Fell (The Sight 2) (34 page)

Fell came to a small lake, and forgetful now of his own greatest fear, death by water, he stopped and stared into its reflecting mirror. He blinked as he did so. For the first time in his life he could hardly recognise himself at all. Or hardly cared. As Fell looked, he felt as if he were not looking at himself, but plunging through the water, back into his own thoughts, and into the past. Always the past. There was no longer any defineable barrier between himself and the world. Between the past and the present, and between his bleak, slow thoughts and reality.

Fell was lost in time and in space, and in that moment he felt as if he were going mad. A sparrow fluttered by, and Fell felt it move by him like a ghost. “Bird,” he wanted to say. “Don’t come near me now, bird, for I am not of life. My father, bird, and my mother, they’re dead and gone. Forever. Will you howl with me?”

Because all living things fear death, because all of them fight with everything they are in order to avoid it, the sparrow sensed it immediately and its course through the air swerved far away from the strange lone wolf by the lake.

“That’s right, bird,” thought Fell bitterly. “Avoid me like a sickness. Like an evil.”

Fell felt bitterness at life then and something deeper—fear. Why did death engender fear? Because death meant change, a change greater than we have ever known, and because death was indeed a mirror that made us see ourselves as never before. A mirror that we should cover, as people in olden days covered mirrors when someone died, for fear of an evil. For with all our care and pain for those who had gone, it was ourselves too we felt the agony for. Perhaps ourselves above all.

Fell wanted to shrug off these thoughts and feelings, but the wolf could no more do so than he could use the powers of the Sight to bring his mother and father back to life again. He suddenly thought of the story of Sita, and how she had been sent down by Tor and Fenris to suffer for the Varg. Of how she had been laughed at and reviled and killed, but had risen again after three suns. Because of the love of Tor and Fenris. Because there is no death.

Yet now the wolf knew the truth of it, as only those who experience life may really know.
So the story is a lie, as the Guardian is a lie
, thought Fell,
as there is no real magic in the world. We do die, as Huttser and Palla have just died
. Somehow that was stranger to Fell, or bleaker, than even Larka’s death. Larka had struggled and fought with dark forces and the wicked actions of the Varg, and it had caused her end. But Huttser and Palla had gone for no reason except that life must end.

Try as he might to think clearly, or shrug away the darkness, Fell could not. For something was happening to him that, although he had no name for it, was as real as rock or branch or stone, and as inevitable as sadness is to joy. As much as Fell wanted it to stop, to think it all away, it was in his mind and his breath and his very veins. In his body too. The wolf was grieving.

Night had come as Fell found a clearing on the edge of the valley and lay down to rest his exhausted being. He felt sleep approach him like a welcome friend, and the terrible struggle of his mind began to ease, but as Fell lay there, once more his body started to twitch, and there was a face before his eyes. His aunt.

“Morgra.”

“Yes, Fell, I’m with you. I’ve always been with you.”

“What do you want, Morgra?” growled the angry wolf.

“To give you solace, for I know they’ve gone. My sister and her Dragga.”

“Yes, Morgra. Are they with you now in the Red Meadow?”

“I sense they’re here,” answered Fell’s aunt, “in this place of dream and memory, before the final journey. But the number of Varg here are legion and it is to the living that I speak now.”

“Speak of what?”

“Of death and loss. Of pain and anguish. Of meaninglessness.”

“Leave me, Morgra. I’m so tired.”

“Then why resist me, my friend? I helped you once. Let me help you again, and stand at your side and howl with you into the shadows.”

Fell’s weary, sorrowful thoughts could hardly resist the terrible she-wolf, and he was glad to have someone, anyone, there with him. Not to be alone.

“I used the Summoning Howl once, Fell,” said Morgra. “The cry that sounds like no other, to bring the spectres from the Red Meadow to fight at the Balkar’s side. As your sister Larka used it to journey herself to the meadow and speak with the dead, or the memories of the dead.” Fell remembered it well. “I can teach you, Fell DarkThroat, to make a fresh kill and use it to talk to your parents. Teach you to call into the night. You are with me. Your nature has always been with me.”

“But the Pathways were closed,” whispered Fell. “The Pathways of the Dead.”

“Then open them again. Now Larka has truly gone beyond, even her power fades. Perhaps you could do it, Fell.”

“No, Morgra …”

“Let the pain and the sorrow, the fury, cry through your strong, black voice. You may summon us now.”

“For what, Morgra?”

“Anything you wish. We shall be your servants amongst the living. To save the changeling girl.”

“To save her? The Helgra fight at her side.”

