Faolan was very grateful that he had spoken to Gwynneth. Her advice was already proving invaluable. He had just picked up a second signal, which had traveled from a line wolf to a wide-end packer, and knew the entire formation of over forty wolves was about to compact itself. It’s like Gwynneth said, he thought, the byrrgis is a river flowing over dry ground. And I am part of it. Like the stars swirling endlessly in the sky, I am part of this river on earth. For the first time, Faolan began to understand what hwlyn meant, and the strange ways of the wolves of the Beyond began to have a deeper meaning. The silent flickers sang through his bloodstream as he raced on.
More signals were passed and the language of silence became clearer and clearer to Faolan. He spotted the ear flick of another wide-end packer. The wind had shifted, and the byrrgis immediately increased its speed as the caribou herd caught the wolves’ scent.
Close the distance! The signal rang out as crisply as if it had been spoken. Faolan felt the byrrgis close up for attack speed.
This is beautiful! Faolan thought. The motions were flawless. It suddenly struck him that this was like biliboo. The wolves, like the pieces in the game, floated almost magically across the land, just as the constellations slid across the night sky.
On moonless nights, when the stars shone even brighter in the black infinity, Faolan sometimes felt that the earth on which he stood was but another small star, one little piece in the larger sliding nightscape. I am part of something bigger. Earth and sky, wolf and owl, stars and stone, dirt and bone were all woven together into an immense design.
Another signal was passed to initiate the pincer action. They were going to press the herd into a narrows so it could not spread out too far on the high plains ahead. Led by the outflankers, the packers from both the east and west flanks began to race out and press each side of the caribou herd, forcing it into the narrows. Signals flew back and forth, except now there was a nick in the pristine silence.
Urskadamus! That cursed gnaw wolf Heep was clicking his teeth as if he were gnawing a bone. The nick in his slashing tooth was fracturing the silence. Could no one else hear it? Faolan shifted his eyes to look about and nearly stumbled as his intense concentration broke. That tooth! He could not let this happen. A sly grin crawled across Heep’s face, and a glint flickered in his eyes. Heep was doing this on purpose! Faolan felt Dearlea tense as she detected the break in Faolan’s stride. He knew she had been impressed with him so far. Well, he was not going to let Heep wreck his attention.
Another signal passed. A cailleach had been identified, and the turning guards would begin to press on the eastern side of the herd to expose him. Then the two point wolves and a blocker would be sent in to try and split off the cailleach. But the clicking of Heep’s teeth was making Faolan miss the signals. It was a constant noise in his ears, like the droning of mosquitoes during the summer moons. He is doing this on purpose! Faolan stumbled again. And once more, Dearlea shot him a look. Soon a taiga was running close behind. He had to get away from that sound. It was driving him cag mag.
The cailleach had been isolated, and the signal for the females to drop back flashed, while eight males moved forward. The endgame was the most fascinating part of the byrrgis. The wolves worked in relays signaled by the point wolves. There was a chance the gnaw wolves might be called to bring the cailleach down. It would be easy if not for the infernal clicking sound in Faolan’s ears. The clicking became louder as the gnaw wolves crouched in the grass with other packers to watch and wait for the tackle relay signals. It was so unfair. No one seemed to hear the clicking except Faolan. He realized that Heep was trying not only to ruin his concentration, but to get him to violate one of the most important rules of the byrrgnock, which was never to break silence before the kill rush. The clicking sound was inaudible to the other wolves, but if Faolan snapped or growled at Heep, it would be Faolan who was blamed for violating the sacred rule.
I have to last until the endgame begins. I can do this. I can do this. But the clicking of that nicked tooth buzzed in Faolan’s ear. He tried to transport himself to another place, any place except where he was. Listen for the singing grass, he told himself.
Heep moved closer and, with eyes full of treachery, opened his mouth wide to slash his teeth together. Faolan saw that broken tooth and then the snap of jaws as Heep clamped his teeth together and began to grind. The sounds scratched into Faolan’s brain like splinters.
