A Pack Divided (4 page)

Daisy gazed up at her Alpha, awestruck. “So the Golden Deer has begun to run again now,” she said dreamily.

“Oh, yes. She's running now, on her long course through the world toward the next Ice Wind.” Alpha cocked her head fondly at Daisy. “But she will run for a long time first. She is fresh and fast, and the Wind-Dogs have only just begun their new chase.”

Sleepily, Storm settled herself against Thorn's flank. Even Moon's two youngsters had fallen under the spell of the story, and the tension had drained from their bodies. Storm could feel Thorn's calm heartbeat through her rib cage, and suddenly all seemed well. Once again, she could feel like a pup, safe and secure with the adults of the Pack.

Martha used to tell us stories
, she remembered with an aching sadness.
She'd tell Grunt and Wiggle and me all about the Spirit Dogs. We didn't know anything, because our Mother-Dog died before
she
could tell us.

But Martha was my Mother-Dog, too, really.
Lucky and Mickey had raised her too, but it had been Martha, the huge and gentle black water-dog, who had come closest to replacing her lost Mother-Dog. She had comforted Storm when she was only a helpless pup called Lick; she had shared the warmth of her body, consoled her, protected her from the hostility of the other Pack members.

I miss Martha. . . . When she died, it was like losing my Mother-Dog for a second time.

Alpha's voice penetrated Storm's wistful thoughts, and she was glad. “Only the Wind-Dogs may hunt and capture the
true
Golden Deer, who runs free through every forest. But she casts a shadow. And if we run hard and run fast, we can catch that shadow, a living Golden Deer, as the real one races on into the sky. That's when a Pack is truly blessed by the Spirit Dogs.”

Storm liked this story.
I'll catch a shadow of the Golden Deer one day. And when I do, I'll remember to thank the Wind-Dogs for it. I never knew about them before. . . .

It was odd, yet strangely reassuring, to know that the swift-dogs had stories of their own, stories about Spirit Dogs that other dogs had never heard of. Perhaps all dogs had their own Spirit Dogs. Storm's eyes ranged around the Pack until they fell on Arrow, sitting proud and alone as he listened in silence to Alpha's tale.

Do we have our own Spirit Dog, he and I?
Storm wondered.
Perhaps there's a Fierce-Dog Spirit that I don't know about. . . .

Her hackles sprang erect, and she shook off a thrill of suspense.

What does it matter if there is some unknown Fierce-Dog Spirit? This is my Pack! I belong here.

She drew in a breath, and clenched her jaws, feeling the soft night wind ruffle her short fur as if a Wind-Dog had licked her as it passed.

The stories of my Pack: Those are my stories! Their Spirit Dogs are my Spirit Dogs.

They're all I need; they're enough for me.

“What will we do today, Martha? What will we do?” Storm leaped excitedly around Martha's sturdy legs, nipping at her fur with her baby teeth. “Let's do something fun. I know! You can teach me to swim!”

She was so tiny next to Martha, Storm thought with amazement. Then she realized: she wasn't Storm at all, not yet. . . .

I'm still Lick!

One huge webbed paw swiped her gently, making Storm tumble over on the soft grass, but she wriggled up again, forequarters lowered, tail wagging eagerly. Martha bowled her over once more and Storm lay on her back, squirming with delight as the big dog nuzzled her belly affectionately.

I'm a pup again . . . !

A wave of happiness rippled through her short fur. This was better! This was life when it had been fun, and so much simpler. Hopping to her paws, she panted eagerly as Martha licked her face.

“Where are Wiggle and Grunt? I want to play with them! Where are my litter-brothers?”

Martha gave a soft, gruff laugh, wrinkling her muzzle. “Patience, little one. I'm sure they—”

Then her huge head jerked up, and her dark eyes narrowed. Storm stopped, quivering as she watched her foster-mother snuff the breeze. She pressed close to Martha's flank, feeling the big dog's fur bristle.

Something was wrong. . . .

The clearing that had been so sunny and bright and warm seemed suddenly full of shadows. Darkness shifted at the edge of the trees, and the wind was cold now. A darker shadow slipped between the trunks, or so Storm thought. It was hard to see, hard to think clearly, but there was something out there. Something terrible.

“Martha?” she whispered, her whine trembling. “What is it?”

“Quiet, little one. Wait . . .”

“Is it Blade? Has she come back? Oh Martha, what will we do?” Her whole small body felt cold and vulnerable, and the trees seemed so very big.

