‘Join our pack, Morgra?’ stammered Palla, ‘but you... the Balkar...’
‘The Night Hunters are not a family,’ snorted Morgra immediately, ‘and to lead a pack of Draggas is no satisfaction to a she-wolf. But now you have little ones...’
There was something almost tender in Morgra’s gaze. She had stepped further forward, and her eyes were searching now beyond Brassa and her sister, trying to penetrate into the darkness of the den.
‘Keep your distance, Morgra—’
‘Won’t you let me come home, sister?’
Palla felt her guts clench as the pleading note came to her ears. It was many suns since Palla had thought of Morgra as a sister.
‘Home?’ she muttered, amazed by the strangeness of it.
‘Do you think I’ve forgotten what you did, Morgra?’ Morgra’s lips curled up to show her teeth, but when she spoke her voice was soft and almost sad.
‘Forgotten?’ she whispered. ‘But you were too young to even remember, Palla. They were mistaken.’
‘Cub killer,’ growled Khaz suddenly.
‘I am no cub killer,’ hissed Morgra, turning on Khaz, ‘and one sun I shall have justice.’
Morgra’s voice was so angry that the whole pack flinched, but as they moved closer to protect the den, her tone changed immediately.
‘Even if you won’t believe me,’ she said in a wheedling voice, ‘can’t you forget the past, Palla? Let it go. Together we can all make a future. Such a glorious future. For so long now I have wanted cubs of my own, but I am barren, Palla, barren.’
Palla and Kipcha looked up in horror. For she-wolves, there could be few fates more terrible than being barren.
‘For years I lived as a Kerl, Palla, without family.’ Morgra went on in the same whining tone. ‘Now I am old and before I die I want to run with a pack again, like the Varg should. And you, my sister, my own blood... I could be a boon to you, Palla, for I have learnt many things.’
Palla hardly knew what to say, but she felt a pity stirring in her for her half-sister. Bran’s eyes were on stalks. Though he couldn’t have explained why, Huttser suddenly felt that Morgra was lying through her teeth. He stepped forward.
‘You come here,’ he growled, ‘without even asking Tratto’s Blessing.’
‘Tratto,’ snorted Morgra. ‘Tratto is dead. I am the First Wolf and now my word is law. And, Huttser, you should know above all that we need leaders in the land beyond the forests.’
Bran thought he heard something cold and secret in Morgra’s voice.
‘And is it your love of cubs, Morgra,’ said Huttser angrily, ‘that led to the attacks of the Night Hunters, or to this edict? That forced us to flee through the snows to protect our little ones. That killed two of my pups.’
Morgra growled softly but she didn’t give way an inch or show the slightest remorse.
‘I, kill your cubs?’ she said. ‘More accusations. Be careful how you throw around blame, Huttser, it may come back to you.’
Huttser remembered what Palla had said in the den but he didn’t like Morgra’s tone at all.
‘So you fled to the shadow of the Stone Den, to escape the edict,’ growled Morgra. ‘A strange place to seek safety, Huttser.’
Morgra was looking up towards the castle now, silhouetted on the craggy mountaintop. It suddenly looked more sinister than ever but Morgra’s eyes were amused.
‘When I was a cub they used to say Wolfbane lived up there.’
Bran shuddered and he remembered what Palla had said in the cave the night the pack had returned, about Morgra climbing to the castle herself.
‘They said that the Shape Changer came as a Grasht,’ said Morgra, ‘a vampire. That the Evil One lived in the earth and only rose with the setting sun. That at night Wolfbane would come to drink blood with his great fangs.’
A thin crescent of moon had risen and it cast a ghostly light on the distant castle and the great stone stairway. There was a slight breeze now, sending clouds drifting across the face of the moon and casting shadows over the forest. Bran could already see a shape rising from the earth, floating down towards them from the castle, its giant fangs dripping with blood, its hungry, bloodshot eyes searing into him.
But Morgra suddenly paused and shook her head.
‘The edict was to make a census of the free wolves,’ she said calmly, turning back to Huttser, and again Huttser fancied she was lying, ‘nothing more. As for the Balkar, they are First Among the Putnar and sometimes hard to control. But now I am here to offer you my help and protection.