Edme looked at him in dismay. The first signal had been given for the kill rush, and Faolan had missed his cue. He sprang off his hind legs but was too late, stumbling again and sprawling flat. Edme rushed into the gap he left. Now that the kill rush had begun in earnest, the air was lacerated with barks and howls as the wolves took the cailleach down.
Faolan, the wolf who had risen on his hind legs like a grizzly to confront a bull moose, lay sprawled on the ground!
When he returned from the byrrgis, Gwynneth was waiting for him.
“How did it go?”
Faolan’s tail drooped. “Well”—he might as well just get it out—“I stumbled a few times, and when it really counted, I fell.”
“You fell!” Gwynneth’s dark eyes blinked and she cocked her head at a very odd angle—an angle that only an owl with numerous tiny neck bones could achieve. “You!”
“Look, I’d rather not talk about it now. You had something else to say to me?”
Gwynneth swiveled her head about in a nearly complete circle, as if to scan the immediate area. The motion was enough to give Faolan a slightly nauseous feeling. Owls could do strange things with their necks, and Faolan had not been around enough of them to become used to it.
“Yes, yes, I do. I’d like to have a word in private with you. It’s rather serious.”
Faolan felt the marrow tremble in his bones. “Of course.”
He followed the Masked Owl toward the back of a large boulder.
“What is it?” he asked.
Gwynneth took a deep breath. “You know about…” Her voice cracked, then she gulped. “The pup on the ridge, the ridge just north of the Slough.” Faolan nodded. “The Sark told me that you saw it on your way to visit her, and you were quite troubled. Understandably so.” Faolan nodded again. “Well, Faolan, it was my unfortunate experience to witness that malcadh’s murder.”
Murder! Faolan thought. The violence of those marks on the bones—how could it have been anything else. But murder! Truly, the story of the malcadh was not complete.
Gwynneth blinked. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“No, I saw the bones. But you saw the murderer!”
“I heard the murderer, but I did not see him or her. You know Masked Owls have extraordinary hearing. There was a thick cloud cover and I couldn’t see, but I could hear the tiny shrieks as the pup was torn apart, and then the panting. It was a wolf’s pants and a wolf’s footfalls as it ran away. No prints of course, for it is mostly shale and rock. But how do you know about the bones?”
“The murderer was a wolf!” Faolan felt himself stagger slightly. His hackles rose in a quivering fringe. A wave of absolute revulsion coursed through him. “I couldn’t get that little pup out of my mind, out of my marrow. I, too, after all, had been abandoned on a tummfraw. How could I see that and not think of myself? But to be murdered by a wolf!”
“Of course,” Gwynneth said softly.
“I decided to make a drumlyn.”
“A drumlyn? That is the very ancient wolf word for a cairn, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know. I am still new to the ways and the expressions of wolves. But I wanted to honor the little pup. So I have been going back trying to find more bones.”
“Be careful, Faolan. Be very careful. It wouldn’t do for you to be caught with those bones. I know how some of the wolves here regard you. They are looking for reasons for you to fail. They might whisper that you challenged the order when you jumped the wall of fire, but it’s not the order you challenge, it’s them. Right now, they don’t know about
this murder, but if they find out, they might try to blame you. I am an owl, but I understand these wolves.”
“Probably better than I do.” Faolan sighed. “Some actually think I come from the Dim World.”
“Exactly! They are ignorant, and ignorant, superstitious wolves can be treacherous. It’s your carving, right?”
“Yes, one said he could feel the heat from the sun I carved on a bone.”
“They have never seen such fine carving. They can’t understand it. They think a normal wolf would not be able to do such a thing.”
“But what if I am not a normal wolf? What then?”
“My dear Faolan, just because you are not normal does not mean you’re bad. I have no doubt that you are not a normal wolf, not an ordinary wolf. If anything, you are an extraordinary one!” She paused. “And have you built your drumlyn?”
