‘Sleep now,’ said Athaba, ‘and then you can tell me what happened to all of you after I was taken by the hunters.’
Even before the words were out, Yanthra’s eyes had closed.
While the yearling was asleep Athaba left the den and went out into the night. He slipped down into the valley and hunted under the moon, refreshing his worn body. His chest felt heavy and his head light, but he had at last found a positive trail to his mate Ulaala and his pups. That was something.
But Yanthra said she was the mate of Skassi now. Did that mean she would not want him, Athaba, if he walked out of the snows and into her life again? He could hardly blame her. Any other female wolf would have marked him down for dead long ago. Perhaps she had? Maybe his son was reading too much into a mother’s unspoken words? Perhaps she looked down on the valleys for another reason, nostalgic for a life that was past, but knowing that it was past? Once a wolf had mated with another wolf, then feelings might be transferred? Was he too late even for that? It was the season now. Not that it mattered to him, except that Skassi would have a stronger claim on her and she might feel bound to honour that claim. There were no strong feelings of jealousy in his breast, only a yearning for his mate that he wanted desperately to be fulfilled. He deserved it! After all he had been through, he deserved some peace and happiness, surely? But things don’t work out that way, he knew. Deserving something did not necessarily make it happen, especially when two creatures were involved. If you wanted something badly enough, you could go out and work for it, get it, or die trying. So long as it was just you and no one else. But you couldn’t make up someone else’s mind for them. No matter how much you might want a she-wolf, if the female didn’t want you then you could turn yourself inside out trying to attain the unattainable, it would make no difference.
Out on the snows of the valley the wind was chill, but his coat was thick and he remained warm now that he had some food inside him. He wandered around amongst the white forms, trying to decide what to do. Should he wait and hear his yearling’s story before he made up his mind? Or should he leave now, head west again, and not bother her any more? His turning up at this time might cause her more agony and perhaps she was tired of making decisions.
Athaba might have done this, had she been with any wolf pack but Skassi’s. As it was, he saw her as doomed anyway. Of course, men were hated creatures and revenge was the one thing all wolves dreamed of. But, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t win. They would get you in the end. Skassi knew that. He was an ageing wolf determined to go down with the blood of men on his teeth. Rid the world of humans? Skassi was telling youngsters stories in order to get them to follow his suicidal schemes. Wolves had wanted a leader for centuries: a headwolf unafraid of the hunters’ guns who would take them into battle and halt the advance of the bipeds. It was a forest dream, a flimsy wisp of flame from the midnight sun, insubstantial. Wolves had lost the fight many centuries ago, in seasons out of time. They had fought and died and eventually settled for perpetual retreat, moving ever backwards as humans needed more room for their brood. The most they could hope for was to find a region so inhospitable that men would not want to live there, under any circumstances. The northern icefields were like that and had stopped the advance for many seasons now. Of course, it was not greatly desirable country for wolves either, but losers could not be choosers.
So, he did not feel he could leave his Ulaala (his? Ulaala) with Skassi without first giving her the choice between them. He did not feel he was doing her a disservice, since if she stayed with Skassi she was doomed in any case. He might even stay with her, near her, so that they might die together.
One thing was certain, he promised himself, his pups would not stay. He had to meet Skassi if only to wrest his now yearlings from the mad wolf who wanted to take all others down with him along the road to destruction. That much was sure. Next season, the offspring of Athaba and Ulaala would be running for game in the east, whatever Skassi had to say about it.
Having made his decision, Athaba began walking back to the den, to be met by an anxious yearling.
Yanthra said, ‘I thought I had just been dreaming – that you hadn’t come back after all. Then I saw your tracks in the snow and smelled your scent, and thought you’d gone away again because you didn’t like me …’
Athaba nipped his erstwhile pup.
‘Silly creature. I had to hunt and have some time to think. Have you eaten yourself?’
‘I had a cache, up in the rocks.’
‘Good. Now, you haven’t told me what you’re doing out here? Why aren’t you with your mother and siblings? Did you get lost?’
Yanthra hung his head.
‘Well?’ said Athaba.
A low dejected voice said, ‘I ran away.’
‘Why?’
‘There were wolves there that didn’t like us. They only let us into the pack because Skassi said to, but whenever his back was turned they bullied us. We’re not cowards,’ the head came up, ‘I’m not a coward. We fought back. But they were bigger and stronger – tough old … well, wolves like you, Athaba, but not so … understanding.’
A wave of tenderness towards this youngster went through Athaba and for a moment he promised himself he would fight any mega that had made Yanthra’s life the misery it obviously had been. Then he realised that would be a foolish thing to do. He would not allow himself to be diverted from the task he had set himself. The important thing was to get the yearlings away from the pack.
‘Some of the she-wolves were the worst,’ said Yanthra with feeling. ‘Mother made them go submissive when she was around, but you know, there’s hunting to be done and raids to make.’
Athaba went cold inside.
‘Your mother has been on raids? Against humans?’
‘No, raids against other packs. We haven’t been with them long enough yet. Skassi was going to start attacking human settlements again in the spring, once the weather had turned.’
Relief flooded through the older wolf.
