The Rise of the Fire Moon

  ***

  Liyra was sitting atop a boulder in the center of the redoubt main, waiting for the pack to gather. On her left was Sirle and on her right was Simetra, who still looked a bit ruffled. Captain Leron and Palva had left, melting back into the crowd that was gathering around the boulder.

  “You all know why I call this meeting today?” Liyra called out, her voice resounding through the clearing.

  There were snatches of scattered muttering at this, as the wolves in the crowd turned and looked at each other. No, they did not know why.

  “Ah—well, we are here for a Placement.” Liyra said. “I know—” she raised her voice louder as the muttering increased. “…that there has not been a Placement in this pack for a long time. But I am most pleased to announce that today we will be placing Tir, a wolf who, as many of you know, is not from our old lands. But after today, he will be a one of us, and it will be understood that he, too, has shared our journey to this new land. Tir? Come here.”

  Tir sat still, wishing he didn’t have to do this. A member of this pack? It sounded official and permanent. What would Misari and Arwena say? Was he betraying them? It was all well to meet the wolves of this pack, make an enemy and perhaps a friend or two—to feel as though he belonged somewhere. He wanted to belong, but he had never imagined the moment when he would be called forward to join them for good.

  Nerasa shoved him from behind, and he stumbled forward. The wolves around them backed away, clearing a path for him up to Liyra’s boulder. Liyra was wearing a kind of forced smile, as though hoping this ceremony would end soon. Her eyes were worried—did she know that he was having doubts? He wondered what she would do if he chose this moment to make a break for it and run. If it came down to it, would she go so far as to physically force him into joining the pack? Sirle and Simetra sat on either side of Alpha Liyra, looking tall and forbidding. Sirle’s eyes were glittering like a pair of coal-black beetles. Run away, they said. You do not belong here.

  Tir shrunk under the cruel glare. It was a mistake; he should never have come back here. He was not welcome; this was not his pack. Hadn’t Captain Leron already told him so?

  “Go on,” whispered a voice in his ear. It was Palva.

  Tir looked around hesitantly. She nodded at him in a reassuring way, and nudged him forward with her paw. Somehow, her pale eyes seemed stronger than Sirle’s cold black ones.

  “Go on,” she whispered again. “We’re all waiting.”

  Tir turned back around to face the boulder, where Alpha Liyra sat like a pillar of stone. Sirle’s eyes were still on him, but Tir ignored them the best he could. He padded up to the boulder, uncomfortably aware of the entire pack watching him. At last, he was standing below Liyra, the red rays of the dying sun setting her fur aflame. And as soon as he looked up, Sirle looked away.

  “Tir,” Liyra shouted from above him, her voice loud and booming so the pack could hear. “You were not born in this pack. But you were guided here by the merciful paws of Rya, and here you will stay. Do you wish to be a member of this pack?”

  That was the question. The question. Answer it, and there was no going back. Of course, Tir knew that he was expected to say yes. The question was nothing more than a part of the ritual. But a part of him was tempted to say no, a part of him that remembered how this alpha had tried so hard to keep him away from his family. And yet—

  “Yes,” he said, blinking as the light of the setting sun flashed in his eyes.

  “Will you be loyal to this pack, and defend it with your life if needed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you set the ties of your past aside, and run with us?”

  Tir’s blood went ice-cold. “Yes,” he whispered.

  Liyra smiled. She looked over the heads of the wolves in front of her. “You have all heard what he says. Do you hear? Do you accept? Will this wolf, Tir the Outsider, become a member of your pack?”

  There was a silence. The wolves shifted, glancing at each other. Tir knew what they were thinking—Should this outsider be allowed? He didn’t blame them. He sat there in a maddening silence for what seemed like eternity, half of him begging them to say yes, the other half hoping they would refuse.

  “Yes,” said Palva, loud and clear and strong.

  “Yeah,” said Nerasa, sounding almost defiant as she glared at the silent wolves around her. “Yeah, I do.”

  From the very back, Kesol gave a yelp of agreement.

  Raatri was next, then Yielsa, yellow-green eyes shining. One by one, all of the wolves in the crowd added their agreement. But the whole time, Tir was watching Captain Leron, whose smiling grey eyes glinted at him from the crowd. He had said nothing.

  Liyra waited until the scattered chorus of “yes’s” had quieted down before continuing.

  “Well then,” she said, her face breaking into a smile. “This wolf has a place among us. And after much consideration, the Council concluded that his position is with the Hunters. Do you agree, Simetra?”

  “I certainly do.”

  “Then this Placement is over. Tir the Outsider is now Tir the Hunter. May he serve this pack well until the day Rya sweeps him off the earth.”

  Nerasa bounded up to him as the others dispersed.

  “Congratulations!” she said in her loud voice. “You’re a Hunter now, see. You get to stay in the Hunters’ dens!”

  “Oh,” Tir said, beginning to feel a little better. Her good mood was infectious. “Yes, I am, aren’t I?”

  Nerasa nodded. “’Course, I never really expected you to be Placed as a Sentinel. No offense, I mean. But Raatri told me you did fantastically on your hunting assessment! Simetra’s really pleased.”

  Tir nodded, looking around. Most of the wolves from the meeting had left to their dens or night patrols, but there were a few remaining. A small group of three walked over to them from the other side of the clearing, led by Kesol.

  Kesol skipped up to him, and Tir jumped out of his way in case he had spotted more fleas. But Kesol didn’t seem interested in beating Tir again; instead, he stepped aside to show the wolves behind him.

