With a flashing glare of his own, Joseph said, “Not now,” with his eyes, and turning his torso so that his head remained facing the dark shadow, he checked Evie with his hip, signaling her to fall back.
In response she backed herself in close with a cluster of watching wolves, whining nervously as most all around her were. “Not good,” most were muttering. “From bad to worse we go. Hush. Speak not while the elders speak. He’ll turn on us as easy as any.”
“Our troubles are multiplied,” the white wolf said loud for all to hear. “Our grief is great. My own guilt is undeniable. But infighting will not do. We are a great family. We must guard our thoughts even as we guard our lands. We—”
“Ha,” Abel growled, circling wide and slow, his great head held low, pointing, accusing. “Speak to me of family. For days I have run ragged and hungry, seeking the fresh joy that so suddenly filled your midst. Against nature I sought your company with fervency, here in the west I despise. The largest, strongest pack in a thousand miles called to me, striking like an arrow to my heart. So with all my strength I came. And for my trouble I found neither you nor joy but chaos and death. Family? Great? You mislead us.”
“And you speak wickedness,” countered Joseph, now turning round in a tight circle. His own head was low, green eyes glaring, the civility in his tone fading. “You have forgotten much these years. You do not know all that has complicated our joy.”
“You!” roared Abel. “You have allowed it! You and your sympathy for those that would kill our kind infect all who follow. Your pack is weak, as you are weak. The lesser creatures lose their fear. Young wolves die. And your painful regard for men sickens us all.”
“Enough!” growled the white wolf, his fangs flashing in the lightening. “My regard is steady. Hapless men mean nothing. We live beside them as always. But dangerous men will come after this night. On highest guard we must now toil. But I will kill—”
“Ha!” laughed Abel. “Kill only after they have killed our own. Your tired old way has never worked. Fools! Kill now! The masses will cut you down and run you to the ends of the earth, as they’ve done with our wild brothers. There is no cure for the folly of men but death; it is proven down the millenniums. You are an army fifty strong, more gifted than any other. Hunt them before they hunt us. Do your forefathers justice and rule as—”
“My brother, you speak wrongly of justice,” growled Joseph. “I will not suffer it on this great pack. Not from you, nor any—”
In that moment Abel snapped, hurling himself at his brother. The two beasts collided with the fury of hot and cold air, and by the white flashes their fury was terrible to behold. Every wolf backed away, many cringed, and all watched with startled eyes as the two greatest of them tore and snarled and thrashed in their fury, slipping on the wet granite, snapping teeth glimmering in the lightening, their human voices buried under their savage growls rumbling with the storm.
For Evie, holding herself low with tucked tail, it was the worst spectacle she’d ever witnessed, because it involved her beloved grandfather. Once she’d been close to a fight that broke out suddenly at school between two boys, and she’d been put off by the pointlessness of it and the uneasiness it left in her so unlike the thrill of competition. But this before her, this fury, was a true horror that made her chest quiver and her stomach roll. She’d heard it said somewhere that there was no fight like a fight between brothers. Having no siblings, she learned it now from the sidelines.
It was the story old as time being acted out. They fought exactly as brothers—not to kill as they would fight against an enemy but for pride, venting the frustrations of their lifetimes, as if each were the sole cause of the other’s troubles. Neither went straight for the throat or the direct kill—if such were possible so quickly between such skilled battlers—but rather to drag and slash their fangs on the other, to bull and shove and dominate, to inflict pain, to pin and exalt over, to absolve their own by placing all blame on the other.
In the fashion of siblings they raged. On hind legs they stood and clashed and exchanged tears, snarling as the peals of thunder cracked around them. With forelegs they pressed and dug and pushed, hurling one another down. And with wild eyes they gathered themselves anew after each clash, lunging again and again at each other, countering each onslaught until, slipping on the wet rock, weakened with hunger and long travel, Abel, the larger of the two, was finally pinned between his brother’s bulk and a small rise of granite. The white wolf’s red-stained mouth panted over him, just out of reach for retaliation. His weight held the massive shadow down firmly in the posture of defeat so rare to him, so strange that it took seconds for him to comprehend. He thrashed and struggled until utterly spent.
