Copyright

William Collins

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

WilliamCollinsBooks.com

First published in Great Britain in 2019 by William Collins

This edition published by arrangement with Longanesi & C. © 2017 – Milano Gruppo editoriale Mauri Spagnol

1

Text Copyright © 2017 by Folco Terzani

Illustration Copyright © Nicola Magrin

Folco Terzani asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

Cover design by Heike Schuessler

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Source ISBN: 9780008325992

Ebook Edition © October 2019 ISBN: 9780008326005

Version: 2019-10-09

To my dear lost friend great king Kapil

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

PART ONE: THE DOG

Abandoned

A Gift and a Bond

A Friend for the Journey

Taking the Shortcut

Abundance

The Beggar’s Bowl

Then Comes Night…

Wolves!

PART TWO: THE WOLF

The Ancient Path

Pilgrims

Purification

Infinity

The Storm

The Feast of the Sky

The Giant

The Art of the Hunt

PART THREE: GOD

Return to the City

When the Earth Shakes

Hunger

The Vision

Goodbye

Moon Mountain

About the Author

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Abandoned

A dog stood by the side of a road. His Owner had removed the shiny collar he’d worn with pride ever since he was a pup, pushed him out of the car and sped away, leaving him there. All alone. The poor creature, who couldn’t make head or tail of what was happening, remained rooted to the spot, under a streetlamp, without moving an inch.

If my Owner has left me here, he reasoned, surely he will soon return.

An hour went by, then two and then four more. But of the Owner, not a trace. With a soft hum the streetlamp turned on, casting a pool of yellow light around the Dog beyond which darkness fell. The Dog scrutinized each car that went by, looking for that familiar face. His ears turned towards every sound, hoping to hear that voice calling his name. But all he heard was the heartless throb of engines and all he saw were the big blind eyes of cars zooming by. Nobody stopped, as if they hadn’t even seen him.

For three days and three nights the Dog waited, without eating or drinking or sleeping. Finally he was so worn out that his head sank, his ears flopped, his eyes misted over and he began to cry. It was only a feeble wail at first, but as the full extent of his troubles became clear, the sobbing grew desperate and he surrendered to the infinite sadness of life. And he would surely have remained there, under that streetlamp, crying himself to exhaustion – to death, even – if at dawn he had not heard a voice.

‘Why are you crying?’

The Dog was surprised. The voice came from right beside him, yet he hadn’t heard any steps approaching and no car had passed for some time. So he didn’t even bother to raise his head. He’d just imagined it, probably.

‘Why are you crying?’ he heard again.

It was a deep, resonant voice with a thick foreign accent. Who could it be on this road in the middle of nowhere? It wasn’t his Owner, in any case, so the Dog just went on wailing.

‘Why are you crying?!’ said the voice once more, and this time it demanded a reply.

‘Why?’ blurted the Dog. ‘Because I have lost everything that I had.’

Looking up, he was amazed to find before him a very strange dog indeed, the likes of which he’d never seen before. He had wide paws, firmly planted on the ground, a gaunt body and a huge head with two big golden eyes that were staring straight into the Dog’s soul.

Intimidated, the Dog tried to explain himself better.

‘Why?’ blurted the Dog. ‘Because I have lost everything that I had.’

‘I had an Owner,’ he began between sobs, ‘who I lived with since I was born and loved as a father. Every morning, when my Owner awoke, I followed him to the kitchen where he filled my two bowls, one with water, the other with food. At night, when he went to sleep, I curled up at the foot of our soft bed and kept watch over him. He gave me everything. Now my Owner is gone. Where is my house and my bed? Where are my bowls? Even my beautiful collar, which had my name and address on it and was my most treasured possession, has been taken away. No one can know who I am any more, or where I come from. How will I ever get back home? I’m alone, in a place I’ve never seen before. And I have nothing. Nothing at all! And you ask me why I’m crying?’

The other creature gazed back with a regal look, but remained silent.

‘What shall become of me?’ continued the Dog. ‘I haven’t even got the strength to stay upright any more, but where can I lie down to rest? And who will give me food and water? Oh, oh, oh, I know I’m going to die!’

