by Leah Swann
Deep beneath Lake Onkar’s shimmering surface, the Great Sorcerer Iniko ate fungus and toads and all manner of things that grew without sunlight. He brewed a hot, foaming drink from orange mushrooms which gave him the power to see visions. His fingernails were long and twisted and his hollow cheeks were encrusted with boils. Iniko had no love for people; he thought only of controlling them.
The Sorcerer took out a velvet pouch and tipped a small pile of glittering dust into his palm. ‘Time to consult the Mirror of Near and Far,’ he said. The mirror hung on the wall of one of Iniko’s great spell chambers. Its gold frame was engraved with dozens of gruesome faces. Iniko licked his fingertip, dipped it into the diamond dust, and pressed a horrid mouth carved in a corner of the mirror’s frame. The mouth opened to eat the dust.
‘Show me the Lair of the Venerated Dragon,’ Iniko commanded.
The mirror’s milky surface cleared, revealing two men tying a goat to a wooden post near the mouth of a snowy cave, before scurrying away.
‘So, my order has been obeyed,’ Iniko said. ‘This is good.’
The Narrowlanders had forgotten the Junsong, or way of truth. Their minds dulled, they worshipped only the Venerated Dragon and regularly left offerings like this goat, or a boar, or even a kidnapped child.
‘Now,’ Iniko said to the mirror. ‘Show me the rats.’
The mirror clouded again, but this time no picture appeared.
‘Show me the rats!’ the Sorcerer repeated.
The mirror remained cloudy. With an irritated sigh, Iniko dipped his finger once more in the diamond dust and fed the mirror’s gruesome face. The surface slowly cleared to reveal a vast, bustling clump of rodents bearing the body of Vilmos.
‘Nearly here!’ Iniko cried. The spell he had cast looped around the rats like an invisible net, drawing them north. Iniko stretched his long, knobbly fingers and cracked his knuckles, and the last, glittering motes of dust floated to the floor. The Sorcerer had plans for his old apprentice. Let’s hope we can breathe new life into him. It would be a shame to waste all that training.
Back in Irina’s icy cave, the wise-man, Baruch, withdrew a lyre from his magical pack and began singing a song. The instrument’s strings shone in the moonlight and, when plucked, made a beautiful, trembling sound.
‘Where the earth is white and the sea is green
there will I meet my Queen;
Where the wind so wild chills every child
There will I meet my Queen.
Oh holy is the Archangel
That dwells on mountains steep
And deep within the Queen’s own heart
He comforts when she weeps . . .’
Irina sat curled with Durrell beside the fire. She was glad of the weight of the furs that wrapped her body, but she was also aware of the unruly knots that massed in her hair. If she could look in a mirror – which she hadn’t done since leaving Ragnor Castle two years ago – she was sure her face would be grimy with dirt.
Until Baruch’s welcome arrival that afternoon, the day had been long and bleak. Another wolf had died overnight. Not only that, Irina had been forced to make a difficult decision. The supplies of hay she’d brought for her horse, Adriel, were almost spent. As much as she loved the mare, she knew it was cruel to keep her in the forest any longer. Irina had tied her best blanket around her old companion and whispered, ‘Go on home, Adriel. Go to the warm stables at Ragnor Castle. We’ll see each other again soon.’ With a pat and a gentle push, Adriel obediently lifted her pretty hooves and trotted off into the forest.
For a healthy horse, the trip to Ragnor Castle would only take half a day. But in her weakened state, Adriel was probably still trudging through the snow. Irina hoped the blanket would save her, because the mare had barely enough flesh on her bones to protect her from the cold.
‘You asked me earlier how I’ve found my task, Baruch,’ said Irina, when the old man had stopped singing. ‘The truth is, I think I’ve failed. My wolves are dying. The she-wolves are barren. I thought the medicines and the strength of my love could save them, but I don’t think it can.’
‘You accepted the task, Irina. That is what matters.’
‘But I’ve been of so little help.’
‘Sadly, child, most of these animals were destined to die. Remember, they ate Vilmos’s poisoned meat even when their instincts told them not to.’
