Allan and the Ice Gods (18 page)

A while later, Wi looked at the moon and saw that the star was

vanishing in the light of its edge. Then he whispered to Foh who now

had come to him and crouched at his side, watching all things eagerly

as a boy does. Foh nodded and slipped away, to return presently with a

smouldering brand that he had brought from a little fire which was

burning out of sight farther down the hillside.

Wi took it and went to the pile of dried wood that had been prepared

upon the rock, where he blew it to a flame and set it among some

powdered seaweed at the base of the pile. The seaweed caught readily,

as this sort does when dry, giving out a blue light, and presently the

pile was aflame. Then Wi bade Foh go home to the cave, which he

pretended to do but did not, for, desiring above all things to see

this great wolf hunt, he hid himself away behind a rock.

Thinking that Foh had departed, Wi crept down to where the old men, to

the number of fifty or more under the command of Hotoa the Slow-speeched, lay hidden among the stones, down wind so that the wolves

might not smell them, and near to the mouth of the gully that, save

for a gap in the middle, was built up with a wall of snow-covered

boulders, as has been told. These men he bade be ready, and when the

wolves had gone through the gap and they heard his command, but not

before, to rush forward, each of them carrying a large stone, and fill

up the gap so that the wolves could not come out again. Meanwhile,

they must keep stirring the stones lest the frost should fasten them

to the ground.

These men, many of whom were shivering with cold or fear, or both,

listened dully. Whaka said that his heart told him that no good would

come of this business; Hou the Unstable asked if they could not change

their plan and go home; N’gae the Magician announced that he had

sought an omen from the Ice-gods, whose priest he was, and had dreamed

a very evil dream in which he had seen Pitokiti sleeping in the belly

of a wolf, signifying, no doubt, that they were all about to be killed

and eaten, news at which Pitokiti moaned and wrung his hands. Urk the

Aged shook his head and declared that no such plan as this had ever

been made from the beginning; at least, his grandfather had never told

him of it, and what had not been done before could not be done now.

Only Hotoa, a man of good heart, though stupid, answered at length

that the stones were ready and that, for his part, he would build them

up if and when the wolves were in the pit, even if he had to do so

alone.

Now Wi grew angry.

“Hearken!” he said. “The moon is very clear and I can see all. If one

man runs, be sure I shall note him and shall dash out his brains now

or later. Yes, the first man who runs shall die,” and he lifted his ax

and looked at Hou and Whaka.

After this, all grew silent, for they knew that what Wi said, that he

would do.

Presently the wolves began to appear, looking like shadows on the

snow, and by twos or threes loped past with lolling tongues and

vanished through the cleft into the pit beyond.

“Stir not,” whispered Wi. “These are not driven, they come to eat the

whale’s flesh as they have done before.”

This was true enough, for soon, from within the pit, the watchers

heard the sound of growls and of the teeth of the starved beasts

grating on the frozen flesh.

Then, from far away arose the sound of shouts, and they knew that the

drivers had seen the fire on the high rock and were at their work. A

long time went by. Then—oh! then those watchers saw a terrible sight,

for behold! the snow slope beneath them grew black with wolves, more

wolves than they had ever counted—hundreds of them there seemed to

be, all coming on in silence, slowly, doggedly, like a marshalled

host. And lo! in front of them trotted a huge, gaunt, gray she-wolf,

and either running at her side, holding to her hair, or mounted on her

back, which they could not be sure because of the shadows, was Pag the

Dwarf, Pag the Wolf-man!

The watchers gasped with fear, and some of them hid their eyes with

their hands, for they were terrified. Even Wi gasped, for now he knew

that Pag had spoken truth and that wolf’s milk ran in his blood as the

wolf’s craftiness lived in his brain.

Into the shadow of the cleft passed the great, gray mother wolf; Wi

could see her glowing eyes and her worn yellow fangs as she trotted

beneath him, and with her went Pag. Lo! they entered the gap in the

stone snow-covered wall, and as they entered, the she-wolf raised her

head and howled aloud, whereon all the multitude which followed her

that for a moment had seemed to hesitate raised their heads and howled

also, making such a sound as the people had never heard, so terrible a

sound that some of them fell upon the earth, swooning. For this was

the cry of the mother wolf to the pack, the call that they must obey.

Then the multitude pressed on after her, scrambling upon each other’s

backs to be first into the pit.

All were in—not one of the hundreds remained outside, and the time

had come to close the breach. Wi opened his lips to utter the command,

then hesitated, for Pag was there in the pit, and when the wolves

found that they were trapped, certainly they would tear him to pieces

and the mother wolf also which had led them to their death. He must

speak, and yet Pag was in the pit! How could he command the death of

Pag? Oh! Pag was but one man and the people were many, and if once

those wolves broke out again, mad with rage, none would be left

living.

“To the wall!” he said hoarsely, and himself lifting a large stone,

sprang forward.

Then it was that back through the cleft came the great mother wolf and

with her Pag, unharmed. He bent down, he whispered into the ear of the

she-wolf, and it seemed to them, the watchers, that she listened and

licked his face. Then, suddenly, like an arrow, she sped away.

In her path was Pitokiti the Unlucky, who turned to fly. With a growl

she nipped him, tearing a great hole in his side, fled on—and was no

more seen.

“Build up!” cried Wi. “Build up!”

“Aye, build you up,” echoed Pag, “and swiftly, if you would see the

sun. I go, my work is finished,” and he shambled through them who even

then shrank away from him.

