Frost Wolf Read online

  “Do you promise?”

  Edme was silent for several seconds. “I was driven by an urge that made me senseless. Even a sensible wolf can lose her mind. I won’t let it ever happen again. I promise.” She paused. “But I did learn one thing.”

  “What was that?”

  “Faolan, I got so close to that moose I could smell milk on him — old milk.”

  “Old milk? You mean …”

  “I mean that was a calf moose. He should have been with his mum. They always stay with their mums to nurse until the first of the snow moons. You know that.”

  “His mum must be dead,” Faolan said.

  “If that happened, usually another moose cow would have taken on the orphan, like a second Milk Giver.”

  “In other words, this might be the last moose in the Beyond.” This was not a question, but a statement.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SECRETS OF THE GADDERHEAL

  FAOLAN AND EDME WERE EXHAUSTED by the time they entered the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes. They immediately headed toward the den they shared near the volcano known as Stormfast.

  “Uh-oh, guess who’s coming.” Edme sighed. Faolan didn’t even have to look to know who Edme was talking about. It was Banja, the red wolf who seemed to take a special delight in tormenting Edme. Banja, like Edme, was missing one eye. But sharing the same deformity didn’t make her empathetic in the least. Sometimes Faolan got so angry at the bitter she-wolf that he felt like body-slamming her.

  “You two will be late for your shift,” Banja growled. “We need all the wolves possible. Too many cairns are untopped.”

  Cairns of bones had been constructed to look out on the five volcanoes of the Ring. On top of each one, a wolf perched to guard the powerful Ember of Hoole and protect it from graymalkins, the treacherous owls who might attempt to seize it. This task, regarded as a sacred one, had been entrusted to the wolves by the owls of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree over one thousand years before. The balance of not just the Beyond but of the entire Hoolian empire depended on this trust. The ember must never fall into the talons of a traitorous owl. But as the hunger moons of winter stretched into the summer, Watch wolves had been called upon to go out to scout for meat. With an incomplete Watch, cairns were often left “untopped.”

  Colleen, an earless silver wolf, was passing and caught the edge of Banja’s rant.

  “Banja, don’t be ridiculous. For Lupus’ sake, these two have been out on scout for four days. They need to rest, but even before they rest, the Fengo would like to see them in the gadderheal.”

  “What? They are being called to the gadderheal?” Banja seemed stunned. “But the raghnaid is about to meet. I was on my way there.”

  “As I am myself,” Colleen replied coolly.

  “But young wolves never attend raghnaid meetings. It’s an offense.”

  “An offense to what?” Colleen pressed.

  “An offense to … to …” Banja stammered. “To the order.”

  Colleen, ever patient, tipped her head to one side. “Banja, these are difficult times. We are being stressed in ways we’d never imagined before.”

  “Therefore the order needs to be maintained.”

  “The spirit of the order will be maintained. It is the spirit that keeps the codes and laws of the Beyond alive.” Colleen turned to Faolan and Edme. “Now come, you two. The Fengo is waiting.”

  As they entered the gadderheal, Finbar, Fengo of the Watch, rose from the pelts on which he had been resting.

  “Welcome, Faolan and Edme. Do you have any news of the herds?”

  “No good news, I’m afraid,” Edme replied softly. She briefly described the prints from the caribou herd that seemed to circle endlessly and then inexplicably vanish.

  “Disturbing, very disturbing,” the Fengo murmured. “So they are trying to migrate along their usual trails, but somehow lose their way.”

  “Yes, sir. So it seems. But there is something even more disturbing.”

  “More disturbing?” the Fengo asked, and shoved his ears forward.

  Together, Edme and Faolan described their encounter with the young moose. By the time they concluded, a thick silence had fallen upon the gadderheal. Finally, the Fengo cocked his head to one side and whispered into the dimness of the cave. “Old milk. Old milk,” he repeated, then simply shook his head in wonder. “And not a sign of a bull or cow around, you say?”

  Edme and Faolan both nodded.

  “No sign, sir,” Faolan added.

  “Did you find any other game at all? How did you manage a four-day scout with nothing to eat?” Banja asked in an accusatory tone.