There is much darkness below the Stone Den, and Man is on the move again.’
Morgra’s eyes began to dance as she spoke of Man, and Kipcha suddenly thought of the humans they had seen in the valley.
‘In fleeing my wolves you have brought yourselves back within Man’s shadow, and like the ancient beliefs, he throws a mighty shadow across the world. For just as it is with the Varg, so Man is a creature of legends. Legends that even a wolf may suckle to her breast.’
Kipcha’s ears were up and Palla noticed that Brassa had started to tremble. Bran, too, had cocked his head and the Sikla’s eyes looked suddenly very alert. Huttser wanted to drive Morgra off, but the thought was leaping through his brain that if there were Balkar with her the pack might be in real danger. With new-born cubs he couldn’t afford to take any risks. He looked over to Palla, but his mate too seemed uncertain.
‘Your hesitation is understandable,’ said Morgra scornfully, ‘but don’t let me rush you. You must choose for yourselves, as all things must, and I have work here myself. Such work. But I’ll visit you again after two full moons have returned. That should give you enough time to conquer your doubts. So watch for me, sister.’
Morgra turned scornfully and she was moving back up the slope when she suddenly stopped and swung round her scarred muzzle. Now the tenderness in Morgra’s voice had vanished completely.
‘But be sure to make the right choice. Though the free Varg are too stupid to believe in the old stories, many strange powers haunt these mountains. We wouldn’t want their eyes to turn on you, Huttser, and I am a better friend than an enemy. In the meantime I give you all... I give your blind cubs a blessing.’
Morgra paused and smiled coldly.
‘May Wolfbane protect you.’
As Morgra turned and vanished over the hill the pack noticed the raven take to the air and flap off noiselessly into the distance after her. As the pack followed its flight they had no idea that in the forest below it two more wolves were moving swiftly towards them through the darkness.
The first was a female and the second an old grey Varg. The fur whitened sadly around his muzzle and his eyes had a mournful brilliance. There was a complicity in their look and it was clear they were hunting for something.
‘We’re nearly there,’ whispered the female as they ran.
‘Yes,’ growled the old grey wolf, ‘and it must happen below the Stone Den. We must find it before she does.’
‘But when, Tsarr?’
‘At a time when the humans go to war once more.’
‘And how shall we know him?’
‘Skart’s eyes shall watch for him from the air, Jarla,’ answered the wolf, looking up, ‘but he has a special mark, as is only right. For he heralds a legend.’
2 - Stolen
‘Through the jungle very softly flits a shadow and a sigh – He is Fear, O little Hunter, he is Fear!’ Rudyard Kipling, ‘The Song of the Little Hunter’
That same night Palla lay at the back of the cave, suckling her blind cubs, as the pack rested in a circle around the Drappa. Huttser had called an urgent meeting and they were talking gravely in the shadows. They were avoiding each others’ gaze once more, just as Palla had done when she had first seen Huttser in the forest, for the wolves could all sense a dangerous tension in the air.
‘Perhaps she really wants to help,’ muttered Bran cheerlessly, trying to break the silence. ‘She offered us her protection and sh
e is the First Wolf now, as she said, whether we like it or not.’
‘Protection?’ snorted Khaz, showing his teeth in the darkness. ‘A cub killer who gives us Wolfbane’s blessing. Why should we want her protection?’
‘But if there truly was some mistake,’ Palla whispered sadly, ‘it must have been terrible for her, to be barren. And then to wander as a Kerl, only to lead this pack of fighting males. It’s not natural. And she is my sister.’
Brassa was suddenly staring at Palla.
‘What are you saying, Palla,’ growled Huttser, on the edge of anger, ‘that we should take her in? Your parents saw what they saw, Palla. They were right to drive Morgra out. And if she already has a taste for cubs...’
Brassa’s ears twitched. She seemed to want to speak but she changed her mind. Palla dropped her head guiltily and licked her little ones.
‘You’re right, Huttser.’
‘She said she had work to do here,’ said Kipcha suddenly.
‘What do you think she could mean?’
