Lone Wolf

by Kathryn Lasky

  Faolan and the Whistler had just been trotting over to the bone piles to select their bones for the first event, when Mhairie stepped out from behind one of the mounds.

  “There are some awfully good femurs over there in that stack.” She nodded toward a mound that was not nearly as high as the others. “I know the pile looks picked over, but it hasn’t been.” Neither Faolan nor the Whistler nor any of the other gnaw wolves could get used to the new deference and respect shown to them by the other wolves. But it was only temporary. Once the games finished, it was life as usual for the gnaw wolves not selected. Faolan simply could not imagine going on forever as a gnaw wolf. But he had no way of gauging his chances. He might have skills that were valued by the wolves of the Watch, but there were so many rumors swirling about him. He had challenged the order, and now he heard whispers about his “profane” carving of the Great Bear constellation. Heep had been effective in getting the word out about that. Faolan was glad he had not changed his design, but he had no idea if his odd and beautiful carving would hurt or help his bid for the Watch.

  “Let’s get over there before anybody else does!” The Whistler trotted off, with Faolan behind him.

  “Can you wait up a moment, Faolan?” Mhairie asked.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “I…I…” Mhairie stammered. “I just wanted to wish you luck in the contests. And you know I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully in the byrrgis. You can run full out. You get to run in the sublieutenant positions—as a packer or a line wolf. But sometimes packers bump up against the captains. It takes a great deal of experience not to. Happens all the time. So don’t worry about it.”

  “When it does happen, it’s not a violation of the byrrgnock, I suppose.” It was not a question. Faolan said this in a flat voice.

  “No, why would it be?”

  “Of course not. There aren’t gnaw wolves running in these positions in normal byrrgises. Why waste abuse on some wolf who isn’t a gnaw wolf?”

  “I don’t think you understand what I am saying, Faolan. You won’t be punished if it does happen.”

  “I understand perfectly. I won’t be abused this time because this is a special byrrgis. But if I fail to be selected and return to pack life, the rules of the game change back.”

  “I suppose so,” Mhairie said. She seemed suddenly nervous.

  “Did you have something else to say, Mhairie?”

  “I do.” She paused and looked directly into his eyes. “Faolan, there are some rumors going around the encampment.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  “About a bone you carved at a practice session around the time of the Moon of the Cracking Ice. Some say it was…” Her eyes shifted down to the ground.

  “Profane?”

  “Yes.” She swung her eyes toward him again. Her hackles raised and seemed to quiver.

  “I carved a constellation. I carved the Great Wolf only from the point of view of my second Milk Giver.”

  “The grizzly?”

  “Yes. She was the first one who told me about the star pictures. She and the others of her kind call it the Great Bear.”

  Mhairie cocked her head. “That’s very interesting.”

  “Yes, Mhairie, it is interesting, but it’s not profane.”

  “Not in the least,” Mhairie agreed. “But still be careful.”

  A passel of young pups went tumbling by, chasing one another.

  “Time out! Time out!” one pure-white pup said, skidding to a halt. “I don’t want to play tag anymore. Let’s play go-to-the-Sark.”

  Mhairie turned to the pups. “That’s a stupid game,” she muttered, and began to walk away.

  But Faolan was riveted. The white pup was obviously the boss of this gang. She turned to a brindled pup whose pale brown fur had patches of gray and black. “You’ll be the Sark.”

  “But I’m a male.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the white pup snapped.

  “You be the Obea,” she said, turning to another pup whose fur was the color of a storm cloud.

  “They stink,” whined the pup.

  “No, that’s the problem. They don’t stink at all. They have no scent. Now quit complaining. It’s just a play. And, Bryan,” she said to another wolf, who was also white and most likely her brother. “You be the malcadh. You can tuck your back leg behind you and walk on three like we’ve been practicing.”

  “Sure,” said the white pup in a voice of resignation, as if he was used to being bossed by this older sibling.

  “And I am the mother.” She immediately threw herself onto the ground and began to sob. “Don’t take my pup!” More sobs. “This is my last litter. I promise I shall have no more. Leave me my last daughter!”

