The Rise of the Fire Moon

  11.

  River’s Ally

  “And Eklo said to the Sky, ‘My people are suffering; they are weak and vulnerable to their predators, who are swifter and stronger and cleverer then they are. They have no claws, no means of protection. My sons and daughters are dying, and I am helpless for them—is there nothing you can do?’

  “And the Great Sky said in reply, ‘Do not fear, child; how would I have forgotten you? I have something in mind for you and your people, a great gift, yes, something that shall protect them from the hunter’s claws.’

  “Now, the Sky possesses a mischievous spirit, and he smiled to himself as Eklo voiced praise and gratitude for his generosity and kindness. Eklo was not entirely relieved, though, for he knew all too well of the Great Sky’s fondness for trickery and was quite sure that his people’s gift was not to be handed over easily. ‘O Great Sky,’ he said, bowing his head (and remember, my dears, Eklo did not have any prongs then, not yet, no). ‘My people and I shall be ever in your debt. What is this great gift you speak of?’

  “And the Great Sky smiled at Eklo, who was small and weak before him. ‘The gift?’ he said. ‘Why, ‘tis not my gift to give. I have no gifts more to give. I have already given swiftness to the Wind, and wariness to the Stars. I have no more strength, for I have spent the last of it on the Trees. Dear child, if you wish for these gifts of protection, then I am afraid you shall have to go and beg the pity of those who possess them.’”

  Alanki was lying on the banks of the Lake. She was half-listening to a story Delphinium was telling to a crowd of fawns, all of which were absorbing the storyteller’s words with rapt attention. It was a beautiful day—the brilliant sunlight danced across the surface of the Lake, dissolving into hundreds of golden sparks in the water. It was an unusually warm day for the season, perhaps the last warm day before the chill of autumn set in. A gentle breeze ruffled through Alanki’s white fur and the endless sea of grass behind her. Alanki closed her eyes, allowing herself to be submerged in this rare moment of peace, listening to the soft lapping of the Lake and the ongoing lilt of Delphinium’s mild voice as she told one of the many legends of the ancient deer-father, Eklo.

  “And so, Eklo, who was not yet discouraged, went and sought the company of the Wind in order to beg for a share of the Wind’s gift of swiftness.

  “Now, he found the Wind whirling about across a vast field, not unlike the field where we are now, my dears. The Wind, the Dtallei, was a fierce, cold thing then—bitter and merciless, he screamed over the poor grass of his field, freezing them to the ground. Eklo approached with care, keeping his head low to protect his eyes. Not wishing to be impudent, not wishing to incur the Dtallei’s wrath, he kept quite respectfully still and silent as he waited for the Wind to notice his presence.

  “’Twas not long before the Wind became aware of him. ‘Who dares intrude upon me?’ the Wind screeched. ‘Who dares to disturb me and my great sorrow?”

  “‘’Tis I, Eklo, the father of the Deer,’ Eklo said, bowing as low as he could. ‘I have come to seek a great favor of you, O Dtallei. Please, I beg you, listen to my cry.’

  “But the Wind howled and turned away. ‘I have no time to listen to the troubles of living, breathing creatures. I have no patience for such—I am so cold, you see? I am so sharp and cold and bitter, no creature dares approach me; they all flee from me. I am alone; I am condemned to spend all of eternity lashing about on this wretched field, howling my sorrow and loneliness over the silent grass. Even the Arquere of the forest do not wish for my company; their branches cringe away from me, for my coldness and bitter strength destroys everything in my path. Leave me now, Eklo of the Deer, before you, too, are frozen in my wintry sorrow.’

  “But Eklo was far too determined to save his people than be deterred by the fierce Wind. ‘No, O Dtallei,’ he said, and the Wind quieted so as to hear him speak. ‘I shan’t leave. For I must have a share of your gift of swiftness, so that my people may run from their predators. What do you want from me, in exchange for a bit of your gift?’

  “‘There is nothing I wish, nothing, that is, that you could give me,’ cried the Wind. ‘All I long for is to be able to fly among living creatures, so that they would enjoy my presence and speak of how great the Dtallei is, and how they are glad of the Dtallei. But that is impossible, for I am too cold and too strong and I kill everything that strays before my path.’