‘You heard what she warned,’ whispered Bran, beginning to growl, ‘about powers haunting these mountains. Did no one else see that there was a bird with her? Think of the Sight – the first power is to see through the eyes of birds. Wolfbane made a pact with the birds too.’
On the breeze outside they heard an owl hooting mournfully above the forests. The shadow of the wood seemed to steal into the den.
‘If we don’t take her in perhaps she could—’
‘Stop it, Bran,’ snapped Khaz, ‘so what if she does have the Sight? How can the power of seeing hurt us anyway?’
The pack all nodded, all except Brassa who was suddenly looking away.
‘Brassa.’
‘What is it, Palla?’ muttered the nurse.
‘You know more of the Sight than we. Do you think she could hurt us if we refuse her?’
Brassa turned slowly back to face the pack.
‘I ...’
‘Tell us, Brassa?’
Huttser was looking intently at the nurse too.
‘Why do you fear her so much, Brassa?’
‘Not her,’ muttered Brassa, ‘but maybe the Sight.’
‘Why?’
‘The power of the Sight draws its strength from the energy in all things,’ growled the nurse slowly, ‘and so some say it brings control over the elements themselves, and so the power to curse.’
‘Curse,’ gulped Bran.
The shadows around them seemed to swell in the cave. A wind suddenly blew through the den, stirring the hackles on the wolves’ trembling necks.
‘But I’ve never believed it,’ added Brassa half-heartedly. Huttser sprang to his feet and turned to address them all.
‘Did we return to the Stone Den to succumb to foolishness and lies?’ he cried, his voice echoing so loudly through the cave even the deaf cubs seemed to hear him. ‘I won’t let superstitions frighten us. The Sight is a thing of dreams and fables, just like Wolfbane.’
‘She looked up at the castle too,’ said Bran miserably.
‘And if she’s been up there, perhaps Wolfbane really does live—’
‘Silence, Bran,’ snapped Huttser. ‘I do not fear Morgra for her magic, and my pack at least will not be ruled by stories and superstitions. But the Balkar are quite another matter. If the Night Hunters have followed her we may have something very real to worry about.’
‘Huttser,’ growled Khaz gravely, ‘do you think they’re here already?’
Before Huttser could answer, the cubs at Palla’s belly began to squeak as they struggled at her milk and the pack’s attention was gratefully distracted from thoughts of Morgra and her strange request.
When the pack was on the move and hunting constantly, they co-operated naturally, but now the pack had new cubs, an even stronger bond was forged. They all worked for the safety and nurture of the infants, and internal rivalries were suppressed. As Palla began to rear her pups, Khaz and Huttser were soon off hunting for food for Palla, or scouting for signs of Morgra and the Balkar.
At the den, the female wolves drew even closer to Palla, sitting with her in the cave and telling her all they knew of grooming and feeding or trying to take her thoughts off her half-sister.
But it was Huttser who was lying at the back of the cave a few suns later when Fell suddenly dislodged himself from his mother’s side, got up and trotted straight over to his father. The pup stood there watching him, wagging his tail.
‘Look,’ said Palla happily, ‘Fell’s eyes have come.’
But Huttser was startled when they looked into Fell’s little face, for his eyes were still firmly closed, yet he seemed to be able to see his father. As Brassa drew nearer, the black cub raised his head and looked up at her too. Though his eyes were clamped shut, Fell seemed to be perfectly aware of everything that was going on around him.
‘Is he asleep?’ whispered Huttser, but as he did so Fell swung round and trotted straight back to Palla’s side and started to suckle again. Thankfully the cubs’ eyes both opened that night and though they could hardly focus Huttser felt a thrill of wonder for, like all new-born wolf cubs, they were a limpid blue. Except that Fell’s right eye had a tiny flaw in it, just below the centre of the iris, a sliver of green, like splintered emerald. Palla looked proudly down at her pup, for wolves believe that a special mark or even a flaw can be a sign of great character, but Brassa seemed strangely unsettled. That night she lay outside the den, muttering to herself.
‘It can’t be,’ she kept saying in the shadows, ‘not again.’
‘Larka,’ whispered Fell irritably, ‘budge up, Larka.’
