Legend Of A Legend (Part 2)

XIII

Aniu awoke to see Sango gazing down at her, a concerned expression on his face. “Oh….” she groaned, clutching her stomach. “Did I make it?” she added a second later, a hint of humor in her voice.

Sango only bent down and brushed his muzzle over her face. “Everyone’s fine.”

Aniu struggled to her feet—she was weak, and her head still spun from the effort of a few minutes ago.

Sango smiled down at the small litter that lay on the ground before him. “Aniu,” he said, raising his gaze to meet her warm eyes, “they’re beautiful. But not as beautiful as you,” he added a second later, touching his nose to hers.

And the pups were beautiful. For the first time, Aniu truly took in the miracle that had been created two months ago. There were one brown and gray male and three females—two of them gray and white, and the last brown and white. Sango watched as the brown female crawled over one of her sisters to take a place next to her brother.

Aniu gently brushed her muzzle across her progeny and licked Sango’s cheek. “You like her, don’t you?” she asked him, motioning to the brown female.

Sango grinned in return. “So,” he began, “what should we name them?”

“Actually,” Aniu replied, “I’ve been thinking about that for a while. For him”—she lowered her head toward the lone male of the litter—“I like Balto. Then Ara,” she continued, pointing to the brown female, “and then Galena and Lyrie.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sango said, rubbing against Aniu’s cheek.

That night, dreams troubled Aniu:

She saw herself approaching a foreign town, traveling northward on some unknown mission. Looking around her, she saw Balto, Lyrie, and Galena; Sango and Ara seemed to be absent. Somehow, she knew that the Shiok, where she was now, was behind her. She felt a burning pain in her muzzle—it was almost as if she was wounded. Another look told her that not one of the pups was unscathed—each had cuts and bruises on their faces and bodies. But even as she watched, all their wounds disappeared, fading smoothly into nothingness.

Suddenly she heard a voice call out to her—similar to Sango’s, yet different in some way; more detached from the physical world. “Go north,” the voice said, “and leave Galena. It will be for the best.”

“But…why?” Aniu asked. “I don’t want to leave my daughter behind.” She stole a third glance at the pups and noticed that they seemed oblivious to the voice.

“All I can say I have already said, but I will tell you again: It is for the best.”

Aniu heard a snarl somewhere behind her. She turned and prepared herself for an attack, but no one was there. “What…?”

“You have no idea of what will happened if you defy fate,” the voice replied, a menacing tone hidden somewhere deep inside.

Now, for only the second time in her life, legitimate fear overcame Aniu. She turned away from where the snarl had come from and began to sprint toward her pups. But before she could reach them, they seemed to melt into thin air.

Aniu began to pant harder, and her eyes widened with shock at the loss of the rest of her family. She whirled back around, but again, there was nobody there.

The fur went up on the back of her neck as she felt a presence behind her. She whirled around once more, and this time the ghostly image of an old, decrepit wolf appeared a few yards away.

“Who—who are you?” Aniu struggled to form words as a feeling of trepidation crept over her.

“I have no name,” the wolf said, his raspy voice startling Aniu. “But I imagine you already know me well enough, for I am the reason you live. I am the reason you exist.”

Aniu gasped. “S…Sango?”

“I am not Sango,” the wolf replied, its tone of voice more menacing than ever. “As I said before, I have no name.” Suddenly the wolf rushed forward, lifting a claw to Aniu’s throat. “But you still know me.”

“What—what do you want from me?” Aniu asked helplessly, trying to keep perfectly still so as not to startle the wolf.

The wolf’s claw tightened against her throat. “I believe I already told you what I want. I want you to abandon Galena. “

“Wait,” Aniu interrupted. “Where—where was Ara?”

“That is none of your concern,” the wolf replied, lowering his claw but just as quickly twisting around so his jaws were inches from Aniu’s throat. “I can tell you, however, that you will have no need of your daughter on your jour—”

“What do you mean I don’t need Ara?” Aniu snapped, suddenly enraged. She’s my daughter, and I love her! I swear, if you do anything to her, I’ll personally tear your throat out!”

“Funny thing to say,” the wolf remarked, “considering your current position. As punishment, Ara will be taken from you before the year is out. Do as I say, or the same will happen to Sango. Or even Galena, Balto, and Lyrie.” Then the wolf closed his jaws.

Everything disappeared.

Aniu awoke the next morning feeling as if she was forgetting something.

XIV

It was again night, and the stars shone brightly in the black sky. The Shiok’s territory was quiet, save for the gust of wind or call of an Arctic tern that would sometimes cut sharply through the cold air.

Sango stood at the mouth of the den, gazing at the many spots of light that dotted the sky, entranced. He turned as Aniu stepped to his side.

“Wow,” Sango said. “It’s so hard to believe that all of that could be out there, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been wondering that all my life,” Aniu answered. “Sometimes, when I was younger, I used to sit out in the middle of the woods and just stare at it all.”

“Yeah,” Sango said. I just wonder how it could all exist.” He glanced back at the pups, the awed expression still on his face.  “They’ve all grown so much,” he stated. “Only a few weeks old, and already they’re so big, huh?”

Aniu smiled warmly at her mate, and they turned to the pups in unison.

At that moment, Balto stood and made his way over to his parents.

“Come on, Balto,” Aniu said warmly, rubbing a paw across her son’s head. “What are you doing still up?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” Balto responded. “I guess I just couldn’t sleep.” His eyes suddenly widened as he glanced outside, and Sango followed his gaze.

He looked out through the entrance to that cave and gasped. “Look!”

Aniu glanced outside and gasped as well.

Spread out across the night sky was the aurora borealis, the most beautiful aurora either of them had ever seen. The vast expanse of night was filled with perpetual color. The greens flowed smoothly into reds, which even then were replaced just as seamlessly with yellows and blues. The shimmering stars accentuated the brilliant color, sometimes shining through it, other times tinted by the phenomenon’s amazing effect.

Sango and Aniu simply sat, entranced by the lights, for several minutes until Sango heard a soft giggle behind him. He turned and saw Balto staring at the colors in the sky, clearly mesmerized. He silently walked over to the pup, placing a paw on his son’s shoulder. “They’re magnificent, huh?”

Balto turned his head and stared up at his father. The grin that covered his face was enough. Then Sango beckoned for Balto to sit with him and Aniu at the edge of the den. Soon the pup began walking forward and sat between his parents.

Together they stayed, watching the Northern Lights, entranced by the boundless aurora.

It was several hours later when the lights finally ended, and Sango looked down and realized that Balto and Aniu were not there. He hurried back to the cave and found his family asleep. Balto lay apart from his sisters next to Aniu, the same smile on the pup’s face as when he first beheld the Lights.

Sango walked over to his family and lay down beside them, positioning his head between Balto and Aniu. Soon he, too, was asleep and dreaming peacefully.

The pups were now eight weeks old—and, Sango noted with a chuckle, more energetic and adventurous than ever. It seemed only Balto had inherited his father’s brilliant sense of smell, while Lyrie had developed her mother’s skill at hunting. Galena and Ara, it seemed, were more docile and calm, but even so, they bounded around with their other siblings.

Sango and Aniu watched them from several feet away as Lyrie chased a rabbit around the entrance of the den. Balto and Galena were engaged in some sort of play-fight, and Ara seemed to delight in simply exploring the land around her and her family.

Then Sango remembered something: though the pups were now old enough to be adopted, as they would if they were in a city, they still had not met Soren. And the leader was getting even older now, and he looked like he might die any day. “Balto, Ara, Galena, Lyrie!” he called out, “Want to meet Soren? He’s the leader of this pack.”

The pups erupted into simultaneous fits of laughter, their tiny bodies bounding towards their father, while Aniu watched from a few feet away, a warm smile on her face.

“Aren’t you coming, Aniu?” Sango asked. “Don’t you want to see him meet the pups for the first time?”

“Oh, what the heck,” Aniu replied. “I guess I’ll come.” She stood and walked over to her mate. “Hey, girls,” she said, addressing the pups, “and Balto,” she added quickly, recognizing her mistake. She raised a paw and put it on Balto’s shoulders, causing him to giggle and grin up at his mother.

“Can we play more, Mom?” Ara asked. “I want to play!” She began to run quickly around along a path that seemed to be completely improvised.

“Yeah, let’s play!” the other pups said, almost in unison, and they began to chase their sister around.

“Come on,” Sango said with a laugh, lifting a paw to avoid a charging Lyrie, “we need to meet Soren first. Then we can play. Okay?”

The four pups eventually agreed, and soon Sango and Aniu were leading them to Soren’s den. They reached the small cave after only a few minutes of walking, and—as was wolf custom—Sango poked his head through the entrance first while Aniu and the pups stayed just outside.

When Sango turned back to face his family, though, there was no mistaking the sorrowful expression on his face. “I—I think…Soren’s dead.”