  “And then Eklo was sent an idea, perhaps even by the Great Sky himself. Without any further words, he began to tell a story. He told the Wind a story of such sorrow, that the Wind began to howl all the louder and weep tears of snow. He told a story of such joy, that the Wind silenced, and could not resist but to dance across the frozen fields. He told the Wind a story of such love and kindness, that the Wind’s bitter power was softened, and the grass on the fields began to warm and raise their feeble green arms to the sky. And when Eklo had quite finished, the Wind was soft and silent, thinking to himself about what he had just been told.

  “‘Oh, no,’ said the Wind. ‘Do not stop, please; continue telling me of such things as love and kindness and joy, such things that are so strange to me.’ But Eklo only shook his head.

  “No,’ he said. ‘I cannot, for that story is finished. And that story shall die with me, if my children cannot escape their enemies. You shall remain here, whipping about the fields and crying your loneliness and sorrow—for that will be all you remember. The story I tell you is truth, but you shall forget it.’

  “‘I am softened,’ said the Wind. ‘I can feel it; I am not as cold as I was, because of your story. See? The little blades of grass have come to life, come to talk to me.’

  “But you are still too strong, too fast for any living creature. You shall blast the little grass down to the ground again. But, O Dtallei, if you let my people have a share of your swiftness, you shan’t be so dreadfully powerful, and you shall fly among living creatures without harming them, and they shall enjoy your presence and speak of how great the Dtallei is, and how they are glad of the Dtallei.”

  “Fine then, take some of my swiftness and be gone,’ said the Wind. And when Eklo accepted the gift, his legs grew longer and leaner and stronger, and as he ran off over the grass, he could feel the swiftness of the Wind running alongside him, and he knew that no hunter in the world could catch him. And from then on, the Dtallei was a gentler creature, and sent soft breezes through the forest, cooling the blistering heat of day, and creatures spoke of how great the Dtallei was, and how they were glad of it.

  “Now, as you know, my dears,” Delphinium said, surveying the crowd of fawns. “Eklo then proceeded to go to the Stars and the Trees for a share of their gifts. For each, he gave them something of his in return, as he gave the Wind his story.

  “To the Stars, the Eithrili, who were dull, blind creatures, he gave the brilliant white spots on his hide. The Eithrili donned these spots like bright new skins, and never again did they grow lost in the dark night sky. They allowed him to take with him a share of their wariness and clarity, gifts they had honed in their blindness, which allowed him to scent, hear, and feel the approach of a predator. This, my dears, is an exchange you yourselves will soon make, when you lose your fawn-spots and gain stronger awareness of what surrounds you.

  “To the Trees, the Arquere, who were gentle, kind creatures that cried silently for the pain and bloodshed of the creatures that surrounded them, he gave his sharp teeth. He promised that, in exchange for their gift of power and strength, he would never eat another creature again; no, he and his children would feed only on plants. He would use the gift of strength to protect his people from the claws and fangs of the hunters; he would prove to other creatures that one needn’t draw blood to live. He would use his gift with wisdom, to protect the weak and do his best to end pain and violence. The Arquere gave him a share of their gift, far more willingly than the Wind and the Stars had, and theirs was one of the greatest gifts of all. From them, Eklo received the gift of strength and powe
r, though in a different way than it had been given to the predators. The Trees gave him the strength of their branches, which he planted into his forehead, a powerful weapon against enemies.

  “Now, the day was almost over, and Eklo had received the gifts of swiftness, clarity, and strength, and he was quite a changed creature. He was longer and leaner, with strong, agile legs for dashing away at the speed of the Wind. He had large, velvety ears and wide, sharp eyes for sensing the approach of the hunter. He had antlers, prongs, upon his forehead; to be used for fending off predators should he be cornered. Eklo was quite pleased with himself, and he ran back to his herd to share the gifts.

  “His herd was relieved to see their father return, for in his absence the predators had come and hunted them almost to extinction. There were few of the Deer left, and indeed, Eklo had brought them their new gifts of protection just in time. He went forward and touched the flank of each of his children, passing on the gifts into them, until all of the Deer had swiftness, wariness, and power. They were quite delighted, and they walked about, examining their changes.

  “And Eklo spoke to them, ‘Be joyful, my children, for we are no longer the weak and vulnerable prey of the predators. With our new gifts, no creature on earth shall ever conquer us. Indeed, we are now the mightiest of all predators. We shall hunt as they do, though we shan’t hunt other prey as they do—we shall hunt them, the fierce predators. We shall free the world from their vicious fangs, and then we and the meeker creatures shall live in peace and happiness for the rest of the life of this earth.’

