The Sight (31 page)

‘Slavka fears the legend above everything,’ growled Palla suddenly.  ‘But why, Keeka, if she doesn’t even believe in the Sight?’

Keeka looked about her nervously.

‘Slavka thinks Morgra is using the legend to blind us all.  But others say that if Morgra takes this child to the altar and the Man Varg really does come, then none shall be free.  If it’s true, what greater evil could there be than the Sight?’

Palla pawed the ground almost guiltily.

‘But not all the rebels agree, Keeka,’ said a deep, growling voice suddenly.  The Varg next to Keeka was a magnificent- looking wolf with beautiful, brilliantly flashing eyes, though her muzzle was unusual hairy.

‘Hush, Karma.’

‘No, Keeka, let her speak,’ said Palla looking up with interest.  ‘Why, Karma, what do you mean?’

‘Not all believe the Sight to be evil,’ answered Karma quietly.  ‘Some are talking of this family.  They say one among them has the power.’

Palla looked away nervously.

‘And when I was young,’ Karma went on wistfully, ‘my parents told me that the power of the Sight was given as a gift to the wolf in the very beginning of the world.’

‘In the beginning,’ whispered Palla, looking up at the cheerless skies, ‘when Tor and Fenris brought light out of darkness?’

Karma turned to Palla with a grin.

‘Tor and Fenris?’ she laughed.  Her voice was rich with amusement and almost as deep as a male.  ‘Where I come from there are no such gods as Tor or Fenris, Palla.  No, my kind tell stories of the wolf god Zostar, born from the fire forests.  A wolf of heat and flame that comes to us in dreams.  The great Zostar, who decreed that everything in the universe was perfect.’

‘Stop it, Karma,’ growled Keeka, for although she sometimes believed in such things Keeka knew how dangerous it was to discuss them openly in the rebel camp.

Her friend Karma was not from the land beyond the forests, but had come from a country far to the south.  The she-wolf had travelled many thousands of miles in her life-time from a place where the sun was always hot and the ground did not turn white in winter.  Palla thought her wildly exotic and mysterious.

‘But here,’ said Karma almost sadly, her growling voice growing deeper and deeper, ‘Slavka will not let us talk of such things, or even tell our own stories.  Not of Zostar, nor Tor, nor the Sight.  She says we must believe nothing of faith, old or new, but only in fighting and survival.  She thinks they are the same as freedom.’

As Karma said it Palla thought of the words of the verse.  Of the makers of life coming to test the faith of a family.  Palla’s own faith had been tested almost beyond breaking point.

‘But you don’t agree?’ asked Palla quietly.

‘What freedom is it to believe in nothing?’ snorted Karma.

‘But, Karma,’ whispered Keeka, looking even more confused, ‘Palla believes in Tor and Fenris.  While you believe in Zostar.  They can’t both be true.  That stands to reason.’

‘They may just be stories,’ nodded Karma, ‘ways of naming and talking about the world.  But my kind believe that in stories often great truths lie concealed, unconscious truths, if we only know how to interpret them.’

‘Truth,’ snorted Palla suddenly.

Karma turned quietly to the Drappa as she lay beside her.

‘Perhaps you no longer believe in truth, Palla,’ she whispered, ‘because of something that has happened to you.  But is truth not just a word for that which is not a lie? For that which exists beyond lies?’

Palla nodded and she suddenly thought mournfully of her old nurse.

‘But if there isn’t any god,’ growled Keeka, working through her thoughts painfully slowly, ‘as Slavka says.  Then to believe in one would be a lie, it would just keep us slaves.’

‘Slaves,’ growled Karma, ‘what about the slavery of knowing too much, Keeka? The slavery of the obvious and the ordinary.’

Keeka looked questioningly at her friend but she didn’t understand what she was saying.

‘Look at that tree,’ said Karma suddenly, turning her gaze towards a rowan that stood nearby.  It was still in full berry.

‘Where I come from we wouldn’t just call it a tree, but a living spirit.  Its berries would be made from the eyes of fireflies and its leaves from the wings of Zostar’s moths that live for ever and fan Zostar’s tail when it grows too hot.  But for those who strip away the magic of stories, the magic of life, it is just a tree and it will never be anything more than a tree.’

