The Sight (50 page)

‘Sister,’ whispered Palla.

For a second Morgra seemed to be torn.  But suddenly she showed her yellowing teeth.

‘Love,’ she snarled furiously.  ‘Don’t you think I wanted to? All my life I have wanted to be allowed to love something.  It is too late for love.  And you, Palla, by calling me sister you think you can escape.  Because you are trapped and fear to die.’

‘That is not true.  But I can feel the hate in you, Morgra.  And I can see that it hurts you.’

‘Enough.  Even if I believed you, the time has long since passed when I ached to be understood.  You talk of justice, but what justice can there ever be for one such as me, a she-wolf that is barren? Except the justice that I take for myself.  I have gone far beyond the ordinary life of the Varg.  I have tasted the power of the Sight.  And tonight, when the full moon glows above us, I will go even further.  The power of the Man Varg will come.’

A terrible light glowed in Morgra’s eyes, a light that reminded Huttser of that night above the ravine.

‘You are evil, Morgra,’ he growled.

‘Silence,’ cried Morgra.  ‘By what authority do you dare to judge me?’

‘You are evil,’ said Huttser once more.

‘Fool.  You dare talk to me of evil.  You who know nothing of the light, or the darkness of the Sight.  A foolish Dragga whose only ambition is to rule his pack and to hide amongst his family.  You think a thing is evil simply because you are told it is evil.  You know only how to live in fear and to obey.  Well, tonight you shall know, of the darkness that is everlasting.  When I slay you at the altar.’

‘No, sister, listen to me.  I am to blame.  I will be your blood sacrifice.  Willingly.  Is it not fitting, that you should slay me? That your own bloodline should pay the price?’

Morgra was looking down closely at Palla.

‘You would do this? Without resistance?’

‘Yes, if you let Huttser go.’

‘No, Palla,’ cried Huttser.

‘Morgra, I beg of you.  Perhaps somehow it will make amends.

‘A look of cold amusement had woken in Morgra’s eyes.  Though she had no intention of letting Huttser live, she suddenly nodded.

‘Very well, Palla.  Watch for me.  At twilight.’

Morgra turned and vanished, and still the baking sun beat down.

Huttser stood there shaking, but even as he looked down he noticed the stone floor of their prison.  He was surprised for a moment, for the stone was cracked and broken and, while the pillars around them seemed so strong and forbidding, he saw that what had done this was nothing more than little weeds and grasses.  Tiny shoots, drawn by the sunlight, had managed to reach up from the earth and shatter the human stones.

Huttser pleaded with Palla, begged her to let him go instead, but as the sun crept down the sky Palla’s thoughts grew calmer and Huttser could see that she was resigned.  As the sun began to die, the last vestiges of hope seemed to be dying too.  Twilight was thick around them once more when they heard a bellowing above them.

Then came Morgra’s voice, barking out an order, and suddenly there was a thud behind them.  One of the stone logs had been rolled over the edge of the trench as the smell of bear filled the air.  It lay against the wall, a bridge to Palla’s fate.  Before Huttser could stop her the she-wolf sprang up.  As Palla disappeared over the ridge of the trench the great black shape appeared above Huttser.  He was knocked backwards, and the plinth crashed to the ground beside him.

‘Palla, please.’

Palla shut her ears to Huttser.  Morgra was waiting, ringed by a troop of Night Hunters.  They looked like sleep-walkers, for Morgra was controlling their minds completely.  But as Palla looked on she gasped in horror.  Everywhere she looked there were birds.  The scavengers of the air were perched on the statues; crows and hooded ravens and great squatting buzzards.  Their excrement was staining the stones.

‘So, sister.’

Morgra seemed to have grown far older.  The fur across her face was now a weathered grey, and the scars stood out lividly.  Already the full moon was rising.  The giant orb had begun to cast its light across the citadel as the turning earth lifted it above the Carpathians.  It rose like an omen over the citadel.  Morgra turned and led Palla quietly up the slope.  But as they approached the stone bridge over the chasm Morgra stopped and turned to her sister.

‘You hate me, don’t you, Palla?’

‘Hate you?’ said Palla distantly.  ‘I...  no, Morgra, I don’t hate you.’

Morgra’s eyes sparked.

‘After all I have done? Well, I want you to hate me, Palla.  I want you to feel the power of hate, feel what I felt for so long.’

‘I could never feel that, sister,’ said Palla sadly.  ‘I am a she-wolf.  I have felt life stirring in my belly.’

