Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart (36 page)

"The hunters among the Royal Beasts considered these fair game, fair but difficult to catch. Usually, hunting Cousin-kind was a better return on effort.

"But in those long-ago days, the hunting beasts of air and land became arrogant. They said to each other: 'Why should we make our meals mostly on those creatures of Cousin blood? They are smaller and less filling. Nor does hunting them hone our skills as they must be honed for us to serve as the warriors for our land. The Royal deer, elk, rabbits, and squirrels—as well as the song and game birds—were clearly created for our meals.'

"They spoke thus only to each other and soon the idea spread. At first, the songbirds and herbivores were none the wiser—accepting their losses as part of the natural order. However, eventually the bears and raccoons and other such who ate both meat and plants learned of the concerted effort being made to exclusively hunt Royal-kind. They became uneasy, for they did not know whether they would be grouped with the prey or the predators.

"Thus these in-betweens spoke to the herbivores and the songbirds and the game birds, and these were horrified to learn that they were now being sought out as prey rather than falling to the hunter as in the normal course of things. In fact, in the flurry to hunt only Royal-kind, many of the Cousins were slain and left to rot as not fine enough for Royal stomachs.

"The songbirds protested both this abuse and the waste, but to no avail.

" 'What use in a songbirds?' gibed the raptors. 'What use is a grouse or rabbit?' laughed the wolves and pumas. 'We shall eat them and grow fat and—well—if some escape, all for the good for that means more interesting hunting in the future.' "

The One Female fell silent, using as an excuse for her silence the fact that the terrain they were crossing—a pass between two low mountains—was steep and that she and Blind Seer must break a path in the snow so that the elk could follow with greater ease.

Firekeeper, however, could see the silver wolf's embarrassment at reporting this ancient folly. However, when they were through the worst of the snow and into better land, the One Female conquered her embarrassment and resumed:

"In time spring passed into summer and around the seasons until spring again, but this spring brought with it hordes of insects. There were little ones of the air that bit noses and swarmed in eyes; there were fat grasshoppers who stripped the land of grass and the trees of leaves.

"Needless to say, without sufficient grazing and browsing, the deer and elk and other game animals grew thin. Even fish became difficult to catch, for the starving herbivores had stripped the riverbanks of every growing thing. Thus, when the rains beat down their water they flayed the soil from the banks, turning the swiftly flowing streams to mud torrents, and choking the creatures who lived within them.

" 'What use is a songbird?' sang the few surviving songbirds. 'What use a grouse or a rabbit?' And the wolves grown lean and hungry, the pumas grooming tatty fur over jutting ribs, listened to the song and were humbled.

"As a token of their change of heart—their admission of the waste and destruction they had permitted—the Royal hunters ceased hunting the Royal songbirds and game birds and the land-bound herbivores though they were starving for a good feed."

Firekeeper felt as much as heard the indignant snort of the elk who carried her. The One Female must have as well, for she moderated her fierce enthusiasm for this particular element in her account.

"Yet," the One Female went on with an unreadable glance toward the elk, "this admission of wrongdoing was not sufficient—still the hunters must be punished.

"The surviving songbirds—made fat on grasshoppers and other insects or on grass seed too small for others to find—guided flocks of their Cousin-folk to sheltered places where the raptors could not see them. The rabbits fortified their Cousins' burrows with clever twisting and turning. The grouse and other ground birds played decoy for their less clever kin—and often led the exhausted hunters on a meatless chase. The elk and deer hid their Cousin-folk in their own secret yards. So it seemed that the Royal hunters must all starve."

The elk muttered, "Fair enough, for—as our senior cows tell this part of the story—we were starving alongside our tormentors though we were guiltless. Realizing that the wolves and pumas would slay the weakest and so survive while we still died, we struggled to punish those who had violated ancient custom and brought this doom upon guilty and innocent alike."

To Firekeeper's surprise, the One Female did not growl at this interruption or take offense at this criticism. Instead, she gave a single low wag of her well-furred tail in acknowledgment of the other's point of view.

