The Sight (52 page)

‘You,’ she hissed, her eyes blazing at Tsarr.

‘I have come for him, Morgra,’ cried Tsarr coldly as he ran, ‘for the child.’

Above them Skart was screeching in the sky.  Slavka seemed paralysed as she looked between Morgra and the rebels and, as Huttser reached Palla’s side, his mate gazed blankly at him too.

‘Huttser,’ she gasped, staggering forward, ‘Huttser.’

‘It is over, Palla.  You are safe now.’

‘No, Huttser.  Fell is alive.  He is here.  He is Wolfbane.’ Huttser hardly had time to register what Palla had said as

Tsarr reached the statue.  The Stone she-wolf, forever suckling those grasping infants, towered above the baby.  Morgra was staring at them all with burning hatred, but as Tsarr approached the child, her eyes glittered.  Blood.  Blood from Tsarr’s wound was dripping on to the altar.

‘Now,’ Morgra howled, ‘now it begins.’

Huttser and Palla didn’t even hear her cry.  They were looking at each other helplessly.

 ‘Fell.  Where is he, Palla? Where is my son?’

Tsarr had seen what was happening and swung round to face Morgra.  But as Morgra’s mind gave her a silent order, Slavka’s teeth were at his throat.  Weakened by the fight and his wound, the old grey wolf hardly had a chance.  He fell to the ground and Slavka held him, biting deeper and deeper, the altar wet beneath him, his muzzle right next to Bran.  Huttser and Palla turned to help him, but they felt a pulse quiver through the air.

Morgra was staring hungrily at the infant, and she felt a broiling energy that made her swell with power.  Huttser and Palla sprang forward, but in that instant both of the wolves were seized to the spot.  Thought itself had been turned into energy and, at last, Morgra’s hate had become a living creature.

‘Now,’ she snarled.

It was as though Huttser and Palla had been turned into statues, too, by the force of Morgra’s swelling will.  Beyond the bridge the Balkar and the rebels could feel it.  The Night Hunters had stopped fighting, stopped moving altogether.  The crows and the ravens had settled again on the statues and only Skart was still flying, circling, for somehow Morgra could not reach this creature of wind and air.

‘Gart,’ cried Kar, as he stood at the rebels’ side beyond the abyss, ‘what is happening? I can’t move.’

Even as he said it the wolves trembled.  Everywhere silver spectres were appearing.  In legions the Searchers came again.  Out of nothingness.  An army of shadows materializing across the mountaintop.  They stood watching, waiting, like shimmering sentinels to eternity, judging all they saw.

Skart screeched as he saw them, and the moon, too.  It was as round as the sun.  Huttser and Palla’s eyes ranged towards Kar, but still they were held in check as Morgra lifted her head and howled again.  But even as she did so Huttser and Palla were seized not with fear but with wonder.

‘Look,’ gasped Huttser, ‘it’s true.’

Palla felt as if her heart might burst apart.

Two shapes were moving towards them through the Searchers.  Side by side.  One white and one black.  Below Skart’s wheeling shadow, they were the only shapes moving among those ancient stones.  Their coats glinted in the moonlight as they came.  Larka and Fell were coming towards the bridge.

 ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of Worlds.’ J.  Robert Oppenheimer, quoting the Bhagavad Gita

Huttser and Palla were speechless as they saw their children, but with joy came fear and a grave questioning.  They could not move but their tired, bewildered eyes raked the night.

‘So, Larka, ’cried Morgra scornfully across the gulf.  ‘Wolfbane is revealed at last.’

The Balkar trembled, but even as they looked towards the black wolf and the white she-wolf at his side, the strange hypnotic stare seemed to clear a little.

‘I am not Wolfbane,’ snarled Fell, ‘and I have helped my sister to truly master the third power.  We are a family once more.  The family to conquer the evil.’

As Kar heard him, and half turned to see Larka and his dead brother, he felt he was back in the cave, back in a world of dreams and nightmares.

‘Come to me, Fell,’ whispered Morgra, ‘come back to me.  I love you, child.’

Fell took a step forward, but suddenly the black wolf growled furiously.

‘Liar,’ he snarled.  ‘There is nothing more terrible, nothing more evil than to hate something and call it love.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ cried Morgra scornfully, ‘your family is too late.  Can’t you feel it, Fell? The moon is at its zenith and now, Larka, you will truly be united with your brother in my service.’

