Rayne Kell

This is the tale of a forgotten place in a forgotten land. A world which is so very much like our own, yet so different. It is an exotic, untamed land, with creatures of wonder that our eyes have never seen. This place, known only as "the land" to the creatures within it, has another name, given by the people of this world. We call it Tarma. This world was once real, as real as the book, which you are now reading. But it came to a tragic end after the fifth war. Now, it only exists in the mind and imagination of those privileged and entrusted to read this manuscript, and to carry the last of Tarma with them. This is the place, the setting, for the tale of Rayne Kell.

This proud being came into existence the fourth day of the eighth month, in the year of the lion. She was a strong warrior, fiercely loyal, and astonishingly wise. But it was not by chance she became these things. Her life was fraught with troubles and events that shaped, fostered, created that sense within her. Before we go too much farther, I will have to tell you one thing. Rayne Kell, like her descendants after her, is a wolf - a silver wolf, to be exact. Now at this point you are probably questioning "wait a minute, wolves can't talk, much less write" And you would be correct in that assertion. In this world they cannot, they have become wild beasts, dumb, and mute.

But in Tarma, they could.

"Wait!", you still protest, "how do you know about this place? When it existed far and away from here." Ah, my friend, wait and see, I had met the last of the Tarmainans, a wolf by the name of Dayne who told me tales of this wonderful land, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Dayne became the means to tell the tales of Tarma, to keep it alive by keeping it alive in the minds of those who will read this, and remember.

~~

When the great firestorm threatened their land, Tarma, the few that could burrowed underground. Great heat swept the plains, killing all that remained on the surface. Dayne, as clever as her forbearer, Rayne, saw this, and sought to hide from the upcoming danger. Though she also tried to encourage her pack to follow, they would not listen of one from the lineage of the outcast, as she had been called. So she continued on, alone.

She would not remain to watch them die, and feel the same pain that Rayne once felt. One day she discovered an unusually deep burrow, made by some sort of mole creature, though far too large, and dug it out to make her own escape. Beneath the crust of the earth, where the dwarves and dark creatures had been dwelling since the dawn of time, the creatures of the light were driven, and became as dark as the natural inhabitants of those surroundings. Dayne Kell was now among them.

It was a savage existence, one to be wished on no man. But to a wolf, adaptation to these surrounding was easy. So many sick and weak; Dayne survived for months, eating the rats and her fellow escapees from the surface. Now to a man, this thought would have been highly distasteful, but to Dayne, the feral creature she was, like her grand-dam before her; it didn't deserve a second thought.

Months went by, down below, hidden from the light existence. She survived and did so quite efficiently, until one day. She could not have told you the day or date, for time was irrelevant down there. All days flowed into the next without the rising and setting of the sun to mark their passage. But this day, the day she remembered for the rest of her life, something changed.

Dayne was on a hunt for a fresh supply of water, the pool she had been lapping from, was quite dried up by a band of mismatched rogues. So she had to find other resources, for if she weakened, she would surely become the prey to another's growling stomach. She turned the bend and wandered upon a pool of silver metal-water, it writhed as if in some eternal turmoil; though giving the impression that maybe, just maybe, it had been a peaceful clear pool once. She journeyed closer, cautious and aware. The pool shimmered as if in response to her presence, as if it was alive and somehow was beckoning her to come.

But Dayne only knew one thing, this pool was definitely not water, and though she didn't know what it was, she certainly knew it wasn't of use to her. She wandered away. Yet, in the days to follow as resources became even scarcer, she found herself wandering back to that pool and gazing into its mysterious surface, attempting to drive its secrets from it, with simply the feral stare of a wolf.

One day, she could resist the urge no longer; she would die of thirst if she did not drink. She had not the energy to go elsewhere and look, so she returned to the pool. Tentatively, one step at a time, as if expecting it to jump out and grab her, she moved towards the shimmering surface. As her forepaw touched the edge of the pool, a rainbow shimmered across the face of the water. She retreated in fear, cowering and almost forgetting herself by releasing a whimper.

