Both Edme and Faolan felt their throats open up. They longed to howl and yet felt it would not be right. As if reading their minds, Twist turned to them. “Your turn to howl will come when you mount the cairns. I know it’s almost irresistible.”
“But will we ever howl as beautifully?” Edme asked.
“You will,” Winks said softly. “It takes time, but you will. The music seeps into you and settles in your marrow.”
“Well, it’s about time!” Snowdon, an ash-colored wolf, leaped down from the cairn that rose directly in front of Stormfast. At first, Snowdon appeared to be an ordinary wolf with no obvious deformity. All of his legs were straight, no paws were turned, he wasn’t missing his eyes, ears, or tail. Faolan and Edme couldn’t conceal their curiosity that this perfectly formed wolf was a member of the Watch. “Can’t figure it out, can you?” Snowdon barked in a harsh voice quite different from his howling. Then he stuck his tongue out. Edme and Faolan both jumped back. It was forked, like a snake’s. Snowdon laughed.
“He’s all about shock,” Winks muttered. “Loves shocking newcomers.”
“Snowdon’s going back to his den, and do you know the first thing he’ll do before he sleeps?” Twist said.
“What?” asked Faolan.
“He will gnaw a log to record what he observed on his watch — any owls coming for coals, any possible graymalkins. And he will also report on the activity of the volcano. But up you go now, Faolan. This is your cairn, and your watch is Stormfast. Winks will lead Edme to the cairn for Morgan. Scramble up, and I will join you shortly.”
There was much to learn that first night.
“I am your taiga,” Twistling said, “but so is Stormfast.” He nodded toward the volcano, whose crater was belching great rolling plumes of steam that unfurled and stretched across the night. “You’ll learn how the scent of the sulfurous steams varies through the seasons.
“Lava flows are rare,” Twist continued, “but you will learn the difference between flows from Stormfast or from Kiel on the opposite side of the Ring.”
In the eastern sky, the first bright shadow of the moon clawed its way over the horizon and began to climb. It was then that Faolan spotted the owls. Their broad wings printed against the dark, their tip feathers silvered by the moon’s light, the owls of Ga’Hoole came silently through the night — ghostly and majestic.
“They usually arrive when the moon is rising. And from the cairns of Stormfast and Morgan, you have the best view of them. On the Bone of Bones, you will learn about the truly great owls, beginning with the first more than a thousand years ago.” Faolan felt something in his marrow. His eyes widened and he shoved his ears forward. He, as all wolves in the Beyond, knew of the ember that lay buried in the volcanoes and how it often traveled through the lava tunnels from one crater to another. He had been told the legends of the Ring and was aware that the first King Hoole had known about the ember’s strange power before he retrieved it. The King named it the Ember of Hoole and warned the first collier that this ember was not for any Rogue smith’s fires.
“I know,” Faolan said quietly.
“You know.” Twist cocked his head and looked at Faolan with curiosity. “You’ve already read that part of the Bone.”
“No. Not yet.”
“Then how do you know?”
Faolan looked at Twist. There was confusion in his eyes. “I’m not sure. I just know.”
Something stirred in Twist. It wasn’t a feeling so much in his marrow as in his heart. He continued, “As I said, you’ll learn about the Fengos as well as the great colliers — like Grank, the first collier.”
Faolan gave a start as he heard the name.
“Are you all right?” Twist asked.
“I’m fine. Please go on.” When Twist had said that name — Grank — there was a shiver deep in Faolan’s marrow. The kind of shiver that wolves felt when another wolf walked over the place where they would take their last breath.
“Let’s begin with the scanning leaps.”
“Scanning leaps?”
To answer the question, Twist shot up as fast as any burning ember and spun around at the highest point of his leap. He did a forward somersault and landed neatly back on the cairn. Faolan blinked in astonishment.
“That was a full gainer with a double spiral and a little something of my own devising at the end. But the real point is not how fancy you can get but how much you can see while you’re up there. How much you can scan in the shortest amount of time. We can’t fly like owls, but …” Twist chuckled a bit. “Well, we try!
