Irina the Wolf Queen

by Leah Swann

  After some time, Irina drew back and looked closely at the wolf's face. The expressive markings that seemed to make Sheka look happy or troubled or sad were still there, though somewhat faded. A fog had fallen over the blue eyes. Yet the wolf had an expression that was beyond other wolves, as though the grace of angels had touched her. The ferocity was gone and Irina saw Sheka's nobility.

  ‘I heard you,’ growled the she-wolf, ‘howling for me all those nights. I wanted to come and steal you. But I kept away.’

  ‘I missed you. And Durrell,’ said Irina. ‘Where is he?’

  Sheka's head drooped. ‘The day I lost you, I lost him, too. When we came back, the bear was gone. Durrell's prints were everywhere – he'd been dragged away. The pups were safe. But Durrell was gone.’

  ‘His body?’ said Irina, in a choked whisper.

  ‘We found nothing: no fur, no blood, no sign of him. He vanished.’

  Irina embraced Sheka once more. She felt their shared sadness, but she also felt how much things had changed. She was no longer at one with the wolves. She belonged to another world now.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, blinking away tears. ‘For keeping me alive.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Prince Andor's Adventure Begins

  At King Niklas's castle, a terrible battle raged inside the wolf Seeley. He sensed Vilmos's murderous intentions towards his master and the slightest whiff of the magician caused his hackles to rise. But Vilmos had been feeding him magic treats to make him docile – meat coated in a special powder that he'd prepared according to a recipe from Iniko. Yet as time went by, Seeley's powerful wolfish instincts began to return. Sometimes the spell would break and he would turn and growl at Vilmos. This sent the magician scurrying back to his quarters to search his magic books for more potent spells.

  One morning when Seeley nipped the ankle of the King's manservant, Faron, Niklas had to strike the wolf for the first time ever. The King was worried that Seeley's character seemed so changed and decided to keep him near. He was also worried about Andor. He missed his son and wanted him home where he could keep watch over him.

  Trayton assured the King his son was well. ‘I know you are angry that he left without your permission, Your Majesty,’ said the cunning magician, ‘but I have seen in my crystal ball that he is safe. The boy is simply lively and looking for adventure. Don't worry.’

  ‘What is there to worry about? My son is almost a man,’ said the King, curtly.

  However Niklas knew Andor had a gentle heart and no stomach for violence. What if he was attacked? Would he be able to defend himself? He awaited his return anxiously, for there was nothing and no one on earth the King loved more.

  At the Ber village inn, Andor's room was furnished sparsely, with only a bed and a jug of water for washing. Although used to silk sheets and feather cushions, Andor was enjoying the rough smell of the mattress of goat-hide and straw. And to be free of hovering servants was a refreshing change.

  How I wish father was here to share this pleasant feeling, he thought, before remembering guiltily that he had left without saying goodbye. He pushed the thought of his father out of his mind.

  Cottages, shops and market stalls lined Ber's cobbled main street. The odom leaves were turning red. In the distance beyond the village were golden fields and green hills covered in orchards.

  The farmers were selling the first apples of the season. They lay on white cloths, glossy red and green. There was fresh bread and creamy yellow cheese for sale as well as stone jars of milk. One stall sold medicines and ointments made by the farmers’ wives. Another offered smoked meats and jars of apple cider. There was a crate of squawking geese, a cow, and an enormous pink and black speckled sow with a litter of shrill piglets.

  Andor enjoyed wandering among the people, sampling the food and listening to the gossip. He stopped to buy apples from a farmer whose red beard covered his chest.

  ‘A gold piece, is it?’ said the farmer, surprised. ‘You can buy all the apples on the table for that.’

  ‘Just a bag of those little green ones, please,’ said Andor. ‘And those beautiful arrows, are they for sale?’ He pointed to the quiver of arrows by the farmer's feet.

  The farmer chuckled. ‘I knew that gold was not for nothing. You recognise craftsmanship when you see it, do you, traveller? Well then. Making arrows is my passion, young sir. And I've been making many more of late.’ He drew out one of the arrows. It was indeed very well made: its tip was sharp and fine and the feathers clean and stiff. ‘Fly like little beauties, they do, sir.’

