The Mage

by Inbali Iserles

Jaspin poked her snout in my face. “What’s a fox?”

  “She doesn’t look very strong,” yipped Dorrel.

  “Not as strong as us,” agreed Lupin, tensing his stumpy legs.

  Farraclaw caught my eye. “Foxes are strong in different ways.”

  “You need brawn to catch prey!” yipped Gallin. “Like me!” He bumped Jaspin off her paws and she bit him on the leg. “Ouch!” he cried.

  It wasn’t long ago that I was playing with Pirie like that, back in the Snarl. I felt the fizz of maa in my blood. Perhaps I had recovered from my exhaustion. “I have other skills,” I said silkily. I started to chant. “What was seen is unseen; what was sensed becomes senseless …”

  “What’s she doing?” muttered Jaspin, rolling onto her paws.

  “I don’t know,” said Farraclaw. “It must be a fox thing.” I could tell from his tone that he thought I was playing. I knew he liked me—I had proven myself in his eyes. But he didn’t have much respect for my kind.

  “Now you see me,” I murmured. “And now …” I drew in my breath.

  The pups whined. “The fox … she’s gone!”

  From the corner of my vision, I saw Farraclaw stiffen. “Isla!” It was easier to focus through the slimmer than it used to be, easier to hold it. I backed away from Farraclaw and the pups, silent as air, slipping between some ragged foliage.

  “The grass moved!” gasped Dorrel, craning her neck toward me.

  Releasing my breath, I flickered back to visibility.

  Farraclaw stared at me. “By Queen Canista,” he murmured.

  The pups yipped and hopped about in excitement.

  “She was there all the time!”

  “She was invisible!”

  “Can you teach us how you did that, Isla? Can you? Please?”

  Their good humor was infectious. “Maybe,” I said, cocking my head at them.

  They capered around me. They must have been very young, despite almost matching me in size. Jaspin, the dark gray-faced pup, gave me a playful thump with her forepaw and I stumbled. The pups were small, but they were already stronger than me.

  “Careful,” rebuked Farraclaw.

  “I’m all right,” I said quickly, giving myself a shake.

  Jaspin panted cheerfully, her short tail wagging. “I’m sorry. I’ve never met a fox before. You’re amazing!” The pups pressed together, shunting one another out of the way, their small ears pricked up. Longing tightened in my chest as I thought of Pirie. I felt older now, weighed down by all I’d seen since my family disappeared.

  “How have you been?” asked Farraclaw. “Dorrel, you’re looking a bit bony. You need feeding up!”

  “Yes, please!” yipped Dorrel and the other pups joined in. “We’re hungry!”

  I saw movement beyond the small trees. A lean, off-white wolf appeared. Her dark-rimmed eyes were round. “My Prince Farraclaw,” she said softly with a dip of the muzzle.

  Farraclaw bowed deeply. “I was introducing my fox friend, Isla, to the pups.” He nodded at me, clearly intending to say more, but the queen hardly looked at him. She ignored me completely. Her attention was on Dorrel.

  “It’s time to come inside, pups,” said the queen. “Rest now. You’ve played enough.”

  “But Prince Farraclaw’s arrived!” whined Jaspin, as the others joined in. “He brought Isla and she just turned herself invisible! Don’t you think she should teach us?”

  “Come inside, pups,” the queen repeated. Her voice was weary, without a ma’s authority. The pups scarcely seemed to hear her. She craned her neck, peering beyond us into the tundra. “It’s dangerous out there.”

  I remembered what Farraclaw had said. If neighboring Bishars attacked, they’d kill the pups first.

  “How long will you be here, Isla?” asked Jaspin.

  Lupin’s eyes widened. “Are you going to join the Bishar?”

  “Will you come and see us again?”

  “You heard the queen,” said Farraclaw. He gave the pups a hard look.

  Reluctantly, the wolf pups padded away. I saw them slip between the trees in a den dug under a bush. The queen watched them go.

  “You look well,” said Farraclaw. It was blatantly untrue. Queen Sableclaw was scrawny. Her eyes were sunken in her long face.

  “It’s all right for you to come and go as you please, exciting and exhausting them.” It was the first time I’d heard any wolf speak to Farraclaw without respect. The wolf queen looked exhausted. “The pups are hungry. My milk no longer sustains them. They need meat.”