Martha turned, dipping her great head to Storm's tiny one. “Oh, Lick,” she murmured. “Little dog, I don't know what to do. There's no danger out there.”

“But Martha—”

“No danger, little Lick, no darkness in the forest, I promise.” Martha's tongue gently caressed her ear. “The darkness is in
you
.”

Cold horror rushed through Storm's body like a freezing river, and the shadows swirled, engulfing her.

And she jerked awake, gasping for breath.

Reeling on her paws, Storm stumbled, then gazed around in a daze, the dream still clinging to her like tendrils of night. Violently she shook herself. Beneath her claws she could feel hard, cold rock, and there were no warm bodies near her, no gentle rise and fall of flanks. She wasn't in the camp; she wasn't with her hunting mates. There was no sound of them, no scent.

The Earth-Dog was still, the night black, but Storm could make out the looming shadows of trees. She became aware, as the dream finally drifted away, that her paw pads hurt, and as she bent to lick them, she realized they were cut and bruised, as if by a long walk over rough ground.

Blinking, Storm forced herself to focus on her surroundings. She knew this place. It was a knoll far from the camp, where Twitch and his friends used to hunt, but still within the new Pack's territory.
How did I get here?

She had no memory of leaving the camp. She clenched her fangs, shook her head. No, this wasn't her dream any longer. This was real.

Exhausted by panic, she let her head droop as she turned in
the direction of the camp and began to plod back down the rocky slope.
But I don't remember climbing up it.
A fragment of the dream flitted through her brain once more, and she shivered and gave a stifled whimper.

Is this why my paw pads have been hurting lately? Have I done this before?

Panic squeezed Storm's chest.
If I have, how often has it happened?

The woods seemed darker and deeper than ever, the moon no more than a cold sliver glimpsed now and again between the overhanging branches. The thought of running into a patrol dog horrified her: What would she say?
I don't want to face any questions. How can I give the answers when I don't know them? What if they start thinking I'm odd? That I'm not quite one of them?

She knew just where Daisy would be on patrol, so she lay quietly in the long weeds until the pale little shape passed, sniffing dutifully at the camp's fringes. Storm held her breath as Daisy paused, raised her head, and sniffed the air as if she'd caught a strange scent. But then she shook her head and moved on, and it was easy enough for Storm to slip through behind her on her belly, staying low and silent.

She thought she was home and safe, thought she had made it back unseen, and her fur began to settle and her breathing to
calm. Then she raised her head to see two dark figures cross the path right in front of her.

One halted, turning in shock, and she saw glowing eyes blink in the shadows.

“Storm?” asked the dog. “What are you doing out here?”

“Bella!” The name was hoarse in Storm's throat:
Lucky's litter-sister.
Her heart sank. Beside Bella was the slender, powerful shape of Arrow the Fierce Dog, and he too had cocked his head, eyeing her with suspicious curiosity.

“Yes, Storm.” He looked at Bella, then back at her. “What's going on?”

“I . . .” Storm's throat felt dry as dust.
I don't know what's going on, Arrow.
“I couldn't sleep. I thought—I decided to take a walk.”

There was a sharp bark of
Liar!
in her own head, but Bella only nodded, and hunched her golden shoulders.

“All right,” she murmured. “A walk does help a dog to sleep, it's true. But you ought to get to your den now, Storm. You'll have another hard day's hunting tomorrow.”

Storm dipped her head. “You're right, Bella. I am tired.” She forced her jaws into a friendly panting grin. “Good night. Good night, Arrow.”

She padded on, glad to feel the soft grass of the glade under her sore paw pads again. What she'd told Bella was true: Tiredness weighed on the nape of her neck like a stone, and she felt a wave of it wash through her as she trod heavily through the entrance of the hunters' den. Her nest of leaves had never looked so welcoming, yet she wouldn't be in it for long before the Sun-Dog rose.

It was only when she had curled into it, and her eyelids had almost closed, that the vague, nagging question at the back of her skull finally took shape in her mind. But she was right on the verge of sleep, and just as she thought it, she began to tumble over the edge into blissful unconsciousness. . . .

What were Bella and Arrow doing out there?

Storm was surprised at how fresh
and awake she felt as she bounded through the woods with the hunting party the next day. It was good to stretch her muscles properly, to feel the tiredness of the previous night fall away with the touch of the cool breeze in her fur.

I won't think about that dream. I won't think about waking up on cold rock, far from my den.
That was in the past; now she was hunting in a team led by Lucky, and she was determined to make a good showing for him. The air was cool and crisp and sunlight dappled the forest floor, betraying the scuttle and rush of small prey. It was going to be a
good
day.