“Right now, your job is to learn about the good owls, not the graymalkins yet — how to recognize them, who they are.
“And now,” Twist said. “Time for your first jump. The trick is to spring from your back legs and immediately tuck your front legs under. Don’t try anything fancy on this first one. Just up and down and land on your hind legs.”
On the count of three, Faolan sprang. Burning embers whizzed by him and he could feel the heat of the flames from the volcano and smell the lava thick and boiling in the crater. Hot gusts brushed his pelt, and for a few seconds, he felt as if he were one with the sky — the stars, the moon, the racing clouds — until he saw an owl high above him. What a world they live in! he thought. Before he knew it, he was back on top of the cairn.
“Your jump was very high and that is good. But for now, I would sacrifice a bit of height so you can better master the flips and twists.”
Meanwhile, atop the cairn on Morgan, Edme was also concentrating hard on her jumps. She did not attain the height she desired, but her form was good, even excellent, until she caught sight of Banja below, sneering at her. She came down hard on her rump.
“Ouch!”
“Ah, you were distracted!” Winks said. “Can’t let that happen. What pulled your attention away?”
Edme was reluctant to say that it was Banja. She didn’t want to sound as if she were complaining, blaming someone else for her mistakes. But inside her head, she was cursing the wolf who had lodged like a burr inside her brain ever since the meeting with the Fengo. I am not going to let her do this to me, Edme silently vowed. She wants to get at me and she won’t!
Edme squared up for her next jump. She took off beautifully, tucked her legs just as instructed to reduce the wind, soared as high as she had yet, then rounded down for what would have been a perfect landing, until a loud cackling burst out below her. Once more, she landed on her rump.
“Hey, quiet down there!” Winks shouted.
“Oh, we didn’t realize we were so loud,” Banja said. “Sorry, Winks. I was just telling Paddy that joke you told me the other night about the caribou who tried to play biliboo.”
“First of all, it was a limerick, not a joke. And secondly, with the wind in this direction, your words carry and I am trying to do some serious instruction up here.”
“Yes, I see she does need it. So sorry. My apologies to both of you,” Banja answered. Winks looked at Edme, a perplexed expression shining in the taiga’s single eye.
“Hmmm” was all she said.
Did that apology sound as phony to Winks as it did to me? Edme wondered.
Back atop Stormfast, Faolan worked hard on his jumps until the very end of the watch. Twist led him on a much longer trail back to the den so Faolan could see the changing of the Watch shifts at the other volcanoes.
“We’re coming up on Kiel now. That’s Leitha just going up to the cairn.”
Faolan saw a black wolf with a glossy pelt and three legs nimbly make her way up the cairn. When she reached the top, she sprang into the air, executing a dazzling backward somersault. Faolan gasped. “She did that on only three legs!”
“Yes, indeed,” Twist replied. “Some think that Leitha is the best jumper of the Watch.”
Faolan could not help being ashamed that he’d once felt so special because of his jumps.
They had almost completed the circle and were approaching the volcano Dunmore when Twist
stopped. Directly ahead was a cairn, but no wolf stood atop it. It was not as tall as the other cairns, but as Faolan looked at it, he felt a shudder pass through him. His hackles rose.
“The cairn of the Fengos,” Twist said quietly. “This is where their bones rest and many of the bones they carved. When their time is near, when cleave hwlyn is approaching, they begin to carve their final bone, their Bone of Passage. It’s their last thoughts before they leave this world and begin their climb up the star ladder to the Cave of Souls. That bone is buried with them deep in the cairn. The Fengos carve in a code understood only by them.”
Faolan cocked his head to one side and stared at the cairn. The voice of Twist ebbed away, the baying of the wolves faded as well, and it was as if he had been transported to a moment outside of time. He felt as though he were standing next to his own pelt, looking at himself. I know the code.
“Faolan! Are you all right?” Twist asked.
Instantly, Faolan was back in his own skin. “Fine, good!” And he did feel good, as if he’d had a long, restful sleep.