‘So that’s your problem. Is that all?’ The other’s lips curled into a smile, as if the Dog’s plight were a matter of no importance. ‘But don’t you know that in this world there are countless creatures, great and small, who live on the land, and in the air, and in the seas, who wake up every morning with nothing, nothing at all. Just like you. The ants and the butterflies, the fish and the eagles and the snakes and the bears. And yet, by the end of the day, they’ve all had something to eat and drink. And when they become tired they even find a comfortable place to lie down and rest. How, do you think, does that work?’

The Dog remained so dumbfounded for a moment that he didn’t even realize he’d stopped crying.

‘Who is their owner?’ continued the stranger. ‘Who, do you think, is looking after them?’

‘I don’t know,’ retorted the Dog. And he’d have liked to add, And I couldn’t care less either!

In truth the Dog had never thought much about all the other creatures in the world and right now he was far too worried about himself and his own troubles.

‘Who?’ the other persisted, his glowing golden eyes seeming to bore right through him.

‘If you know,’ said the Dog, ‘then why don’t you tell me?’

The strange dog rolled his eyes skywards and emitted a peculiar sound, something between a sneeze and a sigh.

‘Who?’ asked the Dog, becoming increasingly confused.

‘That cannot be said. It is the Name unspeakable. It is that which as soon as it’s said immediately becomes a lie.’

There was a long pause.

‘Bah,’ snorted the Dog at last, impatiently. ‘All you have to do is take a look around to see how much suffering and misery there is in this world.’ He was feeling very sorry for himself. ‘There’s clearly nothing and no one looking after all living things. If there is something, I for one have never set eyes on it, never heard its voice, or even smelled it. In fact, judging by the stink everywhere, if something ever did exist, now it’s certainly dead.’

‘Ahh …’ said the other, as if understanding at last the answer to a complicated puzzle. ‘Your problem isn’t that you’ve lost everything. You have lost your trust!’

The stranger turned and raised as if from nowhere, in his long sharp fangs, the still-bloody leg of an animal.

‘Here,’ he said, laying it in front of the Dog like a precious gift. ‘Eat this. It will restore your strength. Then, go on a pilgrimage to Moon Mountain. And when you reach it you will know if there is Something, or not.’

CHAPTER TWO

A Gift and a Bond

Moon Mountain, the Dog pondered. Now what’s this all about?

Meanwhile, a fragrance so pungent and exotic was wafting up from the stranger’s gift that the Dog couldn’t resist examining it at once. It was, undoubtedly, a large chunk of fresh meat, covered in fur. The hind leg of some wild animal – maybe a deer, he thought, judging by the little hoof at the end. But being a city dog, he was really no expert on such matters.

In any case, everything that was happening to him was very odd. He would never have imagined receiving such a generous gift from a perfect stranger. Dogs snarl and bite just to defend a dry old bone. Never ever had he seen a dog casually give away his entire meal – and such a sumptuous one, at that.

Who is this strange dog, really?

And suddenly he understood.

But when he raised his head to look at him again, the Wolf had already vanished.

Now the Dog found himself in a serious quandary: should he eat this meat, or not? Because everybody knows that you shouldn’t trust a wolf. On the other hand, three long days without food had made him ravenously hungry.

I’ll try just a tiny little piece … he thought.

As soon as his teeth sank into the tender meat a warm liquid, at once salty and sweet, dripped over his tongue and slipped down his throat and deep into his belly. It tasted of things forbidden, and the Dog felt bewitched. Back at home his beloved Owner had cooked their meals, or given him tins of food and dog biscuits, so the Dog had never known raw meat before. This deer leg seemed to the Dog the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

Now that he’d accepted his gift, the Dog felt bound to do as the Wolf had told him.

After the first bite he threw himself on it with such relish that he would surely have gobbled the whole thing up in one go if the meat hadn’t been so exquisitely rich, so nourishing, that very soon he was completely full.

He burped.

