The Rise of the Fire Moon

  ***

  Tir was running across the fields as fast as he could. Only one thought was clear in his panicked mind, and it pulsed in his skull like a blow to the head: Get away.

  The wind was screeching across the grass, tugging at his fur as though trying to pull him back. He had to find somewhere to hide, just for a moment, for he knew Palva’s alpha would be out to search for him in mere moments. Their reasons for holding him captive were still mysteries to him, but he no longer cared. Whatever it was, it must be important to them. They would be coming for him, no doubt. He did not know how much time he had; he did not know if he had any time at all—he had taken the opportunity and run. Run faster than he had ever run before.

  He stopped and whipped around, wild eyes scanning the dark fields around him. The urgency to hide was pulsing through his blood like fire ants, overwhelming his mind with panic. Oh, how he wished he were a rabbit, just for that moment, so that he could leap down a hole and vanish. But the fields were flat save for a lone line of trees in the distance whose dark, spidery silhouettes were barely distinguishable against the black canvas of the night sky. It was his old forest—burnt even against the ebony sky, perched like a knife-thin carrion bird upon the high shelf of the cliff. He released his breath in a huge rush, his legs trembling beneath him from his sudden run. He must have run faster than he thought he had—the forest looked far away.

  But he turned back around, not allowing himself to feel relief, not yet, and spurred on across the shadowed grass as fast as his weary and bruised paws would carry him. It didn’t matter how far he had run—surely they had wolves faster than he, who could catch up behind him. Now was not the time for optimism. He glanced up at the sky as he ran. Rya’s milky eye was glaring down at him from the inky space, filling the dark plains with its pearly glow. His breath caught in his throat and he looked down at the ground, running faster. He could feel the cold glare of the moon burning into his pelt like Palva’s pale eyes, but he didn’t look back.

  The grass around his paws was smooth and damp, whipping across his legs as he dashed forward, eyes on the ground. But deep beneath the clawing panic of his escape, he felt a buoyant, leaping sense of freedom. He was free—for the moment, at least. He was free and running, swathed in the shadows of the night, air whipping through his singed fur, cold wind rushing down his throat—it felt wonderful, an exhilarating opposite from the forest fire. No longer was he a helpless captive; he was running away from them with a new destination in mind. But first, he had to hide.

  He came to a sudden halt. He had reached a line of shadows where the fields seemed to come to an abrupt end, and he looked up. He shivered. Before him was a forest, a looming wall of black trees that stretched into the sky like grasping hands. A foreboding air hung about the forest, something strange and dangerous and unnatural. His eyes strained, but he could not see anything past the trees; the rest of the forest was impenetrable shadows. Who knew what could be lurking in such a black place? A chilling wind whistled through the branches of the trees, making them sway and rattle like old bones. The wind died down to a low hiss as it swept past the trees and rushed over the grass, and the shrill, hair-raising cry of a screech owl echoed somewhere from the depths of the dark forest. This place had a distinct feeling of hostility and unwelcome—not a forest for outsiders.

  Every instinct that Tir possessed was urging him not to go forward, not to set foot in this dark place. He knew he should obey his senses, turn around and run off to find elsewhere to hide. But he also knew that Palva and her pack would never find him in this forest—it looked as though it would be easy even to lose himself in its shadowy depths. It was the best hiding place he could hope for, but he had to be careful.

  Tir took a tentative step forward, his ears flat against his head. Nothing happened—no angry spirit came rushing out from the forest’s tomb, no explosion from the dark sky. He took another step, and another. His blood pounding in his ears, Tir crept forward and left the fields behind. He could feel the forest’s darkness settling over him like cold rain soaking him to the skin and clinging to his paws as he walked. Shivers raced like spiders down his spine.

  Tir moved among the trees, ears pricked for the slightest sound. But the wind had faded and the screech owl had fled; he was walking in total silence. He felt jumpy, vulnerable, tripping over roots in his path and tearing his fur on unseen thorns in the undergrowth. It felt as though he was being watched, as though he was surrounded by invisible, silent-pawed creatures. The moment he had taken but five steps into the forest, he was seized with the urge to run back out—where, of course, Palva and her alpha would be waiting for him. What choice did he have?

