Fell (The Sight 2) (18 page)

“At last I’ve found you, brother,” cried Kar happily. “It is good to see you again. So good.”

“And you, Kar,” said Fell. “It’s been a long time.”

“Much too long, Fell. Often we’ve heard of you amongst the Varg, though. You seem so young, still.”

“And you heard of me in dark stories, no doubt?” said Fell, with glittering eyes that looked beyond Kar to the pretty she-wolf. Kar did not demur. Instead he turned his head.

“This is Tarlar, brother. She has joined our pack.”

The she-wolf made no sound, but instead she cocked her pretty head and stepped further into the clearing. Fell took her in with his eyes, and for a moment, since he was a Dragga, and one whose territory she was approaching, he kept his tail raised in dominance.

“I ask you Larka’s Blessing,” said the lovely she-wolf, with smiling eyes, and Fell lowered his tail.

“Then you’re welcome indeed, Tarlar. Especially if you come with Kar.”

Kar’s tail was wagging. From all he had heard of Fell, he had feared that he might not allow them to approach, and Kar remembered his own time as a Kerl, in a high, lonely cave, and how it had almost sent him mad. Yet Fell seemed well, and so youthful too. But then Kar himself already suspected that the Sight had some power to extend life.

“You spoke of the pack,” said Fell softly. “How are they?”

Kar’s eyes flickered.

“Well, my brother. The cubs…how foolish it is to call them that now. Kipcha and Khaz, Skop and…” Kar paused, “and the other Larka. They’ve all grown strong and healthy. The pack thrives.”

“And Slavka?”

It was the rebel wolf who had thrown off the bitter struggle she had once engaged in to live with the family, and Kar’s eyes saddened.

“No, Fell, Slavka’s gone. Though it was a peaceful end. When Palla…”

Fell felt a jolt. So his mother, Palla, was still alive too.

“Mother,” he whispered with a soft growl. “Is she well?”

“Yes, Fell. Though very old now.”

“And my father, Huttser?”

It felt strange for the black wolf to speak his father’s name. Huttser was a faded memory to Fell. Kar’s tail had come down, and a dark look crept into his eyes. Almost of sorrow.

“What’s wrong, Kar? Is Huttser…”

“He’s fine,” said Kar quickly, sensing Fell’s question, “but something has happened, Fell. A moon ago. A wild pack. They call themselves the Vengerid.”

Fell’s tail came up and he growled. He knew the Varg word. It meant “vengeance.”

“Tell me.”

“They are led by a wolf called Jalgan. They’re like the Balkar, Morgra’s slaves, only their strength is not made up of male Varg alone. Drappa and Dragga fight and kill side by side, with no purpose but fighting itself. They are as wild and free as the sea. They came down on us in the night, last full moon, although Jalgan was not with them. With Huttser at our front, we fought them off, but the pack is in danger. They’ll return.”

Fell felt his heart stir.

“Skop has the strength of a Dragga in him, Fell,” said Kar, “but the others are not used to attack, and have not yet even taken mates. Larka does not take to fighting much, and the strength of our pack is nothing against these Vengerid.”

“What does this Jalgan want?” growled Fell angrily. “Why does he call his pack the Vengerid? What revenge does he seek?”

“Nothing but vengeance on life itself, or so he says,” answered Kar grimly. “He teaches that because all things die, the only way to conquer suffering is to make others suffer. Although Huttser warned them off, Jalgan has sworn to return himself and destroy our pack one day. Huttser is still strong, for a wolf of his years, but I do not think he can fight Jalgan openly.”

“But why, Kar, why do they come?”

“Jalgan challenges all the Varg to face him, and says that he will admit he is wrong only if one is bold enough to fight and defeat him. But there is another reason…”

Kar swung his head now, and was looking at Tarlar. The she-wolf stepped closer.

“Let me speak, Kar,” she said. Tarlar lowered her tail to show respect, although there was nothing frightened in her being. Fell thought how bold and fine her voice sounded, and how lovely were her eyes.

“Fell LoneTail,” began Tarlar softly, “I’ve heard much of your journeying, and something from Kar of the darkness and sorrow you’ve seen. Well, I too have known it. For I was once of the Vengerid.”

“You,” said Fell in surprise, wondering what the she-wolf was doing here.

“I once thought them so fine and strong, and Jalgan the bravest of all wolves,” said Tarlar bitterly. “Until I saw the cruelty and hate they’re breeding. Until Jalgan murdered my brother.”

