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The Dying Wolf
Curt. Please don’t leave me.
What was that?
Was that a whine? Did I hear a...?
My feet unstick from the floor and I’m sprinting before my brain registers the desire. I tread on my discarded book, snowboard across the floor on the leather cover and smash straight into a naked old birdman. For once he doesn’t glare at me.
“Curt. Curt, look at me. Open your eyes. Please, Curt.”
His eyelids twitch and flutter open, a pair of yellow eyes squinting at my teary gaze. His whine gains a little traction and he snuffles his nose at his fang skewered hip. Slipping beneath him, I cradle his threadbare head, kiss his mangy nose and stroke his filthy fur, torn between relief and fear.
“I’m here.”
He whines and snuffles his nose against my palms.
“I know. That nasty snake bit you.”
A long, drawn out, pitiful yowl stirs my heart and a tear drips onto his snout. I’m enfolding him in my warm embrace when Wings tuts, loudly. Curt delivers the most theatrical, multitonal howl in history and breathes out with a giant puff of air, blowing my hair out of my face. I hug him even closer, unleashing a shower of nose and head kisses. A contented, high pitch whinny sends the eye-rolling Wings off in search of trousers.
Do I know I’m being manipulated and played like a violin? Yes, of course I know, but I don’t give a flying rat’s arse; he’s mine to cuddle.
Adamo, bare legs poking out from beneath that too short jacket, wanders over and peers down at the epic scene. Teenage arms cross and he tuts, just like Wings. “First off, he’s hardly dying. That bite’s clean, it’s not deep and there’s no venom in it, or he’d be rolling around in agony.”
“Who asked you?” Dulcis exclaims, with a barrel load of attitude, considering she was clinging to him a minute ago. “Uncle Curt saved me. And Edi.”
Glad she remembers I’m here. Curt’s nose pokes me in the chest and I resume caresses.
“I was just saying,” Adamo grumbles, shuffling on the spot.
“Erm, could someone halt the army of bears and wolves heading up the mountain, please? The last thing our people need is an attack.”
Trust Anguis to think sensibly in the face of ridiculousness. This needs a message delivered before they’re on the doorstep and it all turns nasty. There’s too many animals in the mix and peace teeters on a knife edge.
“Wings. Wings? WINGS?” Where is that bird when you need him?
“WHAT?” he hollers from behind me, making me jump and Curt’s head bounce on my knees. Wings clutches a tapestry around him like a moving tepee.
“There you are.” Stunning observation, Edi. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” he replies, scowling with suspicion.
“Not long ago, you were lying flat out on the roof with your legs in the air.”
“I’m fine.” His words resonate in true bass baritone, whilst those eyebrows meet in the middle.
“Good. Can you fly and meet the wolves? Best take Dulcis with you to prove your word, in case Alpha doesn’t believe you. Sorry.” Getting her away from Adamo might be a good idea right now, so I’m killing two birds with one stone. Wrong turn of phrase.
Wings spins on his heel, with a flurry of tapestry tassel, and stalks towards the open doorway, grabbing Dulcis’ wrist as he passes. She glowers over her shoulder at me, but doesn’t refuse.
“Aren’t you going to change?” she asks, trailing after the marching birdman.
“If you hadn’t noticed, there aren’t any windows,” says Wings, skirting round the groaning Broken Beak. His voice echoes down the corridor. “I’m not flying down tight corridors or through those torches.”
Footsteps grow louder and I assume Wings and Dulcis have forgotten something, but a cacophony of hacking coughs betrays a new set of arrivals. A great herd of snake people bunch up at the doorway, children shoving and crawling through their legs.
“Come in,” Anguis orders and the first few scramble into the room. “Move along, don’t mind the wolves and bears. No-one’s getting hurt today. Guards, move over by His Majesty.”
Adamo, being Adamo, feels honour bound to hook his hands under Broken Beak’s armpits and hall him upright before he gets trampled on by a third generation of feet. He hangs in the ginger prince’s grasp like a scarecrow.
It’s already packed in here, but feet and paws squidge and shuffle, until there’s a sea of faces before me, all muttering and questioning at once. Curt decides he’s not expiring after all and sits up, leaning on his good hip and me, wolf dribble dripping down my gorgeous banana shirt.
“Listen to me, now,” announces Anguis and the room grows quiet. All eyes, fearful, angry and hopeful, rest on the ambassador. He suddenly frowns as though remembering something important. “Your Majesty, do you wish to address us all?”
