The Coming of Hoole (10 page)

D
eep in a cliff cave in Beyond the Beyond, the remaining mates of Dunleavy MacHeath licked the socket where his eye had been. “Hordweard gone, eh?” he said.

“Yes, my lord,” a yellowish wolf replied in a tight voice.

“She won’t last long without me. Stupid she wolf. She’ll come back.” He paused. “Won’t she?” There was silence. Then his hackles rose and he snarled. “Won’t she?” The yellow wolf sank to her knees, lowered the maimed stump of her tail, and said in a quaking voice, “Of course, my lord. Of course!” He rose now and walked slowly about the cave. The newest litter of cubs scattered to the deepest shadows. They already knew not to be in their father’s way when he was like this. A tiny black cub named Blackmore had already been kicked so hard by his father that his brains were addled and he stumbled around half the time in a daze. Each of MacHeath’s mates had been maimed by him in some way during one of his violent
rages. One, Ragwyn, had a terrible scar that ran across her face like a bolt of jagged lightning. Another, Dagmar, had only half her tongue, and Sinfagel, like MacHeath himself, was missing one eye. “Won’t she?” He snarled again and again as he walked up to each of his mates. He stood now across from Sinfagel who was groveling at his feet. He nudged her face upward roughly. “Look me in the eye!” He roared and then roared again with laughter. “Quite a pair we make, my one-eyed bonnie! Don’t we?”

“Yes, my lord,” she answered, terrified.

Three more days passed and still Hordweard had not returned. MacHeath knew that the other wolves had not accepted her into their packs. She was too old for mating, too slow for hunting. “She’ll come back. She’ll come back,” he muttered again and again.

He finally sent Ragwyn to seek her. He wanted at least to know where she was dwelling. Ragwyn returned with more news than he had anticipated.

“She is living close to the cave of Fengo,” she told him.

“Does he pay her much attention?” MacHeath asked, suddenly nervous. It would not do to have Fengo taking up with one of his mates. How humiliating that would be! She was still his, by Lupus!

No, no, not really.”
Perhaps a bit more than the other wolves,
she thought. But she would not tell MacHeath this. So she moved on to the other news. “Owls have been spotted coming over the southern ridges. They should be here by moonrise.”

“You mean Grank?”

“Yes, sir. And two others. Maybe more. I’m not sure.”

“Is that so?” MacHeath said slowly. He had never trusted that owl, not in all the years Grank had been coming here. He closed his remaining eye. Sometimes it was almost as if he could still see with his missing eye. It was as if the empty socket had visions of its own of a very private nature.
And what if one of those owls is the one destined to retrieve the ember, the wolf ember?
he thought. Suddenly, MacHeath had an idea. “Ragwyn, get my gnaw-bone.” Ragwyn went over to the pile of bones that had been gnawed in such a way as to be inscribed with designs. This was a pastime for many of the wolves, and MacHeath’s gnaw-bones were considered crude compared to most others. Still, every wolf leader had his favorite.

“No, not that one, idiot! My best one.” He kicked away a pup who had come too close. Ragwyn fetched his best gnaw-bone. It had been scraped and then engraved with a fairly decent profile of one of the volcanoes. “Now listen carefully, Ragwyn. I want you to take this bone to Hordweard and tell her she may keep it if she will provide
me with information about the owls.” He dropped his voice lower. “Tell her that she can keep the gnaw-bone while she is thinking over my proposition. If she decides to help…well, let’s just say no hard feelings about our little spats—or her leaving.”

Ragwyn’s eyes opened wide and green with surprise. “Your best gnaw-bone, are you sure?” Before the words were completely out she knew she had made a mistake. He gave her a hard swat across her muzzle, which sent her reeling.

“There he is, lad. There he is.” Grank pointed his beak in the direction of a high arching cliff. Fengo had spotted Grank before anyone else and leaped up into the air with excitement, giving howl after howl of joy. As the owls approached, Hoole was mesmerized by the sight of this handsome wolf leaping high into the air, leaping in a stream of moonlight. The wolf’s back glinted in the moonlight and bright star-shine that spangled the night. Grank explained that the wolves of the Beyond were not just wolves, but dire wolves—almost three times the size of a normal wolf. As they drew closer, Hoole could see the intense green color of the wolf’s eyes. Grank told him about the color, and that deep in Fengo’s eyes, one could see something that looked like green fire. And then if
Hoole looked even deeper into the green fire, he might see something else. “It’s like the reflection of orange flames from the volcanoes but in the center of that flame, lad, there is a glimmer of blue circled by a shimmer of green, the same green as the wolf’s eyes.”

