27.
Retracing
The night was dark and fraught with terror; flaming-eyed wraiths howled with the wind that was sharp and cold as a steel blade. Alanki was running for her life, her paws pounding the ground like thunder, her breath burning in her lungs, her mind a wild swirl of fear and panic. Behind her was a roaring mass of lithe shadows; eyes and fangs flashed in the night. The air was thin and filled with their blood-curdling hunting howls. They were not far behind, and Alanki was growing so tired, but she could not stop. Her legs kept flying; it was as if she had lost control –and above it all, watching with cruel indifference from the sky, hung the bloodfire-moon, its face bruised dark with shades of blood and flame.
Alanki could not see. Her head was filled with shadows that were screening her vision, as though the darkness had invaded her mind. Her paws lashed at the ground, sending water flying up from the dark, cracked soil—it was cold; it flew into her face and stung her eyes. There were no stars in the sky. Tongues of flame, cruelly bright against the black sky, beat a terrible red and orange pattern against her skull, tossing sparks into the air that flew down and sizzled in Alanki’s fur. It was a nightmare the likes of which Alanki was almost positive she had never experienced, but she could not wake up. The pain was very real.
Alanki ran and ran. She ran for hours, years, lifetimes, running as if she would never stop. The bloodthirsty pack was always close behind, their eyes bright as fire in the darkness. Alanki’s paws were shivering with pain; it felt as though every one of her bones had cracked in her flight, but however hard she tried, she could not force herself to stop running.
With a sudden scream of wind, Alanki came to an abrupt halt and crumpled into a heap on the damp ground as if the wires pulling her forward had been cut. The pack’s cries went on, and Alanki, confused and exhausted, raised her head to see what was going on.
It was the deer. Delphinium, Eyebright, Redshank, and hundreds of faceless others were fleeing for their lives from the hunting pack. Alanki cried out with shock and tried to pull herself to her paws, but it was as though she no longer had any control of her legs.
“The moon was a claw in the sky,” said a soft, whispery voice behind her. “’Twas an omen we should have recognized.”
“Eryngo!” Alanki gasped, twisting around. Indeed, the old buck was standing behind her. But he looked wrong, horribly different—his pelt was grey and wispy, as though made out of smoke, and his eyes were as hollow and colorless as frozen stone. Alanki could not help cringing away from him.
“Eryngo, what are you doing here?” she asked. “Why are you here?”
“Fangs are too sharp,” he said as though he had not heard her, his voice as toneless and empty as the winter wind. “And fire is too swift. You are to help us, Child of the River.”
“I have! I’m trying, Eryngo. I have a plan, a plan that will destroy the pack—”
“Alanki!” cried a deer from the stampeding herd. It was Delphinium, her eyes stretched wide with panic. “Don’t fear for us, Alanki! Run! Run for your life!”
And before Alanki had any time to give this any thought, the pack was on her again, fangs snapping and shining and jaws crying bloodlust to the fire-moon sky.
It was just as it had been that recent horrible night that she had discovered Misari’s pack. Alanki strained and stumbled, blinded by panic that pulsed red before her eyes, but she could no longer run. The ground was wet, sucking at her paws and trying to draw her down. The pack was drawing closer still, their rapid breath cold in Alanki’s fur and her heart shrieking with fear. Water flew up into her pelt and Alanki’s paws slipped away into icy nothingness—the ground had become a river.
Alanki was swept away from the pack with terrible speed, frosty water licking at her bones and striking them numb. Behind her, the pack continued running and howling, their paws skimming over the dark, cold water as though it were solid ground—but Alanki was moving faster by far.
Colors slipped past in the dark night. Alanki tried to run, to swim, to even sink in the water, but the river had her in its grasp. She was beyond control now, only able to rush along before the roaring pack, running with the course of the river as she had done before, long ago.
There was a dark mass on the surface of the water, close ahead. As Alanki approached, the mass seemed to dissolve into smaller shapes, until she could make out individual wolves—hungry, skinny, dusty wolves with eyes dull and weary. With shrieks of bloodcurdling delight, the pack behind her abandoned Alanki and fell upon their new prey, white fangs flashing in the darkness. The battered wolves broke beneath the pack’s fury without so much as a whimper. Alanki watched with horror as fangs white and sharp as the crescent moon tore their thin, dusty pelts as they were made of nothing more than clouds of ash.
