by Piers Torday
I turn to my wolf. *Please! If you hurry, they will not be able to follow us up there …*
*Go!* he says. And this time there is no childish crack or squeak to his voice. It is a voice deep and gruff enough to match Hooded, but steady too. *Go, Wildness. Let us decide this, the animal way. But don’t look back.*
Perhaps the wolf-cub is growing into a wolf at last. Our eyes meet one final time, as Eyes Wide snaps at his flank.
*Don’t look back,* the wolf says again.
And I don’t. The General is tucked safely away in my pocket; the wolf and stag have got out of worse situations before.
It’s my turn to be brave now.
I try to stand on the white cable, but it is too slippery, the wind too strong. I will fall over or get blown clean off. So instead I straddle it, pulling myself along with my arms and legs.
I only have the steadiness of the wolf’s voice to hold on to.
Steady and calm, unlike me.
I think of the voice of the wolf as an invisible rope, as the ground falls away beneath me and the cable begins to sway in the high winds.
I try not to hear that same voice rise and fall, in snarls and cries of pain. The howling and barking from all sides, the cable itself whining and shaking as tussling bodies are slammed against its base.
I think of the stag, just putting one foot in front of another, as I haul myself along, squeezing with my knees as hard as I can. I try not to listen to the sound of his horns clanging and scraping across concrete.
I will not look back.
But I daren’t look to the side either. Not at the containers piled up below me on one side, the jetsam of empty plastic sacks and forgotten tools which have gathered on their flat roofs so small and far away now that they look like toys. Nor at the razor-wire fence and slopping river on the other side.
I shut out the cries and noise from below.
I pretend that the wind isn’t whipping the skin from my face and lips, that my hands aren’t being torn to shreds –
And I pull and crawl until I am nearly three-quarters of the way there, the railings of the Amsguard walkway within sight –
Until I –
Slip.
A lurch in my stomach, as out of nowhere I topple over to one side – a bad move, a gust of wind, who knows? – and now I hang upside down –
Wind blowing my scarf into my mouth, rain in my eyes.
Kicking to swing myself back up on to the top of the cable, a soggy trainer falls off, spiralling down beneath me, swallowed up in a single tiny splash far below.
Deep breaths, my hands now beginning to slide on the slippery metal. There is nothing to hold on to, just rivets and ridges no deeper than my fingers, which feel like every muscle in them is about to spasm as they grip on.
Freezing spray kisses my neck.
My eyes open. Upside down, behind me, I see the city I was born in blooming out from the river, like a stain of steel and glass upon the earth. Four towers, red lights twinkling, stare at me from across the way, like they’re watching me and don’t care one way or another if I fall.
I don’t know if the stag’s right. I don’t know any more if all that is worth fighting for. All the people, all the mess we’ve made of everything, perhaps the world has just had enough of human beings. Human beings like Stone or Littleman. Even humans like me, who abandon their friends to their fate. Perhaps we need to let go.
Yes, that’s it. Just let go.
It suddenly seems so easy, so obvious.
Why didn’t I think of it before?
My fingers begin to loosen around the cable.
A huge feeling of relief slowly sweeps over me. I didn’t realize letting go would feel so good. I let my head hang back, eyes open, for one last glimpse of the city upside down from a giant white cable, the strangest thing I ever saw.
It looks like the towers of glass and red lights now make the sky, hanging down from the ground above a sea of storm clouds.
Then, perhaps I’m delirious with fever or pain, but it looks like there is something else in the sky. Something that wasn’t there a moment ago.
Something flying towards me.
Dots at first, but definitely flying towards me. Not helicopters or starlings.
At first, I can’t be sure what they are – some grey dots, one white. Getting closer now, without doubt … they are what I think they are.
I can’t believe it.
Isn’t it funny how when you think it might all be over –
That it’s the smallest things, the things you never thought would make the grade, the things it’s so easy to ignore because they were there every day, all around us and forgettable – that make your fingers tighten once again around the rope?
