and of the wilderness, it might have thought simply that the sprung tension in their padding gait was nothing more than the essence of these mysterious creatures, their perfectly adapted instinct towards flight or fight.
The wolves had been travelling for ten suns, and as they journeyed Huttser insisted on marking their territory. Palla had begun to remember a little of the contours of her old pack. She had been on many markings herself with her parents, and wolves know their territory as intimately as any human knows his home or the room he sleeps in. Palla would stop to remark on a familiar tree or brook, a glade that she suddenly recognized, or the shape of a boulder or a cairn. At these places the pack would linger, leaving a clear scent to warn off intruders, howling as they did so and pawing the earth.
Their spirits were low, but they were glad to be on the move at last, and the business of marking at least gave them something to occupy their thoughts. Larka had grown introspective and would look up now and then to find Fell and Kar watching her nervously. It upset Larka a great deal.
Kar had tried to cheer her up, chatting to her and even trying to get her to romp in the autumn leaves, but Larka hardly responded, preferring instead to pad quietly after her mother. In the end Kar gave up, and in truth he was frightened.
Fell’s feelings were more complicated. When Brassa had first talked of the Sight he had felt a jealousy towards Larka, for he could see one thing plainly. It had made her the centre of attention in the wolf pack. Now he almost wished that he had the powers himself. This jealousy was an unpleasant feeling and Fell grappled with it, but it made it harder and harder for him to confide in his sister and he held it to himself like a guilty secret.
But something else was stirring in the wolf’s guts. Fell had sensed it growing in him after he had been so gripped at the hunt. It was like the fury and exhilaration that blended in him at tasting his first true meat. It was anger.
At times Fell didn’t know what the anger was directed towards. He looked out on the world as they went and felt a strange stirring in his belly. He would growl at the Lera around him and long to hunt again and watch the world running before his paws. Now and then he would snap at his mother and father and blame them for not paying him enough attention, or understanding the feelings of growing isolation that were coursing naturally through his blood.
At other times he would allow Huttser and Palla to comfort him and feel the peace of being a cub again. He
would curl up beside his parents when they rested and listen to their strong voices and remember the stories they had told him as a pup and feel safe. But then Palla would say something to him that sounded silly or made him feel young and foolish, or he would remember resentfully how his father had clasped him by the back of the neck that sun. Then he would recall his anger and sense of freedom at the hunt and stalk irritably away. Fell grew sullen and brooding and when this happened he learnt to direct his feelings towards Kar, another source of jealousy in Fell, for he could see how fond Larka was of him.
They had been travelling for several suns when Skop came up behind Huttser at the brow of the rocky hill. Huttser already knew what was in Skop’s mind as they gazed out at the land rolling before them.
‘This.is where I leave you, Huttser,’ said Skop quietly.
‘Tsinga’s valley takes you directly east but it will be quicker if I bear north-east now, for I have travelled that route once before. Will you be all right?’
‘Yes, my friend,’ answered Huttser. ‘We shall survive.’
‘I wonder why Tsinga’s wood is really called the Vale of Shadows?’ growled Skop, as they stood there.
‘Well, it can’t be because of a two-headed wolf,’ answered Huttser as scornfully as he could, ‘or a river that eats any that try to cross. Though we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘Yes.’
‘I almost wish I could come with you, Skop. It would be good to have something real to fight.’
Skop shook his head thoughtfully.
‘Huttser,’ he growled, ‘you must guard your family now and find your own freedom. My sister does not really agree, but I think you are right. Mark your territory and keep everything out. I don’t know how to fight shadows, Huttser, so I will go in search of something I can smell and taste. If Morgra seeks a power that is evil, I want to be a part of the battle. If I find these rebels all the better, but if I ever find Morgra again, I shall kill my half-sister myself.’
Huttser growled with a cold approval as he looked back at Skop.
‘But, Huttser, remember what Palla heard the rebels saying that night – if they have sworn to destroy anything connected with the Sight, they are a danger to you too. Perhaps I can reason with this Slavka, if I find her – tell her what is happening.’
Huttser nodded gravely.
‘And, Huttser,’ said Skop suddenly, his voice filling with tenderness but regret too, ‘look after Kar. He is all that is left of my pack.’
Huttser’s gaze was confused by the sight of Kar standing between his own cubs, but he nodded nonetheless. Skop padded over to Palla and stood talking quietly with his sister for a while, then he trotted up to Kar. The young wolf kept shaking his head angrily as Skop spoke to him and soon Skop turned away. Wolves hate farewells, and Kar watched him sadly as he bounded off up the slope. As Skop turned to give them a final look of parting, Palla padded up beside Kar.
‘Don’t worry, Kar,’ she whispered kindly, ‘he’ll be all right.’
‘Why must he go, Palla?’
‘Skop was always a fighter, Kar. Even as a cub. He wants to find this rebel pack and with winter so close he has to cross the mountains before the snows hit.’
‘But why is he leaving me behind?’ cried Kar bitterly.
‘Why can’t I go with him?’
‘You are still too young, Kar. But don’t worry. You have us now. We are your family.’
Kar looked up meekly at Palla as Skop disappeared over the hill, but as Palla mentioned a family he shuddered too. He suddenly felt terribly lonely and as the pack set off again he ran over to Bran and Kipcha. The Sikla was whispering nervously to Huttser’s sister.