  “But the Great Sky, who was watching from above, was angered by Eklo’s success, for he had not expected the Deer father to receive the gifts. ‘Foolish creatures!’ he said. ‘You shan’t destroy the balance I have made. The prey shan’t hunt the predators, nor shall the predators eradicate the prey. ‘Tis a game, Eklo of the Deer, and you shan’t spoil it.’

  “‘But look, O Great Sky!’ Eklo cried. ‘See the prongs from our foreheads? They are the gifts of strength we have received from the Trees. With them, we may hunt and kill those who torment us.’

  “And the Sky laughed. ‘Have you forgotten the promise you made for them, the promise you made to the Arquere?’ he said. ‘You may not cause violence with their gift, and you swore to them that you would not.’

  “Eklo was angry that the Great Sky thought he would go back on his word. ‘And we shan’t cause violence,’ he cried. ‘We shall put an end to violence! With the hunters slain, there shall be no more bloodshed among the creatures of the earth, and all will be at peace.’

  “Now the Great Sky was furious, for he saw that Eklo was right. ‘No, that is not how ‘twill be!’ he shouted. ‘For there is one gift that you lack, one gift that all predators must have if they should be predators. And that gift is the gift of ferocity, a gift that I gave the last of to the River, the Lankhi, who is an even fiercer creature than the Dtallei. It shan’t be yours. And in punishment for your impudence, I have taken the gift of the Arquere from half of your children. Half of you shall remain weaponless, and that half shan’t fight. See now! In the future, you shall think better of daring to defy your creator.’

  “Eklo looked about amongst his people, and with a cry of fury, saw that the Great Sky was correct. For indeed, the antlers had vanished from the heads of all the does, and only the stags kept their weapons.

  “‘There, you see?’ said the Great Sky, pleased. ‘Eklo, my foolish child, your people shan’t be safe without the gift of ferocity. You shall still be hunted and slaughtered, for that is how it must be, but with your new gifts of protection, you shall never be destroyed. Though without the gift of ferocity, the Deer shall always remain prey. All creatures require ferocity to take a life, and your children are far too mild and gentle. The only way now, with half of you weaponless, would be to obtain the gift of ferocity from the River. But that is impossible, for the Lankhi can be tamed by no one.’

  “Eklo was worried, for he knew that his people must have this strange gift that the Great Sky spoke of. Otherwise, they would still be the prey of the hunters, even though they possess their gifts of swiftness, clarity, and strength. He turned away from the Sky and his herd and set off to find the River to plead for a share of her gift.

  “He found the River in a deep, stony valley, roaring and rushing over the dusty ground, pounding boulders into pebbles and pebbles into fine sand. He approached her with confidence, for he had already been successful in taking gifts from the Wind and the Stars and the Trees.

  “‘O Lankhi,’ he shouted, so that she may hear him over her roaring. ‘I have come to plead for a share of your gift of ferocity, so that my people may become the predators instead of the prey. Tell me then, O Lankhi, what is it you want from me in exchange for a share of your ferocity?’

  “But the River only laughed. ‘You wish for some of my ferocity?’ she said. ‘You, father of the Deer, wish for your people to become predators? You are fools, all of you. You have weapons, but without ferocity, they are useless. Never shall I give you ferocity, never.’

  “Eklo was determined. ‘We must have it; otherwise we shall remain prey and be slaughtered by the other predators. Please, O Lankhi, give me a bit of your gift, and I shall give you something in return.’

  “‘No,’ said the River. ‘I shan’t give you ferocity, no matter what you offer. Do you think that none of the other prey-creatures have not come to me already? I have turned down the rabbit, the vole, the goose, and even the wildebeest. Those made to be prey must remain as prey. Deer were never meant to be hunters.’

  “But Lankhi,’ Eklo pleaded, growing desperate. ‘My people shall still be hunted and destroyed. What shall we do? Half of us are weaponless, and we shall perish.’

  “‘Did you not listen to the Great Sky?’ said the River. ‘Your people are prey, and shall always be prey. But you have the swiftness of the Dtallei to run from your enemies. You have the wariness of the Eithrili to be warned of your enemies’ presence. And half of you at least have the power of the Arquere so that you may fend off enemies and protect those who are weaponless. Your enemies are cunning and fierce, true, and they shall catch you. But with your new gifts, your people shall never be completely destroyed.’