“Look, Dunmore is awakening.” The two wolves turned their heads toward the volcano, which had suddenly begun to spew geysers of hot coals into the black folds of the night. The sky was spangled with burning embers. For the first time since Thunderheart had died, Faolan felt at peace, content. I am happy, Faolan thought. I am truly happy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ESCAPE OF THE SHE-WOLVES
KATRIA’S DEN SEEMED SO TERRIBLY empty since Kyran had been killed. She had been a silly little wolf, but Katria could not believe her daughter meant any real harm. It was very tempting to blame Ingliss, her best friend, for Kyran’s character flaws. Ingliss had always dominated Kyran. But that wasn’t fair either. Ingliss’s mother, Pegeen, had been killed the year before in a mating dispute. Such disputes were not uncommon in the MacHeath clan. Some lord of higher rank took a fancy to a she-wolf and normally had to fight it out with the she-wolf’s mate. But this time, Ingliss’s mother had stepped into the fray to object and called the lord a stupid cur. Well, that was the end of her. Malan, the pursuing male, forgot Pegeen’s beauty and lashed out at her, ripping open her neck. As she was dying, Pegeen managed to bite him and draw blood.
It was from Pegeen that Ingliss got her spirit. Now, Katria thought Pegeen was lucky to have escaped the horror of knowing that her only daughter had been murdered. What kind of life was this?
Katria’s mate, Donaidh, entered the den. “Well, you made a spectacle of yourself at the gadderheal,” he snarled. Katria didn’t answer him. “Oh, you’re getting all sulky on me, are you?”
He advanced on her to give her a bite. After all, he had to keep up with his chieftain, who had drawn her blood back there in the gadderheal. But this time, Katria did not cower; she did not sink to her knees and commence the submission postures as she normally did. She stood up, shoved her ears forward, peeled her lips back, and growled. Donaidh was stunned.
“What are you doing?” he snarled.
Katria did not answer but took a step forward and continued growling.
“Well, let me tell you something! I’m going with the chieftain and Malan and Blyden and Fretta. Yes, you idiot she-wolf. I’m going after the cub and then you’ll see. I’ll be promoted. I might rise nearly as high as Malan.”
It was obvious to Katria that Donaidh had not seen the malicious look that Dunbar MacHeath had shot him in the gadderheal. Katria knew Donaidh was aiming to succeed Dunbar, but he was not Dunbar’s choice. She sensed that Donaidh might be walking right into one of Dunbar’s tricks. He had never before been invited to join a slink melf or any other special mission. They needed him for all the wrong reasons.
But Donaidh was musing now about his luck at being selected for this cubnapping mission. “We’ll see who is dominant in this den. Remember, Dunbar has no sons to succeed him as chieftain of the clan. His mate is too old. But I am not old, nor are you. You could be the mate of the next chieftain, the mother of one someday.”
Never, Katria thought. I shall never bring another pup into this clan. But she cast her eyes down in a semblance of submission. “We’ll see,” she replied in a docile voice.
“I thought you would.”
Donaidh turned and ran out of the den to join Dunbar, Malan, Blyden, and the scout Fretta, who had tracked Edme to the river where she had played with the bear cubs.
As Katria watched Donaidh vanish from the entrance of the den, she knew the time had come. She must leave the MacHeath clan for good and seek refuge with the MacNamaras. She-wolves had tried in the past, but they rarely succeeded — at least not in Katria’s lifetime. But now the chieftain, his highest lieutenant, her own mate, and two of the best scouts were heading out of the MacHeath territory to look for a bear cub. The time to go was now!
She would leave in broad daylight as if she were going to hunt for small prey — rodents or marmots. Her trail would take her north and east, toward a peninsula jutting out into the Hoolemere Sea.
Over the centuries, a secret language had evolved among the abused females of the MacHeath clan. In Old Wolf, this language was called banuil caint, which roughly translated to “she-wolf talk.” There had been whispers about it for centuries. But it remained a mystery how the abused females learned banuil caint. The language was said to have been invented by Hordweard, the founder of the MacNamara clan. Hordweard had lived a thousand years before, in the time of the first embered monarch, King Hoole. When she escaped the MacHeath clan, her mate, the chieftain Dunleavy MacHeath, had tried to follow her. Near Broken Talon Point, she had slain him.
