Sky Wolves

by Livi Michael

  And third, though his eyesight was no longer what it was, he thought he could see a point ahead where everything simply ended, as though the whole world had fallen off a cliff.

  He hadn’t mentioned any of these concerns to Pico yet, because he didn’t want to worry the little dog, and also because any noise he made seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. Besides, he suspected that Pico’s eyes were sharper than his own, which would mean that from his lookout point between Gentleman Jim’s ears, he had probably already worked out what there was to know.

  Pico, however, was facing in the opposite direction. Worried that they wouldn’t be able to find their way back, he had scrambled round so that he was looking behind, at the way they had come. This had enabled him to come up with a troubling fact of his own.

  There were no tracks. Gentleman Jim had been crunching his way through the snow for hours now and his tracks at least should have been clearly visible. The snow had virtually stopped falling, apart from an occasional flake drifting lazily downwards as though trying to make up its mind whether to land or not, and there was no wind. Gentleman Jim’s great paws should have left a clear trail all the way back to the croft, but the snow seemed to be covering them up. Pico found himself watching the tracks very hard. The snow didn’t look as though it was moving at all, yet three or four paw-prints behind them, Gentleman Jim’s tracks simply disappeared. And there were no tracks of any other kind either, bird or fox or rabbit.

  Pico was paying such close attention to the disappearing tracks that he almost fell off Gentleman Jim’s collar when the great dog cleared his throat.

  ‘AHEM!’ said Gentleman Jim, and a nearby shrub quivered, sending cascades of snow from its branches. ‘Er – I don’t suppose you know where we are, do you?’

  Pico scrambled round hastily, so that he was facing the back of Gentleman Jim’s neck.

  ‘Can you still see that star?’ Gentleman Jim enquired.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Pico said, gazing round quickly, though in fact, now that there were a few stars out, he could no longer tell which was the right one. ‘I’m sure we’re still going in the right direction.’

  Gentleman Jim nodded. ‘Take a look ahead, will you?’ he said.

  Pico pulled himself up Gentleman Jim’s neck until he was looking out between his ears. ‘I can’t see anything,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Gentleman Jim.

  ‘Oh,’ Pico said, suddenly understanding. ‘I see.’

  For ahead of them was a ridge of snow slightly too high to see over and very long. It extended to the left and right as far as the small dog could see. Beyond this ridge, there appeared to be – nothing. Only the stars twinkling in the deepening sky. It was as if the whole world suddenly stopped there.

  Gentleman Jim sighed. ‘I didn’t like to mention it before,’ he said, ‘but the earth seems to be coming to an end.’

  Pico slid a little way down Gentleman Jim’s neck, then scrambled up again.

  ‘My word,’ he said.

  Neither of them could see over the ridge of snow, but both of them had a horrible impression of nothingness on the other side. It was almost as though someone had rolled the world up like a carpet. Behind them stretched the vast, glittering plain they had just crossed and before them, it seemed, was the end of the world.

  Pico licked his lips. ‘It is clear what we must do,’ he said.

  ‘Is it?’ said Gentleman Jim, surprised.

  ‘Yes,’ said Pico, very definitely. ‘We must clamber up that icy ridge and leap into the void.’

  Gentleman Jim seemed less convinced. ‘Well, that’s one idea,’ he said.

  ‘Do you have another?’ asked Pico.

  ‘No, but -’

  ‘Then I suggest we do not delay.’

  Gentleman Jim stayed where he was, oppressed by the sense of vast immeasurable emptiness on the other side. He looked up at the ridge. Even the sky seemed blacker beyond it, as though emptied of stars.

  ‘Gentleman Jim,’ said Pico, ‘remember the nobility of your blood.’

  What Gentleman Jim was remembering was that he had almost no desire at all to discover a void, whatever it was. He coughed, playing for time.

  ‘Hrrrummppph!’ he said. ‘Did Jenny say what we were supposed to do once we were in the void?’

  Pico thought hard for a moment.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Ah,’ said Gentleman Jim.

