A Wolf Story Page 12

  Then Corbis laughed, and guards, menacing wolves of fearsome size, suddenly appeared beside Aramus. He knew they were there, but was too exhausted to care, and failed to fight as they led him from the chamber and into the darkness beyond.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Even as the silver wolf disappeared into the depths of the granite corridor, Incomel stood before the throne of Corbis. The lion's eyes glimmered menacingly in the gloom, and though the proud voice was angry, it retained a wide edge of respect, and fear.

  "Is this wise, great Corbis?" Incomel growled. "You know the child's father will come for him. Even here," the lion raised its head, gesturing to the Abyss, "the father will come for his son."

  Corbis's roaring laugh boomed through the shadows that cloaked the demonic domain. And the laugh roared on and on, trembling the tomb, until at last the walls echoed cavernously with some unspeakable delight, some incomprehensible evil.

  "Do you think there is anything my vast intellect has not considered, Incomel?" Corbis laughed. "There is no thought hidden from my sight. I know Gianavel will come for his son. That is the reason the child is here."

  Incomel’s words were hard with hate.

  "Do not forget, Corbis. The father is not the son. I have fought Gianavel before. His invincible mind cannot be shaken, nor can his faith be broken. I tell you the truth; the old wolf is dangerous."

  Corbis's penetrating, probing gaze studied the lion.

  "You fear the wolf."

  Incomel’s proud gaze did not waver.

  "I fear nothing," he replied.

  Corbis was silent, brooding, the sadistic eyes gazing into another world, another dimension, where some ancient, malevolent entity heard and responded to his unearthly thoughts. And as the moments passed, the eyes glared, mesmerized, as if beholding an insidious, corrupting force that spoke hotly to his heart.

  "No," whispered Corbis, frowning, his vacant stare focused on that unseen darkness. "You do not fear Gianavel. It is the spirit within him that you fear."

  Incomel's face was grim.

  "God walks with the old wolf," he said bitterly. "Many have tried to destroy Gianavel and their bones are scattered in the hills. Gianavel is old, but he is strong in his age. Even in war he does not forget wisdom, but always finds an advantage. And his strength goes beyond flesh. The Lightmaker has never allowed anyone to defeat him in battle."

  Corbis smiled from his throne of darkness, and once again focused fully on the lion.

  "Do not fear the wolf, great Incomel. The Dark Lord is stronger than the Lightmaker. Even now, though we have not yet assembled all the power of the cosmos, our strength is sufficient for the task. Only the old wolf stands in our way."

  Magnetic and hypnotic, Corbis's eyes gleamed as he leaned forward.

  "Strike down Gianavel and the Lightmaker's servants will be scattered. And for this great service to the Dark Lord you will be granted a great reward. You will ascend in strength beyond your glorified state to become as I am, with knowledge of all things. There will be no secret pleasure, no delight, hidden from your eyes. Yet your victory shall not end there. No, for when Gianavel is destroyed, the last, great servant of the Lightmaker shall be gone. Then all faith will be shattered, and the power will return to the cosmos, where it will be absorbed by the Dark Lord, who will deliver it unto me. And we shall pass beyond time, beyond life, beyond death. We shall rule all that was, or is, or is to come. We will ascend beyond these mortal tombs of flesh and bone, becoming what we were truly meant to be: Gods on the Earth."

  Only a moment did the lion hesitate, demonic eyes glowering with some consuming, cosmic lust, some ancient hunger. And from somewhere within the great black form an insatiable and imperious ambition seemed to emerge, destroying everything but its own commanding desire to consume more, to possess more, to know no limitations but its own. Then Incomel turned, irresistible strength moving with effortless grace, and was absorbed by the darkness.

  *

  eight

  Aramus was dead, as dead as he could be, and yet live. He lay with head down and eyes closed, hoping to find sleep to ease his pain but his mind was troubled and distracted, and sleep escaped his grasp.

  By what incomprehensible force Corbis had summoned his hellish powers, he did not know, but the Beast's overpowering presence had smashed his mind to pieces with its relentless attack. Aramus shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts but they remained confused and clouded.