Serpen’s face remains hidden from his people.
“Your Majesty?”
The king must have heard, but it seems his monarchy is over. Anguis draws in a deep breath and with his first words, the mantle passes.
“My people, there is nothing to fear, except our own prejudices and a sickness that threatens to take us all.”
Erm, I think that’s quite a lot to fear, actually, but my mouth’s clamped shut.
“We’ve known for a long time we must leave the castle,” Anguis continues, “and that our empire, as we know it, has passed away. I intend to ask Prince Adamo, for the bears, and the wolf Alpha, when he arrives, if they’ll grant us temporary sanctuary for the sake of the children.”
A wave of nervous muttering passes through the snakes as they glance at the furry mass of wolves and bears. The eagle guards close ranks around their oblivious king.
Keep going, Anguis; what you say next is crucial.
“Those we held prisoner had every chance to injure our young and chose to shelter them, instead. It’s my hope others will copy that decision. Whatever happens, we must move down the mountain and away from the sickness, if we are to have any chance of healing.”
“What about us?” asks one of the eagle guards, his sweeping gesture taking in his fellow circus troop. “We are all bound to the king, the empire and this castle by the oath.”
Broken Beak shakes himself loose of his bear crutches and sways on trembling legs. “Do you really want to stay in this shitty castle, even when they all die off?” he says, pointing at the snakes.
That’s hardly diplomatic, but not untruthful. He wobbles towards the king, who still hasn’t looked up. Little Sospa, however, seems to be listening intently to everything.
“Release me from my oath,” Broken Beak continues, “and I’m leaving.”
“The empire is at an end,” Anguis announces. “The castle to be abandoned. You are released from the Oath of Eagles.”
“Thank you, very much, Ambassador,” Broken Beak replies, his words dripping with sarcasm, “but only the king can do that.”
Every eye swivels to the king.
“Uncle?” Sospa shakes his shoulder, then strokes the hair covering his face, but he remains silent, his grip around her unrelenting.
“That’s not actually true,” adds Anguis, surprising everyone. “As I understand it, from the ancient journals in our library, the original oath was given to the royal bloodline. Her Royal Highness Princess Sospa is, therefore, entitled to release the Eagle Nation.”
“Good to know he reads,” I mutter. “I like a snake who reads.”
Curt growls and lifts his wolf head off my shoulder in a sniffy fit of pique. I shove it back down again.
“Highness, would you tell the eagles they’re free from their oath and may leave?” Anguis presses.
A solemn look swiftly replaces one of innocence as she speaks, burdened with a responsibility beyond her meagre years.
“I, Princess Sospa, heir to His Majesty, King Serpen...” She hesitates after reciting the part she’s probably memorised since she could speak.
“Do release the Eagle Nation from their oath of protection,” Anguis prompts.
The feisty little girl raises her chin and repeats the words, staring Broken Beak right in the eyes. Good for her.
“And we’ll all come to wave goodbye,” she adds, with a broad grin.
* * *
Thus, it transpires, a shivering mass of wolves, bears and snakepeople assemble on the rooftop, waving inanely, as a never-ending flock of eagles launch their swooping exodus from the highest turret, snowflakes coating outstretched wings. They carry nothing from the castle, where they’ve toiled for generations, leaving behind a pile of discarded uniforms. I enquire as to where they’re going, and what they intend to wear when they get there, but no-one knows or asks them.
Sospa, having left her mute Uncle sitting by the fire in the care of Anguis, stands on the balustrade, held firmly at the waist by Adamo, waving both arms at her freed servants.
The flock of eagles glide through falling snow, their shadows fading into the clouds. Broken Beak makes one final circle overhead and green tinged bird poo splats onto the stone beside me.
“Missed, you flea ridden vulture,” I yell after him, but he’s long gone with a ripple of tail feathers.
The tempo of waving hands and paws gradually slows as the astounding reality of the situation sinks in. Fear rises in every snake eye as their centuries old honour guard abandons them to their fate. Wolves and bears press closer to trembling snakes, granting comfort in gentle snuggles.
I sense, more than hear, the roof clearing behind me as I stare into the sky, wondering, as we all do, what lies ahead in our changing, unsettled future. As though reading my mind, a wounded grey wolf limps up beside me, clasping a battered leather book between his teeth, which he drops at my feet.