  Faolan glared at the red wolf. “The same way the other scouts did, I imagine — on the occasional snow hare and three fish that we broke through creek ice for.”

  “Please, let us set such trifling questions and explanations aside,” the Fengo said, nodding at both Faolan and Banja. Edme had not been paying much attention to this exchange. She was scanning the cave for Winks, her taiga, but there was no sign of the brown one-eyed wolf. She often wondered how Banja and Winks, two wolves who had both been born with only one eye, could be so different.

  “I’ve called this meeting because we have had some disturbing reports from the MacDuncan clan. You may recall that Cathmor MacDuncan, mate of the late Duncan MacDuncan, has gone the way of the star ladder. She was safely guided by Skaarsgard and blessed that it was the time of the Great Wolf constellation.”

  There were murmurs of agreement from the assembled wolves.

  “ ’Twas a blessing indeed,” Twist said.

  “Aye,” said another wolf.

  “Now a new report has just reached us,” the Fengo continued.

  A current of tension ran through the gadderheal as ruffs bristled and wolves shoved their ears forward in sharp attention.

  “We have always known that Liam, the son of Duncan MacDuncan and Cathmor, is not the strongest leader. He has now sunk into a deep depression and has begun to wander off for long periods of time. The MacDuncans are being stressed in ways that go beyond hunger. We have even heard rumors that a MacDuncan wolf has been charged with a willful attack on a MacAngus wolf over meat. The MacAngus wolf died from its wounds.”

  Yips erupted from the small group of wolves. Faolan shut his eyes and imagined drops of blood falling from the sky instead of snow.

  It was unthinkable that a MacDuncan would do such a thing.

  “Wolves are beginning to starve, and now we have this. It is my feeling that the leadership in the clan has broken down.” The Fengo lowered his voice. “And, worse, the Blood Watch has been compromised.” A shiver ran through both Faolan and Edme. The outclanners were the most savage of all wolves, and the Blood Watch ensured that they stayed safely away in the Outermost. If outclanners dared to venture over the border into the Beyond, they were killed immediately. Within the clans of the Beyond, certain wolves were selected very young to train for the Blood Watch. It was a hard post, and they were rotated out of the Watch every moon cycle. Their task was so vital that there were usually plenty of reserves to maintain the Blood Watch.

  “Blood Watch wolves have gone by-lang,” the Fengo continued.

  The taigas Malachy and Twist shook their heads wearily. For a Blood Watch wolf to wander off was unthinkable.

  “Edme and Faolan, once you are rested, your first order of business is to go directly to the MacDuncans. Find out what in the name of the dim world is going on with that clan. Then go on to the Blood Watch. And if it is true that they are in a bad way, try and fix the situation. Get more wolves. Stay yourselves, if you have to. The clan chieftain should be in charge of organizing the Blood Watch. But, as I said, we get reports that Liam himself is inclined to go by-lang and disappear for days on end. He can’t send out the rotations if he’s not there. Do you understand your mission?”

  Faolan and Edme both nodded solemnly.

  “Good. Then neither of you is to report for watch this evening.”

  The Fengo nodd
ed that the meeting of the gadderheal was finished.

  As the last of the wolves left the gadderheal, the Fengo motioned for Edme to wait. “Edme, I saw you looking for your dear taiga, Winks.”

  Edme’s jaw began to quiver.

  “Winks is quite ill. You know she is the oldest of the Watch wolves. She served in the time before the Fengo Hamish. But she is weak now. She could use some good meat, of which there is precious little. But I am not sure even that would cure her. Lupus knows if she will last until you return.”

  Edme tried to look brave. She tried not to whimper. Her eye filmed with tears as she began to speak. “Winks and Twist were Faolan’s and my first friends on the Watch. They greeted us at the Hot Gates and taught us everything they know. They are both the best taigas a Watch wolf could ever have.”

  “I know, I know,” the Fengo whispered. “This is difficult for you. I can remember when my taiga went the way of the star ladder. Taigas are the closest we Watch wolves have to a mother or father.” The Fengo paused. “But you are strong, Edme. You are smaller perhaps than your friend Faolan, but just as strong in spirit. After you have visited Winks, go join Faolan in your den and both of you rest. I have arranged to have some food — not much, mind you — delivered to you. Eat, rest, then on the morrow, set off.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE INNER EYE

  “HAS IT OCCURRED TO YOU,” Winks asked Edme in a raspy voice, “that with one eye we often see more than those with two?”

