A Mystery of Wolves

  “The humans chased me,” he said without a hint of fear, “but I lost them. I have smelled a way for us to go out of the city.”

  Little Fur smiled and said, “I am ready.”

  “Ready, too,” hooted Gem.

  The wolf led them across the open space and down a narrow lane, which brought them to one of the older parts of the city with many empty dwellings, half crumbled down. Usually such places were dangerous, because greeps lived there and many troll holes opened into them. But now all was white and silent.

  They came to a bridge, and instead of going across it, the wolf went under it. The bridge spanned a steep-sided channel along which ran two shining metal rails. Little Fur knew that road serpents used the rails, but that for all the terrifying racket they made, they would not cause harm so long as you did not get in their way.

  “This way?” Little Fur asked, her voice strong.

  “You are brave,” the wolf said approvingly. “That is fortunate.”

  He leaped down into the channel. Little Fur climbed down carefully after him. They passed under two bridges, and as they were approaching the third, Little Fur heard human voices. Before any of the humans saw them, Crow flapped overhead, cawing loudly to draw their attention. Little Fur was very relieved when the channel angled down into the earth and became a tunnel.

  “You smell of troll even more now,” the wolf said after they had been going down for a time.

  “It is my troll blood,” Little Fur explained. “When I am under the earth, it grows stronger than my elf blood.”

  The wolf told her his name was Graysong, and asked where she had come from. She told him of the wilderness, then she asked how he had come to be in the zoo.

  “I was caught in a human trap,” Graysong said. “I had been driven from my pack after a challenge. I had not yet learned how to be a lone wolf.”

  “Do you know any of the wolves of the Mystery?”

  “Their leader is Balidor. He is brilliant and daring, and his will is very strong. Even when he was a cub, there was no question that he would one day lead a pack. Before he led the Mystery, the pack meditated upon the earth spirit, offering it their strength and devotion. But when Balidor became leader, the Mystery began to seek ways to strengthen the earth spirit and weaken its enemies.”

  “I do not know how this can have anything to do with Ginger,” Little Fur said. “Unless the wolves found out that he had just come from Underth. They might have thought he served the Troll King.”

  “Why would they think otherwise?” asked the wolf. “None use that road but trolls.”

  “Spies use it if they need to flee in a hurry and have become separated from their friends,” Little Fur said.

  “Then a spy would tell his tale,” Graysong answered.

  “The wolves might not believe it.”

  “Those of the Mystery can smell lies,” said the old wolf. “Did the Sett Owl say anything more?”

  Little Fur thought carefully before she spoke. “She said that I must find the Mystery of Wolves if I want to find Ginger. She also said that I must take the little owl who rides on my shoulder with me. But I do not see how a baby owl who cannot yet think clearly can help me in this.”

  “She will be a burden,” Graysong agreed. “Let her fly back to the wilderness once we are in the open.”

  “She cannot fly,” Little Fur said.

  “Cannot,” hooted Gem very softly.

  Graysong looked at the little owl, no expression in his eyes. Then he padded ahead. They went on in silence along the tunnel.

  Finally, Little Fur said, “The Sett Owl sent me to find the Mystery of Wolves. It was in seeking it that I found you, who can lead me there. Perhaps it is only when I reach the Mystery that I will truly understand the words of the Sett Owl.”

  “Perhaps,” said Graysong, not even turning. “Perhaps not.”

  Although they were in the tunnel for some hours, no road serpent came along it. But when they emerged into the cold blue daylight, they heard the shriek of a road serpent. It took them a moment to realize that it was coming toward the tunnel.

  The wolf bounded out of the channel over the snow that had tumbled down. Little Fur struggled to climb over the soft snow as the serpent roared closer. She would have joined the world’s dream, but the wolf closed his teeth on her wrist and dragged her to safety as the road serpent plunged into the mouth of the tunnel, throwing up a great spume of snow.