Well, that was certainly a stroke of luck! he thought to himself, beginning to feel new strength trickling through his veins. But these things don’t happen every day. Half of the Wolf’s gift is already gone, so I must be extremely careful to ration what’s left, otherwise what will I eat tomorrow? Or the next day, and the next … until I finally find my way back home?

The moment his thoughts wandered back to his comfortable home, however, he remembered the words of the Wolf. Now that he’d accepted his gift, the Dog felt bound to do as the Wolf had told him.

But where that Moon Mountain might be, he didn’t have the foggiest idea.

CHAPTER THREE

A Friend for the Journey

Having double-checked and checked once more to make quite sure that no one was spying on him, the Dog dug a hole beside the streetlamp and buried the remaining half-leg of deer. Then he picked a direction at random and set off with a newfound spring in his step down the unknown road. After a short trot he came to a park. On the manicured green lawns scores of dogs were sunning themselves, or jogging patiently beside their owners, or playing the age-old game of ‘fetch’. A stab of sorrow pierced the Dog’s heart as he remembered what he too had once enjoyed, and lost.

Plucking up courage, he intercepted a poodle who was sauntering by.

‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I am not from around these parts. Could you tell me the way to Moon Mountain?’

She looked him up and down as if he were quite mad, then turned tail and sprinted back to her owner as fast as her puffy legs would carry her.

The Dog was bewildered. He’d always been a highly respected fellow: youthful, handsome, with his neatly brushed coat and twinkling collar … No, no, no, that was it – he didn’t have his collar any more! All of a sudden he felt completely naked. Like a king without a crown, or a swimmer who realizes he’s lost his bathing suit. It may seem like a trivial item, but it changes everything. Seeing him without a collar, the poodle had taken him for a stray. And every good city dog knows that you should never talk to strays, for they carry fleas, and ticks, and mange, and rabies, and all sorts of other horrible diseases.

Oh, I’m in trouble now! realized the Dog, as he slunk behind some bushes to ponder what to do next.

He thought and he thought, but no idea came. Instead, after a while, he spotted an old mastiff coming his way, followed by a cloud of flies. The feeble fellow kept snapping at the air, but try as he might he never caught a single one of his tiny tormentors.

Perfect, thought the Dog, that’s exactly what I need! So he risked stepping out from behind the bushes.

‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Could you tell me the way to Moon Mountain?’

‘No, I cannot tell you, for no such place exists around here,’ replied the mastiff very politely, his almost blind eyes seeing nothing at all wrong with the Dog.

‘That’s impossible, for I just met a … a strange fellow who told me I should go there.’

‘Well,’ said the old mastiff, after some thought, ‘long ago, when I was a little pup, I did hear tell of a place with such a name. But it was way, way up in the north, they said. North beyond the Northwoods …’

The Dog, who’d assumed his destination was somewhere close by, was dismayed. Why would as noble a creature as that Wolf have wanted to mock him, sending him on an impossible journey? There must be some mistake.

‘Could you tell me, please,’ he said, deciding he would continue nonetheless, ‘which way is north?’

‘Certainly. Wait till midday, turn your back to the sun, then continue walking in the direction of your shadow.’

The Dog thanked him and hurried back to the streetlamp and by the time he’d dug out his half-leg of deer it was exactly midday. So he turned his back to the sun, looked to see which way his shadow was pointing, and began to follow it.

Head bent low, half-leg of deer clamped between his jaws, he crossed the busy city, trying his best not to attract attention. He slunk through traffic, slipped over bridges and crept furtively along the walls of houses. From behind a window pane a ginger cat hissed, while countless dogs yelled their usual unpleasantries: ‘Bow-wow, bow-wow, you get off my turf now!’ It was as if he were in a foreign land: not a street corner he recognized, not a patch of grass that smelled familiar, not a pee nor a poo that he knew.

Many times he was assailed by doubt. When I finish this meat, I’ll have nothing to eat once more. Nothing at all! Then what will I do? It would be much wiser to turn around and try to find my way back home. The Wolf will never know and… But each time, the memory of those serious, golden eyes forced him to press on.

