Stacy spun around and glanced wide-eyed at her father. “Then you do believe me?” she asked, breathless and hopeful.
Nigel put out his hands, palms forward. “I didn’t say that. But I am willing to concede that some of this wolf’s adventures are possible. For one thing, no one has ever seen a white wolf before, either in our forests or in the Newfoundland wilds. So I am willing to accept the fact that he comes from some unknown land. Also, I’ve heard some of the rivermen at Rhonnda speak of ice drifts during the winter that roll in with the swells and do reach the Newfoundland channels. Now it’s not easy to believe that anyone could actually float on a sheet of ice for weeks on the open sea. I mean a man would die just from exposure to the elements.”
“But a wolf has a pelt!” cried the girl jubilantly.
Nigel smiled. “I know, Stacy, I know. And because of that, I’m even willing to accept that Old One did it.”
“Then why can’t you accept the rest of the story?” protested Stacy.
“Because the idea of a city of men, of living men, is just too fantastic. If he had told of some sort of ancient ruin or the like, well, perhaps that could be so. But a living, thriving city?”
“Father, believe me, if Old One were making this up, spinning another of his yarns, I’d have known it. But he swore. He swore by Fara!”
Nigel leaned forward with a stern look. “I believe Old One thinks he was telling the truth. And in his mind he probably was. But he’s very old — some say senile — and his mind could very easily be confused. He might have recalled true memories of his faraway home and then somehow tangled them together with us. The men he spoke of are probably real — but men of our Empire. Soldiers or settlers with whom he probably came into contact years ago.
“But these men tried to kill him!” cried Stacy. “Surely that tells you it wasn’t Empire men. Our friendship with wolves forbids it!”
“That may be so,” Nigel admitted. “But many things go on in Newfoundland that our Valley law forbids. Many Dwellers have found themselves at odds with our settlers. Who can say if some foolish soldier at one time didn’t brandish his sword at Old One just to chase him away or something? The soldier may have done it in jest or actually may have tried to kill him. I don’t know. And I doubt there’ll ever be a way of finding out. But what I’m saying is that Old One may recall this event and in his mind somehow believe that this ‘attack’ took place before he came here.”
Stacy sighed. This time her father’s argument was not faulty. But by no means was she convinced. “All right, then,” she said, “I admit that a wolf could conceivably have been attacked by one of us. But there’s one thing I won’t admit. Old One says the men of his land wear skins as clothing from the cold — wolfskins! No Empire man would dare do that!”
Nigel pondered on that briefly. “You’re right about that much. If a man killed a wolf here, he wouldn’t display the murder by wearing his victim’s pelt. But Old One’s word on that won’t sway many opinions.”
“But what if the story is accurate? What if Old One isn’t confused in his mind? What would you say to the fact that somewhere across the sea, in some northern clime we know nothing of, there actually is a rich city of men?”
“I would say,” said Nigel, weighing his words carefully, “that it would be the greatest discovery I could imagine. But, alas, I don’t believe it’s possible.”
“Why, father,” said Stacy with a mock laugh, “you sound more like those pompous fat politicians every day! Anything is possible — you of all people should know that. Thirty years ago who would have believed that there was a way out of the forests, or that men could align with wolves?”
That was a good point, Nigel knew. If he had predicted today’s facts when he was Stacy’s age, he would have been the one locked in the asylum as an incurable lunatic. “Ahh, Stacy,” he whispered, “I’ve forgotten how it is to be young. To you, there is nothing that can’t be overcome, no mountain that can’t be climbed, no forest that can’t be conquered.”
Stacy’s eyes flashed happily. “And no sea that can’t be crossed!”
Nigel smiled and wistfully shook his head. Indeed to be young again! “I know what you’re thinking, Stacy. That the Council must prepare an expedition. And believe me, I’d love to see it done. But planning such an expedition is an enormous task, and a costly one, to boot. Before I even dared to hint at it, I’d have to be able to show the Council some sort of genuine proof that this faraway land really exists.”
“The proof,” replied the girl, “will be in the success of the voyage.” And she looked him straight in the eye.
Her father shook his head. “No, Stacy. That’s not the way it works.”