“What is it?” Hoole asked.

Grank was evasive. “Oh, maybe nothing. It’s different, I imagine, for every creature who looks into Fengo’s eyes.”

Hoole found this a very unsatisfactory answer. “Does every dire wolf have it?”

“Have what?”

“Have that thing you saw in Fengo’s eyes.”

“All dire wolves’ eyes are green, but none except Fengo’s have what I saw.”

“Well, why won’t you tell me what you imagine it to be?”

“No. That would spoil it for you.”

“No, it wouldn’t. I promise,” Hoole pleaded.

Grank had no intention of telling Hoole that what he had seen in Fengo’s eyes so long ago was the ember. The owl ember. Hoole must discover it for himself. Grank had taught Hoole much in the short time he had been on this earth, and the learning would not end, but Grank felt that his role as a teacher was not the same now. He must let Hoole learn things on his own, come to conclusions
through his own observations. The time for independent thinking had arrived. Independence would be the best teacher now. So the third or fourth time that Hoole asked the question of what he had seen in Fengo’s eyes, Grank simply replied, “End of discussion. Prepare to land and meet my dear friend Fengo.”

When his uncle Grank said “end of discussion” he usually meant it. So Hoole kept his beak shut tight.

Fengo welcomed them both. He insisted that all four of them move into his cave. “There are so few trees here, and what ones there are have the most miserable hollows imaginable. Stay here with me. It’s comfortable.” He gestured to the ledges that protruded from the walls. “Plenty of perches, or if you prefer, nice little owl-sized niches in the walls. That moss on the north wall is very soft.”

“That is very kind of you. How would you feel if only Hoole lived with you for the time being?” Hoole swiveled his head quickly toward his uncle, but Grank shot him a sharp glance. Fengo seemed somewhat taken aback.

“Hoole has learned much from me,” Grank continued. “But I think it is time for him to…” He hesitated. “To move on. There are many different ways of thinking, of living, of behaving. I would like him to come to understand the ways of as many kinds of animals as possible.
Would you take him on for a spell? Perhaps take him on a caribou hunt?”

“Caribou hunt!” echoed Hoole. Now, that sounded exciting! But why was his uncle making him stay with Fengo? Why not Phineas or Theo? He had hoped that he and Phineas might share a hollow—just the two of them together so they could whisper into the day. They had become such fast friends.

After Theo and Phineas and Hoole left to have a quick fly around the ring of volcanoes, Fengo finally found a moment to have a private talk with Grank.

“Let’s go inside the cave,” Fengo suggested.

“Not to the ridge?” Grank opened his eyes in surprise. That was usually Fengo’s favorite place to talk.

“No, too many wolf ears around.”

“Spies?”

“Possibly.”

When they entered the cave they did not go deep into it, but sat close to the opening with Fengo watching the entry. Lowering his voice, he began to speak. “So what is this visit all about, my friend?”

“Hoole. He’s the son of Queen Siv and King H’rath,” Grank replied quietly.

“And they are both dead now, I take it?”

“The king died in a tremendous battle on the H’rathghar glacier. His one-time friend and ally Lord Arrin turned on him. Made an alliance with the hagsfiends and swept in. Queen Siv lived. The egg had just been laid before the battle. She was forced to flee with it. But she knew that she could not keep it with her. It was too dangerous. They were hunting her. They desperately wanted the egg.”

Fengo got up and paced back and forth several times across the entrance of the cave. “Does the lad know that he is a prince?”

“No. He thinks he was orphaned, or thought so.”

“Think? Thought? What do you mean?”

Grank told him how Hoole, unbeknownst to any of them, had met a female gadfeather. He then told him about the attack in the cove and how Hoole was convinced that this gadfeather who helped save him was his mother.

“But you say she flew away.”