It was a big city and it took a while to reach the suburbs, where the houses shrank and thinned out and the Dog’s gaze could finally stretch into the distance where he saw a colourful mountain of …

Just then a golden retriever, with long blond fur and a winning smile, came bounding towards him.

‘Hello, my friend!’

‘Hello,’ answered the Dog, who was longing for company. And they began to chat.

The Dog recounted his misfortunes and as he did so tears welled up again in his eyes, for he worried about his beloved Owner who had not returned and to whom something terrible had surely happened.

‘Don’t kid yourself,’ interrupted Golden. ‘Your Owner’s perfectly fine. He simply had enough of you, never wanted to see you again and moved on. Why else would he have taken your collar?’

The Dog’s eyes widened in fear, for deep down he knew that Golden was right.

‘I was also abandoned, years ago,’ continued Golden. ‘Still I get by, eking out an existence from that heap over there.’

He nodded towards the colourful mountain behind him.

‘Is that a mountain …?’ asked the Dog timidly.

‘It’s a rubbish dump!’ said Golden. ‘Maybe it’s not the best place, but you know what they say, beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘Oh. I can’t stay then, since I have to go to Moon Mountain. But some say it’s this way and some say it’s that way and some say it doesn’t even exist. I don’t know what to do any more.’

‘You know, I’ve always wanted to go there too. Let’s go together!’

‘Really?’ said the Dog, who could hardly believe his luck. ‘Isn’t it too far?’

‘Not at all – I know a shortcut. The only problem is that you’re carrying a very heavy load. Obviously you’re a city dog who knows nothing about mountains. You see, when you carry something uphill its weight doubles, and after a while it doubles again. You’ll never make it.’

‘You see, when you carry something uphill its weight doubles, and after a while it doubles again.’

‘Then what shall we do?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Golden, flashing another of his winning smiles. ‘If we share the burden, it’ll be easy. I’ll take it first, so you can have a rest.’

So the Dog gave Golden the precious half-leg of deer and the two of them set off together, happy to have found a friend for the journey.

CHAPTER FOUR

Taking the Shortcut

The road that led out of the City swarmed with trucks that blew their horns angrily and exhaled their noxious fumes at the two wayfaring hounds. So it was a relief when the main road turned off into a smaller road, which turned into a dirt road, which narrowed and narrowed till it came to an abrupt stop at the edge of a wood. There a mountain path began, its entrance barred by a giant spiderweb.

It was clear that no one had gone through there in a very long time.

‘Come on, what are you waiting for?’ said Golden. ‘We’ve got to take this path.’

The poor Dog hesitated. He was used to going for walkies with his Owner around the block, or at most for a run in the park. This place was altogether different. It gave him the creepy feeling that here the dominion of the City ended and they’d be stepping into a different realm. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and pushed through.

The path was rugged and uneven, strewn with loose rocks and unpredictably twisting roots, so it took a while to get used to. But soon the din of traffic faded, the air was fresh and the infinite shades of forest green were a balm for his eyes. The Dog rushed about happily, sniffing the different grasses and flowers, listening to the chirrup of insects and birds, and it seemed to him that in the whole of nature not a colour was mismatched or a single sound was out of tune.

‘Tell me, my friend, what is it like on Moon Mountain?’ asked the Dog.

But when he turned, Golden was nowhere to be seen. How odd, strong as he was, that he should have fallen behind. The Dog carefully retraced his steps only to find Golden lying in a sunny glade, tearing a chunk of meat off the leg of deer.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Just helping reduce your burden a little,’ replied Golden, flashing his smile. ‘And besides, I only had a very measly breakfast this morning. If you want me as your guide, I need a bit of energy too, don’t I?’

The Dog considered this a reasonable deal, though he realized to his dismay that only a quarter of the precious gift now remained.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘But do please hurry up or we’ll never get there.’

Yet in spite of the fact that the Dog knew nothing about mountains, somehow it was always Golden who was lagging behind.

‘Don’t worry,’ panted Golden. ‘We’ll reach Moon Mountain by sunset and then all your troubles will be gone. There are goodies in abundance up there, herds of juicy little deer and delicate porcupines without quills …’

‘Really?’