Faolan shook his head sadly. “No, not yet. Something felt wrong. I wanted to protect the bones—they are so tiny—as long as I could. Maybe I have been waiting all this time for the murderer to be caught before I build my drumlyn.”
“So where have you kept the bones?”
Faolan looked up and gazed into his friend’s dusky face. There was a sudden sparkle in her dark eyes.
“Aaah,” Gwynneth said gently. “With Thunderheart’s paw, of course.”
Gwynneth knew of Thunderheart, for it was at the skeleton of the grizzly that they had first met. The Masked Owl had been drawn there by the eerily mournful lament that Faolan howled upon the discovery of his second Milk Giver’s bones. She looked at Faolan. She was sorry she had to bring him this news. His experience with the malcadh had been bad enough, and now this. Well, at least she was glad she had not told him before the byrrgis. Although it was hard to imagine how he could have done much worse. A fall! Unbelievable!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LAST PLACE
THE GADDERHEAL OF THE MACDUNCAN clan was large, but not large enough to accommodate the crowds of wolves and owls who had gathered excitedly to hear the results of the byrrgis. So the announcement was held outside, where the owls could perch in the sparse grove of birch trees.
There was a point system in which the gnaw wolves’ performances in the byrrgis were judged on several different aspects of ability and conduct. Scores were given for basic proficiency in running, smooth shifting in rates of speed and direction, adherence to formation, and interpretation of the silent signaling system. Extra points could be granted for certain tasks if performed exceptionally well. Even before the scores were announced, there were whispers about these extra points and who might receive them. But as Liam leaped onto a stump, the tension mounted.
“The taigas have concluded their scoring process. I am pleased to say that you have all performed exceedingly well in this first round of the Gaddergnaw Games. We shall begin by announcing the highest scores. In first place is the gnaw wolf Creakle from the MacDuff clan. Creakle scored a solid ten in basic running as well as another ten in position adherence. He scored five in shifting rate of speed and direction, and an additional four points in signal interpretation. Although the last score was rather average, Creakle made up for it by a powerful leap in the kill rush, earning ten extra points. With no penalties for inattention, shoving, or stumbling, the taigas have given Creakle a total score of thirty-nine!”
A great cheer went up. This was considered a very high score. Not as high as the legendary gnaw wolf Hamish, who became the Fengo of the Watch and had accumulated the highest score ever with an astounding fifty points.
Liam MacDuncan continued with the announcements. Second place was considered an upset, going to none other than tiny Edme, who had gained extra points for her quick thinking when Faolan faltered and for her spot-on delivery of a bite to the life-pumping artery.
Faolan, listening to the mutterings of the wolves around him, was gradually becoming aware of what a big upset it was considered that he—the wolf who had jumped for the sun—had not won, let alone placed second, in the byrrgis competition. A gasp swept the crowd when Tearlach was announced as the third-place winner with a score of twenty-five. Faolan felt all the eyes of both wolves and owls turn toward him.
“In fourth place, with a total of twenty-two points, is the wolf from the Blue Rock Pack of the MacDuncan clan, the Whistler.”
A cheer went up.
There were only two more gnaw wolves left to place. It felt as if all eyes had focused on Faolan and Heep. Faolan began to walk away. “And now in fifth place, with no extra points for anything and a two-point penalty for inattention”—Liam MacDuncan paused—“is the gnaw wolf Heep of the River Pack.”
Faolan could hear Heep groveling in the dirt, pressing the side of his face into the dirt, claiming that such a lowly wolf as himself, such a humble wolf, had never expected to win this honor. He was unaccustomed to being anything but the most humble, the lowest of the low. On and on he went.
“And in sixth place, with a penalty of twenty points for two stumbles in the last quarter of the byrrgis, and for missing his cue for the kill rush, the gnaw wolf Faolan from the MacDuncan Pack of the Eastern Scree.”
Mhairie rushed up to him. “What happened?”
“Well, I didn’t bump into you!”
“No, you stumbled and you missed your cue. If not for that, you would have tied with Creakle,” she said with exasperation.