  Little Fur lay against the soft, cold snow, heart hammering, Gem hooting softly in her ear, until the thunderous shuddering of the earth subsided. Then she sat up and thanked the wolf gravely. He inclined his head equally gravely as she got to her feet.

  They were now out of the city, and to Little Fur’s surprise, they had also left the dense fog behind. She looked back where they had come from. There was the line of houses at the outer rim of the city. The towering high houses that rose up from its heart were still half wreathed in fog.

  Little Fur looked ahead at a vast empty plain stretching to the horizon. White clouds massed up against the flat, gray sky. The blanketing snow hid the forests and hills, chasms and streams, birds and beasts in their nests and burrows and even solitary human dwellings. Little Fur had never been to the land beyond the city, yet she had heard of it from her friends. Her elf blood tingled at the idea of seeing it for herself.

  By the side of a swift-running stream, she stooped to take up a slender branch that would serve as a staff.

  They had walked only a little way before she realized that the distant clouds were mountains, marching high and jagged in both directions and out of sight. Her heart sank at the thought of Ginger crossing those mountains with Gazrak and the two ferrets. She found Graysong watching her, but as usual she could not read the expression in his eyes. Like his scent, it was very complex.

  “Come,” he said gruffly. “We must set a good pace and put the city behind us.”

  “Crow…”

  “He will find us,” the wolf said. He loped off, away from the shining tracks that ran across the land, toward the mountains.

  “Crow,” hooted Gem with longing.

  Little Fur walked swiftly but steadily, following in the tracks of the wolf. Night came, and they walked into it. They had left all signs of humans behind. Finally, the wolf said that he needed to rest. Little Fur smelled his weariness and made no protest.

  They found a good place to stop: a deep cleft in the earth with several trees growing in it. The wolf ran down into the cleft and drank from a little winding stream as black as night between its white banks. Its current had kept it from icing over, but there was a thin crust of ice at the edges. Little Fur went down and drank in the coldness. She lifted the little owl down to drink as well, but Gem only shivered and closed her eyes. Sighing, Little Fur cuddled her close and looked up into the dark sky, wondering what had become of Crow.

  The wolf sniffed out a tree that contained a hollow softened with a bed of pine needles. He curled into it, leaving room for Little Fur, but despite her tiredness, she wanted to explore. She asked Graysong if she could leave the owlet with him. He eyed Gem for a moment before nodding and laying his muzzle on his paws.

  Little Fur lifted Gem onto his back, and the tiny bird settled into his thick, soft gray fur with a hoot of delight. Little Fur marveled that the tiny owl should have no fear of a wolf, to whom in other circumstances she would be prey.

  Little Fur went to one of the trees and laid her hands on its knobbled bark. She found that the tree’s sleep had deepened because of the cold, and she could not reach far enough to enter its dream. She did not try the other trees, knowing it would be the same, but she was pleased to find an unusual moss growing under one of them. It smelled as if it would be good for helping the edges of cuts grow back together. She took a small pinch, singing a song of thanks as she put it into her pouch.

  A squirrel smelled Little Fur’s activities and came out to chatter at her. Little Fur offered her a nut, and she hurried off to get a nut i
n return, as politeness among her kind required. When she came back, they exchanged nuts and Little Fur casually mentioned midwinter night.

  “I would like to go to a Great Weaving someday,” said the squirrel. “But there are nuts to be found and nuts to be gathered and nuts to be stored.”

  “Of course,” said Little Fur gently. “Have you seen any other creatures of the past ages traveling?”

  “Not yet. Oh no. Not yet. But last year I saw a gargoyle going by. Very fearsome and noble, he was. It was wonderfully terrifying, don’t you know,” the squirrel said doubtfully. Then she brightened. “But once, oh, this was wondrous! A tree sprite came! She stayed in my tree, and do you know it has given more nuts than any other tree ever since?” All at once the squirrel grew agitated and said she must return to her hoard.

  After the squirrel had gone, Little Fur closed her eyes and tried to sense Ginger, but still she could get no feel of him. She thought of Crow and was delighted to sense that he was very close. She walked up out of the cleft and onto a mound of snow.

