It was a difficult relationship at times, but it was their common goal that kept the snake and wolf together—their lust for the kill. Together, they were more successful than they ever were alone.
Asmod seldom thought of the pack anymore, but on nights when the moon was full and he felt the need rising within him like a consuming fire he would call out an anguished howl, hoping that someday, someway, he would be answered back. But the answer never came. It was a lonely echo that returned to him. And deep within he knew that he was the last of his kind, and that only the silent orb of the moon was his true kin.
ON THIS DAY, Asmod was awakened at dusk by first the smell of, and then the sound of, an approaching snake. The belly of a legless one moving across the forest floor was not easy to hear, and most who had the ears to hear it could not say what the sound was. But Asmod had become comfortably familiar with it. Tortrix was near, curled and sleeping, so he knew it was not him. Then the sound doubled, then tripled, and he thought to himself, Visitors, eh? He could hear their bellies’ scaled skins moving stealthily across the pine needles until they were at the edge of the den, just past its opening within a small stand of trees. He lay still and opened his one dark eye. His fur was black, stained with drying blood. It wasn’t until he sensed that they were at the very mouth of the den that he made a move at all. Then he slowly raised his head.
They did not see the wolf, cloaked in darkness. He heard one of them speaking in hushed tones: “Ssssso, I tell you we should leave now! He would just as soon eat us as listen to ussssss!”
“He will lissssten,” said another. “When he hearsssss what we have to tell, he will lisssten! The King of the Crows is dead and a great time is upon ussss! They are in chaos in the field! So much blood to fill our bellies delicioussssly soon. He will thank ussss.”
At this Asmod stepped into the light, into the very midst of the intruders. The snakes—a massasauga, a young copperhead, and a thick timber rattlesnake—froze at the appearance of the enormous monster. “What is that you say? The King of the Crows is dead? Do you not know, fools? As soon as the King dies, there is a choosing of a new King.” Asmod rose taller on his paws. “Certainly their order is strong. Now away with you! Before I devour your loathsome flesh as early breakfast!”
“Yesssss . . . ” came the voice from the still coil that was Tortrix. “Leave, you idiots. He will kill you, and I will laugh through my own fangs as his rip you up.”
“O wise and great Asmod, we ask you to hear ussss!” nervously called the young copperhead. “Was early this morning that I was at the lake near the man’s road. I was looking for duck chicksss and the like when a number of geese flew into the pond. They were talking of the death of the King. But that would not have caused our coming to see you. They ssssaid that the oldest of brothers grew angered when his younger brother was chosen as King. He flew before he could be subdued. He flew away and there is no new King crowned. No King Crow at all, now. The field is in disssorder and confusion!”
Asmod raised his eyebrows at this. “Hmm. And where are these geese now?” he asked.
“They are gone, O fearsssome one! They flew fast after I heard them relating this tale to one another. I waited there for a while, but when I told the massasauga and the other copperheads of what I heard, they sssssaid we must tell you. We all feared you would kill ussss, but we know of your story, as was told by Tortrix in the spring when we were in mate.” At this Asmod glared at his companion copperhead, raising his head in a huff. So, thought Asmod, so he has been talking, eh? Must have been to impress the mate . . . But he let this go. For now.
“And so, what do you think I am to do?” asked the great wolf. “What to do with this knowledge? If I am to return, do you think I would take you with me as my army? A few snakes and one wolf? We may take the field, perhaps, but the hawk will take you all. I am rich here; why would I leave?”
The snakes looked to one another. It was the young rattlesnake that spoke. “O great one, it is not only the news of the King’s death we bring. The geese spoke of something else. It has been fourteen seasons since you have been to the field, yes?”
The wolf scowled at him. “Yes, I do admit it has been that long,” he said. Maybe I should kill them after all, thought Asmod.
“The hawk Elera has been dead for sssix seasonssss,” said the young copperhead. “This also the geese spoke of.” At this Tortrix uncoiled and raised his head tall, looking at Asmod.
“And what of her children?” asked Asmod.
“They are also dead,” said the intruding copperhead.
Asmod stood still in shocked response. Then he turned to Tortrix. “Is your belly full, my friend?”
“Yessss,” answered the copperhead. “But I am sure I could eat.”
They turned to the snakes with dangerous smiles.
“Not an army, that is for certain,” said Asmod.
“Oh, but ssssir!” cried the copperhead. “We have you one ready.” And with that the snake made a grunting, seething noise, which was a call of sorts.
The wolf raised his nose to the air. And again Asmod smelled then heard the approach from the surrounding woods. He heard the coming of many small paws and more slithering and the waddle of lizards and the pad of a good few larger paws. He heard them from far away, but they came quickly. Then the smells became thick, the animals in droves. His jaws widened and he began to pant as the first of them entered his bay. There were foxes and coyotes, there were some large timber rattlesnakes and skinks and garter snakes. There were weasels, minks, and two bobcats. They gathered around the wolf, and all of them bowed down to him. They all kept their eyes down and paid respect to the greatest of predators, the greatest of their kind and the last of his own. Then, there at the edge of the forest, Asmod saw another shape, dark and large, hidden behind the laurel, and he smiled when he smelled this thing, for this particular creature had never contributed allegiance to him, though now its mere presence was granting such.