XV

Aniu’s ears suddenly pricked up. “What?” she said, forcing a whisper. She saw Sango walk up to her and heard him whisper something in her ear: “Soren’s dead.” She glanced down at the pups, and a pang of emotion struck her when she saw that their faces were filled with worry. She carefully approached the cave, making sure to keep the pups behind her so as to shield them from what she might find.

Her jaw dropped.

Soren lay on his side at the edge of the den, still except for the occasional spasm. A trickle of blood ran from his nose, and his bloodshot eyes looked glassy.

Anxious to find some sign of life, Sango trotted over to the corpse and stared at it, almost wishing Soren would move.

But it was not meant to be. Soren remained on his side, his eyes half-open, his sides still. A few drops of blood, Sango now noticed, littered the ground near the wolf’s muzzle, and his dark brown fur was cool to the touch. Sango stared into the motionless orbs that were Soren’s eyes. He found them blank, lifeless.

Afraid to disturb the corpse, Aniu cautiously crouched and placed her muzzle an inch from Soren’s unmoving ear. “Soren,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “I was just about to tell you…out pups came a few weeks ago. But—but Anok told us to kill them. What should—what should we do?” A tear dripped down her cheek as she rubbed her head against Sango’s shoulder, feeling his fur mingle with her own.

“Don’t worry, Aniu,” Sango said reassuringly. “It’ll be alright. Everyone will be fine.”

Aniu sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

Suddenly a voice sounded behind them. “Thought you could save them, didn’t you? Well, it’s too late.”

Sango whirled around to see Anok standing at the entrance to Soren’s den. “What do you want, Anok?”

“What do you think?” Anok sneered. “I warned you. Didn’t I, Sango? And here I catch you trying to tell Soren. Too bad he’s dead. Too bad he suddenly died.”

Sango’s jaw dropped. “You killed him!” he accused.

Anok’s only response was to leap into the den, maw wide open, claws outstretched.

All this time, Aniu had been sitting over the four pups, protecting them from the sight of the dead wolf.

“Where’s Soren?” Ara asked innocently. “I thought we were going to see him. Why won’t you let me see him?”

“Oh, Ara, someday you’ll understand, but not right now.” Aniu touched her chin to the top of her daughter’s head.

“Yeah,” Balto and Galena asked almost in unison. “Why can’t we see Soren?”

“We will someday,” Aniu replied. “Just not to—”

“Aniu, watch out!” Sango shouted. Aniu snapped her head to the side just in time to see a brown shape rush toward her.

Anok missed Aniu’s vulnerable muzzle by inches and crashed into her shoulder. He rolled over her and slammed into the wall of the den, once again narrowly missing the pups. He scrambled back to his feet, this time knocking into Galena and forcing her to the ground.

Galena whimpered, and Anok carelessly flicked a paw at her tiny form, bruising the side of her muzzle. He chuckled and prepared to leap at Aniu again, but he suddenly became aware of a sharp pain in his ankle. He glanced back and saw that Lyrie had clamped her jaws just above his hind paw.

Without further hesitation, Anok kicked backward, shaking off Lyrie’s grip on his leg and sending the pup flying through the air, where she hit the wall and tumbled to the ground, bleeding.

By this time, Sango had managed to gather the courage to attack the menace that was Anok. He launched himself at the beast, snarling, his teeth bared, willing to give his life to protect his pups.

Half a second later, Sango dug his teeth into Anok’s shoulder, causing the wolf to grimace in pain. Anok retaliated by swinging his muzzle around and nipping Sango’s foreleg. Sango snarled once more and leapt at Anok’s neck—missing, but raking several long scratches across the back of his head.

Then Anok swung a hind leg upward and kicked Sango in the face, bruising his muzzle. Soon, however, Sango whirled around and clamped his jaws on Anok’s foreleg. Anok bit Sango’s neck, forcing him to release his grip, and leapt away from him, but he moved toward the four defenseless pups that now cowered in shock only a few feet away.

Lyrie suddenly threw herself at Anok, swinging a forepaw at the wolf’s muzzle. The force knocked Anok’s head to the side, and he twisted in midair and missed the pups by several inches. Balto followed his sister’s lead, but his efforts were in vain—all he received was a bloody wound on his forehead.

Aniu had simply been watching all this time in a mixture of anger and shock, but the blow to her only son was too much. She leapt at Anok, fire in her eyes, and her teeth raked down his side. Anok grimaced and gave a deadly snarl, and it was clear that he would not let this wound remain unpunished.

Ignoring the pain that shot throughout his body, Anok suddenly lunged at Ara, seizing her in his jaws before anyone could react. When the tiny girl squealed in pain, he clamped a rough paw over her muzzle, muffling her agonized cries. Then, only a second later, he shifted his jaws from Ara’s shoulders to her head.

Sango made a motion to leap at Anok, but he stopped and shut his eyes when he saw the wolf begin to close his jaws. He only needed to hear the sickening crack of bone to know what had happened.

XVI

When Sango opened his eyes, Aniu was already almost upon the now-murderer on the other side of the cave. She threw herself at the menace with all her might, catching him off guard and crashing into his shoulder. She snapped at his head, bloodying his cheek, and then she kicked his chest, throwing him into the air.

As if on cue, Sango rushed forward and lifted his claws upward, stabbing Anok through his chest. But still the wolf would not die.

Suddenly Lyrie rushed forward again and leapt onto Anok’s bloody chest. “You may have killed my sister,” she spat, venom in her voice, “but you’ll never get the rest of us!” She snapped at Anok’s exposed throat.

Before Lyrie could reach him, however, Anok rushed at her head once more. But loss of blood had weakened his aim, and he instead caught the pup under her right eye.

Lyrie yelped in pain and retreated for a second, her cheek bloody and disfigured. At this, Aniu began to charge at Anok once again. But she was feet away when Lyrie finally managed to overcome the pain that raced through her head and, ever so slowly, bite down on the murderer’s throat. A fountain of blood erupted from the wound, narrowly missing Lyrie’s own bloody face, and Anok became limp.

Once again shocked by the sudden turn of events, Sango carefully pulled his claws out of the corpse. He saw Balto and Galena tentatively emerge from the hiding place they had found just outside the den; Balto’s face was still bloody, and Galena’s cheek was swollen.

“You guys okay?” Sango asked, walking over to them.

“My head hurts,” Balto said, a few tears visible in his brown eyes. He lifted a paw to his forehead and winced as he touched the wound.

“It’s alright,” Sango replied, bending over and licking the gash.

Meanwhile, Aniu had rushed to Lyrie’s side. She gasped, appalled, when she found her daughter lying on the ground, unconscious and covered in blood. Dozens of tears diluted the lifeblood that had poured out from the wounds on the pup’s deformed cheek. She also had suffered several long scratches along the length of her muzzle. Otherwise, except for a few scrapes and bruises, she seemed largely uninjured.

Lyrie’s blood continued to flow, and Aniu knew she needed to do something, anything, to save her daughter’s life. But what could she do? The simplest solution would be to stifle the bleeding, but how could that be done? What was nearby that could absorb the blood that dropped from Lyrie’s face by the pint? With a massive pang of disappointment and depression, Aniu finally realized that her daughter was lost.

Or was she? Suddenly Aniu remembered something that had happened years ago—before she had joined the Shiok, before she had met Sango. She had been young then—only about two years old. It was just after she had met that mysterious white wolf, just after she had become a white wolf herself. Aniu remembered the sudden revelation that had overcome her, how she suddenly known all that was, all that had been, and all that would be. She remembered how, mere seconds later, that unnamed shadow had attacked her, nearly annihilated her. On that day, she had nearly died. But she remembered how she had defeated that shadow: she had only needed to will it to leave. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, that will work here, too. She sighed. I can only hope.

As much as it hurt her to do so, she continued to stare at Lyrie’s mutilated body. She concentrated on the form, on her daughter’s slightly moving chest. She knew this was the key to saving Lyrie: if the pup died, she would be lost forever. She found herself willing Lyrie to wake up, to remain alive—but no, that was just instinct. She reached deep inside her heart, deep inside her soul, and found that unbridled love for her family that overpowers all else. She became aware that Sango and the rest of her pups now stood beside her, and the occasional tear dripped onto the ground.

“Two daughters,” Sango murmured quietly. “That’s too many.” He buried his head into Aniu’s chest. “Even Ara.”

“Too many,” echoed Aniu a second later, but she said it half-heartedly; she was concentrating on what she was about to do.

“Daddy,” Balto suddenly said several seconds later, “look.”

A white mist had drifted out from Aniu’s mouth, but the wolf herself remained unmoving. Slowly, the mist enveloped the bloody form of Lyrie, nearly hiding her from view. Soon the body began to glow, emitting a soft golden hue that faintly shone through the thick fog that now enveloped the tiny pup. Then, several seconds after it appeared, the mist faded into nothingness. Lyrie looked the same—her face was still covered in blood, her eyes retained that glassy look—but there was something different about her. Only once several more seconds had passed did Sango realize what it was: Lyrie was now breathing, and her chest visibly rose and fell with each measured breath.

