The Rise of the Fire Moon

  23.

  Falling

  It was nightfall by the time Tir stumbled his way back into the redoubt. The air had grown colder in the absence of the sun, and the wind was as sharp and bitter as a sheet of ice. But Tir was numb to any feelings; he could barely see the fields in front of his nose. He was, however, aware of the strange glow of the fire moon overhead, remembering Palva’s words of what it meant. He understood now. He understood everything.

  He choked back the sting of ashes in his throat.

  Tir slipped through the tall grass and into the redoubt. He stopped, confused, swaying on his paws. He had expected it to be empty, but it was full of prowling, bristling creatures with glinting eyes. It was a few moments before Tir realized that the entire pack was still milling around the redoubt main, though it was the dead of night.

  He shuddered. Something was different—the tenseness of the air crackled like burning wood, and the pack all appeared to be on the verge of attack. They were restless, and Tir did not know why. Was it because of the death of Sirle?

  He padded through the throng of bristling, fang-baring wolves to the center of the redoubt main, where Sirle’s mangled body lay on the ground. The chief Sentinel’s throat had been torn away in a mess of red ribbons, and the ground beneath his head was dark and slick with half-dried blood. The dull grey wolf’s eyes were glazed over, but still glaring. His white fangs were bared in a snarl, but they were clean. He had never even had a chance to snap at the renegade. How had she done it?

  Tir turned around and himself face-to-face with Palva. Unlike the other wolves in the redoubt, she was just as cool and unreadable as ever. Her feathery tail was tucked over her paws and she did not look surprised to see him.

  “Well?” she said, her voice low so that none of the other wolves could hear. “Did you learn anything?”

  Tir looked at her. Was it possible that Palva already knew? Was it possible that she did not know? The horror came flooding back to him; his eyes burned.

  “Yes,” he said. “I did. I think I understand what’s going on now.”

  Palva was silent for a long time. She examined him with her sharp, pale eyes. “And what are you going to do now?”

  Tir looked at the ground. “I am going to talk to Alpha Liyra.”

  Palva nodded, and rose to her paws.

  “She’s in her den.”

  Tir had never been in Liyra’s den before. He wasn’t certain if he was even allowed; from what he had seen, only members of the Council ever disturbed the alpha in her own cave. He hoped she was not sleeping.

  But no, Liyra was awake. As Tir clambered up the fallen boulders to the dark recess that was the alpha’s den, voices drifted down from above him. It seemed that Liyra already had a visitor—Tir couldn’t yet make out who it was, but the it sounded like they were arguing.

  “…isn’t only suspicions this time, Liyra; I saw it, I saw proof of it myself—I don’t understand why you can’t accept this. I’ve never misled you.”

  Tir drew a sharp breath and flattened his ears. It was Leron. If he raised his head just over the boulder above him, he could see the captain pacing stormily about in Liyra’s den while the alpha herself sat in the entrance with an expression of perfect calm.

  “But if it’s come down to my word against the Gatherer’s, then, well, I have my evidence now,” Leron was growling. Something in his voice struck Tir as strange—he had heard, before, when the restrained anger tried to shove its way through the captain’s tone, but it was absent now. Leron’s voice was low but desperate; it sounded almost as if he were pleading. Tir couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. “It’s up to the Gatherer to produce her own evidence.”

  “Palva has given me her evidence on this matter long ago, Leron,” Liyra said. “You know that. I understand that you’re concerned, and perhaps now you’ve seen things that trouble you, but I can assure you that Palva and I have control over the situation. I am tired of having this same conversation again and again.”

  “As am I! And yet your side of it never changes! No matter what I bring to you, all you can offer in return are vague dismissals and cryptic assurances. What does the Gatherer know? What has she been telling you that I can’t hear?”

  “There are some matters that can only be between the Gatherer and the alpha. All I can tell you is that Palva has long been aware of Tir’s arrival in our pack.”

  For a moment, there was silence. Tir’s breath caught in his throat—he had guessed that they were talking about him, but what Liyra just said was strange. Palva had known that he would join their pack? And Palva had known that the renegade wouldn’t harm him. Clearly, there was something else Palva knew—and for awhile now, it seemed, it was the only thing protecting him from Captain Leron.

  “This is about her nightmares,” Leron said finally. His voice was flat and edged with disgust. “I should have guessed. The Gatherer’s told you that her moon-mother whispered in her ear, and if I harm the outsider, the stars will fall from the sky and incinerate our pelts.”

  “That’s not fair of you, Leron.” Liyra’s voice had gained a hint of sharpness, though she did not move. “I understand that your old pack was unfamiliar with Rya, but the intuition of Palva and the Gatherers before her has guided this pack for generations. This is why I’ve told you so little; you just cannot understand—”

  “Tell me this!” Leron said. “Who guided this pack through the marsh? Who made the hard choices that no one else wanted anything to do with? Who kept all your sorry pelts running and breathing?”

