The Mantooth Part 26

In the coming battle he retained only one advantage. His life had been too hard, the beginnings of his dreams too dearly bought, to be long deceived and pacified by illusions. His feet were too painfully aware of the road beneath them, and his hands too calloused from the Herculean labors of survival.

But this could not protect him from Fear, when cast in this new, metaphysical light.

Chapter 28

Several days, perhaps a week, pa.s.sed in much the same outward manner.

But Sylviana, with her now practiced eye, began to observe a subtle change in him, and this troubled her. Always now when his attention was not required for some physical task, his eyes and mind seemed to rove about him, as if expecting the walls to come suddenly to life and undo him. She began to fear that despite all her caution she had given him too much to think about, too many questions to grapple with. And she wondered what hidden Pandora's box she had opened inside him.

Her concern was well justified, and her guesses not far from the truth.

Two things had occurred simultaneously which had made him very uneasy. And in his mind, once more isolated, they seemed indelibly linked, a kind of hard message from the nameless G.o.d, which he must unravel and accept.

The first thing that troubled him was the rebound of harsh winter weather. For a time the days had turned relatively mild, and he had secretly hoped that the worst was pa.s.sed. But his optimism was premature. The Cold World was a long way from spent.

The second occurrence, inevitable though it might have been, was the discovery, real or imagined, of a spiritual world to parallel the physical. Always before the wind had been simply wind, the sun, sun, and his environment, with its natural currents and disturbances, just and only that. If forced to give a name to these patterns and fluxes of life and death, he would merely have said ?Nature', or ?the ways of the Valley'.

But with the introduction of religion into his thoughts and observations, came its often inseparable counterpart: superst.i.tion. Was there an intelligence behind the winds and storms around him, the dangers and trials of his world? For if so, clearly they bore him no good intention, and possibly considerable malice. Why now, when he was hurting and most needed mild weather, was he confronted by the harshest Winter he had ever experienced?

But this was just the tip of the iceberg. If there truly was a G.o.d, then why the innumerable and inexplicable tragedies of his life, both great and small? And most poignant of all to him: WHY WAS SHAMA DEAD?

All the other deaths and injuries he had known could perhaps, with an effort, be rationalized. But why a mere child, healthy and intelligent, with his whole life ahead of him?

He did not forget the other miracles of his life: the fact that he had been born at all, that he had survived the many pitfalls of his existence, and come against considerable odds to find the woman-child, whom he loved. He remembered the Voice, but could not make its words correspond to those of the Bible.

And why, now, did he feel as if some tangible force resisted and sought to undo him? What was his sin? Was it because he refused, out of ignorance, to acknowledge the power and supremacy of the one true G.o.d?

If he obeyed His rules and precepts, would He then smile upon him, and make his life more bearable? And the final nail, as it always has been, was the burning question that neither Sylviana, nor anyone or anything else could answer for him. Was the spirit eternal, and if so, was there a way to come to paradise after death, and be reunited with the ones he loved?

It was for him a crus.h.i.+ng burden, feeling that his decision, his answer to G.o.d, held the key not only to his own spiritual salvation, but to that of those he loved more than his own life. It was for this reason that he could not open his heart to Sylviana. She did not believe; she had said so. But what if she was wrong? Surely if such a being existed, He must be obeyed and appeased. G.o.d the Father. Was he then like Barabbas, a stern and forceful leader?

It was all too much for him. How could he, an ignorant hunter and trapper, come to grips with the maker of the stars? Perhaps G.o.d was right to curse him and laugh at him. He was small, foolish and evil.

Kalus was on the verge of despair. His body would not heal, and the Cold World would not relent. How much longer could he trick himself into going on, when he was eternally being resisted and punished because of his ignorance?

It was a cold and cheerless night, as he climbed slowly up out of the gorge with his meager prize: a small rabbit, that by some fluke had not died immediately in his snare, but had to be killed after hours of torment and fear. He had all but decided that he could no longer live this way, that he must hunt as a man or perish. But even this small dignity was not afforded him, since still the others must eat.

He stepped back onto the ledge with the cub beside him. The tiger was gone. He knocked wearily on the door, his body aching, and after a short time which seemed far longer, Sylviana opened it. Her face was full of concern, but he had not the strength to pretend that things were better than they were.

He cooked the rabbit without a word, and divided out the portions. The three ate silently, and even the cub seemed subdued, sensing her master's mood. Kalus placed the tiger's share outside the door, wrapped his fur tighter, and sat like a troubled stone before the fire.

Sylviana could stand it no longer.

'Kalus, what is it? What's wrong?'

'I can't talk about it,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

'Why are you shutting me out again?'

'Sylviana, please.' Her tone changed when she saw his eyes. Pain she had seen in them, and anger. Even resignation to death. But this pleading, tearful sorrow, as if his spirit was cornered and in torment.....

'It's all right,' she said softly, kneeling beside him. She wanted to comfort him with caresses and kind words, but something held her back. Better to let the dam burst on its own.

'Well, can we talk about something else?'

'If you like.' He mastered himself, became calm.

'You never told me about the wolves: why Kamela was so bitter, and why Akar left the cub behind.' Here, he thought, was a chance to escape his own feelings.

'It's a long story,' he began, 'And many parts I don't know for certain. But from things I have learned, and from things I knew before, I think I can tell you this much.' He s.h.i.+fted positions, trying to lessen the discomfort in the small of his back.

'For Kamela, I believe her tragedy was two-fold. First, if I read the signs right---I knew something of the pack before the coming of the Changed One---I believe that Akar was her first love. He had chosen her to be his mate, and she him.

'But the pack must be ruled by a single master, and that master, Akar's brother, had also chosen her. There are many things a leader must consider, and emotion is not the first concern of wolves. Shaezar claimed her, and she yielded to his will.

'Akar could not, would not cross his brother, but he was deeply hurt.

In bitterness he left the pack for a time, and it was then that Shar-hai made his move. He killed Shaezar, fairly or unfairly, and took his place as leader. For Akar the result was true banishment, and unforgiving self-reproach. For Kamela..... Shar-hai must have made her life a living h.e.l.l. You have seen the long scar on her underside.'

'NO.' She spoke truly.

'She did her best to hide it..... I believe that she was brutally raped, probably more than once. Also, it is very rare to have only one cub. I think that Shar-hai and his guard must have killed the others.

He let Alaska live because she was no threat to him, and might provide further amus.e.m.e.nt.'

'My G.o.d, that's awful.'

'Yes. That is why she was not afraid to die. She still loved Akar, of that I am sure. And he loved her. But she could never overcome the shadow that was left on her soul. You cross a line, Sylviana. . .and everything becomes so black.'

She sensed that he was close to breaking. But for all her pity, she knew what she must do. One last push.

'But why did Akar leave the cub with us? It seems so cruel.'

His eyes flamed at this. 'The true wolves do nothing out of cruelty.

It was for her own safety, and to leave a part of himself with you.'

He got up and began to pace, an uncontrollable rage rising inside him.

'CRUEL?' he fumed, throwing off the fur like an unwanted burden, and waving his arms as if struggling in a net. 'I'll tell you what's cruel.....