  “I’m not a daughter,” the white pup complained. “I’m a son.”

  “For the play, you’re a daughter. Now just shut your muzzle.”

  Then the pup playing the Obea spoke sternly, “I must take this malcadh to the tummfraw. You need to go to the Sark and begin the forgetting. She will brew you a potion.” The pup playing the mother swung her head toward the brindled pup and whispered loudly, “Start mixing up a potion!”

  “I don’t have anything to mix. There aren’t any herbs or grass or leaves or even birch bark.”

  “Just mix up some dirt and stones. It’s all make-believe.” She turned to another pup. “Now when the malcadh survives and comes back to the clan, you can start kicking him and nipping his ear. But you know, just pretend.”

  Faolan watched all of this mesmerized. Just pretend! This is my life! They are playacting with my life. He was about to say something, but he didn’t know what. Surely a gnaw wolf could not reprimand young pups.

  Mhairie stepped from behind a rock. “This isn’t the time for make-believe,” she said sternly.

  “Why not?” challenged the white pup. “Just because you’re bigger and you say so?”

  “No,” Mhairie said quietly. “Because this is a gnaw wolf.” She nodded at Faolan. “And his life is real, not make-believe. There is no just-pretending when he is bitten and kicked.”

  The pups all grew very still. Then the white one stepped forward. “You’re absolutely the hugest wolf I’ve ever seen! And you’re the gnaw wolf who jumped for the sun, aren’t you? They said you disturbed the order.”

  “I didn’t jump for the sun. I jumped for my life.” Faolan stood straighter, squared his shoulders, and lifted his tail just a bit. In the evening light, he was bright and silvery, and the pups once again fell silent, for they had never seen a young wolf with such noble bearing. And to think he was a gnaw wolf!

  Suddenly, a howl peeled through the air. It was Alastrine, skreeleen of the MacDuncan Carreg Gaer. Soon, other skreeleens joined in. Barks and yips from all the clans scored the air.

  “They’re coming! They’re coming! The Fengo Finbar and the taigas are coming!”

  “Come on,” Mhairie said. “I know a good place to watch from.”

  Faolan followed Mhairie as she scrambled up an escarpment. Soon, another wolf joined them. “This is my sister Dearlea,” Mhairie said, looking over her shoulder as they made their way up the steep slope. Dearlea was a deep brown that perhaps had once been lighter, like her sister’s tawny gold, but despite their difference in color, there was a strong resemblance.

  “Oh, look!” Dearlea exclaimed as they reached the top. There was a long line of wolves wending their way down a narrow defile.

  “Can you hear the tinulaba?” Mhairie asked.

  “What?” said Faolan.

  Mhairie and Dearlea looked at each other in dismay.

  “You don’t know what the tinulaba is?” Dearlea asked.

  “No.”

  “The tinulaba is the clinking sound tailbones make when they jingle-jangle against one another softly. That’s what the word means—‘chimes of the bones.’ The wolves of the Watch make their necklaces out of those small little bones from the tails of animals.”

  “They wear necklaces? I thoug
ht only the clan chieftains and members of the raghnaid wore them.”

  “No, wolves of the Watch can wear them, too. But theirs are made out of just the tailbones. They gnaw them.”

  “They gnaw designs into tailbones?” Faolan was astonished. Tailbones were among the smallest.

  “Yes, you’ll learn how to do it when—” Mhairie stopped herself. “I mean if you are selected for the Watch. The taigas will teach you.”

  All the barking and howling stopped. A silence descended over the land as the wind rose from the direction of the Watch wolves’ procession and carried with it the tinulaba. The tinulaba was not merely a sound but truly music, chimes that went straight to Faolan’s marrow and stirred him deeply.

  As the Watch wolves slowed on the steepest part of the defile, he could observe them more carefully. They were large, muscular animals. It was often said that a malcadh’s deformity could become a source of strength. Even from a distance, the Watch exuded a power and confidence that Faolan had never seen before.