'This is an enchanted pool,' she thought with misery 'it is surely cast so I will not quench my thirst and something horrible will happen.' But her sorrow and foresight could not change the facts of the situation. She could not survive without something to drink. So she approached it again. 'May the creator forgive me.' Dayne thought, thinking for sure she was causing her own death. This time, as she neared, the rock beneath her paws gave way, and she felt herself falling, tumbling, and finally splashing, into the metallic water.

In any other time she would have taken this all in stride, simply swimming to the surface and pulling herself from the pool. But in this pool, which she had supposed quite shallow, proved to be another matter entirely. She felt herself being pulled, tugged under, dragged down and then bashed against rocks further harming her already bruised and battered body.

She had not strength to survive this, but only quiet resignation overtook her. She supposed this was a better death than many, but hardly the honorable death befitting a wolf of her stature. Yet, she would not feed the dark creatures with her carcass, sustaining them one day more on their hunt for her brethren.

As soon as it had begun, it stopped. Only darkness met her eyes, and a faint hum met her ears. She barely believed it could be true, wondering instead if this was the form of death of which wolves never talked. But when a forelimb stirred with her bidding and the sweet smell of spring honeysuckle met her curious nose; she could hardly deny the fact. And when a howl, so much like her own, met her ears, she was fairly ecstatic with joy.

Her head lifted from off her paws, and one quick movement later she was completely alert and fully to her feet. She didn't know of this place, but she was surely not going to wait here, she was going to investigate this! She began off at a walk, stalking the noise of the other pack. It was definitely not of her own; the tones were all wrong. They sounded wild as herself, but somehow… dumber. Wandering, another curious noise caught her senses, the sound of something with a low mechanical hum. She heard something like this in the great palace of the queen, but somehow this was more intense, more persistent, and more -- tamed.

Bright lights shot across suddenly, blinding her view; she could not conceive what this was. Her eyes glinted off the yellow lights, but by the time she realized the lights were coming towards her at terrifying speed, it was too late to prevent the collision. Dayne, the wild, the proud, was run down mercilessly by an oncoming car.

Tumbling, she found herself being thrown down an embankment, harder and more abrasive than any stone material she had ever before encountered. The last thing she saw before she was claimed by the darkness, was some man, emerging from a metal carriage of some sort. But she was weak, she could not prevail against the injury, and her head dropped lifelessly to her paws.

The next thing she remembered, with her second brush with death in so many days, was waking up so very sore. Her eyes were still closed, but her body fairly throbbed with pain. Dayne's nerves were raw, forming the last string of evidence that she was indeed still alive, despite all the abuse she had been dealt over the last months.

A slow slit formed on one yellow eye, surveying her surroundings. Suddenly, without warning and with as little thought she jumped up from her curled up position and flew into a rage; growling and pacing with hackles raised. 'A CAGE!' she screamed mentally 'Of all the indignities..!'. But at that moment her mental rant was stopped short as an opening metal wall distracted her. From beyond the gray metal swinging towards her. emerged a man, strangely clothed in thin smooth clothing the likes of which Dayne had never before seen.

She was as curious about this sight as she was full of rage at being caged up. Rayne emitted a low growl that spoke her anger more effectively than any words could ever do justice. That growl was the language of the wolf, and understood by all who feared their power.

But the man, despite Dayne's anger and expectation, did not utter a hasty apology, or even back away in fear! Dayne was furious! How dare he do this to her, mighty beast!? He simply cast an interested eye her way, making some sort of detached observation of her condition. Then a slight glint of something that resembled personality shown in his eye (though Dayne later denied all accounts of personality in this soul).

The worse hit Dayne as he began speaking to her in a sickeningly condescending tone. "Hello Wolfy, I'm glad to see you pulled through…" He began, calmly. Dayne seethed 'WOLFY!?' she screamed silently to herself. How DARE this man so little respect for her? Did he wish for his own death?! Again, his words interrupted her ranting. "We didn't think you would survive, Wolfy. It seems the wildness runs strong through your blood." He ended absently, fiddling with a small instrument in his light overcoat pocket.