Stacy fidgeted in her chair and felt her temper beginning to rise. “How can we prove it exists unless we go and find it?”
Nigel glared. “I need proof now, child! Now! The Council isn’t about to risk a hundred lives on the open sea without something to assure them the risks are worth taking. And the storytelling of a wolf will not serve as proof.”
“Your own belief in the matter would help to sway them.”
Nigel looked at her oddly. “My belief? Founded on what? The word of some crazy canine who spins fables all day? I’d be an idiot even to attempt to sway the Council with such gibberish.”
Now Stacy was really angry. It was one thing for her father to listen and sympathize, and maybe even in part to believe. But that was clearly about as far as he was willing to go. Stacy was livid. “I’ll wager there are plenty of folk in Rhonnda who’d be willing to listen!”
Nigel threw up his hands in total exasperation. “Who?” he barked. “Let me tell you something, Stacy. Sailing the Newland rivers and channels is a far cry from sailing a thousand leagues of open sea. Any captain would have to be crazy even to think about it, and, if you don’t believe me, go and ask them!”
Softly, Stacy answered, “I intend to.”
“And what does that mean?”
“A few moments ago you said that the finding of another civilization of men would be the greatest discovery you could imagine.”
Nigel nodded hesitantly. “So?”
“Well, now we have the opportunity to do just that. And I want to be a part of the discovery if I can. Right now we could be standing on the threshold of the most significant encounter the Empire has ever faced: the chance to come into contact with another culture, one that has as little idea of our existence as we did of theirs. Father, don’t you see the potential of such a meeting? Think what we could learn from each other after all these thousands of years. It will change the face of the world — not just the Empire’s world, but the entire world. There could be trade between us and a constant flow and exchange of thought. The potential is unlimited.”
“Hold on, Stacy,” said Nigel. “You’ve said an awful lot. But did you ever consider the other side of the coin? What if your dream turns into a nightmare?”
The girl furrowed her brows questioningly.
“I can see you haven’t,” said her father a moment later. “All right, let’s assume that one of our ships is able to battle across the sea and somehow reaches this elusive Land of the White Wolves. Do you expect the men of this land to be waiting on shore with open arms? It’s been many thousands of years since men have come into contact with one another. How do you think they’ll react to seeing our lads? They might be frightened out of their wits by the sight of our ship and pack up and head for the hills. Or worse, they may look on us as invaders. They might attack us before the first words of friendship could be uttered. Are you prepared for that possibility in your dream, Stacy? Remember, you told me that Old One was afraid of these men, so it’s clear they have no love for Dwellers as we do. And if the men of this land did indeed try to kill him, that only tells us they’re warlike. And, if they are, what do we do? Should we send a dozen ships filled with Valley soldiers to protect you? For all we know, this civilization across the sea may be no more than a bunch of savages wielding clubs
and spears and howling at the moon like jackals. What would you think then? Would you still be so eager to make their acquaintance?”
Stacy listened intently and in her mind admitted that these were possibilities she had not considered. “I never said there would be no danger — only that the opportunity of finding this city is worth the risk. We have much more to gain than we do to lose. If our ship were to be lost, what of it? A handful of adventurers would be gone, but the Empire would not change. Things would continue as always, and the Empire need never set out to cross the sea again. But if we find this city and if its people prove to be like us, look what benefits it would provide. By combining our knowledge, we might conquer the world! Newfoundland is only our backyard; there are entire continents still waiting for us. And I intend to help by carrying the first banner.”
“Brave words, Stacy,” retorted Nigel. “But all this talk is quite meaningless. As I said, the Council would never fund such an expedition without some concrete evidence that the sea could be successfully crossed and that this ‘city of men’ really exists. And without the Council to provide its help, what man would be willing to risk his life on the strength of a fable?”
“You’re wrong, father. Some of these rivermen would give their eyeteeth to do it. They’ve dreamed of it for years. Why the glory alone would make it worth the effort — not to mention the lure of adventure and wealth. Remember, Old One said this city is rich.”
Nigel laughed. “And what would you do, Stacy? Sack the city of its gold?”
