The Rise of the Fire Moon

  ***

  “He wants to leave, Liyra.”

  Palva was in the Alpha’s den, her back to the entrance as the red rays of sunset began to fall outside. Liyra, a she-wolf with silver fur and a powerful build, sat straight-shouldered against the stone walls of the den. Palva remained standing.

  “Wants to leave?” the alpha said, cocking her head in mild surprise. “Why, Palva, where on earth would he go? His pack is dead; his home is destroyed and far too distant. He could not go anywhere even if he did leave.”

  “He wants to find them,” Palva said in a low voice. Liyra was pleasant, composed, and Palva was not falling for it. “He refuses to believe that every member of his pack has perished—I try to tell him the truth, but he hears nothing. He is set on leaving the moment he is fit to go.”

  “And how long will that be?”

  Palva closed her eyes, considering. “If the necessary herbs can be found, then maybe by next full moon. But I can’t say for certain—he needs comfrey for those burns, and I haven’t found any in this new land yet.”

  “I will set a patrol to that.”

  “Liyra, they know nothing about herbs.”

  “Then why not teach them? And someone,” she continued, before Palva could protest. “someone must teach this outsider as well. He is past the age of Placement, so by the time you say he is healed he may get into the rhythm of the pack as soon as possible. Perhaps—”

  “No, Liyra, I don’t think you understand,” Palva interrupted. Her voice sounded harsher now, and she forced herself back into a smooth tone before Liyra could notice. “He wants to leave. He lives for it. Every night, every hour, he waits for the day he can stand on his own and set out to search for his dead pack. He will not stay.”

  “Then you know what we must do.”

  “Is that best?”

  Liyra shook her head with a sort of mournful heaviness, as though it pained her to say that yes, it was best, and Palva felt an unexpected twinge of disgust. “What else can we do?” the alpha said, her voice lowered. She turned her dark gold eyes on Palva, who looked away. “You of all Council members should understand, Palva. You recognized him for what he was!”

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  “And you will see to it that he never does.” Liyra rose to her paws in one smooth movement, shaking the dust out of her silver pelt. She padded to the den’s entrance and faced Palva, dark eyes alive with urgency and excitement. “You told me yourself, Palva,” she whispered. “Your prophecy must not fail. I don’t know what you have foreseen—”

  “Other than that, nothing.”

  “—but I do agree with the case you made then, when you brought him to the redoubt: that we must be prepared for what may come. We will keep the outsider, and when the time comes for the hope that he means, then, well, he will be there to provide it.”

  She looked irritatingly pleased with herself, and Palva’s neck fur bristled. Matters were not so simple as Liyra would make them out to be. While direct force may be enough to win oneself a position as Alpha, it was never a foolproof solution—especially to a problem as delicate as this. Tir was weak and beaten, but the idea of keeping him by force made Palva nervous.

  “Do you really think,” she said, almost in a growl. “That he will be willing to defend our pack if we have been holding him prisoner?”

  “Prisoner is such an ugly word, Palva. He is not a prisoner. I have faith that you can speak to him; you can make him understand—he will come to see things our way, you know. He must—if it wasn’t meant to be, then why would there be a prophecy?”

  “Why indeed,” Palva said through gritted teeth. Liyra heard her, and her golden eyes darkened.

  “I need to know you take these things seriously, Palva,” she said. Her voice was stricter now, authoritative, and she examined Palva’s face with leveled eyes. “That you know: this may be the only chance we are given. You have had this conversation with me before, and I gave you my answer then just as I do now. If guarding him troubles you—”

  “Oh, it does not trouble me,” Palva interrupted. She spoke in a light and calm voice, so as not to antagonize Liyra further. But her eyes were made of pale ice. “Not so much as, I am certain, it troubles him. I am not sentimental, but I have come to wonder if this is the best solution.”

  “Do you have another?”

  “Give me time, and I will.”

  Liyra sighed, and flicked her tail against the cold stone face behind her. “I do not know how much time I have left to give,” she said. “It has been long since you received Rya’s prophecy. We have travelled for seasons. And this land seems ready-made for us, a perfect territory and excellent hunting grounds. Do you know,” she said, giving Palva a hesitant smile. “That there is a herd of deer that roams the fields? Deer, Palva! How long has it been since we have had proper prey?”

  “Far too long, Liyra. But I don’t see how this—”

  “We have found the perfect world,” Liyra interrupted. Her eyes took on a fervent, frightened light. “The perfect world! We have reached an ending point to the terrors of our travels. At last, a place to rest! But do you see now, Palva? This is all a show. We have walked from one world into another, and it is also the perfect time for the fire to fall.”

  “You think the danger is coming,” Palva said. “The claws and the river, from the third line of the prophecy.”

  Liyra shuddered. “I do not know what those words mean,” she said. “But yes, I think this danger is coming. What better time than at the end of a journey? And now that the fire-wolf has been found—why, Palva, I believe it’s only a matter of time before the rest of it falls into place. We must be ready.”

  The alpha fell silent. Palva was staring at the ground, her eyes following the dips and cracks of the dusty stone floor. She felt Liyra’s gaze resting on her, as though awaiting her permission, her opinion—but Palva knew this was all a show. Liyra was the alpha. She looked to no one for permission. What she wanted was Palva’s approval, but if she could not have that then it would only bother her slightly.

  “I can only agree with you, Liyra,” Palva said at last, raising her eyes. “on the matter of the prophecy, at least. I feel it coming as well. It would be ideal to be prepared for it, of course, but I don’t think it is wise to hold the one who is meant to save us all as our prisoner. I doubt he’d be willing to cooperate, when the time comes.”

  “He would have no choice.”

  “And what does that mean? Are you going to have Leron stand behind him throughout the whole thing—fire or flood or crumbling of the earth—pressing his fangs into his neck?”

  “Of course not. But if it is in the prophecy, then it must be.”

  “I suppose so. But you know that Rya gives us room to move around in her words. The prophecy could mean something very different from what you think it does now.”

  Liyra hesitated, her eyes darkening with anger. She met Palva’s level, cool gaze—Palva stared her in the eye, not so much a challenge as a reminder, a reminder that it was Palva who held authority in the realms of what is not understood, what is to be interpreted. The Gatherer was detached from pack hierarchy; the Gatherer stood on her own; the Gatherer in the eyes of Rya was as powerful as an alpha and perhaps more so. Palva could not challenge Liyra in a fight, but the alpha would not dare lay a claw Rya’s own messenger.

  “Tell him he may leave,” Liyra said.

  “Thank you—”

  “No, no, only tell him that to put his mind at ease. If he tries to go, do not let him under any circumstances—tell him anything: the herbs aren’t finished, the land is dangerous, he’s still too wounded—but do not release him.”

  “This won’t work, Liyra,” Palva growled. “We cannot hold him—”

  “He will not be a prisoner,” Liyra said. “He will join us.”