  “And they shall have it,” said Farraclaw mildly. He opened his mouth to say more but the queen had already turned to the den and was slinking off, her shoulder blades sharp beneath her fur. Farraclaw glanced at me. His golden eyes were troubled. “I must call the Bishar together,” he said to me, padding away from the pup den. “What you did earlier …” he began.

  “It’s a type of foxcraft,” I explained. “Slimmering.”

  Farraclaw didn’t answer. We climbed along the edge of the rock in silence. When he reached the top, he threw back his head and howled. The tundra rang with his powerful call.

  The sun was setting over the snow by the time we reached the ice chamber. Deep orange touched its western wall as wolves padded inside. The familiar fear crept down my back but the wolves were friendly, greeting me with wagging tails before taking their positions. Only Mirraclaw looked at me coolly as I approached at Farraclaw’s side.

  “Prince Farraclaw,” he murmured with a bow. He didn’t acknowledge me.

  Farraclaw nudged me with his great muzzle. “Sit by Lordess Cattisclaw,” he said. “I must speak to the Bishar.” I did as I was told, joining Cattisclaw at the front row of the gathered wolves. She gave me a friendly lick on the ear. Farraclaw dipped his head toward Mirraclaw in a shallow bow and turned to face the Bishar.

  “Friends, I have called you here because the bison are on the move. The thaw may have started in the Bishar of Growl, but it has not yet reached our lands. Soon the bison will journey west in search of grasses. Once they cross to the Bishar of Fang, they are lost to us. We must not tarry.”

  The other wolves murmured in agreement.

  “It has not snowed since this morning. The mountains offer us protection from the wind—our scents will not travel. Conditions are perfect. It is time to hunt!”

  A roar exploded in the chamber.

  Farraclaw raised his muzzle. He called over the wolves. “Amarog the Wise, what say you?”

  The wolves fell silent, their ears twisting. I could hear the shuffle of paws, the stiffening of tails. I waited, not knowing what to expect. Then I heard the scratch of ragged claws. The hairs bristled along my brush and I looked around. The sound was growing louder, drawing closer.

  Then I saw her.

  Amarog had unusually long fur and a tousled mane of pigeon gray. It fell about her face in frazzled knots. From these hung dried berries, small green leaves, and jagged burrs, as though she’d been rolling in bushes. Her claws were as long as talons, dirty and unkempt. A tangy odor clung to her fur of herbs and strange vines. I could hardly tell she was a wolf—it was almost as though the forest had come to life, as though it was loping through the chamber.

  I shivered, backing against Cattisclaw as the strange wolf approached, the small leaves and berries tinkling at her mane. “Prince Farraclaw Valiant-Jowl,” she said with a bow. There were silvery twigs in her tail. “Three days and nights have I walked with the dead,” she said. “Three days and nights have I fasted, taking neither water nor food.” The wolves watched her intently. Silently. Reverently. “The ancestors have spoken.” Her body quivered slightly, as though she was suffering a fever. “Spirits circle the clouds; they stalk the night. We must leave them to their sorrow. At dawn I shall walk the edges of the Taku Grounds. I will wait for an answer, but I will not beseech them. For all in life and death has its time, and they alone know of which they speak. No blood may be claimed until the moon is an icicle in a river sk
y!”

  She raised her head, her eyes rolling backward a moment to reveal the whites. Then she lowered her muzzle and turned sharply to look straight at me. One of her eyes was bright green—the other was brown. “Who are you?” Her tangled mane fluttered as she spoke. The tremble in her limbs grew more pronounced, with excitement or fear, I couldn’t tell. “I have seen a tormented shadow racing over the hills. Was it you who watched like the black-eyed skua? Who would pierce the sacred flesh?”

  My blood turned to ice.

  Farraclaw took a step toward her, but he stopped short of touching the tousled wolf. “Amarog the Wise,” he began. “The pups are hungry. The queen’s milk no longer sustains them.”

  The strange wolf replied without shifting her gaze from my face. “Our ancestors have spoken. Till the river sky! There will be no hunt tonight.”

  Sleep wrapped its pelt around me. Memories surged through the stream of my thoughts. I saw my old den, back in the Great Snarl. The hollow beyond the copse was thatched with twigs. I stretched comfortably and rose to my paws. Greatma was curled up next to us, still sleeping. Ma and Fa were out hunting. Being careful to tread lightly, so as not to wake Greatma, I crept out of the den.

