Wolves of the Beyond: Shadow Wolf (10 page)

THERE WERE IN ALL SIX GNAW
wolves who would be competing at the
gaddergnaw
during the Moon of the Singing Grass. They had gathered to practice on the lower slopes of Crooked Back Ridge, a place accessible to all the packs and clans. This morning, the gnaw wolves were working on bones in a gnaw circle that formed around a scrape, a small circular area that had been literally scraped bare of any grass. In the center was a pile of bones from which the wolves selected the ones they wanted. As they gnawed, they spoke softly—clan gossip, the upcoming trials of the big
gaddergnaw
, as well as what they knew of the history of the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes and the wolves of the Watch.

“There’s a rumor of outclanners slipping over the
border,” Tearlach, the earless gnaw wolf from the MacAngus clan, said. “Have you heard about that?”

“Where—near here?” Edme, the one-eyed wolf from the MacHeath clan, asked nervously.

“Probably not,” Heep said. “You know there are always rumors, and if in fact any outclanners are around, most likely they are up near the MacDonegal territory. That’s closest to the Outermost border.”

“Not a pleasant subject,” Edme said, and gave a shiver.

“You know,” Tearlach began, as if to purposely change the subject, “they say that when the old Fengo Hamish was released from his duties, his hind leg, which was twisted backward, turned around. A cloud passed across the moon, and when it cleared, his leg was straight.”

“Really?” Edme asked somewhat breathlessly.

“But it most certainly is true!” Heep snapped. “Why would you ever question this story?”

“I thought maybe it was just a legend.”

“No!” barked Heep. There was a snarl embedded in the bark that took them all aback.

But Edme seemed unfazed. “I don’t think we should even think about that because it would mean the good king Soren of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree would have
to die, and another owl would have to dive for the ember.”

“I never have understood this at all. Embered kings, unembered ones,” Faolan said.

“That’s because you’re new.” Heep lifted his head. “You really don’t understand our history or our ways.”

Faolan went back to his gnawing. He was not going to let this wolf get to him.

“But we should tell him, Heep! Or how will he ever learn?” Creakle, who was missing a paw, leaned out to explain. “As you know, the duty of the Watch is to guard the Ember of Hoole embedded in one of the craters of the five Sacred Volcanoes. That’s when there is what we call an unembered monarch such as Soren at the great tree. Embered monarchs have the ember with them, so there’s no need for a Watch to guard it.

“What happened to Hamish could happen only after the Ember of Hoole was recovered by Coryn, who became an embered king a long time ago. At that moment, every wolf of the Watch was released from duty and could resume the life of a normal wolf. What had been broken in their bodies was mended; what was twisted was made to grow straight; what was crippled gained strength.”

“Is that what the law says?” Faolan asked.

Heep snorted as if to say,
How could one be so stupid?
but Creakle shot him a dark look. “Oh, no. This was not a decree from the
gaddernock
. It has nothing to do with wolf codes or laws. It was a prophecy.” He spoke in a hushed tone. “A prophecy made by the very earliest owl king of the Hoolian world.”

“But it came true!” Edme said.

Hasn’t it in some way already come true?
Faolan thought. He remembered his amazement at the beautiful howling that issued from the throat of the Whistler and wondered again how that buckled throat, the warped windpipe that gusted and rattled in speech, could produce such a lovely note. He said nothing. However, the story of the wolves of the Watch being restored to new lives had a haunting resonance for him.

The wolves at the scrape were silent for a long time after Creakle’s explanation. Faolan liked this new companionship but was deeply annoyed that he had to gnaw so close to Heep. He could almost hear that little nick in the back blades of Heep’s teeth clicking as he gnawed. Wolves of the same clan had to work next to each other. This meant that Heep, the Whistler, and Faolan always had to gnaw side by side.