  In an instant, the silence seemed heavier than ever, like the tense stillness before the break of a storm. Tir froze midstep, the fur along his back beginning to rise. Was that a wolf he scented?

  It all happened at once. Something furious and snarling erupted from the undergrowth, slamming Tir against the ground and shoving his face into the dirt. A paw pressed down on his throat, pinning him in place. He gasped for air, spitting soil and trying to regain his feet as red clouds of pain unfurled like fireballs in his head.

  “What are you doing in my forest?” a voice growled into his ear.

  “Just pas—passing through,” Tir was struggling to speak beneath the pressure of his attacker’s paw. “Not meaning an—any harm.”

  “You have no right to be here,” the voice said. “’Tis my forest you walk through, understand? No one passes through here but I.”

  “S—sorry, I’ll—go. If you would o—only get off—”

  “No. I must kill you. I have no use for intruders; any intruder that comes in my forest surrenders itself as my prey. That would be you.”

  “N—no!” Tir gasped, and the paw pressed down harder. “I—I have to find m—my pack!”

  The voice sounded suspicious. “Your pack?”

  But Tir spluttered and choked, no longer able to speak under the pressure.

  His attacker released its strangling hold to allow him to reply. Tir sat up, gasping as the cold night air rushed down his throat.

  He raised his head so that he could see this creature who had captured him. He knew by the sound of its voice that it was a wolf, though never before had he heard a wolf speak quite the same way as this one was. Despite his fear, however, he was surprised to see that his attacker did not at all match his imaginings.

  It was a small she-wolf of an indeterminate age, though he couldn’t believe she was older than three winters. Her fur was a shocking white that almost seemed to give off a glare in the dark. He was much bigger than she, for she was very small—but she was sharp and lithe as a thorn vine, hardened by a bitter and rough existence. Pale, hostile eyes of green flint glared at him from a scar-slashed face. They were eyes without mercy.

  “I have asked you a question!” the she-wolf said, drawing her lips back from her teeth. “Give me an answer! Where is your pack?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Tir admitted, averting his stare to the ground. “I’m searching for them.”

  “You do not know where they are?” she said with scorn. Her voice had an odd, lilting quality to it, as though it belonged to a softer creature—in jarring contrast with her violent words and harsh tone. She spoke almost rhythmically, and Tir half-expected her to break out in savage rhyming. He had never before heard a wolf with a voice like hers. “So from where have you come?”

  “From a different pack. They were holding me prisoner.”

  The wolf regarded him with suspicion, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

  “I—well, I don’t know,” Tir admitted.

  The wolf had begun to circle him, her fangs still bared. Tir knew she would end up killing him, no matter what. Burnt and battered as he was, he was in no state to fight. All he could think of was to keep her talking.

  “Where is this pack?” she demanded.

  “I said—I don’t know.”

  “Not your pack, idiot! The o
ne holding you prisoner.”

  “Oh,” Tir said, surprised despite himself. “They are making a...a redou—they are making camp on the fields.”

  Something flickered in the wolf’s green eyes. “There is a pack nearby?” she asked, her voice dropping to a wary hiss. For a moment, she looked almost uncertain.

  “Yes.”

  She did not reply. For a few tense moments, she continued to stalk around him, apparently in thought. Just as Tir was beginning to inch away, she turned around.

  “So then,” she said, latching a claw in his fur and pulling him back. He yelped—her claws were sharp. “This pack—have they ever told you about me?”

  Tir swallowed. “No. I don’t think they know you’re here, they haven’t lived on the fields very long…”

  “All for the best, then. They’re never going to know that I am here. And you shall make sure of it.”

  “What do you—?”

  “You didn’t think that I would let you leave here alive, did you? No one leaves here alive. I can’t have you go running back to them telling tales about me, can I?”

  “I won’t tell them!” Tir said. “I hate them! I wouldn’t tell them anything—all I want is to find my old pack,” he added in a softer voice, backing away as the she-wolf began to creep closer. “I need to find them. I’ll leave right now and never come back, I promise.”