‘Well, we’ll see about that. In the meantime, let’s get back to the den and you can tell me the whole story, of how you left the timberlands and what happened once I had gone.’
‘I will,’ said Yanthra, heading back for his cave.
Athaba followed behind the eager yearling.
Chapter Twenty Six
Yanthra could see that his mother was very anxious when his father Athaba did not return that night. Although still a pup, Yanthra was aware that warrior-hunters like his father often stayed away from the den for days at a time, so he wondered why Ulaala was so worried. It was possible that she had smelled something on the wind, something too subtle for the youngsters to catch. He mentioned it to his favourite sibling, Riffel, and she said seriously, ‘I’m sure I caught a strange scent today. You don’t think father has attacked some humans, do you?’
Riffel was still of an age when she thought her father was invincible and the only thing that stopped him killing bears and humans was a generosity of spirit.
There were two more female pups in the den, Torka and Grisenska, and the male pups Mook and Wassal. They were all healthy, strong wolves, who would live to adulthood providing they did not meet with an accident or get taken by an eagle or a lynx, and though the situation appeared normal to the pups they knew their mother and father considered the litter to be a lucky one.
Grisenska was the largest and strongest of the six pups and it was to her that Ulaala entrusted the den that night.
‘Lie by the entrance,’ she told the frightened Grisenska, ‘and attack anything that tries to come in. Don’t let any of the other pups go out. You understand me?’
Grisenska nodded her head and Yanthra could see his sister was desperately unhappy. They had never been left completely alone before and the fact their mother was prepared to risk leaving them unprotected for a while was an indication that Ulaala was extremely concerned for her mate.
Their mother left a short while later.
> They all lay around the dog-leg tunnel, not even whispering, but completely wide awake. Grisenska carried out her duties, guarding the entrance, despite her nervousness. Every sound beyond the den had her pricking up her ears. Something snuffled around the hole outside for a while, in the middle watch, but whatever it was the creature did not attempt to enter the den. There was still a strong scent of mother wolf in the air and no animal in its right mind would risk entering a dark place where a mother wolf was guarding her brood.
Yanthra knew that his sister would die protecting them and thought how unfair it was that she had been born just a little bit bigger and stronger than the rest of them. Due to that small accident of birth, she took on responsibilities at a very early age, for the whole of the sibling group.
Apart from the unknown snuffler, the night passed uneventfully. Ulaala returned before noon. She brought food with her, regurgitated it for the pups. She seemed calmer than before but strangely distant.
Grisenska asked, ‘Did you find father?’
‘I found no signs of him,’ replied Ulaala, bluntly and truthfully.
Over the next few weeks Ulaala became extremely thin. Having to feed the pups by herself was an enormous task and Yanthra often felt guilty because he was always hungry and for ever at her muzzle. It was essential that the cubs began solid food as soon as possible, and Ulaala did everything to encourage this, pushing soft meats before them.
Not only was their mother losing weight, but as the pups grew larger they needed more to sustain them and so had to hunt for themselves. The problem was, of course, they were not very good at it. They needed a great deal of practice.
Finally, Ulaala ceased sitting outside the den, watching the horizon during the little rest time she was able to make for herself, and stated that the family must move.
‘We have to find another pack,’ she said. ‘I can’t feed you all, you can’t feed yourselves yet, not properly. I want you strong and fit. We need others to help you hunt. You need adults to go out with and learn from. I can’t do it completely by myself.’
So they set off in a north-easterly direction where another pack was known to be denning. The journey was hazardous and on the way they lost Torka who was carried off by a fast current in a river. There was no knowing whether she lived or not, but Ulaala was stricken with guilt for a couple of days and neglected Yanthra and the others in her grief.
They found the pack up on a rise amongst some rocks. There were seven of them, all adults. Their breeding den had been discovered by hunters last spring and thought the pups had not been killed on the spot, they had been stolen. Two wolves had died during the pillage, trying to defend the little ones. The rest of them had been out on a hunt and came back to find the mother of the pups had been slaughtered and the clown of the pack, a wolf known as Giggagim, bleeding to death. Giggagim told them what had happened before he collapsed and drifted away to the Far Forests.
They caught us unawares – came in on a machine – shot Filfa straightaway. I tried – went for them – shot me too. Took the pups in sacks. They – they were just about to – to skin Filfa when the rest of you returned. Left us. May be back, soon …’
The pack left the area immediately and never returned. They had lost a whole generation and were very bitter about it. Ulaala went to negotiate with them and found the three males and four females very willing to take the family in. She knew they were not so much concerned about her, and had she been alone would have thought twice about letting her stay. The pups, however, were a different matter. Five strong new wolves, soon to be undermegas were what the pack had been missing. The oldest wolf was twenty-eight seasons and the youngest, before the pups arrived, twelve seasons. The fresh blood was expected to revive the pack and set it back on course again.