  “‘My people are still to be hunted, then?’ Eklo said in dismay. ‘Cruel Lankhi, will you not help us?’

  “‘’Tis not in my place to reverse the balance between prey and predator,’ said the River. ‘But someday, perhaps, you shall do something for me that shall put me in your debt. If you befriend the Lankhi, then maybe, just maybe, I shall lend you a bit of my ferocity. Not a great lot, mind you, but enough to save your people from peril.’

  “And Eklo left, knowing that there would be no persuading the River. But not all was lost, my dears, for although his people remained prey, they were never eradicated. We are swift, we are wary, and we are strong. Remember that, my dears, my A-Dtallei, A-Eithrili, A-Arquere: we are the children of the Wind and the Stars and the Trees, and perhaps, someday we shall be friends with the River.”

  Delphinium finished, smiling at the fawns and watching Alanki through the corner of her eye. The fawns gaped at the storyteller for a few short minutes. It was not long, however, before their awed silence was broken by an onslaught of questions.

  “Why was the River so stubborn?”

  “How come Eklo could be so impudent to the Great Sky?”

  “Did deer used to have sharp teeth?”

  “Why didn’t the Dtallei freeze Eklo?”

  “Children, children,” Delphinium said over their voices. “Please, one at a time. I cannot hear your questions.” There was a brief moment of silence, and then a little doe spoke up.

  “Delphinium,” she said. “What did the Lankhi mean? I do not understand. Surely we could never make friends with a predator?”

  “Ah, Galingale,” said Delphinium, glancing over at Alanki, who was pretending not to notice her. “That is a very big question. Why not go and ask the wolf fawn over th
ere? How could we deer befriend a child of the River?”

  All the fawns’ heads swiveled over to stare at Alanki, who shifted in the sand. Their eyes were huge and questioning, but frightened all the same.

  “Please, wolf fawn,” said Galingale in a very quiet voice. “How could we make friends with a predator?”

  Behind the fawns, Delphinium was laughing to herself. Alanki looked up at her anxious little audience, all of whom appeared to be holding their breath.

  “Perhaps,” Alanki said, taking care not to frighten them. “Well, perhaps you could save her life. And then the predator would be in debt to you, the deer.”

  Delphinium had stopped laughing, her eyes solemn. She gazed at Alanki over the heads of the fawns. Alanki looked away and went on.

  “Perhaps the deer will be in great trouble one day,” she said. “And perhaps they will need their predator friend to help them. To fight for them, to lend them some of her ferocity, because the deer cannot themselves fight.”

  Without another word, Alanki rose to her paws and walked away, leaving the fawns behind her breathless and confused. She was feeling nervous, remembering Eyebright’s dire warning from a few nights ago. Then, she had blindly promised to help them, though she did not believe that they were in any danger. Eyebright was always having dreams of some sort, and the deer were naturally superstitious.

  But now things were changing. In the space of a few days, Alanki had seen two other wolves. Never before had she seen one of her own kind, and now they were appearing, by coincidence, it seemed, at the same time Eyebright had her ominous dream. Somehow, Alanki felt that the two things were connected, and perhaps her promise to help the deer would have some weight after all.

  “Do you understand?”

  Alanki looked up to see Delphinium walking alongside her, her soft brown eyes concerned. Alanki was struck with the feeling that Delphinium had purposely chosen the story of Eklo and the Forbidden Gift for Alanki to hear.

  “Yes,” Alanki said. “I think I do now. Before, I’ll admit, I did not truly believe you and Eyebright. But now, I begin to wonder.”

  “I see. Yes, Eyebright can be terribly dramatic at times. But I know, and now you know, that something is different.”

  “There was a wolf in my forest the other night,” Alanki said suddenly. “I caught him. He spoke of finding his old pack, and that another pack was holding him prisoner. He seemed to think that his old pack would be somewhere in my forest, but there were no wolves on my territory at all except for me. I told him that, and chased him away.”

  “You did not kill him?” Delphinium said, surprised. “Not that I, as a daughter of Eklo, would ever draw blood. But you, Alankhi, why, ‘tis your nature.”

  “I know,” Alanki admitted. “But I couldn’t kill him. I don’t know why, ‘twas just something he…he…” her voice trailed away and she stared into space, thinking hard. The strange wolf’s miserable green eyes floated before her vision, and she shuddered. She shook her head. “’Twas probably nothing. I was still worried over Eyebright’s prophecy.”

