Wolves of the Beyond: Shadow Wolf (2 page)

AS THEY APPROACHED THE BURN,
the site of the
gaddergludder
, where two dozen or more members of the combined packs were gathering, Faolan felt the stares of the other wolves. He heard murmurs of astonishment as well. “He’s too big for a gnaw wolf.” “Too well fed.” “He must be sneaking meat at kills and not waiting.” “No pack wolf would permit…” “He’s just large….”

“Take a lesson from Heep over there,” Lord Bhreac said. “A model gnaw wolf!” Faolan had not yet met any of the other gnaw wolves. Perhaps he could learn something from Heep; the humility expected of a gnaw wolf did not come easily to him. Faolan made his way to the top of the Burn. Amid the tail wagging, bowing, and howling, he spotted a tailless yellow wolf writhing in the dirt.

Faolan’s submission postures left something to be desired. It was as if his knees simply could not bend enough; his shoulders seemed unready to flex so that he could drop to his belly; and he hated twisting his neck to press his face into the ground.

So this was what was considered a model gnaw wolf! Faolan felt sick. He had never seen a wolf grind himself so deeply into the ground. Heep’s muzzle had disappeared into the dusty earth, and Faolan wondered how he could even breathe. Heep’s eyes—more yellow than green—slid back into his head so that only the whites showed, but Faolan caught him glimpsing around every few seconds to see who was watching him. And all the while, Faolan noticed that the yellow wolf’s hindquarters twitched, as if he were trying to shove his tail between his legs. But he had no tail to tuck in submission, wag in happiness, or hold out rigid in a display of dominance.

Heep wore this humility like a second pelt, and it gave Faolan a queasy feeling in his stomach. But Heep was supposed to be a model gnaw wolf, and perhaps he would tell Faolan something about the
byrrgis
and the hunt.

Faolan sank to his knees near Heep. “So when do we get to join in the howling?”

“What?” the yellow wolf rasped.

“I said, when do we—”

“I know what you said, gnaw wolf. I am simply astonished by the question! You know nothing, do you?”

“It was just a question. I don’t know all the ways yet.”

“At this rate, you never will,” muttered Heep. “Gnaw wolves do not howl at
gaddergludders
. They do not howl at any pack or clan rallies.”

Faolan was tempted to ask why but felt perhaps it was better not to. He did, however, want to know about the actual
byrrgis
. Forget howling about it. What was the hunt like?

“Can you tell me about the
byrrgis
? I can run…” He hesitated. He would not say he could run as fast as the females, since that might be inviting trouble. Instead, he said, “I have a lot of strength. I can run long and hard.”

Heep raised his muzzle from the dirt and gave him a withering glance. “It really won’t matter.”

“What do you mean, it won’t matter?”

At just that moment, Lord Claren walked by. He briefly paused in front of Heep and observed his writhings of submission, which seemed to stimulate Heep to even more frantic displays.

“So pleased to serve in my most humble way. Let the more noble wolves, the captain and the corporals
of the
byrrgis
, be aided by my most humble efforts as a sweeper as I sniff the scat and urine of the prey. To accurately report on the condition of their droppings is a glory unto me if it serves the greater glory of the
byrrgis
.”

Droppings!
What was Heep talking about? That was their job, to sniff the
droppings
? Faolan was astonished. He had thought that, even though they were gnaw wolves and not permitted the first, second, or even tenth bite of prey after it had been brought down, they would not be relegated to sniffing droppings. Like a guttering flame, the anticipation Faolan had felt now flared and extinguished.

Heep slid his eyes toward Faolan and whispered, “That is indeed our task, gnaw wolf—to sniff the scat of the prey. No more. No running to speak of, nor are we part of the kill rush at the end. We sniff scat,” he said, turning to Lord Claren, who nodded approvingly at Heep’s explanation.

“And I would not deem you too proud, Lord Claren,” Heep continued, “if you chose to avoid me for some time after this most magnificent hunt because of the stench I shall have acquired in the performance of my task.” He paused in this fawning litany of self-abasement and added a small, delicate writhe. “Know that I am filled with humility at the mere chance of serving thus, and I shall wear the stench as a badge of my most humble service.”