Across the scrape from Faolan were Creakle the MacDuff wolf, Tearlach from the MacAngus clan, and Edme, the pathetic one-eyed she-wolf who had endured
unspeakable abuse from the infamous MacHeath clan. One of the vilest secrets of the MacHeaths was that they would purposely maim young pups, hoping to gain a place in the Watch of the Sacred Volcanoes. MacDuncans had been favored for the Watch, but when Hamish became Fengo, he worked hard with the best scholars of the
gaddernock
so that the law could be changed and others could be considered for duty. Hamish felt that new blood was needed to keep the Watch vigorous. It had been one of his last achievements before he died.

As they chatted and gnawed around the scrape, Faolan worked on a design that he hoped someday to perfect so he could carve it on Thunderheart’s huge paw. It was a carving of a summer night when Thunderheart had watched the stars with Faolan, naming the constellations for him and pointing out the Great Bear. Faolan was determined to incise this constellation on his bone—every little star from the Bear’s muzzle to the tips of its hind feet.

Edme had risen up to stretch her legs. “Oh, my goodness! Look at what Faolan’s done!” she exclaimed.

“What?” grunted Heep.

“Why, he’s only made the most beautiful constellation I have ever seen. With all the proper stars surrounding it.”

“It looks like a bear, not a wolf—if that’s what you intended.” Heep scowled.

“That’s exactly what I intended. It is how the bears look at the stars. They call the Great Wolf the Great Bear. My second Milk Giver taught me those names. The Great Bear points to Ursulana, the place where bear spirits go when they die.”

“Oh, her again, that bear,” muttered Heep.

“It’s beautiful, Heep!” Edme said. “What difference does it make what one calls it? Stars all have different meaning for different animals, and heavens have different names. It’s an inspiration.” She scurried to the center of the circle and picked a femur from the pile, then returned to her spot and began gnawing diligently. “I’m starting over, a new bone, new design! All because of Faolan!”

Edme was such a cheerful wolf despite her pitiful appearance.

“Yes, Faolan’s is one of the loveliest designs ever.” The windy words of the Whistler brushed Faolan’s shoulder as Whistler leaned over to study the bone. “Edme’s right; what difference does it make?”

“Blasphemy, perhaps?” Heep muttered.

“I think you’re going too far,” Creakle said.

“That’s your opinion, Creakle. But some might call it
profane to call the Great Wolf by the name of another animal.”

“Oh, really!” The Whistler groaned and it sounded like the clattering of bare branches in the wind.

Faolan knew that his gnawing had caused talk, especially since he had gnawed the bones of contrition. The elegance and beauty of his work had stirred rumors among the most superstitious of the wolves that he was from the Dim World, or perhaps was the
malcadh
offspring of an outclanner! Wolves were watching him closely now, and it was unnerving. If Heep began muttering about the constellation he had just carved and saying it was blasphemy, there could be trouble. But should Faolan change his design to look more like a wolf? That seemed dishonest, even profane. He had wanted to show how bears viewed the night sky. The bear’s point of view. Did the entire universe always have to be seen through the eyes of wolves?

Edme paused in her gnawing. “Don’t you find it odd that both wolves and cougars share the word ‘scrape,’ but the meaning is so different?”

The clicking sound next to Faolan stopped. Heep dropped his bone. He began to make the writhing motions that often were the prelude to one of his humble speeches. “I am well aware that I am the humblest of all the gnaw
wolves gathered here today, and perhaps I am reaching beyond my lowly station to even suggest that the esteemed gnaw wolf from the MacHeath clan goes too far.”

Faolan felt his hackles rise at this. Heep had just wrapped an insult in the deceptive pelt of his fawning words. Poor Edme knew that she was the least-esteemed gnaw wolf in all the Beyond because the brutal clan she came from was a whisker’s breadth away from being considered outclanners. Heep’s words rubbed a raw wound.

“But it is my humble opinion that it does a disservice to our noble wolves to even think of a comparison between our clans and cougars.” And with that, Heep got up, walked around to where Edme was working, and gave her a sharp nip on the ear.

“Youch!”
Edme screeched. A trickle of blood ran down her neck.

