The Rise of the Fire Moon

  8.

  Reflections

  Xelind was a lean, dead-eyed Sentinel the color of scraped ice. He was sprawled across the dark face of a boulder on the far edge of the hollow, licking a ragged gash on his side. The livid half-moon of an old scar slashed through his left eye and down his throat, where it vanished in his fur; but aside from that mark his face was as expressionless as the stone behind him. The hollow was dead silent. Although Xelind himself seemed to add to the stillness, his eyes were cast to the side as though he were waiting for something.

  “Where is he?” Palva said in a shaking voice, skidding to a halt in the center of her hollow. She scanned her surroundings as though hoping to see Tir lurking behind a boulder. “Where did he go?”

  “He left,” Xelind said unnecessarily.

  “I see that!” Palva hissed. “You were supposed to be on guard! Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “I couldn’t have.”

  Palva spat with fury. “Oh, really. So you fought him, did you? And you just couldn’t stop his mad dash to escape?”

  “He damaged me. You see this hole in my side? I couldn’t chase him.”

  Xelind’s blue eyes were as unblinking and empty as those of a dead fish. Palva stared at him for a few moments.

  “You expect me to believe that?” she said at last. “That he fought his way out? Tir couldn’t fight his way past a rabbit.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And so who gave you the cut?”

  “I did.”

  “You let him go.”

  “It’s true.”

  “And bit yourself to cover up for it?”

  “Yes.”

  There was silence for a few moments. Xelind held Palva’s gaze for awhile, and then went back to licking his cut. Palva could feel a steady rush of fury boiling up behind her ears. What right did Xelind have to do that? She knew what kind of a wolf Xelind was, and could not imagine him doing it out of the goodness of his heart. It must have been Captain Leron’s order. Captain Leron did not want an outsider to join the pack; Captain Leron hated strangers for reasons beyond Palva’s understanding. Captain Leron did not know about the prophecy for this very reason.

  “Don’t you know what you’ve done?” Palva spat, making a lunge for his boulder. Xelind looked up with a raised brow. “Alpha Liyra gave direct orders to keep that outsider under guard and to not let him leave. That wolf was of great value to the pack!”

  Xelind did not reply.

  “Why did you let him go, Xelind?” Palva asked in a quieter voice, her ears flattening. “Go on, tell me before I come up there and kill you.”

  Still no response.

  “Xelind,” Palva growled through gritted teeth. “Why did you let Tir go?”

  “He wanted to go,” Xelind said. He was trying to sound innocent, but there was still a hint of cold anger in his tone. “My question is, why are you holding him?”

  “It was on Leron’s orders, wasn’t it? The Captain doesn’t want outsiders in the pack?”

  “And so what if he doesn’t? What is the use of having outsiders in the pack if they don’t even wish to be a part of it? I am sure he had better things to do than plague us. And certainly you, Gatherer, are far too busy to spend time plaguing him.”

  Palva stared at him, unable to reply. Her anger faded in a fresh wave of guilt. She reverted her glare to the ground, away from Xelind’s icy eyes that stared straight through her as though he knew what she was thinking. She was angry with herself, angry with Liyra, angry with Leron for his mad irrationality and interference. How could she have been so stupid? This must be the only situation in which Captain Leron had been the one to make the proper moral choice. Doubtless, he had no idea. But Palva was burning with shame.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Palva said. “You did the right thing, I suppose.”

  “Outsiders do not belong here.”

  “It was Liyra’s order. You’re going to get in trouble, Xelind.”

  “No. Why do you think I slashed myself? Alpha Liyra will understand that he was much larger than I, and he was able to injure me so that I could not give chase.”

  “You think she’ll believe it?”

  “And why shouldn’t she? She has already seen how the outsider attacked the chief Sentinel.”

  Palva groaned. She turned around and moved towards the wall of grass beyond which lay open fields. “Fine, then,” she said. “Go and show yourself to Liyra. And I’ll forgive you this one time, Xelind, because what you have done is something I should have done myself. But I know what kind of wolf you are, and next time I catch you defying Liyra for your own wishes or something the Captain says, I swear I will poison you.”

  “I’ll be sure to walk lightly, then.”

  Palva ignored the sarcasm in his voice. Without another word, she slipped out of the hollow and into the grass, breaking into a run as soon as she was away from the redoubt. Somehow, she had to find Tir. Somehow, she must persuade him to come back to the redoubt. Not because of the prophecy, no. But because he could get himself killed out in this strange territory, especially with an unknown renegade running about. She had told Liyra that force was a bad idea. Force would drive wolves to do stupid things—but this was her fault.

  Palva had never felt guilty before. She didn’t like it.

  Growling under her breath, she ran faster, fast as her twisted leg would allow without causing her to stumble. She scanned the dark landscape, but saw nothing but seas of swaying grass washed silver in the moonlight. The fields looked ethereal at night, like a place from another world. The silence was so thick that her own breaths were deafening to her ears.

  And then Palva stopped. Tir, a large and ragged brown shape in the darkness, was loping towards her over the moonlit field, not seeming to care whether he was captured or not. When he reached her, he sank down with exhaustion.

  “Take me back,” he said, so softly Palva strained to make out the words.

  “Take you back?”

  He looked up at her, and she saw that his eyes were dull with defeat.

  “Take me back to your camp,” he said without inflection. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Palva couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She could tell by the look in Tir’s eyes that he had learned something dreadful. “But what about finding you old pack?” she asked, fearing that she already knew the answer. “I came to help you. I’m sorry; I have made a mistake. We…I was wrong for what I did.”

  Tir dropped his head down to the ground again, and it was a long time before he spoke. “Never mind that,” he said. His voice was hollow. “They’re dead. They’re gone.”