At that moment, when he foolishly took a step towards the cage. Dayne could take no more of this indignity silently, and threw herself at the cage door with a savage growl. An angry growl that, in a way, he should have understood, but somehow didn't. This only angered her further. This time, however, she had the satisfaction of seeing him step back in fear, startled at her sudden movement. "Easy, there, Wolfy. Don't get yourself all riled up or we'll have to tranq you up again."

His words didn't hold true cruelty, or even a measure of such, he simply was ignorant, and something that Dayne had come to loathe. Of course Dayne didn't know what "tranq" meant, but she was sure it wasn't pleasant, with his undertones of a threat. She guessed he had no respect for the code and would stop at no indignity. For the sake of her tired body, she restrained herself more. That restraint would save her many times in her later days. Restraint tempered her wildness.

She only growled once more to show her displeasure, glancing with an evil eye at him. He said no other words, but nodded approvingly, infuriating Dayne even more. 'Get closer and I'll rip your throat out, you lowest of all beasts!' she spat at him without words, not giving him the honor to hear her speak; consoling herself with that insult. Rest assured, if she did get out from this cage, she would have done just that.

Thankfully, he managed to somehow take the hint she was offering in all forms, and leave the room, shutting the door behind him with a resounding bang. Dayne lay down at that point, pausing to methodically lick the wound on her foreleg, removing the crust of brown from the normally white fur. During that time, when nothing seemed to be happening, she paused to reflect upon her position. Sadness came over her features, her ears hung to the side, stopping to the occasional twitch at other noises the yapping and barking from other rooms. 'Silly pups' she thought at the noises.

Dayne was one of the most traveled wolves in Tarma, ranging from the great sea to the east and the forbidden mountains to the west. She knew the land to the north; the desert that marked the edge of Tarma. She knew the south and the wild prairie lands to the dark woods of the banished creatures; somewhere that Dayne later told me was the hiding place of her ancestor, Rayne. The point was, that no matter where she had roamed in the entire land of Tarma, from the kingdom of the men, and the domain of the Queen. To the prince's realm, and the council of the animals, she had never seen a room the likes of this one.

She pondered upon this fact for a moment, resting her tired head on her paws and using her eyes to peer about this curious space. 'How could I not know of this?' she asked herself silently. 'I was the prince's messager and scout for neigh on twelve years. How could I not know?' Sadness swept over her as she realized the truth. She was not in the land anymore. Dayne was not in Tarma.

~~

This is her story as she told it to me three years ago. I was privileged to meet Dayne during the last years of her life. I wanted to originally do the story on Dayne's journey throughout Tarma, but she wouldn't hear of it. Her ancestor, Rayne, was the only one she would talk about from that day fourth; preferring it to her own tales which strangely were always tinged with sadness.

Later, after being released from that "strange room" which was actually a veterinary hospital to a nearby zoo, she met a man named Will Summers, a researcher into animal biology/behavior and a recognized vet. Wisely, once she had seen the fate of the silent dogs (which she called all canines in our world as they could not speak intelligently) she held her tongue, and only one day when she had grown so angry at her mistreatment had she called out to a visiting vet. The man had taken a liking to her some months earlier, and was brought in as a consultant into her odd behavior. She was tired of being treated like a dumb animal, and for my sake, her sake, and Summers' sake, I'm glad she did speak up.

He took her into his home, doing his best to treat her as an equal. (She later grudgingly admitted that for a man trained to not respect beasts, he did very well.) Rumor had it that Summers and Dayne used to play chess together. After he'd come home late at night they'd draw the curtains in the study and if one could have just peeked through the window, a most curious site would have met one's eyes. A man in his forties in a red velvet cushioned chair, sitting across a silver wolf over a game of chess. The wolf would lean across and push the piece with her nose, gently lifting it in her teeth if need be. The intense stare between those two would have brought chills to the heart of many men, and the one game I did have the pleasure of observing left me wondering if Summers, himself, did not have the heart of a wolf.

And I'm sure you're wondering how I happened to come into the story. Well, I walked into this unique partnership as an apprentice, working as a simple vet assistant while in college. I was very privileged to meet this magnificent wolf during one day I wandered in at the wrong time when Dayne and Summers were in one of their deeper conversations. This was a month after the accident with the car. Summers said I had an honest face, and swore me to secrecy while Dayne still lived. Dayne begrudgingly accepted Summers' advice on the matter, even though she thought it was a bad idea.