The other wolves were momentarily stunned. Tearlach was at Edme’s side instantly, and the other wolves soon jumped up, their hackles raised.

“Are you all right, Edme?” Tearlach asked.

“I’ll be fine. It wasn’t deep. I’ll be fine.” But she did not look fine.

Edme’s face seemed to be collapsing into her skull. Her muzzle trembled, her eyes leaked oily tears. But she
stared at Heep uncomprehendingly. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

“You need to learn, Edme. Your comments were an insult to our species.”

“I…I…” she began to speak.

She can’t apologize. She can’t!
Faolan thought. He had had enough of the yellow wolf for one morning. He knew it was not so much what Edme had said but her drawing attention to Faolan’s carving earlier that had angered Heep. Heep was trying to get back at her. Faolan came right up to Heep and assumed the most threatening posture he could muster, for gnaw wolves were not practiced in the basics of threat stances and dominance signals. And yet the other gnaw wolves dropped their bones when they saw Faolan with his tail erect, his head held high, his ears shoved up and forward.

Faolan circled Heep, walking with a slight swagger until he stopped and faced him. He growled and bared his teeth. Then he began to speak, and what he said was so shocking that the other wolves gasped: “Heep, you are prideful. You are not humble at all. And you are a hypocrite. Pride and deceit have made you mean. What you just said to Edme was cruel. You are vain. Your so-called humility is false. You want to be humiliated? I’ll help you!”

And now Faolan did the most extraordinary thing of all. He reared up and placed his two front paws across Heep’s shoulders to press him down. This was the most aggressive of all the dominance moves a wolf could make.

This was not a fight; not a drop of blood was shed. But as the four other gnaw wolves watched, they understood that they were seeing something more disturbing than a fight. None of them had any fondness for Heep, but they were frightened by Faolan’s display of dominance. It violated every rule and code of the
gaddernock
for a gnaw wolf to use dominance signals.

When Faolan removed his front paws, Heep staggered to his feet and looked around. His eyes were narrow slits. “You made an error, gnaw wolf.” The words seemed to seethe through his teeth, but Heep kept his ears flat and would not look Faolan in the eye. “I could report this. It would be the end for you.”

The Whistler came forward then and spoke, his thin voice warbling like a wind through a deep canyon. “No, it won’t be the end. It’s the beginning. And you won’t report it, Heep. Trust me on that!” He reared up on his hind legs as well and placed his forepaws on Heep’s shoulders. No sooner had he stepped down than Creakle, who was missing a forepaw, stepped up, skewered himself around so his two back paws were squarely on Heep’s shoulders, and
pressed down as well. The earless Tearlach was next, and finally Edme came forward.

Her single eye was an intense deep green that seemed to sparkle with unshed tears. Before she reared up, she spoke in her high, distinct little voice. “You hurt me, Heep. Not the nip to my ear—that was nothing. The way you spoke was cruel. Believe me, I know cruel. I come from the MacHeath clan. We may be gnaw wolves here at the scrape, but we are civilized. You are an uncivilized wolf, Heep.”

When she stepped off Heep’s shoulders, the Whistler came forward again. “And now, Heep, you are truly humiliated. Do us the favor of not expanding on your humiliation.”

Faolan was deeply touched by the loyalty of the other gnaw wolves. And he should have slept well, but his dreams were troubled once more by the tale of the
skreeleen
and the little pup who kept trying to go back down the star ladder. The images of that little pup mixed with the loathsome clicking sounds from Heep’s teeth. Why couldn’t Faolan put this to rest? How many more bones did he need to find?

He had been back once and found more, which he had also taken to bury with the paw of Thunderheart. The grizzly had been his mother in life; she could watch over the little pup in death. After all, she knew pups. She had raised Faolan not just on her milk, but had taught him to hunt and to jump! Perhaps she could help this pup jump for the star ladder.

But every time he thought of the little
malcadh
, he thought of the story of Skaarsgard chasing after the stubborn star pup who scampered down the star ladder so he could taste the meat of the fox and swim the river to fish for salmon. Who could have no dreams because he had not lived. Once more, Faolan felt deep in his marrow that it was not dreams the little she-pup on the ridge came back for, not ox, not salmon, but vengeance.