Then—slowly, ever so slowly—Lyrie opened her eyes. A few tears dripped down her face as she recognized the pain that coursed through her body, but she lifted a forepaw and hastily wiped them away. “Mom,” she said, visibly fighting off the pain, “what—what happened? Why does my head hurt so much?”

Aniu lowered her gaze to her daughter. “Nothing’s wrong,” she reassured the pup warmly. “You’ll be okay.” Then she placed a paw on Lyrie’s shoulder. “I promise.” She turned to Sango, Balto, and Galena and was surprised to see expressions of shock on their faces.

“Aniu,” Sango finally said, his eyes wide, “what did you do? How—how did you—” He gestured to Lyrie, who, despite her wounds, now appeared calm and composed.

Aniu laid her head on her mate’s shoulder but recoiled slightly when she felt him shiver. “What’s wrong?” she asked calmly.

Sango was slow to reply. “What…. What did you do to Lyrie? How did you bring her back to life?”

Aniu remained unfazed. “She wasn’t dead. She never died. But I saved her life. I know I should have told you this months ago, Sango, if not years, but I think I only just realized it myself: I think I’m a goddess.”

XVII

For several seconds nobody moved, and Aniu began to worry that her family would take this news the wrong way. But Sango suddenly rushed in and embraced her, running his muzzle down the side of her face and chest, which caused a pleasant shiver to run throughout her body. “Somehow I knew that the moment I met you,” she heard him say just as she buried her muzzle into the fur on his back. Then she chuckled, licking his cheek playfully. “No, Sango, not like that. I’m serious.” As if to prove her point, she summoned more energy. A light mist encompassed Balto, and the wound on the pup’s forehead healed within seconds.

Only once several more seconds had passed did Sango realize that he had hot been breathing, and now he inhaled a huge amount of air. “Wow,” he repeated simply.

Aniu’s expression changed. “As much as I’d like to tell you how this works, I think we have a bigger problem.” She motioned to the entrance of the den.

A tan female stood at the edge of the overhang, snarling—Shiraea. Suddenly Shiraea leapt at Aniu, her teeth bared in a deathly growl. She outstretched her forelegs at her target as her hind legs left the ground, and she few through the air like a light-brown missile. Her eyes were filled with hate and vengeance toward Aniu and Lyrie for their murder of Anok.

In an instant, Sango dove in front of his mate, taking care to avoid Lyrie, but he was a fraction of a second too late. He felt Shiraea’s claws pierce the skin on his muzzle, and her full body weight crashed into his head and neck. He felt his head snap to the right and slam against the wall, and he struggled to retain consciousness as he struck the hard ground. He was vaguely aware of Aniu calling his name, but the world seemed to be fading out. After a few seconds, the comforting darkness overcame him, and he became encased in blackness.

Aniu instinctively shielded the pups from the great impact, but she immediately knew that there was no way to save Sango from that one crushing blow. She winced as she saw her mate’s head become crushed by Shiraea’s impact with the wall, and she doubted whether Sango would even be able to survive. This fear and shock, however, easily translated into hate and malice toward Shiraea.

Aniu gathered every bit of resentment and hate that she felt toward Shiraea, every ounce of love she had for Sango and her pups, and threw herself at the tan wolf. She deliberately ignored the reactions of Balto, Galena, and Lyrie; her anger blinded her to the outside world. All Aniu saw was the snarling form of Shiraea; all she smelled was the pungent scent of the wolf’s blood. She attempted to dig her teeth into the back of Shiraea’s throat, but her efforts were futile—the wolf sidestepped at the last moment, and Aniu crashed into the ground, bloodying her nose. She stood quickly, snarling menacingly at her antagonist, and then leapt forward once more, clawing at Shiraea’s shoulder. She connected, leaving a row of bloody gashes at the base of the other wolf’s neck.

Shiraea growled in pain, but soon she countered the attack, scratching Aniu across her cheek. Aniu lunged at Shiraea’s left foreleg and tried in vain to break the bone. She felt her teeth grate against the bone, but Shiraea kicked at Aniu, gashing the right side of her muzzle. Aniu retreated, but soon Shiraea leapt on top of her, forcing her onto her back, where she lay on the ground, panting. The tan wolf placed her muzzle an inch from Aniu’s nose and then snarled; drops of saliva flew from her mouth. Unable to move, Aniu spat at Shiraea—cringing when she saw droplets of blood fly into the air—and then used the distraction to kick the tan wolf off her. To her surprise, Shiraea flew several feet into the air and only reached the ground when she crashed into the cave wall.

Aniu only had a few seconds to stand and prepare for the next attack before Shiraea stood, bruised and bleeding, but otherwise unhurt. Soon, though, Shiraea seemed to realize something and began to eye Balto and Galena, a threatening gleam in her stare.

The white wolf was quick to react, and Aniu stepped in front of her pups protectively. “You’re never going to get them, Shiraea,” she said defiantly, “so stop trying.” No sooner had she said this than she lunged at the tan wolf once again.

Shiraea, however, saw Aniu’s attack beforehand and rose to meet her, snapping her jaws shut on Aniu’s right foreleg. Aniu growled and brought her other forepaw up and clawed at Shiraea, leaving several long cuts along the wolf’s cheek and muzzle. Then, leaving Shiraea no time to react, Aniu darted forward and snapped at the tan wolf’s muzzle. She connected, and her teeth tore open the skin on Shiraea’s face, exposing muscle and bone. Finally, Aniu ripped her leg from Shiraea’s grip and gashed her antagonist’s shoulder, and blood spurted from the wound.

Shiraea made one more attempt to snap at Aniu’s throat. Aniu dodged, but she was an instant too late, and Shiraea’s teeth dug into her shoulder.

Seeing one last chance to win this fight, Aniu jerked away, partly out of pain, partly out of strategy. Shiraea fell to the side as Aniu did this, and Aniu rushed in and bit down on Shiraea’s exposed throat.

The image of Sango’s broken body filled Aniu’s mind as she held onto Shiraea, feeling the wolf’s blood flow through her mouth and spill onto the floor beside her. Her anger drained as quickly as it had come, and it was replaced with immeasurable sorrow and grief. Why had it come to this? Why had Anok and Shiraea hated them as much as they had—why at all? Still, Aniu knew now that it was all over. Maybe she would be able to save Sango’s life, and maybe not. But still, she could now live in relative peace. Shiraea continued to struggle, but her breaths became ragged, forced and weak, and soon stopped altogether. Finally, apart from the measured panting of Aniu and the trembling of the three pups, all was still.

XVIII

“Mom,” Galena asked, “what just happened? Where’s Dad?” She walked over to his bloody form, the enthusiastic bounding gone from her stride, and sniffed at her father. Tears entered the gray pup’s striking blue eyes as she saw the blood that trickled down her father’s face. “Dad,” she said, a single tear rolling down her muzzle, “stay alive. Don’t die. Don’t die.”

By this time, Balto and Lyrie had also noticed what had happened to their father. “Come on, Dad,” Lyrie said, echoing what her sister had said. “Stay alive. You can make it. You won’t die. Everything will be all right. You’ll survive. Don’t worry.”

Balto could only stare down at his unmoving father with a sense of sorrow. Why had this happened, anyway? Why to Sango and no one else? What could Sango have done to deserve this? Someday, he knew, he would understand, but someday would never be good enough. He wanted to understand now—not in a year, not in a few months, not even tomorrow—now.

Ignoring the actions of Balto and Lyrie, Aniu closed her eyes and brushed the end of her muzzle softly across Sango’s cheek. She studied the still expanse of his gray fur, willing him to wake, to move, to do anything. Then she shifted her gaze to the dog’s frozen, unmoving eyes, longing for the life and color to return to the shallow blue orbs.

“Th…thank you, Sango,” she cried, tears flowing openly down her muzzle. Ignoring both the pain from her own wounds and the blood that dripped from her mate’s, Aniu sat and laid the left side of her face along Sango’s motionless head, allowing the full length of their muzzles to connect for one final time. She leaned forward slightly, shivering as her cheek brushed across his muzzle, and began to lick his face, caressing his soft fur with her warm tongue.

Then she retreated, pulling back to gaze into her mate’s eyes once more. She imagined the life that one filled those glittering orbs, the love that had once emanated from his face, the compassion that had compelled him to save her from that hunter so long ago. For a second, just a second, she thought she saw the spark of life flare up in Sango’s eyes. But no—that would never happen again.

Finally, as one last goodbye to her beloved mate, Aniu leaned in once more She placed her mouth next to Sango’s ear, and her lips one sorrowful. “Sango,” she said, “I…love you.” Then, her vision clouded by the tears that spilled from her eyes, she exited the cave and let out a long, loud, mournful wail that drifted through the twilight sky. Sango, goodbye.

“C’mon,” Aniu said, reentering the den after a moment of silence, a hint of sadness in her voice. “We need to go.” Ignoring the sorrowful cries of protest from her son and two daughters, she escorted them out of the cave.

Only a few minutes passed before Aniu arrived at Meno’s den.

Meno’s jaw dropped at the sight of Aniu. “What…what happened to you?” He lifted a paw and motioned at the wounds on her face.