"I did say," the One Female said, "that we hate this tale."

The elk bugled shrilly in laughter. "But you tell it well, with only the least flavoring of self-pity. Speak on, she-wolf, you are almost come to an end."

"Even the carrion vanished," the One Female continued, "gobbled up at a fantastic rate by the crows and ravens and jays, for corvid kin had sided with the seed-and bug-eating members of the wingéd folk, turning away from those of us who had long permitted them to share our hunting.

"The bears and raccoons and wild pigs helped drive us from even these poor meals—for less restricted in what they could eat they were stronger than we—and they stood us off when we would have sacrificed eyes and ears to the beaks of the corvid kin in return for a mouthful of rotting meat.

"And when the starving was nearly complete, when the ribs of every wolf stood out like tree branches in winter, when the pumas lacked the strength to groom even the paws they rested their heavy heads upon, when the foxes considered their own fleas fine dining, then an embassy came to the eaters of meat, an embassy of those we had in our arrogance taken to be our rightful prey.

"A fat robin sat upon a tree branch and whistled, 'What use a songbird?' A wolf replied, 'We have ceased to hunt the Royal Beasts. We are humbled to death. What do you want?'

" 'A promise,' said the robin, 'that you will never do this again, that you will teach your children of your folly.'

"The wolf, speaking for all the hunters, said, 'We gladly give this promise. From this day forth, no Royal Beast will be preferred game, but will only be hunted as before—when made vulnerable by the course of life.'

"The robin bobbed acceptance, but was not yet content. 'And we demand an apology from all of you for thinking that simply because you could slay our enemies you had earned the right to view any living thing as your enemy. We want an apology for the wasted lives—both kin and Cousin—that were spent in your pride.'

"Again the wolf agreed, adding, 'We have learned that it is pure madness to kill without eating. How often have we longed for those Cousin-kind we slew without eating. We beg forgiveness and ask to be allowed to eat once more. If you wish, we shall forgo Royal-kind completely and dine only on Cousins.'

"The robin sang a merry note. 'What use a hunter? We, too, are hunters—though you mocked our insect prey as puppy game until you were starving. Even those who eat the growing things are hunters, for without them the trees would be choked by their own saplings and the grass by its older growth. Hunt as before, hunt warily and well—and always eat what you kill.' "

Here the One Female stopped her story and glanced at the elk. Firekeeper could tell from the set of the wolf's ears that she was uncomfortable and her tones when she addressed the elk held traces of a puppy whine.

"Great elk," the One Female said, "this next part of the tale has always troubled me for it seems more a hunter's fantasy than any possible reality."

"Tell the story," commanded the elk, "as you learned it when you rose to strength."

Even with this assurance, the One Female seemed unhappy as she continued:

"As my first mate told me the tale when I had beaten all comers and become the One, at this point the robin flew down from the tree and offered her fat breast to the fox. A deer and an elk leapt from a high place, breaking their own necks and backs, and thus there was food for the wolves and pumas. Even the timid rabbits and foolish ground birds bent head and necks to the hunters' fangs. In this way the hunters were given strength to hunt again and returned to the chase—though never again did they turn exclusively to Royal-kind as their prey."

Firekeeper gasped at this incredible conclusion to the tale. She understood why the One Female believed it fancy, but the elk running beneath her did not gainsay the account.

"So it is told among my people," the elk said, "with slight variation of detail and emphasis. For we are told that the robin's lesson—the lesson of the songbirds—was for all Royal-kind. Though our lives are precious to us, still the tradition of sacrifice is in our blood. When the hunters come, we put our young in the center of the herd and defend them. When all must run, the weakest know that their falling back preserves the herd. This tradition is not so different than that of the hunters."

The elk snorted and bounded over a place half-ice, half-mud, before continuing.