The cubs were already quite large and their paws were huge. They had all their senses now and both had been fully weaned. But with Morgra around and possibly the Balkar too they still weren’t allowed outside the den, which frustrated them both. They were dying to run outside and explore, but instead they had been made to stay in the dark listening to Brassa’s stories.
‘What can we do?’ said Larka excitedly at her brother’s side. Just then Brassa’s huge muzzle appeared above them. Brassa had given Palla a break from tending to them and Palla had gone hunting with Huttser. They had seen no more of Morgra, but Bran had been left by the boulder to guard the den, while Kipcha and Khaz had gone off on their own, as they often liked to do these suns.
Larka suddenly noticed that the moonlight was creeping through the mouth of the cave. Larka was very fond of trotting to the edge of the den herself and peering outside at the world.
‘Brassa,’ she whispered, ‘what is the moon? Why does it grow in the sky?’
‘Because the moon is the goddess Tor,’ answered Brassa softly, smiling down at Larka, ‘looking down on us all. As some say the fury of the sun is the hunter Fenris snarling at the Varg, so they say the moon is the wolf goddess, opening her eyes wider and wider and stroking the world with her kindness.’
But Fell’s eyes had sparkled at the mention of Fenris.
‘One day I’ll hunt,’ said the black cub hopefully, ‘won’t I, Brassa? Like Fenris. I can’t wait to kill something,’ he added, wrinkling up his little nose.
Brassa looked down at him tenderly too.
‘That will come, Fell, all in good time. You’ve yet to learn quite what lies out there in the wild, even for the Putnar. To face that you will need not only courage, but wit and cunning. The cunning of the hunter. Now, pay attention. I’m going to tell you a story.’
‘A tale of Wolfbane,’ yapped Fell, ‘a story of the Evil One.’
The cubs wagged their tails at the old nurse and Larka settled again. They loved listening to the rhythms of her voice and plucking out familiar sounds and phrases. Each sun, Larka and Fell seemed to know more and more words and, though they longed to be gone from the den like all the grown-ups, they loved stories.
‘No, Fell,’ whispered Brassa, ‘not Wolfbane.’
‘Of a horrid Grasht, then,’ piped Larka, ‘cursed and drinking blood.’
Fell
nodded enthusiastically. Now here was a story he could really get his teeth into.
‘No, Larka,’ answered Brassa, looking very nervously at the white wolf. ‘It was in the beginning, when the wolf gods Tor and Fenris created the world and so brought light out of the darkness. When, in the shape of the moon and the sun, the great gods made Dammam, the first wolf, to rule over the whole earth. Then, because she loved him, Tor took one of Dammam’s teeth and out of it she fashioned the she-wolf Va, to be his mate. As Tor and Fenris stood over Dammam and Va and looked down on them from the heavens they were glad at what they had done.’
Fell yawned for he had heard this part of the story before, but as Brassa spoke of Tor and Fenris standing up there in the clouds, he suddenly thought of Huttser and Palla towering protectively over them in the den.
‘Why?’ asked Larka suddenly. Larka was always asking things of the grown-ups and, though she rarely listened to the answers properly, her favourite question was always ‘Why?’.
Brassa licked the little she-wolf.
‘Because Dammam was very lonely as he wandered through the forests, Larka. So Tor let Va give Dammam a beautiful litter—’
‘But who made Tor and Fenris, Brassa,’ growled Larka irritably, ‘what was before them?’
‘Stop interrupting,’ snapped Brassa, though she was deeply impressed by Larka’s question. Brassa shook herself and tried again.
‘So Tor let Va give Dammam a beautiful litter of thirty- three pups, as I was saying, made up of every type of Varg in the world; Timber wolves and Red Wolves, Long-maned, Chancos and Arctic wolves, all of whom lived and grew and spread out through the forests. But the oldest of these cubs was the grey Varg Fren, who was Va’s favourite.’
Fell and Larka stirred excitedly. Depending on who was telling the story, and especially whether it was a male or a female, Fren was either the greatest hunter and fighter in the forest, dark and mysterious, a loner and something of a villain too, or the kindest father and the best defender of the brood. But brave and cunning, and always at odds with Tor and Fenris, Fren was the hero of a thousand wonderful adventures.