by Erin Hunter
Lucky hesitated, uncertain, and Bella took her chance to shove her snout close to his.
“Arrow’s one of us now,” she barked. “We need to back him up!”
Lucky closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “All right.”
“Not me,” yelped Bruno angrily. “If that creature wants to go dashing off in search of his Fierce Dog friends, let him deal with the consequences!”
Storm gaped at him, hurt, but Bella didn’t even pause to argue. “Fine,” she snapped, and bounded off in the direction Arrow had taken. Without hesitation, Lucky and Storm followed at her haunches.
As they darted nervously between the loudcages, Storm felt her heart grow heavy as a stone. Arrow’s scent was easy to follow, but finding him in this web of streets would be a dangerous job. What if he had run straight into enemy dogs—or even longpaws?
As they raced around the corner after him, though, she realized her worry had been unfounded. Arrow stood right there, stock-still beside a thin stream of dirty water that ran along the edge of the hardstone path. His head was bowed, and Storm saw what lay beneath him.
The corpse of a dog.
For a wild moment Storm wondered if Arrow had killed some enemy in a swift, sudden battle. But, she realized as the three of them slowed to approach Arrow, the body was not fresh.
A black-and-tan Fierce Dog lay sprawled in the gutter, her once-glossy coat now dull and lifeless, her ribs and hip-bones jutting beneath it. Pale worms crawled at her empty eyes, and squirmed on her lolling, swollen tongue; they had been feeding on her for some time. The smell of death was overpowering, and Storm couldn’t repress a huge shudder.
“Ripper,” said Arrow softly.
A creeping horror turned Storm’s blood cold, but it was mingled with guilty relief. If Ripper had still nursed Blade’s mad ambition to kill Storm, there was nothing she could ever do about it now. Stepping across the dirty runnel of water to stand next to Arrow, Storm glanced into his eyes.
The terrible sadness in them was unsettling. Arrow gave her a brief, sidelong look, then said softly, “Not every dog in Blade’s Pack was evil.”
The tremor of guilt shuddered through Storm again. Did he know what I was thinking? But before she could open her jaws to console the other Fierce Dog, she heard a gruff, hard-edged voice behind them.
“You could have fooled me.”
Bruno stood behind them. The burly dog had followed after all, and his eyes were cold as he glared at Arrow and the dead Ripper. Then he slanted them at Storm.
Storm stiffened. A growl rose in her throat, but she swallowed it. Bruno’s not talking about me. He can’t be! I was never part of Blade’s Pack.
Although, she realized with a jolt, Bruno had never really liked her. . . .
Bruno had always judged her first and foremost as a Fierce Dog. He might tolerate her, but she had always had to prove herself and her goodwill, every pawstep of the way. Shivering with resentment, Storm took a sidelong step closer to Arrow.
But Arrow didn’t rise to Bruno’s taunt, either. Calmly he gazed into the burly dog’s hostile eyes. “We’re not like Wild Dogs,” he said. “We’re not even like you Leashed Dogs. You’re born with your nature, or you grow into it. You decide what you are.” He paused to glance down at Ripper. “Not us Fierce Dogs. Our nature is made for us, by the longpaw Masters.”
“That can’t be true,” began Bella.
“I didn’t see much of it,” Arrow admitted with a sigh. “I was born not long before the Big Growl, when the Masters fled and left us. But I do have some memories. I saw Fierce Dogs being marched around the Dog-Garden, over and over again, drilled to be obedient. I didn’t understand what the Masters were saying to them, of course, but they were always angry. They never spoke except in an angry bark. They’d strike any dog, too, if they put a paw wrong—even pups.”
Storm tilted her head, filled with sympathy. It surprised her that there wasn’t a trace of anger in Arrow’s soft voice. His puphood sounded awful, yet the way Arrow talked, it sounded as if he missed it.
Would I have been as vicious as the other Fierce Dogs, wondered Storm, if I’d been raised in the Dog-Garden by the Masters? Would they have given me the nature they wanted me to have?
She couldn’t imagine what it had been like to be raised and drilled by the Masters, and she didn’t want to. Blade had been as cruel and stern as any longpaw could ever be; had they made her that way, turned her into a dog version of themselves?