  There he was—flying against the moon, which had just floated up into the sky. A few moments later, he landed beside her with a weary caw. Little Fur stroked his black feathers and fed him some seeds from her pouch, asking if he had gotten lost.

  “Lost!” Crow gave an outraged croak. “Crow is never being lost. Crow is master of whereness of things.” He went on to explain, with wounded dignity, that after she had gone into the tunnel with the wolf, he had flown back to the wilderness to let Tillet know what had happened at the beaked house. Little Fur was impressed, though she hoped for Tillet’s sake that Crow had not exaggerated too much.

  Little Fur asked if there was any news of the black dog. Crow grew so excited that he was unable to speak, and she waited until he preened himself calm. Then he told her that the black dog had never left the pony park. She had been there since the night they had found the sick human. Brownie’s human had been leaving food out for her.

  “Why?” Little Fur asked, amazed.

  Crow fluffed out his chest, delighted to have her rapt attention. “No one knowing. But sameful every night. Human is putting out food and black dog is eating it, then running fastly away.”

  “But not to the wilderness!” Little Fur said.

  “No,” Crow said sulkily. He hated it when his audience guessed the ends of his tales correctly.

  Little Fur showed Crow where the black stream ran and waited while he drank. Then they went back under the trees and got into the hollow with Gem and the sleeping wolf. Crow slept almost right away. Little Fur lay awake, listening to the silence, broken occasionally by the sound of snow falling. Gem woke once, and when she saw Crow, her eyes glowed but she did not make a sound.

  Soon they all slept.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Crossroads

  Little Fur woke to find that she was alone except for Gem.

  “Stay here, you!” Gem said in a cranky Crow voice.

  “Never mind,” Little Fur said consolingly.

  Gem began prodding a fluttering moth in a spiderweb, then ate it glumly. Little Fur picked the owlet up and climbed out of the hollow. The space under the trees was full of tattered violet shadows, but when she emerged from the cleft, the sun was shining a shy pink light on the snow. The wolf lay in the sun, licking his paws.

  “I smelled humans, and I saw their tracks when I hunted at first light,” the wolf said. “I have sent the crow to see if the way I want to go is clear.”

  Little Fur went back to the stream, washed her face and drank. This time Gem drank, too, and the wolf came to drink as well; then he stretched until his bones made a popping sound. They were standing beside the stream listening to its seductive tinkling music when Crow returned, screeching that the way was clear.

  “Good,” said Graysong, and they set off at once.

  As they walked, Little Fur told the wolf what Crow had said about the black dog. Then she went back and told him about the sick human that had fallen into the wilderness. “I meant to ask the Sett Owl about the human, but I forgot.”

  “What would you have asked?”

  “Why the trees allowed it to come,” Little Fur said. But even as she spoke, she knew the answer. The trees prevented humans from entering the wilderness by turning away the minds of those who wanted to come there, but the sick human had not fixed its mind on it at all. Very likely it had not even seen the wilderness. Was there something in the encounter with the sick human that had made the black dog return to where she had dragged it?

  Little Fur sighed. Being curious was very tiring. The Sett Owl had told her that curiosity was part of what made her a healer, and another time Sorrow had said that curiosity could be a kind of bravery.

  “You smell of memories,” Graysong said. “Are you thinking of your cat friend?”

  “I was thinking of another friend—a fox who was born and brought up inside a human machine. Now he has gone to see if he can learn to be wild.”

  “Difficult,” said the wolf.

  “I think he might be the bravest creature I have ever known,” Little Fur said fiercely.

  They were following the course of a swift-flowing stream now. Little Fur thought they must be getting closer to the mountains, because they looked less like clouds and more like mountains. It was quite the loveliest thing to tramp along in the snow and never once pass anything you had seen before. In the wilderness, she knew every stone and hollow and every creature who dwelt there. Knowing it so well was part of what made it dear to her, but there was something wonderful in going where she had never been before.