Stacy’s temper rose with her voice. “That’s not what I mean!” she flared. “A wealthy city means a wealthy land. And what does the Empire need more than anything for its growth and expansion?”
For a moment Nigel seemed puzzled, then he smiled. “Raw material.”
“Right,” cooed Stacy. “The Empire is rich in timber, salt, granite. Our granaries are overstocked; Newfoundland is a breadbasket.”
“But we’re desperately short of metals,” observed Nigel. “Nickel, zinc, copper, tin.”
“Now do you see, father?” said Stacy excitedly. “They could have an abundance of the very things we need so badly. Our furnaces are constantly in short supply. Our expansion is hampered. But if we could reach out and trade...”
Nigel’s mind began to click. “What exactly is your proposal, Stacy?”
The girl leaned back and smiled widely. “Simple. The Empire must reach this land and send an emissary to represent it. If the men of Old One’s city are anything but total barbarians, they’ll see the mutual advantages and seize upon them. They’d be fools not to.”
“And how will you even find this city? Your ship could find itself moored in a wilderness. How will you locate it?”
Stacy winked. “The white wolves will show us. And that’s where I come in. Who in the Empire knows wolves better? But don’t worry, I plan to take a pack of hunters with us. Together we’ll seek out these white wolves, gain their friendship and find the city.”
“What makes you think any of our wolves would be interested in our ambitions? After all, wolves are still Dwellers.”
“I think you’re right,” replied Stacy. “Most forest wolves would not be eager to come. But what I have in mind are mountain wolves. They’re a very different breed. Half-wild, you might say. Like Cicero. They’re daring and adventurous, and it’s from their packs I’ll find the hunters I need. I understand wolves better than I understand my own kind, and I guarantee you, father, these wolves will be interested, if only to find these white-furred cousins and breed with them.”
Stacy had it all figured out, Nigel had to admit, right down to the smallest detail. And although he was not yet ready to concede it openly, much of what she said made sense. Good common business sense, if you like — the kind the Council understood. “This has all come very fast and furious,” he said, “and it’s something that we can’t just jump into. I’ll need time to consider, weigh it over in my mind.”
“Of course,” answered Stacy happily. “We have the whole winter to mull it over and plan. But I must remind you that by spring, when the Newfoundland road is open again, I intend to be with the first caravan. And I’m going to seek out a riverman, one who’s not going to cringe at the idea of danger, and with luck we’ll set sail from Rhonnda by the first days of summer.”
“You know you can be stopped,” said Nigel roughly. “The Council can instruct any ship trying to head for the open sea to be confiscated and put under military order. We can see that you never leave harbor.”
Stacy glared at him sharply. “No, you can’t,” she retorted. “If I have to, I’ll seek out a brigand, a smuggler, and run your damned blockade. You know it can be done.”
Nigel tensed. “Yes, Stacy. I know it can be done. All right, then. Maybe we can strike a bargain, you and I.”
Stacy’s brows rose, and her eyes grew wide.
“I’ll be going to see Hector when winter begins,” said Nigel. “Perhaps I’ll be able to find something to ease his pain. And when I go, you’ll come with me. While we’re there, I’ll speak with Old One and try to get a clearer picture of what he knows about this city and how we could reach it. And I give you my word, if I can’t prove to your satisfaction — and mine — that his story is only a fable, then I promise to put my own prestige on the line. I’ll ask the Council to back such a voyage. We’ll get you all the supplies you’ll need and scour Newfoundland for the best mariners, even order a squad of crack Valley soldiers to accompany you. How does that sound?”
“That sounds fine,” replied Stacy with a smile. “But what must I do in return?” She leaned forward with interest.
“Your part of the bargain is simple. You’ll do absolutely nothing. This matter will be discussed with no one.” His eyes narrowed and darkened. “Your mother must know nothing about it. You’ll make no hasty plans until then; put the matter out of your head. And if it’s proved that this ‘Land of the White Wolves’ is sheer fantasy, you’ll forget this scheme forever.”
There was a sly smile in Stacy’s dark eyes. “You won’t be able to prove Old One wrong,” she said with conviction.
Nigel grinned. “Then I’ll lose and you’ll win. What do you say?”