The pack headwolf was a female called Sirenka, a relatively sharp creature who liked everything in its place, especially pups. She was firm, fair and ruthless with those who stepped out of line. As headwolves went, she was not unusual. In fact the male who sometimes took over from her, when there was need for a different set of skills, was immediately transformed from a gentle, dozy creature who played with the pups and taught them silly games to a stern autocrat who frightened the life out of them. There was something about leadership which left Yanthra thinking it was not the best of ambitions for a carefree wolf like himself.
He told Mook, ‘Who wants to become a crusty old wolfer like Sirenka or Miggamak? Soon as they’re in charge, they turn into bad-tempered monsters, body-slamming wolves out of the way and glaring at us if we so much as dribble in front of them.’
Mook, who was Sirenka’s favourite, did not agree with him.
‘I want to be a headwolf. You get all the best bits of meat and you can tell others what to do.’
Riffel said, ‘Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well don’t think you can boss me about.’
‘I will, if I’m headwolf,’ cried Mook.
Wassal put an end to the argument by stating something quite obvious that had been missed by Mook.
‘You’re not likely to achieve such an ambition, brother, sad as it may be to you. After all, whoever heard of a headwolf called Mook. It’s not a name that inspires a pack. The only one of us who’s likely to make such an exalted position, let’s face it, is Grisenska. She’s serious, she’s got the right attitude, and she’s a BIG pup. Put all thoughts of leading out of your head, Mook, and settle for top shoulderwolf.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ muttered Mook, whose stomach governed his existence. ‘Maybe a shoulderwolf doesn’t work so hard and gets the next best choice of meats. Grisenska doesn’t care what she eats, anyway, she’s interested in quantity not quality. If I’m her top shoulderwolf, then maybe I’ll get the best anyway.’
‘IF, you’re top,’ said Yanthra. ‘But to do that you’ve got to beat Wassal, Riffel and me. Think you’re up to it?’
‘Try me!’ cried the pup, and another of the interminable wrestling matches began in the dirt beside the den.
So it was that Ulaala and her pups became part of another pack and though their mother fitted uneasily into the hierarchy of the group, the pups (being pups) soon adapted and became favourites of one or another adult.
One night Yanthra was lying beside his sister Riffel when their mother returned and went to join a Howling Chorus on the high rocks. Yanthra listened to the songs for some time and then said to Riffel, ‘I’m going to ask them to do that one mother taught us, you know, with the high pitch that drops suddenly at the end of the howl?’
‘No,’ said Riffel, sharply. ‘You know mother said that’s a secret between us only. It’s our father’s special howl.’
‘Our father’s dead,’ said Yantha.
‘Even if he is, which isn’t certain, it’s still to be kept a secret. Those other wolves wouldn’t understand. You’re not really supposed to invent new songs, only sing the old ones. Listen,’ she added, ‘how sad mother sounds …’
Yanthra listened to the howls of Ulaala, and even though he was only a pup, he could recognise the melancholy behind those notes.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘she’s missing father, isn’t she? Do you think she’ll ever stop? Missing him I mean?’
Riffel said with some authority, ‘If you find a true mate, a really true mate, you never want anyone else. Mother and father are special, I think. Ulaala will die watching the hills for signs of Athaba returning.’
‘I think that’s a bit much,’ said Yanthra. ‘I mean, I know she’s missing him now, but she’ll get over it. She’ll find another he-wolf.’
‘Never!’ said Riffel with some feeling. ‘She’ll never forget father. You he-pups have no souls.’
‘Well, we have,’ said Wassal who had been eavesdropping, ‘but some of us have more soul than others.’
‘Are you meaning me?’ cried Yanthra. ‘I’ve got as much soul as anyone else.’
‘Prove it!’ said Wassal, and the inevitable tumble ensued.
After that conv
ersation Yanthra watched his mother and saw how deeply she was feeling the loss of his father. He wanted to do something to comfort her, but he didn’t know how. Once, he nuzzled under her chin and said innocently, ‘I can do it the way father used to,’ and saw such pain spring to her eyes that he never did anything like it again.
Ulaala was barely tolerated by the adult wolves of the pack she had joined. Yanthra saw her being blocked from drinking water, shouldered aside at the kill, moved from sleeping-place to sleeping-place as the other wolves changed their minds about the most comfortable spot on which to rest. She never complained, probably because she was fearful of her pups being turned out of the pack, even though she was bigger and stronger than most of them. Being a northerner, she had developed broad shoulders and strong leg muscles. She could have taken most of these timber wolves apart, but suffered the indignities they bestowed upon her for the sake of her pups. Yanthra knew it irked her though, that she had to take these insults. She was a proud wolf, of good antecedents, and a rugged upbringing had given her a physique which any headwolf might have envied.
She told the youngsters a story of her youth, when she was an undermega and had been trapped on an ice floe, moving out to sea on the currents. Eventually, she knew she would have to swim for it and plunged into below-zero waters, to leg-paddle to the land. Halfway back she thought her muscles would seize up on her and she would have cramp and drown, but she kept her eye on the bank and willed her legs to keep moving.
When she hauled herself out on the snow, she was elated in a strange way, as if she had passed some kind of test.
‘I felt I could have taken on Groff at that moment, and punished him for being the instrument of men.’
Mook looked around him nervously.
Midnight's Sun: A Story of Wolves Page 30