Cutter awoke untold time later, his head aching but
no longer throbbing with the incapacitating dizziness. Slowly he sat up
in his furs, waiting a small eternity as waited for the pounding in his
temples to cease. At length he reached for his leathers and tugged them
on, noticing that they seemed less than the tough and resilent ones he
had worn a few days before when the Palace had set down in the Father Tree
Forest and more like the old ones he had worn eights ago, long before the
Palace had disappeared, long before they had conquered Blue Mountain and
defeated Winnowill. The comfortable and clumsy boyish leathers of Sorrow’s
End, the clothes of a barely grown cub, safe and secure with his lifemate
and cubs.
What was happening? What fever dreams were these?
Joyleaf lived and Bearclaw was dead by a human shaman. Skywise led the
Wolfriders. The exchange with his mother, distant as a dream yet close
as reality, troubed him deeply. He recalled Pike’s dream-gathering game
only a few short years before. When this fever lifted, he would be interested
to see what Leetah and the tribe would make of his delusions. Pike would
have liked it, doubtlessly, were he not a world away at Howling Rock with
Ember. Ember, his bright little chiefling, he thought fondly, as he slipped
the vest over his shoulders.
Leetah, where was she? He couldn’t wait to tell
her about the strange delusions assailing him in slumber. He couldn’t wait
to see her face again, to feel her hands cools as spring water on his brow
as she banished the last of the fever.
The wolves were howling. Cutter smiled at the sound. It was beautiful,
perfect in its simplicity. Now the elfin voice rose to join the howls.
Different, somewhat, then what he remembered, Cutter thought dimly. Less
like the pure howls of the wolves, more like a chorus of the singers at
Sorrow’s End.
He listened for his beloved tribemate’s distinctive
voices. There was Nightfall and Redlance, and there Strongbow and Moonshade.
Strange, while he heard Clearbrook he could not hear Treestump’s rich bass
refrain. He listened again, more closely and found that Newstar and Dart
were missing as well. Perhaps Kimo was shy about joining and they had paused
to encourage him. Perhaps his lingering fever was affecting his hearing.
He frowned, for now as he listened he heard the familiar sound of Pike’s
voice rising over the others. But Pike was in the new land. Surely the
fever had not left him, for now he could swear he heard One-Eye’s longlost
voice, and then...then was that’s Skot’s boisterous hoot, the eternal mischievous
parody of a Wolfrider howl? The longer he listened the more strange sounds
he heard, alien howls of wolf and elf he could not recognise.
He stumbled to the door of his den and looked out.
And gave a cry.
He was not on the ground, inside the little den
Redlance had shaped out of the trees while Father Tree grew strong once
more, but high in the air, in the old dens of the Thorny Mountain.
His head reeled from combined fever and vertigo,
but at length he climbed down from the trees, scaling branches and knobby
knolls in his quest of the howling. He frowned, moving slowly and uncertainly.
His senses seemed so dulled – he could not longer see so clearly in the
loom, he could no longer scent the birds flying overhead. The fever was
still heavy upon him, doubtlessly. Where was Leetah? He could not imagine
her not at his bedside.
He stumbled onward through the gloom. He lost track
of time, but the moons were both high overhead when at last he reached
the rocky plateau where the Wolfriders were gathered.
His jaw dropped.
So many, far more than his small band. He lost count
even before he began, seeing all the elves sitting on the rock. Strongbow,
Moonshade, Nightfall and her mate, Clearbrook, these he recognised instantly
and knew well. But there were others, others who were not supposed to be
there, and yet were, their presence confounding the Chieftain. One-Eye
sat next to Clearbrook, alive and well. There was Pike, not at Howling
Rock, but singing with the rest. And there was Skot at his side, an arm
casually draped around his lifemate. And there...Vaya? he gaped. Was that
Vaya, sitting in Krim’s place at Pike’s side? Beside the Go-Backs were
two boys, looking very much like their two fathers, one surely the unborn
cub Krim had carried in the war, the other...was that Cheipar, not dead
but alive and well?
He turned his gaze around all the Wolfriders, taking
in all the new faces. Scouter, Dewshine, Tyleet those he could not find.