Suddenly a memory came to Palla that gave her hope.

‘Which is why,’ she growled, ‘why you shall never become the Man Varg.  For the Vision can only be given to one that knows the Drappa’s care.’

Morgra winced, but she smiled too.

‘I know what the legend demands, Palla.  Well, then, let me tell you a secret that will help you to hate me.’

Morgra stepped closer and even as she did she looked cunningly at the Balkar waiting for her command.  She began to whisper to Palla.  Softly.  Words that crept like thieves into Palla’s mind.  At first Palla did nothing.  Her eyes grew larger and larger as she listened.  Then suddenly she lifted her head and let out a howl; so angry and bitter that for a moment the Night Hunters seemed to be startled back into consciousness.

Larka had managed to break through the rock wall, but high up the tunnel they had entered, banking steeply up the mountain, they found the way blocked once more.  Tsarr and Kar were again scrabbling desperately at the rubble, their paws cut and bleeding.  Larka was trying to help them, but the passageway was so small that only two wolves could get to the rock face.  It was an agony for Larka as she watched Tsarr and Kar work, their fur dripping with sweat as the wolves scooped the scree behind them.

They were all frantic but something else had come to them as they entered the mountain.  A sickening fear.  Larka and Tsarr knew what it was.  They felt it now as an almost physical thing.  Like a wall of darkness.  A waiting presence beyond the rock itself.

‘It’s no good, Larka,’ muttered Kar wearily.  ‘We’ll never manage like this.’

‘We’ve got to, Kar, if we don’t...’

Suddenly the wolves felt a strange sensation.  At first Larka thought it was Wolfbane.  They felt a stillness about them, as though some of the air in the passage had been drawn away.  Then Tsarr began to growl.  He was trembling, but not from fear.  The ground was shaking.  Larka felt it too, coming through her legs.

Tsarr and Kar leapt back as the earth tremor shook the mountain.  The wall in front of them gave way in a shower of swirling dust and they felt a gust of air like a wind.  A rock hit Kar and, whimpering, he slunk back past Larka.  As he did so a great scree of rock and rubble crashed to the earth in front of him, cutting him off from the others.

‘No,’ cried Kar desperately, ‘Larka!’

They could hear his voice from behind the stones, but there was no way through.

‘Kar,’ called Larka, and the she-wolf felt a sense of relief, ‘we must go on without you.’

‘Larka, the pact.’

But the way ahead was clear and now Larka sprang forward.  Kar turned and began to run, to run with all his strength.

‘Wait, Larka,’ gasped Tsarr.  ‘He’s here.  Let me face him.’ Larka felt it too, stronger than ever before.  That terrible anger.

‘No, Tsarr.  I am young and I must face this thing alone.’ Larka stepped along the passageway as Tsarr crept behind her.  It rose even more steeply and after a while, they began to see a dim blue light in the darkness.  But as the light grew, that feeling of darkness grew with it.  Larka remembered Morgra’s strange words.

‘To fight love,’ she muttered, ‘to fight love itself.’

Every step Larka took was an agony and now she was aware only of the presence beyond.  She no longer knew anything of her parents, or Tsarr and Kar.  Her whole body had grown burningly hot.

Nearer and nearer Larka came, and the passage began to open.  Ahead, she realized that it gave on to a kind of chamber and she could see the moonlight filtering through the entrance beyond.  She stopped and felt a new wave of fear wash over her.  Some deeper terror.  Some knowledge.

Larka lifted her head and raised her tail.  She set her front paws square and snarled.

‘Wolfbane.  I have come to meet your evil.’ Nothing stirred inside.

‘Wolfbane.  Too long you have filled the wolves with fear.  Face me.’

Larka shuddered, and fancied something moved beyond.

‘Come, then.  It is time that you stopped hiding in the shadows.’

Larka stepped into the chamber.  It was a strange place.  A cavern.  High-ceilinged with great pilasters, like the stone trees, carved into the rock.  On the floor of the chamber was a mosaic that formed an intricate human pattern.  At each side stood a wolf and two snakes weaving around their throats.  In between them was a man and, in his hand, he held a great hammer that was raised above his head in the act of striking flat two sheets of glinting metal.  Behind him flamed a blast of the human’s burning air, that leapt from the doors of a painted furnace.

Larka had no thoughts for the image now.  As soon as she entered the chamber she knew he was there.

‘Show yourself, Wolfbane.’

Suddenly a shadow fell across the mosaic and a shape stepped fully into the moonlight.  Larka’s eyes opened in horror.