“But I didn’t. I was inattentive, distracted.”
“Yes, but so was Heep.”
“He was?” Somehow, this surprised Faolan.
“Didn’t you hear? He got penalty points for some kind of inattention.”
“No, I started to walk away and, truthfully, I wasn’t listening. But the thing is, he didn’t stumble because of inattention.”
Dearlea had come up in the middle of this conversation. “He was looking around. I saw him. I had to report it to the taigas.”
“What was it, Faolan?” Dearlea pressed. “You were running so well beside me and then you just seemed to lose it. I could almost feel it before that first stumble.”
He shook his head wearily. How could he explain something that only he seemed to be able to hear? And it might appear so minor, so trivial—like the buzz of a mosquito. The two sisters stopped walking. Mhairie stepped close to Faolan’s muzzle. In her deep green eyes he saw golden flecks, like little constellations, he thought. Mhairie and Dearlea both tipped their heads slightly and blinked as if they had seen something in his eyes as well. For a moment, the three young wolves seemed caught in a web of golden light.
“Dearlea, Mhairie, I’ll tell you what distracted me, but it might seem stupid.”
“No! No!” both wolves urged. “What is it?”
“Heep.”
“Heep distracted you? But he was looking around himself.”
“But he was doing something else, too. Have you ever seen his gnaw-bones?”
“Not really,” Mhairie said. “He’s not in our pack.”
“I’ve heard his carving is not very good. Kind of clumsy,” Dearlea said.
“It isn’t very good, but there’s something else. One of his shearing teeth has a nick in it. You cannot only see the nick in his carving if you look closely, but if you sit next to him in gnaw circles, you can hear it.”
“It’s like Taddeus, our little brother. I hate the way he smacks his lips when he eats,” Dearlea said.
“He slurps, too, when he drinks,” Mhairie offered.
They were getting it. “But this is much worse. It’s horrible. It can drive you cag mag. It’s like a mosquito buzzing in your ears during the moons of the flies in summer.”
“But he wasn’t gnawing a bone, for Lupus’ sake, in the byrrgis!” Mhairie protested.
“No, but he was making that sound. He was doing it to wreck my concentration. It has never wrecked it when I am gnawing. I’m not sure why. But when I was running, it did. And then finally, right before the kill rush, I missed my cue because he settled as close to me as possible and then opened his mouth
and began slashing his teeth right in my ear. I tell you, it was like slivers in my brain. He hates me.”
Mhairie and Dearlea exchanged glances.
“You’ve got to believe me,” Faolan said. There was the heat of desperation in his voice.
“All right, we’ll come to the gnaw circles,” Dearlea said. “They’ll be going on for the next three days.” She paused. “And, Faolan, the bones you gnaw count more than the byrrgis. You can make up for your sixth place, in the gnawing events.”
“I hope so. As I said, it doesn’t seem to bother me when I’m gnawing, as much as when I’m running.”
“You know why that is?” Mhairie asked.
“No.”
“Well, I know. It’s because you’re an artist, Faolan. A true artist.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TO GNAW A BONE
FAOLAN WAS ONCE AGAIN IN A gnaw circle with Heep. But he knew he had been right in what he told Mhairie and Dearlea. The clicking sound of Heep’s shearing teeth, although just as loud as during the byrrgis, did not seem to annoy him nearly as much. Perhaps the simple act of sharing this with Dearlea and Mhairie had relieved him a bit. Even if they couldn’t hear it themselves, this was the first time he had really been able to share a feeling with another wolf since he had been in the Beyond. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the two sisters approaching. They were coming just as they had promised. He tried to quiet his own gnawing so Dearlea and Mhairie could hear the click of that nicked tooth.
Dearlea and Mhairie stopped on the other side of Heep. “That’s interesting,” Dearlea said. “The natural shadowing of the bone might be an obstacle to some, but you carve deep.” She didn’t know what else to say. The lines were deep—deep and clumsy—and she did detect the nick. Now she wanted to hear it.
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