"For the lesson of the songbirds is for us as well. If our numbers grow too great, we will become as the insects that stripped the land of all growing things. Every year when the tale is related some little calf asks why Royal-kind gave of itself rather than herding forth some Cousins to die instead—if indeed…"

Here the elk chuckled. "If indeed that calf thinks the hunters should have been preserved at all. And we tell the calves that had we let the hunters continue to starve—or had preserved them at the cost of Cousin-kind—then we would have shown that we had not learned the lesson so dearly taught."

The One Female replied slowly, "I almost understand."

"You understand," the elk said, "else Little Two-legs here astride me would have died long ago. Surely some of your own went hungry to feed her. It is not so great a step from that sacrifice to the other."

But the she-wolf was not certain and the elk read this in the angle of her tail and the tilt of her ears.

"Think this then, silver wolf. The story begins with the hunting beasts protecting our lands from those who would take them from us. Many are said to have died in those battles and you have no trouble accepting the truth of that part of the story. How does that dying differ from the other?"

Blind Seer protested, "In a fight the blood is hot!"

"I tell you, young wolf," the elk replied, "the blood of those who gave their lives to feed the hunters was hot as well, for fear makes the heart pump, even as does fury."

They were all silent, thinking about this for a time. Then the One Female said to Blind Seer:

"Now you and Little Two-legs know the story of the songbirds. May you be well served for your curiosity."

Firekeeper puzzled over this; then at last she asked:

"But, Mother, what happened to the songbirds? According to this tale, they lived and even prospered, yet I have never seen a Royal robin or other singer. Royal rabbits and such are simply joking excuses for failed hunting. Many times have I heard a pack mate swear, 'That one must have been Royal, else it could not have escaped me.' "

The One Female sighed, "We live in borderlands, upon the fringes of which those battles so long ago were fought. No one sees the smaller beasts here, but it is said that they can still be found in the deeper lands, farther from the ocean, nearer to the great wide river."

"My people," the elk added unexpectedly, "say that the songbirds left this land for it had been made sorrowful by memory of the carnage. Hying far away, they found new nesting lands where they never again had to fear a breaking of the truce. In the loneliest part of winter, our young bulls bellow long, low songs describing islands full of singing birds whose every note is ripe with wisdom."

"Who knows which is the truth?" the One Female said.

"Maybe I will learn the truth someday," Firekeeper said, "for it is in my thoughts that I shall travel far before I dig a den for myself."

"Come and tell us tales of your journeying," the elk requested a trace wistfully.

"We shall."

And that promise came from Blind Seer.

K
ing Allister and his party began their return journey to Silver Whale Cove on the fourteenth day of Boar Moon. Without Sapphire and Shad dispensing cheer among their fellow travelers, the group seemed much smaller, although in fact it was larger by the addition of four young ladies and their various attendants.

The young ladies were Deste and Nydia Trueheart, the daughters of Lady Zorana Archer and Lord Aksel Trueheart, and Ruby and Opal Shield, daughters of Lady Melina Shield and the late Lord Rolfston Redbriar. In point of fact and order, only the latter two had been specifically invited, but when Lady Zorana—a forceful woman not above trading on her close kinship to King Tedric to get what she wanted—chose to assume that her daughters were included in the invitation, King Allister had accepted them without protest.

Pearl's reminder of the son Zorana had so recently lost certainly played a part in softening the king's heart. He hoped that Pearl wouldn't regret her sympathy, for managing the young ladies would fall much into her sphere.

Allister had narrowly escaped taking along a handful of other young people—scions of various Great Houses—but had been saved from this influx by a rumor which suggested that the girls were not so much guests as hostages for the safety and good treatment of Prince Shad in his new home.

This was ridiculous, but as the rumor served Allister, he didn't particularly mind. In fact, the giggles and gossip coming from the carriages had been a nice balance to the emptiness he felt when they took their departure, leaving Shad behind in Eagle's Nest.

The odd thing was that this was hardly the first time that Shad had been away from his family. Indeed, over the past several years Shad had served in Bright Bay's navy and, had the ancestors not chosen to make Allister king, Shad would have spent the greater part of the next several years—if not decades—at sea, coming home at last to whatever estate was his inheritance.