“Long story,” she said, her voice cracking, “but I need to leave, so I’m making you leader until I return.”

Meno looked stunned. “What do you mean? You just became Alpha less than a year ago! You can’t leave now!” Then he noticed the expression on Aniu’s face. “I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

Several tears began to flow openly down Aniu’s muzzle, and the three pups had similar expressions. “It’s…Sango,” Aniu finally began, “and—and Ara. Anok…. And…Sh-Shiraea…. They—they killed them.”

“Treason,” Meno muttered under his breath. “Killing an Alpha, punishable by death or    wor—”

“I—I killed them,” Aniu interrupted. “Or—or Lyrie killed A-Anok. See—see her face? A—Anok did th-that to her.” The wolf broke down, sobbing hysterically on the ground.

Meno glanced downward and was shocked to see several wounds that mutilated the right side of Lyrie’s face. There seemed to be an unnatural bulge in the side of the pup’s cheek, and there was little doubt, Meno thought, that the bone had been shattered.

Meno trotted over to Lyrie and lowered his head to meet her gaze. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

Lyrie pulled away. “I’m fine,” she replied, turning her back to Meno. But a second later, her eyes filled with tears. “It hurts,” she cried, lifting a forepaw to her face.

“Everything will be okay,” Meno told the pup encouragingly. Then he looked at Aniu. “Could I ask why it is you’re leaving?”

Aniu shot a glance at her pups, as if debating whether to answer, but evidently decided that he should know. “After Anok and Shiraea attacked us, you’re really the only one I trust around here. Now that Sango is…gone, who else can I go to for help? You were really close to Soren, weren’t you? Can’t you lead this pack? Can’t you restore the Shiok to what it was?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Meno replied. “Soren never really told me how the pack was run. I think you know it better than I do—you are the Alpha, after all.”

Aniu glanced downward. “I can’t lead the pack,” she said, a hint of despair in her voice. “I need to protect my pups, and there really isn’t anyone else I trust. I don’t know what to do. Please, Meno, you need to take my place as Alpha.”

Meno was silent for a minute. “Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll see what I can do.’

Aniu brushed her head across Meno’s chest. “Thank you,” she responded. “You have no idea what this means to me.” Then she turned, gathered her pups, and began to travel northwest.

Meno watched Aniu leave and then made his way to the Alphas’ den. He gasped as he saw the three bodies strewn across the floor. Two of them were unmistakably those of Anok and Shiraea, and the third was Sango. A few seconds later, though, a fourth form near the wall opposite Sango caught his eye. Upon closer inspection, Meno realized that the figure was a pup—female by its scent—presumably Ara. The pup’s brown fur was difficult to make through the blood that covered her head and body. After a few seconds, Meno crossed the den to sniff Sango’s body. There was something, he noticed, that did not belong to the other bodies.

Anok, Shiraea, and Ara had smelled of death and cold decay, but Sango was…still warm. The thoughts raced through Meno’s mind. Could he be—could he still be alive?

Dismissing the thought, for he knew there was no way he could find Aniu now, Meno left the body and proceeded to set up the den. Tomorrow, he decided, he would call a council and inform the rest of the pack of this news.

XIX

Aniu glanced over her shoulder for what seemed like the hundredth time since they had left to reassure herself that her pups were still following. The miles and hours that were now between the small group and the Shiok wolf pack had been uneventful—little more than snow and trees and sky.

She had to admit it to herself, Aniu though, that despite the lack of excitement of the past few hours, the scenery around here was beautiful.

The snow that blanketed the ground was soft and light, and the falling flakes drifted down from the gray sky with a calm, listless air. The conifers that dotted the landscape were tall and green, and thin dustings of snow laced their branches. The occasional bird would flit between the trees, and their shrill calls could be heard cutting through the chilled air.

A cloud changed position somewhere in the sky above, exposing the white sun and allowing its warm rays to seep through to the ground below. To the west, the mountain ranges of the Alaskan Interior rose above the ground, their peaks rivaling the clouds in terms of altitude. A third of the way up the mountains, the snowy rock gave way to a faint tree line that seamlessly bonded with the dark gray of the mountains.

Aniu paused as she glanced backward once again and noticed that Balto and Galena were wandering uncomfortably far away. Blinking a snowflake out of her eye, she called for them to come. “Come on, guys,” she told them once they were by her side again, “if you keep playing around, we’ll never get to where we’re going!”

“But Mommy,” Galena asked, “where are we going?”

Aniu thought for a second before replying. “We’re going to the nearest town. Once we get there, though, I’m not quite sure what we’ll do. Maybe we can try to live there.”

“Why can’t we just find another wolf pack?” Balto inquired. “I kind of liked the Shiok.”

“I’m sorry, Balto,” Aniu responded, “but we can’t go back to the Shiok. There’s too much of a risk that they won’t like us, and other packs just don’t accept random wolves that just happen to show up on their doorstep. We were lucky with the Shiok. Soren told us that they were one of the only packs that would take us, so it was a good thing that we chose them.”

Galena lifted a forepaw and rubbed her eyes. “I’m tired.”

Aniu glanced upward and saw that her daughter the right: the sun was now low on the horizon, and the sky was bathed in a pink hue. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s find a place to sleep.”

“Can’t we keep going?” Lyrie asked.

“No, we need to rest for tomorrow. There’s a chance we’ll be walking all day, so we need to need as much energy as we can get.” Then Aniu led the pups over to a spot of deep snow. She showed them how to dig a hole in the snow to use as a bed. “We’ve never had to do this before,” she told them, “so pay attention.”

Making sure the pups were watching, Aniu crawled into the small den and covered herself with snow. Seconds later, she dug herself out and proceeded to help Balto, Lyrie, and Galena with their dens. The last rays of the sun were peeking over the horizon when Aniu finally covered herself with snow for the last time that night.

The sun was low on the purple horizon when Aniu awoke the next morning. She dug herself out of the den and looked around. There was nothing for miles, save for the occasional tree and distant mountains. A few small mounds of snow nearby suggested the places where her pups were still sleeping. She decided against waking them so early, so there was nothing to do but kill the time until they awoke.

Only after several minutes of wondering what to do did she decide to plan the rest of her journey. She already knew that they would go to the nearest town—Kolkrines—but after that, what? What would she do? Where would she go?

Eventually, she realized that before they could move on, they needed to rest and allow their injuries to heal. Most of them, luckily, had been minor, but Aniu knew that they could inhibit the pups’ strength and therefore mean the difference between life and death for them all.

She ran a forepaw down the side of her muzzle, tracing the gash Shiraea had inflicted the day before. A few traces of blood still clung to her paw, but the wound had stopped bleeding.

A whimper from somewhere behind her told her that Galena was awake. Aniu turned and saw her daughter emerge from under the pile of snow that had marked her den. A few small bruises dotted the pup’s face and body, and there was a scrape on her left shoulder, but she was otherwise unhurt.

“Morning, Mom,” Galena said, stretching to relieve herself of an ache in her back.

At that moment, Balto awoke. After a quick breakfast, they resumed their journey.

XX

Several days passed before Aniu and her pups came upon a town, with a rushing river just to the north. Even from their close proximity to the town, it was evidently small, merely a group of buildings clumped together in a dense packing of wood and stone. The sounds of barking dogs drifted through the streets, and soon the canines became visible, their forms roaming about the town with little to care about but food and protection. Many hundreds of lanterns dotted the dark expanse, and the occasional human could be seen traveling the various alleys that crossed the city.

As Aniu, Balto, and Lyrie ventured closer to the town, a few shouts could be heard from within the city’s boundaries, clearly amplified by the extreme cold. Somewhere a wife was calling for her husband to come in for dinner; somewhere a mother was calling her children in, and the general noises of daily life echoed throughout the town.

A dog—a large malamute— suddenly came rushing up to meet them. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he asked, a hint of a threatening air in his voice.

Aniu was cautious in responding. “We’re just passing through,” she explained. “We don’t want to fight. Just let us by, and we promise not to harm you.”

The malamute was slow to answer, and he retained the intimidating look in his eyes. He began to lift a forepaw, but he evidently decided better of it and replaced his foot on the ground. “Come with me,” the dog said after a pause, stepping backward and motioning for them to follow him. “By the way,” he continued, “I’m Duran. Who are you?”

Aniu, once again, did not reply immediately. “I’m Aniu,” she said after a pause, “and these are my pups, Lyrie Balto, and”—she glanced around, searching for Galena, who was running around for what seemed like the hundredth time—“that’s Galena,” Aniu finished.

Duran smiled slightly at the sight of Galena. He called her name, and the pup looked at him, bewildered.

“Come on, Galena,” Aniu called. “Come here.”

The pup reluctantly returned to the rest of her family, still staring up at Duran with a confused expression on her face.

“Here,” Duran said, once again addressing them all. “I’ll show you around Kolkrines.” He turned the town and began to walk toward it, and Aniu and the pups followed him wordlessly.

“So, Aniu,” Duran continued, adopting a more casual tone of voice, “where’re you from?”

