CHAPTER 13 - THE GIFT OT DEATH

Except for his rasping breath and the shuffling sound Wolf Shield makes as he staggers up the trail, the forest is silent. Upon reaching the gently sloping meadow, he stops in a clump of fir trees. Exhausted, he is about to rest against a trunk, but at the sight of the skinned and broken bodies of his wolves, he jams his balled fist into his mouth to muffle his cry. Standing unsteadily on his feet, he leans forward and heaves, making belching sounds. Blood pours forth. He wipes his mouth and groans. ‘Dying,’ he mutters with relief. Peering at the stars, he begs for forgiveness, but they are distant and pitiless and gathered in their light within themselves.

Sometimes it is right to die. A good death is a natural part of life.

‘But Two Souls and my wolves?’ Blood trickles down the sides of his lips. ‘What good is there to their deaths?’ He makes three steps forward and collapses in the blood-spattered grass.

He breaks down into tears and starts crawling towards the oak tree. ‘Forgive me.’ Then, furious, ‘How can you say every choice we make is right?’ he hisses. ‘You lie!’ He stops to gasp for breath. ‘How can this be right?’ He grimaces and spits more blood.

‘Right, wrong, good, evil… What is good for you might prove terrible to me,’ the white wolf says. Wolf Shield feels loathing.

‘Remember, I told you everything happens for a reason,’ it says.

Wolf Shield inches forward.

Coming upon the carcass of the leader of the pack, he buries his face into its torn and gored stomach.

‘Why?’ He coughs out more blood. Peering ahead, he sees he has covered half the distance to the foot of the tree, but knows he will not make it.

‘Forgive yourself, Wolf Shield,’ the great timber says. ‘You broke a promise to yourself and ’tis important to forgive yourself.’ Sitting beside the dying young man, the beast laps the blood off his face. ‘There was nothing you could have done to prevent this from happening.’

’Twas meant to happen.

The presence leaves.

Wolf Shield only wants death. The White men stole his sacred pouch, but he still has his death song. If he sings well, maybe his spirit will make it to the other side.

Mustering his last strength, he gazes at his tree and sends forth a thin, pathetic voice.

‘Heye-ya-ya! Heye-ya-ya!’ he sings, asking all the Above Ones to take pity on him, to forgive him his bad deeds, to light his way.

He knows the moment when it comes because he feels his body grow warm and cold at the same time. I am almost there. He begins to cry and then he slips out of his body. It is peaceful. Around him, the walls of finite time become fluid and, as he watches, they curve to form the mouth of a tunnel. He takes his last breath and enters. At the other end, Oa finds his place beside the tree.