And Asmod rose up tall on his hind legs and laughed, and the laugh turned to a shrill howl and echoed off the trees and the cliff behind him, and the sound fell as it went, but the howl was heard far away. And all who heard it cowered in fear, for it was a howl of triumphant bloodlust.
HIGH ABOVE THE river in a nest of oak twigs and sycamore branches, Pitrin the hawk heard the cry and wondered at it. He knew it to be the wolf, but he, for one, was not afraid, only curious. And in the gathering heat of the day, the great bird took to wing and flew into the heavens, and there upon high he listened to the sound of the wolf’s howl echoing across the sky and heard the words hidden within. And the words clouded Pitrin’s heart. And there, the fear was finally conceived, for he understood the words.
“I am coming home!” the wolf cried upon the wind.
Chapter Nine
An Invitation and
the Journey to the River
MORNING CAME TO the vultures’ field. The stillness was not broken by the sound of birds or even by the squawks of the vultures. All was quiet. Cotur Mono found it unnerving that the field was so still, as if it were a great dead thing itself. Why was the early morning not filled with the sound of the waking townhees and warblers that inhabited the woods surrounding? He sat for a long time beneath the lengthy shadow of a fallen sycamore branch, considering the course his kind should take. With each passing moment, there was more of the morning lost. If he were to return on the same route they had taken to this field, it would take all day, an exhausting trip. He did know of a second route, but it would bring the group dangerously close to the man’s farm. The man had dogs and the dogs would most certainly smell them. This could be fatally perilous. Still, they could move through in small groups, all staying within a call’s distance, and the birds could go first, before the rabbits and mice. That way, if the dogs came, they could take to the air and warn the others of the attack. Cotur Mono sat in the utter silence of the morning considering this, lost in his thoughts.
“Good morning, cousin bird,�
�� said a voice right in his ear, and the quail jumped in such a panic he was taken to wing before he realized who it was that had spoken. The leader quail settled back down beside the great vulture with a hhmmff and a slight whistle.
“Why are you vultures always so quiet?” asked Cotur Mono. “You scared me to still my heart.”
“I am sorry, cousin bird,” said the great vulture mother Ekbeth. “I will try to be louder in my approach next time.” She smiled and breathed out a sigh. The leader quail could smell death on her breath, could see its black decay smeared throughout her feathers. He quivered.
“Mother!” cried the vulture perched at the highest top of the great dead sycamore. “There comes on approach a woodchuck! And on its back are three small birds!”
“Oh, please,” said Cotur Mono. “Let it be some of the misplaced!”
“Certainly it is,” said Ekbeth.
The old gray hare Sulari hopped out from beneath the stump where he had slept. “What’s that?” he said. “The approach of birds? What type?” He called this to the vulture perched on high.
“Appear to be two tiny quail and one larger, frail and thin—very old. They are climbing down off the woodchuck’s back.”
By this time the animals were coming out from their sleeping places in curiosity. “Three of the lost ones!” called one voice. “Who is it coming?” called another.
Cotur Mono, Ekbeth, Sulari, and the rest of those awakened by the arrival hurried to the edge of the field to see three quail perched upon the back of a sleek woodchuck. Two were the young lost chicks. The third bird was Incanta.
Sulari and Cotur Mono went straightaway to the old quail, but the young ones flew immediately to their mother, who took them under her wings, crying and preening them. Then she began to peck and scold them for running away. That did not last long, and soon she was preening them and crying again.
Incanta, in exhaustion, sat down. “I may never rise again,” she said.
“Mother, I must away,” said the woodchuck.
“Thank you, Risa,” said Incanta. “If it were not for the dove sending you to us, we would still be on our journey next moon. Bless your swift feet.”
“I am honored to carry you. Though the burden of the news you bear is greater in weight than your small bodies.” Sulari raised his ears to this. “May peace stay with you, Mother. May your worst days be behind you,” said the woodchuck, whose eyes darted nervously about the field, from vulture to quail and back again. He made a sort of deliberate curtsy then, in a flash of brown fur, was gone.
Cotur Mono came close to her. “Incanta, wise hen, I beseech you, why are you the one to return with these young ones?” he asked. “What danger has come to the others?”
“Cotur Ada is dead,” she said. Then she went on to tell how he had sacrificed himself, and how she had fled with the chicks as Banka took Cotur Ada into the field. She explained how Risa the woodchuck had come to them not long after they fled, how he had sheltered them throughout the night and delivered them swiftly to Olffey Field come morning.
Cotur Mono cried when he heard of the death of Cotur Ada, and he pulled a footful of feathers from his breast, casting them on the wind.
“What of the others?” queried Sulari, likewise distraught. “What of Harlequin, Gomor, and Cormo? What of Ysil and Monroth?”