A pair of green eyes hung helplessly in the sky, pinned against the dark canvas like insect wings fixed in tree sap. They seemed to multiply before Alanki’s eyes—a rain of green eyes scattered like sparks across the river’s frothing surface, and it was awhile before Alanki realized that they belonged to the huddled wolves, to the mad old tawny she-wolf who was pounding the cracked earth, screaming, “How dare you? How dare you?” It was awhile before Alanki realized that there was no blood in the water, but a thin layer of sodden ashes floated on the surface. They washed up against her on the river’s waves and burrowed into her fur like a swarm of tiny ticks, blackening her legs as though she, too, had fled Misari’s forest fire.
This time, the waves lapping at her legs were mild and lifeless. There were no fangs here but her own, no coldness but that of her own rage towards the packwolves.
The blood was not in the water. It was in her mouth.
“I can’t do it, Eyebright,” Alanki said dully. “I can’t do it any longer.”
It was just after dawn, the Lake’s surface smooth and clear as glass. A light mist had descended over the fields, reflecting in the bright water so that the Lake looked almost like a bottomless hole into the lightening sky above. The sun was just beginning to rise over the rim of the horizon, the deep blue-grey of night fading away to soft shell-pink as the light spread. Eyebright and Alanki were standing side by side. Alanki’s pelt still cold and bristling from the blind terror of last night’s dream. It was an old dream. It was a dream she had forgotten until last night.
“I can’t do it,” she repeated. She was fighting hard to keep herself under control, but nausea and cold terror were creeping up from her lungs. “I—I can’t handle this anymore. It has become too much.”
Eyebright was silent for once, the doe’s large eyes dark and thoughtful. She was not in her usual state of dramatic prophesizing that Alanki had often found so annoying; rather, the young doe seemed subdued, almost frightened. It had been long since Alanki had spoken to Eyebright, but she was not the least bit taken-aback by the change. Eyebright was thinner, lessened somewhat; there was a solemn, bitter-won wisdom behind her dark eyes now. Perhaps it was still the shock of the hunt and Eryngo’s death, but Alanki did not bother to ask. Alanki was now well aware of the horror in finding that one’s own, terrible prophetic dreams may actually come true.
“What is it, Daughter of the River?” Eyebright said quietly. “What has happened to change you so quickly?”
“I—well, I have had a dream—” Alanki stopped herself right there. She did not want to tell Eyebright about her nightmare and what she had done. Shame was a feeling too familiar to her, too personal. It was as though she were a bloodstained yearling again, and the deer had just stumbled across Tormentil’s lifeless body.
“A dream, then?” Eyebright said. “Yes, I see. I often have dreams. They can be very affecting, can they not? And what do you think your dream means?”
Alanki didn’t answer. She knew what her dream meant. It had not so much been giving her meaning than it had been showing her the truth. She, A-Lankhi, the River, had swept up the deer and the wolf pack in her fury. Now, she had drawn in the innocent Misari’s pack as well. Th
e two packs would drag each other down, leaving Alanki free. It was a story she knew. For a long time, her dreams of violence had left her in peace—for they were no longer dreams, but had, as of late, become reality. She had forgotten that they had ever begun as dreams.
The dreams of long ago had been a warning that she had not heeded.
And now, with the waking of this morning, with the knowledge of what she had done, it was too much. Here she thought she had won—that victory was at hand, that her plan would work—but in doing so she had lost herself. It was her first nightmare become reality. Alanki was broken, and she hated herself for it.
“I’m finished, Eyebright.” Alanki said, her voice cracking. “This fight is out of control; I am out of control—Eyebright, I’ve done something terrible. The wolf pack is one thing, and I hate them more than anything else, but ‘tis too much for me. I cannot go on like this. I cannot run forever, I cannot fight forever…I—I’ve lost it, Eyebright!”
“You haven’t lost anything, A-Lankhi,” Eyebright said. “Nothing has been lost, nothing at all. You have seen more than I ever have. You have saved Eklo’s children ten times over; you have more than repaid your debt. What is lost?”
