The Legend of the White Wolf

"Ssh! You'll scare him away!"

The buck's head shot up, ears erect, seeking the danger. One hoof poised over the stream for a moment, and then the buck was gone. A shifting tree branch dumped its load of snow, burying the tracks of the buck through the forest.

"There! You scared him off."

"Did not. You said something first."

Two boys lowered themselves from the tree and tracked through the snow to the stream where the buck had stood. They were wrapped in heavy fur-lined cloaks, their faces lost in wolfskin hats. Their leather breeches had iced up in the time they had crouched motionless in the tree, and crackled with every step; ice wrinkles stretched from cloak to fur-topped boots by the time they reached the stream.

"This is where he stopped. Look at the size of those hooves!"

"Did you see those antlers? He must be a hundred years old."

"Bucks don't live that long, stupid. A cow, maybe, but never a buck."

"Anyway, I bet you've never seen bigger antlers. Bet your uncle doesn't even have any that big."

"Bet he does."

"Doesn't."

"You'll see. Come on."

Beris was older by a year, but Sepoyyad was the leader. He marched away, leaving Beris staring at the hoofprint, the size of his head, beside the frozen stream. Such a print could only have been made by the greatest of bucks; there could never have been one bigger. Beris turned and saw Sepoyyad's hat disappear in the snowbound forest.

"Hey! Wait for me!"

The trail they had broken coming out was frozen over now and treacherous. They picked their way carefully, fitting their boots the best they could into their own footprints, pointing the opposite direction. It would have been easier to break new trail, but Beris's uncle, Sepoyyad's father, didn't like anyone tracking more snow than absolutely necessary into the longhouse.

Thin white smoke from a hundred fires drew them into the compound of Clan Etavo. No one came out to greet them. It was dinner time, and it was cold. They passed the Great House, where their mothers were cooking over the huge open fire at the end of the hall. They passed without speaking through the clustered houses of all the clan and reached at last the small wretched huts of the slaves. Here lived the people of Sepoyyad's mother and her brother, Mossik. Mossik was accounted by all, including himself, the greatest hunter living. He led Etavo hunts, and everyone obeyed him, although he was a slave. Even Beris's granduncle, the Clan Leader, deferred to Mossik when they were on a hunt.

Outside Mossik's hut, they paused to catch their breath. It would not do to come panting and unable to speak into the great hunter's presence. Sepoyyad knocked on the wooden doorpost.

"Come in and be quick! It's cold out there."

Sepoyyad slipped through the double hide doors, and Beris followed.

"Sepoyyad my son! Come in, come in." Mossik, black-maned and hearty, swooped down on them with open arms. He stopped when he saw Beris. "And Beris of Etavo," he said, his voice becoming formal. "Welcome to my home. My fire is yours; warm yourselves."

There was barely room at the fire for one, but the boys huddled close, breathing in the warm cedar smell. With their hats off, the difference between the boys was striking. Sepoyyad's hair was black and straight, like Mossik's, but Beris's was the color of the evening sun, and curled like sheep's wool. Their faces were flushed with the cold, but Beris's was always flushed. Sepoyyad was normally pale, in contrast to his hair. Sepoyyad and Mossik both had the thin high-bridged nose of the northern people, which Beris's uncle also bore. Beris often thought his own nose a shapeless blob stuck in the middle of his face, with no regard for form or function. The eyes and the cheekbones were the only features the boys had in common. Deep, black wide-set eyes above high, knife-sharp cheekbones gave each the proud, fierce look of the Eda warrior.

"We saw a buck today, uncle," Sepoyyad said without preamble.

"Did you now? And does Etavo want it killed?"

Beris shrank back into the corner away from Mossik. He said nothing and did not look up.

Mossik made no secret of his contempt for Clan Etavo. They may have been his masters, but he did not like them or the servitude they kept him in. Beris had never felt comfortable in Mossik's presence. Even with Sepoyyad shielding him, he could feel the hunter's hatred burning through his skull.

"No, of course not," said Sepoyyad quickly. He glanced at Beris, hiding in the corner. "This is not Etavo, uncle, this is Beris."

Mossik shook his head sadly. "He is Etavo, my son. You must never forget it."