The weasel in front of her was fast, but she was faster. Her paws pounded through drifted leaves as she raced to intercept the flash of red fur. It was panicking, darting this way and that in
search of escape, but she was too experienced to let it slip away. Lucky was driving it toward her, with Bruno and Breeze, and Bella was out at her flank in case it shot away in a sudden diversion; all she had to do was wait for the weasel to come within reach of her jaws. She could trust Lucky, she thought as she halted and crouched behind a grass tussock.

There was her Beta now, muscles stretching under his golden fur as he raced after the prey. Storm forced herself to stay still and low in the shadow of her tussock; she didn't need to use up all her energy by pouncing for her prey. She could wait for it to come to her. It was as good as dead.

And then Lucky's head jerked abruptly up, his nostrils flaring to scent the air. As his pawsteps faltered, the weasel took its chance. It shot to the side, not yet near enough to Storm's snapping jaws, and darted into the trees. With a flicker of red fur, it was gone.

Breeze skidded to a halt, raising her head to give a howl of frustration and anger. Storm rose to all fours, disbelieving.
He let it get away! It's just like the hunt with Whisper and Arrow! But this is Lucky. . . .

Does
he
hate hunting with me?
The notion crawled inside her skull like a biting insect, making her nape prickle with horror.
Lucky hesitated. He didn't drive the weasel to me. Doesn't he trust me?

She almost didn't dare look at her Beta, but when she did, Lucky wasn't watching her. He seemed to be paying her no attention at all; he was turning, searching the landscape as if he was hunting for something besides a weasel. And none of the other dogs wore hostile expressions; they all looked just as confused as Storm felt.

Bella gave a yip of bemusement. “Beta, what's going on?”

“Hush, Bella.” Lucky's eyes narrowed as he scanned the trees. “Don't you smell it?”

The other dogs glanced at one another, then Bella shrugged and began to sniff at the shifting breeze. Bruno and Breeze tipped their heads back and joined in. There
was
something, thought Storm as a tang of something rich and dark tickled her nostrils.

“Deer?” Bruno echoed her suspicions aloud.

“Not very fresh deer-scent,” said Breeze, with a thoughtful wrinkle of her muzzle.

“It's probably long gone,” sighed Bella.

All the same, Storm found herself licking her chops. It had been a long time since any of the Pack had tasted the warm flavor of deer, had filled their bellies as only a deer could fill them. But she would wait for Lucky's word. He was their hunt-leader.

“It could be worth tracking,” said Lucky at last, slowly. “The
scent's faded, but it isn't that old. This deer can't have gone far, and if we brought back a whole carcass it would feed the entire Pack.”

Storm bounded to his side. “It's worth a try, Beta.”

The other dogs nodded, and at a yelp from Lucky they sprang into the chase, following the scent with their heads low to the ground. The hills rose from here in a series of broad shallow steps away from the Endless Lake. It was hard running, but each dog was fired by a new hunger, and Storm's paws raced in strong, eager strides.

The scent trail grew more pungent as they ran, leading them in a more or less straight line up the slope until it rose abruptly into a black rocky cliff. Storm's pawsteps faltered as she took in the impossible precipice, but only for an instant. In that moment she caught another scent, the tang of a second deer crossing the trail of the first. She was about to bark her discovery to the others when Breeze gave a high yelp.

“Another deer! Over here!”

Storm jerked her head around, surprised. Breeze was some rabbit-chases away, but she was indeed sniffing hungrily at clumps of grass at the foot of the cliff. Bruno bounded toward her, but almost immediately slithered to a stop, plunging his
muzzle into the scrubby undergrowth.

“Another!” he barked.

In the next few moments all the dogs were barking, leaping off in different directions, almost bumping into each other in their desperation to follow each new scent.
So many deer!
Storm realized.
A whole Pack of them!

“Spread out!” barked Lucky commandingly. “Stay calm. Search for the strongest trail and we'll follow that.”

“But Beta, none of the scents are fresh,” yelped Storm. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but she knew it was true. However many deer there had been here, they were long gone. The hunting party's chase had been for nothing.

One by one the dogs circled, slower now as the trails faded away, then trotted back till they were clustered in the shadow of the overhanging rock. Bruno scraped at the stony earth with his claws, frustrated, and the others pinned their ears back and shared disappointed growls.

“Maybe this is the place where the deer live,” suggested Bella, flicking back one ear. “Maybe this is their camp, and they're away just now, hunting for grass and leaves.”