‘And trees so laden with fruit that their branches hang to the ground.’

‘No!’

‘Absolutely, and that’s not all. You can eat everything there, even the rocks, which twinkle like jewels and melt when you put them in your mouth.’

‘The rocks melt, how can that be?’

‘Because up there it’s the fountain of life, my friend! Oh, you’ll see, you’ll see.’

Just then they came to a fork in the path. Golden wavered for a moment before taking the trail to the right. Unfortunately it soon ended in a field of thorns.

‘I thought you knew the way.’

‘Can’t you see this is a dead end? We should have gone the other way. And stop wagging your tail, it’s confusing me!’

The Dog was beginning to have a creeping suspicion about Golden’s shortcut, but at this point they’d come so far that it was better to keep going than to turn back.

Shortly afterwards the Dog again caught Golden nibbling at the remains of the deer.

‘Hey, that’s my leg!’ he cried indignantly.

Golden slowly finished chewing the piece in his mouth.

‘Yours?’ he replied, pulling with his tongue at a fibre that had wedged itself between his teeth. ‘Yours? Didn’t you tell me that this morning you were all alone, with nothing in the world? So how can it be yours? Didn’t a Wolf then come along at dawn and gift it to you? In that case, if anything, it was his. But let’s be honest: it can’t really have been his either because before that, surely, it must have belonged to a deer, no? Therefore all this business about “mine” and “yours”, what does it mean? In the end a thing simply belongs to whoever’s got it!’

Thus chewing and reasoning, Golden had polished off the last of the meat. When the Dog stepped forward to retrieve the bone at least, Golden again showed off his fine white teeth – this time, though, in a far less friendly way.

The Dog decided to let the matter drop and started up the hill again. Once in a while he turned to call Golden, but as no answer came he soon realized that his companion had vanished.

The first day of the journey wasn’t even over yet, but already the Dog had squandered the Wolf’s gift. Again he was all alone, with no Owner, no home, no food, nothing. Nothing at all. In fact, his situation had become even worse now because, instead of being in a city, he was lost in the thick of a great big forest.

Hoarse laughter broke out from the top of a nearby tree. A gang of jet black crows – with black feathers, black beaks, black claws and black eyes – were mocking him. Their ugly cawing stood out as the one sour note in the great harmony of nature.

CHAPTER FIVE

Abundance

The day had grown steadily hotter and by mid-afternoon even the fluffy flock of clouds that grazed on the sky had melted away. The sun beat down mercilessly. Not a breeze blew, not a leaf stirred. The Dog had been walking for so many hours that his throat was parched and his tongue hung from his jaws like a dead fish. He’d never been so thirsty in his life.

What an absurd place, he thought. Not a drop of water anywhere!

He reminisced about his clever Owner who always brought a backpack along, with some tasty snack wrapped in a red and white checked cloth and a flask full of water.

But I am just a stupid dog … How foolish he’d been to set off on this adventure, following the words of a wolf. The Wolf said that leg of deer would give me the strength to reach Moon Mountain. But the meat is already finished, and there’s no trace of the mountain. So I don’t owe him anything any more, thought the Dog. I’m stopping here!

As his breath quietened and his heartbeat settled the Dog began to hear an alarming hiss. But if it was a snake, it neither came closer nor moved away. Fear gradually turned to curiosity and the Dog heaved himself onto his paws to peek around the next bend. He was stunned to find himself on an old stone bridge suspended above a mountain torrent, which came frothing forth in a marvellous waterfall, over which a beautiful rainbow hung.

‘He was stunned to find himself on an old stone bridge suspended above a mountain torrent…’

Oh, it was like a mirage!

The delighted Dog danced with wild abandon; he’d never seen so much clear, sparkling water. The air was filled with its fragrance and the greenish rocks seemed redolent with the promise of fertility. It was nothing at all like the piddling little water taps he’d known in his kitchen back home.

‘This flow of water never ends!’ he cried deliriously. ‘Where does such abundance come from? What a glorious folly, what a waste, what a miracle! Why, there must be enough water gushing by here to quench the thirst of every living creature in the world!’