Thank the Spirit Dogs I was raised by Lucky and Martha. She shivered. Even if some of the Pack Dogs don’t trust me, at least I had a choice. At least I was free to become my own dog.
But Arrow had been brought up in the Dog-Garden. Arrow had known the Masters, even if it had only been for a short time, and his nature had been shaped by them. He was a true Fierce Dog. . . .
Unease fluttered in Storm’s gut. In the silence, she heard Bruno’s low sullen growl. “We can’t trust a Fierce Dog.”
No other dog had heard that, she realized, and she wasn’t about to cause a fight by challenging Bruno—not right here and now.
But was the burly Fight Dog right, anyway?
Could the Pack really, truly trust Arrow?
CHAPTER TEN
Storm hadn’t felt so contentedly drowsy in a long time. For once, she thought, she might get a good night’s rest; her belly felt full and her head heavy with sleep. All around the camp, dogs chatted quietly or half dozed in the evening light.
Just as Storm was about to nestle into her warm, leafy sleeping quarters, Sunshine spoke, her fluffy white tail waving. “Tell us another story about the Wind-Dogs, Alpha? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them.”
Bella gave a short amused bark: “Do you still need a pup-tale to go to sleep, Omega? Don’t be silly.”
A few other dogs scoffed as well, their jaws gaping into lazy grins. Lucky raised his head, but before he could speak, Alpha got to her feet and walked slowly and deliberately to the center of the clearing. Her bark of summons rang through the clear evening air, making Storm raise her head and prick an ear.
“My Pack! Gather around. I have something important to say about the Spirit Dogs who guide us.”
Storm padded into the center of the clearing with the rest of the Pack as they formed their circle. Every dog but the small regular evening patrol was present, and it struck Storm how large their Pack was growing. The dogs pressed flank to flank, alert for their Alpha to begin speaking. Lucky stood at his mate’s side, gazing at her supportively, his expression a mixture of respect and adoration.
Alpha turned her slim head to meet the eyes of each dog, then nodded with satisfaction.
“I know there are dogs in this Pack who don’t believe in the Wind-Dogs,” she declared, “and I respect that. It’s not easy to accept new Spirit Dogs when you have never heard their tales before. Accepting their influence is even harder.” She looked kindly on the Pack. “But I have this to say: I want you all to respect my beliefs in turn. The Wind-Dogs are real to me, and they are important in my life. They are as real to me”—she glanced lovingly at her Beta—“as Beta’s Forest-Dog is to him. I won’t force you to believe in them, or try to prove to you that the Wind-Dogs are real. All that matters is that I believe, and I know they are with me.”
Storm heard low murmurs of approval go through at least some of the Pack, and Daisy bounced onto her four paws. “I hope they are real!” she exclaimed, her tail wagging hard. “We could use more Spirit Dogs on our side. We have lots of mouths to feed, don’t we? The more Spirit Dogs there are to help us, the better!”
Woody gave a shake of his head at that, frowning slightly. “Too many mouths? I hope that’s not a dig at us.” He nodded at Twitch and the other former members of his Pack. “You dogs of the old Pack can’t go on blaming everything on us. After all, we chose to fight with you against the Fierce Dogs. And we chose to accept your invitation to stay.”
Alpha stood up to give a commanding bark, and scraped the ear
th with a paw. “No more quarreling!”
Woody fell silent, and so did the other muttering dogs. Daisy, though, grumbled under her breath.
“I wasn’t pointing paws at any dog. Just stating a fact.” Sulkily she flopped onto her belly.
Alpha eased herself carefully onto her side, making room for her plump stomach. “I mean what I say. I won’t force stories of the Wind-Dogs on you. But I want to know that the Pack respects my beliefs.”
Again the ripple of agreement went through the Pack. Storm pricked her ears and watched her Packmates in wonder. Life’s so different with Sweet as Alpha. Under their previous Alpha, the savage half wolf, the dogs would have been made to believe. Or at least, they’d have been barked at until they said they believed. And if they hadn’t, they’d have found themselves without a share of the prey pile until they changed their minds.
That’s not how Sweet does things, thought Storm happily. I like the change.
A small, white fluffy shape got to her paws at the edge of the circle. Sunshine wagged her dirty plume of a tail, and cleared her throat shyly.