“South, Aniu answered. “I was born in the middle of the Interior, but my family is dead. My mate died only about a week ago, though, so my pups are the only ones I have left.”

“You’re a wolf?” Duran asked, caught off guard.

“Yes,” Aniu answered, “but Sango was a husky. So Balto and Lyrie and Galena are half and half.”

“Sorry about your family,” Duran said. “So why are you coming here? I mean, why are you going so far north?”

Aniu grinned dryly. “I know this sounds insanely weird, but I had a dream a few days ago that told me to come north. I think my mate sent it to me, so I decided to follow it.”

“That’s interesting,” Duran said, looking puzzled. “I had a dream just the other night. It told me someone I’m looking for would come here in a day or two.”

“Sorry,” Aniu said. “I’m not looking for another mate.”

“No, not like that,” Duran corrected. “It’s just that I think my owner wants to adopt another dog, but he hasn’t found one yet. I thought the dream meant he would find one, but he hasn’t.” The dog sighed. “There’s always another day, I guess.”

“Weird,” Aniu said, raising her eyebrows. “Sango told me in the dream to leave Galena here. Maybe…maybe that means you were supposed to adopt her.”

Duran paused for a second. “Maybe. You said her name’s Galena, right?” He pointed toward Galena, who was still glancing at him shyly.

“Yes,” Aniu replied. “That’s her.”

Now Galena spoke for the first time. “Why are you leaving me, Mom?” she asked, looking up at Aniu with a pained expression. “Where are you going?”

Aniu sighed. “I don’t want to leave you, Galena. I really don’t. But—but I feel like somehow it was…meant to be. Sango wants me to.”

Galena stared up at her with pleading eyes, and Aniu saw her daughter begin to cry. Son Galena looked down and then back upward. “How do you know what Dad wants you to do?” she suddenly snapped. “He’s dead, gone! He’s never coming back! How could you know what he wants?”

“Galena—” Duran tried to say.

“No,” Galena interrupted. “How could you know what my dad wants? He’s dead! He died a week ago!”

“Galena,” Aniu tried to intervene. “It’s not like that. You don’t understand. Sango didn’t tell—”

Leave me alone, Aniu!” Galena screamed. “At least Duran wants me!” She ran to Duran, tears streaming from her eyes, and buried her head in the dog’s chest fur.

Duran glanced at Aniu sympathetically.

“Galena—” Aniu repeated. She stepped forward and nudged her daughter’s shoulder. But Galena pulled away wordlessly.

A chord was struck in Aniu’s heart as she saw Duran comforting her daughter. She fought back a lump in her throat as she finally accepted the fact that Galena was really leaving. “Good—goodbye, Galena. I guess…you can have her, Duran. Good—goodbye.” She lowered her head and placed her tail between her hind legs, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Galena,” Balto asked, running after his sister and Duran, “what’s wrong?”

“Just—just leave me alone!” came the muffled response; Galena’s head was still buried in Duran’s fur.

XXI

“C—c’mon, Balto, Lyrie,” Aniu said, turning her head to the north. “Let’s…go….” She began to lead then north again, veering slightly east to bypass Kolkrines. As they passed the city, Aniu stole one last glance at her daughter, at Duran leading her away to a new life. “Goodbye, Galena.” Then she followed her pups silently, adopting their somber mood.

Two hours later, the wolf and her progeny decided to settle in for the night. The full moon was high in the sky as Aniu dug her den. She looked up to see Balto approach her.

“Where’s Galena?” the young dog asked innocently. “Why did you leave her?”

Aniu inhaled deeply and sighed before answering. “This is really hard to explain, Balto,” she replied eventually. “but I think it was meant to be. I think it was my destiny to do that. How your sister’s future intertwines with ours, I don’t know, but I can be sure that it will someday.”

Balto was silent for a moment. “You won’t leave me, will you, Mom?”

Aniu rubbed her muzzle against her son’s cheek. “Not that I can see coming up,” she said, chuckling. “Get to bed, Balto,” she continued a moment later. “We’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mom,” Balto replied, heading over to his own small den. “Night,” he told her, calling over his shoulder.

“Good night, Balto,” Aniu repeated. Then she covered her head with soft snow, placed her head on her forepaws and curled her tail around to sit over her muzzle, and fell asleep.

The next morning, the shallow sun rose on the small group, bathing the clearing in a soft, red light. Aniu was silent as she awoke and slowly woke Balto and Lyrie. “C’mon,” she reminded them, “it’s going to be another long day.”

After a small breakfast, they continued their journey northward, still not saying a word. Aniu tried to focus on the beauty of their surroundings so as not to think of Ara and Galena.

Here, as when they had been south of Kolkrines, hundreds of coniferous trees filled the landscape, stretching as far as the eye could see. The sky above was clear; no clouds could be seen in the pale expanse. A cool breeze ruffled her fur as she walked, and she heard the trickle of a nearby stream. The air was cold but fresh, and each breath brought a new wave of relief to her lungs.

Soon they came to a place where snow no longer covered the soft ground. The cool dirt of the Arctic forest floor seeped between Aniu’s paw pads, and she felt the occasional twig or needle on the ground. Aniu checked over her shoulder every few minutes to be sure Balto and Lyrie were following, and they were always there, expressions of hope and determination frozen on their faces.

Every week or so, they passed another town, but they encountered no difficulties as they passed the small cities. The possibility of a hunter was always in the back of Aniu’s mind, and so she was constantly on alert for them, but none appeared to her, and she walked.

They had stopped one night, and Aniu noticed Lyrie looked depressed. She approached her daughter. “What’s wrong, Lyrie?”

Lyrie was slow to respond. “Mom,” she began, “why is all this happening? Why did Anok and Shiraea attack us? Why did Dad and Ara die? Why did Galena leave?” She buried her head in Aniu’s fur as tears filled her eyes. “Why is everything going wrong?”

Aniu placed a forepaw on Lyrie’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I feel like it was meant to happen.”

Lyrie still would not be consoled. “But…why?”

Aniu was silent for a moment before responding. “Certain things just happen,” she told her daughter. “No one knows why they happen, but everything will work out eventually.”

Lyrie looked up at her mother and sniffed. “I…I guess you’re right. Night, Mom.”

She pulled away from he mother and began to settle into her den.

The wolf was chasing her—that was all Lyrie knew. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, desperate to get away from those devious yellow eyes, from that maw of teeth. She felt the soft earth give slightly under her pounding paws, saw the flashes of brown and gray shadows on the tree-covered mountainside, heard little but her own heavy panting and the snarls of her pursuer.

Many disconnected thoughts flashed through her mind as she fled: Who was chasing her? Where was she? Where was her family? How would she get home? How would she survive?

Without knowing why, Lyrie tried to steal a glance over her shoulder at the massive wolf. Another huge wave of fear crashed over her as she recognized the wolf as Anok—the wolf who had killed her sister, the wolf that had wanted to murder them all.

Yet even as she looked behind her, Lyrie tripped over a stone that protruded from the ground. She crashed into the ground, bruising her left shoulder, and gasped as she saw Anok throw himself at her.

Lyrie braced herself for the inevitable pain as she saw Anok launch himself off the ground, his eyes wild with rage, his great maw open, his tongue glistening with saliva. She shut her eyes tightly as Anok approached, and suddenly her head was filled with a burning, fiery, excruciating pain.

Lyrie was aware of the force of Anok’s strike, and she felt the wolf’s teeth tear into the side of her face, scratching across her cheekbone. She grimaced at the enormous amount of pain that shot through her body and struggled to stay conscious as a spasm ran through her body.

She gasped with relief as Anok then decided to ignore her and continue his maniacal charge to somewhere behind her, but that relief was suddenly changed to fear as a figure caught her eye at the corner of her vision. For she recognized the shape as that of her father.

“Dad!” she called desperately. “Dad!”

But Sango seemed oblivious to his daughter’s panicked cries. His head was turned away from her; he was talking to Aniu—

“Mom!” Lyrie cried. But no one answered. No one reacted. Anok reached the pair, claws outstretched. At the last second, Sango turned and saw the wolf nearing them. He dove in front of Aniu—

XXII

Lyrie awoke suddenly, panting heavily. “Dad! Mom!” she called quietly but desperately. Then she realized it all had been a dream. “Everything’s okay,” she reassured herself. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

She dug herself out of her den and looked around to make sure Aniu and Balto were still there. Then, satisfied that nothing had happened, she lay back down and tried to go back to sleep.

But sleep would not come, for she could not help but remember her nightmare: Anok, that pain, the suffering….

Finally, she decided to simply gaze upward at the stars. The tiny white dots littered the black sky, forming the outlines of countless constellations. In an instant, Lyrie nearly lost herself in the beauty of the night sky; and the vast expanse seemed inviting, longing for her to rise and join the stars in their positions miles above the earth. Then the darkness seemed to flow forward, engulfing her, and she was once again overcome by sleep.