“Flew away before I had time to really see her. But Hoole is certain that she was his mother.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know, Fengo. He could be right. The boy has firesight. Did I tell you that?”

“No, as a matter of fact you didn’t. Is it as good as yours?”

“Far better. He drains every fire he’s around of any image I might see. He had been practicing this during the day when most owls sleep. It’s not that he’s sneaky in a malicious way. It’s just that he has this overwhelming curiosity, and I suppose in some sense he wants to protect me. So he goes off on his own. Taught himself to fish on his own, basically.”

“Hmmm, sounds like an interesting lad.”

“Oh, he’s more than interesting, Fengo.”

“You mean he’s…”

Then Grank cut Fengo off. “Yes, that is precisely what I mean. I believe he’s the one, the one who can retrieve the ember and not be overwhelmed by it as I was.”

“But how will he learn how to catch coals, colliering? Certainly not from me. I don’t understand why you want him to be with me. Not that I object, mind you.”

“Oh, he’ll learn colliering all right, like he learned how to fly—with little or no instruction. He’s a natural. But from you, he can learn the way of the wolves. From you, he can learn compassion for animals different from himself. Had we remained in the N’yrthghar, I would have had him live with a polar bear. I want him to gain empathy with land animals, legged animals.”

“It won’t be easy. He flies, we run. I don’t know whether he’ll understand. I can see the lad’s quick, but…”

“He’s more than quick. Anyone can be quick. It’s his depth, his feelings for things. The way he reads the telling fires is extraordinary. He doesn’t just read them. It’s as if he lives them. They radiate within him. That is why I am almost convinced that it was his mother, Siv, that he saw first in the flames and then at the cove. If he lives with you for a while in this cave and smells the scents and breathes the air that you breathe and gnaws the bones that you gnaw, he will begin to sense the real essence of wolves’ lives. He will not need to be a wolf. He will become one not in his shape or body but in his mind. And when he travels with you, although he shall be flying, he will feel the fall of every footstep you make as if he is running. His beak will seem like fangs, his feathers like fur. This is his genius. And with his genius, he will learn lessons in compassion that we cannot begin to imagine. I know this, Fengo. He is an extraordinary owl.”

H
oole was fascinated by the new country. He had been sleeping in the cave with Fengo for fourteen days. When they had arrived, the moon had been full but now it was half dwenked. He had adjusted his schedule to Fengo’s and often went out with him during the day when he hunted for small game like the cinder shrews that could be found in the warm ashes of the volcano. Or the soot rabbits that hopped about. He would fly overhead while Fengo padded along on the ground. Every night he would ask the wolf when they would be going on a caribou hunt. He was tired of the little scrawny animals that plied their way around the perimeters of the volcano. He was impatient to see the large four-legged animals that were almost the same size as the dire wolves. And most of all, he wanted to see the moose, which were supposed to be immense. Grank called them the polar bears of the Beyond. Fengo’s answer was always the same. “You’re not quite ready, but soon.”

What Fengo meant by “not quite ready” was that Hoole had not yet had a significant fire vision, the vision that would transform his mind if not his body into that of a wolf. It was understandable. The volcanoes had been in their quiescent phase. Only a few small eruptions had occurred. No real flames scorched the sky. Grank, though tempted, resisted making a forge fire, much to Theo’s chagrin. Theo entertained himself with trying to pick up the few hot coals that were occasionally spewed from the volcanoes but he did not have the makings of a collier. Grank saw this immediately but did not tell him. Theo was purely a blacksmith. That was his art. Finally, toward the end of the dwenking, the volcanoes became more active. And then by the night when no moon rose or traversed the sky, the volcanoes erupted in a fury that was almost unimaginable.

The owls and the wolf were all on Fengo’s favorite mountain ridge. “Look at those flames!” exclaimed Phineas.

“Look at the coals!” Theo said. “They’re like thousands of red shooting stars!”

But Fengo and Grank were not looking at any of this. They were watching Hoole. Hoole’s amber eyes seemed to grow to twice their normal size. He became very still.
It is like the time when we were on the island,
Grank thought.
He is in some sort of a trance.