  At midday, they stopped to rest. Little Fur found a piece of cloth half buried under the snow. It was thick and beautifully soft, but it was too big to carry. She used her small stone knife to cut a piece large enough for a cloak, with a little extra for the pockets.

  They continued on. Little Fur saw the tracks of many birds and of deer and foxes and rabbits. In the afternoon they came over a small rise, and there was a deer with her fawn eating the bark from a log of wood. They all froze, and Little Fur asked the wolf loudly if he meant to hunt. He said just as loudly that he had hunted already that morning and had no need of it.

  Hearing these words, the deer relaxed, though she kept her eyes on the wolf as he walked to the top of a slope and lay down. Her fawn came forward on his spindly velvet legs as Little Fur approached his mother. Little Fur looked into his great dark eyes and saw her own face looking back at her.

  “You are very new,” Little Fur whispered to the fawn, staying very still and letting him sniff her. When he sniffed her hair, Gem’s head popped out, and the owlet and fawn stared at one another in astonishment.

  “Who?” the little owl hooted.

  The fawn leaped into the air and came down in a tangle of legs that his mother had to sort out. Once her fawn had regained his legs, she nudged him firmly aside and addressed Little Fur. “Why do you travel with a wolf?” she asked.

  “He is leading me into the mountains,” Little Fur said.

  The deer’s eyes went dark. “Then he leads you to your doom.”

  “He will not harm me,” Little Fur said.

  “Maybe he will and maybe he will not. But I do not speak of the wolf when I speak of danger. There is danger in the mountains.”

  “Hunters?” Little Fur asked.

  “Not hunters! There is a deadly ice valley where all beasts who enter perish.”

  Little Fur was baffled. She asked, “Perish of what?”

  But the deer was too frightened and upset to say anything more. She herded her fawn away. Little Fur returned to Graysong. As they set off again, she told him what the deer had said.

  “It was just a story,” Graysong said. “I know of no such place. Deer are full of fears and fancies.”

  Little Fur knew very well how tales could change shape when they were retold many times, but such tales always had a seed of truth in them. Yet she could smell that Graysong had made up his mind that the deer was
mistaken. She was glad when they finally came upon a black road, so that she could fix her mind on something else.

  There was no snow on the black road, which meant that road beasts had been along it recently, for the verges were thick with snow.

  “We need not cross,” Graysong said. “The road leads to a pass through the mountains. The Mystery is within the mountain peaks.”

  When the moon rose, casting its white, clear light, Graysong called a halt. Two road beasts had passed, and there was too much chance of their being seen if they continued. He had smelled a warm cave where a bear slept, and he led them there.

  Normally bears were dangerously moody and unpredictable, but this one was locked in an enchanted sleep that would not break until after the midwinter weaving. Emboldened by his stillness, Crow pecked lightly at the bear’s shaggy coat, poked an inquisitive beak into his ear and finally flapped up onto the mound of the bear’s belly to pace backward and forward, boasting that henceforth he must be called The Crow Who Stood on a Bear.

  Perhaps his claws tickled the bear, for all of a sudden the beast gave a great snuffling grunt and rolled over, pinning the terrified Crow under an enormous paw. Crow gave a shriek of terror, and Gem, under the impression that her beloved brother was under attack, flew at the bear’s face and pecked him on the nose.

  Fortunately for all of them, Gem’s tiny beak made no impression on the sleeping bear. Little Fur shooed her away so that she and Graysong could lever the bear’s massive paw aside and release Crow.

  By now Crow had swooned, and Little Fur dribbled water from her gourd into his beak to revive him. Crow pretended to remember none of it, but later she noticed him offer Gem a moth, saying carelessly that he had caught it without thinking and so she might as well have it.

  They set off in the early hours of morning between moonset and sunrise as a sleety rain fell and blurred the world. Crow flapped off with a dismal croak, but Gem gave a contented hoot and snuggled close to Little Fur’s neck.