The mountain growled.
Imraldera felt rather than heard the reverberations beneath her feet. The stone Teeth quivered to their roots, and Imraldera herself stumbled and nearly fell from the stone. She caught hold of the nearest rock, clutching its sharp contours to support herself. And she gazed down into the valleys below.
He was coming. She could not see him. But she knew beyond doubt.
The Beast was returning to Bald Mountain.
The god of the Land ran across the long expanse of his demesne. His head was low, his claws tearing the turf in painful gouges, scarring the countryside in his wake. He covered miles in a stride, his eyes fixed on the point beyond the horizon where his prey awaited his coming.
The Land shuddered at his passing. The people, his worshippers, hid their faces, weeping at what they thought was their imminent doom. But he passed them by without a glance. He had but one purpose in his heart.
Her! The escaped one! The one who fled through the watery pass she could not have known, following some guide whom she trusted more than she trusted him!
But she had returned to him. She waited for him now. She had passed into the worlds beyond and found them more dreadful than the love he offered. He would have her at last! He would have her and keep her as he had been unable to keep Ytotia. Ytotia’s flame could not be suppressed forever. This girl was mere mortal dust—but not for long. He would transform her into one such as he, and if her mortal frame could withstand the change, she would be a worthy consort to his godhood.
So he ran, and Bald Mountain watched his coming, and watched also the girl standing upon its slopes, small among those jagged teeth on the sacrificial stone. It did not watch the orange cat streaking just ahead of the hunting wolf, for in the grand poetry of the story playing out below, that creature played no role. Only the girl and the wolf, a tale as old as Time itself. Girl and wolf; maid and monster. The dead mountain knew the symmetry of the worlds, the fixed laws of stories being lived. It had watched them all since it was Lady Whitehair, tall and glorious.
So the mountain paid no attention to the Bard of Rudiobus making that last mad, exhausted scramble up the secret Paths to the Place of the Teeth. And Imraldera, as she stood waiting—every muscle tensed to run, forcing herself to stand—did not see him until he sprang suddenly onto the stone and collapsed at her feet.
“Run now!” he gasped, his form flickering between cat and man. “The wolf is upon you!”
The sun sank, staining the sky red, hurling shadows across the mountain. Imraldera stared down at the cat. Her eyes, memory dazed, saw her father lying in a pool of blood.
“Run!” he had said, his last word. And she had obeyed, leaving him behind, leaving Fairbird, leaving her people. She had deprived the Beast of his due, and what price had her people paid in her absence?
“Run!” Eanrin cried. “It’s our only chance!”
And what of Fairbird?
Her mouth twisting in a silent scream, she whirled about and leapt from the stone. Even as her bare feet scrabbled in the soil, the wolf appeared below and in a single, powerful leap, landed among the Teeth. Imraldera heard his sharp intake of breath, and her limbs froze. She turned and stared at the monstrous form—large as a horse, black as sin, her oppressor, her god.
“Starflower!”
The Eldest’s daughter gazed into the face of the wolf and, just as she had that night under the cold moonlight, she saw death there. Tears filled her eyes, even as her heart refused to beat and her legs refused to obey her and run.
“Starflower!” the Beast cried. “You have returned to me!”
Maid and monster. Girl and wolf.
He was a man now, standing on the edge of the stone. His eyes were as yellow and intent as a wolf’s, and his gray wolfskin fell back from broad shoulders. His arms reached out to her, ready to embrace, ready to kill. “You have returned,” he said. “You know the truth, deep in your heart. You have known it since the night you dared spit in my eye. You are as vicious as you are beautiful! Not the demure, silent maiden, not you, Starflower. You were always meant to be mine.”
Her mouth was dry. Her body shook. Her mind screamed, Run! But if she did . . . if she ran that Path leading over the mountains and down into the water deeps of the river cavern . . . if she led her enemy through that dark way and emerged at last into the Midnight where his children waited . . .
Imraldera stared at the Beast, her fear overwhelming. All thought, all reason, all puzzling through the dangerous questions was reduced to silence.
“Come to me now, my pretty one.” The wolf in man’s form gnashed his teeth, and blood fell from his lips. “At last,” he whispered. “Let me take you and make you what I want.”
Suddenly Wolf Tongue screamed. A barrage of fur and teeth and claws had leapt into his face, snarling for all he was worth. The cat tore viciously at his eyes and ears, slipping through his furious fingers, scrambling around behind his shoulders to cling just out of reach. The Beast roared and became animal once more, lashing and writhing in his efforts to get the tiny monster off his back. In the midst of their ugly howls, Imraldera heard Eanrin shouting, “Run, fool girl!”
She came to her senses in a rush, gasping at the pain of it. Then she was running, fleeing up the mountain Path once again as the sun sank and night overcame the world. She knew who she was, she knew where she had been, and she knew what lay before her.
A shriek cut the darkness behind her. A death cry? Sickness tore at her heart. Had immortal Eanrin met his doom? But she could not think of that. She must run, and faster! Up the highest slopes of Bald Mountain, where the air should be so cold her blood would freeze, so thin her lungs would collapse.