‘But it was Vilmos’s trickery. It was his magic! If these wolves die, there may be no wolves left in Ragnor. Ever.’
‘That is their fate.’
‘It’s not fate – it’s Vilmos!’
‘Child, we all have a hand in fate.’
Irina shook her head. ‘Fate, destiny, what do these words really mean? Raizel used to talk about these things all the time. Are you telling me that Vilmos was meant to harm my wolves? That he had a part in the plan of the Shining One?’
Baruch gave a sudden, wide yawn, almost like a sneeze, and clapped his hand over his mouth. ‘Excuse me, child. These are such grave matters. But now Baruch must sleep. I really am far older than I seem.’ With that, the wise-man unfurled his rolled blanket and shuffled deeper into the cave. Moments later, Irina found him nestled between two wolves, already asleep, his mouth hanging slightly open.
She sighed. She knew from her time with the wise-woman, Raizel, that great teachers never gave you an exact answer; they wanted you to find it out for yourself. It was annoying. ‘I will decide what happens in my life, not some strange force named Destiny,’ she said aloud, snuggling in next to Durrell near the mouth of the cave and lifting one of his forelegs to cover her. The great wolf didn’t stir. Irina liked to sleep close to the cave’s entrance, even though it was colder there. As always, she kept her bow beside her. Amicus rested by her cheek, his head tucked under his wing. His feathers were as soft as a lullaby.
In the deep quiet, Irina gazed out at the snow falling silently. ‘Oh Adriel,’ she whispered, her breath billowing in tiny clouds of steam, ‘I hope you survive the night.’
The army of rats took Vilmos’s body down many staircases until they reached Iniko’s dark palace beneath Lake Onkar. Vilmos was as stiff and hard as crystal and his skin had an indigo sheen. Iniko collected him, the rats swarming at his feet. ‘Be gone, vile creatures!’ he commanded, stamping the ground.
The rats suddenly remembered they were rats and scattered in all directions. They scurried up hallways and stairs and finally found themselves out on the shores of Lake Onkar. No longer ensnared by Iniko’s spell, they immediately felt the bitter weather and rushed into cottages and barns and anywhere there was warmth.
Iniko placed Vilmos’s body upon a granite slab in a small, cold room and examined him carefully. He then cast a powerful spell that would stop Vilmos decaying any further. ‘Poor Vilmos. You have no idea how I used your obsession with Queen Chloe to weaken Ragnor and Pavel in the Battle of the Wolves. The Venerated Dragon has assured me the Book is hidden within the walls of Ragnor Castle. Perhaps Harmon will hand it over without a fight . . . Hmm. A kidnapping might do it. A kidnapping of one of his daughters. Or maybe even his wife.’ With a gleeful gleam in his eye, the Sorcerer covered Vilmos’s body with a robe, then swept out of the room, locking the door behind him.
Chapter Four
A Forest Burial
The next morning, the wise-man, Baruch, carefully prepared a grave for the dead wolf. He tucked his long beard into his belt, drew out an iron spade from his mysterious pack and dug, wielding it as lightly as a spoon. He was as strong as he had boasted. Durrell and another wolf helped as best they could, dragging their dead brother by the scruff of his neck to the mouth of the grave. Irina didn’t try to hide her tears; she wept openly until the terrible chore was done. Baruch and the wolves returned to the warmth of the cave but Irina remained outside, watching the snow falling until the grave was completely blanketed in white. With cold, clumsy fingers she made a small sword from branches and twine to mark the place.
She turned, and was
cheered by the bright fire burning inside the cave. Baruch must have built it up with fresh kindling. As she drew nearer, she smelled the remainder of last night’s pumpkin soup simmering, and was surprised to hear Baruch chattering to Amicus in a series of coos and chirrups.
‘All is not is lost,’ the wise-man said to Irina with a comforting smile. ‘The wolves that have survived will be stronger than ever. They have almost overcome the effects of Vilmos’s magic. Soon you will have twenty animals who will follow you wherever you go.’
‘Just twenty?’ asked Irina, shocked.
‘Be glad that you have that many. It’s something to be proud of. Your work, your love and your patience has saved them. It would be worth it even for just one.’
