Fell (The Sight 2) (32 page)

Kar paused, for he was trying to remember a story told to him when he had only been a cub himself.

“Then one sun the monster stole the beautiful, gentle Drappa away and kept her in his cave. The lovely she-wolf was so appalled with the Varg’s human appearance that she hated him, while the monster would go down into the fields and terrify all the Lera, to keep them away from his prize. He brought the Drappa food and soft branches to sleep on though, and was so tender and caring around her that she could not believe his human shape was real. She realised that this form was not his at all, but the shadow of a spell, and that he was only angry because he was frightened and in pain. Then suddenly the Drappa knew that she loved him, and Barl’s spell was lifted and there stood the most wonderful grey Dragga.”

“It’s a good old story, brother.”

“Fell!” cried Kar, seeing the black wolf. “Palla said you’d come.”

Kar sprang up and padded towards him, wagging his tail.

“Huttser?” whispered Fell. “Has … ?”

“He lives, Fell,” answered Kar, swinging his head down the valley, “and Jalgan has not come. Down there, Fell, in a cave by the creek. Palla tends to him. There’s time.”

Fell relaxed a little. The two other males, as big as Fell, but without his form, moulded by experience and effort, were staring at him suspiciously.

“Come. Don’t you recognise your elder brother Fell?” said Kar. “Greet him, Khaz. Give him our blessings, Skop. He’s welcome beyond these boundaries, with a blessing or not.”

Khaz and Skop
, thought Fell with amazement, remembering the tiny little cubs that he had seen all those years ago. How they had grown and changed—from those little moving bundles of fur—as all things change. How fine they looked now, these males of five years old.

Khaz and Skop had paused, completely unable to speak, and Fell realised that their noses were cocked towards him warily, their senses hard at work, questioning him with their dimmer understandings.

“It’s the scent of man,” said Fell calmly.

“Then it’s true,” cried Skop, looking at his elder brother rather aggressively, “all they say of you.”

“That you’re a living legend, he means, brother,” said Khaz more softly, and he wagged his tail too. Fell smiled at the wondering wolves.

“A legend?” he answered, with a chuckling growl. “Oh, I hardly think so, Khaz. And the thing about legends, Skop, is that they come to be so much more than the truth, don’t they? Because we all need legends, for good and bad, just as we all need to believe … in something.”

Skop’s eyes flickered.

“But you have the Sight, brother?”

“Oh, yes, Skop. Do you think I’d be fooling with humans if I didn’t?”

“And you’ll use it, won’t you, to challenge Jalgan yourself, then fight off the Vengerid if they come?” said Khaz suddenly, wagging his tail eagerly. “Father can’t face this challenge now.”

“Hush, now, Khaz,” growled Kar, looking at him reproachfully. “Your elder brother’s tired and he wants to see …”

Fell had already turned his head. Three she-wolves were racing towards them across the valley. Fell’s heart quickened strangely as he recognised Tarlar, but it was the wolf at Tarlar’s side that had caught his interest now.

She was very beautiful, the same age as Skop and Khaz, and her eyes flashed brilliantly. The third wolf was also a fine Varg, but not as fast as the other two. The first two wolves approached. Tarlar was as keen to greet Fell as he was her, but it was some delicacy in her that made her hang back awhile, and let her companion speak first.

“We were hunting, brother, when we saw you from across the hill,” said the beautiful she-wolf boldly. “Mother knows of it already. We ran to tell her.”

“Larka?” whispered Fell, feeling very strange to speak the name she had been given after his first sister, but looking her up and down proudly. At five she was almost as large as his Larka had been, but her coat was just a normal, healthy grey instead of white.

“It’s good to see you again,” he whispered.

“Again?” said Larka cheerfully. “Well, I don’t remember you at all, I’m afraid, brother, although I knew it was you from the colour of your coat. But I’ve heard so much about you, and we make up stories too, don’t we, Kipcha? About
you
.”

The third she-wolf had come alongside too, wagging her bushy tail.

“Yes, we do,” said Kipcha, “many, many stories.”

“All bad?” asked Fell a little sadly.

“Of course not, Fell,” answered Larka warmly. “We often make you the hero.”

“Not always, though,” added Kipcha, not looking the slightest bit embarrassed. “I mean, heroes can be so dull, can’t they?”

Kipcha was looking openly at her elder brother, and Fell’s eyes smiled.

