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Faringor

by Hayden Muhs

By H.C. MuhsPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 13 min read
1
Faringor
Photo by Benjamin Child on Unsplash

I

There was nothing in the cave but long-gone echoes, and wind, and drips of water, and bold, blue shadows cast from the blinding-bright entrance, and bones gathered in piles from the hunt—claws and beaks and tails and talons—and bones from war with the Jarochi and Kamangi tribes, and carcasses rotting in the far dark: colorless meat, stinking fur covered in bat droppings—and spines—and a throne made out of a feathered ribcage—and ribs and skulls and teeth—and our reflections in the mineral pool, him and I.

Bardilick gripped each arm of the throne with a paw. He was an old, direwolf with striking white hair.

“How’s Crad’skr?” he said, his voice deep, dry.

“Fairing fine her first winter among us.”

Ice cracked outside.

“Good. Is she . . .?”

“No, not yet. Waiting for the ice to melt.”

“Spring, then.”

“Mm.”

A deep-bellowed rumble shuddered, a tree fell.

“Your mother, she . . . she would have given anything to see grandcubs. She always

wanted that for you.”

I cleared my throat.

“She would have approved of Crad’skr. She would have loved her as her own.”

I bowed my head, almost dipping my nose in the water between us.3

He continued, “The whip-poor-will tells me by this time new moon, the stars will form a crown. An exchange in power is set to rise.”

“Father . . .”

“It is time. I can feel it. You can feel these things.”

“But what will you have me do?”

“You will become leader of the Whitecoats.”

I bowed my head once more.

“I’ll expect you’ll want to prepare Crad’skr. The ceremony of power will commence tomorrow.”

My head was still bowed. He told me look up.

“You will do well as Alpha. You’re as fine a wolf I know.”

“Why. Why is death always so sudden?”

“Perhaps it is not so sudden to those who have long awaited.”

I never met my mother. It was rumored by some that Gweniveer Whitecoat died giving birth to me. Faringor, Bardilick’s only son.

II

The storm worsened as night went on. Rancid clouds came, green and black, and the air smelled of sulfur as it rained. I joined Crad’skr under her favorite weeping tree.

“I’ll be leaving for the Klesh mountains tomorrow.”

“You could act more surprised.”

I caught myself smiling. I sat down beside her. We looked at the moon.

“I’ve been waiting, how long?”

“To be Alpha.”

“To lead.”

“For him to die.”

“Crad’skr. I’ve never—”

“You have. Since the day I met you you’ve waited. You’re pregnant with death.”

“One of us should be. Pregnant I mean.”

“You think he’ll give it up?”

“I don’t think he has a say.”

“Have you asked the moon?”

“No. What’s the moon say?”

“She’s unhappy.”

It was then the moon escaped me. Coming clouds had it concealed and shaped like a serpent. It looked cold as I had ever seen it. I said isn’t this the Hunter’s Moon? Won’t it be Spring soon? You can tell my father’s dying because it rained today. There was pause for silence. Then came gurgling from a flock of birds somewhere, and when I turned to tell Crad’skr I loved her, there was only a patch of grass where she had been, and all in the rain I could see were the shapes of coming condors.

III

Our bodies pressed against each other. Black lips breathing, softly. If you could convince a wolf to leave his den to protect his den, if you could convince a wolf to leave his family to love his family, then you could convince a wolf anything. I stood, careful as not to wake her. I always did.

We left—Whitecoat warriors who, in all their strength combined, had no rival. Bardilick in a ceremonious crown of twigs. I, beside him. For days we went through the snow-flattened yipweed and brassbush seeing not so much as a hare. When we came to the Klakama falls, frozen white like walrus tusks, we scaled the mountain. A semicircle of statues, every Whitecoat Alpha before us carved in stone.

“Come for what I think you must,” said the whip-poor-will. He flew from nowhere and landed on an empty platform in front of Bardilick.

“Yes, my old friend. For it is time.”

“Time—not much of! Other tribes too, you know!” the bird bounced slightly off the ground, unafraid of us.

“Oh? What other tribes?

“If over here you’d step, we’ll begin.”

Bardilick grinned nervously. Then, roared, “What other tribes? I’ve slaughtered the Jarochi. Annihilated the Kamangi. There’s not a wolf alive I’m unaware of!”

“This one sees different. Come they did—in thousands! Unlike I’ve seen in many bird 6 years. Step on the platform. Won’t hurt a bit.”