But there was another skill I brought to this little group. I also considered myself something of a writer and so very much wanted to write the stories that Dayne loved to tell day after day. They were all fascinating, about her pack, her ancestors, their way of life, and so very much about Tarma. This world, which I had never seen fascinated me so. And I couldn't help but think I was sitting across from one of the last, if not THE last, inhabitant alive from that distant land. I simply couldn't resist the opportunity.

Summers caught me taking notes one day, and confronted me about it. I justified my claim as an advance of science and argued my point as historical note-taking. He grew angry with me, I had never seen him that furious over anything. I didn't know how much he considered Dayne his best friend. Since his wife died he was passionate about nothing but his work, save for his kindness for others. Upon first meeting him his clear blue eyes were as pools of serenity, but held a deep sadness that shown around the edges. Finally, after much debate, he decided to allow, and finally endorsed my work regarding Dayne, but only on the condition that I would not publish anything, nor show it to any living soul, until after Dayne's death. I agreed. Dayne accepted this begrudgingly, only warming up to me under the power of time.

~~

So this book contains the stories of Rayne, for Dayne has the most pride and emphasis on her grand-dam's accomplishments during one of the most tribulation filled time of Tarma. I remember she would not speak of her times without a hint of sorrow in her eye. It was clearly painful for her. So, at her request more than any desire of my own, Rayne became the central heroine. I now feel I know Rayne as well as I have known Dayne, through the carefully told tales I have heard over the years.

I remember that when anyone would ask about Rayne, Dayne would sit up a little straighter and the look in her yellow eye would look a more wild, a little more feral. Then she would begin her tale in a deep voice I have not heard the equal of since her death. Her tales would begin lowly, and build, as if they were great yarns and were spun such care. They were a masterpiece of time and thought, retold and tuned like an instrument with such perfection. Except for an occasional gruff interjection from Summers', met with some impatience by Dayne, they were completely elegant and wild in form.

I thank Dayne, so much for her words, as now I know I have a story to write about. I always had the technical knowledge of writing, but never the inspiration for a story. This book, completely read by Dayne, would have brought tears to her eye, had she been human. I remember the day when she finished reviewing the last page, she just looked up at me, and uttered two words, thank you. Then hopped off the sofa and went to her corner and laid down. No further words were spoken between us. She died the next day in Summers' arms.

Dayne's life was difficult, so different from the forests of her youth, the place she was truly happy. I asked her once what she would have felt like, had things not turned out that way; if the pool had led to another place, or if somehow things had been different. She always answered this the same way, with the same sorrowful tone.

"If I had not stumbled into that pool that day, I would have not known the indignities of your world, of whips, chains, collars, leashes, cages, and most of all, muzzles." At that point she would shudder briefly and continue, "I loathe these… your world holds many marvels, dear one, but what can compared with the forest of my youth? Running through the water at sunset, or howling at the purple moon. For I am a wild thing, created to be free, not to be locked up in a man's house - any man's house. This is what I will always be."

A small sigh would display her displeasure of this life. "I cannot go out now, run on the hills of my ancestors, and hunt my prey. My master brings me all my comforts to my door, and I find myself wantonly searching for a reason for my continued existence. You men have a saying 'you can take the creature out of the wild, but you can't take the wild out of the creature', this, dear one, is the truth. Once I was sleek, wild and untamed, I fear I have lost much." She would end sadly, her eyes on the distant past, searching and loving that life that was no more. My heart always reached out to her in those moments, though I knew I could not console. As she reminded me so many times, I was man, and thus, could not possibly understand.

This is mostly for Dayne Kell, who was an inspiration to my writing and my life, opening my eyes to a realm far beyond my own and far beyond what my eyes will ever see. Her yellow eyes were always transfixed in spare moments on the distant horizon, searching for her den-mate's howl. Now, I'm sure she runs free with them, at last, never having to worry about a leash or a collar again.

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