The Rise of the Fire Moon

  15.

  Blacksky

  The silence the renegade left behind was deafening. Not a single wolf moved or made a sound; even Alpha Liyra was stunned. The air still crackled with the renegade’s fury. The screeching wind echoed her threats. The scent of fear was sour among them.

  Dusk was long gone; the sun had been replaced by a smooth, cold expanse of black. A violent wind gusted across the fields, whipping up fragments of low howls and cries, as though the renegade had already begun her vengeful mission out in the dark grass.

  One by one, the wolves in the redoubt main began to ease out of their shocked reverie, slinking away into the far corners of their dens to sleep and wake up to a brighter morning in the frail hope that what had just happened was only a nightmare. But Tir did not move. He lay still as the stones around him and felt just as cold. Some far corner of his mind was aware of blood dripping from his mouth, legs, sides, everywhere—his head was still throbbing with the rhythm of the hunted stag’s hooves. But Tir was not thinking about these things. He was not thinking about anything. Tir was too far down into shock to be aware of anything at the moment except for how dark it was.

  He shivered, wrapped his tail around his quivering body and curled up on the dusty ground. He stared ahead without seeing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Dimly, knew that his new pack was in danger. Leron and some others may scoff at this—after all, the renegade was only one wolf. One wolf cannot destroy an entire pack. But she could stalk the fields, waiting unseen for any wolf to venture out alone. Even one death was too much to risk.

  No doubt, Liyra would continue to hunt the deer, regardless of what the renegade had warned. But at least this time, Tir understood her rationale. It would be a sign of weakness for the alpha to cave in to an outsider’s threats, however brutal and exaggerated they may be. To be able to uphold her respect, Liyra would have to hunt the deer now. But surely in a situation such as this it would be wiser to drop pride and find what is best for the rest of the pack? Tir wasn’t sure about this; he was not the alpha.

  Suddenly, Tir was overcome with fear. He was afraid of this fierce renegade and what she might do. Of course, if there was a battle, the pack would win in the end. Just like the deer hunt. The stag had put up a worthy fight, but it was the hunters who had won. The stag knew that as well, but it fought long and hard—after all, it had nothing to lose. And wild animals who fight with nothing to lose are more dangerous than anything.

  In the end, his pack would kill the renegade. And the renegade knew this. But before she was suppressed, how many wolves would she have managed to murder? What if it was Nerasa? Or Palva? What if it was himself, Tir? It was too much to risk. Surely Alpha Liyra knew this!

  But Alpha Liyra would never listen to him, and Captain Leron was out of the question. Tir knew that Palva would understand; and Palva, in her influential position as Gatherer of the Council, may be able to do something about it. If anyone would know what to do, it would be Palva.

  But Palva’s hollow was empty.

  Tir padded back up the grass tunnel, confused. Where had Palva gone? She had been here only an hour ago, when the renegade had been shouting at Liyra. Had she gone to speak with Liyra? Perhaps that was where she was. Maybe Liyra had called a Council meeting.

  “Are you okay, Tir?”

  Tir stopped. Nerasa was standing in front of him, looking anxious. He had not seen her there; a few more steps and he would have run into her. Tir sat down, feeling disoriented.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s only that…” his voice trailed away into silence, unable to find words for the turmoil of fear and shock inside of him. But Nerasa nodded as though she understood.

  “I know,” she said. “That was so weird, so sudden—just awful. I didn’t think any wolf could be so—so vicious.”

  “Angry,” Tir said. “She was angry.”

  “But why? Like Alpha said, there must be enough deer for us all to share.”

  Tir shrugged, unable to answer. Why had she been so angry? It was only prey, after all. But what was prey to a renegade? Prey was survival. With a shiver, he recalled Palva’s words to him: Anything that endangers this aim must be eliminated. Captain Leron and the renegade spoke a common language.

  “You know what else?” Nerasa said. Her voice dropped to a frightened hush, as though she wefre whispering a deadly secret. “Yielsa told me that Palva knew something bad was going to happen all along. She said that Palva knew there was going to be some sort of danger if we hunt those deer. And Palva went and told Alpha that, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  Tir’s ears pricked. Palva knew? Palva had known all along that this would happen? A prickle ran down his spine. What else did Palva know?

  “Where is Palva?” he asked. “She’s not in her hollow.”

  “Left, just a few minutes ago.”

  “She left? Wait, but why?”

  Nerasa stared at him, the pupils in her eyes growing larger. She glanced up at the dark sky. There was a long, stretching silence.

  “Blacksky,” she said. She spoke the word with such subdued terror, such bizarre reverence, that a shudder ran up his spine. Nerasa was never frightened of anything.

  “Black—?”

  “Blacksky. Tonight is the night of no moon.”

  Tir followed her gaze to the sky. Indeed, it was smooth and dark—even the stars were hidden by clouds. There was no moon. No watchful, protecting eye of Rya. The sky was empty.

  “I’d forgotten all about it,” Nerasa said. She was shaking her head, and her tail twitched between her legs. “Alpha must’ve, too, otherwise she never would’ve sent out that hunt today—so close to night, I mean. Usually we all stay in the redoubt, waiting for the night to end. ‘Cause tonight is the night when Rya turns her back on the world. We’re lost and exposed. Terrible things happen.”

  Tir shuddered, thinking about the renegade’s threats.

  “But what does that have to do with Palva being gone?”

  Nerasa stared at him. Her eyes were absolutely solemn—empty of their usual mischievous glint. It was eerie seeing Nerasa, of all the wolves in the pack, so serious. “The Gatherer must leave the comfort of her familiar lands and go off in search of Rya,” she said. Her voice sounded odd; as though she was reciting an old story she had once been told—not at all like her usual strange jabber.

  “Leave her familiar lands? Where does she go, then?”

  “No one knows. But she must go alone. She spends the entire moonless night searching for Rya. And when she finds her, she must bring her back.”

  “How?”

  “I—I don’t know. But whatever it is, Palva never fails.”

  The wind was now screaming so loud, it was almost impossible for Tir to hear what Nerasa was saying. He pricked his ears, trying to hear her.

  “…will be back at dawn. But you’d better go to your den and sleep; you don’t want to be awake late on Blacksky. There are…things out there that come out when Rya isn’t watching. Horrible, horrible things. You hear them screaming, right now? Shut your ears; don’t listen to what they tell you—lies, empty promises, all of it. Don’t follow them, don’t leave the redoubt. ‘Cause if you do, well, tonight is the night when not even Rya will be there to help you.”