  Aramus realized that Baalkor's demonic influence was nothing compared to the irresistible strength of Corbis. And now, after being shamed and conquered by the cruel force of that strength, Aramus felt as if his visions, his dreams, were gone, destroyed forever by the conquering black mist that had overwhelmed his heart and soul.

  He lifted his eyes to the walls of his cell, searching for the strength that had sustained him beside Saul. Somewhere within his heart he felt his spirit stir with the effort, but his soul was wasted, wearied beyond the place where he could stand alone.

  Within him his suffering seemed like living flames consuming his mind and heart. And slowly, as the painful moments passed, Aramus felt a burning suffering that embraced all that he was. He stared vacantly at the rough walls, lost to his suffering, lost to his pain. And still the flames increased, building within his heart until the flames became a blaze, and the blaze flamed into an inferno that filled him, filled him, driving out everything from within him but the consuming pain of his suffering. Aramus felt his heart break at the pain, and his heart reached out. And suddenly he was lying again with Saul, together in the snow, and the old hare was speaking to his heart ...

  "His grace is sufficient ... his grace is sufficient ... always strength comes for the task ..."

  Aramus laughed, even as the tears formed and the flames continued, annihilating his hopes in the holocaust of his pain. Yet even as his dreams died and his heart was consumed with his pain, Aramus began to gain a deeper understanding, an understanding that revealed all the true and final motivations of his heart. Enduring his pain, Aramus watched as all that he had ever cherished above the Light maker was engulfed by those relentless flames, the holocaust that spared nothing in his heart. And as he watched the death of his deepest desires, Aramus sensed the spirit of the Lightmaker rising strongly within him, hut that spirit only increased the fury of the flames even more, utterly destroying within him what could never have been destroyed by any less a force.

  "Always strength comes for the task ..."

  As Aramus watched, the spirit of the Light' maker slowly took what the holocaust had destroyed, gathering the shattered remnants of his life and recreating them again with a purer purpose, reforging his heart and soul into something more than he had ever been, something bold and unyielding and strong with ancient strength, something he had never imagined and never conceived that he could be—the image of his Father.

  Aramus breathed softly with the spirit that continued to rise within him. And as the spirit increased, his heart grew calm and his thoughts cleared. And the spirit revealed to him his mind, his hidden thoughts and fears, and with amazing clarity Aramus suddenly understood his illusions, and the reasons for his fears. Even in his fatigue, Aramus was amazed at the clearness of his understanding, and wondered why he had never understood before. For it seemed as if he had known the truth all his life, yet without knowing. And as he continued to seek the Lightmaker through his pain, he sensed a new strength, knowing that never again would illusions and fear have dominion over him; for his mind had been set free, the power of lies destroyed at last by the spirit that had lifted the death shroud from his eyes.

  Aramus realized that if he survived this struggle, he would never again look at life in the same way. Never again would he find consolation in circumstances, knowing that circumstances could change. And never again would he feel defeat in suffering, knowing that suffering, however great, could be endured and would only temper him for a harder design, enabling his heart and mind to endure what could not have b
een endured before.

  "Always strength comes"

  Sadness faded, replaced by a deepening peace, and Aramus finally rested, smiling faintly, knowing that now, indeed, an awesome strength, hard-gained and long-awaited, had come for the task.

  Lost in his communion with that sacred spirit within him, Aramus almost missed the small eyes staring excitedly at him from the entrance of the cell. Then, sensing the creature's presence, he looked up sharply, alert to attack.

  Instantly Aramus was on his feet, for he recognized the dark outline in the doorway. It was the hare from Saul's colony, the one who had spotted him across the field near the southern caves.

  Brown eyes flashing nervously, the big hare stared in wonder as the silver wolf loomed over it. Its powerfully muscled legs jerked twice as if suppressing a desire to flee, but it did not move. Aramus saw its fear, and he spoke quietly, soothingly. He did not think of attack, for no longer did he choose friend or foe by nature, but by the spirit within them. And he knew that the hare was a servant of the Lightmaker, as Saul before him.