Morgra reached out with her mind, and Larka and Fell were hurled to the side.  They struggled to their feet, but there was a terrible weariness in their limbs.  It was as though they were wading through sheaves of uncut corn.  Larka tried to focus her mind, but as she did so she heard Morgra’s voice in her head.

‘Darkness.  That is what you could never understand.  Its power.  Its glory.’

‘Help me, Fell.’

Her brother was trembling furiously at her side.

‘I can’t, Larka.  I fear it.  She will take me back.  Can’t you feel the strength in her? It’s growing like a storm cloud.’

Larka and Fell were almost at the chasm, but Fell had stopped.  His very will was draining from him.

‘Focus your mind on mine, Fell,’ cried Larka, trying to struggle forwards again, ‘Use the third power to fight Morgra’s thoughts.  Release the energy of your anger, Fell, for you have a right to it.  My love will protect you.’

But as Larka caught sight of Kar and the bridge where she had spied her fate she, too, was held fast, filled with sadness among the shadow armies of the past.  Fell concentrated on his sister, trying to give his energy to her.  He looked across the abyss to his parents standing next to Morgra and, suddenly, Fell felt a bubbling hate.

A furious anger swelled in him for the wolf that had lied to him and controlled his mind for so long, that had made him do so many terrible things.  The wolf that had shown him the world only through her own eyes and remade it in the image of herself.  Larka felt her brother’s anger thrill through her mind.

Suddenly she was released.  She sprang on to the ancient bridge but as she saw the chasm below, filled with vicious rocks, fear overcame her and she was held again by Morgra’s mind.  Now they were all here to witness it.  Her death.  Larka felt pain burn in her legs and she could hardly stand.  Morgra’s mind seemed to be filling the whole world.  Larka looked up at the full, round moon.

‘We are lost,’ she trembled, ‘Morgra has won.’

Suddenly there was a flapping of wings just above her head.

‘The child,’ cried Skart as he swooped.  ‘The Sight is the key.’

‘Skart,’ growled Larka angrily, desperately, feeling bitterly betrayed, ‘you knew, didn’t you? About Fell.’

‘Yes, Larka,’ cried the bird frantically, ‘I visited Tsinga before the Balkar killed her and she told me what she had seen.’

‘But why didn’t you warn me?’

‘Would you have come to this place, Larka,’ cried Skart guiltily, ‘if you had known the truth before? Could you have come?’

‘But, Skart—’

‘Larka.  Look into its mind.’

‘But it is the oldest law,’ cried Larka, ‘you said...’

‘You must,’ called Skart as he rose again, ‘the Man Varg.  Better you than her.’

Larka swung her head round towards the little human at the altar and their eyes locked.  But nothing happened.

‘No,’ cried Skart, ‘look into the middle of his forehead.’ The still moon, reflecting the sun on the other side of the world, shone down on the wolves and the strange statue looming above the child, but something had stepped between Larka and Bran, like a veil of darkness.  Larka’s eyes were misting over again, and she knew that Morgra’s own will was reaching into the child’s mind, pushing her away.  She felt Morgra’s energy and her anger, her hate and darkness, and in that moment she knew that she was not strong enough.  That her courage and her love were not enough to defeat Morgra.

But the white wolf heard another voice.  It came to her, faint and disembodied and frightened in the darkness as she stood over the void.

‘Larka.  I have been on a terrible journey, Larka.  But you brought me back.’

It was true.  In the chamber, as he fought with Larka, Fell had felt the Sight filling him, but not as Morgra had shown it to him, plunging him into the blindness of the sleeping mind.  As Fell had wrestled with his sister visions had suddenly flashed through his mind.  It was as if his eyes were opening again and, in that moment, he had known that to kill the body was not the most terrible thing, but to kill and maim the soul with hate and lies, to kill the mind and heart that must be free was.

Fell had seen Varg pups playing in a summer field and Kar sleeping at his side.  He had seen the wonder of trees and a vast glistening delta of thronging birds.  He had seen a wolf in a field, and it was lying down next to a lamb.  Then, suddenly, Fell had been flying through the brilliant air, alive and free of guilt, the clouds racing by and, beneath the mantle of the air, the sleeping earth.  Free of meaning or judgment, peaceful and unknowing.