“No, SlackNews, she is taken.”

Fell’s face twitched violently in his dream.

“Taken?”

“Yes, Vladeran’s spy drugged her and took her to the palace. Each day Vladeran thinks of slitting her pretty throat. It’s only his fear of the army that he thinks to draw into his trap with the girl that makes him hesitate. While the Helgra, those miserable wolf lovers, lock their eyes on the palace. They’ve moved closer. You could go to her, and take the spectres to her aid.”

Fell stirred at the very thought.

“A powerful black wolf leading an army of the dead through the lands beyond the forest. Think of the fear and terror it would spread amongst the humans again. Think of the legend you’ll really become, my dear. For her, Fell. To save the girl. To save nature itself.”

Fell’s heart was beating furiously, and yet as he looked back at Morgra, talking of saving Alina, tempting him with the idea, the black wolf knew that her eyes were saying something else entirely.

Morgra’s dark, subtle mind was at play, and she knew that if Fell went to Alina’s aid, then he would be near her again, and so closer perhaps to fulfilling the vision that had foretold Alina’s death at his own jaws. Morgra knew that Fell’s dual nature, his desire to protect the girl and to fulfil his own animal instincts, would go to war indeed, and draw him nearer to the darkness again. Morgra sensed Fell reading her thoughts and she growled.

“And why not, Fell? Why do you fight your own destiny? Huttser and Palla are dead, as all things die. Don’t be a slave any longer.”

Fell was growling in his dream, or his vision, but his growls were as low and black as his injured thoughts. Why not be free at last? Perhaps these Vengerid were right, and the only way to conquer suffering was to make other things suffer. Too long had Fell wrestled guiltily, and now he wanted to live.

“I feel your pain, my dear,” said Morgra. “Don’t deny it. Use it and feed on it. Still you try to hope, but hope is for fools and liars. Give in. Taste the dark joy once more.”

“No, Morgra, no.”

“Yes, Fell. You’re close to me again. How I’ve missed you.”

Fell had begun to growl, and Morgra’s thoughts could feel how strongly the black wolf was fighting her.

“You hate me still, Fell?”

“I must not hate. Larka showed us that hate makes us weak. And Alina too.”

Again the mention of Larka seemed to work like a talisman and push back Morgra in the dream, but she fought it hard, and then she was with Fell again.

“Foolish Fell. Hate makes us strong. Hate made me strong enough to linger still in the Red Meadow, and continue the battle your sister thought she had won. A battle with nature itself, that I shall truly win if the girl dies. Hate then, Fell. Hate me. Hate life. Hate man.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll make you,” growled Morgra. “If you will not go to save this girl you say you love, for the sake of love, then go for hate. Go to take revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“On the human that holds her. On Lord Vladeran.”

“Lord Vladeran? I would protect Alina indeed, but why should I hate Lord Vladeran?”

“I’ll show you why,” whispered Morgra. “I’ll show you the secret.”

Suddenly Morgra, or the memory of Morgra in the Red Meadow, used the powers of the Sight to do something so terrible that the Lera in the land beyond the forests themselves might have turned once more from their busy, struggling lives, as they had once on the mountaintop, and fix their eyes in horror.

“Look, Fell, and see.”

Morgra’s muzzle began to fade, and there was the human Fell had seen before, through whose mouth she had first spoken to him. Lord Vladeran was craning over the font in the palace again, looking down with his dark, empty eyes, and it was as if Fell himself were peering back at him out of the water.

“See, Fell,” whispered Morgra. “See what the human wears about him.”

Fell looked and saw the great collar of fur that rose around Vladeran’s neck.

“You know what it is, don’t you, Fell? His cloak?”

“Wolf,” whispered Fell’s darkening mind.

“Yes,” hissed Morgra.

“What of it. The Helgra elder wears the wolf too, to honour us.”

“Not just any wolf, Fell. Look at the old, grey colouring. The marks that I bore long ago.”

“You?” said Fell’s wondering mind.

“Yes, Fell. His hunting dogs found my body torn and broken, when he had ridden far to talk with their King. Even before he knew of the history of the Sight.”

“And I should hate him for this?”

For a moment Morgra looked almost hurt.

“Not for this, but it takes more than one old wolf to make such a cloak, and two of us died that day.”

Even as she said it, Lord Vladeran seemed to hear a noise from the palace behind him and as he turned, Fell’s throat choked and his mind span. The cloak, Lord Vladeran’s cloak, the collar was formed of Morgra’s fur and the front and sides too, but the back of the cloak, stitched to Morgra with threads of leather, was a pure, snowy white.