  “I do not mean to ignore your value on the journey,” Liyra said quietly. “You were very brave and this pack is in your debt. But you must accept the authority inherent in Palva’s position; were it not for her herbs, half of our wolves would be lost to marsh sickness. You must accept that—”

  “Wait.” Leron’s voice was suddenly low and fervid, and Liyra fell silent. The quiet stretched on for a few seconds, and Tir’s fur began to bristle. “Can you scent that?” Leron whispered at last. “On the ledge, outside the den. It’s him. He’s outside the den.”

  Above him, there was a scrabbling and scratching noise on the rocks as the two wolves hurriedly rose from their places. Tir’s blood had gone cold. He looked up to see Leron and Liyra staring down at him a tail’s length away from his face. Leron seemed livid. Liyra only looked surprised.

  “Tir,” she said. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know you were out there. The Captain and I are having a meeting. If you need to talk with me, we should be finished in a few moments—”

  “No,” Leron said. “We’re finished now. I want to hear what he has to say.”

  “I…I…” Tir glanced from Leron to Liyra, his heart pounding. It seemed they weren’t going to ask him how long he had been listening to them; perhaps Leron didn’t even care. But he had to collect himself. He had to tell Liyra what he had learned. “I have a message. It’s for the alpha alone.”

  Leron gave a short laugh, but Liyra cut him off. “Whatever important news you bring will be shared before the Council anyway. You don’t need to worry about Captain Leron.”

  Tir stared at her for a moment. At last, he stumbled up the last few boulders to the threshold of the den; the two wolves moved out of his way, watching him. He did not sit down, but remained standing just outside the cave. He drew a steadying breath.

  “I have a message,” he said. Liyra raised her brow.

  “From whom?”

  “From—from the renegade.”

  “Ah,” Leron said. His eyes lit up. “So you admit that you’ve been speaking with her?”

  “Y—yes, I have.”

  “You’ve just returned, I suppose?”

  “Yes.”

  Leron shot Liyra a look of dark triumph. And to Tir’s horror, he saw a trace of concern on the alpha’s face.

  “Tir,” she said. “Before you arrived, Leron was telling me that he followed you out to the fields and saw you having a conversation with the renegade. Neithe
r of you challenged the other. Is this true?”

  “Well, yes, partly. She wasn’t pleased to see me, but I did talk to her.”

  “Why didn’t she kill you?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Leron had begun to shake his head. Tir’s heartbeat was rising to a panicked pace—this was no better than facing the renegade’s questions—but he knew he had to swallow his fear.

  “I know why she’s fighting us,” he blurted, before either of them could say something. “I asked her, and she told me, and—and it isn’t a prey dispute.”

  “I don’t understand,” Liyra said. Her voice was mild, but the doubt in her eye had not gone away. “It can’t be a territory dispute, because Captain Leron says she lives only in the forest. And we never touched her until she began hunting us; she very clearly told us that the deer were hers alone, and we weren’t to hunt them. What is it, if not a prey dispute?”

  “That’s not what she said, though,” Tir said, beginning to speak faster. “She never told us that the deer were hers to hunt—she only told us that we weren’t to hunt them, and she would kill us if we did. She’s never hunted the deer—she’s trying to protect them.”

  Liyra said nothing. She watched Tir as though waiting for him to continue, but he felt trapped under her gaze. It was Leron who broke the silence.

  “And why would she do that, outsider?” he said quietly.

  “Because…because she owes them a debt. They saved her life when she was young, and—and they raised her, and she sees them as her pack, don’t you understand?” Tir hesitated. Neither Leron nor Liyra had so much as blinked. “We’ve been killing her family,” he whispered. “And she is avenging their deaths.”

  For a long time, no one said anything. Tir could feel his words hanging in the dark air like insects suspended in tree sap; a thick silence settled over them. The two wolves in front of him only stared—they did not react. Leron didn’t even laugh at him. And all at once, hot nausea swept over Tir as he realized how ridiculous his words had sounded. It was one thing hearing them from the renegade—the emotion in her face and voice rang true, and she had no reason to lie to him. But Tir had just stumbled into redoubt, alone, in the dead of night, after a harrowing hunt through a dark forest—his pelt was matted, his eyes were wide, and his breaths were coming fast and shallow. He must sound nearly hysterical.

  “You fascinate me,” Leron said. “I expected an excuse, but this is unforeseen. It’s as if you’ve been sharing nightmares with the Gatherer.”

  “Tir,” Liyra said kindly, as though she were explaining something to a frightened pup. “Wolves kill deer. Deer do not raise wolves.”

  “But these ones did,” Tir insisted. He could hear the panic rising in his voice. Liyra must understand. “They had an old legend, she said, that a wolf would save them one day, so they pulled her out of a river, and…” His voice trailed away as he realized how outlandish he sounded. He burned with shame. This wasn’t going at all how he had expected.

  “Tir,” Liyra said in a soft voice. “Why did you go to speak with the renegade?”

  “Palva told me to go.”

  At this, Captain Leron hissed through his teeth, but Tir ignored him. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on Liyra—Leron wouldn’t grasp what he meant, but she would. She trusted Palva enough that he was still alive. She must understand!