“This can’t be. How can I trust Farin—there’s still so much to do! I’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll—”

“Sir. Sir, but it’s time!”

The moon shone over us.

“Don’t lecture me on time, you crooked-beaked rat. Faringor, scout the tundra. Desoles, take Kor’shira with you to the crystalline passage. I want reports on tracks, anything left from the hunt. I am king another day!”

And the moon disappeared in the pale blue sky like a silver coin, and the wolves raced off by his order, and the whip-poor-will flew off toward the lake. As I wiped snow off the platform with my snout where my father’s name was carved in stone, somewhere a wolf cried.

IV

For weeks we scoured the land in search of the tribe the whip-poor-will spoke of.

Nothing. Bardilick suspected something afoot, why else would he change so drastically, why should he care there was another tribe—it was my problem now, not his. We reconvened in the foothills. I had much to discuss with Crad’skr.

V

She had gone.

In my heart I had known already. Bardilick was of course understanding. For all I knew, he was responsible. A wolf will do anything to buy more time.

Alone I rushed through the witchwood thorns. I sprinted through the pearblossom pyres, all dried up and frozen like upturned turnips. I ran with the speed of an arrow through the frozen trickle streams from the mountain runoff. Hours past, I found them, pawprints in the snow. I hoped she wasn’t in any real danger, a wolf is rarely in any real danger, what if a redbear, what if the other tribe, what if—wh—they—

“Worried sick or sick and worried?” she said.

“Crad’skr?”

I went toward her voice. I crested the treeline. It was the moon’s favorite hour on the moon’s favorite night. She stood on Broken Butte before the frozen lake a black silhouette crowned by stars.

“Crad’skr! Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Well it hadn’t crossed my mind, no.”

“Why are you up there? What’re you doing?”

“I’m finally—”

“You can’t just go off running where you’d like. You know better.”

“I do?”

“It’s clear not. Now, get down from there at once.”

She stood and looked out over the ledge at me. A small stream trickled beneath her paws. The lake cracked as if there was something underneath.

“Crad’skr, you know you aren’t allowed to—”

At once she scooped her head up toward the moon and howled.

“I am just like the moon. You can’t love the moon.”

“You are not the moon, you are Crad’skr Whitecoat. And stop howling here. It’s dangerous.”

She turned toward me and said, “How dangerous?”

“There’s—” I lowered the tone of my voice, but not its volume—“there’s a new tribe of wolves. Now’s no time to play games. You mustn’t wander off alone again . . .”

“New tribe? Since when.”

“Since last night during the ceremony.”

“Well, I find it odd a tribe should appear out of nowhere. That sort of thing usually takes time.”

“Come down. Then we’ll talk.”

“You know, where I’m from, there’s a saying. When a wolf wishes, there’s no will but what will come.”

“Enough!” I roared. “I will not tolerate your disobedience any longer.”

“I remember this place well. You act like I would forget. Like I’m some other species of wolf incapable of feeling. Our ceremony of love. Buttes are rather interesting formations, aren’t they? Much more than a hill, far less than a mountain. Withered away by time, by wind and snow and ice. Rather forgettable. Ignorable? Anyways . . . I think it used to all be mountains. I think it was all glorious mountains and then it started to snow.”

She smiled. Her teeth were especially white because of her dark fur.

“You do realize what will happen if you decide to leave. If you decide to leave, I have no choice but to—”

She jumped off the cliff.

“Crad’skr!”

I raced onto the frozen lake. It only took a few steps before I slid flat. There was a cloud of ice hanging where she had landed, and steaming cold water splashing up from the hole she’d made. I tried to regain footing, but my legs trembled. My vision blurred. All the sudden there were two lakes. I felt dizzy, disoriented. When she surfaced on the other side some time later— never looking up, never stopping—I saw two Crad’skrs. Two skies and two moons those things as much again all I’ll ever need. But by time my senses recovered, she had gone. For good this time, I thought. By choice. I’m unsure I could catch her. What good would chasing her do?

In time I stood. I remained motionless, frozen, disappointed. Where would she go? What would she do? Something had gotten into Crad’skr, but what?

The whip-poor-will landed on the butte.

I howled and slashed my paw across the ice. It was thin enough I hit water. I howled again, so that the moon might have me, so that she could hear me moons always do.