  "What are you doing here?" Aramus whispered.

  A nervous voice replied.

  "I am Windgate, now king of the Colony near the Deep Woods. And I am here to help you. I know that, somehow, you stood beside my king, Saul. And debt for debt, I will repay."

  So quietly, so quickly did the hare whisper the fierce words that Aramus was spellbound. Briefly, the big hare's presence returned Aramus to that stormy night in the glade, when Baalkor had made him fight for what he believed. And he remembered Saul's dying words, "but for brave Windgate ... we would have been destroyed."

  Aramus focused on the hare, so fierce, so brave, so loyal to his departed king.

  "I am Aramus, son of Gianavel," he said. "And it is true, Saul and I stood together. He was my friend, and he spoke of you. But," he added, looking over the hare's shoulder, fearing the approach of a random patrol, "you are in great danger. How did you get in here? How did you find me?"

  Windgate was quickly recovering from his initial nervousness, and his eyes gleamed with excitement.

  "There is a way that is unguarded!" he whispered fiercely. "Saul would not have made such a mistake! Hurry! We'll escape while it's still dark! We can outrun them in the forest! But there's no time to waste!"

  Aramus thrilled with sudden hope. And for a tense, tempting moment he glared excitedly down the corridor, anxious to escape. Then he remembered Kaleel, and he sighed, shaking his head wearily.

  "No, you must go," he said. "1 don't know where they've taken the bear, Kaleel. And he is my friend. I won't leave him."

  Windgate's eyes blazed. "We can find him, too! Let's get out of here!"

  Aramus weighed the risk. Could they search the corridors until they found Kaleel, and still fight their way out? He considered a long moment. No, he thought, it would be impossible. Incomel was too powerful to fight. And countless guards were constantly patrolling the passages of the Abyss. Aramus could not even imagine how the brave hare had managed to penetrate the defense. He shook his head again.

  "No. We'll never be able to find Kaleel without them finding us first. There are too many halls, too many cells to search. How did you manage to reach me? Guards are everywhere."

  Windgate sniffed contemptuously.

  “Idiots!" he said. "I've seen snails with more brains. I've roamed up and down these corridors, crawling behind their backs, and they still haven't seen me. They're arrogant and proud. Saul was right. Their pride will be their downfall."

  Aramus almost laughed, joyous to see the big hare so defiant, before the urgency of Windgate's peril returned to him. Every moment the hare remained increased his chances for discovery and instant death.

  "I'm not leaving Kaleel," Aramus said quietly. "You're brave, but there's nothing else you can do here. Baalkor will be returning soon and—"

  "Baalkor?" snarled Windgate. "He is the one?"

  Aramus looked at the hare, nodded tersely.

  Windgate's eyes narrowed, unbelievably menacing for one so small.

  "May the Lightmaker destroy him for what he has done!" His words were hard with wrath. "But if you will not go with me, then perhaps there is another way I can serve you. I know something that you don't know. I saw you in the big room when you spoke with the fat one."

  Aramus blinked, considering.

  "Corbis?"

  "Yes, the fat one," said Windgate. "And I heard him speak with the lion after they took you away. They don't want you. They want your father. I heard them speak of him. That is why they brought you here. They want to lure your father down from the North so they can kill him. Even now the lion is hunting him on the mountain. They know that your father will come for you."

  Aramus closed his eyes.

  "My father," he whispered, silver brow furrowed. He lowered his head for a moment, grieved at Windgate's words.

  "I will find your father!" said the big hare fiercely. "I will warn him about their trap! And I will show him the hidden entrance! He will know what to do!"

  Aramus felt his hopes revive with the desperate plan. But could Windgate find Gianavel in that vast wilderness? Aramus knew how cunning and elusive his father could be. He thought furiously and remembered the black ledge that bordered the trail leading up the mountain.