A girl who bore a striking similarity to Redlance sat near the treeshaper,
yet he saw nothing of Tyleet in the thick-maned auburn-haired elf. Her
eyes were wider, greener, her hair straighter, fuller, lighter. Treestump
was nowhere to be found. Dart was gone, as was Newstar and Kimo, Shenshen
and Shuna. But in their place were countless new elves. Rain, Rain the
long-dead healer, sitting next to a beautiful silver-haired woman, surely
Shale’s mother, for beside them sat a golden-tressed huntress and the youthful
elf who could be no other than Skywise’s father. There was Venka, turning
to smile at the girl by Redlance. And there, there was Foxfur, her trademark
hat perched on her brown curls, laughing even as she added her voice to
her chorus.
Six elves, five all grown, one just a cub of eight
or nine sitting her lap, surrounded her. All with brilliant silver hair
and sparkling gray eyes. And standing just a few paces from Foxfur stood
Skywise. Skywise, Cutter smiled, but the smile was shortlived. Skywise
his brother, just the same and yet different. Dressed in his trademark
leathers of gray and berry-blue, his silver faceguard holding back his
hair, the lodestone around his neck. Yet different, an entirely new aura
of confidence and presence surrounding him. The stance of a chief. Different,
a new aura around him, around all them. They even scented different.
Scented.
Cutter looked back at them all. Where was Redlance’s
facefur. Or Pike’s? Or Strongbow’s? Was the sensory depravation he felt
not simply due to the lingering fever? Why could he not smell the wolf
in them all?
Skywise held up his sword, and the elves all looked to their chief.
“We howl for the chiefs,” Skywise spoke, his voice
ringing out over the plateau. “For those who came before us, the Firstcomers
and their descendents who gave us our life, who gave us our way.”
Why did he not prick his finger, why did he not
celebrate the chiefs with his own blood?
The voices rose in a chant. “Sefra Silver-eyes,
Firstcomer and first Chief, who gave us our life.”
Sefra? No, no Timmain, and then her son Timmorn.
“Zarhan Fastfire, her son and heir, who gave us
our path.”
No, no not Zarhan, but his mate. Where was Rahnee?
“Hummer Songshaper, who gave us our song.”
What was happening?
“Greywolf the Hunter, who gave us our strength,
and his mate Willowgreen, who gave us our gentleness.”
No, no it was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Huntress Skyfire, youngest heir of Zarhan and Rahnee,
and her chiefmate the Dreamsinger, who gave us our Way.”
What madness was this?
“Nightstar, Child of Sight, who showed us our future.
Bluestar the Finder, Bluestar the Healer, who gave us our peace. Acorn
Songshaper and his mate Speedwell, who gave us our sight.” The voices continued
to rise.
“Rain the Healer, who gave us our wisdom.
“Shale the Softpacer, who quietly laid the way for
our destiny.”
“Ten chiefs have come before us, ten chiefs have
set our path,” Skywise spoke. “Ten chiefs have led us back towards our
stars, ten chiefs have blended the songs into one.”
“Skywise!” they howled.
No, no, Cutter wept. No, this was all horribly wrong.
Where was Timmorn, the first Wolfrider? Where was mad Two-Spear, where
was Goodtree and Freefoot? Where was Bearclaw? Where was BEARCLAW!
It was too much for him. He could not stand, staring
at the twisted perversion of the Wolfriders? Who had done this? Who had
gone and rewritten history? Who had killed Timmain and set some “Sefra”
as her succession? Who had removed the wolfblood and peverted the wolfsong?
Who had let Immortal High Ones who had no concept of the trees and the
brooks lead the Wolfriders towards the stars?
The howl stopped abruptly as Skywise turned. “Rayek!”
he announced, his face breaking into a wide beaming smile. “I thought you
weren’t going to make it.”
Cutter narrowed his eyes, like a wolf on the hunt,as
he saw Rayek crest the ridge of the plateau, dressed in red leathers that
had once formed the grieving silhouette as he left the Palace, never to
return. But Rayek was not weighed down with pain, his face was not heavy
with misery. He was taller, not as tall as a Glider, but noticeably taller
than he had once been, altered, transformed. He was beaming with joy, filled
with a happiness and contentment Cutter had never seen before.