Hordweard went on to form her own clan and became known as Namara, which in the Old Wolf language meant “maker of strong spirits.” It was said that ever since the clan was founded, secret agents of the MacNamaras left bones with Hordweard’s hidden language gnawed into them in MacHeath territory, to embolden the she-wolves who wanted to flee.
Katria had found a banuil caint bone shortly after she gave birth to her first litter. She didn’t really understand it but somehow sensed that this bone was meant for her. It took her years to decipher it, and when she did, it ignited a small glow deep within her marrow. The words were simple. You are good. You are wise. She had deciphered the bone after Donaidh lashed out at her, calling her a mangy cur and ripping off her dewclaw, the fifth claw on one of her front paws. There had been other messages since. None of them were addressed specifically to Katria — they could have been meant for any she-wolf who had suffered a harsh life in the Beyond’s most brutal clan — but Katria seemed to find them at moments of utter darkness and despair. The most recent she found soon after the death of Kyran. She buried the bones where no one would discover them.
Through the years, the language had become easier and easier for her to comprehend. The messages were never demanding or didactic. They never told her what to do or even suggested a course of action, for the words did not seek to teach as much as to make her believe in herself and her own power. Most important, the bones of the banuil caint allowed her to reflect deeply on her life and its meaning. Gradually, she began to believe in her own worth. With this belief came a trust in her dignity as a living creature on earth. It became clear to her that nothing was owed her but that there were things she needed to do if she wanted to live a life of courage instead of fear.
And now the MacHeaths were planning a war, and Katria knew she had to leave. If anyone could stop the war, it would not be the wise wolves of the Watch but the MacNamara clan. For no one knew the ways of the MacHeaths better than the MacNamaras. And no wolf was braver than a MacNamara she-wolf. They were slow to anger, but once set upon, a spark ignited deep within them that forged their marrow into stone. It was as if flint ran in their bones.
Katria set off shortly before dawn, just after the departure of her chief and his top lieutenants to grab a cub. Katria blessed the prevailing wind that would speed her journey and slow the chieftain on his own diabolical mission in the opposite direction. Her jo
urney would take longer, but she planned to travel at press-paw speed. Females were the strongest runners in any wolf pack, and outflankers were the strongest of all. She felt a kindling in her bones. Was it the flint of the MacNamaras? She was determined to get to them in time.
She had been on the trail for a while but was not in the least tired. The words of the banuil caint seemed to sing down her bones, and with each step, she became increasingly invigorated. As high noon approached and her shadow grew shorter, a bright shadow inside her seemed to be growing. Katria did not have a name for it. She had never before felt this sense of emboldened spirit expanding within her.
A sound emanated from a sparse copse of birches and brambly thornbushes, and Katria stopped for a moment. She knew in her marrow that if Donaidh followed her, she would slay him. Something white moved in the thicket. Her hackles rose. Was it a slink melf?
She crouched into a defensive posture but shoved her ears forward. The days of submission to tyrants were over. Like a silent rebellion, the words of the banuil caint rumbled through her marrow.
But it was not a tyrant who stepped into the clearing. It was Airmead the Obea. It was as if she had materialized from the very bark of the birches.
“You!” Katria gasped.
“Yes. You were not the only one reading those bones. But you were much braver. I left when I knew you would.”
“But how did you know? Were you the only one who saw me leave?”
“I didn’t see you leave. I saw when you decided to go.”
“B-b-but … b-but …” Katria stammered. “You weren’t in the den when Donaidh and I argued.”
“I was in the gadderheal when the chieftain lashed out at you. I saw your eyes as you buried your muzzle between your paws. I knew you would be leaving soon.” Airmead paused, then continued, “If it was not for the threat of this war, I might not have ever worked up the courage to go. A hundred times I promised that I would leave, but I was frightened to go alone. Don’t worry. I was careful to cover my tracks and I left many false scents.”