“Larka,” whispered Fell, seeing that two forepaws hung there as well.

“Yes, Fell,” said Morgra triumphantly. “It’s Larka. Your sister.”

“Larka. Dear Larka.”

Fell’s mind was resisting his aunt still, and although the sight of Larka’s pelt on Vladeran’s back had filled him with sorrow, he shook off the feeling.

“It doesn’t matter, Morgra. It’s only a pelt. Once the spirit is gone, the body is nothing. Perhaps it brought some warmth.”

Fell suddenly felt more at peace about his parents lying there at the cave.

“Not only a pelt,” hissed Morgra. “Her body lay broken there too, next to mine, but when the humans rode by, Larka was not quite dead. It was Lord Vladeran who, thinking himself powerful and strong, took his dagger and slit her throat. The human killed Larka. Then they set to work skinning us, and so we’re united, as I said we always were, even in death. Pelts to adorn this human Dragga, and warm him in his cruelty.”

Fell was shaking furiously, but the revulsion of it was pushing his mind back towards consciousness and pushing Morgra away. Vladeran and his sister’s pelt had vanished now, and Morgra was staring at Fell again, but her face was fading too.

“Think what it would be to revenge yourself on Vladeran’s throat,” whispered Morgra temptingly, “to revenge yourself for dear Larka’s death. For everything that’s happened. Go to them, Fell. Punish these filthy humans, at last.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come to you, again, Fell. Soon,” said Morgra. “You’re with me now. You’ve always been with me.”

MORGRA WAS GONE AND FELL SANK DEEPER and deeper into sleep, feeling more than ever that his true power lay in darkness. He knew that images of his journey were with him, and of everything that had ever happened to him. There was Ottol and the salmon and the squirrels, and they all seemed to be talking at once. But suddenly someone else was there too.

“Help me, dear Fell.”

“Human?”

Alina stood before him, holding out her hands pleadingly.

“I’m in danger, Fell. I’m in a dark place. A prison. I saw it before. Can you not help me?”

Fell wanted to push the dream off, like the sorrowful thoughts of Huttser and Palla, but he couldn’t. Then Fell realised something startling. That voice was not in a dream at all. It was deep in his inner mind. Alina was using the Sight, even at this distance.

“Alina?”

“Yes, Fell. I know you can hear me, my friend. You’re far away now, but my need is great.”

“You wish me to come to aid you?”

“Oh, Fell, I think it’s too late. Catalin and the Helgra are walking into a trap, beyond the gorge near the palace. Vladeran’s spies have found out all their plans, and his soldiers lie in wait to ambush them. But you could warn them.”

“How, Alina? I may not talk to the young Dragga’s mind.”

“I don’t know, Fell, and I hate to ask it of you. You’ve done so much already. But if you care for me …”

Alina’s voice was fading, and Fell heard the scraping of metal, and suddenly his eyes were open. The sun was shining brilliantly, and above a buzzard and its mate rode the heating air. The black wolf rose slowly on his paws and stood there, wondering. Alina was in need and that Dragga, Catalin, too. The humans were calling to him.

Yet why should he answer? He was a wolf, a Varg, not a man to wear wolf skins on his back, and if the fate of all nature was somehow in danger, it was a dim and distant thing to Fell now. He had found no Guardian, because no Guardian existed. He wished suddenly that the Sight would leave him forever, and that he could curl up and listen to the stories in a den, with Huttser and Palla.

The sorrow came like a wave, moved by a ghostly wind, and swamped his thoughts again. It was still true. They were still gone.

For an age Fell seemed to stand there, choked and motionless, seized once more by the past. He did not even see Tarlar, until she was almost at his side, and when she spoke urgently, for a time her voice sounded as if it were speaking to him from some distant country, like a hollow echo that had no pull.

“Thank Fenris, I’ve found you, Fell.”

Tarlar could see the state that Fell was in, and her heart ached for the black wolf, for she too had grieved bitterly at her brother Kenkur’s death.

“I wish I’d been with you last night, Fell,” she whispered. “I see it hurts you still, and know that it will for a long while. But, dear Fell, now we must look to the living.”

“The living?”

“Your pack is in danger. Skop spotted them after dawn, coming down the ravine towards the valley. There must be thirty or forty Vengerid. And that scum Jalgan is at their head. He has come for the challenge.”

Fell heard her words, dull and hollow, echoing as if from a well, and he felt nothing.

“Are you listening to me, Fell?”

The wolf did not answer.

