Athaba, young as he was, seethed, while at the same time tried not to show it.
‘What I meant was, I couldn’t really see my father as dead, until I was able to feel the coldness and stiffness of his body. I was a bit dazed. I’m over it now though …’
Urkati said, ‘You were seen crooning over your father … wolves heard you calling.’
‘For help,’ said Athaba, quickly. ‘I was lost. I needed someone to point the way home. I was confused.’
‘So confused,’ said Itakru, another mega, ‘that you dragged Aksishem to the bog and there let him sink. Can you explain these actions?’
‘I thought I could smell man in the vicinity. I’ve been told that the barking ones need strong confirmation of the presence of wolves and I thought if hunters found Aksishem’s body they would know they were on the right track and persist until they caught up with us. Did I do wrong?’
They let him live. He owed his life to the words that came to him from some region of his mind that was only accessible while the adrenalin flowed. He hardly knew what he was saying, yet the words were right. (Later in his life, he thought that perhaps his father had been speaking through him, so deep were his heresies by that time.)
He owed his life, also, to his own strength of spirit. If he had once looked away, or worse still down, during the ‘staring out’ they would have fallen on him and torn him to pieces.
Finally, he owed his life to the wolf Ragisthor who argued on his behalf when the time came to debate his fate. Ragisthor was known to dislike pups intensely, so even though his standing in the pack was only at balance – he was considered neither a great wolf nor an inadequate one – his words were taken seriously.
‘Of course, it is possible that there may be something wrong with the pup,’ he said to the megas, ‘but if he were lacking in some way, or eccentric, his tongue and his eyes would have made us sure of that fact. I’m certainly not that sure. Are any of you?’
It seemed they were not.
When the ordeal was over, Athaba staggered away to recover his composure. He went in amongst some rocks, out of range of his mother’s enquiring eyes.
She knew he was not in the perfect mould of the hunter-warrior. Yes, he would have laid down his life in defence of the pack, for the pack, with the pack, but inside there was a stain on his spirit. He had not the purity of a clean practical hunter-warrior. The wind to him was more than a bearer of scent and sound, it was the breath of the earth. Rivers, streams, lakes and ponds were more than water sources where a wolf might drink; they were places where magic light dwelt. The forests were not just places to hide; they were the haunts of ancient darknesses. She knew that her pup was blemished in some way. What she didn’t know, and what he did not wish her to guess, was the depth of that flaw. Meshiska would not like to cause the death of her offspring, but the season of maternal feelings was almost over and her position as headwolf was swiftly regaining its former importance to her. She was the ‘mother’ of the whole pack – they were all her charges – and she might easily sacrifice a pup for the good of the whole.
While Athaba lay behind the rock, realising how stupid he had been, Skassi found him out. The undermega began by body-slamming the pup against the rock, several times, while saying, ‘Your mother won’t help you now. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for you to fall. I knew it would happen in the end. You’re in disgrace. I could kill you now and get away with it. I’m glad Aksishem is dead. Any wolf that produces a creature like you deserves to be dead. I can’t think why the megas didn’t destroy you. You stink of unwolfiness. We need no shamans or priests.’
Skassi savaged Athaba on the flank and left him to lick his wounds. When he had gone, Athaba stared in the direction of Agus Rock.
In wolf mythology, there is a time coming when all accounts will be settled. This time is known as the Lastlight when the world will afterwards revert to that initial darkness enjoyed by wolves and foxes before the giant Groff had made the light of day. In the Lastlight men will finally turn all their force against men, and wipe the earth clean of human presence. The canids – the wolves, coyotes, foxes, dogs, dingoes, jackals – will rise from their graves and settle old scores with each other. They will come from the Far Forests, from the Perfect Here, from the Unplace, those lands, beyond death, to do battle with their erstwhile enemies. The formerly weak will triumph over the formerly strong. There will be a reckoning, a balancing of rights and wrongs. And after the Lastlight there shall be no more bitterness, no more hatred, only satisfaction. Enemy will lie with enemy, licking each other’s wounds. All strife will be ended, the mighty shall have fallen, the meek raised up, and they shall meet in the new life after the end of life.
For wolves like Athaba, who had strong undefeatable enemies such as Skassi, the Lastlight was something to look forward to, to nurture in the place of bitterness and hatred. The Lastlight was a saving grace that kept wolves like Athaba from the self-destructive pit of enmity.
It was unfortunate for Athaba that he had crossed with the one wolf in the pack who was having problems of his own that day in his early puppyhood. At the time, and for a long while afterwards, Skassi had been having troublesome dreams which bothered him when he was awake, and he had been lost in thought. Then, suddenly, this creature on the track, right in front of his nose, had leapt at him, clung to his ruff! Of course, Skassi had been startled: anyone would be.
And where had the young idiot come from, unless, of course, he did have the ability to change shape and form? Was it possible they had a mystic amongst them? Skassi had thereafter decided to keep an eye on Athaba. If there was something strange about him, Skassi intended to be the first to know, and to denounce the creature. After all, what stronger evidence did one need than the fact that a wolf pup could manifest itself out of thin air? Now this thing with Athaba’s father had confirmed Skassi’s suspicions. He was determined to cause Athaba’s downfall, one way or another, and had decided that patience would deliver the pup into his jaws.
