The Sight

  ‘They will never see it,’ growled Huttser, ‘and never know. For that secret I am thankful at least. Though I wish...’

  Huttser dropped his muzzle sadly.

  ‘What, Huttser?’

  ‘Kar. I was never very fair to him, Palla. And I blamed him for Fell, when if anything I...’

  Huttser paused and shook his head sadly.

  ‘You talk of injustice, Palla, but it is we who make injustice. I wish I had a chance to say sorry. To tell Kar that I know it wasn’t his fault. To make peace and ask his forgiveness.’ In Huttser’s heart, he was resigned and very tired. But he had one bitter solace. He believed that Palla had accepted what was to come.

  It was past noon when Gart summoned them. Slavka was waiting impatiently, surrounded by the rest of the rebels. They had gathered in a wide ring and they all looked hardened by all that they had been through and witnessed, their eyes blank with misery and confusion. Keeka and Karma turned away guiltily as Huttser and Palla were pushed into the middle of the circle.

  ‘It is time,’ cried Slavka bitterly, listening to the birds in the heavens, ‘to pay the price. When it is over we will make for the higher mountains and hide among the stones.’

  The sun beat down on them as the wolves faced each other in the dust and Huttser gazed sadly at Palla. But he lifted his tail and advanced.

  ‘Show me your throat, Palla.’

  As Huttser stepped even closer and the rebels looked on hungrily, Palla began to snarl proudly. The skin around her muzzle curled up and her canines glinted. Even Keeka and Karma turned back to look now.

  ‘Palla, what are you doing?’

  ‘Do you think I would let you do this?’ cried Palla, feeling as if her heart would burst open. ‘Let the father of my cubs be hobbled and tortured?’

  ‘Palla, I beg of you.’

  The rebels’ coats bristled as Huttser and Palla began to circle each other. But as they saw the dignity with which the Dragga and Drappa met, a shame stirred in them too.

  ‘I do this for you, Huttser.’

  Their eyes were locked and they were both shaking furiously. But they were showing their teeth and looking for the best point to spring. They felt a terrible confusion, for they knew it was anger they needed if they were to kill the other, yet it was only love that they felt in their hearts.

  Huttser leapt at Palla, opening his great jaws. Palla sprang too, driven on by the agonizing energy of her feelings for her mate, and Huttser and Palla met once more. Both were on their hind legs as the wolves began to bite and claw, desperate to save the other from Slavka’s fate. They had chosen each other because they could do nothing but walk as equals, and they were well-matched.

  But as Huttser disengaged momentarily, Palla leapt again and missed. It was her leg that had been wounded in the fight and she suddenly lost her footing. Her throat and chest were exposed as she tumbled, and Huttser opened his jaws. His heart was thundering, but Huttser knew he had beaten Palla and somewhere it was a terrible blessing. He could see the thin skin below the fur around her gullet and in the memory of all his kills, of the deer beneath the Stone Den, of the buffalo, he suddenly imagined he could see Palla’s blood and tendons and flesh beneath. Though they were dearer to him than anything in the world, Huttser’s teeth flashed.

  Suddenly there was a great sweep of beating wings. Huttser looked up in amazement as he saw a huge bird sailing between them. At first he thought it was a scavenger coming to feed on Palla, but then they heard a voice, calm and commanding, ringing out around them.

  ‘Cease,’ it cried. ‘Hasn’t there been enough fighting? There must be peace.’

  ‘There,’ cried Gart.

  Through the trees came the white wolf, and the rebels looked at her in awe as they saw the little human child riding on her back. Palla and Huttser could hardly believe their eyes. Larka had grown into a magnificent Drappa, but it was their daughter. For a second the rebels thought that Slavka had suddenly come from the wood, so similar did Larka seem. Next to her and the strange bird was an old grey Varg.

  ‘The human,’ hissed Slavka. ‘Quickly. Kill them. Kill them all.’

  Slavka snarled and, as Larka looked back at the rebel leader, she shivered too, for she seemed to see her own reflection.

  ‘Release my parents, Slavka,’ she growled. ‘They have done nothing to you. And now we come to help you.’