“What’s wrong with you?” growled Tarlar suddenly. “They’re gone and it hurts, as life often hurts, but that doesn’t mean we should give up. They were old, very old, and it was their time. It was natural. But others matter now. Think of what Huttser would have done.”

Fell growled slightly.

“Wake up, Fell. Now’s not the time for grief. Your pack is in terrible danger. What of your duty to your family?”

“My duty?” growled Fell. “And what if my father had been Wolfbane, the Evil One? Would I then have a duty, just because it’s my family?”

“But your pack?”

“My pack?” said Fell softly, thinking of Palla lying there motionless by the stream, and Larka’s pelt hanging on Lord Vladeran’s back. “My pack is gone, Tarlar. Long gone. My mother and father, and dear Larka. All our friends from long ago. If I’ve any path now, it’s not here, but with the humans. I’m closer to their minds than to the Varg’s. But even they …”

“But your brother and your sisters all need you, Fell. Now. Need you more than ever. You must come.”

“Don’t order me,” growled Fell, though dully and without passion. “I left the pack long ago, Tarlar. I’m not here.”

“You’re thinking of the past, and you mustn’t,” whispered Tarlar. “Larka is wise, and she often says that above all, cubs try to solve what seems wrong between their parents. They mustn’t do it. For their own sakes.”

Fell said nothing.

“Are you a coward, damn you? Are you frightened of the Vengerid?”

“I’m frightened of nothing anymore,” answered Fell simply, “except lies. For they’re the real killers. And any pack, any true wolf, must learn to fight for itself. For that’s the law of life. There’s no sorrow in it, and no pity. It’s just the way it is.”

“Stop it. Please, stop it. Come with me and fight at my side, or lead us away to safety. Don’t give up now. We’ll grieve together, you and I, for Huttser and for Palla. And then, Fell,” whispered Tarlar, “we’ll grieve for each other too, and our own mysterious lives. You’ll grieve for me, and I for you.”

Fell looked up at the beautiful brave she-wolf and his heart stirred. For a moment his eyes cleared a little and he saw Tarlar as she truly was, not just another struggling, frightened soul asking for help, but a passionate, beautiful living creature doing the best she could, as most things do the best they can, perhaps all things when they understand themselves. But the heaviness came again, and his eyes misted over.

“Grief?” he whispered bitterly. “I’ve been grieving all my life.”

“Then stop it,” snapped Tarlar furiously, “end your grieving now. Come and fight.”

“No, Tarlar. I can’t. I won’t.”

Tarlar knew that he was beyond her persuasion, and besides, there was no time.

“Very well then, Sikla,” she snarled. “I’ll go to their aid alone, and show you how a wolf should live.”

Tarlar turned scornfully, and with her great bushy tail raised in the air, she began to run down the slopes of the valley, towards the pack that had taken her in. She had the wind at her back and Tarlar was quick to reach the stream, and the cave where Kar was beginning to address the others nervously.

Palla was still lying there on the ground, and around her Larka and Kipcha had scraped away the grass and the earth, to make sure that ants and beetles and grubs could not reach her body.

“Tarlar,” called Kar as he saw her, “is he coming?”

“No, Kar,” answered Tarlar guiltily, then seeing the look of shock on the others’ faces, she added, “I think he’s in too much pain.”

“Too much fear, don’t you mean?” growled Skop.

“Hush, Skop,” said Kar. “You know nothing of what your elder brother has seen or suffered in his life. It’s not for you to judge him.”

“I know what I see now,” said Skop angrily, “and judge too. I know he cares for humans more than us, and he’s my brother no longer.”

“Whatever Fell is,” said Tarlar bitterly, “you must lead the pack, Kar.”

Kar looked bewildered and surprised, but the aging grey wolf nodded. He stood there thinking for a while, and shaking too with the responsibility of it all.

“Very well then,” said Kar at last, “I’m decided. If Fell had been with us, I would have said we stand and fight. For although they’re many, the Sight’s a powerful weapon and this is good ground, that we all know well. But now we must mix valour with wisdom, and turn to our other path, flight. So the pack flees. As fast as our legs can carry us.”

“Flees where?” said Khaz nervously. “Skop said he saw Vengerid scouts all over the valley.”

Kar’s deep eyes flickered, for he was no more used to fighting or leading than the others.

“Then we’ll use the cover of the lower tree line to head west, moving in single file and making as little noise as possible. We’ll have to cross open ground to the south, but it should be night by then and the darkness will shield us.”

“Wolves can see in the dark,” whispered Kipcha nervously, “especially the Vengerid.”

“The darkness will help us, Kipcha,” said Kar as boldly as he could, “then we make for the Great Waterfall. The river will mask our tracks and scent, and after that is open country and escape.”

