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The Way Home
Curt doesn’t wait for me to pick up the book, turning tail and limping after the pack he once led, trailing spots of blood from his puncture wound.
The book’s battered leather cover carries a newly embossed footprint, courtesy of myself. Many of the pages are sodden and torn, but it bears no teeth marks, so gentle was the wolf bite. I can’t bring myself to read it in front of him, so I tuck it under my newly acquired jacket. Same colour as the old one, unfortunately.
As I head back inside, I catch up with my slow moving wolf, all that bleeding and limping really taking it out of him. He glances up at me, eyes full of sadness and unanswered questions. I wonder whether to speak but, honestly, I don’t know what I think about the book. Not yet.
I’m grateful for that roaring fire, as I perch in the king’s quarters, waiting for Wings to return with news. Everyone’s back inside, at least until Alpha arrives, because it’s so very cold, mould or no. Adamo bounced off a while ago with the equally excitable Sospa to fetch her favourite toy: a furry bear made by her late mother.
Serpen sits in the corner, staring at a spot of mould on the wall, as though willing it to explain why. Anguis drapes blankets over his shoulders and legs and hands him a steaming hot drink, but it grows cold in his grasp.
His snakepeople bustle through castle rooms, packing what they can and setting up the sick on stretchers. It’s going to be a tough trip down the mountain for those poor souls.
“Why didn’t we get the eagles to fly them down?” I ask Anguis, typically having a stroke of genius far too late. He doesn’t answer, since there’s nothing he can say, and I don’t force him to speak. I think it’s all crowding in on him right now, what with Serpen abdicating his mind.
A miserable, filthy, blood encrusted wolf sits beside me, leaning against my back to take the strain off his hip. My knee’s throbbing, my sciatica’s playing up and I think I’m developing haemorrhoids from all the sitting around on stone cold floors but, right now, my biggest problem is trying to get Mangy Grey to change back to human and put some clothes on. Here he sits, still lupine, vehemently shaking his tufty bonce. Ironically, the bone of contention appears to be the choice of attire. The rest of the wolves and bears willingly donned the luminous guard uniforms left behind after the eagle exodus, but my friend here ain’t having it, despite his recent stint as a hermit.
“You wouldn’t need to,” I tell him, “if you just took clothes off instead of ripping them to shreds all the time.”
He lets loose a whining, husky style dialogue which, from the look on his face, probably points out he was saving my life – which is fair enough. He raises a back leg, about to indulge in a scratching session, before thinking better of it and slowly dropping the limb. I kiss him on his big black nose, spitting out stone dust. “Please change. I need to talk to you.”
That does the trick. I don’t even look away whilst he changes, which makes me a naughty girl.
“Hello,” he whispers, wincing against the pain of a puncture wound through the hip. “I still don’t have the mange.”
I’m moving in for our long awaited ‘moment’ when, with impeccable timing, birdman rocks up, stomping through the door in a guard uniform turned inside out. I’m too annoyed to ask why.
“The packs are on their way here,” Wings announces.
“Didn’t you tell Alpha there’s no need for fighting?” Anguis demands, glancing back at the king with concern.
“Yes, of course I did.”
“Didn’t he believe you? What about Dulcis? Couldn’t you both...?”
“He did believe us,” says Wings, interrupting the flow of angst. “Dulcis is coming back with her father. He’ll listen to what you have to say. Oh and he has a message for you.” Wings points at Curt.
“Oh, yes?” Curt mutters, without much enthusiasm.
“He said, you, me and that great idiot bear are in so much trouble, we’ll sorely regret flying off on our own.”
“Really?” I venture. “How so?”
“I asked that,” says Wings, crossing his hands behind his back in a military holding pattern. “He couldn’t think of anything right then, but said it would come to him. General Ursid didn’t speak at all, but I wouldn’t want to be in Adamo’s shoes. By the way, where are all the eagles? On my way through the castle, I saw snakes, wolves and bears, all packing, but no eagles. What have you done with them?”
That last was directed at Anguis, who answers, “They’ve departed.”
“You killed them?” Wings exclaims.
“No, you birdbrain,” I insert. “The mini Princess released them from their oath and they flew off.”
“Did you want to go with them?” Curt asks, a trifle trembly lipped.
Wings looks at him like he just boiled his bunny.
“Not that I want you to, because I don’t,” the wolf stutters, fumbling his way around the emotion. “Unless you want to go. You’re an eagle. Obviously. You might want to go home, er, back with them. Other eagles. I’d understand if you do.”
For goodness sake. Edi to the rescue. “He means that he’d miss you, if you went.”
Wings huffs and scowls, which is hardly an effervescent display of fatherhood.
“He stormed up the mountain and sat in that lodge on his own,” Wings points out, “leaving behind those who lov... cared for him... and he wouldn’t talk to m... anyone.”
“And he missed you terribly,” I add.
“Huh,” says Curt, helpfully.