  ‘I bet they do.’

  ‘You can have this quiver full. Not often I get a piece of gold. Radburn's my name. Where are you from?’

  ‘I’m a loyal subject of King Niklas,’ said Andor, hoisting the quiver onto his shoulder. ‘I’m travelling home. He's a fine king, is he not?’

  ‘I used to admire King Niklas. But I've heard that he plans to sell us to King Harmon who'll work us to the bone and take all the fruits of the land. These sweet days of freedom –’ Radburn gestured to the marketplace filled with people and animals and the happy sounds of laughter and chattering, ‘– may be coming to an end.’

  ‘No – you can't believe that!’ said Andor. ‘Where did you hear this story?’

  ‘Everyone’s talking about it. There was a man telling us in the ale house a few nights ago. That's why I'm making my arrows. Would you fight, young sir?’

  ‘For a just cause,’ replied Andor, honestly.

  ‘If King Niklas turns against his people, his people will turn against him. We don't want to be Harmon's slaves. They say that when he lost his baby daughter he lost his sense of reason. What kind of a man lets his child be stolen, I ask you.’

  Andor rubbed his chin. He hadn't been expecting this. ‘What did the man who said these things in the ale house look like?’

  ‘Fattish. With thin fingers. Ring on his thumb. I'd had more'n one ale, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘What kind of ring was he wearing?’

  ‘Two snakes wrapped around themselves. Never seen a man wear a ring like that before. Looked liked real gold, but the rest of him was dressed poor.’

  There was suddenly a commotion in the marketplace. People began yelling and shouting and pointing. Radburn and Andor turned and saw a cloud of dust in the distance. The Prince could just make out a white shape. It was still far away but seemed to be approaching at great speed.

  ‘They say the Princess is coming!’ said a woman standing behind Andor. ‘They say Irina's returning to Ragnor Castle!’

  ‘I heard she was taken in by a farmer,’ said another woman.

  ‘William of the Stony Creek Farm on the north side,’ said a different man.

  ‘William,’ said Radburn. ‘I know William and Octavia and their little girl.’

  ‘They say Irina is the true Princess.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Radburn, shaking his head. ‘That girl is no princess. She used to run on all fours like a dog!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Irina Rides to Ragnor Castle

  The morning of Irina's departure, Octavia gave the wolf-girl a beautiful white linen dress, stitched together with blue silk thread she had bought from a peddler. The neat stitches shone like tiny gems against the white cloth.

  ‘I saved these pieces of linen over the years to make into this dress for you,’ Octavia said. ‘Every person has a time when they need a special costume.’

  ‘But you didn't know my size,’ said Irina. ‘And yet it fits me perfectly.’

  ‘I didn't need to measure you, child; I know your dimensions better than my own.’

  Octavia braided fresh garden flowers into the front of Irina's hair, leaving the rest to cascade down her back. She washed the girl's face and laced up her boots.

  ‘You have no slippers,’ she lamented. ‘What sort of princess wears farmer's boots?’

  ‘I need my boots to ride the horse,’ said Irina, smiling.

  ‘Time to
go,’ said William, entering the cottage. ‘The horses are ready.’

  ‘Goodbye, dear Octavia,’ said Irina.

  Octavia leaned forward and kissed the wolf-girl warmly on both cheeks. Then, standing back, gazing into Irina's eyes and with her hands on the girl's shoulders, she uttered for the last time an old blessing Irina had heard many times before.

  ‘Truth as a light to illumine and guide you. Truth as a shield to overshadow you.’

  This made Irina cry.

  Octavia took a handkerchief from her pocket and dried Irina's damp cheeks. ‘Come on, girl, stop this nonsense. We'll see each other again.’

  As Irina and William set off through the forest pathways they knew so well, Octavia's words gave Irina courage. Truth as a light, truth as a light. The sound of the mare's feet seemed to beat out that rhythm and the words held her straight. Yellow and red leaves were falling from the trees. She was sad to be leaving her home. Yet strangely, nestled inside the sadness like a butterfly in a cocoon, was an unexpected feeling of joy.