“Father, you drive a hard bargain. But, of course, I agree.”
Chapter Five
For those in the Valley the ensuing weeks passed quickly. The harvests were reaped, the grains carefully and painstakingly stocked in the silos and warehouses. As the weather grew colder, the pace of activity slowed. The last caravan across the mountains to Deepwater left, and the Old Road to Newfoundland was closed until the next spring. This was a peaceful and quiet time for those of the Valley, a time to rest from the long months of labor and enjoy the benefits of their work. Activity now centered on plans for the next year and growth of the Empire.
But to the Dwellers winter is seen very differently. After many months of watching her children and caring for them, Fara is tired. She can no longer spend her time in the forest slipping unnoticed among the Dwellers. She must sleep. And when she does, the world changes. One by one the trees shed their leaves and stand lonely and forlorn; the grasses wither and die; the hills and dales become dulled and pale; the earth cold and hard. No longer are there splashes of wild flowers to color the meadows, no longer is there the thick, lush grass to cover the ground. In his sadness, Khal, the sun, no longer bathes the land with his warmth, and Lea, the moon, becomes restless and hides behind the clouds. In anger at her sleeping sister, Aleya sweeps down from the mountains and brings the bitter frosts that cause the animals to shiver and tremble. And then one day, often in the stealth of night, when the sky is burdened with thick clouds, the snows begin. At first it is little more than a touch of gentle flakes that fall, more often than not melting before they touch the ground. But the flakes are deceiving, the Dwellers know. Before the night is done the land will be covered in white, the streams and ponds frozen to ice, and so they will stay until Fara awakes. Rabbits burrow deeper into thei
r warrens, and only the bravest among them dare to venture outside. The birds fly away to seek the shelter and relative warmth of the Valley, leaving their nests empty and cold, untouched save by the frosts on Aleya’s breath. Even the mighty bear, most hated Dweller in the wood, knows that he may no longer roam and hunt at will. With his mate he returns to his caves and like Fara herself sleeps a long, deep sleep. The industrious beaver and the tricky raccoon also hide and rest; the bullfrog is gone; the snake crawls beneath his rock; the butterfly dies. And life in the forest becomes still.
Yet not all Dwellers sleep with Fara. Fara would not have it so, for she dare not leave her children unattended, lest men or other enemies come and take them from her. Someone must guard and protect the forest in her absence — and the task is an important one, one that cannot be taken lightly. It is said that once, long ago, Fara entrusted the great cats to take care in her name. They were graceful and sly creatures — many said they were as cunning as Fara herself — but they proved lazy in their ways and showed little concern for those in their charge. Through their own deeds they lost her trust, and now they can be seen roaming only in the mountains, still shamed by their disgrace. But now who was Fara to trust? Should the responsibility go to the fox? Fara thought not. He was too devious a creature to leave so much in his care. Who then? The mighty elk? He was powerful enough and a good leader, but he had neither the wiles nor the cunning. The hare? He was smart and quick on his feet, but one so puny could never rule. The caribou? Too gentle. Reindeer? Too meek and docile. Fara was deeply troubled; she pondered for many long nights, delaying the winter. But one morning, after a long night of consideration, Fara smiled. The choice became clear — she should have known it all along. Of all her domain there was but one who was worthy of the task — the wolf. He and he alone possessed all the qualities needed to protect the forest. She knew that none would dare harm her children while he was on the prowl. Only a foolish creature indeed would even dare to try. And so, many ages ago, Fara came to meet with the wolves. In the guise of a she-wolf, Fara came among them and offered the task. Filled with awe at her sight and proud that they had been chosen above all the rest, the wolves readily accepted. And yet again Fara smiled. She had chosen well. Such an important duty would not go unrewarded, she promised. While many Dwellers would be forced to go hungry during the lean months while she slept, the wolf would always find the means to keep his belly full. Cunning and intelligence they already possessed, and their swiftness was hard to beat; so in her wisdom Fara added the ability to organize into packs and hunt together. Thus blessed, they could not help but catch their prey. If a Dweller must die so that her guardians stay strong and healthy, so be it. That is Fara’s law: the law of the forest. And never once has she regretted it.
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