I glare at him. “Am I lying? Am I?”
Curt snuffles and shuffles before mumbling so quietly nobody can hear him.
“What?” I prompt.
“Of course, I missed you,” he admits, looking up at Wings. “And my leg really hurts. And my ear. And I’m cold.”
“Best get some clothes on then,” Wings replies. “There’s a pile of guard uniforms on the stairs.”
When the grumpy old eagle nannies the mangy wolf into the circus outfit, whining and whinging in stereo all the way, I laugh ‘til I cry.
* * *
“So how are we getting down there, or them up here?” I ask, peering over that freezing roof turret at the swarm of tiny dots below. “Especially without any air transport.” The snow and clouds might have passed, along with a few nervous days, but the wind is blowing a gale up here. Wings’ eagle eyes assure me a shed load of wolves and bears are sliding their way up the steep mountainside in an entertaining rendition of Revenge on Ice. “You could carry all of us, two at a time,” I continue, enjoying Wings’ narrowing eyes, “before you drop dead from exhaustion.”
The birdman’s about to reply when arms drop around our shoulders.
“Tempting,” says Anguis, having perked up in the last few hours. “But it’s easier to open the front door.”
That’s news to me, and Wings. “You’ve actually got a front door?”
“Of course.” Anguis pulls his woollen hood further over his face to shield it from the blistering wind. “Though it’s drilled through the bedrock and the hinges are stiff.”
“Fabulous,” I comment. “I can see us now; we’re on our way out, waving bye bye, and the castle drops on our heads.”
“We’ll send you first,” mutters Wings, “to test if it’s safe.”
Anyway, no thanks to the miserable bird, a few brave bears manage to heave open the squealing door and hatchet their way through lock after lock. No-one was meant to get in or out of this edifice quickly, that’s for sure.
Having limp sprinted my way through a pitch dark tunnel, cursing at my knee and back all the way, I’m now loitering at the foot of the castle, wondering what it must have been like in its non crumbly heyday. Maybe it was impressive and awe-inspiring once, but I can’t shake the notion it was always a prison, of sorts. Bring on the lovely wooden lodge in the mountains and a rocking chair in front of the fire; the mould can keep this place and crawl anywhere it wants.
In order to combat that blasted and blasting wind, the welcoming committee currently sport a fashionable mishmash of every spare piece of clothing we could find, except for Anguis, whose wardrobe fits and isn’t garish. The rest of us resemble biodegradable landfill.
Another budget flight by Wings directed the exhausted, frozen and highly cheesed off Alpha and his compatriots around the side of this stone monstrosity where, thankfully, the terrain briefly flattens out and where we’re all waiting, stamping our numb feet with impatience and trepidation.
Alpha and General Ursid, in human form, march at the head of a massed wolf and bear army to the music of a big brass band. Alright, I made that last bit up, but it’s a jolly thought. For some unknown reason, Dulcis rides on the furry back of Mama Bear, waving madly at me. My arms ache, so I wave back gently, like the Queen on a driveby.
Anguis is gearing up for a diplomatic mouthful of humble pie, when Adamo spots a sour faced General and races past him, as though shot from a trap. He duly slips on the ice and falls flat on his back, heading straight for Ursid, feet first, like the luge. The General sighs and gracefully sidesteps as his charge glides past and bowls down three wolves and a bear behind him.
“What did you think you were doing?” Ursid trumpets, hauling his princely charge up by the collar and thumping his feet on the compacted snow. “I taught you to lead, not fly off with some decrepit old eagle and an outcast wolf.”
Curt and Wings glance at one another and shrug.
“How am I supposed to protect you all the way up here?”
Adamo flings his arms around the General and hugs tightly, squeezing all the bluff out of him.
“Yes, well, don’t do it again,” Ursid grumbles, patting the teenager on the back. “And what are you all wearing?”
Dulcis dismounts from Mama Bear and, after a swift glance at the occupied Adamo, skips over to me, chirping my name. As hugging season seems to have got underway, I’m preparing for a session of bone crushing, when Mama Bear catapults her considerable bulk at Anguis, landing on his chest and roaring right in his face. Any moment now there’ll be blood on the ice.
“Get off him, please,” commands Adamo, utilising his princely voice, whilst still hugging the General. It’s rather cute actually.
Mama Bear ignores him, showering the ambassador with spit and stinky breath, but not, as yet, biting off his face.
Adamo plants a kiss on the blustering Ursid’s forehead and stalks over. He taps Mama on her front paw, currently plastered across Anguis’ chest, looks her in the eyes and repeats, “Get off him. Please.”
Mama roars so hard his ginger fringe flies straight up, his eyes closing against the spit. In mid growl, she changes into the tallest woman I’ve ever seen, her voluptuous curves reminding me of an oversized statue of Venus.
“Anguis, you lying snake turd,” she hollers, smacking his head against the ice with each word. “Where’s... my... Friddie?”