  Edme could barely stand to look at her dear old taiga. Winks’s once lustrous brown pelt had turned almost white in the short time Edme had been gone. It made her think of that moment when Faolan had appeared in their scouting cave, covered in frost and snow. She had taken him for the ghost of a very old wolf. But while Faolan had loomed large and radiant although ancient, Winks seemed nothing more than a pile of bones, a sort of living cairn. It made Edme shiver to even compare her beloved taiga to such, for the cairns were made from the bones of Watch wolves and other animals. And Winks seemed a hairbreadth away from joining them.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure if Banja sees that much with her one eye,” Edme replied.

  “Oh, Banja! Don’t pay her any heed.”

  Edme was about to sigh and say it was hard not to, but caught herself in time. How could she whine to this beloved wolf? Edme had brought Winks some meat, but Winks said that she was not hungry. Edme felt death crouching like a dark shadow in the cave. “Are you sure you aren’t hungry, Winks? I’ve got some nice ptarmigan here for you.”

  “No, not at all, dear,” Winks whispered. “Not hungry in the least.”

  “Are you cold, then? Let me get you another pelt.”

  A sudden energy seemed to course through the old wolf, and she slapped her paw onto Edme’s with surprising force.

  “Listen to me, young’un. I sense that you do see things.”

  “What kinds of things?” Edme asked.

  “When you came in here, there was shock in your eye when you saw my pelt — all white now. But you weren’t upset simply by my transformation. I think I reminded you of something. Something or someone that has disturbed you.”

  Winks was right. Edme had been haunted by the vision of Faolan ever since they had left the Shadow Forest.

  “I am not one to pry,” Winks continued. “You need not tell me. I only ask you to open that intelligent eye of yours and ponder.” She weakly lifted her paw and tapped her face near the eye. “I sometimes call this my outside eye, and on occasion it seems to connect with an inner eye, an eye deep inside my head, a kind of spirit eye. Together they guide me. That is what guided me back to the MacDonegals when I was a pup on a tummfraw. I know you are to go to the Blood Watch to check on the border guard. Finbar told me of the mission. So I am just saying be alert, be aware that the eye on your face is not the only eye you possess, my dear. Now run along and get your rest.”

  Winks sighed deeply. The talk had worn her out. Edme crouched down closer to her old taiga to nuzzle her ruff before she left. She was shocked to see how thin Winks’s undercoat was. In this never-ending cold, most wolves had kept their thick winter fur, but Winks’s undercoat was as thin as if it were a warm summer. Edme got up and pulled another caribou pelt over her friend. She did not want to say good-bye. She did not want to utter those two dead-sounding words. She turned to look at her taiga.

  “It’s never good-bye, Edme,” said Winks. “It’s merely slaan boladh.”

  “Slaan boladh?” Edme repeated.

  “Old Wolf for ‘until the next scent post.’ ”

  “Slaan boladh,” Edme murmured, and turned and left her taiga to sleep.

  By the time Edme returned to the den, Faolan was already asleep. She collapsed on a caribou pelt beside him and fell into a deep sleep, entering a dreamscape of swirling mists. The frost wolf that Edme had seen in the den near the Shadow Forest began to wander through the dream rivers in her mind.

  Who are you? Edme heard her dream self asking.

  Who are you? You have two eyes, the frost wolf replied. But I only see one.

  And Edme answered: I have eyes enough to see you, to see through you to what you already know. The snow is dissolving. I see you in another pelt — a pelt within a pelt.

  You speak nonsense, the frost wolf answered.

  The inner eye of Edme blinked. It’s not nonsense, Faolan. She began to see something more. A wind riffled the pelt. Where there had been fur, feathers rose, mottled with flakes as white as snow. Green eyes turned a yellow that was as bright as gold.

  My name is not Faolan.