Lord Claren walked away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Faolan said, “Heep.”

“What is it now, gnaw wolf?” Heep replied.

“Can’t you call me by my name—Faolan?”

“You haven’t earned that name.” Heep’s nostrils pinched together and he spoke with obvious disdain.

“It is the name given to me by my second Milk Giver.”

“Oh!” Heep said. “That bear.”

“Yes, that bear, the grizzly Thunderheart!”

Heep took a step closer. “Let me explain something to you, gnaw wolf. There is no such thing as a Milk Giver, first, second, or third, for a
malcadh
. Whoever this so-called Milk Giver was, she is no better than an impostor. And you show only stupidity and arrogance in thinking otherwise.”

Faolan growled and stepped closer, which seemed to surprise Heep. As a longer-serving gnaw wolf in a pack, Heep had seniority and had not expected to be approached in such a manner.

“Urskadamus!” Faolan muttered the old bear curse he had learned from Thunderheart. He heard some she-wolves snicker, but he didn’t pay any attention and turned away from the gnaw wolf.

Faolan realized that a wolf had been observing him
from across the way. She was young, tawny colored, about his age, he thought, but smaller and certainly not a gnaw wolf. Not when she was so well fed and had no trace of a deformity.

She was looking at him curiously. He could not return her gaze. It would be considered an affront for a gnaw wolf to look directly at another wolf, even if that wolf were the same age. But out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she was approaching him cautiously. He must sink lower, lay back his ears, and try as best he could to twist his neck and shove his face into the ground. Her words came softly and surprised him.

“It’s hard for you, isn’t it?” Somehow he knew immediately what she meant. “You can’t pretend, can you? Not like Heep.”

“Not like Heep. No wolf could be like him. He hardly seems a wolf to me.”

“Maybe not, but sometimes you have to pretend. This is easy compared to—”

“Compared to what?”

“Shhh! Here he comes.”

Heep came slithering on his belly back toward them. “Oh, my, that such a proud and noble young wolf should speak to humble creatures as ourselves. Such a gifted
young she-wolf from the noble Carreg Gaer of our chieftain Duncan MacDuncan deigns to speak with the likes of us!”

Carreg Gaer! So she was not from the River Pack
, Faolan thought. Carreg Gaer was the term used for the pack of the chieftain. But why was she here? It seemed as if she was embarrassed by Heep’s lavish display of humiliation, and she turned away to join the
gaddergludder
. Soon the
skreeleen
’s voice rose to a high pitch as she howled the final summoning call.

“To the Marrow!”

The two packs raced off to the north.

There were always two flanks in a
byrrgis
formation, either east and west or north and south. If there was just one gnaw wolf, that wolf was required to cover both flanks. With two, Faolan had been assigned the eastern flank, considered the inferior flank because of an old superstition. Heep was the sweeper on the west, and together they were the very last in the line of the thirty-two wolves that comprised the
byrrgis
.

The
byrrgis
stretched out over half a league as it climbed a steep incline. They were traveling at an
exasperatingly slow speed. But Faolan knew he must stay in position. The first pile of droppings appeared and he diligently sniffed it. He was making his way up to report the scent to the sublieutenant, a large male named Donegal, when Heep appeared. “I’ll be obliged to report that.”

“But why? I got the scent.” And before Faolan spoke next, he eyed Heep carefully. “Although I am even lower than you as a new gnaw wolf, I think that if you reported this, it would be considered most…most un-humble for the scent finder to have another report from the western flank.”

Heep raised his yellow eyes. There seemed barely a trace of the luminous green that suffused the eyes of the wolves of the Beyond.

“You don’t say,” he replied softly.

“I do say. You might provoke the sublieutenant, for your nose is dry, and not damp with the steam of moose dung.”

The yellow wolf began to walk away but turned once and gave Faolan a baleful look.

After Faolan reported to the sublieutenant, he and Heep were the last to reach the top of a rise. This gave them a good view of the
byrrgis
on the flats as it accelerated from what was known as press-paw speed to attack speed. It was as if a wave passed through the
byrrgis
at the
moment of acceleration. The nearly three dozen wolves worked as one, their minds, their spirits, and their muscles merged. They didn’t need to think, they didn’t need to bark, for they belonged together, pressed between earth and sky like streaking clouds racing low on the horizon.