What’s a friddie, I hear you ask? Why are you looking at me? How should I know?
Behind me, the welcoming crowd of kidnapped bears swiftly parts, revealing a tiny man, a good foot smaller than his towering mate.
“I’m here, my love,” he stutters and she moves so fast, he barely has a second to brace himself before he disappears inside her embrace. She continues to berate Anguis whilst her Friddie slowly suffocates.
“You told us the wolves took him, you liar. What have you done to my poor mate? I’ll never believe a word out of your lying mouth again. I’m going to tear you to pieces and feed you to the wolves.”
I’ve seen Anguis as a snake. I know he could change and swallow her whole in a second, but he doesn’t. He takes every harsh word. I almost feel sorry for him.
“It wasn’t his fault. He was following my commands.”
Anguis leaps to his feet as the king slowly shuffles through the crowd, the former monarch’s weary gaze fixed on Alpha’s wide-eyed stare.
“I’m the one to blame. Do what you will with me; I will not oppose you.”
A look of astounded confusion sweeps over Alpha’s face before he forces himself back under calm control.
“Show me your people and this mould,” Alpha replies, “and then I’ll make a decision, alongside Prince Adamo.”
A ginger head nods in agreement. Serpen just stands there, as though speaking those few words has drained him.
“Follow me, please,” Anguis says, gesturing at the dark tunnel.
Alpha hesitates, peering at the frozen, broken king, before circling around him. As the wolf leader passes his scruffy brother he mutters, “I’ll talk to you later,” and disappears into the shadows.
* * *
It doesn’t take long for the grim reality of the situation to impress itself on a soft hearted wolf. Much of the past was filled with blood, torture and the governing sins of the Snake Empire, but their present condition is a far cry from a ruling elite.
The freed bears and wolves pleading for the children in a cacophony of begging turns out to be entirely unnecessary, since Dulcis is already calculating how to house and shelter the dying snakes as soon as her father sets eyes on the shivering little ones.
Dulcis whispers to me, “I know my father. He already decided to help when Wings and I dropped in on him.”
That may be true, but he still lets Princess Sospa officially request help for her people, mainly because she’s clinging onto Curt’s hand whilst she does it. When she moves on to pleading for her uncle and his ambassador, the whole thing becomes more problematic.
“Princess, the king and ambassador must be kept prisoner, or left here,” Alpha announces, “even if I agree to help your people.”
Dulcis stiffens beside me, clearly surprised that helping is even in question. Her eyes search for Adamo, but he won’t meet her gaze as he stands firm at Alpha’s side.
“Then I have to stay too,” Sospa announces, yanking her hand from Curt’s. He sweeps an arm around her as she bristles at Adamo. “I thought you were my bear friend.”
“You’re a child...” Alpha begins.
“I’m a Princess,” she fires back.
I have to love the feisty little beggar.
“I’ll stay,” says Anguis, “but the king needs shelter. You’ve seen him. Please. Have mercy.”
“He imprisoned my people and set us at each other’s throats. And that doesn’t begin to account for what his father and grandfather...”
“The eagles are gone, our people few and sick,” Anguis pleads. “Serpen has no support for any violence against you, even if he was to recover, which I doubt. If I come with you, I give you my oath the snakes will not rebel against you whilst I live.”
“Why would I let your people bring the sickness to mine?”
Anguis shakes his head. “We know the sickness doesn’t pass from person to person. It acts like a poison. If we destroy all sign of it before we reach your village, it won’t spread to you.”
There’s a moment of silence. The two men stare at one another, neither flinching under scrutiny.
“Why should I trust your word?” Alpha asks, finally breaking the deadlock.
“There’s no reason you should,” Anguis admits, “but I’m telling you the truth. My people are tired and scared. They want peace and healing.”
“And what of the future?” Alpha asks. “If your people recover and grow stronger once again? What then? Will future generations curse me for helping you?”
It’s undoubtedly not my place to interfere, but I do it anyway.
“None can know the future, Alpha. You may be right, but are you willing to be the ones who let an entire race die because of what might happen?” My gaze switches to the ginger prince of bears. “Adamo? Is it in you to do that?”
Adamo glances at Dulcis and back at me.
Then a voice I’ve grown to love, my Curt, softly speaks his truth.
“I know I’ve no right to advise anyone. I’m not Alpha anymore. But I knew our pack once and I’ve always known you, brother. It’s time to try something new. Wolves, bears and, yes, snakes together. I’ve no idea if it’ll work, but we have to try.”
Alpha takes two giant steps towards Curt, nose to nose. “Does that mean you’re rejoining the pack?”
After the longest silence in history, during which both myself and Dulcis hold our breath, Curt replies, “It does.”
Alpha frowns, eyes narrowing, then breaks into a huge grin that sends them both back decades into puppydom.
When the brothers embrace, a humungous sniff comes from behind me and I turn to find an old eagle whimpering into his frilly cuff.