  ‘But surely that is for us to find out.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Gentleman Jim, whose nerves were telling him that he should definitely not, on any account, go over that ridge. ‘Are you sure you can still see that star?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Gentleman Jim,’ said Pico sternly, ‘you cannot be thinking of backing out now.’

  ‘Well,’ said Gentleman Jim, ‘not backing out as such, but -’

  ‘Put me down!’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Put me down at once! If you will not take me to the void, I will make my own way!’

  There followed a short, tense discussion in which Gentleman Jim pointed out that there was no need to get huffy and Pico pointed out that Gentleman Jim should be ashamed of himself, and Gentleman Jim said that Pico was far too stroppy for a midget, then yelped as Pico nipped his ears, and finally Gentleman Jim said that if Pico was determined to go flinging himself into any old void that came along, who was he, Gentleman Jim, to prevent him, and he lowered himself to the floor so that Pico could slide down his nose.

  For the next few minutes, Gentleman Jim watched in a resigned kind of way as Pico tried and failed to clamber up the ridge. He tried approaching it scientifically, by looking for footholds, but the walls were glassy and sheer. Then he tried running at it, from increasing distances, but he got hardly any further than his own height before tumbling back down again and burying himself in snow. Finally, he spent several moments jumping up and down at it, like a miniature kangaroo, but it was hopeless. He was far too small to project himself over the ridge.

  Frustrated, he turned round and mustered what was left of his dignity.

  ‘Gentleman Jim?’ he said.

  ‘Ye-es?’ yawned the big dog.

  ‘Would you be so kind as to assist me, please?’

  Gentleman Jim thought of saying that even with his assistance Pico was unlikely to get very far, since the ridge was much bigger than both of them, but he knew that Pico would just take this as a further sign of giving up. Pico was the kind of dog who never, ever gave up. Gentleman Jim would get no peace unless he went along with him. Besides, he reflected, they were perfectly safe. There was no way that either of them could climb that ridge.

  So, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself, Gentleman Jim stood up. And as he did so, he saw something he had never seen before.

  A constellation was rising over the edge of the ridge. This was nothing unusual in itself, of course, and Gentleman Jim even knew the name of it, since Gordon was a keen amateur astronomer. Orion was rising as usual, but then, much less usually, Gentleman Jim thought, it began walking towards them.

  Several expressions of surprise and disbelief battled for possession of Gentleman Jim’s face. His jaw flopped about at a loose end for a while, then he barked loudly.

  ‘Look!’

  ‘What is it? What is it?’ barked Pico, jumping up and down.

  Gentleman Jim had just enough presence of mind to lower his nose so that Pico could scramble up again, but when he did, he almost fell off Gentleman Jim’s neck in shock. Both dogs stared in astonishment as the great constellation approached, its stars burning brighter and brighter. Gentleman Jim thought of running, but where was there to run to? All the short hair on his back bristled as the outline of the constellation resolved itself into an enormous burning man. His eyes, hair and sword gleamed with a cold, white fire. He rose over the edge of the ridge and remained poised in midair, gazing down at them.

  ‘ARE YOU LOOKING FOR ME?’ he said.

  19

  The Chapter of No
t Being Devoured by Wolves

  In the ordinary course of things, Flo would have expected to land some time shortly after leaping. Her whole experience of the world had taught her that if you leapt, you landed, or indeed fell. She had been a particularly bouncy puppy and had learned this lesson many times.

  ‘What goes up must come down,’ Myrtle had told her.

  ‘Pride comes before a fall.’

  ‘He who climbs furthest falls hardest,’ and so on.

  Flo, the most intelligent of poodles, had learned all these lessons by heart. But they weren’t helping her now. Because, in fact, she had leapt but not landed.

  She had jumped at the mirror, closing both eyes as a sensible precaution against further fright. She was now waiting a reasonable length of time before opening them again, sure that at any moment she would collide with something hard and probably dangerous, like, say, the ground.

  This didn’t happen.