  The wolves were motionless. Palla and Huttser were both panting violently, their muzzles ranging around the circle as they wondered what the rebels would do. Even Gart seemed to unable to decide.

  ‘Gart,’ snarled Slavka, ‘obey me. Put an end to this evil.’ Several of the rebels stepped up beside Slavka. Still Gart was motionless, and others among the rebels seemed to be looking to him for a lead. But three wolves were looking to Huttser and Palla; Rar, Keeka, and Karma. Karma’s eyes had touched Palla’s, and there was a secret promise in them. The rebels’ startled gaze was locked on the child.

  ‘You mustn’t be frightened,’ growled Larka, as she padded amongst them. ‘Fear and ignorance are your true enemies. We have come to help you. Help you fight Morgra and Wolfbane.’

  ‘Lies,’ snarled Slavka furiously. ‘What are you thinking? We are wolves.’

  But suddenly another voice fought Slavka’s.

  ‘This Varg does not seem evil to me,’ growled Rar angrily.

  ‘And there has been enough cruelty and death, Slavka. She has risked the scavengers and the Night Hunters to save her parents and to help us all. If she has courage like that...’

  The circle around Huttser and Palla broke as Larka and Bran came prowling amongst them. Tsarr growled dangerously, and again Skart came swooping through the air. As the eagle settled next to Larka a great hush fell on the rebels. But Slavka broke it almost immediately.

  ‘I will kill them myself.’

  Even as she moved, Keeka and Karma sprang forwards and stood side by side, barring her way.

  ‘No,’ growled Karma proudly. For the first time in her life she was doing something she believed in.

  ‘Traitors,’ snarled Slavka, backing away, ‘are there traitors everywhere?’

  ‘The only traitor, Slavka, is in your own heart.’

  Slavka hissed as Huttser spoke, but as she thought of that voice in her mind she shuddered, too.

  ‘Gart,’ she said desperately, almost whining with self-pity, ‘you will help me. Loyalty always, Gart. Think of what the humans made me do to my cubs.’

  Gart was in an agony of doubt, but in that moment it was decided. If he had backed the leader more than half of the rebels would have followed him and there would have been a terrible fight. But Gart dropped his muzzle.

  ‘I cannot, Slavka. Larka let me live.’

  Rar knew it was over. He nodded to some of the rebels and immediately four of them stepped up around Slavka. The tide had turned. Larka dropped to the ground and, as she tilted her body, Bran slipped down on to the earth and sat there, smiling about him as though nothing at all had happened. As Larka backed away the fascinated wolves began to pad forward. Bran looked up, suddenly surrounded by a circle of muzzles, growling and whispering as the wildest of the Putnar gazed down at the little human.

  Larka paused as she saw Huttser and Palla and for a moment she remembered with anguish their fight on the ice. A pang of resentment quivered through her. But suddenly she leapt towards her parents. They came together, wagging their tails furiously and whimpering and whining with delight.

  ‘And only a family that’s loving and true,’ whispered Rar gravely as they watched them, ‘are truly the ones.’

  That night, Larka lay watching her parents gravely as they slept. Slavka had been put under guard, though Larka ordered that she be treated with respect. But although Larka knew she had saved her parents, her heart was heavy with all she had seen at the massacre. With all that was happening to the Lera.

  ‘You are with them again,’ growled Tsarr beside her, ‘that gives us hope.’

  ‘Hope,
Tsarr,’ said Larka. ‘The ancient verse is almost fulfilled. Wolfbane is here and death is all around us. The Searchers are abroad, doing her bidding. We are lost.’

  ‘No, Larka, we are not lost,’ whispered Skart urgently.

  ‘But you must try and close the pathways again. Stop what is beginning among the Lera.’

  ‘How, Skart?’

  ‘You must howl to the dead yourself.’

  ‘You mean I should try and summon more of these Searchers myself?’ growled Larka fearfully. ‘To do my bidding?’

  ‘No, Larka,’ said Skart, flying down and hopping about them, ‘for in this world they bring nothing but fear. No, you must travel to the realms of the dead yourself. From there you must call back those who have entered our world.’

  Larka shivered with horror, but she suddenly thought of Kar and what he had said about longing to know what lay beyond the life of the Varg.

