(GoG Book 08) The Outcast (10 page)

“I don’t think so, Coryn. The clansmen of the Sacred Watch have no friends. They pledged their lives long ago to Hoole.”

“To Hoole?”

Hamish nodded. “Until the ember is retrieved, they are bound.”

“But it’s just a legend, isn’t it?” Coryn asked in a quavery voice.

“Is it?” Hamish asked.

W
ith each step the wolves took and each wing beat of his own, Coryn felt that he was coming closer and closer to his destiny. And he was deeply frightened. He thought he had been sent here to become a teacher for little Coryn, but now he was not so sure. He remembered so long ago when Gwyndor, the Rogue smith, had told him that he had free will. He did not have to do this. He could choose. Mist had said the same thing. He could turn around and fly away. But to where would he fly? Back to Mist? She would be so disappointed in him. Back to Kalo and little Coryn? The Great Ga’Hoole Tree? Oh, how he longed to go there, but he knew that he couldn’t. Not yet. Both Mist and the scroom had told him that there were tasks to be done. But what were the tasks? How did he have to prove himself before he went to the great tree, and why all of a sudden had his life become so bound up with Hamish’s? Was Hamish going to the Sacred Volcanoes because of Coryn? Or was Coryn going there because of
Hamish? How had the Ember of Hoole bound them together? Hamish was to be its guardian but what was he, Coryn, supposed to be?

The land of the Sacred Volcanoes was in the farthest reaches of the Beyond. They were heading toward that precipice Coryn had imagined on his first night in the Beyond when he had seen the shimmering moon quiver on the edge of the horizon. For the wolves, the going was slow because there were great snowfields that had to be plowed through. Coryn had slowed his flight so as not to get too far ahead. Poor Hamish was always lagging behind with his lame leg. But Coryn noticed that the other wolves helped him more. Often they would let him eat first at a kill. It was obviously important to them that they deliver their gnaw wolf to his duty.

Hamish had told Coryn a little about the gnaw wolves’ lives at this far edge of the Beyond. They were never allowed to mate or have pups. Their lives were solely devoted to guarding the ember. It was not an easy place to live and there were many dangers.

“It is the harshest weather in all of the Beyond. And the hunting is difficult.”

“Hamish, how will you ever do it with your lame leg? You’ll die of starvation.”

“That is the curious part. All of the gnaw wolves who
go there suffer some sort of defect either from birth or injury. My leg is crooked. Another might be missing an eye or a paw. But something happens to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“They grow stronger. If they are missing an eye, the vision in the other eye becomes sharper. Their hearing and their sense of smell are perhaps four times better than a normal wolf’s. A lame wolf or one missing a paw develops muscles it never dreamed of and is able to run faster than any healthy female and break track in the deepest snow. They gather a strength unequaled while guarding the Sacred Volcanoes, and you shall see that they are huge.”

“So what are the dangers, if they are this strong?”

“You see, there are other clans that would love to become the guardians of the volcanoes and the keepers of the bone mounds.”

“Why, for Glaux’s sake?! It sounds like the rottenest job in the world.”

“Well, it is said that there are certain powers that the gnaw wolves gain throughout their lives of guarding the ember, in addition to becoming strong. And that the ember itself has certain powers.

“They say good King Hoole promised that in exchange for a life spent guarding the ember, after following the spirit trail of stars and resting for a while in the soul cave,
a gnaw wolf’s spirit could come back as anything it wanted to be.”

“Anything?” Coryn asked.

“Anything.”

“Do you believe it?”

“What else do I have, Coryn, but to believe it?” Hamish replied quietly.

“What would you come back as if you could? A bird? An owl? Maybe a fish?”

Hamish chuckled softly. “I would come back as a wolf born with four strong legs.”

The trek was a long one, with the days weaving into longer and longer nights. But the wolves never broke their stride. One night as Coryn was flying overhead, he saw them halt to study something on the ground. Hamish split away from the clan and with his lame leg climbed painfully up a slippery trail to a promontory. He threw back his head and howled to summon Coryn, who had learned some of this strange, untamed music of the wolves.

He flew down and followed Hamish to the spot where the wolves were examining a paw print in the snow. To Coryn, it looked like an ordinary wolf paw print.

