More came. They filled the air with breath and quiet words, and Vafri's dark eyes fell from the sky to trace these strange new silhouettes. The first few expressed sentiment of awe and disbelief, and Vafri only gave a shallow nod. He was not a wolf of gatherings and public opinion; he was like the stars themselves, familiar and inanimate until suddenly he proved to be another thing entirely. These strangers meant nothing and needed nothing from him; he ignored them mostly and let Naira's voice fill in the gaps. Her poorly veiled command chewed on his thoughts, and Vafri wondered what to tell about the falling lights, wondered if they could ever understand the black sea and the broken ice and the ghosts keening with strange thin voices across a wasteland coloured only with blue and white. And red, he thought as a hulking shadow stepped from the darkness and pushed him away.
Dark fur brushed pale and muscles tough as wire suddenly pulled hard. Vafri reacted on the sudden anger flaring, brief and pale, between his ears. The white wolf's paws felt warm. His lips pulled back not in a smile but a look of petulant rebuke. Choking to swallow the growl in his throat as soon as it frothed up and the other male leaned into Naira in what must only be described as intimacy Vafri stepped back on legs brittle as old wood and cast his glance across the little circle gathered about. The nearest target glowed silver with falling light and Vafri turned his frustration on her with a growl and a flash of teeth, tail up, expression sour for the instant it took to communicate dominance over - something. He could hardly threaten to bite the leader. He could try to wrest the seat of the nearest unimportant wolf with a glance and a show of his adequate size. I am important, he only wanted to roar. I sit where I will. But only lone wolves do exactly as they wish, and he gave up his loneliness the day he killed the wolverine.
A bad day for wolves and wolverines alike.
The storyteller took his seat across from Naira and the strange male and sat silent as familiar faces now entered the scene: he recognized the voice of Ava, the pale glow of Athena. Another strange male wolf arrived and Vafri sat tall, tense beneath thick white fur, confident that if his place was below a king it was below no one else. The other male made no attempt at rudeness though and gradually Vafri relaxed, though the magic of light on a dark sea lost its enchantment with events already past. He wanted to flee into the night and make wild songs to shake them all to the marrow and darken even the moon, but he was not so strong nor so great and he merely sat and brooded and glared a little too much at everyone else to answer Naira's howl. Most were female, he noticed with little surprise. Maybe the big male wanted a harem; maybe Vafri was just in the way... His jaw cramped with muscle drawn tight. Slowly he released the pressure and licked his lips. You're being childish. His sister had always warned him about that.
Naira interrupted the white wolf's thoughts again by demanding a story with less subtlety. He supposed he had promised to deliver when he proclaimed himself master of such things, taking ownership, as it were, of the job. Reflecting that he wanted no job served him poorly; Vafri wondered if the other leader knew a thing of stories - likely not. He was petty enough to take heart in the supposition as he answered, his voice low - almost melodic. No hint of anger darkened the notes. "I have stories for everything." As the pale wolf's smile returned he let his eyes sweep through the little crowd, searching pointed faces for interest or disdain, reading what emotion clouded the air and what they expected from their bard. I have seen things, he thought. Things you can't even dream about. But his face made a smile and his posture straightened only to bring Vafri's voice out loud enough to reach them all with its graceful tone. It was a sound made to be pleasant, soft enough to draw their ears up but projected such that all should hear. He spoke louder when he continued, as if the first statement were meant only for Naira and no one else - he did not answer to them.
”When I was a child I learned of the first hero, Ulf, whose mother taught the wolves to sing – whose father was the giant Storulfr. There are many stories about Ulf, of courage and foolishness and strength – for he was very strong – but one of the most sacred is the tale of how he called the ice ghosts home at last across the black sea.” Dark eyes swept his crowd again, checking for understanding and for interest in their eyes – or at least Naira’s. All ill will lay long forgotten as he spoke now, and his own gaze lifted and drifted quite far away, glassy as he peered into memories long lost, recorded only by the voices of his ancestors. ”When at last Ulf was slain and his body grew cold, his spirit still ran fierce and strong through the driving wind and the frosty night. His howl shook the earth and made the herds all fear to linger in the dark. And it is said Ulf’s ghost roamed long and fearsomely, but at last he reached the ice at the top of the world and looked out across the black sea with hunger in his eyes – hunger that no mortal flesh could sate. In those days the Great Snake still swam in the waters above. Her eyes still burned, two, so that night only came in flashes when she blinked. Mortals could not see the waters of the black sea beyond the brilliance of her gaze; nor could they fathom the lights burning across the waters on a far shore. Only the hero Ulf then knew of them as he stood on the ice and howled to call the serpent forth. She was the last thing in all the world he had not fought – the last prey his mighty ghost would hunt, alone, beyond the reach of all his brothers and sisters and children and friends.
“She answered as all beasts do that fear no teeth on the wind: at once her great jaws leapt from the water to devour Ulf, but he was the greatest of our warriors. He fought the beast for many days and nights, sometimes drawing her onto the land and sometimes falling into her mighty coils, and their battle made the earth shake and the skies grow black and purple, until Ulf struck a brave blow to the serpent’s face and took her eye, and as she turned her blind side to the earth all those below saw what their hero saw: a thousand lights, bright, shining on a distant shore.” His voice grew softer with this revelation and he motioned toward the comets falling, calling attention once more to the real world and the ground his strange tale stood upon. After a quiet pause Vafri spoke up once more, clear voice ringing through the shadows, gilded with silver light. ”It was then Ulf stood above his wounded foe and howled such that every wolf could hear his cry, and all the ghosts of those who fell before, who roamed the white plains and preyed on the lonely and the small, answered with one voice and teemed to meet him, to claim for their brother the land he first spied, that he fought to win for them. But even as they ran to meet him, the Great Snake thrashed and rose up to devour Ulf’s friends, that he might be broken as she was with a part of himself gone. But Ulf was a warrior, the best they say, and braver than he was wise. Before she could devour his friends he leapt into the waves himself that she might give chase – and she did. And to this day Ulf flees before her, and the ghosts of those he loved live on, in the land across the black sea, waiting for their leader to return to them.” The wolf’s voice had grown soft again. His thoughts wound backward to a time he stood upon a shelf of ice, felt the waters heave beneath his paws, and searched in vain for an answer – for the echo of something he’d lost. There was no snake. There were no ghosts. Truth makes for poor stories.
”Few speak of the first ghosts to cross the black sea,” Vafri said. ”They were among Ulf’s own brothers, the first sons of a young world, and they fell to battle or simply weakened in the breath of the cold winds. But they were heroes in their own right, and the voyage to the farthest shore was not an easy one. We know Ulf’s brethren reached that place, though, for their whispers of it, Evigheim, the lost paradise, still linger on the wind. The land of stars, where the fires burn eternal and leaves sprout green, and the earth is soft and the meat fleet but the hunters never tire… Our ancestors feast forever in that place and fear no wickedness, but in the early days they feasted alone and many who tried to cross the black sea were lost, or tied by fear. So it is said that when they grow lonely, when they pine for the love of their own families, the strongest of the valiant dead swim back across the sea – to light the way for others who are not so brave or strong.” At last the story ended with a hero bound to flee before the fangs of death until the end, and hope for those who still stood bound to the earth. Vafri blinked and stretched and wondered if these southern wolves were able even to digest the scope of this, to understand that where the winds scoured holes into the ice death was a simple fact, something that must be softened with their voices and celebrated or else nothing mattered, nothing made sense… His tales bred melancholy in him and he sighed, a heaviness weighing upon his bones. ”In my old home, we sang to them,” he muttered with less eloquence. ”No words, just… music. For the dead.” |