  ‘But how could I do such a thing?’ growled Larka.

  ‘Morgra did not go anywhere when she summoned the Searchers. We heard her cry.’

  ‘This time the howl must be different,’ said Tsarr, ‘for by howling Fenris’s name and then by carrying your voice into silence you may follow the sound into the shadows.’

  ‘And you believe this place exists? And Tor and Va and Dammam, they are there too?’

  ‘That you must tell us.’ Larka fell quiet.

  ‘But it will take courage,’ growled Tsarr. His tail had come up and the wolf’s legs were trembling. ‘For know this, Larka. If you attempt this thing, it is fraught with danger.’

  Tsarr paused.

  ‘What he means,’ said Skart, ‘is what Tsinga told him once. That you may not be able to return.’

  Larka blinked back at them both stupidly.

  ‘You will need a strong root to this world,’ said Tsarr, ‘something or somebody strong enough to bind you back. Those you love above all else, they must be with you. To call you back if they ever touch you. I am glad we have found Huttser and Palla again.’

  Larka was exhausted and, as they watched her, she slumped to the ground again and gave herself up to sleep. At first Larka’s dream was filled with pain. Bran was lying in the grass and, as she watched the little human, a shadow fell across its body. Larka began to tremble, for in her sleep she knew it was the presence that frightened her more than anything now. It was a presence that she knew she would have to face. The Evil One.

  But then Larka dreamt of Kar. He was talking to her quietly and his voice was strong and clear. ‘You mustn’t fear, Larka,’ he was saying gently, as Fell had once done in her dreams, ‘only fear can defeat us. Remember the pact we made. Have faith. And hope.’

  Larka stirred, for in her dream that face was exactly as she had seen it in the pool. Still Larka couldn’t touch the nagging doubt inside her. What was it about Kar’s face that made her wonder? But as Larka’s mind stirred from the murky depths of sleep and rose towards the clarity of consciousness, suddenly she realized.

  ‘Of course,’ Larka cried as she opened her eyes and felt a thrill of real hope tremble through her body. ‘Your fur, Kar, it was singed from the fire. You are alive.’

  Larka looked about, but it was raining heavily, the dreariness of the morning already dispelling her swelling optimism. Larka was thinking of Kar now and, as she thought of what lay ahead and remembered, too, all she had been through with Kar, the second power of the Sight came on her once more.

  The images flashed before her eyes, leaping across the sheet rain that curtained in front of her. At first Larka saw a great sea, the same sea that Morgra had looked upon, and from its waters hundreds, thousands of fish were leaping and crawling on to the face of the land. Then Larka saw a forest and through the trees shapes were moving, swinging through the branches.

  Then suddenly the forest was gone and Larka was looking at herself, but not as a reflection. She was somewhere high, high in the mountains, on the edge of a yawning chasm, filled with vicious rocks. As Larka padded along she came to an old stone bridge that arched over the rocky void, and all around lay an eerie sight. She knew immediately they had been made by man. The stones were regular, in criss-crossing lines that spread wide across the mountain. They were the remains of human dens. Larka remembered the castle, high above the valley where she had been born.

  ‘Harja,’ murmured Larka, ‘the gateway to heaven.’

  Larka knew immediately it was the work of man, though the she-wolf could hardly comprehend what she was seeing.

  The stone dens lay everywhere, spread out across the rise of the mountain, stretching as far as the eye could see. In their first aspect, they gave the impression of unity and completion, but as Larka looked she saw that most of them were broken down. Roofs had long fallen in, piling rubble among the walls of stone and the tall pillars that stood everywhere like ossified tree stumps.

  Here and there among the pillars stood strange statues. Some had fallen from their plinths and smashed to pieces on the hard, formless earth. Others stood upright still, human forms that had been worked by long forgotten souls in their attempt to represent their lives. Some were so badly weathered that the human faces were worn completely flat, so that only their shapes remained, as an impression of what had been. There was something infinitely sad about these unmoving shapes. Something too that the she-wolf could not understand.

