Several days, perhaps a week, passed in much the same outward manner.
But Sylviana, with her now practiced eye, began to observe a subtle
change in him, and this troubled her. Always now when his attention was
not required for some physical task, his eyes and mind seemed to rove
about him, as if expecting the walls to come suddenly to life and undo
him. She began to fear that despite all her caution she had given him
too much to think about, too many questions to grapple with. And she
wondered what hidden Pandora's box she had opened inside him.
Her concern was well justified, and her guesses not far from the truth.
Two things had occurred simultaneously which had made him very
uneasy. And in his mind, once more isolated, they seemed indelibly
linked, a kind of hard message from the nameless God, which he must
unravel and accept.
The first thing that troubled him was the rebound of harsh winter
weather. For a time the days had turned relatively mild, and he had
secretly hoped that the worst was passed. But his optimism was
premature. The Cold World was a long way from spent.
The second occurrence, inevitable though it might have been, was the
discovery, real or imagined, of a spiritual world to parallel the
physical. Always before the wind had been simply wind, the sun, sun,
and his environment, with its natural currents and disturbances, just
and only that. If forced to give a name to these patterns and fluxes of
life and death, he would merely have said Nature', or the
ways of the Valley'.
But with the introduction of religion into his thoughts and
observations, came its often inseparable counterpart: superstition. Was
there an intelligence behind the winds and storms around him, the
dangers and trials of his world? For if so, clearly they bore him no
good intention, and possibly considerable malice. Why now, when he was
hurting and most needed mild weather, was he confronted by the harshest
Winter he had ever experienced?
But this was just the tip of the iceberg. If there truly was a God,
then why the innumerable and inexplicable tragedies of his life, both
great and small? And most poignant of all to him: WHY WAS SHAMA DEAD?
All the other deaths and injuries he had known could perhaps, with an
effort, be rationalized. But why a mere child, healthy and intelligent,
with his whole life ahead of him?
He did not forget the other miracles of his life: the fact that he had
been born at all, that he had survived the many pitfalls of his
existence, and come against considerable odds to find the woman-child,
whom he loved. He remembered the Voice, but could not make its words
correspond to those of the Bible.
And why, now, did he feel as if some tangible force resisted and sought
to undo him? What was his sin? Was it because he refused, out of
ignorance, to acknowledge the power and supremacy of the one true God?
If he obeyed His rules and precepts, would He then smile upon him, and
make his life more bearable? And the final nail, as it always has been,
was the burning question that neither Sylviana, nor anyone or anything
else could answer for him. Was the spirit eternal, and if so, was there
a way to come to paradise after death, and be reunited with the ones he
loved?
It was for him a crushing burden, feeling that his decision, his answer
to God, held the key not only to his own spiritual salvation, but to
that of those he loved more than his own life. It was for this reason
that he could not open his heart to Sylviana. She did not believe; she
had said so. But what if she was wrong? Surely if such a being
existed, He must be obeyed and appeased. God the Father. Was he then
like Barabbas, a stern and forceful leader?
It was all too much for him. How could he, an ignorant hunter and
trapper, come to grips with the maker of the stars? Perhaps God was
right to curse him and laugh at him. He was small, foolish and evil.
Kalus was on the verge of despair. His body would not heal, and the
Cold World would not relent. How much longer could he trick himself
into going on, when he was eternally being resisted and punished because
of his ignorance?
It was a cold and cheerless night, as he climbed slowly up out of the
gorge with his meager prize: a small rabbit, that by some fluke had not
died immediately in his snare, but had to be killed after hours of
torment and fear. He had all but decided that he could no longer live
this way, that he must hunt as a man or perish. But even this small
dignity was not afforded him, since still the others must eat.
He stepped back onto the ledge with the cub beside him. The tiger was
gone. He knocked wearily on the door, his body aching, and after a
short time which seemed far longer, Sylviana opened it. Her face was
full of concern, but he had not the strength to pretend that things were
better than they were.
He cooked the rabbit without a word, and divided out the portions. The
three ate silently, and even the cub seemed subdued, sensing her
master's mood. Kalus placed the tiger's share outside the door,
wrapped his fur tighter, and sat like a troubled stone before the fire.
Sylviana could stand it no longer.
'Kalus, what is it? What's wrong?'
'I can't talk about it,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'
'Why are you shutting me out again?'
'Sylviana, please.' Her tone changed when she saw his eyes. Pain
she had seen in them, and anger. Even resignation to death. But this
pleading, tearful sorrow, as if his spirit was cornered and in
torment.....
'It's all right,' she said softly, kneeling beside him. She
wanted to comfort him with caresses and kind words, but something held
her back. Better to let the dam burst on its own.
'Well, can we talk about something else?'
'If you like.' He mastered himself, became calm.
'You never told me about the wolves: why Kamela was so bitter, and
why Akar left the cub behind.' Here, he thought, was a chance to
escape his own feelings.
'It's a long story,' he began, 'And many parts I don't
know for certain. But from things I have learned, and from things I
knew before, I think I can tell you this much.' He shifted positions,
trying to lessen the discomfort in the small of his back.