Shaking himself out of his rapture, the Dog dashed across the bridge to climb down to the torrent. But the walls of rock were too steep and he couldn’t risk falling because he didn’t know how to swim. So he raced back over the bridge and tried descending on the opposite bank, but there too the mossy green rocks were slimy and sheer and when he persisted his paws slipped and he fell hard on his back and was lucky to get away with just a nasty cut.

The Dog was dying of thirst and it drove him mad to see all that water down below, which seemed to be laughing and playing, and not be able to reach it. Yet there was nothing to do but leave it and continue on his way.

CHAPTER SIX

The Beggar’s Bowl

Sitting on a rock with a distant view, the Dog tried to think. A few days ago life had been so simple, but ever since he’d accepted the Wolf’s gift things had taken such a peculiar turn that he couldn’t avoid asking himself ‘Why?’ and ‘How?’

The truth was, though, that the Dog wasn’t used to asking himself many questions because he’d always left it to his Owner to know the answers. Now that his Owner wasn’t around, could he, on his own, find that unspeakable Something which every day takes care of every living being? And, more importantly, would it really take care of him too?

He took a deep breath and set off again on the path, one step at a time, until he came upon a small group of houses. They seemed as abandoned as the fields surrounding them. He couldn’t hear the barking of dogs, or the grunts of men and women at work, or the laughter of children at play. The trees of the forest had silently crept into the living rooms, poked their heads through the roofs and waved their leafy hands out of broken windows.

The Dog was overjoyed to see a human again and tried to communicate using every trick he knew. He waved his tail and whimpered, he bent his knees, dragged himself along the ground and begged with his pitiful eyes…

‘Water, water, water!’ barked the Dog in desperation.

His voice echoed around the derelict walls. Suddenly a window above him burst open and out leaned an old woman with long, tangled hair.

‘Whatchoo want?’ she yelled, with the tone of someone who’s been woken from their afternoon nap.

The Dog was overjoyed to see a human again and tried to communicate using every trick he knew. He waved his tail and whimpered, he bent his knees, dragged himself along the ground and begged with his pitiful eyes, all the while repeating what he’d been saying from the start: ‘Water, water, please give me a bowl of water!’

What else could he do? His Owner would certainly have understood.

The window slammed shut.

The Dog’s tail dropped between his legs, his ears fell and he lowered his head. And as he did so he noticed once more that the sparkle of his collar was gone, that his paws were caked in mud, that his fur was dishevelled and plastered with blood from the fall, that in barely a few days of living on his own he’d become a poor, ragged stray. A beggar. One of those wretched creatures that have neither beauty nor joy to offer and so are of no interest to anyone.

Never had he imagined that he, who’d once been a respectable dog, could fall so low. How quickly our destinies can change!

He was just about to start crying again when he heard the clank-clank-clank of an ancient lock, a door swung open and the old woman emerged holding a bowl brimming with water.

It was a rusty bowl, with holes in it too. But in the moment when she laid it before the Dog he understood that this common liquid, which he’d always taken for granted, which now flowed down his parched throat like medicine for his aching body, was actually the elixir of life. It was the most magical potion in the whole world.

Never had he imagined that he, who’d once been a respectable dog, could fall so low. How quickly our destinies can change!

The Dog threw himself at the old woman’s feet. In a flash he imagined himself staying here with her. She would adopt him and be his new Owner. And he would keep her company and listen to her stories when she was sad (he was an excellent listener, even when he didn’t understand every word). And she would rub his ears. And he would live in this derelict village, close to the woods, which he could explore …

He was so happy, and still so very thirsty, that he leapt up to lick the old woman’s face. She got a fright, seized her stick and struck him several times on the head.

‘Go away, you filthy beast! You’ve had your water so don’t you be hanging round here for more. I got enough troubles of me own without some lazy good-for-nothing like you. Go away, shoo, shoo!’

The Dog obeyed, as he’d always obeyed humans and, with a heavy heart, ran away from the quiet little village.

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