A Wolf Story (6 page)

nine

Aramus studied the haggard moon that hung oppressively above the distant ridge. Everything he knew told him to flee this evil place. There was nothing he could do for the hare. And to stay would mean death. But still he hesitated, his heart touched, his spirit compelled to reach out, embracing the wounded creature.

He la
y down again beside the old hare.

Aramus knew that soon the sun would rise and burn away the storm, but the last of the night remained. He shook his head, sensing defeat. He had almost made it to the morning, hidden silently within the snow. And now he was faced with a deadly confrontation that he had done his best to avoid. The dawn seemed too far away as he searched the mist for the horror he feared approaching. He looked again upon the hare.

Ice slowly formed across the wolfs back as he protected the small creature, but the cold was forgotten as Aramus wrestled with the terrible decision of whether to abandon his post and suffer defeat in the Watch, or remain and face the beast that might come upon them before dawn.

Aramus knew that his father would never leave the Watch; not for fear of the storm, or the cold, or any beast that lived.

Countless times Aramus had seen Gianavel stand in the gap, defending the pack against lion or bear. Often the battles had been fierce beyond endurance, but the great wolf had never retreated, had never fallen beneath the terrible onslaught. And in the end, he had always prevailed; wounded and scarred, but saving the lives of those who needed him. Aramus had learned much from his sire, for his father was one who lived as he spoke.

Thinking of his father's size and strength, Aramus studied the old hare's quiet form, wondering how the small creature could even begin to resist Baalkor.

"I have met this thing before," said Aramus. "Not long ago I saw something in the dark. I wanted to run. But I was too scared. Then my father came and rescued me. And if he hadn't, I would have died. How can you be so brave when you know that it's coming for you?"

The hare smiled weakly, his tired face settling in familiar lines. He seemed stronger now, recovering slowly beneath the warmth of Aramus's silver coat, sharing the heat of the wolf
’s massive form.

"Flesh is flesh," he said. "I'm afraid, too, sometimes. It is the way of things. But as you grow older, strength comes, little by little. Endurance is gained by enduring. My strength has become greater with each struggle I have faced in my long, long life."

Then the hare began to speak again, and ceased. His old eyes looked into the forest, or the night or something beyond them both. And for a long moment he focused on the dark. Then his eyes seemed to laugh, though Aramus could not be sure.

"So much love
, yet you do not know," he said, nodding lightly. "It would be a great honor, one day, perhaps in a world beyond this, to know your father. He is one who loves much, and lives his love."

Suddenly the hare stiffened, brown eyes shut tightly, and the old, scarred face was a reflection of agony as he suffered from some abysmal, mortal pain.

Aramus waited, watching sadly.

Again a demonic howl split the sky, closer than before.

Aramus lifted his head and listened. The dark sound was moving, even as it haunted the night. The beast was coming faster now, no longer confused by the hare's final tricks to evade its pursuit. Aramus listened nervously until the victorious voice vanished from the mist, dreading that it would be upon them all too soon. Then he turned his attention to the hare.

The warm brown eyes were closed, and beneath the blood that masked its wounds, Aramus could not discern whether he still breathed. Then the hare weakly raised his head, and spoke with a ghostly stare.

"Leave quickly. The greater danger ... is yours. It will destroy you, too, at the last. But he will not kill you outright. He will want to destroy your spirit and leave your flesh alive, if he can. That is the greater victory. He will frighten you, and tempt you with dark pleasures, hoping you will prefer evil desires over suffering for what is right. If you stay, you must not listen to him. He is too strong for you. Choose whom you will serve by faith. That is all you need to know. It is the final stand, and Baalkor cannot overcome it. But beware. When he fails to turn you from your faith, he will try to destroy you, as he has with me. But I was prepared ... to die. And now that my fight is finished, I am content. I have endured ... to the end."

Aramus saw that a peace beyond this life had already touched the hare's heart, and he searched for words to ease the small creature's pain, but nothing seemed enough.

"What is your name?" he asked softly.

The hare breathed once, deeply.

"I am Saul," he said.

A malignant mist thickened on the far side of the glade. Aramus watched it roll toward them, swept by the relentless, freezing winds, and he struggled for words that might give them hope.

"There's still a chance that you'll live," he said. "Maybe my father will return. He's not afraid of
anything
. The dark wolf will never attack us if he is here." Aramus paused, ashamed. "But I've always failed to defeat my fears. And I'll probably fail you, too."

Saul smiled, and for the first time seemed to laugh in the wolf
’s embrace. "I do not fail ... when my heart is true," he said quietly. "Nor shall you."

Silver eyes gazed tenderly, softly, upon the hare.

