16.
Blood and Bargain
The faint grey line of dawn was seeping over the rim of the cloudy horizon as Alanki trudged her way back into her forest. She felt filthy—her fur was clogged and spiky with the crimson-brown crust of dried blood, and she could not rid her mouth of its metallic tang no matter how many times she spat on the ground.
Now that she had passed out of her rage-induced frenzy, a dull sense of nausea had begun to settle, like water, heavy in her drenched fur and dragging her downwards as she walked. The vicious pleasure of revenge had long faded and swept away, and all that was left was the gritty, dirty feeling of blood in her fur and claws. She had killed.
Alanki did not feel sorry for what she had done, not in the sentimental sense of the word—oh no; but she was aware that she had done something big, something she had never done before. Though her renegade’s life was hard and bitter, Alanki had never, up to this point, faced another of her own kind. She had made it sound to the green-eyed wolf, the intruder, as though she killed wolves every day. But that was only to frighten him. Now that the savage pleasure of revenge had passed, she was left feeling tainted.
For once, in her head, Tormentil was silent.
But why had she killed that other wolf? What had sent her into such a savage, blind rage? Alanki knew, and she still felt a quivering spark of anger at it, even in her state of blood-shock. It was Eryngo, Eryngo that they had been carrying. Eryngo that they had hunted and slaughtered, like prey. Alanki swiped at her ear, and the dried blood crackled in her fur. Could she blame them? After all, it was the way things were. When faced with a deer, any wolf would taste blood in her mouth, would feel cold air as she bared her teeth, would know, deep inside of her, that this kind of natural grace was there to be broken and devoured.
Alanki remembered the last time she had been covered in blood like this. She swayed in a sudden wash of black nausea; she clutched at the ground to remain standing. Pounding rolled through the ground beneath her feet and shook her legs as though they were dead trees—her own heartbeat in her ears, maybe, or the sound of the deer herd fleeing in panic from the wolves. Or Tormentil, five seasons ago, hitting the ground with a sound that shook the fields, as Alanki for the first time gave in to the bloodlust of what she had been born to be.
She owed the deer two lives.
And here, she knew, she had been given a choice: To stand and watch as the entire herd was destroyed, or to do something about it.
But she had already decided, hadn’t she?
Murder may have been her first instinct, in her rage at discovering Sundew’s death, but at least she had kept it under control long enough to try to end this with calm reason. And she had. She had spoken with the alpha, and the foolish wolf had not listened to her. She had set her terms down before her, and the alpha had ground them under her paw and cast them aside.
This is all your fault. But only now could Alanki see the difference, the line on the horizon between herself and these destructive wolves. Her own long-past murder of Tormentil had been an accident, a loss of control. These wolves, on the other hand, had known exactly what they were doing. So why should Alanki feel wrong for killing one of them? They had slain the deer in a merciless mind—they had known what they were doing, and they did not care. They didn’t care at all; and for that, one of them had met their end. Alanki’s action had been vengeance, not cold-blooded murder. They deserved it.
But whatever the name for it, that nasty, whispering part of Alanki’s mind continued to tell her that she had killed. Alanki had felt their dizzy, sickening fear in the dark air that night, fear to find themselves the prey—and she had almost felt sorry for them. But the sight of Eryngo’s cold, empty, staring eyes had driven the softness out of her like a stone. She couldn’t afford softness like that. Renegades who are soft never last long, that much she knew. It’s kill or be killed—or let those you love be killed.
Alanki whipped around and stalked into her forest.
The river did not look any different. Alanki had almost expected it to be poisoned and forbidding, as she was feeling. But no, it was just as peaceful and serene as it had always been.
Alanki padded down to its sandy banks. The new sunlight twinkled and wavered on its swelling surface, creating a myriad of shifting dappled patterns on the water as the light shot down through the branches of the trees that hung over the river. A lemon-yellow bird was swaying from one of the uppermost boughs, heralding the new sun with trickling warbles that soared up into high, lighthearted song.
Alanki glowered at the creature. For some reason, everything about the river seemed false to her at the moment. It was almost as if she expected the bright curtain to be torn away, revealing a stagnant, sour sludge-pool. What had happened to her?
She shook her head as though to clear away the clouds and sparks that had gathered there in the furious turmoil of last night. The clear water twinkled innocently at her, and she ignored it, almost annoyed.
Alanki raised one of her blood-soaked paws and dipped it into the shining river, sighing as a cool feeling of relief tingled up her leg. Crimson flowers erupted on the surface of the water as the blood was washed away, clouding the water red for a few moments and shimmering like a scarlet mist.
And in those moments, something white and shining emerged into view from the red depths, as though rising up from the bottom of the river. Two claws, curved and white as crescent moons, were flashing in and out amongst the flowers of blood in the water. The two claws were locked in combat, slashing at each other right and left.
To Alanki, this vision seemed to drag on for hours, as though it would never end. But in reality it lasted for a split second, until the river had swept away the red mist of blood and the water was left just as clear and pure as it had been before. And the claws faded and shivered, melting back into the dappled patterns of sunlight so fast that they may have just been an illusion, reflections on the water.
She knew what she had seen, and, she knew what it meant.
Alanki washed the rest of the blood out of her sticky fur without any further thought. Her mind was not confused and reeling as it often was after a nightmare of some sort, nor was it cold and angry as it had been just a few minutes ago. It was almost as if the apparition of the fighting claws had shaken her, awakening her senses.
It was she and the packwolves, fighting for each others’ deaths. Dragging a trail of blood with them wherever they went. It had begun, and now she knew that it would end. More blood was to come, and Alanki knew that this would not be the only time she washed it from her paws in this river.
At least she had a good reason to be fighting. Alanki was fighting for the deer, her family. The pack was fighting out of stubbornness and sheer stupidity. And they would soon realize that, when they ran out of reasons to continue as more and more of them fell dead.
Alanki remembered the alpha wolf’s threat—We’ll hunt you down and kill you—and once again, she laughed aloud. The little yellow finch on the branch silenced its song at the sound of it.
She hadn’t been lying when she told the alpha wolf they would never find her. Not unless she wanted to be found. This was her forest, and even the forest itself was a renegade to strangers. Those wolves could search their lives away, and never see so much as a hair of Alanki. She would melt into the shadows and wait for them as they padded by, unsuspecting. She would be the last thing they would see before they died, and they would die in a paralyzing fear.
At her feet, the river brushed over the stones, snagging dead leaves in its watery fangs and carrying them away and out of sight. Alanki had not even realized that she was smiling until she saw her teeth reflected in the water.
Those wolves would destroy themselves.