“I’d still like to hear a story of the Wind-Dogs right now,” she told the circle in a small, respectful voice. “I’m really interested! Could you tell us one, Alpha?”
For long moments the Pack was silent, surprised, but then the yips of agreement began to rise.
“A story would be fun!” barked Daisy.
Woody nodded his matted brown-and-cream head. “I don’t mind hearing a story. I can make my own mind up as to whether I believe it.”
“Yes, I think we’d all like to hear,” agreed Mickey.
“Go ahead, Alpha!” growled Dart.
But Woody, Storm noticed, was the only member of Twitch’s Pack to speak up. The rest of them kept a firm, though respectful, silence, as the former Leashed Dogs and Sweet’s old Pack whined their enthusiasm. Bella, too, did not speak.
Daisy was still bouncing with excitement. “What if a Wind-Dog stumbles, Alpha? That’s what I want to know. They run so fast after the Golden Deer, surely they must slip and fall sometimes!” Her eyes were full of bright curiosity.
Alpha gave a contented, gruff laugh. “It’s certainly happened, Daisy. Sometimes a Wind-Dog does miss her pawsteps. When that happens, and she stumbles, the gust of her fall is powerful enough to knock dogs to the ground. You can hear her yelp and whine, angry at herself. Or you might hear her howl to her Packmates, telling them she’ll catch up with them soon.”
Rake gave a skeptical yip, curling his scarred muzzle. “So why does the wind grow more fierce after Long Light, when the Wind-Dogs have already caught the Golden Deer? Hm?”
Storm glanced nervously at their Alpha, wondering how she’d react to the mockery in Rake’s voice. But she looked unperturbed, and her calm expression didn’t change.
“Oh, the Wind-Dogs take the capture of the Golden Deer very seriously. When they’re not hunting it, they are racing one another in preparation. They need to practice until they are faster than she is. And so the winds blow even fiercer when Long Light is over.”
Mickey nodded. “That makes sense to me.”
“Not to me,” grumbled Rake, but very quietly.
“Imagine if we could catch a Golden Deer on the ground,” whined Daisy dreamily.
“Well,” laughed Snap, “that would certainly make the Wind-Dogs pleased with us.”
“It could bring us great good fortune,” agreed Bruno thoughtfully.
Sunshine was whirling in a circle, bumping into other dogs in her excitement. Mickey dodged back as her fluffy tail whipped across his muzzle. “I can’t imagine it, Daisy! That’s what makes it so exciting! Oh, let’s catch a Golden Deer!”
Rake’s irritated bark cut through the excited yelps. “What’s wrong with all of you? You’re so keen to believe in these Wind-Dogs, but not one of you takes the Fear-Dog seriously. And you should! He’s the one who rules the Sky-Dogs, after all. Terror told us so!”
One or two dogs opened their jaws angrily to argue, but it was Arrow who stepped into the center of the group. Storm was struck again by his calm, diffident demeanor.
“Maybe the Spirit Dogs aren’t separate beings at all,” he suggested. “Have you thought of that? It could be that different Packs come up with different names for the same Spirit Dogs. When I lived in the Dog-Garden under the Masters, the older members of my pack spoke of a Watch-Dog. He sounds a bit like your Fear-Dog, Rake. I was told then that all the Sky-Dogs respect and serve the Watch-Dog.”
Arrow tilted his head at the Pack, but his words were met with silence. Some dogs gaped at him, some exchanged skeptical looks, but none spoke. After a moment his ears drooped, and he licked his jaws sheepishly and shifted from side to side.
“Sorry,” he muttered as he shuffled backward into the circle of dogs. “It was just an idea. You know. That maybe we all believe in the same dogs.”
Storm felt her heart turn over for Arrow. What had taken the other dogs aback—his theory of the Spirit Dogs, or the fact he’d had the nerve to speak at all? Certainly Breeze was letting out a low growl as she glared at him.
Twitch coughed a bark. “Why all this talk of invisible dogs? Maybe we should forget about them for a while. Concentrate on important things, like hunting.”
Snap looked at him in astonishment. “But Twitch, we have to respect the Spirit Dogs!”
“Why?” He hunched his shoulders. “What have the Spirit Dogs ever done for us? They never actually show up in a crisis, do they?”
Around him there were whines of horrified protest.