Fell blinked slowly. “Your brother?”

“Kenkur was his name. He was always more of the Sikla than the Dragga,” said Tarlar sadly, and Fell felt his heart stir for her. “At first, when they took us, he hid his hatred for fighting, but at last they spotted it.”

Tarlar lowered her beautiful eyes.

“How I blame myself. I was young and idealistic, or just foolish perhaps, and caught up in the adventure of it all. How I loved the chase, and the strength and freedom of the Vengerid. All my life I had been wrestling with what it is to be a wolf, and this seemed an answer. And then there was him.”

Tarlar’s huge eyes blinked.

“Jalgan,” she said. “Oh, he was so handsome and powerful to me once, with his streak of silver grey right along the centre of his back. He noticed me too, and I knew that he was admiring me. So I would listen to nothing of Kenkur’s doubts, and told my brother he was being weak and cowardly, and that this was the way of the true wolf. To glory in the bloodlust and to marvel at the kill. To be free.”

Fell nodded slowly. He had often thought it himself.

“I was angry at him too, when he said anything against Jalgan. And speak he did, because Kenkur feared for me. Jalgan was beginning to court me, and Kenkur saw that it was drawing me closer and closer to the Vengerid.”

Fell could see that Tarlar was trembling.

“So one day, when we had argued, Jalgan singled my brother out before the whole Vengerid. He called him Sikla and traitor and took out his throat.”

Tarlar’s beautiful bushy tale had come down behind her and she whimpered.

“You must not blame your…,” began Fell softly, but Tarlar interrupted him with a loud growl that surprised Fell with its ferocity and pride.

“Must not blame myself?” she cried, and her eyes showed not guilt, but clarity. “Yes, Fell, I must. Not only because I did not stand up for him, but because Jalgan called on me to swear allegiance to him, and to the Vengerid. And I did it. Because I was a fool and I wanted him. Even though my own brother was lying dead before my eyes.”

“I’m sorry,” whispered Fell, feeling bitterly sad for the beautiful, remorseful she-wolf. “It’s sometimes hard to stand outside a pack. And are you your brother’s keeper?”

“A pack?” snorted Tarlar scornfully. “A bold, brave pack? What is a true wolf pack, and the strength of the Dragga and the Drappa—the right to lead and feel the power—unless it is to guard and protect the Sikla, too, the weakest of our kind, as we protect our very cubs? That is the law of the untamed wolf. Only that makes us truly beautiful in the wild. That is the truth.”

Fell thought of Ottol and that he himself had nothing to protect, until he suddenly thought of Alina.

“For does not nature put enough troubles in our way?” Tarlar went on passionately. “And kill us with illness and hunger and time too, without our having to turn on each other, with anger and blindness and hate?”

Fell was listening closely to Tarlar, and he realised that he had listened to no wolf so carefully in all his life.

“And although it’s a fine thing to be a Dragga and Drappa, the finest thing in the world perhaps,” said Tarlar with glittering eyes, “does not all the pack work for the future, and who knows what each may carry in his heart, or bring into the light, Dragga or Sikla? Who knows what secret truths their lives may hold for all of us?”

Secret truths? Both Fell and Kar remembered the secret then that the Sikla of their old pack had entrusted to Fell’s mother, Palla, on his death. The death that came because he had fought so heroically against his own fear and cowardice to aid the family. It was the secret that, after all the fighting they had witnessed, seemed as simple as a sigh: It’s not so bad to be the Sikla.

Tarlar raised her beautiful head and looked straight at Fell. Long enough for him to feel her moving in his heart.

“When at last I saw the truth, I left Jalgan and the Vengerid,” she said, “and went out into the world.”

“To become a Kerl?” asked Fell, almost hopefully.

“No, Fell. That path was never for me,” answered Tarlar softly. “For why wrestle with the world alone, when two pairs of eyes may see better than one, and four better than two?” Something stirred in Fell’s stomach. “Another’s eyes may always temper the arrogance of the triumphant heart, while when the sadness and the weariness come, happier eyes can renew the world again with their vision. So I went in search of a real pack.”

“My family?” said Fell, feeling strange indeed to use the word.

“Yes, Fell,” answered Tarlar softly. “They welcomed me in, and I knew I had found a home, and so I must ask your forgiveness.”

“Mine?”

“All things must ask forgiveness. It was I that brought the Vengerid and Jalgan down on their dear muzzles. He sees me as his true mate, and would have me back at all costs.”