She was trapped in an empty, shapeless, intangible void; the only solid surface was the invisible ground beneath her paws. She took a step or two forward, turning her head to look around, but she saw nothing. Then she looked upward and then downward. The blankness seemed to extend forever—no sky hovered above her, nothing could be seen beneath her.

It was only a few minutes before she began to panic. “Help!” she called. “Somebody help me!”

There was no response.

“Is anyone here?” she called again.

Again, she heard nothing.

Suddenly she heard a snarl behind her, and she whirled around to face the threat. But nothing was there. Then a second snarl split the air, followed by a yelp of pain that could be none other than Sango.

“Dad?” she asked anxiously, leaping toward the noise. Her paws swiped empty air. Then she heard a growl somewhere to her right, and her mother cried in pain, a muffled whimper.

“Mom? Mom, are you okay?” Lyrie called into the emptiness, but still she heard nothing.

She tried to approach the place where she knew Aniu could be dying at this very moment, but no something seemed to be holding her back.

She began to struggle against this unseen force, but her actions were in vain: she could not move.

She heard a strained voice behind her: “Lyrie, help me! I—I’m…I’m d-dying!”

She recognized the voice instantly as that of Balto, and she longed to help him. No sooner did she do so than a cacophony of snarls, yelps, and whimpers erupted and filled the air. She heard everyone call her name many times, increasing desperation filling their pained cries.

Without warning, Anok leapt up from behind her and sunk his teeth and claws into the back of her neck.

It was morning when Lyrie next awoke. The sky was dark, but the occasional bird would flutter from tree to tree, its song drifting through the air. The moon cast its soft light over her, illuminating the forest.

Then Lyrie stood and glanced around the clearing. She was the only one awake. A pang of hunger clawed at her stomach, but she ignored it.

Her thoughts suddenly turned to her dream from the night before. She only realized now how much she missed her father and sisters. The image of Sango’s death replayed itself in her mind: his head caught between the wall of the den and Shiraea’s ruthless attack, the lifeless slump of his body as his skull was nearly crushed by the force of the impact. Aniu’s words from the previous evening had been no consolation—there was no excuse for death, no reason for the loss and grief that gripped her heart. Why did they have to die?

She jumped, startled, as she felt a nudge on her shoulder. Turning, she saw it was Balto. “Oh, hi, Balto,” she said.

“Morning, Lyrie,” Balto said. “What are you doing?”

“I—I had a weird dream last night.” She paused before continuing. “I was just thinking about it.”

“About what?” Balto inquired.

Lyrie recounted her nightmare to her brother, watching his expression as she did so. She noticed that Balto seemed especially intrigued when she told of the second part of the dream.

“I wonder what that means,” Balto said once Lyrie finished her explanation.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Lyrie responded, and then she adopted a more mellow tone of voice. “Dad and Ara shouldn’t have died.”

Balto nodded in agreement. “No,” he said. “They should still be here. I wish we could have saved them.”

Lyrie sighed. “But there’s nothing we can do about it. We can never change the past.”

“You know, I miss Galena,” Balto said, glancing at the ground.

“Me too. I wish we could bring her back.”

Balto sat on the ground and sighed. “But I hope she’s happy now, wherever she is.”

A few minutes of silence passed, and the Balto spoke again. “What do you think we’ll do next? Where are our lives going?”

“I don’t know where we’ll end up,” Lyrie answered. “We could go anywhere.”

“There’s no way to tell for sure, at least for now.”

XXIII

Soon Lyrie raised her right forepaw and massaged her cheekbone, the memory of the wounds Anok had inflicted still fresh in her mind. She could still feel where the scars traced across her skin—small welts had formed that ran down the side of her face from the inside of her right eye to the corner of her jaw. Again, she could not help but remember that fateful day: it was etched into her memory forever, never to be forgotten.

A flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she saw that Aniu was awake. “Hi, Mom,” she said, yawning slightly.

Aniu yawned. “Morning Lyrie, Balto.”

“Mom,” Lyrie asked.

“What’s wrong, Lyrie?” Aniu replied.

“I had a dream about...about the fight in the den. When—when Dad and Ara…..” Her voice faded.

Aniu placed a paw on Lyrie’s shoulder and allowed her daughter to rub against her chest. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “I want nothing more than to forget that day.”

“Yeah,” Lyrie said.

Aniu was silent for a few moments. “C’mon,” she told them, “we’d better get going.”

“But why are we still going north?” Balto asked impatiently. “We’ve been doing this for months!”

“I need to do it for Sango,” Aniu replied. “You’ll understand someday.”

Balto shook his head, but he said no more.

A few hours later, Aniu began to hear a rush of water in the distance.

Lyrie ran forward several yards and gasped. She waited in shock as Balto and Aniu followed her to the small hill.

In front of them lay the Yukon River. The heat of late summer had melted most of the sheets of ice that normally coated the river, and the frigid water rushed past, whitecaps forming in an instant and disappearing just as quickly. The sound of the rushing river pounded in their ears as the torrent crashed over the rocks that lay in its path, threatening to carry anything that dared venture in downstream and hurl it against one of the boulders that lined the shores.

Balto looked up at his mother, a worried look in his eyes. “How do we get across?”

Aniu sighed before answering—the only apparent solution would surely amount to suicide. She glanced down at her son solemnly. “We swim.”

Balto adopted a questioning expression. “Swim?”

“Balto, Lyrie,” Aniu said, nodding, after a few seconds had passed, “get on my back.” She knelt and tried to calm herself as she felt her pups climb onto her shoulders. “Okay,” she told them, “listen. I need you to hold on to me as tightly as you can. And don’t let go for anything. Hold on and don’t let go. Okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” she heard Lyrie answer through clenched teeth.

Aniu waited for another agreement from Balto, and then she leapt into the raging river.

The first sensation Aniu felt was cold—a freezing, chilling, unrelenting cold that seemed to have no purpose other than seeping into her muscles and bones. Within an instant, she felt her muscles seize up, and her entire body went numb almost immediately.

Aniu soon became aware that the relentless current was carrying her downstream, her face in the path of the torrent, driving her within inches of hard, sharp rocks that surely meant death. She knew that it was only seconds before she would be thrown against the rocks. Even as she came to this conclusion, she noticed a huge boulder looming only a few feet behind her. She desperately twisted in the water so as not to crush Balto and Lyrie, and she braced herself for the impact.

Not a second later, she felt a crushing force strike her left shoulder, and for the first time her head dipped below the frigid water. She came up again, gasping for breath, and immediately her right side crashed into another boulder. There was no time to twist and save the pups now, though, and Aniu felt something press into her side as she struck the rock.

As soon as she was able, Aniu desperately called out her pups’ names. She heard no response. Almost immediately, she came upon a swell in the mighty river. A tug on her shoulders told her that Balto and Lyrie had been thrown off, dislodged by the sudden force of the water. Aniu’s cries became increasingly panicked as she caught a glimpse of what looked to be a chunk of ice that had been hewn to razor-sharp edges by the torrent of water.

Suddenly Aniu’s head struck a rock, and she was nearly knocked senseless by the impact. She became more disoriented than ever as she felt the river toss her limp body around, the sharp ice and rocks scraping her cheeks and shoulders. Only two thoughts scattered around her mind: herself and the safety of her pups. She hoped and prayed that they were still alive, despite the fact that she knew there was no way they could have survived. Her sides ached and twitched, and she did not doubt that she had broken several ribs during the many sharp impacts.

After what seemed like an eternity, another enormous swell lifted her and threw her onto the rocky shore. Aniu lay there for several minutes, panting heavily, bleeding from the cuts and scrapes that covered her body. Her breaths were long and shallow, and every fiber of her being ached with the fire of hell.

XXIV

Several agonizing minutes passed before Aniu was finally able to hoist herself onto her feet. Shivering, her eyes wide, she desperately scanned the shore for the bodies of her pups. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw two dark forms a hundred yards upstream. Aniu reached them within a few minutes and was further relieved to see that Balto and Lyrie were mostly uninjured.

Once she deemed that the pups were healthy enough to continue traveling, Aniu pressured them into turning west. At least they listen more now that they’re older, she thought. I wonder how long we can keep going, though. She regretted feeling relieved at Galena’s absence, for thought the pup had kept them at a relatively slow pace, she had helped to maintain the general mood of the group. 

Aniu’s prediction proved true: on the third day since the encounter with the Yukon River, a small town became visible far ahead of them A sign—clearly a marker on some long-forgotten trail—read: BISHOP MOUNTAIN: 3 MILES.

As she neared the town, Aniu told her pups to veer to the right—slightly north—and therefore allow them to bypass it altogether.

Suddenly the fur went up and the back of Aniu’s neck. She instructed Balto and Lyrie to sit behind her and squinted into the trees, scanning the deep shadows for any signs of life. A rustling sound to her right caught her attention, and she gasped, whirling around to face whatever had made the noise.

Crouching in the low brush not ten yards away, a hunter lowered the barrel of his gun straight at her. The man took a few seconds to sight her and make sure there was no way he could miss, and then he pulled the trigger.

