A Wolf Story Page 7

Aramus lowered his hard shoulders before he spoke.

  "No."

  For a long moment Baalkor pondered the response, a hideous haze shadowing its head.

  Then slowly, from somewhere within, it seemed to summon an awesome and terrible power, as if it were calling the Dark Lord himself forth from some nightmarish throne of darkness. A snarl that began deep in the dark wolfs chest trembled the snow and ground beneath it. And the black head lowered, whispering the names of fallen foes. Then in a nightmare it moved, exploding in a devastating rush.

  Almost instantly the black and red avalanche was upon Aramus, who was unprepared for such a blinding attack. Gaping fangs reached his throat, and a paralyzing roar froze his heart.

  *

  eleven

  Even as the dark form descended upon him, Aramus moved, spinning sideways to narrowly evade the monstrous force that crushed the ground where he had stood. Only at the last moment did Baalkor's fangs follow, leaving a deep searing wound along his ribs.

  Instantly its huge paw lashed out, striking him forcefully across the face. Yet in his fury Aramus did not feel the pain, only a rage that flamed within him, a rage to turn and destroy this evil beast that had come against them.

  And as Aramus frantically struggled to regain his balance, Baalkor suddenly threw its great weight full against him, colliding with terrific force.

  Aramus was stunned. The painful impact blasted the breath from his lungs and sent him sprawling onto his back, dazed and disoriented. And then the beast was above him, jaws ready to descend, a gaping maw of ragged swords that could sever his head from his neck.

  With strength born of desperation Aramus brought his hind legs up, raking savagely to disembowel his evil foe. And they found the soft underbelly of the beast, tearing furiously.

  In rage and pain Baalkor turned to the side, seeking to escape the young wolfs tearing claws. For one fleeting second the weight above Aramus lifted, and with a tactic he had long used in play against his brothers, he twisted violently, dislodging his foe. Then in a quick spin he regained his stance, retreating with a roar.

  Enraged, Aramus dimly recognized the taste of blood on his fangs, and he knew that, somehow, he had also struck in the deadly encounter. But his leg almost collapsed beneath him as he retreated, surprising him with the depth of his wound. And he frantically tensed his muscles, willing the leg to regain strength.

  Baalkor seemed to gloat in its unavoidable victory. It was master here, it knew, and in a moment it would crush the life out of this thing, this servant of the Lightmaker who stood between him and the world.

  Aramus circled back, seeking an opening, but Baalkor advanced with unnerving calm. It seemed to savor the moment, as if its victory were already complete. A mocking smile touched the black lips, curling them to reveal glistening jaws tinged with his blood. Aramus remembered the horrible face poised in the night.

  And then, with a thrill of panic, he realized that he was about to die. He was going to die out here in this frozen glade. All those long hours his father had spent teaching him to survive seemed so useless now. He had sensed Baalkor's irresistible strength when it collided against him. It was like black granite, carved from the walls of Hell itself, driven by supernatural rage. Aramus realized that the beast was only toying with him, not even touching the true power hidden within its massive form.

  Baalkor advanced slowly, grinning, doom clouding its head.

  Aramus had retreated almost to Saul, roaring and using false attacks to stall the dark wolf. But the monster moved forward, implacable, undisturbed by any threat.

  Aramus felt the ground steepening behind him, marking the beginning of the true forest edge where the trail ran north to his home. His footing quickly became uncertain in the deeper snow that covered the layers of dead leaves and limbs. Then, without warning, his hind leg slid though a tangle of limbs hidden by the snow. Aramus frantically tore his leg free, anticipating an attack during the quick distraction. But Baalkor only seemed to laugh, moving slowly forward. And Aramus knew he could retreat no further.

  Aramus felt a movement near him on the hillside, and with a frantic glance he saw that Saul was struggling to his feet, dying yet determined to defy, prepared to fight beside him against this demonic beast of unspeakable power and rage... and suddenly, he knew.