  Flo was familiar with the unpleasant, lurching feeling of descent, when the earth rushed up to meet you and smacked you hard for attempting to leave. She was even familiar with the laws of gravity, since Myrtle had once taken a diploma in advanced physics with the Open University. But the unpleasant, sinking feeling wasn’t happening either. It had been replaced by an even more unpleasant, soaring feeling.

  Not alone among her kind, Flo had never wanted to fly. But even she knew she should open her eyes, since, as every bird learns in its first flying lesson, it is very unwise to fly with them closed. But Flo really didn’t want to open her eyes. Surely, any minute now, her feet would touch something solid and secure.

  They didn’t.

  In a further attempt to delay the dreadful moment of opening her eyes and seeing what was happening to her, Flo ran through the facts in her mind.

  To begin with, in an uncharacteristically reckless moment, she had jumped at the mirror. The mirror should have been hard, but wasn’t, and Flo appeared to have passed right through it. This was abnormal fact one.

  Seconds later, something large and hairy had attempted to stuff itself down her throat. This had to be abnormal fact two, since even in Flo’s limited experience of hunting, small furry creatures did not just stuff themselves down your throat. Flo had gagged and almost thrown up in midair, eventually coughing up what seemed like a giant hairball. This in itself could be abnormal fact three, since poodles don’t have the kind of hair that comes off and forms itself into balls. But now the thing, whatever it was, was stuck between her teeth and though Flo had tried to shake it out of her mouth, she couldn’t. Was this abnormal fact four? Or three? Flo was getting confused now, as the general abnormality of the situation overwhelmed her. There was the mirror, which perversely reflected a bizarre scene unrelated to the room it was in; there was the house, which refused to resemble itself and had kept sprouting further corridors and doors; and there were the three horrible hags.

  So numerous were the abnormal occurrences Flo had experienced in the course of just one afternoon that she had lost count. It might almost be said that she had lost all sense of normal. Apparently she had leapt through a smoking mirror over the heads of three grotesque old women and simultaneously learned to fly.

  It was this last factor, of course, that was troubling her most of all. Not landing just wasn’t normal, not by anyone’s definition of the term. Her paws craved solid ground and her eyes itched to open, so that her brain could relay them some kind of message that would hopefully make sense. After all, how much worse could things get?

  Flo opened her eyes.

  And immediately everything got much worse.

  Now look what you’ve done, said her brain, and quietly but firmly shut down most of its circuits in protest.

  Flo was in the sky. She wasn’t just hovering above the ground at the sort of distance she might comfortably have leapt to; she was several kilometres above the earth. Waves of horror rushed over her as she realized that the tiny specks and lines far below were buildings and rivers and roads. Wreaths of mist passed over the scene and Flo understood, with mind-numbing shock, that she was looking at clouds from the other side. Worse, she was still ascending.

  In terrible dismay, Flo tried to shut her eyes again, but despite her efforts they went on looking. The sun seemed huge without its helpful screen of clouds and atmosphere, pulsating with light. And there, in her direct line of vision, was an enormous wolf galloping towards it.

  Even without Flo’s optical condition that made frightening objects appear five times larger than they actually were, the wolf was enormous. Its ravening jaws were open wide and its eyes glared fire. Behind it was a pack of lesser wolves, though they didn’t look lesser to Flo. They all seemed hideous and terrifying. And she was hurtling towards them at an incomprehensible speed.

  With what was left of her brain, Flo tried to jam the brakes on in midair. She thrust all her paws out before her in an attempt to skid to a halt and wriggled frantically, but succeeded only in turning a sickening somersault, then continuing to fly upside down.

  This is it, she thought sadly. This is the end. And she just had time to reflect that, of all the many ways in which she had anticipated her final moments, crashing airborne into a pack of flying wolves seemed the least likely, before the rest of her brain closed down.

  Meanwhile, the pack of flying wolves had noticed something unusual.

  ‘What’s that, Boss?’ said one of them who was near the front.

  But their leader, Skoll, was too intent on opening his jaws wide enough to swallow the sun to hear.

  ‘Looks like a flying pink poodle,’ the wolf went on, and this time Skoll did hear.