Aniu saw a brief flash of dim light from the barrel of the rifle, and she instinctively ducked out of the way. She felt the bullet graze past her cheek as an ear-splitting boom resounded through the forest, echoing off the trees several times before fading to an eerie silence.

But Aniu would not—could not—stop to wait. Almost without thinking, she grabbed Balto and Lyrie by the scruffs of their necks and began to sprint away, her panicked gait carrying her as far to the west as she could go. She had no way of knowing whether or no the hunter was following her, or if there were more hunters stalking in the shadows, but those thoughts were driven out of her mind, secondary to the instincts of safety and life.

She ran for miles, not caring how far she went, not caring where the hunter was. A few more gunshots split the air, but all of them missed her, and she simply kept running.

Nearly an hour later, Aniu finally stopped. Her sides ached with fatigue, and her heavy panting was the only noise in the darkening forest. She set Balto and Lyrie on the ground and collapsed to the frozen dirt, a gripping feeling clutching her insides.

“What’s wrong Mom?” Balto asked, an anxious expression on his face. He touched his nose to Aniu’s shoulder, lifting a forepaw and rubbing her side.

“Nothing, Balto,” Aniu replied, gasping between breaths. “I’m just…just…tired.”

“Why are you tired, though, Mom?” Balto continued. “Let’s go!” He began to run off, curving between the trees that dotted the lichen-covered ground.

Lyrie put forward a forepaw a few seconds later, and Balto tripped, tumbling into the moss. “Don’t be an idiot, Balto,” she said. “Let Mom rest. She just ran who-knows-how-far, and I’m sure carrying us didn’t make it much easier.” She whimpered slightly as another bolt of pain shot through her cheek.

It was several minutes before the pain subsided enough for Aniu to stand. She stumbled to her feet and hung her head, placing her tail between her hind legs. “Stay here,” she told Balto and Lyrie, and she slunk off into the twilight forest.

Aniu’s path took her north, toward one of the mountains that loomed over the Alaskan tundra. Almost twenty minutes passed before she came to a cliff that looked to be a few hundred feet high. A shallow stream shimmered far below, little more than a glittering tendril in the dim light. She stared down—so far down—and eyed the relative blackness.

Why am I here, she thought, and not down there? What did I do to deserve this? I put all my effort into living a good life, and what happens? My mate died, my daughter died; Balto and Lyrie might be dying! And all this is because of me! If I hadn’t been born, I never would have met Sango, and he wouldn’t be dead. Ara wouldn’t be dead. Galena wouldn’t be gone. None of this would have happened if I wasn’t born!

She tore herself away from these thoughts and continued to stare into the darkness, contemplating her next actions. She glanced over her shoulder and was the red moon low on the horizon, bordering the smothering blackness of the sky and surrounding forest. Taking a few steps backward, Aniu turned back to again face the edge of that cliff, which was now almost invisible in the dim light of the scarlet moon.

Then she sighed. “I know I’ll regret this,” she whispered to herself.

She stepped forward.

The toes of her forepaws hung over emptiness when a shrill scream ran through the air: “Mom! No!”

Aniu struggled to stop her forward momentum as she recognized the voice as belonging to Lyrie. She swung her head around to see Lyrie emerge from the woods and enter the clearing, followed closely by Balto.

But it could not be enough—she still felt herself rushing forward, falling….

XXV

Suddenly, time stood still. Suddenly Aniu was crawling over the edge. The stars visible in the dark sky lazily drifted by and the shadows and forms of her pups were almost unmoving. Aniu heard a voice call desperately for Balto and Lyrie—a foreign voice, seemingly detached from physical reality. The voice was urgent and yet disappointed, rushed and yet dragged out over several seconds. It was ghostly, ethereal. It was not her own.

Yet even as she heard the voice, Aniu realized that it was her own—her lips formed the words, her mind longed for life, her consciousness formed the uncontrollable instinct to survive. And she was still falling.

Soon, Aniu became aware that there was no way Balto and Lyrie could reach her in time. They were too far away; her own head and chest now hung over the void, her forelegs grasping at empty space. And she was still falling.

Memories began flooding her panicked mind. She saw the image of her father’s broken body, saw herself will the body to dissolve, saw the corpse break into mist and drift away. She saw the black shadow envelop her, cutting and slashing at her until she was little more than a bleeding shred of life. She saw Sango, remembered when they became mates. She saw the Shiok, she saw Soren, heard his repeated encouragement through Anok’s constant torment. She saw Shiraea’s snarling face, saw the mangled mess of Sango’s face, again felt the uncontrollable rage that had pulsed through her veins. She relived that bloody battle to the death, those bloody, burning wounds, that victory when Shiraea was finally defeated—that vengeance toward the lives that could never be reclaimed. Now she was here once again, on this cliff. And she was still falling.

Aniu whirled around to glance at her pups, saw Balto’s jaws clasp around the tip of her tail, felt the slight tug as her momentum decreased ever so slightly. But to her dismay, it was not enough—Balto was pulled along with her, and now they were both going to die. And she was still falling.

It was at that instant that one final memory came to Aniu—something Sango had told her just after they had met: The moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you die. She felt a sense of warmth come over her then, a feeling she recognized instantly. It was the feeling Sango’s presence had brought to her life, the love that he had shown her and given her, the love that outlasted the husky’s death.

Now, when she knew she should be afraid, panicked, terrified that she and Balto were going to die, Aniu was calm and composed. The edge of the cliff still retreated farther away every second; the ground grew nearer with every passing moment. Aniu felt the rush of air buffet her fur, and she contently closed her eyes. At least she would die in peace.

But soon Aniu opened her eyes again, for she felt Sango’s warmth once more. For a second time, the world seemed to be still as she realized her fall was slowing. The trickling stream was still far below, and the edge of the cliff was several feet away, but now she was almost stopped in midair, held by some invisible force. Then she heard Sango’s voice, once again repeating his words of all those months ago: I knew I couldn’t let you die.

A glance to her right told Aniu that Balto was also being saved. But her grin of relief vanished as she saw that his eyes were squeezed shut, his ears back, his mouth agape in a sorrowful wail. “Balto….” she tried to say, but her son was evidently oblivious to her call.

It was then that Aniu realized that the ground seemed to be moving farther away. She stole a glance upward and saw Lyrie staring down at them in disbelief. Again, Aniu made an attempt to call to her, again there was no response.

Aniu and Balto continued to rise, held by Sango’s supernatural love for them, but Aniu became worried when she realized that Lyrie still had not moved. The girl’s expression of shock was enough for her to speculate on what had happened. “No,” she whimpered to herself, “don’t tell me she’s….” A tear leaked from her eye and traced a wet path down her cheek. She gazed upward longingly at the stars. “Be safe, Lyrie.”

At last, Aniu saw the edge of the cliff dip below her line of sight. Sango’s power carried her and Balto toward the edge of the clearing, and they gently fell to earth. The moment Aniu’s paw touched the soft ground, she rushed over to Lyrie, fearful of the death of her last daughter. Trepidation overwhelmed her as she stared at Lyrie’s frozen expression, the girl’s eyes wild with terrified shock.

“Lyrie?” Aniu asked tentatively. “Lyrie?” There was no response.

Then she glanced at Balto once again. The sky was nearly black now—the only light came from the moon and stars—and al she could make out was her son’s silhouette, hunched over and still sobbing heavily.

Sighing, Aniu turned back to Lyrie and licked her daughter’s cheek.

The moment her wet tongue touched Lyrie’s cold fur, Aniu jumped, startled, as Lyrie suddenly twitched.

Now fully conscious, Lyrie turned to her left. She yelped when she saw her mother, stepping backward as she did so. “M-mom—you—you’re…a-alive? B—but…h-how?” Lyrie stared at her mother, bewildered.

“Yes,” Aniu replied. “Thank you. If not for you, I would be dead.” She knelt down and licked the top of Lyrie’s head.

XXVI

Lyrie was still confused. “But—but what…what did I do? I didn’t save you from the cliff. You fell, and then you were right here. What happened? It’s like you—like you teleported or something.” She violently shook her head. “No, I must be going crazy or something.”

“No, dear,” Aniu told her daughter. “Sango saved me from the cliff. I think he only did it, though, because you tried to save me.”

Lyrie glanced at her mother quizzically and continued to stare at the ground.

Aniu sighed. “You don’t know it, Lyrie, but I had given up on life. I’ve done everything I though I could do to make my life worthwhile, but then Sango died. Galena is off doing who-knows-what with Duran, and I thought you and Balto might be dying. But you followed me. Why did you follow me, Lyrie?”

Lyrie sat and was silent for a moment before answering. “I thought you’d be back soon. When you didn’t come back, Balto and I started to get worried, and I decided to follow you. I saw you about to jump, so I tried to save you.”

 She buried her head in her forepaws. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“No,” Aniu said. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you saved my life.” She rubbed her muzzle against Lyrie’s cheek. “I love you, Lyrie.”

Lyrie lifted her head. “Love you too, Mom.”