Then a chortle of howls and yips came from afar. They came from across the lake, near the frothy woods, where there were dozens of wolves from what I could see. These were no Kamangi wolves. They were large and well fed and black furred. They looked like the worst kind of wolf you could encounter. From here their appearance was poor: tongues out like wriggling parasites, eyes black and waxy as figs, unkempt and bad mannered, biting each other, yammering sharply, yark! yark! and laughing cruelly. While I’m unsure of it, there might have been a wolf with two heads.

Their chiefmaster stepped to the edge of the lake and spoke in a booming voice that carried across the open air, “I have a message for you, Whitecoat,” she said. “Tell your leader you have two options tomorrow when the moon is new . . . join us . . . or die.” Then she went with them her tribe of women, the same direction Crad’skr had gone. Her voice soothed me.

VI

There were more bones in his den I'm certain of it. Bardilick said he knew of this tribe personally. He said he knew they would come, they were responsible for more than he could explain just then, for the Kamangi’s disappearance, even for Crad’skr’s odd behavior. He knew it. He spoke in all confidence and said he thought he had dealt with them but these things can't be dealt with all the way, they are inevitable ends. They had grown. He said we would meet them in battle tomorrow, then I would become Alpha, but all I could focus on were the bones and how I thought I knew what bones looked like but these were black like dirty snow and somehow new, bones I'd never seen before.

A fire was lit for tribal council, and the stars came in attendance too. First, we asked the moon about our enemy. Then we asked Crad’skr be safe. At this time, a wolf asked the moon have mercy. Yet another wolf begged the moon mind he had daughters. I found all this odd. We asked the moon, the spirit of the forest, to protect us in tomorrow’s battle. It was a full moon which is the best time to ask. I’ve asked too much of the moon when she was at her slivered-self.

VII

All next day the sun shone and all next day it rained while wolves prepared for battle. I spent most my time under the weeping tree. I pictured her, thought of her. Dreamed. Winced.

The rain deluged.

In late afternoon, the whip-poor-will appeared beside me and said, “Left you again?”

“You. You stay out of my affairs.”

“Storm tonight. Hail and lightning. Won’t be long till Spring!”

I glared at him.

“And I don’t need your weather reports, either.”

“Does this one regret something it did?”

I didn’t answer. He had stooped down to the lowest branch of the weeping tree he could find and sat bouncing above my head. The sun was yellow in the black sky. Crad’skr, Crad’skr, Crad’skr playing over and over in my head.

“I’m in no mood for riddles.”

The whip-poor-will flew down to the ground. He looked up at me, gleefully. He said,

“This one wants love and power. Do not mix. Do not--”

VIII

The sun was setting as we came to the lake. We observed the surrounding through a kaleidoscope of hail and sunlight.

By and by we stood looking for sign of the blackwolves. Bardilick was anxious to lead us. And the hail increased. And the sun finally set. And then there was thunder.

First came the birds in great numbers honking like barn animals. They descended across the slush lake and were gone. All paired. And then, as the dark sky illuminated in a white net of lightning, the blackwolves appeared. There were hundreds of wolves now, maybe a thousand, and not all of them unfamiliar.

“Those are Kamangi, some of them, aren’t they sir?” said Desoles.

“And Jarochi. And Scrillin wolves, from the North,” said Kor’shira.

“I don’t understand.”

“They’ve taken prisoners?”

“Who are they?”

“Is that . . . no, it can’t be.”

“Yurick’s wife. I think it is.”

“And Crad’skr! Hey look, it’s Crad’skr!”

“Enough,” said Bardilick. “Faringor, gather the back ranks. Prepare for battle.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Faringor,” he whispered.

“Yes sir?”

He began to say something. He sighed instead. I could tell his heart was heavy, as was mine. I looked at him with more understanding than was ever possible before. I took in a deep breath. I looked beyond him once more, across the lake. Their leader had stepped forward. I recognized her from before and knew at once who she was, by the look on Bardilick’s face, by an unexplainable feeling. She was a beautiful black wolf. Crad’skr stood beside her. And then the clouds parted, and the first moon of spring shone like an empty egg, and in a patch of snow between us on an island in the cracking lake, something sprouted.

Short Story
1

About the Creator

H.C. Muhs

✌🏽 & 🖤

(He/Him, gender nonconforming)

Writer

WIP: The Man Who Lived at Disneyland: a memoir

Future: Creative Fiction/Non-fiction/Poetry MFA student

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