When at last his great strength failed him, and he could not rise, the shadow of death that had haunted the North Woods for over a hundred years felt the stinging shame of defeat, along with the weight of over fifty pairs of eyes resting on him. Apart from family, by the ancient instinct of the blood of his wild forebearers, Abel knew the customary ceremony of all wolves that should ensue; by rights, by wild law, he should be executed by the frenzied pack. As with any challenger to the established hierarchy, by failing, by falling and not rising—even for only seconds—he had invited such uncivilized judgment, calling upon himself the swift and horrid penalty of being dismembered alive, shredded to bare bones and raw hide, then strewn for the scavengers to pick within a minute of defeat.
But no wolf moved. Seconds passed. None spoke but the one who had subdued him.
“Now,” the victor broke the silence. “Silence yourself or depart; your strife is unwelcomed.” And feeling his brother’s quiet submission, he slowly drew back his weight from the heaving dark chest. His own white sides were heaving, he bled from several wounds and an ear was cruelly torn, and his face, stained from nose to eyes, was crimson with gore. “I tire of the contempt between us. It wastes time and energy urgently needed elsewhere. Make your choice. Make it now.”
“Such grace,” Abel grumbled quietly, slowly rising to his feet. His voice regained its depth as he regained his footing and stature. “As always your sympathies are divided and spread thin. Let it rain, brother, send me away and say what you will, but still I smell the fresh stink of cat on you!”
At once the voices of all those watching began to swell, asking one another if they’d heard right. Only Evie knew for sure. And she wasn’t about to utter a sound. She held her voice like a fluttering bundle of nerves within her fast-beating chest.
“Yes!” shouted the white wolf over the noise, standing head high and his back bristling with anger. “I rushed to meet the old cat. I listened to his warnings. Then I watched him flee to the west, never to return.”
“Let the old cat flee unharmed,” Abel growled. “And tear your own blood in his stead!”
“Their backs are broken!” Joseph roared. “In themselves they can no longer threaten us, until their numbers replenish. But still their jealousy burns. They have called down hunters upon us, out of desperate spite. That is our trouble now. That is where we must look, if we are to survive in freedom.”
“Your trouble indeed,” Abel muttered as a parting shot, and turning away with a deep breath, he dashed downhill, bulling several wolves from his path. Quickly he became one with the pitch darkness of the trail.
~7~
“Settle down, Red,” said a friendly voice. “It’s over.”
Evie turned and saw Matthew, gray and wide, stepping up beside her.
“Grandpa holds his own,” he said, and turned himself so that he was standing close at her side.
“Thanks,” she whined. Her heart settled as she felt Matthew’s comforting presence at her side. With fixed eyes she watched her grandfather step to the highest part of Oak Hill.
“All is now clear,” he said. “We have much trouble coming. With prudence we can prevail, as always before. In rashness and anger we may win battles and feel avenged presently, but we will surely lose in the end. Humans
number in the billions, like the stars beyond the stars. We are few and blessed.”
“Yes, yes,” most wolves agreed. “True, true.”
“We cannot now, nor could we ever, stand against the masses.”
“They are weak,” growled Lester. “How long will we tolerate man’s threats? They do us evil. Abel is right. They do all evil.”
“They have, and will likely again do us evil,” agreed his father. “But most are ignorant, unthreatening, and far inferior. They act only by the fuel of fear, crude senses, and feeble understanding. As the stronger race, we will not stoop to their behavior.”
“No,” was the overwhelming consensus of the noisy pack.
Lester snarled and then shook himself from head to toe.
