Wolves of the Beyond 02 - Shadow Wolf

of my second Milk Giver, Thunderheart, on the north-facing slope of the salt lagoons.”
    But the snarling of the wolves and the call for the tearing drowned out his words. “I wanted to honor the malcadh . I had planned to carve the bones!”
    “The murderer carves the bones!” Cathmor shrieked. “You are sick!”
    “Sick! Tear him apart. Let the slow tearing begin!”
    Liam MacDuncan recovered his voice. “The murder of a malcadh by a wolf is indeed the most grievous crime a wolf can commit, and the punishment for such a crime is that the wolf be torn apart by all the packs of all the clans, led by the Obeas. It is to be a slow tearing, as we call it. You will not receive the grace of a quick slash to the life-pumping artery. There is no lochinvyrr for the victim, as this is not a worthy life, nor must the meat be touched, for it is not morrin and will not sustain our lives.The bones are stripped and set out for the ravens, and the bones themselves are burned, never to be carved. Is that understood?”
    “Why should I dignify this question with an answer when I did not commit the crime but rather brought you the bones of that poor malcadh that show beyond any doubt the true murderer?” Faolan said all this in a quiet voice. His tail did not lower one bit. His ears were still shoved forward. “There is a nick in those bones. You will see it if you look carefully. You will see it on the bones I have brought and the bone that Heep put forth as evidence, as well as his story bone. But that nick was not made by any of my teeth.”
    A silence had fallen upon the gadderheal as Faolan spoke. The wolves were not sure what significance the nick held, but Faolan at least had caught their attention. Then came a rustling, and wind seemed to blow through the room. Hoarse whispers started up. “The Sark. The Sark. What’s she doing here?”
    The Sark lurched through the ranks of lords and clan officers. She began pacing back and forth in front of the chieftain.
    “It might pay to attend to the words of the gnaw wolf Faolan.” She swung her head abruptly around and steppedclose to Heep, who shrank back and sank into a posture of submission. “Your ‘evidence,’ Heep, is very interesting.”
    It was only because of the mystique, the aura of unnatural power that always seemed to surround her, that the Sark was not instantly removed. The same sergeant who had body-slammed Faolan started to move forward, but Cathmor gave a silent signal and he immediately stepped back.
    “Might you be so good, Heep, as to let me examine your story bone?” Heep was writhing in submissive gestures, which the Sark completely ignored.
    “I offer this bone not only as art but as a testimony of a heinous crime,” Heep said in a somewhat strangled voice.
    “Ah, yes, testimony. You know what the word means, I assume?” The Sark continued to walk back and forth, swishing her raggedy tail. Her ruff looked as if it were being lashed into a froth by its own private typhoon from the Sea of Vastness to the north. Her bad eye had settled into a slow spinning motion while the other held steady on the floor.
    “Yes, I think so,” replied Heep. “I mean a humble wolf such as myself might not have the wits to appreciate the…the…”
    “The subtler nuances, shadows, of the word? Is that what you were about to say?”
    “Yes, yes, that’s it exactly.”
    “Well, let me enlighten you. Testimony offers evidence of the truth. The truth, I repeat. The truth itself is not nuanced or shadowed, but evidence can be subtly altered if worked, gnawed, or manipulated.” The Sark paused dramatically and then, as if she had not a care in the world, said casually, “Might I see the bone—the story bone?”
    “Of course!” Heep got up and dropped the bone at the Sark’s front paws. The hush was so thick in the room, one could have heard fur shedding.
    “Ah!” said the Sark, rolling the bone under her paw. “A nice bone, a rib, I believe, of a moose. Generous expanse of working surface, offering a good spread for your narrative”—she paused to correct herself—“oh, pardon me—your ‘evidence.’”
    “Yes, evidence, Madame Sark. Along with the bone of the malcadh , carved by Faolan,” Heep said.
    “Yes, and I see here a very distinctive tooth mark made by a right lateral carnassial.” She paused. “A nick! Indeed, as Faolan pointed out, the same mark as on the bone with the exquisite carving by Faolan. So boththe bone you carved for