  Edme’s inner eye blinked. You’re right. Your name is not Faolan. Edme was riveted by the transformation occurring in front of her. The creature was standing at the mouth of a cave that seemed to yawn out of the mists, its darkness beckoning. She watched as it drew nearer to the opening.

  Who am I? the creature asked desperately. The Spotted Owl that moments before had been a frost wolf began to melt away, dissolving into the shadows of the cave.

  “Wake up, Edme. Wake up! We’re half past moonrise. We need to be on our way.”

  Edme’s eyes flew open. Faolan was nudging her with his muzzle to rouse her. She stood up.

  “Sleep well, Faolan?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes, and you?”

  “Yes. Very deeply.”

  Edme remembered nothing, not even the slightest wisp of a dream.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MOST FOUL!

  THE SLOUGH TERN WAS THE ONLY bird in the Beyond that laid its eggs underground. It buried them in earliest spring and awaited their hatching in the Moon of the Flies. But the Moon of the Flies had come and gone, as had the parents of the clutch of eggs. The eggs were not going to hatch. And so the Sark of the Slough did not feel too bad when she decided to dig them up for food.

  This had not been as hard as one might imagine, for though the marshy ground of the Slough was frozen solid, the Sark had transported some coals from her kiln to thaw the spot where she knew the eggs were buried. Once the ground had softened from the heat, she dug in and extracted two eggs.

  Several hours later, the Sark of the Slough belched and reflected that she probably should not have eaten the eggs. As if I am not disgusting enough, the Sark thought as she got a whiff of her own recent digestive activities. Her blighted eye, given to skittish twirls, spun madly as she tried to suppress another belch. Her one normal eye wept cold tears that quickly froze on her muzzle, hanging like a second set of fangs. Her fur, always in disarray, was shingled with icicles.

  The Sark had spent most of her time recently near her kiln and was relatively warm. When she had ventured out on brief forays into the cold, she rarely built up quite enough snow to form icicles. But the fires in her kiln had dwindled as the herds had moved off to Lupus knew where. The Sark depended on their droppings for fuel.

  On this particular day, the Sark had gone to her favorite perch on an escarpment to survey the Slough and see if she could spot any herds in
the distance. Her stomach rumbled with the memory of meat. Real meat!

  Normally at this time of year, three herds had passed through the Slough with the Blue Rock Pack of the MacDuncan clan hard on their heels. The marshy land clicked with the tock-tock of the caribou’s march across the Beyond, a distinctive clicking sound made by the caribous’ tendons. The wolves formed hunting byrrgises and kept after the caribou at a steady speed, known as tock-tock pace, until they could identify a weak member of the herd and take it down.

  The Sark often joined the byrrgis, taking any position she was assigned and then receiving her share of the kill. But so far, only one small herd had come through. Two packs of the MacDuncan clan had joined together for the hunt, the Blue Rock Pack and the chieftain’s pack, the Carreg Gaer. It had not gone well. The byrrgises of the two packs argued the entire time. Liam MacDuncan, the new chieftain, was running as a turning guard, but leadership was decidedly absent. The Sark had been running on the opposite side of the byrrgis, waiting for the chieftain’s signal to begin packing the herd. Janna, the Blue Rock tight end packer, kept glancing the Sark’s way to see if she had received a sign. But Liam was hesitant in his signaling. He would begin to signal, then stop midway, as if he couldn’t quite make a decision. A line wolf, key to the passing of signals, stumbled and became so frustrated that he actually yipped out a signal, even though signals were never called out loud except to order a cease chase. At that point everything began to crumble. Wolves bumped up against one another, snapping and nipping. Within a matter of seconds, the byrrgis had disintegrated into utter chaos. The Sark broke away and watched the collapse in a kind of horrified fascination.

  It had pained her to see this happening, for a byrrgis was usually a beautiful thing. Signals were passed flawlessly to alter pace, sometimes racing to attack speed, other times shifting to press-paw speed or slowing even further to deceive the herd that the wolves were wearing out. There was a silent splendor about the endeavor, an unmatched grace as the wolves wove in and out of their positions to maneuver the herd and isolate its weakest member to bring it down for the kill. It took cunning, cooperation, and perfect communication.