‘But, Karma,’ said Keeka hotly now, ‘in the old superstitions some said Rowan trees beaded with the blood of evil children.  And they would make sacrifices of innocent wolves to appease the demons of the night, just as Morgra sacrifices to Wolfbane.’

‘That is true,’ growled Karma gravely, ‘and I am glad that many of the ancient customs were overthrown.  For in blind superstition lies evil.  Yet do we not lose something when we simply abandon the ancient beliefs? And are there not many truths, truths that seem to be fighting each other.’

‘What do you mean?’ growled Palla.

‘It may be true that we fear death, Palla, but also true that we would be no happier if we lived for ever.  Besides, when we name everything and seek to see the world as one thing alone, there is a danger that we rob it of something perhaps more important than anything else.’

‘What?’ said Palla.

‘Wonder,’ whispered the she-wolf and the breeze caught the berries on the rowan tree and shook them like little bells.

‘But you don’t believe Tor and Fenris made that tree?’ growled Palla.

‘Slavka says nothing made the earth or the Lera,’ said Keeka loudly, ‘that it all came about by chance.’ They all fell silent but as they looked out at the rowan trees and the snow and the thin ribbons of pink light above the horizon the idea seemed so absurd that they all wanted to laugh.

‘Who knows what the truth really is,’ growled Karma suddenly, ‘but my father always used to say that in life we usually end up with exactly what we set out to find.  Unless perhaps we are able to change the patterns that make us.  To step somehow beyond ourselves.’

‘Well,’ said Palla, ‘whether it is a spirit or just a tree.  I know one thing.  It is very beautiful.’

In the heavens above the moon fattened, while Slavka ordered some among the rebels to find Morgra and spy on her.  In the moon’s shining face the wolves began to make out the form of Tor, who they had been taught to see as cubs.

Despite the discontents that grumbled through the rebel pack and the severity of Slavka’s leadership, morale was good, and in the evenings the rebels would howl, defiant against Morgra and Wolfbane and the Balkar.  Slavka felt that the patrols and the hunting parties were going well, and was asking Huttser to accompany her more and more frequently.  He felt strangely flattered, for the rebel leader even began to ask his advice.

The moon grew in the wintry skies.  At last it turned from a sickle moon to a half-moon and rose among the clouds, a giant and shining semi-circle that looked down like hope over Transylvania.

Palla was lying sadly on her own on the edge of the valley of Kosov, when she spotted Keeka and Karma padding towards her through the white.

‘Palla,’ called Keeka cheerfully, ‘Slavka always keeps her word.  Come.  Huttser is waiting for you.’

But Palla turned to Karma as soon as she saw her.  She had been brooding on all Karma had said.

‘Tell me something first, Karma,’ she whispered.  ‘If you believe in your stories it must be hard for you here and this Greater Pack...’

‘I am often discontented,’ growled Karma, swivelling her head to look about the rebel camp, ‘and I’m not alone, Palla.  A Dragga called Rar has been secretly opposing Slavka.’

‘Hush, Karma,’ snapped Keeka.  ‘You know Slavka’s spies are always listening.  Besides, what would you do, Karma, join the Balkar?’

Karma shrugged.

‘But why do you stay here, then, Karma?’ asked Palla suddenly, and there was an edge of scorn in Palla’s voice.

Karma’s eyes flickered with cunning and amusement.

‘In my life I have never stopped moving,’ she growled angrily, ‘pushed from land to land by hunger or pack rivalries or the humans’ wars.  Like many here now I was a Kerl and, when Slavka took me in, I took on her fight.  If she would have a Greater Pack, then so be it.’

‘But you don’t really believe there should be a Greater Pack?’

Again Karma shrugged.

‘One must adapt to survive,’ she answered coldly.

Palla saw other she-wolves trailing across the valley to greet their mates as she set out.  Some were already sitting down together.  Other wolves were beginning to howl delightedly, filling the mountain air with their cries.  Palla felt a pang of jealousy, for she could tell from their shaking tails and the tenderness with which they scented each other and rubbed muzzles, how badly the wolves had pined for one another.

Palla’s pace slowed though as soon as she spotted Huttser.  He was standing on his own and Palla felt a pang of regret as she saw his fine muzzle and proud, handsome face.  Her tail came up slightly, but there was guilt in both their eyes and Palla was still bitterly angry.

‘Palla,’ growled Huttser as she approached.  He brought his muzzle close to hers.  ‘You seem well.’