The flames and fires that spewed from the five volcanoes were like no fires Hoole had ever seen before. He did not see the shape of his mother in the flames as he had before. He did not even think of his mother now. He saw wolves, only wolves, and something strange was happening to him. It was almost like the time he went fishing and felt that he had become more fish than owl. First, he felt a mighty heart beating in his chest. And his talons began to change shape. Yet, when he dared looked down for just a split second, he saw the same feet he had always had with their four talons gripping the ridge rocks. He was a Spotted Owl and Spotted Owls did not have ear tufts, but suddenly it felt as if his ear slits were moving to the top of his head and growing into little peaks. His beak began to extend into a squarish muzzle shape. And yet he knew it was still just a beak. And his feathers felt different. He was warmer.

I am not a wolf, but I am a wolf,
he thought.

Grank nodded at Fengo. Fengo walked closer to Hoole.

“Hoole, my pup. You are ready to go on the caribou hunt. We leave tonight.”

Hoole instantly snapped out of his trance. “I’m ready, yes. I know I am ready.”

And so they left on that moonless night when the flames singed the stars, and the coals flew red-hot in
the night. They were on a southwesterly course away from the ring of the volcanoes into what Fengo called the high plains. Hoole flew high, directly above Fengo. He could see his wings. He could see the feathers on his legs. If he swiveled his head around he could see his tail. He looked like a normal Spotted Owl. But in his heart, not his gizzard, in his wildly thumping heart, he knew he was a wolf. If he hooted, it would sound to him like a growl or a howl.
I am a wolf.
There were new sensations. One of the strongest was that of smell. He was bombarded by all sorts of strange scents. He realized that he had not rid himself of his body, but somehow entered that of another. Fengo’s, he guessed.

As Fengo loped along, other wolves joined him. They were mostly from his pack or clan. They were accustomed to going on hunts like this together. To bring down a caribou or a moose, one could not act alone. The hunt became an elaborate and intricate dance. The wolves numbered almost a dozen. Hoole understood immediately the configuration of the byrrgis, in which his position was in the rear with the males. They were slower than the females, and so the females were in the lead. Even Fengo had begun to fall back when more females joined the pack. Hoole felt himself pressed close between Fengo and Dunmore, a younger wolf who loped with an odd gait
due to a crooked hind leg. His heart beat in time with theirs. Long strands of saliva hung from their mouths and although Hoole knew that he had no mouth as they did, nor saliva, he felt the long wet strings blow in the breeze. And the rhythms of the wolves’ footfalls became the rhythms of his wing strokes as he flew above them.

He noticed an earless wolf just ahead of him where the females ran. He had seen her before lurking about at the base of the volcanoes. She had seemed apart then. It was as if the other wolves avoided her, but now she was running with this clan. Still, Hoole could feel the tension of the wolves closest to her.
They don’t like her,
he thought. Wolves were very playful, always wrestling and nipping at one another, playing games of tag or bone toss, but he realized now that he had never seen this wolf play with any of the other wolves. They never shared food with her, never gave her the slightest friendly cuff. Never spoke to her. So why was she with them now? he wondered.
They distrust her,
he thought.
They are afraid of her in some way.
He knew this as well as he knew anything. But there was something else he knew, and his heart, not his gizzard, went out to her. She was not to be feared at all. He was sure. She had a terrible sadness about her. A terrible unbearable sadness.
Can’t they see that? Can’t they feel that?

At dawn, they broke the formation of the byrrgiss to
rest. No caribou had been sighted but they were coming closer to their range. The dry and scrubby hillsides here were riddled with caves. The wolves found a large one and went in. Hoole himself went in, and he wondered if they would notice him. For although he felt totally at ease as a wolf, he knew they would only see him as an owl. But they paid no attention to him. A small hunting team had been sent out to scare up some rabbits or weasels. When they came back, Fengo tore apart the animals they had found and divided the portions according to rank. The earless female, Hordweard was her name, was given the smallest gristliest piece of a rabbit. Even Hoole got a much superior piece, a juicy haunch. Again, no one paid him any heed. He slurped his food just as the wolves did, making loud chomping noises.
Maybe to them I do look like a wolf,
Hoole thought. But when he looked down he saw the same white-spotted breast, the talons, and yet…? It was a mystery.