  ‘A flying pink poodle?’ he said, with vast contempt. ‘Leave it out, Garm.’

  ‘No, Boss, look,’ Garm protested. ‘It is a flying pink poodle.’

  ‘And I’m a cuddly toy,’ Skoll said, still intent on the sun.

  ‘I told you what would happen if you didn’t take your altitude tablets.’

  But by now the other wolves were joining in.

  ‘He’s right, Boss. Look!’

  ‘It is a flying pink poodle!’

  ‘Why’s it upside down?’

  ‘What’s a poodle?’

  And so on.

  Skoll heaved a sigh of absolute exasperation. He’d told his mistress, Hel, the Queen of Darkness, that he’d be better off on his own, but she’d insisted that the other wolves needed the exercise. More skilfully than Flo, he managed to turn round in midair to glare at them all.

  ‘First of all,’ he said, ‘poodles can’t fly. And they ain’t pink. And – oh –’

  For now that he had turned, he could see Flo careering erratically towards them upside down, with her eyes firmly shut.

  Skoll had seen many things in his time: the flight of the valkyries, the march of the frost giants of Ymir, the birth of the world-tree, Yggdrasil, from the cosmic egg. He had become, over the millennia, almost jaded. But now he was genuinely astonished.

  ‘Wow,’ he said.

  It was all he had time to say before Flo crashed into the heart of the pack, scattering them to left and right.

  In the resulting cacophony, Flo’s brain, much to her distress, started working again. Her eyes, despite every instruction she gave them, opened.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she gasped, and ordered herself to faint. But against her will, she remained conscious.

  She was in the middle of a howling, snarling pack of wolves, each many times larger than Flo. Drool dripped from their ravening jaws and their eyes were blood red. Several of them lunged towards her, snarling. Flo tried hard to remember how to pray.

  But then a strange thing happened.

  As she scrambled away from first one, then another, the cord she was carrying in her mouth wound itself around them – a paw here, a throat there, a muzzle somewhere else. Their blood-curdling howls changed to baffled roars and barks of frustration.

  ‘’Ere, you!’ bellowed their leader. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

 
‘I wish I knew,’ moaned poor Flo, as the cord looped itself around another wolf’s tail.

  ‘Stop it this minute!’ Skoll howled, lunging towards her. ‘Cut it out!’

  ‘Believe me, I’m trying,’ cried Flo, ducking under another wolf and tangling his feet in the cord. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she added, as another one practically choked. ‘Do excuse me,’ she said to a third as she looped his ears together. ‘I hope it’s not too tight.’

  Soon, all the wolves apart from Skoll were roped together in the cord that kept unravelling itself from Flo’s mouth. They struggled and kicked and writhed, but they were joined together in a howling mass, and no matter how much they tried to bite the cord, it merely cut into their mouths. Then there was only Skoll left facing Flo.

  Skoll’s ears flattened, his fur lifted and his teeth were bared in a terrible grin. He had faced many enemies before, and while this one, a very polite pink poodle who had somehow learned to fly, was not in his handbook of supernatural foes and demons, he was not about to be tied up by a mere dog who looked as though she was suffering from a very bad perm.

  ‘Right,’ he snarled. ‘I don’t know who or what you are, but I do know this. I am Skoll the Terrible. No living creature has ever defeated me in single combat and I have never been chained. Not even by the Queen of Darkness herself. You might’ve tied up these jokers here,’ he said, jerking his head at the struggling pack, ‘but if you think for one moment that you’re going to rope me up with the rest of them, you’ve got another think coming.’ He grinned evilly. ‘However, you’re welcome to try. All you have to do,’ he said, drawing an imaginary line in the air in front of him, ‘is to step over this line here.’

  Flo looked at the enormous wolf. Single combat really wasn’t her thing, and if forced to try it she would pick someone more her size. Like Pico. She wondered briefly whether the great wolf would follow her if she set off now, dragging all the other wolves behind her, but somehow she doubted it. He would carry on relentlessly until he had fulfilled his mission of swallowing the sun.