‘I’m not so bad,’ lied Palla, shrugging grudgingly, though she found it hard to resist his scent.  ‘If you fight hard, you at least have a better chance.’

They had both learnt that to win in the Combats was the key not only to extra food, but to earning a respite from future fights.  But they shivered as they remembered their own fight on the ice.

‘I miss the children,’ said Palla suddenly.

Palla could not say how much, in her secret heart, she missed Huttser too.  Huttser lowered his eyes.  He blamed himself for leading Fell on to the ice just as much as he blamed Kar for seizing with fear that night.  But he could not admit it to Palla, although both knew that their senseless anger had driven the children away.

‘I believe Larka and Kar are safe.  I feel it somehow,’ muttered Huttser.  ‘Besides, it’s better that she is out there.  If Slavka ever discovered...’

Palla bristled and began to paw the ground.  Huttser saw her intense anger.

‘Slavka is not evil, Palla.’

‘No?’

‘These are dark times, and maybe, as Slavka says, they call for dark measures.  The free wolves must survive.’

‘Huttser,’ she Palla angrily, ‘we must find them.  Tsinga told us we must look to each other to guard against Morgra’s hate.  What if ours is this family?’

The Dragga and Drappa caught each other’s eyes for a moment and the pain that passed between them was like fire.

‘That hope is gone,’ growled Huttser bitterly, ‘it died with Fell.  We must face up to things as they are.  I have decided to fight, Palla.  I have decided to do all I can to help Slavka.’

‘But, Huttser, that will not help us.  Or Larka.’

‘Slavka must never know the truth about Larka, but the rebels are searching for the human now, not our daughter.  Let’s hope she has learnt enough to keep well away from them.  In the meantime I must help them.’

Palla felt bitterly disappointed with her mate, but it was the memory of Fell that made her suddenly whine with anguish and frustration and say what she did.

‘Sometimes I want to go among these rebels and get down on my paws and beg them to stop it.  To stop trying to hurt each other just because they’re frightened.  Sometimes I think I’d do anything to make it stop.’

Palla was shaking and it was Huttser’s turn to feel disappointed in his mate.

‘Palla, you’re forgetting yourself,’ he growled, ‘show some more self-respect.  They’ll see you.’

‘What do I care if they see me or not,’ cried Palla furiously.

‘Self-respect.  What does that mean? What about love? He’s gone, Huttser.  Don’t you care about anything? He’s gone and the reason he’s gone...’

Palla stopped  herself suddenly, but Huttser snarled furiously.

‘So,’ he cried, and the anguish of it made his legs almost crumple, ‘still so much blame.’

Huttser turned.  Palla was shaking as she watched him prowling off below the moon, but her pride had returned and it would not let her follow him.  Instead she shivered bitterly, caught between anger and need.

The snows hit that same night, settling on the rebels’ backs in their camp.  It was many suns before the bitter fall cleared enough for Slavka to take Huttser out on patrol again.  Balkar had been sighted in the area and the rebel pack was on edge.  But as they walked, Huttser noticed that Slavka kept looking up into the mountains high above the valley.  A wistfulness had come over her and, when Huttser asked her what was wrong, Slavka began to tell him what had happened after she had killed her cubs.  She had fled into the mountains above the valley of Kosov and come on a strange collection of human dens.

As soon as Slavka said it Huttser looked up in amazement.

‘Harja,’ he thought to himself.  But Huttser said nothing.  Slavka described the strangeness of the place, and how the earth shook there.  But it was where she had rested and learnt to harden her heart even more.  The mountains that ringed it were practically  impassable  and Slavka had stumbled on the entrance quite by chance, through a narrow gorge.  If anything went wrong, she planned to lead the Greater Pack up there for safety and she described the route to Huttser in detail.  The entrance lay beyond a spring, through a great canyon, guarded by a strange rock.

The wolf patrol had been out all morning, and Slavka had kept them running.  Only Huttser had really kept up with the leader, and he was amazed by her vigour.  For once the skies were clear and, though the sun was not hot enough to melt the deep snows, it shone down powerfully and blinded the wolves as it glittered against the white.

‘Fenris is growling today,’ cried Huttser as he matched Slavka’s tread.

‘Fenris,’ snorted Slavka, ‘you can’t believe that old story too, Huttser?’