It’s the last of the birds we used to s ee every day and everywhere –
Flying towards me now, crying out my name –
No grabbing with beaks and claws required this time –
As I haul myself back on to the cable, they flurry around me, showering me with their feathery warmth, pecking and cheering me on.
My pigeons are back.
As I haul myself on to the walkway of the Amsguard, collapsing face down in a puddle, the birds flutter over my head and peck softly at me.
*We completed your mission, Wildness!* the ninety-nine grey pigeons chorus in their sing-song voices as they crowd around. A few frayed purple ribbons hang around their necks. Ribbons that were carrying precious gel batons packed with Laura II. *We delivered your father’s cure to the Ring of Trees.* Then their voices quieten. I can feel my chest tighten, fearing the worst. *Unfortunately some of our wild were no more … but we left behind many more who will live on.*
The white pigeon lands dead in front of me, peering over the other side of the walkway, where the sea throws up salty wave after wave on to us. A splash sends him staggering back, his pink eyes swivelling from side to side. *Yes, unfortunately, some of our wild will live on,* he whispers to me as if it was the worst news in the world.
I can’t hide my smile. Not because the white pigeon still hasn’t learned to speak any better, but because they might just be able to persuade the dark wild that Mother Wolf is wrong – some humans have helped animals. Are helping animals.
*How did you find me?* I ask the birds.
*Pigeons always return home,* they say simply.
I gesture to the water-lashed walkway, the concrete and cables stretching away beneath us. *This isn’t your home.*
*No, but you are,* they say.
I stand up and grab the railings, to stop the wind and water washing me straight over the other side. I have never seen the sea so angry before. The sea that spread and covered so many other lands, sending their people hurrying to our shores, looks ready now to cover us too.
A surging plane of water, lightning strikes flashing across it, that rolls and boils, hurling white-crested waves at the man-made gate we stand on. It may well already be lapping at cliffs across the coast, but if the sea is let into the rain-swollen Ams behind me – the whole city will go under.
Peering over the edge, like the white pigeon, the drop makes me feel dizzy. I turn away, and with my birds hopping on railings and bouncing behind me – a few daring to let themselves be carried in the air by the gale around us – I edge along the thin walkway that connects the nine pillars and barriers, my scarf blowing in the wind behind me.
Ahead, through the swirling grey wet, I can see a structure on top of the third pillar: a cabin with wide windows, perched like the bridge of a ship, aerials and satellite dishes stiffly rotating on the roof.
As we near it, hurrying across the top of the second pillar, I can see shadowy figures through the windows. A door at its base stands busted open, chains and locks sheared in half. Only one animal in the world has teeth that can do that.
Telling the birds to stay where they are, I peer around the doorway and up a spiral staircase to the bridge of the Amsguard.
I can hear a human voice coming out of a s
peaker. ‘Hello? Amsguard, this is the Four Towers. Please update your status, over. We’ve had reports of power outages on the north bank –’
And there, beneath the speaker, are the grey squirrels that stopped a train, busy yanking wires out of a box on the wall. As they do, the voice asking questions from Facto goes silent.
A flock of starlings swoop in the clouds outside, pinpricks against the bruise-coloured sky – their brightly coloured leader darting in and out of the cabin windows.
I can see rats, chattering – but not the one I left behind.
There are swishing tails of wolves across the floor –
And a white dog. He staggers up on to his hind legs, front paws resting on a large wheel jutting up from the deck. Dagger coughs and taps his paws against the wheel. The squirrels pause in their work, and the roomful of beasts turn their heads towards him.
*Brave wild,* he announces, *this is the moment we have been waiting for. The old moon has gone. Under the new moon’s cover, we have risen up and forced the human to live – like we have for so long – in darkness. And now, as the old dream tells us all, so shall the great wet cover them all.*
The rats shudder with excitement.