Then Aniu shifted her gaze towards Balto. She frowned as she saw that he was still crying, head on the ground. She walked over to her son, touching her nose to his shoulder.

Slowly, Balto looked up, the occasional tear still leaking from his eye. “M...mom?” he whimpered. “Are we...are we dead?”

Aniu smiled. “No, Balto, we’re not dead.”

“But—but I thought we fell of the cliff.”

“You—you did,” Lyrie said. “And—and I thought…I thought you were dead. “But Mom said Dad saved you.”

Balto looked at his sister, puzzled. Soon he stood and rubbed the side of his head against Aniu’s fur. Then he touched Lyrie’s muzzle.

Lyrie found herself suspended above a massive cave, held by an invisible force that crossed her neck and chest. Hundreds of feet below her—far enough that she knew a fall meant certain death—she saw the indistinct form of some kind of struggle. The blurs of light and dark were caught in perpetual motion, flashing over each other in the blink of an eye.

The forms began to gradually come into focus, and she saw now that they were vaguely canine. They were still unrecognizable, but Lyrie could tell that the lighter-colored one appeared to be covered in blood. A few specks of red dotted the darker wolves’ fur, but they looked to be otherwise unscathed. Then the vicious, aggravated cried and sounds of the battle below reached her ears.

She heard yelps and snarls, grunts of pain and growls of blind rage. It was evident that it was a fight to the death.

As the battle raged on, Lyrie found herself cringing at every wound the lighter wolf suffered. She wanted it to win; she wanted it to somehow kill the dark wolves. But she knew from what she saw that it would be defeated, it would die.

The image finally became completely clear, and Lyrie gasped. She still did not know the dark wolves, but now she recognized the lighter wolf: it was Aniu.

Yet even as she watched, she saw one of the darker wolves slash at Aniu’s neck, and a fountain of blood erupted from near the base of her skull. She gazed on in shock as her mother collapsed to the ground, her blood staining the floor of the cave. “M—” she tried to call, but the words refused to come.

Then the force that held her vanished, and she plummeted toward the cold, hard, bloody stone floor.

It was night, but Lyrie could not see the dark sky through the hysterical tears that filled her eyes. Why was this happening? What was the meaning—no, what was the purpose—of these dreams?

Lyrie abruptly pulled herself out of her den, blinking away the tears. Guided only by the moonlight, she made her way over to the mound of snow she guessed concealed Aniu and bent down until her muzzle rested an inch above the soft white powder.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered, “but I just can’t take it anymore. I’ll never understand why all this happened. It doesn’t matter what you try to tell me—they died for no reason! Everything I ever did with them was pointless!” She broke down in hysteria and darted off into the woods. Her heartbroken sobs could still be heard long after her figure faded into darkness.

Aniu awoke nearly two hours later, her instincts telling her that something was not right. She pulled herself out of the snow and cautiously glanced around the clearing. The dim light of the moon made it difficult so see, but she instantly recognized Lyrie’s scent. She padded over to where it originated and gasped as she found nothing by a depression in the snow. She glanced to where her daughter’s scent led. Her heart sank as she realized it led away from the clearing and into the deep, dark forest. And there was no trace of it anywhere near where she was.

XXVII

“Lyrie?” she called. “Lyrie?” When she heard no response, she began to panic. She whirled around frantically, searching for any sign of her last daughter. She bounded away from the clearing, following the faint trail of Lyrie’s scent, but soon she glanced back over her shoulder. For a moment, she contemplated leaving Balto, but she had never been a good tracker—she would be sure to lose the trail very soon. Regretfully, Aniu turned back and returned to where Balto was sleeping. She gently nudged the sleeping wolfdog with her muzzle.

Balto stirred and opened his eyes. “Whaa...?”

“C’mon, Balto,” Aniu said. “We need to keep going.”

“A-again?” Balto asked. “We’ve been doing this for what seems like forever. It has to be time to stop.”

“Not yet,” Aniu said, sighing. “We both still need to complete our journey.”

Balto stood slowly and glanced around the clearing. “Is Lyrie up yet?” he asked, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice as he did not see his sister.

Aniu was silent for a moment. “She’s gone,” the wolf replied bluntly. “She left last night.”

“Where is she?” Balto asked.

“She went that way,” Aniu told him, pointing to the south. “But how far, I don’t know. She could be miles away by now.”

“We need to follow her,” Balto said suddenly, his expression quickly hardening. “If she’s in danger, we need to try to save her.”

Aniu shook her head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Balto, but we need to keep going west. It’s—it’s just meant to be.” She paused and looked to the sky, willing him to somehow understand.

The power and knowledge that she had felt only twice before flowed through her, and she saw Balto’s aggravated expression change to one of acceptance and content.

“Let’s go,” Balto said after a long pause. He began to walk to the west, following a trail only he could see.

Aniu sighed again and moved to a position in front of her son.

The town of Nome was only several hundred yards away when Aniu came to a shocking realization: she knew she would not be able to go on much longer. Already she had struggled for weeks to take the remains of her single litter from the Shiok pack to this very spot, but much of her effort had been futile, in vain.

And she knew that soon she would die. She kept looking back to Balto, to the last of her family, to life, just to remind herself that all was not lost. But he was always there, just a few feet behind her, the steely nerve of determination not lost in his hardened expression. Every few minutes she would utter another word or two of encouragement to drive her only son father, and he would always obey her without question. She knew that Balto was still young; he was still shy, still dependent upon her to help him survive. But it was solely because of this that she worried for his safety. Sango was gone. Ara was gone, Galena was gone, and now Lyrie, the firstborn, the one who had always seemed to be the most mature of the litter, was gone too, driven to madness by the trauma and struggles that had defined the whole of her life.

But she, Aniu, had pressed on. Everyone else had gone, but she and Balto would complete their quest of life. Even as this thought reached her mind, a wave of weakness overcame her, and she knew her time was at hand. She was so close, and yet those feet seemed like miles to her, so unbelievably far.

Aniu carefully lay Balto down on the snow outside the town, pressing him against her chest in an effort to warm him from the blizzard that whirled around her. “My son,” she whispered, a frozen tear dripping down her cheek, “I have failed you.” For now she knew she was going to die.

Her thoughts momentarily abandoning Sango and her two daughters, Aniu began to recollect all that had happened to her. She tenderly lay over her only son, remembering her experiences from when she had been Adera.

“Deep in the night

The winds blow cold

And in a heartbeat

The fear takes hold”

Aniu softly sang this to her son, letting the pup know of the journey she had endured all her life. For these had been the circumstances of her own birth; she had been the only one of her litter to survive.

“Deep in the storm

There’s a place that’s soft and still

Where the road waits to be taken

If you only will”

Here, Aniu told of her father’s sudden death and of the subsequent encounter with that mysterious white wolf.

“The voices inside you

Can lead your soul astray

Believe in what you dream

Don’t turn away, don’t turn away”

Aniu had felt some degree of responsibility for her father’s death, and yet she knew it was right for her to become the goddess of wolves.

“Reach for the light

You might touch the sky

Stand on a mountain top

And see yourself flying

Reach for the light

To capture a star

Come out of the darkness

And find out who you are”

Aniu remembered what Soren had told her all those months ago, but she also knew that the pup was destined for greatness. Here she drew upon the old wolf’s advice while adding encouragement of her own. She knew he would face hate for his pedigree, but he would overcome it and achieve his dream.

“Somewhere in time

The truth shines thought

And the spirit knows

What it has to do

“Somewhere in you

There’s a power with no name

It can rise to meet the moment

And burn like a flame

“And you can be stronger

Than any fear you know

Hold on to what you see

Don’t let it go, don’t let it go”

These verses held a double meaning for Aniu: the told of her quest for the safety of the very pup that now lay cradled against her fur, but also of Balto’s own future journey in life.

“There’s no turning back

Your destiny is calling

Listen to the thunder roll

And let your heart break free”

At this, Aniu lifted her head and let out one final, mournful howl into the darkening sky. Balto needed this inspiration later in life. She could not guess how she knew this; all she knew was that it was imperative that she told him.

“Yes, reach for the light”

The thought crossed her mind that she might be able to stay alive and help her son as he grew up. She summoned the energy and began to concentrate on her own life, and the strength arrived in her body. A second later, however, all her energy disappeared, and she collapsed to the snow, weaker than she had ever been in her life. She felt the frigid air bite at her nose and cheeks, and soon her fur was fringed with a crust of ice.

Aniu struggled to pull Balto closer as shards of frozen snow bombarded her face, cutting her cheeks and flying down her throat. Every breath was a nightmare; every movement brought more pain, more bleeding from the many cuts and scratches that already covered her face and body. She laboriously turned her head away from the wind, laying it on the ground. She struggled to move her lips and form words, but even the simple action eluded her.

Reduced only to fragmented thought, Aniu breathed her last: Go on, Balto. Live and do great things. Then she allowed herself to be swept away. Her body dissolved and became part of the blowing snow, and she was gone.

To Be Continued

Aniu and Balto (c) to Universal. All other characters (c) me