“I’m lost,” Alanki said, turning on her. “I never thought ‘twould get this far. I never believed that I would do something like—like that. The pack-wolves, perhaps, but I thought I could be better. That I would pay them what they deserved, and relent when they did. I thought I was better than them—but no, I’m worse, Eyebright! I…I’ve killed Tormentil. I’ve killed her all over again.”
“Why do you say such a thing?”
“You said I cannot run forever. I can’t. I may run for a long time, and I have—but I cannot run any more. They’ve cornered me, Eyebright. I’ve already paid my price, ‘twas simple enough, but now, now—I’ve done a terrible thing. “
Eyebright gazed at her for a long time. Alanki was shaking and her legs felt like wet leaves—she was going to run, she was going to collapse and never rise again. Everything that had happened thus far, all of the fights and hunts and dark chases through her forest, were suddenly too heavy and overwhelming for her to carry.
For all her savage threats and the ruthless predator she had made herself out to be, Alanki was still very young.
“Breathe, child,” the doe said, as though consoling a tearful fawn; Alanki was too miserable to be offended. “Tell me what you have done. Always is there a way out, A-Lankhi, if you have found a way in.”
“Do not call me that!” Alanki snarled, turning on her. The doe did not flinch at this sudden savagery. “I shan’t be your Lankhi, not any more. And what can you say to understand it, anyway? You’re prey, every one of you. You’ve never killed, and likely you never will. You cannot know what ‘tis like to wake up and realize you are nothing but a blood-filled shell anymore, that all the past seasons have been one stretching lie, a nightmare of your own creation, a warning you never heard. You can’t—”
“You are no shell, my dear, if you can speak this way now. You aren’t too far gone if you can realize you’re lost.”
“I’m lost?” Alanki said with a wild, bitter laugh. “That’s not even approaching the truth. I’m insane, Eyebright, that’s what I am. I want to run, to run away and never see anything again—but I can’t let myself, partly because all I’m running from is myself and that’s impossible, and partly because determination is at least the only good thing left in me, if I’ve lost all else. This situation is too strong for me now, to much to—”
“Alankhi!” Eyebright said, and the doe actually laughed. “What a way that dream of yours has changed you, if you shall now ever admit that something is too strong for you! Listen to yourself!”
“But it is,” Alanki muttered, looking aside. “I’ve lost control of myself and everything else. I am out of new ideas, drained of strength—I’ve become nothing but a shell. I cannot run or fight anymore, and now I know why. This is why I am raised by deer—yes? Delphinium never told me. ‘Tis because I’m small and weak, and my true mother did not want me.”
Eyebright stopped laughing, her gentle face growing solemn.
“No, Daughter of the River,” she said. “You are small, yes—but not weak, never weak. You have grown since you were a little pup, A-Lankhi. Haven’t you seen?”
The doe stepped aside, her head inclining in the direction of the glowing Lake, where the golden mists of morning were just beginning to lift away. Hesitantly, almost as if afraid of what she would see, Alanki stepped to the edge of the smooth water, her paws cooling in the wet sand.
A wolf was looking up at her. It was a wolf that seemed familiar to her, but not the scrawny, skinny creature Alanki had always imagined herself to be. The wolf was small, it was true, but the muscles under her stark white fur were hard, her legs long and her back lean and streamlined. At the moment, she was looking defeated and beaten, but there was a fire behind the steely green eyes that Alanki knew burned often, and her jaw was set with firm determination. The creature had a visible air of stubbornness and formidability—ridiculously in contrast with the mild face of the young doe standing behind her. Alanki took a step back.
“That’s me? But—but what has happened?”
“Why, you have grown up, Alanki,” said Eyebright, smiling. She had dropped the formal stresses of the old name—she spoke calmly, naturally, without the reverence and fear the deer had held to her for so long. Alanki felt the change and, without realizing it, relaxed. “Did you want to stay a pup your entire life? Spring turns to winter and little pups turn to warriors. You are surprised?”
“I—I cannot say; I just didn’t expect…”
“Delphinium knows you far better than I, for sure. But I at least know that you are a far stronger creature than you now perceive yourself to be. You see? You are no longer a weak pup, Alanki.”