“I saw nothing of them,” she said.
Cotur Mono opened his beak and, looking to Sulari for support, said, “I can only hope they escaped before they were found by the crows, but I fear they may not have been so fortunate.”
Cotur Mono fell into a thoughtful silence as all around the animals chattered excitedly. Anur was telling of how Banka had held him and his small brother down, and that he was certain he would die; that they both would be dead if it weren’t for Cotur Ada and Incanta.
The vultures’ field was filled with chatter and excited talk. Some wanted to flee the area, to not return to the field. All were extremely angry at the crows for the murder. Some questioned if Cotur Ada had really been murdered at all. Sulari assured them that he had. “The little ones saw the crows kill a prince within the order of their Reckoning,” said the old gray hare. “Why would they likewise not slaughter a mere quail?” None dared speak of revenge. The dark happenings of the Reckoning were beyond the understanding of the lesser animals, but from what they had heard, it was an evil thing. Incanta told Sulari of the flight of the prince and his followers. Sulari asked many questions, but through this Cotur Mono spoke not a word.
Then the leader of the quail flew up to a low branch on the sycamore where all could see him and, gathering up his spirit, said, “The crows have murdered one of our own; yes, it is devastating. I, as much as any of you, am greatly angered upon hearing this. But know that Cotur Ada knew his path when he made his choice. He gave his life for these young ones and for Incanta. This is the greatest love.” All were quiet.
He continued. “We should all hold what he did as the highest of acts. Let us not focus on his murder, for the crows are only following the ancient laws laid down within their order. They are no more to blame for his death than the rain drowning newborn mice within the den.” At this there was a consenting murmur through the group.
And then from the back came a voice seldom heard, that of Roe the golden rat. “Well, their order is not ours. Should we not consider this?”
“Cotur Mono speaks with wisdom,” said Sulari. “We cannot challenge their order. We need only tend to our own.”
“Eh?” spoke Incanta, resting on the barren earth, belabored with heavy breath. “I challenged only to try to save the hatchlings. And I am old, as was Cotur Ada. But I feel he was bound by a decision beyond his personal sacrifice. I feel he had something to say. I pray he had the chance to say it before his life was taken.”
“What was he to say?” asked Cotur Mono. “What message would he have for the crows?”
“Cotur Ada knew of the unbalance in the field,” she said. “He knew that there are missing pieces to the life therein. He knew that he would have their ear. There could never be another time when he would.”
Sulari and Cotur Mono pondered this for a moment. Then Cotur Mono raised his voice to the group. “We are going home today.” There was an unsettled murmur. Ekbeth nodded her head.
“We will help you prepare passage to the field, animals. And we will gather acorns for you this morning so that you are fed before your journey.” Her massive beak wide open, she made her last offer: “And remember, our offer is always open. Any of you are welcome to remain here.”
“I am staying,” said Incanta.
“What?” cried Sulari and Cotur Mono at once.
“I swore not to make the journey, but since I had no choice and I am here anyway, I am staying. I knew that if I came I could never leave.” She smiled at Ekbeth. “You have a place for an old, flightless quail here, Mother Vulture?”
“Certainly we do, wise one!” Ekbeth was honored and excited. “You may share the north end of the field with the elder deer and the coyote. Certainly you will have much to talk about. Where else can you glean such wisdom but here?”
“I am awfully eager,” said Incanta. “I have much to ask them, most certainly the coyote.”
As they saw her resolve, Sulari and Cotur Mono did not argue with her. They gathered around Incanta and pressed in close to her. Cotur Mono laid his wings on her and Sulari, his arms. The leader quail prayed for her there, prayed to the wind, and the hare even said a prayer to the earth. They prayed she would continue to learn and find wisdom even in that place of dying. Then she walked silently to the far end of the field, where the coyote and deer watched her approach with interest. She sat down between them.
The animals began to prepare for the journey back. And the vultures came with branches filled with acorns, and they all ate well. Before the morning sun had reached one quarter, the group took to the trail, heading home.
From the north end of the field, Incanta watched the others leave. She nuzzled he
r head into the soft fur of the coyote and closed her eyes. With great care the coyote whispered softly into her ear. “Sleep, Mother,” he said.
WITH EVERY STEP Ysil took, his mistrust for the honesty and forthrightness of their ‘guardians’ grew. He watched their every move and was forever reminding himself to be ready to take flight should they turn from protectors to attackers.
Drac had insisted that he be at the front of the group, to lead and to confront anyone they might encounter. If a foe were to be moving down the trail during the light of day, surely a fox was a better initial encounter than a quail or a rabbit. But if another quail were moving down the trail, or a rabbit or a raccoon even, they would see the approach of a fox. The word of a group of prey moving with predators would spread quickly if a dove were to see them. If he encountered a dove, what would he say? The foxes are here to take us to the river where we intend on asking the hawk to return to the field? Any dove would think them crazed. Will this be before or after they eat you? the dove might ask.
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