  “I do not accept promises,” she said, scoring the ground with her paw. Tir’s eyes flickered down and he noticed that she had the longest, sharpest black claws he had ever seen on a wolf. It looked almost as though she sharpened them.

  “What reason have I to believe you?” she said. “If I believed every fool who ventured into my forest, I wouldn’t be alive today. Did you not hear what I said? If you come into this forest, you are my prey. ‘Tis my rule, and while you’re in my territory, you must follow my rules. I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but if your pack wants to drive me out...”

  “No! They aren’t! I just want to find them!”

  “You may be a liar,” she said with a slight shrug. “Or you may not. But ‘tis a risk I cannot afford to take. After all, you’d kill me in an instant if you could, no?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Tir said. He backed away. “I don’t even know you. I don’t want to kill anyone—”

  “Of course you do; everyone does. I am in your way, aren’t I? You kill creatures to get them out of your way. And right now, you are in mine. Kill or be killed—‘tis how it goes.”

  Tir had no time to react before she lunged for him. There was an unpleasant crunch as her shoulders crushed him back against the ground. He fought, panicked, kicking out with his hind legs and snapping his jaws, but she ignored his blows as though they were nothing to her. Sharp, black claws tore at him like thorns, though he had never known a wolf to fight with claws before. He howled and kicked out, hard, but his legs struck empty air. Pain flashed through his head as fangs latched around his neck, going to pierce his life-vein as he had tried to do to Palva. Palva… he felt sorry for attacking her now; it wasn’t her fault. He wished he could apologize, but it was too late. He gasped, knowing he was drawing his last breaths. The night sky was visible through a gap in the trees above; there, Rya’s blind eye glared down at him from a haze of clouds and stars. Were they tears or spirits? His sister was up there, he knew. How could she watch him dying like this? A shudder rolled down his spine, needles of pain slipping in and out of consciousness. Were his old packmates right? Was he to be punished—he and Arwena? It was the fire that had done it. The fire had been sent, and he had escaped—and now death was to catch up to him. It was cruel justice.

  “I’ve done nothing!” he choked out to the sky, the blood in his eyes blurring the knife-edge outlines of the trees above him. “I can’t help what I’ve escaped; I’m innocent of what—”

  Almost immediately, the weight was taken off him. He lay there for a few moments, motionless. Was he dead already? But no, the hostile she-wolf was still standing over him. There was a strange expression on her face.

  “Your fur,” she said. Her mouth dripped blood into his face. “Your fur tastes of ashes.”

  “Ashes,” Tir mumbled, not quite sure of what had just happened. “I should be ashes. I and my mother. She needs me—she could be dead… like my sister, she so wanted to be, but I—I wouldn’t let her, she couldn’t—not the yew. We’ve done nothing, Palva told me so—nothing!”

  He was saying panicked nonsense, he knew. But his words seemed to have an effect on the she-wolf. A faraway expression flitted across her face, and she followed his gaze up to the stars.

  “Why does your fur taste of ashes?” she said.

  Tir did not know why it was of such importance to her, but at least she had not killed him yet. “The fire. The fire on the cliff—I escaped. It was terrible.”

  “And your eyes.”

  “Wha—what?”

  “Your eyes are green. Green as…as the sap in the heart of a new tree.” She faltered, a look of confusion flitting across her face. There was blood in her eye; she blinked it away. “Green eyes. There must be more of you.”

  Tir stared, lost. “I don’t think I—”

  “Where are they, the others?”

  “My pack? But I told you; they’re not—”

  She lunged forward, seething. “Where are they?”

  “They’re not here!” Tir cried, cringing away from her—the transformation was terrifying. She looked furious, frightened. “They were in the fire; I don’t know where they are, I told you! I told you!”

  The she-wolf stared at him a few moments longer. She swallowed, and took a step backwards. In the distance, a screech owl cried, and Tir, with a lurch of nausea, wondered if Palva’s pack had begun searching for him yet. If they would ever find him. His blood dripped from the white she-wolf’s bitter muzzle, and he found he could imagine it spread across the forest floor, for her to bury in the morning so that all traces of him would be gone.

  “I want you out of here,” she said, her voice quiet. “Out…out of my forest, and to never return again. I don’t want to see you. Stay out of my way.”