  “Tir’s a Hunter now, too,” Nerasa announced to them, before Kesol could speak. Tir realized that the wolves behind Kesol must be the other Hunters. “I hope you three didn’t take all the good dens, or I’m afraid he’ll have to rip out a few throats.”

  Kesol wanted to know if Tir had lost his own throat, and that was why he wanted theirs, but for once Nerasa chose to ignore him. She proceeded to introduce to Tir the other two wolves that had followed Kesol.

  “You know Raatri,” she said, and Raatri nodded at him. “He’s a good Hunter, whatever Simetra may say about him.”

  Tir greeted Raatri with familiarity, but the other wolf he didn’t know. She had thick, silvery-grey fur with white streaks here and there like strains of frost on a boulder. Her grey eyes were almost hidden beneath the thick fur, and they had a vague expression, as though she was gazing down into a deep pond.

  “And this is Mluma,” Nerasa said, poking the grey she-wolf. “Be careful talking to her, she’s almost as bad as Kesol—but without the giggles. I think she’s a ghost, but Palva gets mad at me when I talk about it.”

  “Hello,” Mluma said politely, as though she hadn’t heard Nerasa’s introduction of her. Her voice fitted her appearance. It was light and misty, sounding as though she used it very little. Mluma sat down and looked up at the sky, her fur fluttering in the wind.

  “And Yielsa isn’t here,” Raatri said. “Simetra called her over after your Placement. But other than her, this is it. There used to be another wolf named Talz, but he died on the journey over here.”

  These words were followed by an awkward silence, and Raatri swallowed as the others stared at him with blank faces. He shrank to the ground, obviously wishing he hadn’t said anything.

  “Look,” said Mluma, who had not noticed what was going on. “The moon is almost gone.”

  Eager for a distraction, the others followed her gaze
up to the inky night sky, where the thin sliver of a crescent moon hung like a white claw.

  “Don’t,” Kesol warned. “If you look at it, it’ll burn your eyes out.”

  Mluma frowned at him.

  “Come on,” Raatri cut in, as though he was afraid an argument would break out. “Let’s show Tir to the empty dens.”

  The Hunters’ dens were on the far side of the redoubt, the edge closest to the wall of grass that indicated the start of the open Fields. Tir brushed a boulder as he passed—was that a dark sprinkling of minerals in the stone? Or a stale blanket of ash? He couldn’t stop to wonder, as Kesol poked him in the ribs to make him move on.

  Yielsa was sitting in the entrance of a shallow den as they approached. She rose to her feet and padded over to them, her paws making no noise in the soft ground and her golden fur shining in the dark as it fluttered down around her.

  “There you all are,” she said. “Oh, and well done, Tir.”

  “I thought Simetra took you away,” Kesol said suspiciously. “Tir’s going to rip some throats, you know, and we didn’t invite you.”

  “Simetra’s going on a hunt,” Yielsa said, ignoring Kesol. “Alpha Liyra gave her permission to try and hunt those deer. She wants me to come, as well as one other Hunter.”

  “I’ll go,” Mluma offered. “It’s been long since I’ve seen deer.”

  Yielsa nodded. “We’d better get going, then. I came in here to wait for you while Simetra went to fetch Captain Leron. He’s coming as well.”

  The two she-wolves left, and in the settling darkness Tir noticed a new sound—the wind was moving through the grass; it sounded like whispering voices.

  “There,” Kesol said. He was standing like a guard before the entrance of what could only be his own den—his sandy fur bristled, but he was grinning. “You go find your own,” he called to Tir, with a giggle. “Or I’ll rip your throat! Rip your throat!”

  Nerasa groaned. “I should never have taught him to say that,” she said. “You’ll be hearing it for days now. Well, see you tomorrow.”

  Tir muttered a goodbye as she turned and left, following in the footprints left by Yielsa and Mluma. He raised his head, and surveyed his options.

  It didn’t take long to choose a den. There were so many—though, admittedly, most were little more than cracks between the stone. Tir picked one closest to the ground, with a low entrance and a sandy floor. He checked for traces of soot before going inside.

  Raatri clambered up to his own den, which was higher up on the cliff in what appeared to be a crevice so tiny that he had to sleep sideways, and fell asleep instantly. Tir sat and looked out the entrance of his for a few moments. The black curtain of the sky hung low and sleepily over the fields, snowflake stars glittering back at him like a thousand, watchful eyes. Spirits? he wondered with half a mind, yawning. Or tears? The grass whispered slow, fluttering stories—if he listened closely enough, he could hear voices that he recognized.

  Tir curled up into a tight knot on the sandy floor of his den and shut his eyes. The other Hunters were friendly. They didn’t seem to care that he was an outsider. He thought about his former pack—what was it that held him to them? Arwena? He missed his mother, but now that he came to think about it, he had never been happy there. All he had known since his birth was pain and sorrow—Arwena’s anguish, the drought, the other pack members’ mistrust of him and his mother. And in the end, the fire. He didn’t want to forget his memories—how could he? That would be terrible. He needed those memories to remind him what sorrow felt like, and what happens to wolves when they grow desperate. What was it Palva had said? Troubles make you strong. She was right.

  And he had had enough troubles for now.

  He would miss Arwena—as well as Misari’s understanding kindness, Avrok’s solid loyalty, and Kiala’s friendship. He would miss them all. But he had never felt true happiness; he had never known what it felt like to be at peace—just for a moment. Maybe he was sent to Palva’s pack by their god, Rya. Maybe this was a second chance for him.

  Whatever it was, it felt good to have a place in the world.

  Part II: Rising

  As crimson burns flame, so shall Nights’ eye.

  Blood flows as fire

  And shall spill at its rise.

  - First stanza of Palva’s prophecy