  They passed the little knot of trees that hid Raizel's hut and Irina glimpsed the hare. Birds and other forest creatures looked out at her from behind bushes or on branches, saying goodbye. They travelled through the woodlands with the River Thel gushing alongside them. After a while, the trees thinned and they came to open fields and then to the road, where they could ride faster.

  Before long they reached the village of Ber. They trotted down a street lined with huts and crowds of people who tried to make way for the horses, shooing the chickens and piglets away. To Irina's amazement, children started to call out over and over: ‘Princess Irina, Irina, Irina!’

  They slowed the horses to a walk. Everywhere Irina looked there were people staring at her, some curious, others fearful. The attention made her nervous. She wanted to hide. She tried calming herself by recalling the words of advice Raizel had given her the day before. But Raizel had said so many things in that new, deep voice! The words unravelled in her memory.

  Irina knew some of the villagers from their visits to Octavia for herbs and potions. She recognised Radburn, shaking his head in disbelief. Beside him stood a handsome youth with soft hair and a quiver full of arrows on his shoulder.

  Andor took a step forward to see the radiant girl on her white horse. Some of the flowers in her headdress had come loose and tendrils of hair now framed her rosy, youthful face. She seemed to Andor to be both brave and tender. He caught her eye – just for a moment – and thought he saw a flicker of recognition. Lowering his gaze, he grinned when he noticed the sturdy work boots under the pretty linen dress. Could she really be the legendary Irina? he wondered.

  There was something uncommon about her, something he couldn't quite define. How proudly she held her head, how gently she kicked her horse. She and the farmer moved on through the crowds and were gone.

  ‘That was William, all right. With the girl who used to crawl on all fours,’ said Radburn, stroking his beard. ‘And they reckon she's a princess.’

  In the Great Hall at Ragnor Castle, the atmosphere was alive with excitement. The little princesses squirmed in their seats beside the thrones, listening as Captain Kellen told their father that the girl who claimed she was Irina was on her way.

  ‘Where are they now?’ asked King Harmon.

  ‘They left Ber some hours ago. They must be close.’

  ‘Send out soldiers to escort them.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’ Kellen bowed smartly and strode out of the long hall.

  ‘I knew she was alive!’ Chloe said to Harmon, who clicked his tongue with impatience. His hands were clasped behind his back.

  ‘Really, you are gullible sometimes, my dear. This girl is probably an imposter. We only have a note on a pigeon telling us otherwise.’

  ‘A note from Raizel,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Indeed,’ said the King, his tone indicating how little he thought of the wise-woman's predictions.

  ‘She wasn't wrong before, was she?’

  The King had no reply to that. He unclasped his hands and pretended to examine his knuckles.

  ‘What kind of imposter is raised by a she-wolf and then discovered by a farmer?’ said Chloe. ‘The story is so fantastic it must be true!’

  Still Harmon said nothing. By now he had six daughters and no son. The younger princesses played with their silk rag dolls, sitting on cushions on the floor. Only the eldest two, Mahila and Julene, listened to their parents. They wondered if this girl really was the sister they had heard so much about.

  From outside the castle came the sounds of shouting and horses galloping. The King crossed to the window. To the north he could see the forest, while towards the east his eye could follow the paved main street of the royal city out into the grassy plains, where it became a stony road meandering up towards the Ridge. Some leagues beyond the Ridge was the closest border to Pavel. It was on this road that Harmon noticed two figures on horseback galloping into the city, followed by his own soldiers.

  Chloe was trembling so much she stayed seated, clutching the arms of her throne. She called to her husband in a quavering voice, ‘What is it, husband? What do you see?’

  The King did not answer. Even at a distance, he could make out the figure of a young girl in a white dress. His heartbeat quickened, and without knowing why he leaned forward and pressed his palm flat against the window glass.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  From the Castle Window

  Every night, placid as a trained rabbit, Seeley the wolf followed Vilmos out into the dark woods, while his true master slept. There, at Vilmos's command, the wolf howled at the moon and the magician rewarded him with more of that delicious, powdered meat. When he ate it, branches of warm sleepiness grew in him like a tree until he lay down, felled by its sweet, dull power.