The pair ate their soup in silence. The snow stopped falling and the fire blazed, its pure golden light spilling onto the ground. All the wolves except for Durrell had retreated deep into the cave to sleep for the afternoon. Durrell curled his large body around Irina and rested his head on his paws. From time to time he opened one sleepy eye to gaze at her with devotion.
Irina thought of the white she-wolf that Baruch fed every morning in his home in the Valley of Carmine Rock. What if she were to bring Baruch’s wolf back here? Perhaps she could bear wolf-pups and save the wolves of Ragnor. Her heart pounded with excitement at the idea of travelling to Baruch’s distant home, beyond the sea. She’d never seen the sea. She could ride Durrell. He was as swift as any horse and could track his own food; she would only need to find food for herself.
After they had eaten, Baruch began packing his belongings. He was yawning again.
‘Why not rest before you travel further?’ said Irina, dreading the loss of his company.
‘I’d like to sleep, but to reach Raizel’s hut by nightfall I must set out now.’
‘Raizel?’
‘Of course, child. She is the purpose of my journey. Raizel is my oldest friend and Master.’
‘Dear Raizel,’ said Irina. ‘How I’ve longed for her. In all this time in the forest she hasn’t spoken once to me.’
‘Did you send word?’
‘No.’
‘Raizel will always come if you send word. But you must ask; that is your freedom.’
‘Oh,’ said Irina. ‘I thought she’d just know how I’ve longed for her.’
‘Do you wish she had saved you from your loneliness?’
Irina gazed into the fire. If Raizel had come to help, Irina wouldn’t have felt such sadness; she may not have sent Adriel away; she might have seen sooner that her task was not unfolding as she had expected. But being alone has taught me something, she mused. How else would I know that I can endure loneliness and bitter disappointment?
‘It’s much easier to look back on hardship once you’ve been through it,’ Irina said finally. ‘Had I thought to reach out to Raizel before now, I would have. But I’m glad I didn’t.’
Baruch nodded and smiled. ‘To know yourself, you must experience life without knowing what happens next. And then, when you are old, you can say: now I understand.’
Chapter Five
Dreaming of the White Wolf
Aha!’ cried Prince Andor, as he struck the sword from his father’s hand and placed the tip of his blade at his father’s neck. ‘I have you now!’
‘Yes, yes,’ said King Niklas, smiling wearily. The scar on his neck from the wolf bite was aching. Although his son Andor’s swordsmanship had greatly improved in their daily jousts, he would have defeated him easily were it not for the old wound which sent weakness shuddering down both of his arms. Getting to his feet, Niklas told a servant to fetch Kadar, the new Captain of the Guard. The former captain, Symon, had been tricked by Vilmos into leading Niklas’s men against King Harmon in the Battle of the Wolves. King Niklas had felt sorry for him and the man had begged for forgiveness. But Niklas knew it was no longer possible for his men to trust the disgraced captain. These days, Symon spent his time training warriors instead of leading the army. He bore his new role with humility, and hoped that one day he could redeem himself.
‘Joust with Kadar now, son. I’m tired,’ Niklas said. He sat on his carved wooden throne, sinking with pleasure into its red velvet cushions. A servant brought the King a drink. Raising the goblet to his lips, he spilled the wine in his lap. His hand was shaking! Niklas looked up sharply to see if Andor had noticed, but saw with relief that his son was busy mopping his brow.
‘I’ll never be the warrior you are, Father,’ Andor said.
‘That is true, son,’ agreed Niklas. ‘You will become the warrior you are.’
Andor sheathed his sword. The servant brought him a tumbler filled with water which he downed in two gulps.
‘How do you find your new sword?’ the King asked.
‘Excellent. Helmer is every bit the craftsman his father Peylor was.’
‘Bring it to me.’
Andor laid the heavy sword across the King’s knees. Its handle was encrusted with precious and semi-precious jewels: emeralds and rubies, pearls and moonstones. The royal insignia was inscribed upon the shining blade, along with runes that had special meaning for Andor. When designing the sword with Helmer, the young prince had been clear about what he wanted: a man’s weapon that would haul him out of his dreaminess and turn him into a warrior. Fighting with Vilmos after the Battle of the Wolves had been humiliating for the young prince. Wielding his father’s child-sword, he had almost lost. He could have killed Vilmos, but he failed to seize that chance and a soldier called Radburn had shot the evil magician instead. Andor felt intense shame at this memory and decided then and there he would never again be caught unprepared.