Hoole did not perch in the cave but settled down, sprawled exactly like the wolves. When he began to edge himself closer to Hordweard, who slept in the farthest corner of the cave, Fengo motioned him away from her. He moved and quickly fell asleep. When he dreamed, he dreamed wolf dreams of running, bursting into attack speed, then slowing and crouching down in tall grass.
Silent signals were given. The wolves slunk down in the thickest part of the grass and pressed their bellies to the ground as they approached the prey. He woke up in the middle of the dream. The wolves around him were stirring, and Fengo was just outside the cave with his muzzle lifted, sniffing the air.

Caribou!

The signal went through the pack. They headed off into the rising sun with their tails slightly raised. The pace was steady. Hoole saw the caribou herd ahead. The herd had speeded up for they were now aware of the wolves. Fengo gave a signal to turn the herd.
Turn them west away from the rising sun. Of course,
Hoole thought,
in a few more minutes the sun would be blinding.

The wolves increased their speed a bit and four females split off to the north. They streaked up to the flanks of the herd. The rest of the wolves caught up, but then abruptly slowed down. They had positioned the herd where they wanted them, but were not yet ready to attack. Fengo scanned the herd. They were looking for a weak one. One that was old, hungry, or lame. One that could be easily brought down.

They spotted her. She was old and had been running in the middle of the herd but had grown tired and was lagging. As soon as she was several paces behind Fengo,
they charged her. Just enough to split her entirely from the rest of the herd. In a surprising burst of speed, the old one took off. Now eight female wolves ran after her in spurts, tiring her out, making her think when they slowed that perhaps they weren’t interested. She became confused.

It was like Hoole’s dream. He knew exactly what he was to do. Even though he still flew above, he felt part of him descend, crouch in the tall grass, his belly scraping the earth as they approached. The caribou lifted her head. She thought they were gone and became more relaxed. But the stalking had begun in earnest. Closer and closer Hoole crept. He was between Fengo and Dunmore. Fengo lifted his tail. A scent suddenly wafted through the air. He felt the other wolves’ hackles raise. Two females darted out and leaped onto the caribou, bringing her down and ripping open a great slash on her neck. She looked stunned but managed to rise to her feet once again. Then three young males charged and tore at her flank.

Blood spurted from all of her wounds. She stood and stared at the retreating attackers. Hoole felt an immense surge of admiration for her, but no pity. She was meat and yet she was more than meat. She was magnificent. Fengo now signaled him. It was their turn. Dunmore, Fengo, and that part of Hoole that had become a creature of earth and not sky, burst out of the grasses. Hoole knew they
were coming in for the kill. But still she would not bow. Fengo slowly walked around her, never taking his eyes from hers. She wobbled and then collapsed onto the ground, but she was not dead. Fengo signaled Hoole to come up. And then began the part of the death ritual that Hoole could never have imagined. He saw Fengo bow his head and make all the signs of submissive behavior as if this animal he was about to kill was superior to him in rank, and while he did this, Fengo’s eyes and that of the dying caribou locked together. An agreement was being made between predator and prey. It was a moment of great dignity. Something was being agreed upon. Fengo nodded and then sank his fangs into her neck.

“Lochinvyrr” was the wolf word for this odd yet beautiful ritual of death in which the predator respects and recognizes the valor of the dying animal. It would be one of the most valuable and important lessons that Hoole would ever learn.

When Hoole finally returned from the hunt he spent much time alone reflecting on all that he had learned in the time his spirit had become that of a wolf. He thought about the wolves and their strategies, their organization, the way they combined strength and planning; their tactics for traveling, hunting, and sharing food. He would never forget the flawless movements of that chase. He
wondered if some of their strategies could be used by owls. He must discuss this with Grank, for although owls and wolves inhabited different realms, why couldn’t one learn from the other? He most especially revered the code of lochinvyrr. He had learned all about knightly codes of honor and behavior from Grank but there was nothing quite like lochinvyrr, which honored the prey that was giving up its life so another could live.

But it also seemed to Hoole that the wolves moved through their lives as easily as the stars in the night, as smoothly as the constellations that wheel through the sky. And yet they were deeply superstitious and often distrustful for no reason.