"Anyway, we saw this buck, and he was huge, wasn't he, Beris?" Beris nodded, still not looking at the hunter. "Beris says he was the biggest ever, but I say you have antlers as big as his. Bigger. You do, don't you, uncle?"

Mossik chuckled. "The biggest ever? I don't know; they'd have to be pretty big."

"How big was the biggest you ever saw, uncle?"

"Well now, that's a long time ago."

The boys could tell a story was coming. They were warm now, and made themselves comfortable to hear it. Mossik lounged on a great bearskin with a cup of steaming broth in his hands. Sepoyyad sat cross-legged at his feet, eyes wide and eager. Beris sat away from the fire, still with Sepoyyad between him and the hunter, with his face in shadow to keep from reminding the man with every word that he was in the presence of the hated Etavo.

"It was a long time ago," said Mossik, staring into the fire. "Back when I was free, before Etavo stole me from my people. Back when I was a man. I was just a little older than you are now, Sepoyyad, but I was a man already. There were five of us: me and my two brothers, my uncle and his brother. My uncle now, there was a man. He's the one to ask about bucks. Had a hunting tent, got it from his uncle -- the centerpole was an antler. Just one antler, holding up that tent. You could stand up in it, too. Stand up straight, just like you were outside. No more bucks like that, though. They all died a long time ago, before I was born. Probably before my uncle was born. Ah, my uncle .... You think I can hunt?" Sepoyyad nodded. "You should have seen my uncle. Everything I know I learned from him, and he'd forgotten more than I know. He killed a king wolf before he was your age, and a full-grown bear soon after."

"What happened to him?" Sepoyyad wanted to know; Beris tried not to hear. He thought he knew already.

Mossik stared into the fire for a long time before answering. He watched Beris as he spoke. "Etavo killed him. The year you were born, Sepoyyad. He was trying to take you back to your people."

Beris felt his face burn bright in the shadows. He was surprised his hair didn't catch fire. He scooted back farther from the light. He tried to be quiet about it, but his hams made little scraping noises in the fine dry rushes on the floor.

"So what about the buck, uncle?"

"Here, let me show you." Mossik set down his broth and rolled to his feet. He twisted around the lantern hanging in the center of the hut and made his way to the back, where he kept his hunting gear. He returned with the walking staff he always carried on a hunt. For the first time Beris really looked at it, and noticed that it was not straight. It was taller than either of the boys, and swept in a gentle, regular arc. At the base it was as thick as Mossik's biceps, at the tip no bigger than Mossik's little finger. Mossik had bound it with leather and shod it with steel, but it was clear that this was an antler. Sepoyyad received it from his uncle gingerly, as if taking a dew-flower from a goddess. He held it in his hands and turned it over, gazing at every inch.

"This is ..." he began, but words failed him. "This was ..."

"A buck," Mossik said. His voice was low, touched with sadness and awe. "A buck such as the world has not seen since my uncle's uncle's uncle rode the earth."

Beris sat forward, drawn to the antler. He longed to take it from Sepoyyad, to run his hands over the horny ridges that ran along its length, to sense the power that had been within the animal that had borne it. "Did you kill it?" he asked.

Mossik started. He stared long at the young Etavo before he answered. His eyes flashed, and his face twisted with all the emotions that he felt: pride for having hunted such a beast, sadness for having killed it, joy and wonder for having seen it in its glory, satisfaction for his skill, anger for his enslavement, hatred for his enslavers -- they all flew across his face as he watched Beris admire the symbol of his life.

"Yes," he said at last. "It was the last thing I killed."

"But, uncle," Sepoyyad objected. "You are the greatest of hunters. You have hunted many times since, haven't you?"

Mossik took the antler from his nephew. He held it in his lap and rocked back and forth over it, like a priest over a potion. "I have not hunted since," he said, so softly that the boys had to strain to hear him. "Only a man can hunt. Now I am a tool. Etavo uses me to hunt, as I once used my bow. I hunt no more than my bow hunted when I was a man."

They sat in the flickering light, listening to the ice wind howl between the huts. Beris was embarrassed, for himself, for his Clan, for the man who sat before him thinking he was no man. Sepoyyad was puzzled and disturbed. He glanced from Beris to Mossik and back. How could his uncle not be a man? How could the greatest hunter alive not be a hunter at all? How could his best friend be responsible for it all?