  The air was damp and dark. I could hear the cackle of furless out on the deathway, and the ceaseless growl of manglers. The brightglobes weren’t shining in the furless den that towered over our patch. The ginger tomcat hovered on the wooden fence that edged the yard. His eyes gleamed suspiciously.

  I needed to be quick. If Greatma woke up or Ma and Fa came home, they’d be angry to find me out of the den.

  They worry too much.

  I wasn’t planning to go anywhere. I wouldn’t even be leaving our patch.

  I looked back at the den, my tail twitching guiltily. Brothers and sisters were supposed to share everything, and usually we did. But this was mine. At least for now, until I improved. I needed to practice when no one was watching. Then I’d be ready to share what I’d learned.

  The secret was not to hurry. If you rushed, it wouldn’t work—I knew that from experience. I drew in a slow breath. I closed my eyes against the night. The manglers were never silent, grumbling along the deathway. I could hear the pulsing of furless songs. I let out my breath and the sounds melted away. A faint beat rose from the soil, tingling through my paw pads. My heart fell into step with the beat. There were other sounds too, like the tinkling of water in a stream.

  I opened my eyes and the world had changed. My paws were gossamer, faded from view. The furless den was a hunching purple blur. The yard was a swirling mass of greens. An amber glow hung over my head.

  My eyes trailed over the fence where the cat still watched. Only his eyes were visible. A yowl rose in his throat and he sprang off the fence, into the neighboring yard.

  A deep calm washed over me. The sky had cleared above our patch. Canista’s Lights were white against black.

  The secret had been hiding inside me from the beginning. It thrummed at my muscles. It tickled my whiskers and shot through my tail.

  I was different.

  The colors, the voices. The beat of the earth.

  The power.

  “What are you doing?”

  I whipped around. The colors were gone in an instant. The beat faded against my paws. Greatma was staring at me, muzzle strained. She glanced beyond me, into the dark patch. I caught something in her face I hadn’t seen before.

  Fear.

  “Come into the den,” she urged.

  Her look was unnerving. “I was only playing.” I wondered how much to tell her—how much she’d seen. “I can do stuff,” I mumbled. “Make myself invisible. Hear the earth speak. See the air shift.”

  Greatma’s tail clung to her flank. “Isla is sound asleep, and you should be sleeping too.” Greatma slipped out of the den, padding toward me. “Pirie,” she whispered. “I worry for you. I worry for us all.”

  “But why?” She was beginning to scare me.

  She shook her head. “Your maa,” she began.

  I looked back at the den. I pictured Isla with her head on her forepaws, her tail wrapped around her. Suddenly, all I wanted was to go back to the den, to curl up against her and go to sleep.

  I ran my tongue over my muzzle. “What do you mean, Greatma?” I asked reluctantly.

  “Your gift,” she whispered. “I’m scared of your gift.”

  * * *

  I awoke with a deep unease. Had it been a dream, or something more? A memory … Pirie’s memory. Could he really have kept secrets from me? My only brother, who could speak through my thoughts. Whose heart beat with my own.

  I blinked into the darkness at the sprawling wolves. I had expected Farraclaw to have his own den, as the leader of the Bishar. Instead, he slept in a shallow trench at the edge of Claw Weald. The other wolves surrounded him, not quite touching.

  Curled against Farraclaw’s belly, I was cozy and warm. His pelt was so thick, nothing like Pirie’s fuzzy hair, with its patchwork of ginger, white, and gray. Pirie had the softest fur.

  I peered around the sleeping Bishar. I had a sense I was watching more than a jumble of wolves. It was almost as though they were one creature. A great wolf.

  A fox is lost to the Elders, beyond the fur and sinew of the greatest of Canista’s cubs.

  My ears flicked back with a start. Is that what the Elders had meant? Was I looking for more than one wolf?

  I shuffled upright for a better view. Farraclaw stretched, his eyes still shut. I looked around the sleeping bodies. Cattisclaw was a tail’s length away. Mirraclaw lay to the other side of Farraclaw. Norralclaw and Rattisclaw were further away from the center of the huddle, with Lop at the edge, where there was less shelter from the wind. The white fur fluttered along his back. It struck me that the higher-ranking wolves were enclosed in the middle, where it was warmer.