“A camp like ours?” Bruno furrowed the skin above his eyes in puzzlement. “You mean, the deer live in Packs like we do?”

“I don't know,” said Bella. “But maybe they do. Maybe there are deer Packs just as there are dog Packs.”

“Surely we'd know by now if that was true?” Lucky sounded unsure, and Storm glanced at him in surprise. “I suppose I've seen them in small groups sometimes. But mostly deer just seem to wander in ones and twos.”

“Well, a lot of them have been wandering here,” sniffed Breeze. She licked her chops longingly.

Storm drew away from their small group to nose at the ground again and scan the hillside.
Packs of deer: What a strange idea.

And yet she couldn't help thinking again of Alpha's stories. She turned and yipped to the others.

“Maybe this place has something to do with the Golden Deer herself,” she suggested. “Perhaps her shadows gather here.” She licked her jaws hesitantly. “Don't you feel the breeze? It sweeps across the cliff face. This hillside feels like it could be sacred to the Wind-Dogs.”

“Nonsense.” Bella flicked her tail dismissively and sat on her haunches. “That's just a pup-tale. Alpha's Mother-Dog invented those stories.”

“No.” Lucky took a few paces forward, and Storm noticed that the fur on his neck was on end. He pricked an ear, and glanced at
the rock face, then away toward the rolling fall of the slope. “The other Spirit Dogs are real; why wouldn't the Wind-Dogs be just as real?”

Bella barked a laugh. “Yes, yes. Of course the Wind-Dogs are as real as the other Spirit Dogs. They're
exactly
as real. All those stories were made up by Mother-Dogs, just to send their pups to sleep. They're no more true than the Fear-Dog, and we know Terror made
him
up out of cobwebs and air.”

Storm's jaw felt loose. Her ears drooped, and her tail clamped tight against her rump as she stared at Bella. “You don't think the Spirit Dogs are real? But Martha and Lucky taught me—”

“He's real!” The bark came from Breeze, who stepped forward with an air of angry certainty. “The Fear-Dog is no
story
! He's the fiercest and most powerful of the Spirit Dogs, just as Terror said!”

Storm backed off a pace, then another. Her tail felt as if it was going to disappear between her hindquarters.
The River-Dog is real, and the Forest-Dog and the Sky-Dogs and Lightning . . .
all
the Spirit Dogs are there, watching over us.
She swallowed hard.
But not the Fear-Dog. He's not real. Lucky said so. I don't want to believe in the Fear-Dog.

Bella was staring at Breeze with a dumbfounded expression; Breeze looked resentfully defiant. It was Bruno who broke the awkward silence.

“My Alpha believes in the Wind-Dogs,” he growled. “And she believes in the Golden Deer. That's good enough for me. It should be good enough for any dog in the Pack.”

Every dog watched him, tails tapping the ground thoughtfully.

“I hope,” Bruno went on, “that any deer we see today are real ones, not shadows. But whatever prey we find, it has to be real. I don't care if it's not a deer. We must find some food for the Pack, even if it's small. So, do we plan to hunt today? Because this might be where some deer Pack lives, it might indeed. But they're not here
now
.”

“Bruno's right,” said Lucky after a short, impressed silence. “It's getting late. We need to find something to take back to the Pack.”

He turned and trotted back down the slope with his easy, loping grace, but he looked, Storm couldn't help thinking, quite regretful. Bounding to catch up with him, she nudged Lucky's shoulder gently with her muzzle.

“What do you really think that place was?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, Storm? I have no idea. It doesn't matter; we have to find living prey.” He gave a growl of gruff amusement. “Creatures that aren't made of air and cobwebs!”

Still unsettled, Storm glanced back over her shoulder at the grassy dip beneath the cliff. It was such a strange place, with its network of scents and its silence, the still absence of any prey. A breeze blew from it to ripple through her fur even as she ran, and she felt a chill in her bones.

Was that the Wind-Dogs? Did they speak to me?

Bella's words had riled her, but now they didn't seem to matter because they rang so hollow. Storm could feel her heart thudding in her rib cage. Of course there were Spirit Dogs, of course there were!

Something rustled in the undergrowth to her side, and Storm almost tripped over her own paws as she was brought back to reality and the present. Bella was looking at her, eyes eager and ears pricked, and Storm nodded meaningfully at her.

There's prey down here!

Bruno was right, she thought as she doubled sideways and sped toward the tangle of brush. Questions were unimportant right now, and so were wild notions about the Spirit Dogs leaping down to earth.

With a rippling shake of her muscles, Storm flung herself into the chase.