Part 9 (2/2)

”It'll be cold.”

”We have fur.”

”Our fur might freeze when we get out and the wind hits us. Ice will add weight.”

”We'll shake the water off,” Airmead said. She was already striding into the water.

”It won't be easy. I just want to warn you,” Katria called after her.

”Living with the MacHeaths isn't easy either. I'd rather die at the bottom of the Sea of Hoolemere than in the clan of the MacHeaths.”

That did it a” Katria leaped into the churning waters of the inlet. The current was with them and it was strong. It almost seemed as if they couldn't paddle their legs fast enough to keep up with it. The hardest part was holding their heads above the slapping waves. The fur on their face was soon rimed with salt. When they were about two-thirds of the way across, they began to feel themselves being pulled south.

”What's happening?” Katria said.

”There must be an eddy swirling out from the sh.o.r.e.”

The eddy was dragging them fast now. They were swimming as hard as they could, for they were in real danger of being swept past the point and straight out to sea.

”Swim! Swim!” Katria yelled. She was younger and much stronger than Airmead. She could see Airmead's head drooping and the water das.h.i.+ng in her face.

Katria, too, was having to fight hard. She did not have breath to spare, but she shouted out, ”Airmead! Think of the MacHeaths and then think of life. Life, Airmead!” The words of the banuil caints flowed through her mind, words from bones that she had long forgotten but now seemed inscribed in her marrow. You are good. You are wise. You have strengths you have never known. And she shouted out all of the words she had found on those buried bones, until the salt air seemed to sing with them. She felt a surge within herself and she saw that Airmead was lifting her head higher. It was as if there were three powers propelling them toward the sh.o.r.e of Broken Talon Point a” the wind, the current, and the secret language of Hordweard.

When Katria and Airmead staggered out of the water, they knew they had only a short distance to travel, another day at the most. They had cut a four-day journey into one that would barely take them three. Although they should have been exhausted, they found themselves oddly invigorated, and pressed on at almost attack speed. Their stops for rest were brief. Their food was restricted to prey nearby, small creatures that barely satisfied their hunger but were easy to catch. They had set out from the MacHeaths with a surge of energy that came with their sense of release, of deliverance from constant fear and savagery. But like the stench from a foul place, the brutality of the MacHeath plan to s.n.a.t.c.h a cub and take him to the Pit clung to them every step they took. Could they get to the MacNamaras in time? Could a cub be saved and a war averted? These questions drove them to a relentless pace.

When they finally slowed, Airmead noticed something. ”What a strange track,” she said, looking up at Katria.

”How so?” Katria came over to where Airmead was standing. Katria lowered her muzzle to the prints that were blurred in the mud. The snow had ceased, the sun had come out and melted any remains of it, but the air was colder. That made sense, for they were far north, as far to the northeast as they had ever been. The previous day, they'd crossed the Broken Talon Peninsula, and by nightfall at the latest they would be with the MacNamara pack. By now, they were at least a hundred leagues from MacHeath territory. With each league, they had felt freer and a bit safer, for twice it had snowed and covered their tracks. They were both thankful for this strange weather, so peculiar to the summer moons. But then ahead of them, they had caught sight of paw prints.

”It's an outflanker's print!” Katria said.

”An outflanker's!”

”Absolutely.”

Airmead would not question her word because Katria herself had long served as an outflanker for the MacHeaths, first in her natal pack and then in the pack of the chieftain when she had joined with Donaidh.

”But she a” Katria stopped.

”What? She what?”

”Something is wrong with her.”

”Not the foaming-mouth disease. Her paw mark is straight,” Airmead said quickly. A splayed paw print was the sign of the disease.

”No, no, it's not splayed at all. And the scent is not MacHeath. I want to backtrack a bit and look at the prints more closely. You can wait here. I'm not going far,” Katria said.

Airmead settled down on a soft clump of rabbit-ear moss. She knew that the owls sometimes used this moss to line their nests. She looked at Katria as she quickly loped down the trail, her gait easy and efficient. The MacHeaths would miss her as an outflanker. Katria was not given to much talk, but she was obviously still grieving for her daughter, Kyran. That would pa.s.s. Perhaps she would find a new mate in the MacNamara clan and have a new litter. How lovely to raise pups free from the brutality and terror of the MacHeaths. She herself could have no such dreams, of course, for she was barren.

It wasn't long before Katria returned. ”I think she's blind.”

”Who's blind?”

”The outflanker. She's being led.”

”I can understand how you can tell that she is being led. I mean, there are other wolf's prints up ahead. But how can you tell she's blind?”

”It's hard to explain. There's a certain hesitation before she puts down her lead paw, and she plants it too hard. As if a as if a she thinks the earth might slip out from under her.”

Airmead nodded. ”Let's get on our way.”

”Yes, we might catch up with them.”

It was nearing noon when they spotted the two wolves. As they rounded a bend, a wolf with a pelt the color of cooling flames stepped out from a thin stand of trees.

Airmead and Katria immediately began the submission postures.

The red wolf blinked. MacHeath she-wolves, he thought. No other wolves would begin submission postures so far in advance. They were now crawling on their bellies toward him. One of them had powerful shoulders, and he could tell she had been an outflanker. He trotted up to greet them.

”Please, please, rise up. No need for such observances here.” He spoke in a kind, respectful voice.

Airmead and Katria stole glances at each other. They were not used to such greetings. Slowly they rose to their knees but kept their tails low and their ears pressed back demurely.

”I am Brangwen, out of the MacDonegal clan.”

”Oh, my,” Katria said. ”You have come a long way.”

”Yes. My mate a” He tossed his head in the direction of the stand of trees. ”You see she is not well.” He hesitated, then said in a trembling voice that nearly broke Airmead's and Katria's hearts, ”She a she's blind.”

”And she was an outflanker,” Katria said softly.

”Yes.” Brangwen nodded, lifting his eyes to Katria. ”You could tell, couldn't you? Because you're one as well.”

”Yes.”

”I thought so. Your shoulders.” Katria said nothing. ”My wife, Morag, had a lot of good years left in her until the blindness came to her. We had to leave. There's no place for an outflanker who can't a can't a”

”I understand,” Katria said. ”You seek the MacNamaras. They make room for such females.”

”Yes, and you two seek the MacNamaras and don't need to explain why, either.” He paused, then said in a more buoyant voice, ”Come, let me introduce you to Morag. She'll enjoy meeting a fellow outflanker and her friend.” He nodded at Airmead.

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