Fell was not surprised by Jalgan’s determination. He fixed his eyes on Kar’s now, and suddenly knew why his adopted brother had come.

“You want my help, Kar, against the Vengerid?”

Kar seemed caught between pride and purpose, but he nodded.

“Yes, Fell. Although Huttser said your journey is your own, he cannot fight Jalgan openly, and your mother told me to find you. Palla said that you would want to know at least. That it was your right to know. Do you have it still, Fell? The power to look into minds and…”

“Control wills?” Fell nodded slowly and shivered. He remembered how he had once used it to blind and torment the Balkar, but he feared to ever use it again. “I still have the power, brother, amongst the Lera at least.”

Fell grew silent, thinking of his family. They bore his blood, but were no longer his family. He had been away so long. Not just the five, hard years since he had climbed into the mountains, but truly since that terrible night on the river when he had almost drowned and been captured by Morgra. Perhaps even longer, perhaps since his very birth in the den below the abandoned castle. Perhaps Fell had always been alone. Perhaps we all are.

“I cannot, Kar,” he whispered at last, looking guiltily at Tarlar. “I travel on a different path now.”

“With man?” said Kar, though not disapprovingly. Fell thought of that vision he had had of his teeth tearing into Alina.

“Yes, Kar, with man. Or woman. She has a great destiny. One that involves us all, I think. That involves the survival of nature itself.”

“Then it’s true what Skart said,” whispered Kar.

“Skart,” said Fell, remembering the steppe eagle who had aided Larka, one of the Helpers. “You’ve seen him?”

“Yes, Fell. He came to us before he died.”

Fell growled. Then Skart too was dead. But it did not matter. Everything dies. That was the law of life—the bitter, unchangeable law. “What did he say, Kar?”

“He was very old and weak. He said something of a human. A child.”

“Yes?”

“Then he began to ramble and talk in strange words. Like a prophecy. ‘Before it’s done,’ he said, ‘everything must be turned about. The Dragga must become the Drappa and the nature of opposites must be revealed in ice and fire.’”

Fell shivered and remembered the ice cave.

“He said a wolf must rise from the earth, and the water, too, to be reborn, before he hears the Great Secret on the air, and becomes a voice of power in the world.”

Fell’s eyes narrowed.

“I think he was mad before the end,” Kar added. “He said the clawed Putnar must open its wings too, and the wild wolf talk through man and woman, then sprout two heads, even as the dead are restored.”

“Sprout two heads?” growled Fell. “It’s impossible.”

“Yes,” agreed Kar. “But how did you learn of the child, Fell?”

“I heard a voice, Kar, on the wind,” answered Fell, feeling rather foolish. “I think it was Larka.”

“Then perhaps it’s true,” whispered Kar, and for a moment he was lost in wonder, but he spoke again. “The Sight still has you in its grip, and you’ve made a pact.”

Kar was searching Fell with his intelligent, philosophical eyes, but not with any judgement in them, but simply the desire to know and to understand.

Fell recalled the pact that he and Kar and Larka had once made as cubs, when they had travelled together in the face of so much fear and sorrow, to aid one another in all they did. The pact that had brought Kar out of the shadows of his own mind, to help Larka, and that had led Larka up to Harja, to save Fell and the human child.

Fell nodded at his adopted brother.

“And I would not ask you to break such a pact,” said Kar gravely. “For Larka gave me a vision of man too. One filled with hope.”

Fell nodded.

“At least I’ve delivered my message, and Skart’s, if it was for you,” said Kar softly, “and now I must return and help them. That is where my heart lies, brother.”

“And mine,” said Tarlar proudly.

Fell felt another desperate sting of loneliness and thought of Ottol’s family.

“Can you not stay awhile?” he asked.

Kar looked at Tarlar and then Fell. The black wolf realised that his brother was almost frightened of him, but Kar nodded slowly.

“Yes, Fell. A night perhaps. We will talk and maybe hunt together, as we did when we were young, and when the sun rises we will leave you alone once more.”

The black wolf growled, pleased that Kar had not tried to force or persuade him in any way. So Fell and Kar and Tarlar spent the night talking in the forest, pressing away the shadows with their memories and their stories, and Kar learnt of all that Fell had done and seen since that day that he had lifted his head with a howl and gone into the wild. So much more than Kar had seen, bound as he remained to the daily care of a wolf pack, or could ever really know.