  “But my pack—”

  “They’re gone,” she snarled, baring her teeth. “They’re gone in the fire and ‘twasn’t my fault. If ever there were more of you, they’re torn and gone now and I saw nothing of it—‘twasn’t my fault, do you understand?”

  “I wouldn’t blame you,” Tir said, bewildered. He struggled to his feet; she did not stop him. In fact, she took another step backwards, teeth bared, eyes gleaming in the dark. “But I need to know—I can’t leave them; they need me. I need to know if—”

  “BLOOD IN THE SKY, WOLF, IF YOU NEED TO KNOW THEN I SHALL TELL YOU!” the she-wolf roared in a flood of violence Her fangs snapped an inch before his face, and Tir lurched backwards. “They’re dead! Dead and melted away, and flay me on the spot if I had anything to do with it—the nightmare was groundless! Groundless! You’re the first of the green-eyed wolves I’ve seen, and the last—they’re dead, I swear it, and if I ever see you again then you shall be the same!”

  Tir stumbled, the brutality in her words crashing upon him like the weight of boulders. “N—no,” he faltered, meeting her glare. “No, you’re lying; they’re not…not…”

  “I tell no lies,” she said, her eyes cutting. “They’re not in my forest; I would know. And if they are not on the fields, and they are not in my forest, then they must be dead. As a matter of fact, the ravens were spinning above that ridge just a day ago. I saw it myself—I tell you, they’re dead, and I am absolved of anything to do with it all.”

  “W—what?”

  “You have heard what I said. They are not here, nor are they anywhere near here. They are not anywhere, not anymore. You may give up the search,” the she-wolf said, straightening herself. Some of the panic in her voice had begun to melt; she seemed to be regaining her composure. “And remove yourself and your terrible eyes from my forest. This instant.”
r />   Tir looked away, not hearing her. His head was spinning. Everything had just crashed down around him; he was lying broken at the feet of the cliffs again, the smoke of his old life rising to vanish in the sky. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to escape anymore. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere. Nothing.

  “No,” he said, his voice a ragged whisper. “I can’t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Tir dropped his head. He understood how Arwena had felt, so long ago, standing beneath the yew tree. Such a distant memory; what a shame he associated it with his mother. “Please,” he said. “I set out to find them, and I intend to do it. Please. Kill me if you like, and I’ll be with them again—I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  “Oh, no! I’m not having any of that. I’m no fool. I didn’t kill the others of your kind and I don’t intend to kill you—you won’t trick me. I’m stronger in real life than I am in my dreams, you’ll see.”

  Tir raised his head to meet her eyes. They were wide and frightened above her snarling fangs, and for the first time he saw that she was young—not much older than he himself was. He was quite certain that she was insane.

  “I’m not trying to trick you,” he said. “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand perfectly,” she said. “And if you don’t get out, I shall drive you through the pines until your pelt is dripping in blood from your still-living limbs.”

  “Not kill me?”

  “No, and I don’t know why,” she spat. “Now get out.”

  “I—”

  “GET OUT.”

  In an aggressive flash of movement, she slashed at his side with her claws. Tir reeled with the fresh wave of pain, and he yelped and leaped to his paws as though he had been electrified. Little red lights flashed before his eyes, and he thought of yew berries, of Arwena in a clear and strong mood, telling him, Never pray to the red berries, Tir. All at once, he was burning with shame. His life was all he had left. Grief was a dangerous thing.

  Tir ran out of the dark forest as fast as he could, with the white she-wolf snapping at his heels. He burst out of the trees and fell onto the soft grass beyond the line of shadow, gasping for air. When he looked back, he could see her standing in the shadows on the edge of the forest. From this distance, her harsh white pelt made her look like a bloodstained ghost, and he remembered his fears about the forest being haunted.

  “Go!” she shouted. “And if I ever see your like in my forest again, you’ll be crying for death before I send you back out! Go!”

  Tir struggled to his paws and ran away across the fields towards Palva’s redoubt. He may as well return to them, for what other alternative was there? He had nowhere to go. His pack was gone, and he was left alone.