Piers Torday - The Last Wild

‘What’s going on?’ asks Polly from behind.

*You don’t care about me. You had me flown to a place where I could have got this plague of yours—*

*But you haven’t,* says the wolf-cub.

*… You force me to help you, force me to be some kind of hero, which I’m not; I’m just a kid who can’t talk. I can’t do any of this. I can’t save you — I can’t even save a single cat. I’m not the person you think I am —*

*But you are,* says the stag.

*… This virus is still here, and it’s killed everything, and there’s no cure, and I don’t know if Dad —* I stop mid-sentence. *What did you say?*

*I said, but you are,* repeats the stag, meeting my eyes.

*I am what?* I say back, all suspicious. Polly takes a step closer.

*You are a hero. You helped us escape from the Guardians —* the wolf-cub growls at this — *you tried to rescue the cat, you protected her and the girl against the man with the firestick. You led us free, into the fish-road. And you might not have saved the cat from her destiny, but you used your gift to save the life of one of your own. I do not know what it takes for a man to call another a hero. But I tell you, Kester Jaynes, by any animal measure of such things, you are just that.*

For a moment I stare at him, not sure I quite heard him right. No one has ever said anything like that to me before — and then I’m crying.

Like I haven’t for so long.

All these animals and Polly looking at me, and I’m crying. Crying for Sidney, gone. I’m crying for Mum, also gone, and crying for Dad who I haven’t seen in six years, the Dad I’m beginning to wonder if I will still recognize. Crying just because everything is such a mess, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to fix it.

I look at the stag through my tears. *I just wonder if I can do this — get us to the city. Everyone’s against us. It’s so far away. The virus is unstoppable.*

The wolf-cub runs up and nearly knocks me over. Then he stands up on his hind paws and does the grossest thing — he licks me. He actually licks the tears off my face.

*I am the greatest hero on this adventure, the greatest hero in all the world and nothing will ever change that. And you are still a smelly human. But that you have proven yourself the second-greatest hero on this adventure, I agree with the stag.*

The deer grunts. *You cannot save us all, Kester. You cannot save everyone and everything.* He looks around the bank, sniffing the damp air. Almost as if Sidney might suddenly appear. But she doesn’t. *If you can only save some, then that is what you must do. You see, you are a hero. Now, will you start acting like one? Can you lead us? We need to enter the world of man to find the help we need — and we cannot do that without you.* He pauses, the first time the stag has hesitated saying anything to me, and sinks down to the ground.

The great stag, kneeling before me.

*You must now lead this wild to your city. We are in your hands.* Then, his head lowered, he says, *Can you be our Wildness?*

A Wildness. The leader of a wild. What I thought the stag was. But now, here he is, bowing and asking me to lead them. What I thought only a stag could do.

I look around us. We are standing on a strip of pebbles, dotted in between with shallow pools, the loosely scattered stones spread thinner and thinner over a carpet of sludge as they run down towards the water’s edge. Ahead, the ground rises up steeply, covered with tall reeds, and I cannot see what lies beyond. Behind us, the water of the fish-road, tumbling and racing, and somewhere beyond that … a man on crutches, armed with a firestick.

I say the new words over and over to myself, because if I am to lead these animals, I need to start thinking like them.

The animals, insect and birds are gathered around me in a semicircle. My wild. Waiting for me to lead.

*Yes, Stag,* I say. *I will be your Wildness.*

*Very good,* says the stag. *Now tell me again everything that you have learnt about the berry-eye from this she-child …*

As we turn again to walk back up the slope, something hits me very hard in the face. Something small and human-hand-shaped. Polly-hand-shaped.

‘I don’t care about your adventure any more. You’ve lost Sidney, so you can’t make him better.’

Her face is red and angry.

‘I want to find my parents. I want to go home, Kidnapper — now.’

I can’t speak to Polly, but I can show her I’m the Wildness now, so I step forward and put my arms around her. She struggles, and thumps my chest, and eventually wrestles free, but when she does there are tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘Stop it! You can’t make me feel better through hugs.’

She sits down with a thud on the grassy bank and slouches against a boulder.

‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go on with you even if I wanted to. My foot hurts too much.’ Leaning forward to her swollen ankle, she gingerly rubs at it and winces. I kneel down to see how bad the bruising is. Straightaway she cries out, covering it with her hands. ‘What are you doing? Don’t touch it!’ Polly smudges her tears away. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing. Wait a moment,’ she says, and reaches into the sodden rucksack still clinging to her back.

Rifling through the water-logged contents, she eventually digs out her black notebook, curling and soaked right through. She unpicks the pages carefully, and I can see that the scribbled notes and drawings — of plants, berries and seeds — are blurred and smudged by the water but still there. With that superior look on her face again she hands me the book, open at a picture of a skinny-looking tree covered in so many leaves that it is bent right over and weighed down, the leaves drifting and trailing in a stream.

‘You can’t make me better with hugs, but you can make me better with this.’

She’s right. When it comes to swollen ankles, I really don’t know what I’m doing.

‘It’s called a shining willow. Not because it actually shines; it’s a tree. But the leaves are silvery and golden, so when the sun is out it can look like they’re shining. The leaves are special. They can make bruises disappear.’ The tree looks peaceful. Polly looks miserable and gives a miserable sigh. ‘I don’t know where to find one though. And you’ll need lots for it to work. We need to go and look for help, Kidnapper. My ankle hurts, those men are chasing us — we can’t do this on our own.’

I can sense the stag stirring uncomfortably, but he has no need to worry. We don’t need to find anyone else. I can help Polly. I need to make things up to her for losing Sidney. That’s the job of a leader. A Wildness. With a wave of my hand I call the pigeons over, who land on my shoulders and head, peering down at the book.

*Yes. We know this tall-home, we will find it for you. We thought you were never going to ask. The tall-home that bends and shines, it is well known for cures. But you will need more leaves than we can carry in our beaks. You must come with us.*

*Yes — we were never going to ask you.* The white pigeon joins the others, who are already in a semicircle on the ground, their heads pecking backwards and forward like they’re doing a funny dance. I turn to the stag but I don’t need to say anything.

*We will obey your command. Go with the pigeons; fetch a cure for the girl’s foot. I will guard her here.*

*You mean she can come with us to the city?*

There is a faint trace of a smile in the stag’s voice. *You are the Wildness now. See how you begin to learn the power of the voice. The snakes, the pigeons, and now me — see how we obey your word.*