‘We don’t know who will be next, Kipcha,’ Bran growled under his breath. ‘Brassa said that this journey would be dangerous, so we’ve got to watch each other’s backs. I only hope Fenris lets us escape the boundaries.’
Kar shuddered but Kipcha hardly seemed to hear Bran. Her eyes were fixed on Larka and, as she thought once more of Khaz lying dead in the pit, her look became cold and resentful.
The pack travelled on for six suns, and they were cresting another hill when the children heard a strange noise. Below them lay a river that sent up the grumbling thunder of the great rapids they had been seeking. Bran was growing increasingly nervous as they threaded down the slope, for what he had heard of Tsinga and the Vale of Shadows had almost frightened him as much as his thoughts of Wolfbane.
The noise grew steadily around them, and as the wolves got to the bottom of the slope the children bounded eagerly towards Huttser. They gasped, though, as they looked down. Palla and Kipcha were peering out nervously over the edge at the torrent tearing through the rock walls beneath them. The updraft made the wolves’ fur quiver and ripple. The water crashed and boomed furiously as it fought its way down the rocky canyon. Bran could not help thinking it looked just as if it might have been formed from the saliva of a thousand feeding packs.
The mountain here was in steps, so that in the river below them, beyond two great boulders that edged the top of a waterfall, rapids had formed where the cavern narrowed and fell and here the foaming white water was churned to a frenzy before it reached a second massive fall and spilt down around a jagged rock.
‘We don’t have to cross that, Father?’ gulped Larka as she saw the drop. Staring into the churning white rapids, Larka wondered what it would be like for the soul never to find a resting place. Fell thought of the second power of the Sight again, to look into water and see things of far off realities. It was Bran who was remembering Morgra’s curse.
Huttser began to thread carefully down the slope. The river here was calmer than elsewhere and he noticed that there were several boulders sticking above the surface and, at a point, where the jump between two flat rocks was too far to leap, a tree had fallen from the far bank and lay across like a bridge. Huttser could see a clear path to the other side.
‘It doesn’t look too difficult,’ he called.
In a single spring the wolf had leapt to the near rock. As he went something was watching him, high in the trees above them.
‘Careful, Huttser,’ whispered Bran from the safety of the bank.
The next jump was greater and as Huttser landed he felt his paws slip on the rock. But Huttser kept his balance and the others had already begun to follow from the river bank. Huttser crossed easily to the flat rock. In front of him lay the length of the fallen tree, one or two of its branches trailing into the water, but most stripped away by the force of current.
Huttser stepped up on to it very carefully. It felt firm under his paws and he padded forward more confidently, stopping in the middle of the log to look downstream. Directly ahead were the two great boulders where the river plunged over the edge to the rapids. Huttser turned round again as he reached the end of the log. Palla, Fell and Kar were close behind.
Larka too stepped on to the log as her mother neared the end. But as she saw the water on either side of her, Larka suddenly felt dizzy. It surprised the young wolf, for she had often run blithely across the hollow log at the Meeting Place without falling or feeling the slightest uncertainty. Even as she thought about her own fear Larka felt herself beginning to totter precariously.
‘Kipcha. Bran,’ called Huttser, as Palla and Fell sprang on to the grass beside him, ‘hurry up there.’
They were still hovering on the far bank as Kar too reached the far side.
‘Go on, Kipcha,’ whispered Bran nervously. ‘I’ll be behind you.’
They jumped easily enough across the rocks and Kipcha sprang on to the log behind Larka, but Bran almost slipped on the last rock. He stood there trembling furiously.
‘Bran,’ cried Huttser angrily, ‘come on, will you?’
‘I can’t, Huttser... it’s not safe.’
‘Nonsense, just jump.’
Kipcha was hardly aware what was happening as Huttser shouted at the Sikla but as she saw Larka in front of her a dark shadow crossed her mind. Perhaps it w
as true, perhaps it was Larka that had brought the curse down on the pack. Just for a moment, she thought how easy it might be to knock Larka off the tree. Even as Kipcha thought it Bran closed his terrified eyes and flung himself towards the log.
‘Bran, you fool, look what you’re doing,’ snarled Huttser. The others gasped as they saw the log move. Larka sprang to safety before the trailing vines holding it in place broke, but as the wet moss on the log’s upper sides came in contact with the smooth stones it was resting on, it rolled. Bran and Kipcha were flung into the churning waters. Kipcha felt the horror of nightmares enfold her as she plunged into the river.
‘Kipcha,’ gasped Huttser.
The current overcame them and they were both swept through that churning stone gateway and vanished into the void.
‘Quick,’ snarled Huttser, pushing past Palla.
They leapt after Huttser. The pack reached the lower bank, and as they stared at the tumbling waterfall that dropped from the high boulders and turned the river to spray, they trembled in horror at the empty surface below.
Suddenly two muzzles burst into the air. Kipcha and Bran, released from the grip of the falls, were gasping for breath and fighting for their lives as the river swept them away.
‘The curse,’ gasped Palla. ‘It’s hunting us down.’
‘Hurry,’ cried Huttser, springing after them.
Ahead, in the path of the rapids, the river’s course was cut by boulders and jagged rocks and the water careered left and right, swerving around the obstacles or smashing against their sides as it carried the wolves downstream.
‘Fight, Kipcha!’ cried Huttser furiously.
A boulder loomed in front of their friends, but the water suddenly swung them safely past it.