"You only think you're going to fail because you have always failed," Saul whispered. "I was much the same when I was your age. You try to overcome your weakness, your fears, with the strength of your flesh. But it is the strength of the spirit that enables you to overcome. It is not something you can understand with your mind. It's something you must know in your heart. This is the mystery that defeats the world."

Weighed down by his great, ponderous fatigue and an emptiness that reached into desolation, Aramus stirred his strength.

"How do I know this strength?" he asked. "My father talks like you do. But I only feel alone, as I felt tonight. Though sometimes, when I'm hurt, I think I might feel something in my heart. I'm not sure. Is that when the Lightmaker comes to us, when we're hurt?"

"The Lightmaker is always with you," Saul said gently. "But our hearts are filled with many things, so we don't hear him. That's why so often it's only in times of suffering that we finally understand, because it is then we finally listen. And then we come to know his love for us. We become one with the Lightmaker, and strength comes for the task.

"Don't feel that you are alone. Everyone must endure ... the Dark Night of the Soul. Sometimes it lasts for days. Sometimes it lasts for years. But it is something we must all endure, to find our strength. There is no shame in your pain. It only means that the Lightmaker is working within you, burning away everything that makes you weak. Don't run from the pain. Embrace it bravely, and look into your heart. Then allow the Lightmaker to destroy within you all those things that keep you from him. The pain is great, but in the end, if you will only endure, you will stand in new strength, and a new life."

With Saul's words, Aramus felt both his fears and his courage blazing more brightly than ever before. For he was looking upon death, a slow, painful death. Yet he was seeing something more. He was seeing life and courage, of a kind the young wolf had never witnessed before, not even in the great gray Elders of his pack. They were brave in battle and strong in the winter, but this small one was their equal in courage, perhaps even greater. Here was one who held strength beyond fang and claw. In a strange, uncanny way, Aramus felt his heart draw closer to Saul, a creature he could call
... friend.

As Saul spoke, snow had drifted into a crusted mound about Aramus' side. And although he had protected the small creature from the storm, Aramus knew that there was a greater danger coming out of the mist, a danger he could not defeat.

A booming howl, terrifyingly close, shattered the night air and swept across the glade. The howl ended harshly, terminating in a series of beastly growls. Un-blinking, Aramus looked toward the sound, determining its distance, though in the mist and storm he could not be sure. And as his penetrating stare fixed on the far side of the frozen glade, a light flashed behind his silver eyes. Then he turned back, without expression, to his friend.

Saul was resting. His breathing had tired, and his shaking slowed. Aramus saw that his companion's strength was fading, for perhaps the final time. The old voice was thin and weak when the hare spoke again.

"His grace is sufficient ... His grace is sufficient ... Always strength comes for the task."

Saul's words echoed in the early morning air long after he had ceased to speak. The moon was ragged and pale where it glared between patches of cloud. A cold wind moaned across the glade, and white mist rolled over them.

Aramus lifted up his head and sensed something very close, barely beyond the storm. His fears, the old nature, the urge to flee, struggled vainly to rise within him, and he smiled faintly, grimly, at the thought. He knew what he would do.

"I'll never leave you," Aramus said, looking softly upon his dying friend. "We are servants of the Light' maker. We will live together, or die together. And if we are still alive when morning comes, I'll carry you back home to your family. Even if you
... die ... I'll carry you home. I promise."

Saul seemed to smile.

"A promise made, a promise kept, when love would mean so much. Strength may fail, the eye grow dim … but the heart shall ever last."

Saul began to speak again and ceased, and a touch of sadness was in his eyes as he rolled his head weakly to the side, gazing into the mist. And Aramus knew that Saul sensed what could not be heard, coming out of the night.

"... the beast is here," he said.

* * *

ten

Aramus sensed the deadly chill that brushed across his hack and was already rising at the old hare's words. Instinctively the mane bristled along his spine and his fangs emerged in a ghastly white snarl.

A promise made, now left to keep, he turned to face the beast.

The mist thickened, as if hiding something hideous that whispered to them from beyond the pale shroud. Then slowly, hauntingly, a shape seemed to reveal itself, emerging from the storm as if it were taking substance from the night. Darkness appeared to fall before it as the beast came out of the mist. It separated from the night, a malignant shadow coming out of the storm, and left no footprints as it crossed the snow.

Its dead eyes marked its soul, born in the night and wed with the grave. Glowing darkly, they fixed on the hare, and for a long moment Aramus stood spellbound at the wolf's size.