“I had not planned on it,” Rayek insisted somewhat
defensively. He cast a glance at his companion as she stepped up to join
him, taking his hand in hers. “She insisted.”
Cutter glared at the woman, wondering where he had
seen her before. She was tall, like a High Ones, or a near High Ones at
any rate. Rich ebony hair fell in impossible thickness, falling full and
voluminous around her waist. She was dressed in a long gown of the same
blackness, a startling contrast again her pearly skin.
WINNOWILL!
The Black Snale, the viperous venemous twisted demon
that had destroyed their world so many times over! Cutter sprang from his
crouch, flying through the air to cross the sizeable gap separating the
trees from the plateau. He hit the ground running, his sword drawn to destroy
the paingiver. She had done it! She had twisted the world to suit her own
sick desires. She had destroyed the Wolfriders and perverted past, present
and future. And for that she would pay.
With a feral snarl he shot past the astonished tribemates,
his sword high over his head. Winnowill saw she was the target and let
out a cry, darting behind Rayek for safety. Rayek was already drawing his
own dagger, when Skywise caught Cutter’s arm, pulling him back.
“Cutter!” he cried, wrestling to hold the murderous
elf. “Have you gone mad!”
“She must die!” Cutter cried hoarsely, fighting
to free himself.
“Mother!” Venka hurried to Winnowill’s side. “Cutter,
what is this? She is not your enemy!”
“What is this?” Rayek glared at Skywise. “Can’t
you control your own dogs, brother?”
Brother! Cutter snarled, the pure fury in his guttural
rage driving Rayek back a pace.
“It’s the fever!” Joyleaf rushed to his side to
pull him back. “It’s driven him mad. I shouldn’t have left him, the fever
is still strong! Cutter, Cutter, listen to me! Stop this!”
“She must die!” Cutter shouted. “She’s a snake,
a murderous treacherous viper! She destroyed everything.”
“What did I ever do to you?” Winnowill demanded,
still cowering, shrinking to half her height, behind Rayek. “I’ve been
trying to heal you!”
“See through these fever dreams, son,” Joyleaf shouted
over his rages. “Will you slay the Mistress of the Palace?”
“She’s no Mistress of the Palace!” Cutter swore.
“She’s not even an elf! She’s a sick creature who should already be dead!”
“Father!” a white-haired elf who reminded Cutter
of Yun, Skywise’s Go-Back daughter, raced to the chief’s side.
**Will you kill the lifemate of your chief’s brother?**
Joyleaf implored. **Will you murder a fellow elf like a butchering human
and bring about banishment and misery, all because of nightmares?**
**She’s caused such nightmares already...** Cutter
continued to fight.
“Will!” Skywise shouted. “Put him out. We need to
take him back to his furs!”
“Don’t touch me!” Cutter howled. “Don’t let that
snake touch me! Skywise!”
Winnowill hesitantly edged closer, trembling in
fear like a shivering ravvit. **Such brutal rage,** her voice echoed in
his head. **You really are kin to the wolves...** she murmured sadly, raising
a hand to his temple.
“NOOO!” Cutter wailed, anticipating the agony to
come. A sleep enveloped him gently and he fell slack in the chief’s arms,
peacefully subdued.
“What was that about?” Rayek scowled.
Winnowill trembled again. “What made him hate me
so?” she shuddered. “His mind...filled with bestial fury. When did I ever
treat him with anything but respect? He hardly even knows me! Why would
he try to kill me like this? It makes no sense.”
“It’s the fever,” Joyleaf sighed. “He’s being tormented
by nightmares. No one can reach him.”
“Well...what do you do with wolves when they’re
past help...” Rayek mused with a smirk.
Skywise laughed. “And you’d do the honors, I’m sure.”
“Oh, I’d leave that pleasure to you, brother,” he
gave Skywise a little bow.
“No...” Skywise sighed, looking down at the pathetic
corpse. “He’s an ass. But he’s our ass. And no one can make that ravvit
stew quite like Cutter. Ah well, we’ll just have to wait it out.”
Cutter stirred in his sleep. “Leetah..” he moaned.
“Leetaaahhh...”