  Palva said nothing, for the first time in her life rendered silent. Pity was an alien feeling to her, but it prickled at the corner of her mind now. She felt she should comfort him, but did not know how. They sat in silence for a few moments which, for how they both felt, could have been eternity, listening to the wind moan through the grass.

  At last, Palva padded over to him and nudged him to his feet. He stood up with much difficulty, but did not resist as Palva began to lead him away, back towards the redoubt.

  They had only walked a few steps when Palva halted and examined him more closely. She was shocked to see that his fur was caked with blood, and there were several long gashes buried in his coat. He had been in a fight.

  “What happened?” she demanded, horror-struck.

  He looked up. “The forest,” he mumbled, almost incoherent. “There was a wolf in there…fought with her claws, like a wildcat. Attacked me, talked so strange, said it was her territory, and was going to kill me. I dunno why she didn’t…”

  Palva’s breath caught in her throat. This could only be the renegade Captain Leron had reported. A she-wolf. A hostile one, and perhaps something else as well—what kind of a wolf would fight with her claws?

  “…running away, said she never, doesn’t ever want to see me again. I asked if she had seen a—any other packs around…no, she s
aid, but over the ridge she saw…r—ravens.”

  Palva looked at him. He had stopped short a few paces behind her and was staring into space, his lips trembling. And before she knew it, his face was buried in her fur and he was sobbing into her shoulder.

  “They’re gone! They’re dead—all dead. Arwena and Kiala and Avrok and Misari—all of them!”

  Palva stood, frozen in shock and at a loss of what to do in her situation. Trying to sound comforting, she spoke to him, though unsure that he could hear her. “Renegades lie. You can’t trust them. There’s a good chance she was lying to you.”

  “N—no,” he choked. “I know it. Burn…burned up and—and gone away, she said. They’re dead. Never, never… never going to see them…”

  His voice dwindled into sobs and he shuddered against her like a leaf in the wind. Palva, feeling somewhat overwhelmed and uncomfortable by this onslaught of emotion, wanted to shake him off, but felt that would be insensitive.

  Instead, she stood still for a few moments until Tir’s cries had faded down to snuffling, dry sobs. Palva waited until he seemed to have regained control of himself before speaking.

  “Come now,” she said. “Let’s go get you washed off.”

  Tir didn’t reply, but allowed her to lead him in a different direction, where her senses told her a lake was located. Tir plodded along at her side, still sniffing. Palva was suddenly struck by how young he was, only a few months out of puphood. He had already been through too much for a wolf at his age. In a way, he reminded her of Seilo.

  The lake looked like liquid moonlight in the dark. Palva moved towards it with caution, but Tir didn’t seem to care about caution any longer. He limped up to it and fell into the water without a moment’s hesitation. The loud splash shattered the night silence like a gunshot, and cold waters truck Palva in the face. She sputtered, spitting on the ground and shaking the frigid droplets out of her pelt. Looking out at the lake, she could see Tir’s head bobbing a few feet out from the banks. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to attempt to drown himself, so she crouched by the banks and watched him.

  But Tir did not seem to have such drastic wishes, and he emerged from the cold water dripping and shivering but looking a bit better than before. Palva guessed that he must have been thinking to himself as he was washing the blood and ash out of his fur. He was still sad, but not the fatal agony from a few minutes ago.

  His fur was clean, and Palva was surprised to see that it was a muddy brown color. Somehow, she had been expecting a smoky grey, like the ash-wolves from her visions. Patches of his fur were still spiky and singed black, but that would soon vanish.

  Palva padded up to him. He was sitting by the side of the lake, gazing down at his own reflection. Drawing closer, Palva was surprised to see that he now looked more thoughtful than sad. Indeed, his brow was furrowed and he frowned down at his face wavering on the water’s surface.

  “I have green eyes,” he said in a strange tone, as though he had never noticed it before.

  Palva sat down beside him and followed his gaze down onto the lake, where his own reflection was looking back at them both with dark, leaf-green eyes. Sad, but very green eyes.

  “Yes, you certainly do,” she said.

  Tir was silent for a few moments, and Palva could tell that he was thinking hard.

  “That renegade did not like them,” he said at last. “They frightened her, and made her speak of nightmares. But she had green eyes, too. They were different from mine—angrier, but still.”

  Palva glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking so hard and long about. “Yes, perhaps she did,” she said, puzzled. “And many wolves have green eyes. It is nothing unusual.”

  But Tir did not seem to be listening. He had a strange, faraway expression on his face.

  “Arwena had green eyes,” he mumbled.

  “Your mother?”

  “My mother.”

  Again, Palva felt a pang of guilt, and looked away. His mother, who was dead. His mother, whose death they had tried so hard to make Tir realize, to make him shed his empty hopes. She sensed that he had always, privately, known his pack had perished; however, the process of healing required a strong will to live, a drive, and Tir had clung to his quest to find his family as though it were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

  Well, he had accepted the truth of it now. Palva didn’t feel particularly triumphant.

  Beside her, Tir shifted and lowered his head so close to his reflection that his nose was almost touching the water’s surface.

  “She told me she didn’t kill my mother. And she refused to kill me, as well.”

  “You asked her to kill you?”

  “Yes. But that was because I had forgotten Arwena.” He paused, and added, “I should never have done that.”

  For many hours, the two wolves sat at the surface of the lake, each lost in their own confused thoughts. The night grew warmer, and the sound returned to the dark landscape. An owl hooted—a soft and serene sound, accompanied by the gentle rush of wings and a blurry-edged shadow swooping low over the fields. The long grass bowed under the sudden force of the warm night wind, and the air filled with a sound like rushing water.

  And when Tir finally rose from his place by the lake, Palva could sense that he had changed.