Even larger than Gianavel, it moved with the grace of a lion. And its dark head stood against a colossal mound of scarred flesh, marked with the wounds of terrible battles. Its body seemed to still be emerging from the mist long after its head and monstrous forelimbs had come into the moonlight. Then finally it was there, huge and godlike with red fangs glistening in distended jaws. In his fear Aramus saw it as some lost lord of the underworld set loose from its hellish throne to stalk the Earth in the
Power of Night.

If Aramus had not moved the beast would have passed him without notice, intent on the hare who had earlier escaped his wrath. Then, as he had seen his father do so many times against lion and bear, Aramus threw himself in the gap and unleashed a deafening roar.

Baalkor halted suddenly, seeming to notice the silver wolf for the first time. The scent of fresh blood reached Aramus and he saw the red jaws and blackened claws. Eyes like dried blood turned toward him, and he felt his skin shiver at the sight. Beneath that unearthly stare Aramus felt his snarl fade and his strength fall, his courage crushed by its demonic will.

The monster's gaze measured Aramus, and instinctively the young wolf took firmer footing in the thickly crusted snow, tensing for the first deadly lunge. Behind him he heard Saul shuffling weakly on the snowy mound.

Baalkor seemed to study him, a mocking smile curling cruel black lips. Aramus prayed for strength equal to the task. And finally, as if the challenge had lost all cause for amusement, the monster spoke.

"So, you will defend the poor, pitiful creature?"

Aramus said nothing. The battle was already beyond words.

"How very noble. I am sure that when your father returns to find your dead body in the glade, he will know that you died well."

It smiled.

Inside the dark eyes a ghostly red haze shivered menacingly.

"You serve the Lightmaker," it intoned. "I serve the Dark Lord. Give me the hare or die."

Its hate filled the arctic night and the trees seemed to shrink from its presence as it spoke. The stars, already weak and dry, paled at its words. The wind fell eerily still.

Dread crawled through Aramus as he stared into the icy depths of the black eyes, and feared the darkness that dwelled within.

Then, faintly, words left to him with the dying sun returned, echoing dimly along the shadowed corridors of his shattered spirit.

"Be strong. Be courageous. Do what you know is right …"

Aramus drew upon his staggering courage.

"I am Aramus, son of Gianavel. I am a servant of the Lightmaker, as my father before me. I stand against you."

Baalkor's eyes gleamed hungrily.

"Gianavel ... my enemy!" It drew the words out deliciously. "My great, hated enemy! This will be a delicacy indeed! Vengeance fulfilled twice in a night! A dead king and the son of a king! There will be no one left to slay."

Baalkor threw back its head, laughing soundlessly, fangs gleaming. Aramus thrilled with a new surge of fear that made his legs tremble despite his resolve.

Dark eyes turned on him again.

"Don't you know me, boy?" it rasped. The beast appeared to grow distant from Aramus, as if separated by a deeper, descending darkness that held the power to delay the dawn.

Aramus stared, eyes wide.

"You are Baalkor," he said, finally. "You are an old wolf, one of the Dark Council."

A silent, laughing rage made Baalkor seem even more monstrous. Within its eyes, dark flames danced into endless night.

"Oh, I am much more than an old wolf, boy. Much more. The darkness that holds you is my child. The grave that will claim you is my bride. The horror you feel in your heart is my love. There is no power that can defeat me. I am a servant of the Dark Lord, the end of the Earth. I live only to slay the living. And the hills hold the bones to mark my passing.
I am the beast you fear in the night. I am the thing that waits for you in the dark. I am hunger. I am pain. I am sorrow …. I am
Death
."

The cold wind moaned silently behind its words, and Aramus felt his legs grow weak. A wild, overpowering fear made him tense as if to run, but he stilled himself, holding his ground in a stance without strength. Then
he heard Saul shuffling behind him, and his courage endured. Unconsciously Aramus braced himself for a firmer grip in the snow before he spoke.

"You can't have him."

Baalkor shifted slightly in the snow. Its black tongue flicked across the fangs mockingly.

"Can't you see how the Lightmaker has forsaken the hare?" it said, its voice suddenly soothing, calmer. "Do you not see his terrible wounds? If the Lightmaker were truly alive do you believe that Saul would be wounded unto death? No. The Lightmaker would fight to defend you. That is a sign that the Lightmaker is gone. The days of Saul's faith have ended, as they were meant to end. Come, let us reason together. Clearly, the Light-maker is not here. It is only the three of us. I admire you, young cub. You are brave to face me to defend this creature. But your sacrifice is foolish. What has the Lightmaker done for you? You are alone in the cold dark, facing certain death. And look at Saul. He is dead already. I don't even have to finish the task. That is what the Lightmaker does for you. He forsakes you when you need him the most."