‘Yes,’ said King Niklas. ‘Your sword is indeed superbly crafted. I especially like the inscriptions. Truth. Wisdom. Love. Courage. I’m pleased that you thought to have them engraved upon the blade.’
‘Father, while I was with Helmer, I saw some of King Harmon’s men. They said Harmon has commissioned a special sword made of a lighter metal – they wouldn’t tell me exactly what – but I’m sure the blade was intended for a woman.’
‘Princess Irina?’
‘That’s my guess.’
‘Interesting,’ said Niklas. ‘Harmon has always opposed women fighting.’ He gazed out the window at the large walled courtyard, beyond which were the castle’s iron gates. ‘Perhaps Irina is finally coming home from the forest. That would be of great comfort to Harmon and Chloe.’
‘I doubt their comfort has anything to do with it, Father. Irina acts according to her inner wishes.’
‘Very true. I see you admire her, my son.’
‘Oh yes. I even suggested –’ here the Prince blushed slightly – ‘that we might one day marry and unite our kingdoms.’
‘You suggested,’ Niklas said with a hearty laugh. ‘From what I’ve heard, with someone like Irina the Wolf Queen, you’ll have to do far more than just suggest!’
Captain Kadar strode into the Throne Room and knelt before the King. He was tall and square-shouldered and had a reputation as the best swordsman in the kingdom.
‘Kadar, you will practise duelling with Prince Andor every day,’ said Niklas. ‘Twice a day, if needs be. Stop only when he can defeat you. Convincingly.’
Irina stood at the mouth of the cave and waved to Baruch as he set off to finish his long journey. She would miss the wise-man. When he had disappeared from view, she went inside and sat with Durrell and Amicus. The tip of her smallest finger was numb and turning black so she bound it with a strip of muslin. As the adopted daughter of a healer she knew that once the rot set in there was little hope; she might lose it altogether.
The sun set and the sky glowed like the red feathers of wild birds. Beside Irina lay Baruch’s parting gift: a vial of ink and two precious sheets of paper. One sheet contained a map, drawn by the wise-man. The other sheet was blank, ready for the message Irina would send to her mother and father at Ragnor Castle. She wanted to cross the sea and find Gunda the white wolf as soon as she could
. However, Baruch had told her some troubling news about Vilmos, and she knew she must inform her father. If I go back to Ragnor Castle to tell him in person, they won’t let me leave again, she thought, running her fingers through Durrell’s pelt.
Her heart lifted at the sight of Shula frolicking with another wolf beneath the burning sky. They ran in circles, pawed each other, wrestled. Irina tried to imagine explaining to her parents that she needed to find Gunda in order to save the wolves of Ragnor. ‘They won’t listen to me,’ she said aloud. ‘They won’t understand how important it is.’
That night, Irina dreamed of the white wolf. She saw flashes of glossy white pelt as the wolf chased her through a desolate place.
‘Robin!’ called King Harmon. ‘Saddle Skyloch.’ The King pushed the door to the stables open. The sleepy stable boy had only just finished feeding the horses, and he hurried to do the King’s bidding. A hessian cloak with a hood hung next to the saddles. Harmon pulled it on over his own exquisitely stitched coat. Its dull folds and hood hid his majestic costume – though nothing could disguise his regal bearing. He turned and saw his manservant Jibade standing behind him.
‘What are you doing here, Jibade? I did not ask you to accompany me to the stables.’
Jibade bowed deeply. ‘I wished to see if you needed my service, Your Majesty.’
‘As a matter of fact I do. Go and fetch me two days’ provisions from the Chief Cook.’
As Jibade scurried away, Robin presented Skyloch to the King. The stallion was magnificent, his golden chestnut coat gleaming even in the dim light, his eyes alert under the dark eyelids and flaxen mane. Harmon stroked him and the horse neighed softly into his master’s palm, sensing adventure.