  As Vilmos knew they would, the wolves of the forest answered Seeley's howl. Wolfish muzzles appeared between the trees. Among the wolves were many of Sheka's pups, now fully grown and in packs of their own. The magician kept very still, radiating a controlling, calm presence. The wolves formed a circle in the little clearing. Vilmos had spent many nights studying wolf-lore and it was now time to put it into practice. He chanted the vowel ‘o’, deep and low, ‘Ooooooooooooow, Ooooooooooooow, Ooooooooooooow,’ till it shook the leaves from the trees and rumbled through the earth underfoot.

  The wolves smelled danger and began to pace.

  They also smelled the powdered meat.

  As they came forward to eat, the magician uttered the words of a spell he had learned from Iniko.

  In the Mirror of Near and Far, in the distant Narrowlands, the wicked sorcerer was watching.

  ‘He does my bidding, which is the bidding of the Dragon,’ Iniko said, rubbing his hands in pleasure. He stared into the reflection of the Mirror. ‘And the beauty of it is, he doesn't even know! Vilmos thinks he's doing it all by himself.’

  Back in the clearing, the spell entered the wolves’ ears and their bodies. They ate and grew sleepy. The spell weakened their instincts. They grew stupid. Every night, the magician enchanted them.

  Soon all the wolves of the forest were under his power.

  By the time Irina and William reached the royal city of Ragnor, the sun had come out from behind the clouds. The leather reins began to feel slippery in Irina's sweating hands. Travelling due west, Irina felt like they were riding straight into the harsh, tawny light. Squinting, she held her head up in the blinding sun as their horses cantered through the crowds that surged towards them. Now and then, the Captain of the Guard cracked his whip and let out an angry shout: ‘Stand back, stand back! Let them pass!’

  But the people would not stand back. Their Princess had returned from the den of wolves and they wanted to see her. They grabbed at Irina's boots and clutched at her linen dress. ‘Irina, Irina, Irina, Irina, Irina,’ came their chant.

  ‘STAND BACK!’ shouted Captain Kellen again, and the whip lashed at the crowds, but it only served to make them wilder and
their chants even louder.

  ‘Not long now,’ came William's reassuring voice, still on the horse behind Irina. ‘Keep steady, girl.’

  Ragnor Castle took shape ahead of them, silhouetted against the light.

  ‘Almost there,’ whispered Irina.

  Someone grabbed her leg and pulled so hard that she almost fell. Instinctively, she kicked out and righted herself on the mare. She made Adriel wheel right and left and people scattered to escape the horse's hoofs. Yet as soon as the mare straightened, the crowd heaved forward and someone else lunged at her from the other side. Again, Irina kicked, anger rising up in her. Clutching the reins, she breathed deeply. It would not do to lose her temper. Amicus flew down to her shoulder. With all the strength she could muster she cried, ‘Let me pass! Let me meet the King and Queen!’

  To Irina's surprise, the crowds obeyed and drew back.

  Watching from the castle window, King Harmon was likewise surprised at the girl's composure. To have presence of mind in a surging crowd was unusual in someone so young. But was she, could she possibly be, his daughter?

  At the Ber ale house, in an oval room that smelled of beer and sweat, Prince Andor listened keenly to what the villagers had to say. Men sat on rammed earth benches around a central fireplace drinking ale from tankards. A hole in the roof let out the smoke. The beautiful vision of Irina on her horse kept running through Andor's mind. However it was not enough to distract him from what was really nagging him.

  I'm sure it's Trayton's ring that Radburn described, he thought. His stomach knotted with worry. I hope to Jun I'm wrong. Otherwise it means Trayton is really my father's enemy. What a powerful enemy he could be. He knows all our secrets.

  ‘The villagers are angry over in Ralston,’ a man said. ‘They’ll fight, too.’

  ‘I don't know about all this,’ said the old innkeeper. ‘It’s been a few years, but the Dragon from the Narrowlands will attack us if Harmon and Niklas are at war.’