  In that quick and terrible moment when hideous Death rose before him, and his wounded friend struggled to rise beside him, Aramus knew, and understood, the secret of strength; understanding that the world had no power over Saul because there was nothing left of the world within him. Saul was free, and the freedom was power: the power to choose what was right, the power to resist the darkness, and the power to die without fear because his life was with the Lightmaker, a life that could never be taken from him, not by suffering, or danger, or death.

  And in that instant, as Aramus felt and understood the secret, he overcame the world, choosing to love the Lightmaker with all his heart and soul, sensing spirit and love that flowed into strength, giving him the power to resist, lifting his life beyond reach of the beast.

  Aramus's screaming snarl snatched the dark wolfs attention for a long chilling instant. And a pale flicker flashed behind the black eyes as the silver wolf advanced.

  "I know what you are, beast," he said. "You are a liar and a coward. It is you who should fear death. For you will die once, and then suffer judgment. But we will survive the night because we do not belong to the world. So fight me if you dare. Death cannot claim me.

  Aramus roared savagely and threw himself forward, gaining momentum in the last quick surge to collide against Baalkor with all his weight. And the dark wolf slid back at the impact, its legs skidding out on the snow. Yet with the painful collision Aramus felt as if he had thrown himself against a mountain wall. The bruising concussion sent him sprawling to the side, and in the next chaotic moment a long foreleg lashed out, striking him across the eyes.

  Light flashed across his mind, and Aramus felt the ground swing away beneath him. For a long white moment he tumbled through space, a demonic laugh roaring through his mind. Then he crashed heavily in the snow. A frenzied movement followed, with Baalkor crushing him, and as blood streaked his silver mane Aramus knew that he was wounded again.

  Baalkor's dark face glowered over him, red jaws glistening with hell within, and flashed toward his face. But as the black wedge descended, Aramus twisted to the side and his own sharp fangs found their mark. The dark wolf howled, twisted back, and broke clear of the grip. Then it surged forward again.

  Aramus struggled to regain his footing, but the monster struck him full force. He was hurled back, searching for ground, and crashed heavily into a cold tangle of icy limbs. It was the remnant of a giant oak that had fallen years before, yet which still held thick branches imprisoning him on all sides. Roaring, Aramus savagely tore against the clinging branches, shattering ice and limbs alike, knowing Baalkor would use the moment to kill Saul.

  And even as Aramus raged against the icy prison, he saw the dark wolf moving toward Saul, its frosty breath streaming in clouds.

  Baalkor's words were venom.

  "I have defeated you. The Dark Lord is greater."

  Saul seemed to look with quiet separation at the great black beast. Already, Aramus thought, his mind and spirit are in another place, somehow unreachable by the monster that loomed over him. But there was no time left to think. Aramus twisted violently and felt a limb break across his back. Several quick, tearing motions began to shake him free.

  And strangely, above it all, he heard Saul's quiet response.

  "And tell me, Death, where is your power ... to hold me in the grave?"

  Baalkor's breath vanished in the night air, and its face seemed to blacken with the thought. For a long moment it was frozen in the faint light of the approach* ing dawn, the dark forehead reflecting the madness that raced across its mind. An abomination thickened about it, as if an ancient and hideous hate settled on its brow. Even the night seemed to retreat from
its anger, while Saul remained unbent, and unafraid. Then with all his strength Aramus tore free, leaping forward.

  Baalkor also moved, with a roar of madness and rage. It launched itself into the air toward Saul, dark flames sailing before it, with the great black form itself deeper than the night.

  They met in the air over the hare, two titanic shapes reared against the stars, fangs flashing in the growing light, who struck together and crashed like thunder to the earth.

  They descended in a deadly embrace, roaring and striking in a blinding exchange of fang and claw. And as they smashed into the ice, they revolved across the frozen glade, swirling in a thunderstorm of blows, leaving scarlet ribbons in the snow.

  With unbelievable strength Baalkor grasped Aramus's silver mane between knifelike canines and shook with all his weight. Aramus wrestled backwards against the assault, falling beneath the great crushing force and killing grip. Then, in a swift movement, he twisted to the side, in agony tearing his neck free from the fangs. But there was no retreat. Roaring, the young wolf hurled himself forward again, colliding against the beast's chest with all his massive strength.