The others seemed reassured a little by Kar’s pretended certainty, and they stood there nodding.

“We go then, now,” said Kar urgently, suddenly looking like a Dragga himself and beginning to pad down the slope. “The pack is on the move once more.”

As the others followed, Kar noticed that Larka was missing and he swung his head. She was still standing by her mother’s body.

“We can’t just leave them like this, Kar.”

“We must, Larka. If Jalgan catches us here, we would join them quickly enough. And Hutts … your father and mother, that’s the last thing they would have wanted.”

“But shouldn’t we do something?” implored Larka, scratching at the ground with her right paw. “Bury them in the earth, or something. To protect them.”

“Oh, Larka,” said Kar warmly, “they’re not there. Their spirit has gone somewhere else. You need protect them no more, for although it seems horrible in your thoughts, they can feel nothing now. No pain at all. We’ll leave them together then, with honour, for the birds and the living Lera. So that everything may continue.”

These wise words seemed to reassure Larka, but she suddenly lifted her throat to cry a howl of mourning.

“No, Larka,” said Kar urgently. “The Vengerid will hear you.”

Larka stopped her voice, and with a sad, last look at her mother, Palla, and the cave where Huttser lay, she sprang forwards. The pack was on the move, and fleeing for its life. They went in single file, as Kar had suggested, with Kar leading and Tarlar behind him. Skop came next, then Kipcha, while Larka and Khaz took up the rear.

It was a desperate sight, for all around them through the trees the Vengerid were approaching fast, springing silently through the undergrowth like trained killers. No more powerful wolves had the land beyond the forest ever seen, for Jalgan only accepted the strongest into their ranks, and because there were both Dragga and Drappa amongst them, and they lived such free, wild, and healthy lives, they were even more vigorous than even Morgra’s Balkar had been.

Only a short while after Kar’s decision to flee, Jalgan himself was standing above Palla’s body by the stream, surrounded by his Vengerid. Jalgan opened his huge jaws and yawned, running his tongue along the jagged line of his teeth, as he looked down at Palla’s body.

“And her mate,” he growled. “Where’s her mate? The meddling old fool who challenged me.”

“Dead too, Jalgan,” said a voice up the hill by the cave.

Jalgan sprang upwards angrily and pushed past the speaker, as he cowered in submission in the cave mouth. As soon as Jalgan saw Huttser lying there too, he gave a furious snarl.

“By Fenris,” he cried. “Am I too late, after all? So you flee me, Huttser, into the shadows. You could not face the challenge.”

Huttser’s body just lay there, and Jalgan growled again.

“You were lucky when you fought my scouts, Sikla,” he hissed. “But I would have taken you easily enough. Jalgan never misses his kill.”

Jalgan padded forwards and placed his front left paw on Huttser’s dead muzzle and pressed it scornfully into the earth.

“It would have been no great victory though. For you were old and the old must make way for the young. It’s no matter, for I killed you anyway with that wound my Vengerid made, did I not? That’ll teach you to oppose me, and steal Tarlar away.”

As Jalgan thought of the beautiful she-wolf, he swung his head back to the sunlight and a look of greedy longing came into his eyes. Tarlar. Soon she would be his once more. Jalgan had not finished with Huttser and Palla though, and he turned back to the dead wolf.

“What shall we do with the likes of you though, Huttser, my friend? How shall the Vengerid really take its revenge?”

There was a growl from the cave mouth and another wolf was standing there.

“Jalgan.”

“Silence,” snarled Jalgan angrily. “Don’t interrupt my thoughts. Would you rob me of the sweet fruits of victory?”

It was Jalgan’s bitter mind that helped Kar and the others in that moment, for the wolf that had just appeared had picked up Tarlar’s scent below the stream and had come to tell his leader of it. If they had followed the pack then, they would have caught them before nightfall and killed them easily. So Jalgan’s hate, and his desire to humiliate even the dead Huttser, came to their aid.

“I’ll ponder it,” said Jalgan, lying down beside Huttser. “Think and savour.”

The scout knew that he should tell his leader, but he was frightened to interrupt him too. A long while Jalgan lay there in the shadows, playing with the possibilities in his mind, and when he at last rose, what he said shocked even the watching Vengerid.

“Very well. Now you shall learn how the Vengerid treat scum like you. You’ll be dragged from the cave, Huttser FailedPaw, and placed next to your dear, dead mate. Then, one by one, my Vengerid shall mark every inch of this valley, rock and branch and stone, to tell every living Lera that this place is ours, forever.”