'For Kamela, I believe her tragedy was two-fold. First, if I read
the signs right---I knew something of the pack before the coming of the
Changed One---I believe that Akar was her first love. He had chosen her
to be his mate, and she him.
'But the pack must be ruled by a single master, and that master,
Akar's brother, had also chosen her. There are many things a leader
must consider, and emotion is not the first concern of wolves. Shaezar
claimed her, and she yielded to his will.
'Akar could not, would not cross his brother, but he was deeply hurt.
In bitterness he left the pack for a time, and it was then that Shar-hai
made his move. He killed Shaezar, fairly or unfairly, and took his
place as leader. For Akar the result was true banishment, and
unforgiving self-reproach. For Kamela..... Shar-hai must have made her
life a living Hell. You have seen the long scar on her underside.'
'NO.' She spoke truly.
'She did her best to hide it..... I believe that she was brutally
raped, probably more than once. Also, it is very rare to have only one
cub. I think that Shar-hai and his guard must have killed the others.
He let Alaska live because she was no threat to him, and might provide
further amusement.'
'My God, that's awful.'
'Yes. That is why she was not afraid to die. She still loved Akar,
of that I am sure. And he loved her. But she could never overcome the
shadow that was left on her soul. You cross a line, Sylviana. . .and
everything becomes so black.'
She sensed that he was close to breaking. But for all her pity, she
knew what she must do. One last push.
'But why did Akar leave the cub with us? It seems so cruel.'
His eyes flamed at this. 'The true wolves do nothing out of cruelty.
It was for her own safety, and to leave a part of himself with you.'
He got up and began to pace, an uncontrollable rage rising inside him.
'CRUEL?' he fumed, throwing off the fur like an unwanted burden,
and waving his arms as if struggling in a net. 'I'll tell you
what's cruel.....
'Skither lives his whole life, an unselfish warrior for the good, and
dies by violence far from his home. Kamela does what is expected of
her, Akar does what he feels in his heart, and both are punished and
bereft. An eight year old boy---' He wept. 'An eight year old
boy, Sylviana, makes the one mistake of his life..... And he is KILLED
for it. While your God.....' All at once he let out a roar.
'WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!' he shouted at the walls.
'What gives you the right to make hard rules, and pass out life and
death in judgment? You are not wise, you are not strong. YOU ARE NOT
GOD! I reject this fear! I reject this lie! I will not serve the
fearful creation of MEN!'
And suddenly the burden was lifted. He stood shaking, his face wet.
But in that brief moment when the life inside him had shouted back at
the Night, rejecting it and all its works, he was free, and once more
true to himself, to the God that was in him. His doubts remained, but
he would not follow that tortured path one step further.
Sylviana went to him and embraced him, this time without reservation.
His grateful arms wrapped around her. He dried his eyes against her
neck and shoulder, then stepped back, looking down.
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I feel as if I've condemned us
all.'
'Or saved us. Don't you see?'
'But if you don't believe, and I don't.....'
'I never said I didn't believe in God, Kalus. I just don't
believe in religion. Faith is about Faith. Religion is about
control.'
'But---'
'Listen to me, Kalus. You don't have to punish yourself to
believe in something positive, something larger than yourself. You
don't have to choose between Hells.'
'But the Bible---'
'Was written, translated, and ALTERED by men. Saint Paul may have
been a good man, but he never ever met Jesus; and I believe that
Saints' Jerome and Augustine distorted Christ's words almost
beyond recognition. Between them, and with lots of help from the
Catholic Church---Jesus never said anything about chastity, or that the
bodies God gave us were inherently evil---they set loose a fear of
devils and damnation that was the scourge of the western world for two
thousand years: from the slaughters of Charlemagne, to the Inquisition
and the Holocaust.
'You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.'
THAT'S what Jesus said, and THAT'S what I believe. There is truth
everywhere---in Shakespeare, in Dickens, in YOU. You know as much as
anyone, about your own life, infinitely more.' She softened, and put
a hand to his cheek. 'Trust your heart, Kalus. That's what
it's there for.'
He looked into her eyes, and the light of day came back to him. 'You
are very wise. I should have come to you sooner.'
'Some lessons we have to learn for ourselves. You taught me
that.'
'Do you think.....' He struggled again, before the question that
lay behind all others. 'Do you think that you could ever. . .love
me, Sylviana?'
'I'm beginning to think I could. Now go wash off that grime, and
I'll show you.'
'Aren't you afraid---'
'Tonight you have to be afraid of me. Now go wash yourself, before I
do it for you.'
He went to the basin, and as the water splashed across him, felt both
body and spirit cleansed. From here forward, he vowed, he would choose
life over spiritual death, love over fear. This life was the only one
he knew, his mind and heart the only guides he would ever have in it.
And as he half-tearfully dried himself, he felt moved as he rarely had
been. He went down on his knees, clutched his hands before him, and
said to the nameless God.
'Thank you for my life.'
Again the two made love, and for Kalus the beauty and release were no
less than on their first such communion. Sylviana knew only warmth and
pleasure and affection, and as she drew him near, rejoiced to feel the
life and strength that were in him, even now.
And in the heart and essence of their love, was the essence of true God:
the Universal, and unnamable spirit within all Life.