Wi rushed to the cleft and flung down his stone, as did others. A

wolf’s head appeared above the rising pile; he brained it with his ax

so that it fell backward dead, and there was a sound of its being torn

to pieces and devoured by those within. This gave them a breath of

time. The stones rose higher, but now at them came all the weight of

the wolves. Some were killed or driven back, for even the most timid

fought desperately with their stone spears, clubs, and axes, knowing

that if once the imprisoned pack climbed or broke through the wall, it

would have the mastery of them. So some built and others fought, while

yet others brought baskets filled with damp grit or snow taken from

deep holes, which they poured on to the stones where immediately it

ran down into the cracks and froze, turning them to a fortress wall.

Yet some of the wolves got over by climbing on to each other’s backs

and leaping thence to the crest of the wall before it reached its full

height. The most of these fled away to be the parents of other packs

in years to come, but certain of the fiercest fought with the men

beyond and mangled them so that one old fellow died of his wounds.

In all this noise and confusion, suddenly Wi heard a cry for help

which caused him to turn round, for he thought he knew the voice. He

looked, and by the bright moonlight shining on the snow, saw Foh his

son fighting a great wolf. With a snarl, the brute sprang. Foh bent

himself and received the weight of it upon the point of his flint-headed spear. Down went the lad with the wolf on top of him. Wi

bounded forward, thinking to find him with his throat torn out. He

reached the place too late, for both Foh and the wolf lay still.

Putting out his strength, he dragged the brute away. Beneath it lay

Foh covered with blood. Thinking him dead, in an agony Wi lifted him,

for he loved this boy better than anyone on the earth. Then, suddenly,

Foh slipped from his arms, stood upon his feet, and gasped as his

breath returned to him:

“See! Father, I killed the beast. My spear broke—but see! the point

of it sticks out of his back. His teeth were on my throat when all at

once his mouth opened and he died.”

“Get you home,” said Wi roughly, but in his heart he thanked the Ice-gods because his only son had been saved alive.

Then he rushed back to the wall, nor did he leave it until it had been

built so high that it could not be leapt over by any wolf in the

world. Nor could it be scaled, for the topmost stones were set so that

they curved toward the great pit within. There then Wi waited till the

damp sand and the snow froze hard, and he knew that, before the spring

came, nothing could stir them.

At length the work was done and in the east broke the dawn of the

short winter day. Then Wi climbed to the top of the wall and looked

into the pit beyond. It was still full of darkness, for the moon had

sunk behind the hills, but in the darkness he could see hundreds of

fierce eyes moving while the mountains echoed with the howlings of the

imprisoned beasts.

So they howled for days, the stronger devouring those that grew weak,

till at length there was silence in that darksome place, for all were

dead.

Two days had gone by, for the most of which time Wi had slept. Indeed,

after this great battle with the wolves, he was weary almost to death,

not with the work or the fighting, but through amazement at the sight

of Pag keeping awful fellowship with the great she-wolf, and agony of

mind because of what he had suffered when he thought that the throat

of Foh was torn out; also when he believed that the whole host of the

wood-dwellers would break through or over the wall and tear him and

his companions to pieces.

When at times he woke up from that sleep, Aaka was kind to him, more

so than she had been since Henga had murdered Fo-a. Also, she was

proud of his deeds and fame that were in every mouth, and now that he

had risen from his bed she brought him food and spoke to him softly,

which pleased Wi, who loved Aaka, the wife of his youth, although of

late her face seemed to have turned away from him. Now, while he ate,

Aaka giving him his food piece by piece as was the fashion of wives

among the tribe, Moananga joined them and began to talk in his light

manner of that night of fear.

“All the good of it was with you, Brother,” he said, “for we tramped

through the forest cutting our feet and breaking our skins against

trunks of trees and boughs half buried in the snow, for no purpose at

all.”

“Did you not see any wolves?” asked Wi.

“Not one though we heard them howling in the distance. It seems that

they had all gone on before, led by a certain friend of ours who can

charm wolves, if what I hear is true,” and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Yet we saw something else.”

“What was that?” asked Wi.

“We saw the great striped beast of which we have learned from our

fathers; the tiger with teeth like spearheads, a like beast to that

whose skin, or what remains of it, is your cloak to-day, which has

been worn by the chief of the tribe since the beginning.”

Now this was true, since for generations those who dwelt in the cave,

one after another, wore that cloak, though none knew how it had come

to the first of them. Moreover, although tradition told of this great

tiger beast, which was once the terror of the tribe, hitherto none

living had seen it, so that, although they still talked of it, men

thought that its race was dead or had left their land.

“What did it do?” said Wi, much stirred, as a hunter would be.

“It appeared from between the trees, and walking forward boldly, leapt

onto a rock and stood there staring at us and lashing its tail, a

mighty brute, tall as a deer and longer. We shouted, thinking to scare

it away, but it took no heed, only stood and purred like a wildcat of

the woods, watching us with its glowing eyes. Now, in front of it,

with others, was the man named Finn, he whom Henga hated and swore to

kill so that he must hide himself in the woods whence he only came out

again after you had slain Henga. Suddenly, the tiger ceased purring

and fixed his eyes on Finn. Finn saw it and turned to run. Then the

tiger leapt, such a leap as has never been seen. Right over the heads

of the others he leapt, landing onto the back of Finn, who fell down.

Next instant the tiger had him in his jaws and bounded away with him,

as the wildcat bounds with a bird which it has seized. That was the

last we saw of it and of Finn.”

“Strange that the tiger should have chosen him who was hated of Henga

the Tiger-man,” said Wi.