Spirit Wolf by Kathryn Lasky

bone.” He nodded at the cairn of the Fengos, which still stood erect and whole despite the earthquake.
    As soon as Myrr placed the last bone, the five wolves sank down to the ground and covered their eyes with their paws, a gesture of utmost submission to the highest authority. Then, rising, but with their tails still tucked and their eyes still shut, they tipped back their heads and howled at the dim splinter of the moon. As Watch wolves of the Ring, Faolan and Edme were the only ones who knew the howls that had been incised on the Bone of Bones. But little Myrr listened carefully. He would not howl, but he whispered the phrases to himself.
    â€œLupus, guardian of the Cave of Souls, Skaarsgard, keeper of the star ladder, here lie the bones of your humble servant Finbar Fengo, watcher of the Watch that was begun in the time of the first Fengo, who led our clans out of the Long Cold on the Ice March. Guide Finbar’s spirit now to the star ladder to follow in the tracks of Hamish, Fengo before Finbar, and then that of O’Meg and that of Pegoth.” Faolan and Edme continued recitinguntil they had named all the Fengos for a thousand years. By the time they had finished, the sliver of the moonlight had slid away to another world and all was dark.
    Edme, Mhairie, Dearlea, and Myrr went to a new den nearby that Edme had dug out from the rubble, and Faolan settled down to guard the cairn of the Fengos. He was not tired at all, but his mind was divided. While one part kept watch, the other slipped into a kind of waking dream that had started when he and Edme had begun to recite the names of the Fengos.

    In his dream, Faolan saw a Spotted Owl perched near the wolf. The owl was battle weary, yet listened with rapt attention to what the old wolf was saying. There was a closeness, a compelling confidence between the two creatures. Their heads were bent toward each other so they nearly touched. Faolan could almost catch threads of their conversation.
    â€œYou came to learn about fire, did you not? I can help you,” the old wolf was saying. “I can teach you some things, but not everything, Grank.”
    Grank! The name reverberated in Faolan’s head and his marrow quickened.
    The owl named Grank seemed puzzled at the old wolf’swords. “How can that be, Fengo? How can you help me learn more … about fire?”
    In his dream, Faolan was dimly aware that Fengo was the wolf’s name, not his title. What was he witnessing in his dream? Had he gone back to the very origins of the Ring, more than a thousand years ago?
    The owl addressed the wolf as an equal with no honorifics. Faolan was so far back in history that there was no Watch at the Ring. The only wolf was a plain old gray named Fengo.
    â€œYou are able to fly over craters from which the fire leaps. You can look into the heart of a volcano. On the wing, you could catch the hottest coals.”
    Soon the voices dwindled and the mournful strand of a wolf’s glaffling wove through the night. The old wolf was sitting alone on a ridge, his head thrown back howling the strange mad music of grief. There was no trace of the Spotted Owl.
    Where is he? Where is he? Where is Grank?
    Never gone so long.
    Has he been killed?
    Does he now climb the spirit trail, Lupus?
    When the song ended, the mists rose and the wolf on the ridge had changed again and appeared older. An owl that was not Grank flew off with an ember in its beak — a greenember with a lick of blue at its center. The Ember of Hoole! The first king had been anointed. The old wolf could rest now.
    But though Fengo’s spirit longed to slip from his pelt, it was not quite over. Faolan felt the marrow leaking from him, a cool wind whistling through his bones. They were becoming hollow. Deep in his belly he felt a small spark, a kindling. I have a gizzard! I am becoming an owl! I chose to be an owl — a Snowy Owl!
    The beak opened and a beautiful sound ribboned the air. Song!