Skassi had made it one of his tasks in life to protect the pack from the occult or indeed any kind of sorcery. No one had asked him to do this, but he found duties where others avoided them. He intended to be headwolf one day, and those destined for such high places needed to seek out opportunities to invest effort into the pack, for the good of the pack. His work in warding off evil thinkers (just as bad as those who practised evil) was only a small part of what he saw as his complete duty, but it was still an important part for all that. Once he became headwolf he intended to initiate a purge, to divest the pack of all those even tainted with mysticism. If they refused to purify themselves, then they would have to pay the consequences.
There were days when Skassi found himself out alone amongst the black spruce and he could feel the spirit of the forest moving against him, trying to get him to renounce his duty as a hunter of bad souls. Shadows linked themselves against him, and there were cold draughts of air in places where he knew the forces of devilry were gathering. Sometimes he felt as though he would be overcome by their sheer power of presence, and once or twice went into a swoon as his mind whirled with repetitive thoughts. At such times he did not dare go back to the pack, for fear that other wolves might see his fear and know it to be a spiritual thing. He knew the forces of evil were trying to discredit him and drive him away from his purpose of purging the pack, for how can you be the scourge of those possessed by demons, if the demons have taken your own soul?
‘They try to trap me,’ he said to himself, as the branches locked overhead, and the wind screamed through the crazed patterns of their shadows. ‘But I will drive them out, drive them from within me and my kind.’
At night he would often wake from a dream, suddenly, and know that the forces of the forest had been trying to wreak their ugly vengeance on him while he slept. He woke, trembling and covered in sweat, sure in the knowledge that they had come and worked their foul magic on him. He would have to sneak off, as if for a drink, to wash himself, purify h
imself, in the nearest clear water. It had to be running stream water, down from the mountains. Rainwater or muddy river water was useless for cleansing his soul, he knew, though how he knew was another matter. He felt he had been born with this kind of knowledge: he had been chosen in the womb for these tasks.
So, Skassi watched the young Athaba, closely. He found he could not make up his mind about the creature. One moment Athaba seemed like a wolf corrupted by mystical foxes, the next a pure wolf, an asset to the pack. It was really very frustrating and there were times when Skassi Wondered whether the ‘good’ side of Athaba was merely there to throw his elders off the track.
Once, just after becoming an undermega, Skassi had doubts about himself. Perhaps, he thought, as he woke violently from a deep sleep, I am wrong about myself? Maybe I am not one of those chosen to keep the pack unstained by cabbalism? This worried him a great deal and he went to a grove of dwarf alder to consider the matter. While lying amongst the stunted trees, he suddenly became aware that he was in a holy place. The light angled through the weak branches of the alders and patterned the ground with strange wavering symbols. He thought he could hear a voice, coming from within the grove, and it whispered to him that he was the chosen one who would one day lead a pack quite unlike any that had gone before. He did not see this experience as a mystical thing but as a practical fight against the forces of destruction. All that had happened to him was very real, nothing imagined. If he compared himself with the chastised Judra, for instance, he knew their two experiences to be quite different. Judra had thought she saw spirits amongst the forest, had been alarmed by them and had been in danger of forsaking her duty because of them. He, on the other side, had been confronted by actual demons, had stood steadfastly against them, and had triumphed over them. There were wolves who deliberately courted mysticism, were seduced by it, indulged in it. This was where the terrible dangers lay. He had not set out with the intention of seeking the demons, they had come to find him. They had gathered together in their squadrons and attacked him. His was a very different case from a wolf who allowed the spirits to possess her, such as Judra, or the wolf who practised mystical rites because he had been corrupted by the desire for power through evil.
Skassi was now certain that he was a very special wolf and basked in his own purity and strength of spirit. The demons had gone from him.
Thus he continued his secret crusade, not just against Athaba, but against all evil.
Chapter Three
Winter came screaming through the darkness.
Now the night was endless. The human hunters had gone back to their dens, to rub their paws and to bark into their fires. The wolves continued to forage and hunt, envying the bear, asleep in his warm den. It was a time when perspectives sharpened and objectives were clarified. The world was a heavier place. Its creatures slowed, sometimes to a standstill, to freeze in their tracks. Ice clogged the paws and clung to shank hair. Snow softened any sounds.
After the ‘mystical’ incident Athaba was determined to become a model wolf. He set about making relationships with his brother and sister wolves, proclaiming good comradeship to be the highest of aspirations and renouncing the poetry which stained his soul. He was attentive to the teachings of the megas. How to hunt and fight, as an individual and as part of a team. How to walk flank, rear and forward, in order to warn the pack of any danger. How to sing the stirring songs whose words reaffirmed the unity of the pack. How to show respect for megas and undermegas. How it was possible both to intuit and anticipate a role within the pack during a joint operation, yet still show individual initiative.