  Delphinium observed her for a few moments, looking concerned. She then sighed and glanced over at the distant crowd of fawns, who were now bouncing about in the shallow waters of the Lake, their high squeals of delight echoing across the fields. She looked up at Alanki and smiled.

  “So,” Delphinium said, her voice light and careless. “How is it that you befriend a predator, A-Lankhi?”

  Alanki smiled back at her. “I cannot be certain, Delphinium,” she said, after giving a moment of mock thoughtfulness. “But perhaps it has to do with fishing her out of a river when she is small. That may help.”

  “A fine idea,” Delphinium agreed, watching the capering fawns. She looked back at Alanki with amusement. “You know, I sometimes think they have forgotten that you are not truly a deer.”

  “Nonsense. You hear them call me ‘wolf fawn’, yes?”

  “Yes, but the wolf fawn is only a character in a story to them. They do not think of you as a predator.”

  Alanki opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it again, her words dying in her throat. Delphinium was watching her with a shrewd light to her gentle eyes.

  “You do not speak, child,” she observed. “And why? ‘Tis not a bad thing, that the new ones have forgotten. Why are you afraid of their trust?”

  “They shouldn’t forget what I am. What I am capable of. You say it yourself, and Eyebright would say the same: I speak as you do, and I walk as you do, but—”

  “But you do not dream as we do.”

  Alanki jumped. “How did you know?”

  Delphinium sighed. “I am not a fool, Alanki. You mentioned it only in passing to Eyebright, and she could not help you. That should not surprise you. We are mild and fragile creatures, we know not of the nightmares that may torment those who draw blood.”

  “I don’t know where they come from.” Alanki shut her eyes against the onrush of fangs that came to her eyes, memories of the break of throats and the savage pounding of the River in her bones. “I have not seen another wolf before, but now I dream of killing them. Scores of them. Perhaps they are the same faces nightly, but ‘tis different from when I killed Tormentil—I was blind then, in no control. Now I am conscious. I know that I kill, and I see my paws move as I wish. I want to kill them, Delphinium.”

  “I should not ask but why that bothers you,” said Delphinium. “For all the foxes and badgers and lynxes you have slain, why should the wolves give you trouble?”

  “’Tis not only that. I am in a rage, as I dream. The ones I kill by my fangs, they…” Alanki shuddered, and shook her head. “…they deserve it. But then there are others. I see a group of others, broken and tattered wolves—green-eyed and ashen-furred wolves! And I draw them to their deaths as well.”

  “Perhaps—”

  “They are innocent, Delphinium, don’t you see?” Alanki said in frustration, turning to her. “I know not how I can tell, but I feel that they are not against me—they would fight alongside me, if I would let them, but I fool them all and lead the others to tear them to pieces. ‘Tis all my fault.”

  “You fear,” the old doe said, her voice low and gentle. “You fear this is to happen—you fear you shall grow brutal and wild, and perhaps turn on us again, as you turned on Tormentil.”

  “I…I don’t know. I haven’t any idea what it all means—perhaps nothing at all—but it brings back shadows I would rather not see, memories I may delight in as I sleep, but bring me shudders when I awaken. And they should be gone!” Alanki spat, scuffing the ground. “I’ve already seen the green-eyed wolf, and I sent him away unharmed! I told him never to return! His pack, I know, is dead and burned away—there are no green eyes for me to destroy, and so the dreams should have stopped! But still they come,” she added sadly. “Still, they come.”

  “You are afraid,” Delphinium said. “You think perhaps there is no answer beyond what Eyebright can offer, yes? You are afraid to find an answer for yourself. To find an answer alone?”

  “What if I am?”

  “’Tis no sin to fear, my child,” Delphinium whispered. “Even Eklo felt fear, when his people were being slaughtered by the hunters.”

  “Well, they don’t need to fear anymore,” Alanki said. She shook her head, shaking the dark visions that had collected there from her mind. An inexplicable trickle of rage ran down her spine, and she felt herself baring her fangs. “I have my own debts to pay in return for what I have taken. No predator shall worry you—I’ve kept my forest clean of them, foxes and lynxes and the like. If anything ever happens, then—”

  “Yes, I know,” Delphinium said, smiling. “The River shall lend us her ferocity.”