Baalkor bent its dark head forward.

"Join me," it whispered, fangs rasping, "let us feast on the hare as brothers. Join me and you will never look upon suffering again. All the pleasures of the world will be yours. Nothing will be withheld from your sight. Join me, and the Dark Lord will fulfill all your secret desires, the pleasures you have every right to enjoy. Only forget the Old Story. The Lightmaker is a dream, a dream of
fools. And the Age of Dreams has ended. We are the New Creation, the purpose of all things, the beginning of all things. Pleasure and power are our dreams, dreams we now fulfill. Forget this useless faith, this foolish suffering, and accept the unending pleasures the Dark Lord can give you."

Aramus stared, shaken, even as a shadowy haze descended within his mind, an otherworldly darkness that dimmed his reason and sought a stronghold in his heart.

Even as Baalkor continued his soothing speech.

"For behold the power of the Dark Lord
! I am greater among wolves than any living. And yet I am not alone! Legion stand behind me! Yes, many are the dark wolves who have come across to the greater power of Night. We take the Earth, destroying what we wish. Nothing can stop us. Yet I am least of the Dark Council. I will not fail to speak of Incomel, the great lion that destroys at will and stands above me in rank. Alone, he is equal to your entire pack in strength. Strike at him once and it will be your doom. He sees in the night as in the day, and is feared even by servants of darkness. And yet he is but a shadow of Corbis, the great bear who is our chief.

“
Corbis, god on the Earth, second only to the Dark Lord in the strength and power of his wrath. Corbis, who makes the Earth tremble when he walks and breaks trees like rotten straw. Sorrow covers the land when he rises up in his wrath, and the sight of him casts down all hope for life. What good is it to stand against us? Those who are with me are greater than those who are with you. How could we hold such power if the Dark Lord were not supreme?"

Aramus felt as if unseen claws had sliced painful wounds through his spirit. He shook his head, throwing off snow and shadows together, struggling to resist the overpowering force of the beast. But its power was beyond flesh, the spell hypnotic, making him weary unto death with the effort of resisting its enduring strength.

Baalkor's black head bent conspiratorially.

"Join me, and greater power awaits us, still. We will change this land. Only we must first free the world of these creatures who hav
e corrupted it with their infernal, twisted faith. Then the world will be pure and we will receive the true power of the Dark Lord. We will pass beyond flesh, beyond knowledge, beyond strength. We will know the ancient secrets, hold the keys of eternal life and death. And when the last of this creature's kind are finally wiped from the earth, the Dark Lord will deliver us, making us what we were truly meant to be: gods."

Baalkor commanded the night, and spoke without fear.

"
Join me …
"

Aramus tried to focus on the dark beast before him, but saw as one sees in a dream. His mind was worn, torn down and ravaged by the power of its irresistible will. There were so many things he did not know, so many things he did not understand. Was there any truth in Baalkor's words? Truly, where was the Lightmaker in
this dark hour? And what would happen should death take him? Saddened, confused, he turned helplessly toward his wounded friend for some answer, some hope, to the doubts that struck him down.

Saul only gazed at him with strong, loving eyes, and the ghost of a smile seemed to touch the tiny mouth as he spoke.

"Choose this day ... whom you will serve," was all he said.

Aramus blinked, then slowly smiled back at his friend. The silver wolfs heart swelled with tenderness. Remembering, now, that he had already known it would come to this. For long ago Gianavel had taught him that in this world he must forever choose who he would serve. He would serve the Lightmaker, or he would serve the Dark Lord. For there was nothing else. Always there would be mysteries, questions that he could not answer. But on this day, in this hour, he could choose who he would serve... by faith.

His choice made, the path was clear.

Silver eyes turned to his enemy.

"Words of a dying fool!" growled Baalkor, blasting frost from his jaws in an evil cloud. "Will you listen to one who is at death's door? I am stronger! The Dark Lord is greater than your worthless Lightmaker! I have beaten you."

Aramus lowered his hard shoulders before he spoke.

"No."

For a long moment Baalkor pondered the response, a hideous haze shadowing its head.

Then slowly, from somewhere within, it seemed to summon an awesome and terrible power, as if it were calling the Dark Lord himself forth from some nightmarish throne of darkness. A snarl that began deep in the dark wolfs chest trembled the snow and ground beneath it. And the black head lowered, whispering the names of fallen foes. Then in a nightmare it moved, exploding in a devastating rush.

Almost instantly the black and red avalanche was upon Aramus, who was unprepared for such a blinding attack. Gaping fangs reached his throat, and a paralyzing roar froze his heart.

* * *