At a slight risk of being considered ‘different’ he formed a group of pups and undermegas which be named The Good Companions. He explained its purpose to be a special guard or set of runners for use of the head wolves in emergencies. He himself did not lead this group – that was unthinkable for a pup – the top position was given to an undermega, but credit went to him for the original idea. Only two undermegas declined to join The Good Companions, and one of these was Skassi. Skassi explained to the megas that he was grooming himself to become headwolf one day and therefore had to concentrate as much on individual skills as team work. This was perfectly acceptable and not regarded as presumptuous. Grooming yourself did not mean you expected to become headwolf, only that you were preparing yourself for the event should it come to pass.
Even before he was a yearling Athaba was chosen once or twice for the duties of a flankwolf, at times when the pack was stretched. Athaba discharged his duty without a murmur or any show of fear, even though as a flankwolf it meant he was often quite far away from the core of the pack, and vulnerable. Some of the megas were beginning to comment, first on his willingness, then on his stability, and finally on his considerable ability.
He became a yearling and an undermega.
Becoming an undermega was by no means automatic. Most wolves did, but then most wolves had to live through their first year without being killed by the weather, a ritual execution by the pack, or by enemies of the pack. Sixty per cent of all pups did not make it through that first year. Having made it, there were circumstances whereby the megas might not grant the promotion. It was not unknown for a wolf, devoid of all privileges, to be addressed as ‘pup until it proved its competence in at least one of the tasks set for it.
Aksishem had told his pups (as a warning?) that he had known a toothless old wolf called Bidaka, who was a pup from his birth to his death. Such a wolf had to be healthy and willing, for the good of the pack of course, and be forever on the verge of showing promise. Otherwise it was reduced to the dreaded position of tailwolf. Young pups and first-year undermegas would tease a tailwolf unmercifully. They would walk around it, shouting abuse.
‘Look at the ragged tailender. Want some rotten bits of skin? Here, have a dry old bone. Who’s afraid of this old wolf? Hop, hop, hop amongst the stools …’
Pups would bite the legs of the tailwolf and pull all the hair out of its flanks.
Such a wolf might not last long in the pack but would end its days as a raven-wolf, an outcast. The treatment of a tailwolf and a wolf that had been banished was quite different. No one ever went close to or spoke with an utlah. Such a creature was outside the pale and completely ignored, provided it did not try to re-enter the pack. If it approached the pack, it was fallen on and torn to pieces. A raven-wolf was reduced to a pathetic creature, driven mad by torment and hunger, which would indeed wonder whether it was animal or bird. It had to fight with other scavengers, not just the real ravens, for the tiniest morsel. Outcasts did not have long lives, unless they kept their hearts burning with hate.
At the end of a hard winter, during which he had acquitted himself very favourably, Athaba’s mother told him she was proud of him. Koska, envious at first, followed her mother’s example. Skassi remained aloof but at a distance. There seemed to be a mutual understanding between them. That unvoiced understanding was, don’t get in my way and we have no need to fight. There was not a great deal of difference in their bodyweights now. Skassi was a little taller and broader, but not remarkably so.
Meshiska was no longer headwolf as often as she had been in the past. The pack was tending to favour Urkati and her mate Itakru. There was no loss of face in this development. Meshiska had been headwolf for many years and was happy to relinquish her responsibilities. She drifted away from her high position with grace and dignity. Urkati was pregnant and her status always increased throughout the months of darkness, since she was a good night hunter.
One day in spring, when the smells of the awakening moss and lichen were filling pockets in the air, Athaba was out hunting with Ragisthor. He liked being with the older wolf, whose nonchalance and bonhomie, his dry wit and graceful manner, made him an unusual wolf companion. Ragisthor told Athaba he had invented ‘taste’ which was nothing to do with food.
‘Mention good taste to most wolves,’ he remarked, as they deer-trotted along, ‘and they will look at you with wide eyes and
hurry away to some blistering chore they say needs tending. Somehow I feel you will understand, young sapling, when I say that an elk is a much more elegant prey than a moose or musk ox; that a wolverine looks more refined than a coyote; that ravens are distasteful birds; and that bringing down a caribou in full flight, with one leap, is more stylish than gutting a wild sheep after several tries …’
Somehow Ragisthor had got away with being ‘different’ all his life. Athaba was beginning to understand that personality and punishment, not to say justice, were closely linked. If you appeared mysterious and quiet, the slightest infringement of the pack’s vague rules brought you before the megas. If you were cocky but engaging, you could get away with a great deal more. A wolf with a sullen appearance had to discharge its duties with perfection. A wolf cub that cheeked its elders but was full of zest or, like Ragisthor, had a quick clever mind, was likely to have its faults overlooked.
Athaba did not fully understand, but he liked to please and made an affirmative sound. They were near the sea and his attention was taken up by great skuas, the predators and pirates of the air, who at this time of year were even fierce towards each other. Once the breeding season was past, they tolerated skua company but still practised thuggery and banditry on other birds. Athaba was thinking how different it would be if he were a gull or a skua. They had no use for teamwork. Survival depended upon how well you could beat up your neighbour, preferably when his back was turned and he was least expecting a visit.
Midnight's Sun: A Story of Wolves Page 4