The wolf was behind her. She felt the pound of his pursuing feet. Oh, cat! You should have left me by the River! You should have abandoned me to the Black Dogs and let me walk this Path alone!
She stumbled as she ran, cutting her hands upon sharp stones, and her feet bled just as they had the last time, leaving red footprints in her wake. The Path turned downward, and she slipped and skidded, nearly collapsing altogether. But the Hound was ahead and the wolf behind, and she could not stop, not yet.
“When you hold the name of a Faerie Lord, you hold power indeed.”
Fear! Was that his name? That spear of terror he plunged into the hearts of his worshippers? Amarok the Wolf. The Father of Fear.
See the truth, Starflower.
The song sang into her heart. She clutched it like a lifeline pulling her along when everything in her begged for release, for collapse, for an end. This Path was all she had to cling to now; no more reasoning and no more hope, just run, run, run!
See the truth and speak.
The river flowed ahead, cutting through the mountains and deep underground. Imraldera followed the Path, feeling as light and tossed about as an autumn leaf, prey to the whim of greater forces. But Fairbird must be safe. And if that meant death, so be it! Imraldera plunged once more into the darkness of the cavern, where she was blind and the roar of rushing water filled her ears. No gleam of gold to relieve her here. Nothing but darkness all around and the wolf just behind.
See and speak.
She was blind and she was mute. But she would not give in, not yet!
Her hand traced the cavern wall, and her feet sometimes nearly slipped as the river flowed past, ready to tug her under. The Path she walked was magic, however, and led her safely through those underground miles. She should have died down there the last time. By rights, she should die there now. But instead she saw the gleam of light far ahead. Sunlight! Night had come in the world above, come and gone, and daylight reigned once more. But where was the Midnight? Where were the Black Dogs?
“My love.”
The wolf’s voice, so near behind, was enough to shatter the spirit. She staggered and collapsed against the wall. He was close. His voice was a monster’s, but a man’s hand reached toward her in darkness.
“You fled me down this Path before,” he s
aid, “and where did it lead you? Back to me, Starflower. Back to me, where you belong. Why fly from me again?” His voice was a snarl, but it pleaded with her. “My own, my love. You will only be brought back to me a second time. Such is your doom; you cannot escape it. I am your god, and I have decreed it so.”
He could not touch her, not while she stood upon this Path. But his words sank into her heart, and she feared the truth of them. Girl and wolf . . . inexplicably joined. Only death would sever his hold upon her, upon Fairbird, upon the Land.
See the truth.
She pushed herself upright, forcing her eyes to look ahead, to look to the daylight where the river emerged from the deep places of the world and roared out into the sea beyond the Circle of Faces. One step, then two. She felt the wolf reaching for her; all his will strained against her, begging her to stay.
“Starflower—”
The river caught her.
Just as it had the last time she fled, it swelled about her legs and snatched her up, carrying her through the darkness. She should have drowned; her bones should have been crushed. But the Path was true and swift. It did not lie. It carried her beyond the darkness, out into the blazing light of day and cast her upon the shore of the narrow isthmus, beyond the reach of the mountains, beyond the reach of her god.
Imraldera lay gasping for some time, uncertain of herself and her fate. At last, her arms shaking and her legs protesting in agony, she forced herself to her feet and turned to face the long cavern.
The wolf stood at its mouth. His eyes were full of black fire, and his fists raised in furious protest. “No!” he shouted, his voice carrying above the roar of the river. “Come back to me, love! Do not leave me again!”
The silent girl stood trembling, water dripping from her hair, her nose, the hem of her dress. She stared at the Beast and he raged at her. But he did not step beyond the safety of the mountains.
The Black Dogs were nowhere in sight. Perhaps they were near, but Imraldera could not say for sure. There was no trace of Midnight. She was alone upon that stretch, ocean on either side, mountains before, haze of a distant horizon behind. She and her enemy were the only two beings left in the worlds.
But he would not approach her.
He beckoned, his voice desperate as he spoke. “I will give you a voice. That is what you want most, isn’t it, my lovely? I took it from you, but I can give it back. Return to me, and I shall give you everything you want!”
She stared at him, her brow set in a line, her lips gently parted.
“Say his name,” said the Dragonwitch, “and he will do your bidding.”
Imraldera raised her hands to sign, but they did not move.
See the truth and speak! sang the voice in her heart.
What truth was she meant to see?
“I will make her suffer,” said the wolf. He paced back and forth along the edge of the water, just within the shelter of the cavern. “I will make that sister of yours suffer. I will tear into her just as I tore into your father when you left me the last time! You love her, I know. You would die for her. But will you live for her, Starflower? Will you return to me and live out your life as you were meant to for the sake of that girl?”
Hatred. That must be his name. She stared at his hideous face, distorted by his own unsatisfied lusts, and she hated him.
See the truth.
“I can’t!” she screamed in the silence of her mind. “I can’t see what you want me to see!”
But you have already seen it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Let me show you.
Imraldera gasped.
She stood in a memory upon the bank of a stream. She saw herself crouched on the ground at the feet of several angry lads, Fairbird clutched protectively in her arms. A gray lurcher snarled at her, saliva dripping from her jaws, hatred in her eyes.