  Of all the wolves, the Fengo was the most elaborately bedecked in bone necklaces. He even had tiny fragments of bone braided into his beard. Mhairie and Dearlea began to whisper.

  “There’s Jasper,” Dearlea said, pointing her muzzle toward a dark brown wolf.

  “That’s Briar, isn’t it?” Mhairie said.

  “The red wolf with the bad eye?” Dearlea asked.

  “Yes. There are two red wolves, and I always get them mixed up because they both have bad eyes,” Mhairie said.

  Faolan wondered how they knew so much. They seemed to be able to identify every wolf and his or her particular deformity while the wolves were still a fair distance away.

  “And they are sister and brother. That makes it harder,” Dearlea replied.

  “Sister and brother?” Faolan could not hide his surprise.

  “Yes, very unusual. Two malcadhs in one litter.”

  “That must have been nice for them…I mean the pups.” Faolan detested the word malcadh. “I mean they had company.”

  “Not so nice for the mother.” Dearlea sighed. “Imagine two of her litter born malcadhs. And who knows; maybe she only had two pups that year.”

  “But they both survived and returned to the clan,” Mhairie said. “Imagine that!”

  Yes, thought Faolan. Imagine that! He looked at the two sister wolves who stood beside him. They were so lucky to have been born whole and perfect and to be sisters. And though he would never wish his life on another, wouldn’t it have been easier to have a brother or sister with him on that tummfraw?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  GWYNNETH’S ADVICE

  THE FIRST EVENT OF THE GADDERGNAW was the byrrgis. The scouts had gone to look for the first of the caribou herds migrating north. Just past dawn, one came back with news. A small herd had crossed the river and was heading north by northeast at tock-tock speed.

  “To the west or east of Crooked Back Ridge?” Liam MacDuncan asked. The large gray wolf had become the chieftain of the clan after his father, Duncan, died. But there were whispers that his mother, Cathmor, was the real power and guided him in every decision.

  “They are crimping easterly.”

  There were barks of approval, for this meant the herd was heading directly into MacDuncan territory.

  Cathmor stepped forward. “Don’t count on it. The herd could split at the base of the ridge. I think it would be wise if this byrrgis of gnaw wolves had experience in pincering. After all, pincer strategies are fundamental to all the byrrgises run by the gnaw wolves of the Beyond. Their responsibilities at the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes prohibit them from chasing herds too far. They do not have the luxury of extended hunts as we do. Why not see how these young gnaw wolves do?”

  “Pincering?” Tearlach said in a shaky voice. “I’ve never done a pincer move.”

  “I must humbly remind you, Tearlach, that none of us has ever been anything but the lowliest sweeper,” Heep interjected.

  A low scathing hiss issued from the Whistler’s throat. “I humbly beg you to go off and eat a moose patty!”

  The other gnaw wolves began to chuckle and wag their tails. Despite Tearlach’s apprehensions, all the gnaw wolves were excited to be running as truly significant members of the byrrgis and not sniffing the prey’s scat or urine. This was the one and only time that other wolves took on the responsibilities of sweepers.

  “Can you beat that!” Little Edme gave Faolan a gentle poke and tossed her head toward Heep, who had moved off after the Whistler’s remarks. Once again, Edme, despite having been born with only one eye, saw everything. The yellow wolf was now prostrating himself and began to writhe excessively before a handsome black wolf from the MacDuff clan, a high-ranking raghnaid member.

  “What’s he saying?” Edme asked.

  Faolan shoved his ears forward. But as seemed to be the tendency with gnaw wolves, it was the earless Tearlach who picked up the conversation.

  “Dunstan MacDuff, I understand that your esteemed son has agreed to run as a sweeper so that we ignoble gnaw wolves might for this one time assume loftier positions in the byrrgis. Although it might seem presumptuous of me, a lowly, humble—”

  “Here we go again,” said Edme. They had surreptitiously crept a bit closer and could now hear Heep without Tearlach’s aid.