“The Forest-Dog brings us prey!” exclaimed Mickey, with a respectful glance at Lucky.
“And Martha had a very special relationship with the River-Dog,” put in Storm, with a pang of memory.
“The Sun-Dog warms our days,” said Moon firmly, “and the Moon-Dog gives us light in the darkness.”
“And we can see the Sky-Dogs when they battle!” yelped Daisy, as if that settled the matter. “We can see Lightning himself as he jumps to Earth!”
The moment of unity warmed Storm’s heart; it was good to see the Pack put aside petty differences to agree on the benevolence of the Spirit Dogs.
“Of course the Spirit Dogs are real.” Lucky spoke up with firmness. “How else do you explain my dreams about the Storm of Dogs? They came true.”
“Don’t forget that the Earth-Dog takes all dogs when they die,” added Chase, with a severe look at his former leader.
“Wait a moment.” The voice was Bella’s, and she took a pace forward into the circle. “Why are we so keen to believe those are Spirits? Maybe Twitch is right. There’s a Sun all right, and a Moon, and the Earth, and the Forest. We can’t deny that, but perhaps they don’t help dogs at all. Maybe they’re just there. And maybe they don’t think or have feelings at all!”
“Well, wait a moment,” blurted Twitch, looking unsettled as he scratched awkwardly at his ear. “I didn’t go quite that far. . . .”
The barks and calls and yelps faded to silence as the Pack fidgeted, some of them a little shamefaced. A dog’s claws scratched against pebbles. There was the sound of another shaking his shaggy coat. Otherwise, there was only the sigh of wind in the branches above them.
Who won that argument? thought Storm uneasily, and she swallowed hard.
I’m not sure any dog did.
It was rather reassuring to be in the woods they’d once called Twitch’s Forest when she was actually supposed to be there, Storm thought wryly. For once she hadn’t woken up here, disoriented by darkness and bad dreams, but had come as one of a loose hunting group, all hunting separately at the moment. This time she was wide awake and filled with energy, all her senses alert for prey as she bounded through the undergrowth.
And also, if she was honest, keeping half an eye open for a Golden Deer . . .
She couldn’t explain it even to herself, but she was desperately eager to see the magical creature for herself. Perhaps it was just that she wanted living pro
of of the Spirit Dogs, before her eyes, so maybe if she wished hard enough, the Spirit Dogs themselves would reveal the Golden Deer to her? She breathed a silent plea to the invisible Spirits as she ran.
Please, Sky-Dogs, I just want to know . . .
Something gold flickered at the corner of her eye, and Storm gasped, nearly tripping over her own paws. Standing still, her neck fur rising, she stared at the spot.
It could have been a claw of sunlight hitting a wet leaf. But what if it wasn’t?
If there was a chance it could have been the Deer, she had to make sure. She couldn’t reject the Spirit Dogs, not when they might have answered her so swiftly.
Stealthily, placing her paws with care, Storm crept through the sun-dappled forest. She could be an impatient hunter, she knew, but not this time; she followed her senses with all the delicacy she could manage, as if she was tracking the quickest and most jittery of prey.
Pressing her flank against a rough tree trunk, she held still and listened hard. Her nostrils flared, searching the still air, but then she realized: I don’t even know what the Golden Deer smells like. No dog does.
Except for the Wind-Dogs . . .
The Golden Deer could be close, just a rabbit-chase away, and she wouldn’t know it. Would a live Golden Deer, a shadow of the prey the Wind Dogs chased, smell like a real deer? Her ears drooped. Surely the Wind-Dogs would not mask the Deer’s scent? Or were they too jealous of their prey to let an earthbound dog catch even an earthly shadow of it? Maybe Sweet was wrong, and an ordinary dog catching a Golden Deer wouldn’t please the Wind-Dogs one bit.
Or maybe Rake’s right. Maybe there are no Wind-Dogs.
Easing her body away from the tree, Storm shook herself. She wouldn’t dwell on Rake’s wild claims; after all, he was a dog who believed in the Fear-Dog! Sweet was her Alpha, and if Sweet believed in the Wind-Dogs, then Storm would too.
But why can’t I feel so much as a breeze right now?
Her gut turned over as she realized: Maybe it’s because I’m here. The Wind-Dogs want nothing to do with me. Is that it?