Imraldera watched the girl who was herself gazing into that distorted face. And she remembered. She remembered what Starflower had seen.
Every living creature must hear its true name spoken before its soul may wake and live. Otherwise, be it man or beast, it is no more than a husk living a brutal, animal existence. The soul is a seed that must be watered, or it will lie forever dormant.
Frostbite, bruised and kicked and ill-treated, was a soulless creature when she snarled in the face of Starflower. But her spirit longed for an awakening. She longed to hear her true name.
Starflower, lying on the riverbank surrounded by enemies, had looked at that animal, and she had loved.
Imraldera shook herself, blinking as she returned to that place between oceans, standing before the Beast. She saw him, saw what he had been meant to be. What loss or neglect had stunted the growth of his spirit so that it might as well never have existed? She could not guess. Or perhaps he had chosen this living death. Perhaps he had rejected all hope of true life for the sake of the godhood he so desired.
It did not change what he had been created to be. It did not change his true name, the name that lay hidden behind all others.
The girl looked upon the wolf, and her eyes were opened at last.
“I know your name,” she signed.
“What?” snarled the wolf. It was against the laws of the Land for menfolk to speak the silent language of women, but he had ruled this Land too long not to know all the workings of his slaves. “What did you say?”
“I know your name,” she signed. “The name you wish no one to know.”
“My, my!” He smiled. “Who told you that? Your wanderings must have taken you far, little Starflower, if you came to the lands where people knew Amarok of old. Amarok the shifter. Amarok the loner. No lord was he! No master of men, no director of fates. I was scorned by kings and queens who thought themselves my betters. But Amarok is made of more than dust, and the creatures of dust are subject to his whim!”
He stepped to the edge of his demesne, his feet just within the shadow of the cavern. “Go on, Starflower. Speak my name. It means nothing, for I know yours as well. Or did the people among whom you walked not tell you that side of the story? You can only control the power of a name so long as yours remains secret. And you have no secrets from me, my love. I am your god.”
“I know your true name,” she signed, and her hands shook as they formed the words.
Speak!
A taste like fire but purer, like scalding water, filled Imraldera’s mouth. From her lips, bursting like a liberated fountain and filling the air so that all might hear, she sang out in a loud voice:
“Let me praise the One Who Names Them.
He named this child from the Beginning,
Before the worlds were made!”
The wolf swore. His voice jolted from the inside out, as though his heart were breaking in two, and fire leapt from his eyes. But Imraldera, gazing upon him, declared the truth to the monster’s face. In a whisper, she spoke his true name:
“Beloved.”
———
A howl of rage shook the Circle of Faces. The wolf sprang from hiding, murder in his eyes. How dare she? How dare she speak that vile word, that word that contained slavery to his ears! He would devour her. He would crush her between his jaws and remove all memory of her from the face of the world. And when he returned to the Land, he would put her sister to the same death, and the silent women would be silent forever!
He forgot, for an instant, the Dragonwitch’s vow.
“Know this, my husband, and know it well: The moment you set foot beyond the Circle of Faces will be your last. For I shall send the Black Dogs!”
Midnight smothered the world. Darkness full of tormented dissonance. Whether the Dogs themselves saw the creature upon which they fell, who could say? But they set upon him in a hurricane’s rush, their eyes flashing, their jaws slavering, their teeth stained with the blood of their father.
Imraldera covered her face and cowered from the dreadful sight, unwilling to look. But she could not stop her ears to the screams.
“My own! My own!” cried the Beast.
And the Black Dogs dragged him to the realm of Death.
6
A HUSH FELL upon the world. Not a hush of silence. Gentle noises rang so much clearer following the horror of the Black Dogs’ coming and going. Waves lapped at the isthmus, murmuring. The river, its roar dulled by distance, poured from the mountains into the sea. Clouds gathered, drawing misty rain with them, which fell upon the girl kneeling on that lonely shore, her head cradled in her hands.
It was done. The wolf was slain. Her people saved.
But Imraldera wept for Amarok.
She understood now as she had been unable to before. With each tear that fell, she understood better, and her heart ached with the knowledge it now bore. For she had looked into the face of her enemy and she had loved. And then, she had stood by at his death.
“There is but one thing that separates the living spirit from the brute.”
She looked up into a face she could not recognize in the heavy mist. But the voice she knew.
“Only love sets you apart. Only love makes you more than an animal. Without love, you are no better than the Beast himself.”
The stranger before her knelt down and took her hands in his. She still could not see his face clearly in this gloom. But she saw his eyes. Dark, flecked with gold, full of kindness. His was a gaze in which she might rest.
“Amarok was intended to be more,” said the stranger. “The seed of goodness remained inside where it was planted. Had he submitted to love, that seed would have grown and flourished. As it was, his soul was a dry desert. But you saw, Starflower, if only for that moment, what he was meant for. Love for your sister was not enough. Love for her is as natural to you as breathing! The love you needed, my child, is unnatural and can be learned only with pain. Yet there is power in that love beyond all created understanding!”