“By daybreak it will begin,” said Joseph. “Game wardens, police, and media will come first. Then surely will follow the hunters, from the bumblers to the professionals. Be ready. Use your minds to your advantage. We will get through this. Only the bravest of them will linger as the cold of winter approaches.”
The pack unanimously agreed, yipping and singing their responses. All but a few felt renewed with hope. Lester had been born angry and so took time to calm, but in the end always did. But David Wilson, attending as the sole representative of his diminished family, paced and snarled, shook and growled; he could not calm himself. There was no comfort for him in any thought but that of revenge. The few he’d seen killed and helped kill only fueled his wrath.
Silently, as the spirit of the pack rose, David slipped away into the dark of the trail.
***
From the corner of her eye Evie saw a gray-brown streak moving away. Turning her head, still feeling Matthew comfortably at her side, she saw clearly only a fluffy tail disappearing into the opening of the trail. Who, of all them, would leave just when moral was rising again? Even Lester was calming himself. Making a quick scan of the crowd, she hunted for eyes and faces and markings and voices as only a wolf could.
For a second she located Erica and locked eyes with her. A small growl started in her throat at the thought of their last exchange. Erica looked away first, then Evie moved on, telling herself they would make right later, after the excitement.
The Wilsons, she suddenly thought. None of them are here.
She stood up straight and began nosing the air toward the trail. So many scents filled the damp air, her nose was quickly confused. Faces and names that matched scents raced through her mind, until finally the thought of David suddenly became bolder than the rest.
“Follow me,” she said into Matthew’s ear.
“Why?”
“Just hurry,” she said.
Together they rushed into the darkness under the dripping trees. The ground was slippery, slowing the speedy silver-white, but still Matthew began falling behind.
“Why the rush?” he asked.
“David Wilson,” she answered, slowing until he was at her side. “I think—”
“Let him be. He’s very angry.”
“Abel. What if he follows him?”
Matthew made only a low growl.
“Just run,” Evie said. “Hurry!”
***
Under the apple trees they stopped and pricked their ears. From the south, from the barns, there was a commotion of many animal sounds.
“The barns,” Matthew said. “Hear it?”
“What’s happened?”
“Just guess,” Matthew said, and started off toward the rear corner of the house.
Between the house and garage they slowed. Their grandmother stood on the porch.
“Abel took something from the barn,” she said. “The animals are panicked. Don’t go near him, Matthew. He’s not safe.”
Evie darted down the driveway without a word. She understood now that there was more danger than David simply following him in a hope for a continued alliance to enact revenge alongside of. David, in his grief, was not thinking clearly. He could be killed or seriously injured for going anywhere near Abel while he feasted. But she also understood that the old Snow would not be nearly as hostile towards a female—at least she hoped not.
Matthew took off just after her, hearing his grandmother calling after him to catch Evie. He dropped down the grade in the drive to the second barn. There he saw Evie, who had slowed and turned into the woods at the place she’d seen David turning in. David was following a wide blood trail.
Together the three young wolves halted a dozen yards from Abel. He’d taken a yearling cow away from the noise of the barn to eat in peace. Now crouching over it, looking up from his ravenous feast, he growled a terrible gurgling growl that stopped the three chasers in their tracks.
“Leave me,” he warned. “My temper is red.”
“We will,” Evie said, and turned to speak to David.
In the same second David made his plea to the old Snow. “Take me hunting,” he said forcefully. “I proved my skills before you tonight.”
Abel, dark as the night around him, soaked and bloodied, raised his head and straightened from his crouching stance. As he did, Evie stepped forward, and placed herself between them.
“No,” she said to David. “You can’t. Leave here. Now!”
“Listen to her,” Matthew said from David’s side. “We should go.”
“I will not take this lightly,” David said to Evie’s imploring look. “I cannot.”