Faolan blinked as he saw the young tawny she-wolf flash out from behind an outflanker. Until prey came into closing range, the outflankers hung back. Once the point wolf thought the prey was beginning to tire, the outflankers streaked out to run.

How Faolan envied the young wolf from the Carreg Gaer. He could almost feel her muscles as her tawny body stretched. Her neck seemed endlessly long. Threads of saliva spun from her mouth as she ran, and yet it appeared so effortless. Faolan wanted to be a part of this. He could do this. He knew he could. He had picked off a caribou from a herd by himself just moons before.

Faolan saw Heep scurrying ahead. He must have found some droppings or perhaps a pool of urine. Well, let him have the “honor” of reporting to the sublieutenant.

The image of those streaking wolves spurred Faolan to charge ahead. He kicked up a whirlwind of dust with his hind legs as he sprang forward. The entire eastern flank had contracted into one tight unit that suddenly increased its speed. Faolan was not sure exactly why they
were doing this, but he wanted to be a part of it. No one would notice if he sped up and packed in with them.

Seconds later, some sort of signal passed, and he felt the pressure of the wolves compacting around him. He was becoming one of them! He felt it in his marrow. Like metal in the heat of the forge, he was changing. His pace melded with theirs, his muscle became part of a larger one, his heart pumped, joining the single rhythm of all the hearts of all these wolves. He was a member of the
byrrgis
! A deep thrill coursed through him.

But what is happening now?
he wondered as he sensed a change in direction. The bull moose was turning sharply to the north. This could not be right, for it seemed as if they might be driving the moose into rocky terrain that held a maze of gullies through which he could escape. Faolan put on a new burst of speed. The time might be coming, he thought with overwhelming excitement, for him to rise up on his hind legs. He could stop this bull in seconds! He cut out from the press of wolves and blasted forward so he could get ahead of the moose.

At the moment Faolan decided to break out, Heep noticed a whirlwind of rising dust.
What in the name of Lupus?
he thought, and purposely lagged just a bit behind in his position so he could edge over for a better view of the eastern flank. He blinked. He simply could not believe
what he was seeing. Obviously, Faolan had no idea that the
byrrgis
was executing a crimping maneuver, designed to turn the moose. With his silvery tail floating out behind him like a plume, Faolan was streaking ahead and actually crimping the crimpers. This was an unimaginable violation of the
byrrgnock
laws—a first-degree offense.

A deep thrill coursed through the yellow wolf. By the Moon of the Singing Grass, this wolf would be out of the pack, out of the clan, and heading for the Dim World! The yellow wolf did not have to utter a word. Didn’t have to do a thing. The gnaw wolf Faolan was stripping his own bones!

Faolan was running full throttle. He stretched out, feeling the wind through his fur and the ground so light beneath his feet. He knew that this was what he was made for—to catch the wind, to bite the sun that was dropping behind the horizon. The tawny haunches of the young female were drawing into view. It surprised him that he had devoured so much distance so fast. He felt the power in his muscles.

As Faolan closed in on the front-runners, he began to pick up signals that were flying back and forth between the corporals and the captains. Subtle motions, gestures—a flick of an ear, a sudden up-tip of a tail. He saw the signals but did not know their meaning. So when
Faolan streaked out ahead of the pack, ahead of the outflankers, ahead of the point wolves, he did not hear the muffled dissonance as the pace was broken, nor the baffled, low growls of the two packs behind him. He was thinking of what was ahead—the huge bull moose he was going to stop. Faolan pulled ahead of the moose, out far enough in front to spin around and rise up on his back legs. He felt the spirit of the grizzly bear Thunderheart flow through him as he lifted up. He held his forepaws just like Thunderheart held hers, and it was as if he could feel his claws growing longer, sharper.
I am a wolf and a bear—a grizzly bear
. His howl crashed like thunder.

The moose skidded to a halt. A wild light filled his dark eyes as he took in the confounding sight before him. Then the moose bellowed and wheeled about—to charge the
byrrgis
! It was as if a mountain tore through the thirty-one wolves. There was a clamorous burst of howls and shrieks.