*That old fool who tortured me – he laughed when he saw me watching their moving pictures on their giant screen.*
I move in a bit closer, crouching out of sight at the foot of the stairs.
*But I didn’t care. I was watching, learning and listening. How humans planned to stop the great wet from devouring them. I watched as this line of stone trees across the fish-road was built, and a plan began to form in my mind.*
*It’s not too late to change your mind though.*
This time I know better. I’m not going to let him rouse his followers into a frenzy like before. My voice is as hard as I can make it. I walk up the spiral staircase towards him, in slow, steady steps, my frozen hands clinging to the railings. The pigeons hover anxiously at the doorway.
Dagger hates being interrupted, I can tell. But he doesn’t even look at me. *Starling,* he says to the purple and green bird flitting around his head, *I thought you had dealt with the human.*
*Oh, I had,* she replies. *I did my bit, Wildness, you can be sure of that. I’m not one to shirk her responsibilities. It’ll be those spiders who didn’t finish the job properly.*
*You shouldn’t have trusted those useless foxes either,* mutters Mother.
*Silence!* roars Dagger. *What is this squabbling?*
*Your wild aren’t even united any more, dog, and they never will be. Because you’re wrong.*
He glares at me, and leaps down from the wheel, the wolves clearing space for us in the middle of the cabin. *Not united? Just one word from me, and these wolves will tear you apart in an instant.*
His New Guardians growl, lowering their heads, ready to pounce.
But I don’t flinch. I can’t. There is no one else left to hide behind.
*Tear me apart? Like you did to that rat?* I say.
*What rat?* says Dagger, with a smile in his voice. He can’t have forgotten already.
*The rat who was brave enough to alert me to your plans, who challenged you for my life …*
*Oh!* says Dagger, with a note of triumph. *You mean this rat?* He turns to the cluster of animals behind him and barks, *Slave!*
*Yes, master!* comes a weak voice from the back of the crowd. *Coming now, master.*
Silently the animals part, and they all look down their noses at the creature hobbling through their ranks. He is ragged and torn, limping badly – but he is alive. Rat looks down when he sees me, and won’t meet my eye.
It is me who should feel ashamed. I want to speak, I want to say something, to touch him – but I know that no words can make up for the fate I left him to. I don’t look away. That is all.
*I have an itch on my back, slave, would you mind?* says Dagger, never looking at the rat, never taking his eyes off me once.
*Yes, master,* says the rat, and hobbling over to the dog, begins to rake through his fur with his claws.
*That’s better,* says Dagger, stretching as the rat combs his flank. *You see, human, when you fled our lair, we chased after you, and so this traitor was spared my final sentence. But as you see, perhaps death might have been preferable …*
He moves to make himself more comfortable, half squashing the poor rat against the deck, but he doesn’t seem to notice and the rat stays trapped where he is, cowering and combing.
Suddenly I don’t care how cruel Littleman was to this dog, or how many animals Stone’s cullers have killed – I could take him right now and …
*Oh do be careful, Kester,* coo the pigeons outside the door.
Trying not to look at the rat trembling with cold as he scratches the dog’s back, or at Dagger’s gleaming razor teeth, I hold the dog firmly in the eye. *You can’t do this, dog. All of you, listen to me. What he and the wolves told you – it’s wrong. I did help save the animals from the Ring of Trees. Not all humans are against you.*
Dagger sighs.
*We have already heard enough of your lies –*
*It’s true!* I call out to the pigeons. *Birds, tell him.*
And the pigeons, circling around my head, tell them everything. How they found me in Spectrum Hall and rescued me, how they brought me to the Ring of Trees, our journey to Premium, and their return with the cure.
The dog is silent at first, thinking. Then, chewing slowly, like he is actually eating my words, he replies. *This doesn’t change anything. Do you think I would believe some foolish birds over my own Guardians?*
Mother Wolf tosses her head, standing proud on her colossal paws, her pack lined up behind her.