“Yes, I suppose they can.”

“And heroes and legends are not quite real, are they?” said Larka. “Not real flesh and blood like us.”

“But you need them of course,” said Kipcha, “for sometimes when we think of Jalgan we need someone really savage and brave in our thoughts to fight him,” she added, looking suddenly fierce. “We know what stories are for.”

“Oh, you do?” said Fell, feeling surprised at the wisdom of the young, but oddly reassured.

“Your stories get so dark though, sisters,” said Khaz suddenly, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“Perhaps because the times seem to be so dark again, Khaz,” said Larka sharply, “and shouldn’t we tell the truth?”

“When times are dark, we should tell more cheerful stories,” said Khaz.

“Perhaps we should.” Larka turned to Fell and added warmly, “But you’re very welcome here, brother.”

“I am, am I?” Fell growled, with a smile. “You give me Larka’s Blessing, do you?”

“Don’t tease me, brother,” said Larka, “We all agreed not to use that term here. Not often anyway. I’m Larka now, am I not, and not some fable. And we’re a real family. As difficult as those can be.”

Larka dropped her eyes.

“I’m not saying that she … that our sister was just a fable,” she went on. “We’re so proud of what she did. What you all did for us. But …”

“But?” whispered Fell.

“But when parents tell stories what should they say to their children? Do you think they should fill them with a courage they can’t live up to, or an idealism about the world that might simply break their hearts in the end? Shouldn’t they just tell them the truth, that they should try to love each other and be happy?”

“Yes,” whispered Fell. “Perhaps they should.”

“Besides, it was in the past, and I’ll live my life as I see fit.” Fell looked at Larka in admiration, so confident and wise was she. He realised that what he had reached for by the river was true, and that was what really mattered. What was here and now.

“Good for you,” he said warmly.

“Besides, to give Larka’s Blessing makes Mother so sad. All she thinks of now is the past.”

Fell raised his head, and his ears came forwards. His mother, Palla, was there now with his father, Huttser. Somewhere nearby.

“It’s time,” he said, looking nervously at Kar.

“Come then, Fell, I’ll show the way.”

They all ran together, the seven of them, like a bonded wolf pack, with Fell and Kar leading the group. Tarlar made sure that the other wolves hung back, as they mounted a slope and rose up through the trees towards a low cave, beside a mountain stream. Fell stopped as soon as they reached the edge of the trees for there, in front of the cave mouth, was an old grey she-wolf, lying on her paws and lapping weakly at the stream.

“Go on, Fell,” whispered Kar kindly, “we’ll all talk together later.”

Fell nodded, and as he padded forwards, Kar and the others turned away.

“
Mother
,” Fell wanted to say as he stopped in front of the stream, but something suddenly choked in his voice. He just stood there trembling. The old she-wolf had caught a scent though, and looked up. Or might have looked, if Fell hadn’t seen that Palla’s old eyes were watery and filmy with cataracts. She wasn’t blind, but her sight was so dim that although she knew immediately by its shape that a wolf was standing before her, she couldn’t make out its features.

If his mother’s eyes shocked Fell, almost more shocking was that Palla looked so old. In his memories and dreams he had always seen Palla as she had been when he left the pack. Tired and hurt by Larka’s death, and all that had happened perhaps, but still a relatively young wolf. But now the hair around her beautiful muzzle was almost entirely white and she looked so thin and weak. She was older than any she-wolf to live in the lands beyond the forest—thirteen long, adventurous years. Fell suddenly realised how the world always changes around us, often before we even know it.

“Kar, is that you, Kar?”

“No, Mother, it’s me.”

Palla had risen and she was suddenly shaking.

“Fell?” she whispered. “Can it really be you, my Fell? They said you had come.”

“Yes, Mother, it’s Fell.”

Fell wanted to run towards her, but something still held him back. A delicacy.

“Oh, Fell, it’s so good to hear your voice again, and yes, though my eyes are weak, to see you once more.”

Palla’s eyes were straining, but she could see now that it was true. Suddenly Fell leapt forwards through the water and he was in front of her, taking in her scent, changed with age, and touching her dry nose with his.

“Dear Fell,” she whispered, “you fill my old heart with joy. I thought I might go to Tor and Fenris without ever setting eyes on you again. Or hearing your song once more. That song that you sang to us from the mountain when you went, five long years ago. It so hurt my heart to hear it. It was so pained and full of longing.”

