The Rise of the Fire Moon

  ***

  Redshank was the new Leader of the Deer. He was Eryngo’s nephew, a rather skinny but quick-footed stag with a glossy, reddish-brown pelt. Redshank was much younger than his uncle, with bright and clever brown eyes that held none of Eryngo’s melancholy weariness. He was, however, no less shrewd and wise a leader than Eryngo had been—and he respected and cared for Alanki’s welfare just as much.

  “This cannot go on any longer,” he said, gazing down his long muzzle at Alanki. She flattened her ears, and glared back with defiance.

  “Why?” she said. “Do you say that the deer shall fight these pack-wolves themselves?”

  Redshank sighed. “Of course not. ‘Twould surely be against the will of our father Eklo. For the Trees once said—”

  “I know what the Trees once said!” Alanki snapped. “‘Do not use thy gifts to draw blood, but for traditional antler rituals amongst the herd.’ But do you not understand? Soon there shall be no more rituals—no more herd. How can you tell me to stop fighting? Eryngo took no issue with it.”

  She regretted it the moment she had said it. Redshank lowered his eyes with a soft puff of breath, and turned his head to the side. “O, Great Sky,” he mumbled.

  “I am sorry,” Alanki said. “I didn’t mean that. ‘Tis only that—”

  “Eryngo was the wisest of leaders,” Redshank interrupted, turning back to look at her. “His life was blessed by Eklo, and none shall forget it. I would do my best to honor the agreements he placed in his life, but not this one. My uncle did not live to see you hunted, and his spirit shan’t wish to see you killed.”

  “I won’t be killed.”

  “Have you any way of knowing that? Eryngo believed that you were going to go and speak with these wolves—to negotiate with them, for they would listen to one of their own kind more than they would us, their dumb prey. Never did he believe that you would be hunted by them just as we are, and never would he allow it.”

  “I tried to negotiate with them! They will not listen, and they—”

  “Vicious threats do not count as negotiation,” sighed Redshank. “You have many gifts that we do not, Child of the River, but diplomatic communication is not one of them.”

  “Yes, yes, fine, I know that now,” Alanki said. “But what’s done is done. The point I am reaching is that there is no other alternative. You cannot force me to end my fighting; they shall kill you! I am sorry, Redshank, but I cannot do that. ‘Tis not a choice.”

  “There is always a choice. As ‘twas once said by the Great Sky—”

  “I know, I know.” Alanki said angrily. “So what do you suggest I do?”

  “You must give in to them. Leave us Deer to our fate, for it has already been carved into the stars.”

  “I can’t do that!”

  “There has already been too much bloodshed,” Redshank said, shaking his head. “From the deer to the wolves to the Lankhi. They kill, you kill. ‘Tis a circle of blood, and ‘twill never end.”

  “Then I shall make it end!” Alanki said. “I’ve made a plan. I am to kill their alpha! Tonight, I shall go and—”

  “No,” Redshank cut in. “What would they then do? They would come for you with greater fury. You have risked too much as it is. They already thirst for your blood just as much as they do ours, and ‘tis all because of us.”

  “What?”

  “I say that you shall be killed for our sake, Alanki,” Redshank said. “We cannot allow that to happen.”

  It was the use of her real name, the name she called herself, that softened Alanki—not her title of “River Daughter,” the respectful inflections of A-Lankhi, that many of the deer preferred to call her. Redshank’s eyes were large and sad with concern, and for the first time Alanki understood his burden as a leader. He couldn’t bear to see his people slaughtered, yet he was torn with worry over the creature that may as well have been a sister to him. To some of the deer, she was more than a figure of an old story or the violent child of their natural enemy—to some, she was also a member of the herd.

  “But what is there to say about your life?” she muttered. “What is to be said about Delphinium and Eyebright and Agrimony and the rest? They would have you all killed. I can’t stand and watch that happen.”

  “All things come to an end. We must accept it. Perhaps ‘tis to be the end of the Deer—or, at least, our herd. Another hole burned into Eklo’s frayed spirit.”

  Alanki stared at him incredulously.

  “The end?” she said, her voice rising again. “You mean you would simply release yourself? Well, fine for you, but I shall never give in. I shall keep fighting them until the grass beneath their paws turns red.”

  “The grass is already red. Too red, far too red. And the moon is orange. Eyebright has seen it, and she still trembles with fear each night ‘Tis an omen of evil, greater evil than a claw-moon or a no-moon-at-all. It reflects the blood on the grass and the paws of those who have killed.”

  “And there you have it all, then. If there are ‘omens of evil’, then what choice do I have? It only creates even more of a reason why I must continue fighting them. If we give up, they shall have won.”

  “No one shall have won,” Redshank said. His voice was lowering as Alanki’s rose. “Do you believe they are to give in? For certain, they will never stop fighting you until you are dead.”

  “Then they shall be fighting for a long time,” Alanki hissed. “And they have no reason to be fighting save for their own stupid, selfish, stubbornness. It will not last long. Oh, they shall soon tire of these deaths.”

  “‘Tis gone far beyond deaths and selfishness now, Alankhi,” Redshank said with a sigh. “For them, ‘tis now a matter of pride and honor.”

  “Let their pride kill them, then. And I shall kill their alpha! Never will you be hunted again. Attacking patrols is not working now, I see—I must kill the alpha, I must take that which leads them.”