  Larka watched herself drawing nearer to the stone bridge and the terrifying drop made the wolf’s head reel. As she looked down she felt her thoughts tumbling into the rocky abyss, spinning, falling helplessly into nothingness. Larka snarled and closed her eyes. There was a stillness about her and everything was dark again.

  When Larka opened her eyes she was still looking at herself walking along the ravine. Larka saw herself pad on to the bridge and ahead of her was a strange statue that made her ears cock forward. It was a giant statue of a she- wolf and, at its stone belly, two suckling human infants. Larka noticed too a blue light all around her and, beyond, a giant moon, bright and still and perfectly full. The words of the verse entered her mind.

  ‘When the eye of the moon is as round as the sun.’

  But, as Larka watched, the hairs rose on the back of her neck and her face curled into a snarl. Her whole body began shaking violently and her eyes widened in horror. The pictures dissolved again, but her muzzle was dripping with rain and sweat and she was growling furiously.

  ‘What is it, Larka?’ cried Tsarr, stirring from sleep.

  ‘Have you had a dream?’ said Skart, opening his wings.

  ‘You are fretting about the path ahead.’

  ‘No, Skart,’ whispered Larka bitterly, ‘it was not a dream. I looked into the water...’

  Skart turned nervously to Tsarr and Larka suddenly swung her head towards Bran.

  ‘What, Larka, what did you see?’

  ‘The future, Skart,’ answered Larka, recalling bitterly what Tsinga had once said about many not being able to bear living with such knowledge. ‘The verse says we would need courage to face this thing. A courage as deep as despair. Tsinga could not know how true those words would be. For I have been to the citadel, Skart, and I know why it is called the gateway to heaven.’

  ‘Why, Larka? What future have you glimpsed there?’

  ‘My own,’ answered Larka, shuddering helplessly, ‘I have seen my own death.’

  Part Three - The Citadel

  ~

  13 - Kerl

  ‘I am! Yet what I am none cares nor knows My friends forsake me like a memory lost, I am the self consumer of my woes.’ John Clare, ‘I Am’

  Quickly, we must travel back in time, on wings as fast as memory itself, back to Kar, and learn something of his own terrible journey. For what Larka had seen in the water was true. As the flames engulfed her friend, he had swung left and right growling in agony. The fire was everywhere, blinding him, burning his eyes. At last, in desperation, the wolf turned to a part of the forest where he thought the fire was at its weakest and hurled himself into the h
eat. The agony gripped him as his fur flamed and he sprang through the air. But suddenly the flames were gone and Kar was rolling around and around in the snow.

  The pain was rippling all over his body and practically all his fur had been burnt away, but he was no longer on fire and at least he was alive. For four suns the wolf lay there, sleeping feverishly, and when he woke he managed to lap at the snow for moisture. He got up and wandered around looking for Larka, but it had snowed again and her tracks were lost completely.

  For a while the wolf thought of returning to the human village to try and scavenge, but at last he set off, travelling he hardly knew where, his body still smarting with pain. It was after two more suns that Kar stumbled on an extraordinary sight.

  It was a high wooden den with a sloping roof that stood on its own in a snowy meadow. Kar was reminded of the stave church, but where before it had been as dark as the forest, this was coloured as brightly as a spring field. Its back was painted with scenes of Man and animals, locked in some strange communion with the skies. In the heavens the people seemed to have changed into birds, for wings were sprouting from their backs, but below they had been cast into pits of burning air and flame and around them wild animals tore at their flesh, pulling them earthwards. Kar growled, but as he stood silently before the walls of the painted monastery he understood nothing of this fable of judgment and redemption.

  Kar suddenly thought of Tor and Fenris, and he wondered if the humans had gods too, or if they thought that Man and Lera were somehow connected. But as Kar looked at those wild beasts, tearing at Man’s flesh, it did not seem to him that the humans who had built this place could believe that Man and the Lera were anything but enemies.

  Kar padded on, and now he came to another human village but this time the dens were broken down, charred and blackened in the snow. Though the wolf didn’t know it, the Turks, pushing deep into Transylvania, had attacked one winter night and put the village to the sword. Thinking of the fire and all he had experienced of Man, Kar passed quickly on, but as he was coming to the end of the broken dens he stopped.