“You’re wrong, Eyebright.” Alanki turned away from the shining Lake and her reflection. “Whatever I’ve grown into, I don’t want it. I never thought I’d tell anyone this, but I—I don’t want to be a renegade anymore. I am sick of blood. ‘Tis all I dream about now—‘tis all I dreamt about long ago, before all of this, only I never remembered until now.”
“Then why fight? After so long, why stop now? I may not know you as well as others, but I do know enough to know that this isn’t at all like you. Are you surrendering?”
Alanki was quiet for awhile, considering the doe’s question.
“No,” she said, after a moment of silence. “I can’t. There is no way that I could. But I cannot stand this anymore; ‘tis all too much. There are too many wolves to fight, too many hours to run, too much blood on my paws. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep.”
“You are weary, child. There is no shame.”
“‘There is to me!” Alanki snapped. “You haven’t any idea of what has happened, no idea of what I have done—how many times must I tell you? If I lose this battle, ‘twill be all my fault. But if I win it, ‘twill also be my fault. I can’t tell which would be a heavier loss.”
“You are learning. ’Tis all a learning, a test.”
Alanki stared at her. “A test? Are you serious? You think this is a test? To see what? How many times I may kill before I’m the only one left?”
“I cannot say, child, except that ‘tis all a test. For you and others.”
“Then I’ve failed.”
“You have not. See how far you’ve come, now. See what you’ve done—the good as well as the bad. You still have hours of sun left before this battle, River Daughter. There is time yet.”
“Time?” Alanki snorted. “I don’t believe you. I tell you, Eyebright. I’m dead, I’m ended, or I may as well be.”
“Oh, Alanki, you silly creature!” said Eyebright with a laugh. “Don’t you speak of endings, you know of no such thing, you are too young. But yet, if there were no endings, there would be no beginnings, yes? Morning must end before night falls, and night is broken with the sun. ‘Tis a circle, Daughter
of the River. A-Lankhi. And yes, that is your name. But ‘tis not the name that shall create you. You must create the name to suit who you are. You must take the strength that comes with it, and lead it to your own purposes.”
“I don’t—”
“‘Tis names that are also a circle. Everything is. ‘Tis all a cruel circle, at times, but when has the world ever been kind?”
“Never,” growled Alanki. “Not to me or you or anyone. It’s a bitter, dead world, ready to turn you against yourself and—”
“Oh, but would there be dawns such as this if ‘twas all cold and cruel?” said Eyebright, strangely amused. “Would there be a sun and a moon? Would there be spring and summer?”
Alanki looked at her in astonishment.
“I thought you thrived on darkness and dramatic things,” she said. “I almost believed you enjoyed your nightmares, the way you act.”
“No one enjoys nightmares, Alankhi,” the doe said in a soft voice. Her eyes darkened. “And I have had many. And I know, though Delphinium and Redshank may plead with you to forget all of this and pull yourself out of danger. I know otherwise. You must fight, Child of the River. A-Lankhi. The moon tells me so—the fire-moon, the blood-moon—not evil in itself, but reflecting what is amongst us. It screams of battle—so battle there must be. For some situations, ‘tis the only way out.”
Alanki took a deep breath. She looked backwards over her shoulder into the lightening surface of the Lake, where her fierce green-eyed reflection was glaring back at her. A-Lankhi. Little River, Daughter of the River. If she had fallen to nothing, then what was there to do but create herself again?
This time, a strange feeling of strength and defiance spread like warm water from her tail to her ear tips. She shook her head, as though shaking away the last remnants of despair that still clung to her like tattered leaves.
“Fine then,” she said, meeting Eyebright’s dark-eyed gaze. “I shall do as you say. I shall fight them—again and again; they’ll stop before I ever do. I don’t know if that’s the way out—I don’t know if there is any way out from where I’ve gotten myself. What else can I do?”
“Your dream has shown you the truth,” Eyebright said with a strange, sad smile. “What you can do now is only to spread the truth.”
Alanki stared at her, and then looked off into her forest, where she could almost hear the echoing howls of Misari’s pack.