‘No,’ she gasped, ‘it can’t be.  It can’t be true.’

 ‘Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back;guilty of dust and sin.’ George Herbert ‘Love (III)’

A terrible weakness entered Larka as she stared into that face and saw the sliver of green in his eye.  Her brother’s right eye.  Fell was standing before the mosaic.  The black Varg had grown into a powerful adult, but it was him.  Fell looked back at his sister, and his eyes were veiled and wary.  He hardly seemed to see her as he snarled quietly in the chamber.

‘Fell,’ shuddered Larka, gasping for breath and almost staggering.  ‘It can’t be you.  You’re dead.  I saw you, in the meadow.’

The white wolf felt as if her whole world was tearing apart.  This.  She couldn’t face this.

‘Fell,’ she stammered, ‘it’s me, Larka.  Don’t you recognize me, Fell?’

‘I am Wolfbane,’ growled Fell coldly.  ‘I have been expecting you.’

‘Fell.  Tell me what happened.  After the ice.’

‘Who are you,’ snarled Fell angrily, ‘that you know of my dreams?’

‘Not dreams, Fell.  That night on the river, when we were trying to escape the pack boundaries, and the ice gave way.

You slipped through and Kar and Huttser tried to save you.  It was terrible.  You were clawing at the surface and we couldn’t break through to you.’

‘Tricks,’ cried Fell suddenly, ‘it is the Sight that tells you this.’

‘No, Fell.  It is not the Sight.  I was there.’

‘Silence,’ snarled Fell.  ‘You could not know of my birth.  Yet you talk like one...  like one that had shared my dreams.  For suns and moons I was under the ice, before I was born.  When I saw images of things of this world.  Of wolves calling me.  Calling me into being.  I was a thing of reeds then.  Of cold and of pain.  I was death.  I was water.  But this world had summoned me.  Called me to join them.  I broke the veil.  I was born to the river bank in splintering cold.  I became a wolf, tended to by other wolves.  Fed and warmed into life.’

‘The Balkar,’ whispered Larka with horror, shivering, as she thought of the water and souls doomed never to find a resting place.  ‘They must have found you when you broke through further down the river.’

‘They were my servants.  They obeyed me and they brought me...  to my mother.’

‘Your mother,’ shivered Larka in horror.  ‘You think that Morgra is your mother?’

‘Silence,’ snarled Fell, padding on to the mosaic.  ‘You dare to name her? She who summoned me.  She who taught me what I am.  The child of her dark power.  Wolfbane.’

‘Wolfbane is just a name,’ pleaded Larka, ‘plucked from a story.  Nothing more.’

‘Fool,’ cried Fell, ‘don’t you know of my power.  As your coat is white, so mine is black.  But I am the Sight.  I am darkness.’

Larka was trembling.

 ‘But how,’ she whispered suddenly, ‘how can this be? That you have the power too? Why could I not foresee this?’

Larka’s own memories were not strong enough to carry her back, back to the sun in the den before Fell’s eyes had come, and Brassa had first suspected that Fell possessed the Sight.  But she remembered Tsinga’s strange words to Huttser ‘Can you look into the darkness and predict the future?’ Now she understood why Tsinga had gasped in horror that day.  But suddenly she thought, too, of Skart.  That’s why he had looked so guilty when she talked of Wolfbane.  He too had known all along.

‘You can foresee nothing,’ growled Fell, ‘but tonight, when the moon climbs to its zenith and Mother looks through the child’s eyes and controls all.  Then she has promised me that she will give me the power to know the future, and the past too.  To know all and be free.’

As Larka looked at Fell she felt a terrible wave of pity surge through her.

‘Fell,’ she pleaded, ‘what has she done to you? Remember the cave, Fell.  When we played as cubs.  Remember Bran and Khaz and Brassa.  Remember the Stone Den and Wolfbane living at the top.  That was a story too.  Just a story.  Like your name.’

Fell’s eyes narrowed, but again he snarled.

‘More dreams.  I left the dream world long ago.  When she  ...  when Mother taught me of the world.  Taught me the true glory of the Putnar.  Taught me that all life is pain and that to overcome pain is to gain power.  I grew strong on her hate and saw many things.  I looked into the minds of snakes that slither on their bellies and tasted the flesh of beetles in the night.  I ran through rivers of blood and listened to the howls of agony that wake the world.  I was the hunter and the hunted, too.’

 ‘She is not your mother, Fell,’ cried Larka desperately.