“Look at it hard, laddie,” the chieftain said. “This is a dangerous sign. Here, compare it to my own print.”
Duncan MacDuncan stepped back. Coryn dropped his head down close to the print on the ground. There was a difference, but he would never have noticed it if Duncan had not led him right to it. The four toe pads of the stranger wolf were much more spread out.

“What does that mean?” Coryn asked.

“Sick wolf. It is sick with the foaming-mouth disease. Wolves get it, but so can birds and many other animals. It drives them mad and they die. But the real danger is that their bite is like poison. If you are bitten by such a mad creature, you will also get the disease. We must travel very carefully now. And it is our duty to tell other wolves we meet that there is a mad one loose in these parts. You, Coryn, can be most helpful, lad, because you can see far and wide as you fly.”

“Of course,” Coryn said. “But what should I look for? My eyes are good but I don’t think I could see a footprint like this from so high up.”

“No, but you might see the wolf itself and you will recognize it quickly. Its stride will be broken and staggering. You will see the white foaming drool from its mouth, and you will hear its panting breath. Not at all like ours when we run. It is a harsh sort of breathing as if it breathes rocks or chunks of ice. It is a terrible sound. We shall be able to
smell it even before you see it. But with your sight and hearing and our sense of smell, we shall know exactly where it is and be able to quickly change our course.”

“Yes, of course. I shall help.” Coryn was happy to be able to do something for this clan that had offered him sanctuary in this desolate land.

Coryn was not sure how many days and nights had passed since they had first spotted the paw prints of the sick wolf, but there did not seem to be others. Several times Coryn had flown wide of the byrrgis to look for the deadly wolf but had seen none that fit the description.

He began to wonder if he had missed something when he saw the chieftain and several of the nobles increase their scent markings and their sniffing. This slowed their progress even more. One evening at twilight, Coryn lighted down as he often did right on Hamish’s back. The byrrgis had stopped and several of the wolves had gone out on scent-marking expeditions. “What’s going on? Are there signs of the sick wolf?”

“No,” Hamish answered. “We’ve entered the territory of the MacHeaths. They are a dangerous clan, but not as dangerous as the sick wolf. Remember, I told you that some clans are very jealous of the MacDuncans because
of our clan being in the Sacred Watch of the ember? Well, the MacHeaths are the most jealous.”

“Will there be a fight?”

“No. Duncan and his mate, Fiona, and McAngus will go and treat with them.”

“Treat? What’s that?”

“They will ask for a peaceful passage. They will promise them meat and hunting rights in our territory.”

“Is it safe for them to go?” Coryn asked.

“There are certain rules. You cannot kill or attack another wolf if it is coming to treat. They will obey that, I think. And the MacHeaths, well, they are not highborn wolves. They are easily impressed and very superstitious as well. It makes them in some ways easy to deal with; in other ways it makes them very dangerous.”

Coryn once again marveled at the complexity of wolves’ lives and their clans. It made the lives of owls seem simple in comparison.

“I told you, Coryn, how a deformed pup’s clan may petition for it to be a member of the Sacred Watch.”

Coryn nodded his head.

“It’s been said,” Hamish continued, “that the MacHeaths so want to have one of their own become a member of the Sacred Watch that they have sometimes purposely maimed a pup.”

“How horrible!” Coryn exclaimed.

“They are horrible. Very horrible.”

Just at that moment Chieftain MacDuncan approached. Hamish immediately lowered his body, flattened his ears, and flashed the whites of his eyes. These were the immediate responses required of a low-ranking wolf when approached by a high-ranking one. Duncan MacDuncan gave a rough snort of approval. “I want to talk to Coryn.”

“Yes, sir.” Hamish seemed to grovel and lower himself more. This annoyed Coryn no end. He couldn’t stand these cowering displays.

“Coryn, we are now in the territory of the MacHeaths.”

“Yes. Hamish told me.”

“Ah, yes.” He gave a quick look at Hamish, barely acknowledging his presence, although Coryn continued to perch on the wolf’s back. By Glaux, he wasn’t going to move, either. Hamish was his best friend in all of the Beyond.