  Redshank watched her for a long time. Her ears were flat and eyes sparking with a fervent anger. Alanki could feel his exasperation, but she said nothing; she waited for him to finish thinking. She could give him time, to show that she was not about to change her mind.

  “And I have told you what shall happen then,” he said at last, his voice dragging down in weariness. “They shall hunt you with greater determination, roaring for their alpha’s revenge. You shall be no better off, perhaps worse.”

  Alanki looked away, fangs bared. Anger was pulsing through her like wildfire, the same turbulent rush that had driven her to shout at the alpha and kill the patrols. She wanted to fight. She had to fight—if she didn’t, she would turn on herself.

  Delphinium was lying in the grass a few paces away, her brown eyes large and sad. Alanki was startled. She had forgotten the doe was there.

  “You are my daughter,” Delphinium said softly. Redshank snorted in surprise when she spoke—it seemed that he hadn’t known she was there either. Her dark eyes were old and miserable, reflecting the sky above them. “They took Sundew, Alankhi. Shall they take you as well?”

  “They will not,” Alanki said. Her voice cracked. “I give my promise. Never shall they find me. I’ll run and run, and I’ll disappear—”

  “But someday they will,” Delphinium persisted. “I know that they will. ‘Tis how things always are. You cannot run forever.”

  “Well, I cannot live forever, either.” Alanki’s voice hardened again, and she looked away from her foster-mother. “I may as well make the most of it as I am still walking.”

  Redshank was watching, pawing the ground.

  “Delphinium is right,” he said. “You are brave, Alankhi, but there are times when bravery must be cast aside.”

  Alanki glared at him. “Of course, ‘tis you to say that,” she said. “The deer run, they do not fight. I am no deer—I’ve never been a deer, and nothing can change that. I am a wolf, and wolves do not run—well, some may, but I will not.”

  “I know you are different from us,” Delphinium
whispered, her voice pained. “But you are not so different. You run when they come to hunt you, for that is the wisest thing to do.”

  Alanki turned around, bristling. “Would you call me a coward? There were seven of them! What could I do?”

  “I understand most surely,” the doe went on. “What I am meaning is perhaps ‘twould be wisest to run now. There are far too many of them for you to win, Alankhi. You may fight—oh, you may fight so long and hard, and they shall suffer terrible losses. But numbers shall prevail in the end. They always do.”

  “I will die then. But they shall never forget it, you may hear my words. Oh, always shall they remember me, and ‘twill be a stain in their fur they shall never wash out. I shall haunt their dreams, and they shall tell tales to their pups of the terrible, bloody renegade ghost.” She laughed. “And who knows? Perhaps they then you would be left alone.”

  Redshank shook his head. “I am most sorry,” he said. “I understand how you feel about this, I truly do. But you must understand—you shall die, Alankhi. You shall be killed for our sakes. And so, there shall be a stain in our hides as well. A terrible stain.”

  Alanki calmed for a moment, the fur on her back settling. “You believe ‘twill be your fault if I die,” she said, the hard edge in her voice softening. “You’re worried for me, aren’t you?”

  “We all are,” Delphinium pleaded. “We know how this shall end. You risk your life for us. And you shall be killed for us. ‘Tis far too much.”

  “I owe you my life. I owe you more than my life. Remember?”

  Delphinium and Redshank exchanged nervous glances. Delphinium shook her head and sighed.

  “I remember everything, my child,” she said. “Oh, I remember. And I remember that, as walked with you away from the herd and forever into the darks of the forest, I was hoping you would never have to repay those debts to us.”

  “But—”

  “‘Tis true,” Redshank said. “I remember the first day well, when my uncle consented to keep you. ‘Twas I who led Delphinium and Agrimony back into the herd’s grounds, and I remember well seeing the wolf fawn sprawled across her back, and wondering what force could have dropped such a creature—the fierce child of the predator, into our mild family. ‘Twas by the guidance of the Great Sky that you came to us, A-Lankhi. We do not want you lost.”

  “But can you not see?” Alanki said in frustration. “This is why I have been sent to you. To protect you from these pack-wolves.” Her eyes blazed pale green fire. “And there is not a thing you may do to stop me. I am going to destroy these wolves, no matter what I must—”

  There was a sudden, sharp intake of breath from the two deer, and Alanki fell silent. A wild, terrified glint flared in Delphinium’s eyes, and Redshank snorted with fear. The two deer flew up from the grass and dashed away like hares, their hooves thundering the ground in a panicked rhythm, and Alanki was left standing alone with the cold wind in her fur.

  She did not wonder why they had torn away, so terrified and panicked—she had already caught the scent that they feared, and she did not hesitate.

  With an enraged roar, she flung herself towards the young brown wolf who was crouching in the waving grey grass a short distance away, his dark green eyes watching her. She didn’t care about creeping up on him; he could see her as it was. She shot towards him, her wordless, angry cry echoing over the fields like a torrent of floodwater. He was terrified of her, she could see. It pleased her.

  But he had not moved. He appeared to be frozen to the ground, his fur bristling in his terror. He wasn’t running, though—why wasn’t he running?

  “Stop!” he shouted in a shaking voice, leaping up from the grass as she drew close enough to hear him. “Stop! I need to talk with you!”