  For one fleeting instant Baalkor reeled back off-balance. And seizing the opening, Aramus leaped and closed upon a long foreleg. With desperate shakes he threw himself back. Beneath his fangs he felt the bone crack and the dark wolf howled, slashing his face to break his grip.

  Baalkor screamed and shook, hideous, scattering blood from a dozen wounds. Then in hellish rage it charged again, shattering crusted snow with a demonic roar. Aramus also charged, roaring in rage, and they collided like lions in the glade.

  For a long moment they stood suspended on hind legs, two servants of two masters, resisting the other to the death. In a whirlwind of motion the dark wolf threw Aramus to the ground. Its flashing red maw descended, but slower, and fatigued. And as the dark head fell, Aramus caught it between powerful forelegs and his own jaws found its neck. Then he twisted, throwing the beast onto its back. The glade trembled as Baalkor crashed to the earth, and the silver wolfs fangs fell like lightning.

  Howling, shaking blood from a great wound, Baalkor broke violently away, retreating with shaken snarls. Aramus started after it, as if to press the attack, then stopped. His silver mane was torn and streaked with crimson, but he felt no pain. He knew he had the strength to fight forever.

  The dark wolf stood a distance apart, panting and livid, its face void of pride or glory. Fear behind pain gave a shallow depth to its eyes.

  For a long moment they faced each other, breathing heavily, blood staining the ice beneath their feet. And then slowly, painfully, the shadow of defeat fell across Baalkor's scarred head, and Aramus heard its rasping voice for the final time.

  "I will return."

  Aramus did not move.

  "I will be waiting," he said. "Always I stand between you and the world."

  As the glade turned a deeper gold, and the sun's slanting rays threw the first thin shadows from the trees, the evil one turned and limped across the glade. Soon it had vanished in the mist.

  Aramus knew in that moment that he had survived the night and the Watch. And sensing sadly what he would find, he turned back to his fallen friend.

  Yet even as he whirled toward the forest edge he saw a massive shape glittering within the shadow of a giant oak, the shape of a silent and great gray wolf. Snow was crusted at his feet and lay in a heavy shroud across his shoulders, and he stood majestic and great and golden in the glowing dawn. Then Aramus understood the secret that his father had hidden from him at dusk. And he knew that the old wolf had never left him alone through the long winter night, but had watched over him through it all. The gray eyes gazed with wisdom and love from the thin gloom, and suddenly the cold was not so cold anymore.

  Quietly Aramus returned to his friend. Saul was resting on the snowy hillside, and had watched wide-eyed the last great encounter. Aramus saw that his face was tired and peaceful, and he no longer shivered from the cold. Eternity had wrapped itself in a cloak about him, and his old eyes blinked slowly in the golden light. The moment had come, at last.

  As farewell, the wolf leaned down, touching nose to nose with his friend. Saul closed his eyes and sighed.

  "Your heart has stood the test," he said. "Always strength comes with the task. You found your life by living ... what you knew ... was true."

  Then the hare grew still and raised his head.

  The wolf watched in silence and awe.

  "So much love, yet you never knew, he was with you all the night." Then he lowered his head, and was quiet.

  A cold wind moaned in the golden dawn and the wounded wolf bowed his head. His friend was gone, the battle won, leaving a last cherished promise to keep. But something in his final words made Aramus turn, and beneath a snow-crowned oak he saw the image that Saul had seen so long ago in the darkness of the long, lonely night.

  Unmoving and majestic, Gianavel rested beneath the brow of snowy white, his great head lowered, just as Aramus knew it had been lowered through the fight to watch the glade, the battle, and the death of a king. And Aramus knew his father had never truly left him alone but had only wanted him to face his fears. And if his life had ever been at the edge of death, Gianavel’s wrath would have been Baalkor’s doom.