  The black pelt of the sky revealed countless stars. It took me a long time to untangle Canista’s Lights nestled among them. When I did, I felt a strange tug at my chest. I longed to reach out to Pirie through gerra-sharm. Surely it was safe here, so far from the Mage and his army of Taken? And yet …

  The icy chill crept under my fur.

  I paused, watching the wolves more closely. Amarog wasn’t here. Remembering how Farraclaw had stopped short of touching her, I guessed that the strange wolf slept alone. The memory of her gaze made my heart beat faster. She’d spoken as though she knew me.

  I have seen a tormented shadow racing over the hills. Was it you who watched like the black-eyed skua?

  She seemed crazy, but the other wolves did as she told them.

  The queen wasn’t here either. She would be with the pups in the pup den. There were so many wolves, but I suddenly realized who else was missing.

  My ears flicked back. Where was the king? If he was sick, shouldn’t he be surrounded by his kind, protected from the wind? Safe in the center of the huddle?

  The king was the largest wolf in all the frozen realms—that’s what Farraclaw had said.

  The greatest of Canista’s cubs.

  I glanced down to see Farraclaw watching me with one yellow eye.

  “Can’t you sleep?” he whispered.

  “I need you to do something for me,” I replied. “It’s important.”

  “Anything,” said the prince of Claw.

  “I need to speak with the king. Will you take me to him?”

  Farraclaw opened his mouth in surprise. He glanced at the other wolves. In the faint light of the stars I saw a shadow pass his face. “Tomorrow,” he said at last. Then he lowered his head and went back to sleep.

  * * *

  A fizzle of snow touched my nose. I opened my eyes. A gray fog in the distance hinted at dawn. Already, the wolves were rising and shaking out their coats.

  My belly growled—I hadn’t eaten since I’d left the Wildlands. I wondered when the wolves had last fed. How long did they go between meals? Yet none of them had challenged Amarog when she told them not to hunt. Not even
Farraclaw.

  The wolves stretched and yawned in silence.

  “Oh no, snow again!” Lop’s voice rang out over the wolves. They cocked their heads, turned amused faces his way. The floppy-eared wolf capered around the others, dodging the snowflakes. It was impossible to miss them, of course—the snow came down too quickly—but his loping dives were funny. I watched, tail swishing, as he pounced into the air sideways, dropped to the ground, and rolled on his back.

  The other wolves started woofing.

  “Like this!” barked Cattisclaw, stretching out her long legs and trotting after Lop.

  “No, no, more like this,” said Norralclaw. He reared onto his hind legs and staggered along the den, wobbling badly until he smacked into Rattisclaw. The brown-furred wolf nudged his leg and they briefly scuffled before Norralclaw rested his head against Rattisclaw’s shoulder then licked his nose.

  The Bishar became energetic, eyes bright and tails swishing.

  Farraclaw panted cheerfully. The mood in the den was lifting.

  I heard a snort. Mirraclaw was glaring at Lop. “What foolishness,” he snarled. As the floppy-eared wolf gamboled past him, the white wolf snapped at his flank.

  Lop shrank back, his tail still wagging. “I’m sorry, Lord Mirraclaw.”

  Mirraclaw lifted his maw, towering over the floppy-eared wolf. “Stay out of my way, Dog.”

  I glanced at Farraclaw. He was gnawing at his forepaw. The other wolves suddenly found other things to do.

  No one spoke up for Lop.

  Under-wolf.

  Farraclaw beckoned a gray. “Warrior Lyrinclaw, relieve Warrior Briarclaw at the pup den.”

  The wolf dipped her head. “Yes, Prince Farraclaw.” She turned and hurried away.

  “Lord Mirraclaw, take Warrior Thistleclaw and Warrior Rattisclaw to patrol the west. If the bison reenter Growl, I want to know about it.”

  “Of course, Prince Farraclaw,” said Mirraclaw with a bow.

  Cattisclaw approached Farraclaw as Mirraclaw was stalking away. “Prince Farraclaw, shall I watch the eastern border?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Take Warrior Norralclaw. Watch for any incursions. I don’t trust the Bishar of Fang or their jealous king.”