“We are going to treat with the MacHeaths. They are a difficult clan. But tradition dictates that we must request permission to pass through their territory. I would like you to accompany us.”

“Me? Why me?” Coryn asked.

“The story of the bear and the wolves eating together after the owl lighted on the moose carcass has traveled widely. You are an owl that commands great respect. We feel that your presence at this gathering will be helpful.”

Coryn blinked. He was amazed that the story had traveled so far and meant so much to the wolves. “My Lord Duncan,” Coryn said, for this was the proper way to address a chieftain, “I am honored that you invite me to accompany you on this very important mission. It is the least I can do for the sanctuary you have given me.”

Duncan MacDuncan then lowered his own tail slightly. Something a chieftain rarely did, for it was a sign of submission. In this case, Coryn took it as a gesture of gratitude. “We shall go at daybreak to meet them,” he said.

“Not until daybreak?” Coryn asked.

“There is much to do before that.”

Howling was what had to be done. The wolves of the MacDuncan clan formed a circle and began to howl. Their strange mad music laced the night. It filled the valley and skimmed over the mountaintops. They were answered back by equally untamed wild sounds. Then it ended abruptly as the sky began to lighten.

C
oryn had never been to what is called the Gadderheal, or the ceremonial cave of each clan. When he had first met the MacDuncans, they were far from their own Gadderheal. Hamish had told Coryn about them but he had not really known what to expect. Certainly not this. There was a fire pit in the center with coals brought by Rogue colliers or Rogue smiths. The wolves did not have skill with fire like the Rogue smiths or the Guardians of Ga’Hoole at the great tree but they liked it for their Gadderheals. Hamish had explained that in exchange for the coals, the Rogue smiths received killshares, or permission to share in the meat killed by the wolves.

Coryn was nervous about the fire. It had been a long time since he had been near one and he was not sure what he might see in the flames. He purposely took a place most distant from it. There were skins all around the cave from animals the wolves had hunted, and the chieftain and his nobles wore them draped around their shoulders.
The chieftain also wore a headdress of gnawed bones and teeth. Gnaw wolves who were not from the MacDuncan clan made non-sacred art from bones, and the chieftain’s headdress was one such piece. There was also a talking stick, beautifully gnawed, that rested under the paws of whichever wolf was speaking.

“Welcome, Lord MacDuncan, to our Gadderheal.”

Duncan MacDuncan lowered himself into the most servile posture Coryn had ever seen. In truth, he had never seen Duncan lower himself to any wolf. “We are deeply grateful for this meeting.”

“And we, too, are honored that you have brought the owl. We have heard the stories of the bear and the wolf at the moose carcass.”

Duncan MacDuncan nodded. “We have brought important news, along with presents as tokens of our respect and admiration of the MacHeaths.”

“And what is this news, Lord Duncan MacDuncan?”

“There is a foaming-mouth wolf that skirts the edges of your territory. We have seen its signs. But so far we have not spotted it. Perhaps good Lupus,” Duncan MacDuncan tipped his head back and up toward the sky, “has already taken it on the spirit trail.”

All the wolves murmured some sort of blessing that Coryn did not understand.

“Thank you, Lord Duncan, for sharing this news with our clan. We are most grateful.”

That had been Lord Duncan’s plan. He was coming to ask for permission to pass through the territory because it was the most direct route to the Sacred Volcanoes, and he had brought presents, for which the MacHeaths would be grateful. But news of a foaming-mouth wolf was even more valuable. Duncan MacDuncan wanted this wily and cantankerous old chieftain in double debt to him.

“And now for the presents. Bring them forth, Sir Donalbain.” An immense wolf with a gray coat brought forward a skin bag that he clutched in his mouth. When he dropped it in front of the chieftain’s paws, several sparkling jewels spilled out as well as some finely crafted gnaw-bones from a famous MacDuncan gnaw wolf of old.

“He’ll go for the jewels,” Duncan had said before. “The old coot doesn’t know a finely crafted gnaw-bone from a stick of wood.”

He was right, for Lord Dunleavey MacHeath immediately started pawing the jewels. “Aaah, emeralds from the Emerald River. How interesting.” He turned to one of his own nobles. “Sir Crathmore, will you fetch the gift our most recent visitor brought to us.”