*But how about the child of those Guardians?*
The voice is ragged and hoarse, from the bottom of the stairwell. We all turn and stare as my wolf-cub limps up the steps – soaking, torn and bloodied. Even his mother’s eyes soften as she sees her own cub.
His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and he is short of breath. *The old dreams are true. The pigeons do not lie. This human saved the animals of the last wild from the plague.*
Now his mother sharpens her tongue on him, her eyes flashing. *Do you dare to contradict your own mother, child? A traitor still?*
Tired, red scratches ripped through his fur by the foxes, he turns to face her. There is no mistaking his voice either. It is not high and squeaky, but strong and steady – like the waters beneath us.
*Yes, Mother, I do. I am no longer a child, and I am no traitor.*
*But this human killed your father, cub—*
*The stag killed my father. They were fighting, in the animal way, and my father lost.* He takes a deep breath. *And I am no longer just a cub. I am a full-grown.’
The female wolf bares her teeth, as if she would fight her own son. The rest of her pack show their fangs alongside her, crouching low.
But the wolf-cub – now truly the wolf – doesn’t flinch. *So you will attack your own son. Will that bring my father back?*
*It will teach you your place.*
Wolf growls. *And what is my place? Is it with you? Lying to other beasts, attacking those who would help us?*
She does not reply, but circles him, her pack watching warily. Her tail is down though, and she is not growling. She is thinking.
He stands his ground. *You would reject your own son, because he dares tell the truth to this wild, is that it? Has that not always been the true role of a Guardian?*
For a moment, in between the crashing waves, the cabin of the Amsguard is so quiet you could hear a spider spin its thread. His mother no longer threatening, Wolf dares to take a step closer. *Do you admit that I might tell the truth? That perhaps our wild was saved despite you abandoning them, rather than because of it?*
I see real doubt pass across Mother’s eyes as her son stands up to her for the first time. But she doesn’t get a chance to reply. Dagger stands on his hind legs at the instrument deck and thumps a paw down, sending a sequence of
buttons alight, as if they were flashing with worry at his strength and anger.
*Enough of this squabbling! Can’t you see it makes no difference?* His bulging, beady eyes gaze round at us all. *So what if this human did help save your wild? Perhaps he did. Perhaps these treacherous pigeons and wolf-cub are telling the truth. It makes no difference.*
He turns to look out through the foggy windows at the city laid out before us. The sky thick with black cloud and flames, flames that continue to burn despite the rain.
*Just one human, who stands before us now. One human among millions. He will go, and then there will be others. One human after another, breeding and filling every available inch of earth for their towers and their roads, taking every last drop of water, every last gulp of air for themselves. They will not stop breeding till they have covered what remains of the earth.*
*What’s so wrong with that, master?* asks one of the rats from the crowd. *We would too.*
The dog turns his withering stare upon him. *But, you fool, no rat in the history of creatures has ever built a city as vast and alien to nature as the one before us now. Or built a flying bird to poison the air, or slaughtered thousands of other creatures with a click of its paws. Enough is enough. What matter a few fine words or noble deeds? The human will never give us any quarter – their own interests will always trump ours. We have sacrificed enough for them. What have humans sacrificed for us? Nothing. So now it is time.*
He bounds off the desk up to me, his mouth half open with excitement, his stub of a tongue visible, his tail wagging.
*Come, human,* he says, rearing up on to his back legs and tapping my thighs lightly with his paws. *Why not say goodbye to your city before we tear you to pieces?*
Then he stands down, and barks at the squirrels. *Let the great wet in!*
And with a furious chattering the grey squirrels scramble on to the console behind him, gripping the wheel with their paws. It’s stiff, but, straining with the effort, they begin to turn it.
With a grinding, roaring sound, I can hear the giant white gates of the Amsguard slowly shudder open beneath us – and the sea that will wipe away the last great city on earth floods hungrily through them.