  "You'll never find my father in the forest," he said. "But neither will they. He's too smart and too fast. Nothing will stop him from reaching the mountain. If you go out looking for him, you won't see him. You must wait for him to come to you. That's the only way to get near him. Now, listen, there's not much time," he cautioned. "There's only one way up the mountain, and that's the trail we followed to the cave. Do you remember the small plateau about halfway up the path, the one that looks down on the trail?"

  Windgate nodded tensely.

  "That's where you'll have to wait. My father will climb the trail. There's no other way up the mountain. And if you wait for him on the plateau, he'll pass right beneath you. But you'll have to watch closely because he won't make a sound and he'll be moving at night."

  Aramus looked down the corridor again, watching for the guards. Nervously he weighed the hare's impossible task. It would be difficult to descend the mountain undetected, even to the ledge. And Aramus knew that his father would be hard to locate in the darkness, concealed within his great stealth. And even if Windgate did find his father, how would a warning save the old wolf from Incomel? With a sense of rising dread Aramus remembered the lion's matchless speed and strength. How could his father defeat it? But he could think of nothing else to do.

  He turned his attention to Windgate again and saw the hare studying him intently.

  "Your wounds are not serious," Windgate said, looking closely at the talon marks. "You'll survive."

  "I know, my friend," said Aramus. "But now you must leave. Quickly. You have to find my father."

  Aramus hesitated, thinking furiously.

  "But my father is suspicious, always careful, especially in times of war. He may not trust you. If he doubts, tell him, Aramus said: ‘Be strong, be courageous, do what you know is right,' and he'll know I sent you. Now, go. Tell my father that Incomel is hunting him."

  Windgate's eyes glinted hard for a moment, and the hare's voice was harsh and tense.

  "I shall not fail you," he said, smiling fiercely. And with that his dark eyes gleamed, as if he found pleasure in defying these massive beasts and the evil god they served. Then, with only the slightest scurry of padded feet, he bounded away down the corridor.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Moving in the very shadow of the mountain, Gianavel found a perilous path through the night. He was close now, he knew, and he could sense the danger.

  Wary of a trap, the old wolf constantly scanned the darkness, searching for shadows that moved, but he saw nothing. And careful to conceal his outline within the trees that fringed the mountain, he continued slowly forward, never venturing across the open slope lest the light of the moon reveal his lonely shape. />
  Patiently, patiently, Gianavel found a silent path, avoiding twigs and rocks, moving with infinite grace and infinite skill, always searching, relentlessly alert for a guard. But there was nothing, only shades of black and gray in the gloom.

  Gianavel followed the haggard stand of trees as it curved away from the path. He could move more quickly if he remained on the trail that tracked out across the shattered ridge before him. But the treeline would cross the path again on the other side of the slope. And he would have to avoid detection to reach his son. He was too close to the Abyss to survive a physical conflict in the open ground.

  So quiet, so subdued, was the mountain that Gianavel felt compelled to forsake caution for speed. Yet he controlled his desire for haste, moving with disciplined steps along his careful path. And whether it was sound or scent or something half-sensed, Gianavel would never know, but a deadly thrill suddenly alerted him to a threatening presence traveling through the darkness along the ridge.

  Even as he felt the presence Gianavel's great gray form froze, unmoving in the night, one foot held aloft. Still as stone, the old wolf listened intently, searching every whisper for what had alerted him, but he recognized nothing. He stood listening, listening, but only the wind whispered in the night. And Gianavel began to fear that whatever he had sensed might also have sensed him.

  Slowly, without moving his gray head, Gianavel turned his eyes to look cautiously at the darkened hillside. He stared intensely at the ridge, seeing nothing. Yet still he did not move, knowing that his senses had not betrayed him. Something he could not identify had alerted him to a hidden danger, so he stood silently and waited. And with acute skill he searched the wind, but the air was still, deathly still, as if it, too, were afraid to move.

  Suddenly, hideously, Gianavel sensed a demonic power reaching out for him, searching the night – a power he had known before. And he was certain that the unseen beast, too, had felt him traveling through the darkness. Without movement or sound Gianavel suppressed a snarl. He had no wish to fight, no wish to kill, but fight and kill he would, to save his son.