“Oh, Mother.”

“But I’ve never blamed you for going away, Fell. Not once. I knew you had your own path, and your own questions.”

“And you had the new cubs too,” whispered Fell.

“Ah yes. The joy of my heart. They’re all strong and healthy. Though I worry for Khaz, sometimes. He’s so thoughtful and, well, gentle.”

“Every pack has its Sikla,” whispered Fell, “if we should call them that.”

“He’s the brightest of all of us, and the kindest,” said Palla proudly. “He just doesn’t like fighting very much. But my darling Fell, tell me how you are.”

“I’m well, Mother. I’ve been on a strange journey.”

“Yes. As have we all. Life is a strange place indeed, isn’t it? Whether we’re touched by the Sight or not. So full of wonder and mystery, of beauty, yet so full of struggle and sorrow too. Of cruelty. Nature’s cruelty.”

Palla shook her head.

“Or is it cruel? I thought it bitterly cruel when my eyes began to go. Stealing away visions of so much colour from me. And yet they’ve lasted me more years than most wolves. I looked around me as the darkness crowded in, and realised that everything that is suffers in the same way. Not because anything makes it suffer, although that happens too, but because we all bloom and then fade. We’re not Varg, Fell, not wolves at all. We’re plants and trees, leaves and flowers. Like them, we all have our seasons.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“We bloom and then we fade,” sighed the old she-wolf. “And I’ve bloomed indeed. But now my mind turns backwards more and more to the past. It fills me with sadness, for I wish it had not been so dark sometimes. Dear Larka. I think of her often.”

“And I.”

“But she comes to me in dreams.”

Fell looked up and thought of that voice on the wind.

“Or I think they’re dreams. And she’s always smiling. That makes me feel much better, and gives me a courage too. Beyond even despair.”

Fell’s heart ached.

“Yet as I look back, and remember it all, I still wonder whether it all had any meaning, Fell. Or whether it’s all simply as it is. Have you found a meaning to it?”

Fell cocked his head, but he could not answer, although he thought of Ottol and the salmon.

“And I wonder more and more too if there is anything up there.” Palla had raised her old eyes to the heavens. “If the wolf gods Tor and Fenris are there at all. Or only lovely stories.”

Not always so lovely, thought Fell, and he was going to speak, but suddenly there was a low growl from inside the cave.

“Palla. Where are you, Drappa?”

“Huttser,” whispered Fell.

“He’s bad today,” said Palla sadly. “The wound is deep. He did not sleep all night. I must go to—”

“No, Mother. Let me.”

“But Fell. I haven’t told him yet of your return. He’s too proud to ever have called on your help.”

“Then I will tell him myself.”

Fell padded forwards apprehensively, and as he did so the sun emerged from behind a cloud and illuminated the stone recess. He could already see his father, lying at the back of the cave. Huttser looked much stronger than Palla, in form at least. Although now fourteen, he was nearly the Dragga that Fell had always known, although his deeply greying head was slumped on his paws. Fell’s feelings were suddenly confused, for he remembered a day long ago when his father, so strong and powerful, had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and made him fearful and angry and resentful.

“Palla. Hurry up, will you?”

“It’s me, Father.”

Old Huttser had raised his head and was looking at his son in astonishment, for his eyes and ears were almost as strong as ever.

“Am I dreaming? It can’t be.”

Huttser was trying to get up, but he was too weak for the effort. Fell could see now the livid wound across his flank that was caked with blood, and Huttser slumped again.

“It
is
you, Fell. You’re well, I see. I always knew that you were strong like your father.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Stronger than me now. Those damned Vengerid and that cur Jalgan, challenging all the Varg to fight him. His curs wouldn’t have done this if they hadn’t crept up on us. I may be old—sometimes I wonder at it—but there’s fight in me yet. I’ve challenged him.”

“There was always fight in you,” whispered Fell, even a little reproachfully. “You are the Dragga, Father.”

“Yes, quite right. And so I must fight, and lead, and protect you all. Hunt when the game is slow, scavenge when it’s fast, mark the boundaries, keep out intruders, raise spirits, tell stories. Look out for the little ones, for dear, clever Larka and brave little Fell. And that new cub, Kar. He’s not mine, but he’s all right. Palla wants to help him very much, but you know what Drappas are like.”