‘Fell,’ whispered Larka tenderly.  ‘Help me, Fell.  But I need your darkness now, your anger.’

As Larka felt the force of Fell’s angry mind, and her own love for him, she realized the mist was clearing.  All that had happened to Fell, all that he had experienced was helping her mind to drive Morgra back.  Larka could see the child again, clearly now, and then, suddenly, it happened.

Larka was no longer on the bridge, but by the statue of the she-wolf.  She looked down in astonishment for her paws had become tiny hands.  She blinked with surprise and gazed out towards the bridge.  There stood her wolf body, over the void, and beyond stood Kar and the Balkar.  But although Larka knew who Kar was she felt strangely separate from him, strangely separate from everything around her, from her parents, from Morgra, too.

Her sight was not noticeably different, except that the outline of distant shapes had become clearer.  But the darkness, too, was greater than before.  But it wasn’t this that made Larka feel so strange.  It was the pulsing energy that she felt in her head.  With it came a new clarity, but Larka also noticed that her other senses, her hearing and her sense of smell had changed.  They were weaker, as though a wall had come down between her and the instinctive world.

Larka felt cut off suddenly, isolated, but even as she felt this her mind throbbed with longing.  It seemed to be swelling in her head, as though the loss of her other senses were forcing her energy up the stem of her spine.  In that instant she knew that her most powerful channel to the world around her were her eyes and the sights that lay about her.  That she longed to take everything in, to see more and more.  To understand.

Another force was crying through her being – the will of the wild wolf to survive.  But Larka was amazed as she realized that it had been magnified tenfold.  Tsarr had been wrong.  The child’s instincts to survive were not only as strong as the wolf’s but far, far stronger.

Suddenly, Larka felt a swelling sense of superiority to everything about her.  To the wolves and the spectres and the such infinite tenderness for their own young, that the earth seemed to quiver.

Then the earth was shaking.  Volcanoes erupted in great spouts of brilliant red fire, and the ground trembled and split apart.  There seemed to be things coming through the air, coming from the heavens, hurtling down and sending up huge clouds of dust that put out the sun and the mighty creatures beneath it shuddered and died.  But amongst them, smaller things had survived.  Little mammals that set to work in the woods.  They leapt from the cover of the wood on to the plains and there they saw cattle running in terror through the sun and giant speckled horses lifting their necks to the leaves.  The sun burnt around them and its fury was their fury, too.  But amongst all this was a single shape stirring in the dust.

At first it crouched, its back furred with hair like the coat of the wolf.  In its paw it held a club and, as the animals watched, it rose on its back legs.  Straighter and straighter it stood and as it did so it began to change.  The fur dropped from its body, and its head lifted higher and higher and, as it looked around, the Lera about it ran in terror from its angry gaze.

Suddenly Larka knew what they were witnessing as they watched this creature that had been an animal and now stood before them, transformed.

‘This is the great secret,’ she gasped, ‘you are Lera too.’ Before them was a human.  The secret was a vision of the ancient past.  Of the dawn and ascent of Man.

‘So Man is Lera also,’ hissed Morgra’s voice around her, ‘I knew it, Larka.  But he is more than Lera, for only he can understand and control.  Man is the Shape Changer, Larka.  Man is Wolfbane.  That is why the animals must serve him, and be his slaves.’

 ‘No,’ whispered Larka wonderingly, ‘we are all Shape Changers.’

But as Larka watched and the animals looked on, incapable of affecting it, helpless witnesses to the humans’ birth, it stooped and picked something else up in its hand.  It was a branch, and from its tip flamed the humans’ burning air.  As they saw that flash of fire and the human creature wielding it like a sword, everything began to change around it, too.

‘In the mind of the Man Varg,’ hissed Morgra, ‘then who shall be free?’

Stones rose into giant dens that multiplied and spread out across the plain.  There were things of great beauty there, beauty and cunning, but the forests fell before Man, and the earth itself was shaken by human hands, as all of nature seemed to run before him.  Man was everywhere, spreading, mating, multiplying, filled with the same desire to survive that gripped all life, but driven by a power and a hunger that not even they could understand.

Some of them were crying and wailing, while others snarled with anger and fear.  All of them were looking up at the skies and they longed to know what they were, where they had come from and where they were going.  In that moment Larka felt a terrible pity.