  “I thought I might offer some modest advice in regard to the sniffing of scat.” This was one of Heep’s most theatrical displays of humiliation and ingratiation, which was fortunately soon drowned out by the rallying howls of the gaddergludder.

  Faolan was to be a packer alongside Mhairie’s sister Dearlea, who was a tight-end packer on the western flank. Heep was also a packer on the western flank.

  Why couldn’t they have at least assigned him to the eastern flank? Faolan thought grimly. Why couldn’t it have been the Whistler at his side? Why was it always Heep?

  Just as they were forming up for the byrrgis, Creakle barked, “Look! Owls—a lot of them!” He pointed his muzzle toward the sky.

  Dearlea, who was passing by, stopped. “Oh, yes, they love to see gaddergnaws. Mostly colliers and Rogue smiths.”

  I wonder, Faolan thought, if Gwynneth is here? At that very moment, the Masked Owl swooped down.

  “Oh, Gwynneth, I’m so excited to see you. I’ve tried to do what you told me to. Become a gnaw wolf.”

  “Yes, dear, I know.”

  “I’ve had some…some…”

  “Slipups? Yes, I heard about that first byrrgis.” Faolan dropped his tail. “Well, I know you’ve most likely learned your lesson.” Gwynneth paused.

  It seemed to Faolan there was something else she wanted to say to him. He peered into her shiny dark eyes. “What is it, Gwynneth?”

  “It can wait until after the byrrgis. We’ll talk then.”

  The summoning howl curled into the air. “To the Marrow!” The byrrgis was about to begin.

  “I have to go now, Gwynneth.”

  “I know, dear. All of you gnaw wolves are going to have more responsibility than ever in this byrrgis.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, an alert has just gone out. Outclanners have been spotted. So some of the scouts and wolves that would normally be in the byrrgis are hunting them down. I tried to help a bit as best I could. But the point is, there’s more opportunity for you gnaw wolves to show what you’re made of. Just one piece of advice.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s not all speed.”

  “Oh, I’ve learned my lesson about that. Don’t worry! I won’t bump an outflanker.”

  “No, I know that.” Gwynneth paused. “Look, I’ve been flying in the Beyond for longer than I care to remember. I have flown right above byrrgises and seen them from a perspective that you, or any other wolf, never will. It’s the signaling that counts—a pricked set of ears, a tail twitch, a quick change in pace by the packers. It’s not speed. It’s communication that makes them flow like a river across dry land and finally engulf their prey.
It’s about communicating, yet never uttering a word.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE BYRRGIS OF THE GNAW WOLVES

  HEEP KNEW THAT THERE WAS NO way he could outrun Faolan in a byrrgis. But could he outwit him? There was one thing that really set Faolan’s nerves on edge. It was the clicking sound Heep’s back teeth made when he gnawed bones. Heep had seen how it made Faolan’s hackles rise. How Faolan could barely keep his agitation under control. To Heep, his teeth on the bone sounded no different than that of any other gnaw wolf, but something bothered Faolan about Heep’s teeth.

  Heep didn’t need a bone in his mouth to make those sounds. He could do it without one. Therefore, he was extremely pleased when he was assigned to the same flank as Faolan. Heep was in a perfect spot to drive that gnaw wolf cag mag!

  They had started off at press paw over the hilly terrain, led by the scouts. It was not long before the caribou herd came into sight. Luckily, the byrrgis was downwind, so the caribou would not pick up their scent. This allowed the wolves to get closer before being discovered. The longer they could go at press paw while closing the distance, the better. It conserved their energy and was the most efficient running. Of course, if the wind shifted, their strategy did, too.

  Faolan was concentrating as hard as he ever had. At last he was in the byrrgis—not as a sweeper, not in a dream, not as a distant observer on a ridge, longing to be a part of the hunt. This was real. The hard earth flew beneath him. He was barely aware of his paws striking the ground except for a tingle that traveled up through his femurs. But he felt a surge of vibrations from hundreds of paws pounding the earth. It washed over him, enveloped him, welded him to this hunt, these packs of wolves. At last he was truly part of something.