  “Did Palva say anything specific about the renegade?” Liyra asked.

  “No. Only that she wouldn’t harm me—she didn’t know why—and that I had to persuade her to speak to me.”

  “And what does Palva make of this information? About the renegade protecting the deer?”

  Tir hesitated. “She—she didn’t ask,” he confessed. “She only told me to come tell you.”

  “And so you have. You have told me.”

  Tir waited for Liyra to say more, but she didn’t. She examined him as though he were an animal she had never seen before—her gaze was not as piercing as the renegade’s, but he could feel her measuring him. In spite of all that had happened, she still had a level of faith in Palva. But she had no reason to have faith in him.

  “I suppose you and Palva want the renegade hunts to end?” Liyra said, and Tir’s fur bristled at the weariness in her voice.

  “Yes,” he said. “But you have to understand! It isn’t as simple as we thought it was—the renegade isn’t fighting over hunting rights, she’s fighting for her pack, of a sort. She isn’t going to stop.”

  “She is only one wolf,” Leron said. “As much trouble as she’s caused so far, her luck has to run out. We’ll kill her, and this whole mess will be over. It couldn’t be simpler.”

  “But we can’t kill her! She’s only doing what any of us would do in her place—we started it; we made a mistake and we killed one of her deer. Haven’t you noticed, she’s only killed enough wolves to avenge the deer?”

  “Deer are not wolves,” Leron said. He was beginning to sound impatient again; anger had started to creep into his tone. “The score is not even. I don’t know why you’ve come here with your tales—if you wanted to protect your renegade, you should have come up with a better explanation—but this pack has hunting rights; we need to survive, and there’s no point living off of rabbits with these deer nearby. The renegade is nothing more than a problem. When she is gone, then we can talk about living in peace.”

  “I’m sorry, Tir,” Liyra said, as Tir opened his mouth to respond. “But this is something for the Council to decide, and we made our choice long ago. Your story, even if it is true, doesn’t change anything—the fact stands that the renegade has killed our wolves and is a danger to the pack. It’s far too late to settle things now. I can see that you’re tired and disturbed. I’ll speak with Palva after the hunt is over—”

  “I’m not going. You and Leron can bleed all over the forest, but I’m not going on another hunt. I refuse.”

  “You’ll go, and you’ll watch your renegade die,” Leron snarled. His eyes gleamed like white-hot coals in the dark, and his black fur blended in with the night sky behind him. “I’ve had enough of this. It’s time you learned the consequences of treachery—and you’ll be lucky if it ends with the renegade’s death.”

  “No, no,” Liyra said. “That isn’t your decision, Leron; besides, I was going to suggest that Tir remain in the redoubt during the hunt anyway. If he’s so opposed to it, he’ll be nothing but a liability to us. Palva will guard him until the pack returns.”

  “You’d let the Gatherer—”

  “Yes, for the last time!” Liyra snapped. “I have a good reason to trust Palva, whether or not I share it with you, Leron!” She fell silent for a moment, glaring at him. Leron’s lip had curled up in the slightest of snarls, and Tir knew that he dearly wanted to shout back at Liyra. His fur did not flatten, but he lowered his eyes.

  “Now,” Liyra went on, rounding to face Tir as well. The quiet, indulgent note was gone from her voice; she was stern and had been pushed to her limits. “I want both of you to get out of my sight. This conversation is over, do you understand? Both conversations,” she added, looking at Leron. “I’ve had enough, and in case Palva has any plans to appeal to me tonight, Tir, tell her that I don’t want to hear another word about the renegade, and that’s final.”

  She paused, as if waiting for acknowledgement. Neither Tir nor Leron said anything, but Tir did not raise his eyes; he could feel Leron’s cutting gaze resting between his ears.

  “So. Now that we’re clear.” Liyra’s voice had lowered, somewhat, as she sensed she had gained control of the conversation. “Leron, I want you to go down into the redoubt main and begin rounding up the Sentinels—Rya knows we can’t have them wasting their energy prowling about and starting fights amongst themselves. Tir, go to Palva’s hollow and tell her what I’ve decided. She should have some herbs that she gave Raatri for his shock; perhaps they’ll do you good as well.”

  With that, Liyra turned and padded into her den with stiff legs, leaving the silenc
e crackling behind her. Tir waited for Leron to say something to him—a threat, maybe, or another “message” he could give Palva—but the captain turned and padded down the slope of boulders without another word. Tir sat in the dark outside the alpha’s den, alone. The sky was a sweeping, black bowl over his head, and stars gleamed like strewn grains of white sand. He remembered how he had looked into the sky after the fire, when he was recovering in Palva’s hollow; at the time, he had felt the sensation of falling upwards.

  He had the same feeling now. It was as though someone had whipped the ground out from beneath his paws. He had fought in the empty air, for awhile, but in the end he was only wasting his energy. Now, he could feel himself plummeting up into the black night sky, the last safe ledge growing small beneath him.

  24.

  The Last Hunt