HEEP HAD LEFT THE SCRAPE SHAKING
with rage. Rage and fear. He had been wary of Faolan since the very first day, when the wolf had jumped the wall of fire. Rumors had begun about Faolan challenging the order and had trailed Faolan ever since. Everything had been going so well until now. Faolan’s extravagant display of pride during the
byrrgis
three moons before could not have worked better for Heep. But now somehow, as the old wolf expression went, the bone had turned, and Heep was denounced as the prideful gnaw wolf. But that bone Faolan had incised at the scrape was a profanity! Imagine carving a design of the most important constellation in the night sky and making it look like a bear! This was challenging the order, and Heep would make sure word leaked out
about it. The clans, particularly the MacDuffs, were already deeply suspicious of Faolan. Perhaps what transpired at the scrape had happened for the best.

Heep had spent his life feeling desperately sorry for himself. Of all the afflictions gnaw wolves suffered—missing eyes, paws, crooked throats—his was the worst. There was nothing that compared with the indignity of not having a tail.

The tail was the most expressive part of a wolf’s body. To hold it high and wave it indicated confidence, happiness, and dominance within a pack. Held rigid and straight out, it was a clear signal of aggression and impending attack. The tail half-tucked was a sign of submission, and fully tucked meant the wolf was afraid. Heep, whose entire life had been dedicated to humility, did not even have the most important instrument of all to show how humble he was. That was what perhaps galled him the most.

It was all so unfair. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been better if he’d died on his
tummfraw
. But when he saw this new wolf violating every single rule of the
byrrgis
, how could he help feeling superior, even without a tail?

It was now the deepest part of a moonless night,
and Heep heard Faolan stirring. Was that foul wolf going roaming again? One would think that the splayed paw would make more of a track, especially on rainy nights. But the silver wolf was crafty, and Heep believed that Faolan had figured out a way to camouflage his paw print. He was a hard wolf to follow and he traveled so fast. Again, Heep’s mind went back to how it was all so unfair that he had been born without a tail. Even a wolf born
malcadh
because of his strange paw could devise a strategy to hide his deformity. But what could Heep do without a tail? Grow one? Nothing short of a miracle would make that happen.

Heep got up and silently made his way out of the
gaddergnaw
camp. He would try to follow Faolan. The night was dark, but that silvery tail waved like a pennant in the blackness.

It had been a long night and taken twice as long as Faolan had planned to travel to the ridge of the pup, as he now thought of that sad, bleak place. At first, Faolan had felt as if he were being followed and had taken several detours that added greatly to the journey. But he found some more
of the little pup’s bones and then traveled fast to Thunderheart’s paw. He looked forward to the breaking dawn, when gray would start to peel back the dark of the moonless night.

A northeast wind had begun and brought in a wet, foggy mist. Soon it was drizzling. Faolan peered down at the bones before he buried them, his forehead wrinkling as he scrutinized the marks.

Violence. That was all he could imagine. Wanton violence seemed to seep from the bones and their helter-skelter flurry of teeth incisions. What animal would have done this? How could an animal be
angry
at its prey? Prey was a fact of life; there was no need or reason for passion. A defenseless animal like the little she-pup could not have put up a fight. Why this madness?

Faolan dug down and tucked the
malcadh
’s bones in so they nestled close to Thunderheart. He then turned north and headed back toward the Eastern Scree. The
gaddergnaw
gathering on the western slopes of Crooked Back Ridge would have disbanded by now and the packs gone back to their own camps. The fog had thickened, but Faolan knew his way and found it comforting to be wrapped in the vaporous ground mist. Insulated, protected in his downy pelt still thick with winter fur, he
was alone with his thoughts and indulged in his dreams of Thunderheart and the pup climbing the star ladder together. In Faolan’s waking dreams, the pup never fell off the ladder and never ever tried to scramble back down to earth.