Abel stalked ever closer, pushing by the silver-white until he stood looking down on David. “You fought well,” he said, “for a pup. The cat’s you handled well. But can you handle men? Can you track and tail them undetected? Have you felt the frailty of their thin bones and tender flesh breaking in your jaws? You have courage, but have you the speed to kill before they use their weapons? Recalling your human ties, can you kill your likenesses once the fire of your anger has burned low?”
“If you teach me,” David said, his head lowering, eyes averting. “My anger will not cease.”
“Other’s have thought so, as the bullet pierced their hides.”
“My sister—”
“Died the death of the rash,” Abel seethed, and with a sudden burst he checked David hard with his shoulder. “Go to your mother! You waste my time. Let me eat.”
Now both Evie and Matthew stood between the two as blockers, because as David rose to his feet again, his lips curled and he growled, no longer reverent but directing his bitterness and his glaring eyes directly toward Abel.
“Usher him from me,” Abel ordered the cousins. “If I see his teeth once more, he will join his sister.”
David flew into a rage at mention of his sister. Matthew and Evie worked hard to block his lunges, checking him with their shoulders while dodging his snapping jaws. Through difficulty they succeeded in finally driving him back a few yards, just far enough so that Abel lost interest in him and returned to his meal.
Before they could move him further, the white wolf entered the woods. Erica and her parents followed close behind.
Glaring briefly at his brother, Joseph then turned his attention to David Wilson. With help from the others he herded the young male from the woods and drove him down the driveway to the corn fields, away from the barns, and well away from Abel. When David finally gave up his struggle, Joseph sent the others away to speak in private.
“That was stupid,” Erica muttered under her breath.
“What?” Evie said with a sharp turn of her head.
“Following David.”
An involuntary growl resounded in Evie’s throat. Erica growled in return. Aunt Ruth growled over them both.
“Girls! Enough!”
At that Evie sprang away and trotted up the drive. Slowing and peering into the woods where Abel lay feasting, she could barely see him but for his amber eyes; he paid her no mind. The animals in the barns to her left were still complaining. Their cries and panicked voices made her feel as if she were standing in a crowded auditorium, back home at school in a noisy assembly. She felt pity for them but could
not stand to listen long, so she moved on up the drive and lay down under a lone apple tree near the greenhouse to await her grandfather. The crickets and light rain drowned some of the other noise.
“One of these days, Erica,” she grumbled to herself.
***
“It’s very late,” the white wolf said when he came near to her.
For half of an hour Evie had kept still under the partial shelter of the apple tree. She raised her head as her grandfather approached and felt the energy his presence gave to her. “I waited for you.”
“You should be resting,” he said as he lowered himself down near her side. “It is a nasty night. I am not yet fit to enter the house.”
Scanning over his wounds, Evie’s gaze met with her grandfather’s eyes.
“Already they heal,” he replied to her troubled gaze. “The rain rinses the blood. Even the ear mends quickly.”
“Good,” she said. “And David?”
“I’m afraid there is little comfort for him; his anger is justified. At last he listened to reason and agreed to return home to his parents, with Earl and Ruth as escorts. We must all gather round the Wilsons in support, for as long as they require it. Their wounds are deeper than flesh.”
After a long silence of contemplation Evie looked to the barns. “Papa,” she said. “I can hear their voices. They are frightened.”
“You hear well. The closer you listen, the more you will understand.”
“But how is it so?”
“You understand me with ease, do you not?”
“I do.”
“You heard first because my voice was familiar,” he said. “So were those of your loved ones. Still you must realize that the language is not your familiar one. We are not speaking anything near English, yet you understand with increasing clarity. It is your unique heredity which empowers you. It recalls the One Old Language, the speech of the younger world which mankind as a whole has long forgotten. Call it instinct, which is memories of the blood and the learned habits of the ages; as the wolf you hear clearly what humans rarely detect faint traces of. Your senses tell you regularly—it is already becoming habit—what they rarely sense, and what chills and mystifies them when they do catch fleeting glimpses at odd times and quiet moments.”
The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2) Page 6