  Then his father was beside him, the noble head bowed in respect. His mane was coated in ice, even now melting in the dawn, but he seemed untouched by the cold, the great shoulders strong and enduring, beyond the world's power to destroy.

  "You were with me through the night," said Aramus, "and yet I never knew."

  His father's presence was close about him in the growing warmth of day. "1 was with you through the night, it's true," Gianavel said. "But it was not just of me that he spoke."

  Aramus glanced toward the place where Baalkor had vanished into the thinning mist, but his heart lay beside his fallen friend.

  "Endure ..." he whispered. "That's what he said. And always strength comes for the task." .

  Searching silver eyes looked upon Gianavel.

  "Is that the reason I was here? Was it so that I would find the strength to endure?"

  Old and wise, the gray wolf nodded once.

  "It was something I could not give. Only the Lightmaker, in his grace, could lead you to this place.

  Though had the beast struck you down once more, my wrath would have been his doom. But I stayed my strength, so that you might find yours, as I knew you would ... in the end."

  Then his father's voice grew solemn and grave, and he gazed tenderly at Saul's still form.

  "Now he will run forever in fields green with laughter and light, where death has no dominion. And one day, too, you will run there beside him, friends forever."

  Silently, gracefully, the old wolf then turned and walked toward the mountain trail that led north to home and safety and the comfort of the pack. At the trail he turned back again, his august form splashed with the golden dawn, to bid farewell. And even in the thin forest light Aramus could see love borne on the gaze of those deep gray eyes. Then with a whisper of the wind he vanished into the mist.

  Aramus was alone with the dawning of the day. No longer did he feel his wounds, or his fears, or the cold that had chased him through the dark. And somehow, in his heart, he knew that he would never again fear the night. A quiet strength settled in his spirit as he turned to gaze at the southern treeline.

  The mist still obscured the forest edge, but was thinning with the growing warmth of day. He did not know what dwelt beyond the distant woodline, but he knew his journey would be long. And after that, the long return home, to Lucas, and the pack, and a new life awaiting.

  A single tear pierced the soft snow as the wounded wolf gently lifted his friend. And as the night's last stars slowly died in dawn's growing light, he turned solemnly south, and vanished into the mist, as well.

  *

  Book Two

  And if one prevail against him,

  two shall withstand him;

>   and a threefold cord is not broken quickly.

  one

  Solemnly the great gray wolf poised atop his mountain domain.

  Gray eyes, wise and strong with ancient strength, gazed into the darkness as if to read the shadows, or the wind, or the moonlit night. And though the old wolf's shaggy mane waved slightly beneath the gusting breeze, he seemed unaware of the touch, the august head bent as if sensing a sad cry that carried faintly from some faraway place.

  Silently, from the shadows that cloaked the cliff, another wolf stepped slowly into the moonlight. The wolf appeared older by far than the first, its gray mane blending white on the grizzled head and back. Yet though smaller in size than the massive creature it approached, the elder wolf moved with a lean, aged strength. And its hard, scarred face did not seem to know mercy or weakness, until it spoke, and the gray eyes softened with concern.

  "The child has not returned, Gianavel?" asked Razul.

  As if unable to look away from some distant foe, Gianavel shook his head. "No," he said, and sighed deeply, piercing the cold night air with his breath.

  Gianavel continued to gaze into the distance, where sky and forest were lost beneath the conquering power of night, and his gray face hardened.

  "We both know that the Lightmaker is doing a work in the child," said Razul. "And we both know that he must suffer much to gain his full strength. But you are troubled by something beyond this, brother. What is it you see in the night?"

  Again Gianavel shook his head and gazed down the cliff beside them, seeming ready to descend the mountain with his thoughts.

  "I don't know," he said softly. "I believe that the Lightmaker is working within my child. But it goes beyond that."

  Razul said nothing, the ancient face tense. And together for a time they gazed, listening, into the night. Often Gianavel would raise his head, as if hearing something in the cold dark, but there was nothing. And although the great wolf did not move, his stance made lies of his stillness; a stance that spoke of fierce, savage strength, long held but now aroused, trembling to be unleashed.