A New Tale
Delphinium paused.
“But what happened next?” demanded the fawns as soon as she silenced. “Go on, go on—you can’t just stop there!”
Delphinium sighed.
“Ay, my dears, I am wearied. Give me a moment’s breath, and then I shall go on. ‘Tis not an easy story to tell, you know.”
“Please Delphinium.”
“Did you say please? Have your mothers been teaching you new manners?” She smiled. “Why, of course I must go on, as you have asked so nicely. But if ‘tis battle and action of which you are wanting to hear, then I am afraid you shall be disappointed—for from that moment on, there were no more battles.”
“We don’t care,” a fawn said. “What happened to them all—Tir and the wolf fawn and the Gatherer?”
“Why, what else? When Tir shouted to the packs, above the snarls of battle, they all silenced at once.”
“Why?”
“Why is the question indeed, Galingale,” Delphinium said. “Why should they listen to him, one wolf amongst the many in the hollow? Perhaps ‘twas because he was no stranger, not to any that was present—not to the renegade, his sister; nor to Misari’s pack, his family; and not to Liyra’s pack, his friends. But however ‘twas, he stood there above them and when he spoke, the others each knew him well enough to listen. He continued:
“‘This all began with a needless misunderstanding. I think many of you know this by now. But it has grown since then; somewhere, it became personal, as each of us lost friends and family members. Even if we had all known the truth of things before this battle began, we would still fight. We all want to settle our scores. And we’ve all done terrible things.
“‘Liyra,’ he said, looking to the silver alpha. ‘Who is the renegade?’
“‘It doesn’t matter who she is,’ Liyra replied. ‘I only care about what she’s done.’
“‘It may be true that she’s wronged you,’ Tir said. ‘But the renegade is my sister. And I would defend her as I would defend any member of my pack. But, you see, I am a member of both of these packs. This battle will destroy me more than it will destroy any other wolf in this hollow. And then what will I do to settle that score? Will anything I do bring back those who have been taken from me?’
“At this, my dears, the wolves in the hollow fell to muttering. They saw the simplicity in Tir’s words, but they knew that nothing is so easy—blood may be washed away, but nothing you do will ever change the fact that it has been spilled. So Tir went on:
“‘Captain Leron was right,’ he said. ‘We will do what we must to survive. But not everything has to be a war, and that’s where the trouble comes in. Survival has its limits, but each of us knows well, now, that grief does not. Whatever we do to save ourselves, we will do even more to protect those we love.’
“And ‘twas those simple words, my dears, that began to lay the dawn out before them. Why had the fight gone on so long? No one could say, in truth—some claimed ‘twas for revenge, but Tir asked them, ‘Revenge for what?’. He said, ‘You have killed the renegade’s family, unknowingly. It was she who first sought revenge—not your pack. And she has had it, with the deaths of Yielsa and Sirle and now Captain Leron. But, Alankhi,’ he said, turning to the wolf fawn. ‘Are you satisfied? Does the blood you have shed bring back what is lost?’
‘No,’ said the wolf fawn. ‘It hasn’t. Nothing ever will.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But there is Captain Leron, lying dead at your feet.’
‘He deserved it,’ the wolf fawn replied.
“Tir nodded. ‘He did deserve it, Alankhi. Leron killed many wolves in his lifetime, and he deserved just as many deaths. But he is dead now; his troubles are over. He isn’t the one that’s going to wake up tomorrow morning, with old blood still in his mouth and on his paws. What have you gained? He is gone, but you must continue—what have you done to yourself?’
“The wolf fawn was silent, remembering her nightmare and the look on her dead mother’s face. She knew her brother was right. For no one survives a battle intact, my dears. Even those who may leave the bloodstained grounds without a scratch are dreadfully mangled in the very worst way. Wounds of the mind are the slowest and most painful to heal, my dears, and some never truly do. You need only look at the fate of Xelind to know ‘tis true—but for now, we shall let the dead have their peace.
‘And so then ‘twas time for Tir to tell them everything, all that he knew. He told them about Misari’s pack, that they were not truly the renegade’s pack, and did not deserve the suffering that had been brought upon them. Alankhi rose forward to apologize, and admit to all who listened what she had done—the lies she had told, the plot she had woven. They heard and accepted, if they did not entirely forgive. What else could they do? No creature in that hollow was without fault. The blame for the bloodfire moon was shared by all, even Palva the Gatherer with her dark yew berries.
“It came to be how ‘twas told—what had been divided by fire was bound by fire again, but ‘twas fire of a different sort. For Tir was bound to them all already—through his sister, his family, and his friends. The flame had been lit, the darkness scattered, and the bridge built—and haven’t you guessed, my dears? ‘Twas Arwena’s eyes, shared by Tir and the wolf fawn alike, that connected them and showed them to be blood kin.
‘And so it all was ended—for when fire and water have been bridged, what cannot be solved? Two warring packs and a renegade?” Delphinium smiled. “‘Twas nothing but a small, humble flicker that did it, a flame brought on by what Tir had seen to be his weakness, his misery, his pain. And, too, Alankhi—shattered though she was, and only by her own fangs and blood, her murders, she could rise up from the vicious bottoms to which she had fallen and stand beside her brother. Thus ends the tale of A-Lankhi, the wolf fawn; and Tir, her brother—who from then on was always known in the stories as the Fire Wolf and the Honorable Firepelt, by Kesol, who claimed he knew it all along.”
The fawns stared at her with eyes round and wide. For once, they were silent.
It was spring. The snow had melted away, soaking into the tired earth to bring forth new flowers. The sun was as warm and soft as though winter had never been, and a gentle breeze ruffled through the fields. The air was filled with birdsong and the soft clicking of insects in the grass. Above them, the sky was as blue and smooth as a kingfisher’s wing.
“But what then?” asked a little doe, her head cocked. “What about after the battle? There had to be something after the battle, Delphinium.”
“Both packs came to an agreement,” Delphinium said. “They divided the land betwixt themselves as the sun rose, and so it all remained.”
“They just went on?” one of the fawns said, disbelieving. “After the battle and everything? But they had hated each other.”
Delphinium shook her head.
“Yes, my dear,” she said. “There had been much blood on the snow that night. But even winter must go, yes? Winter softens into spring, and the memory of the cold fades in the sun. The blood melted away with the snow, returned to the earth from whence it had come. ‘Twas forgotten.”
“They forgot everything, just like that?” a little buck said skeptically. “They just let it all go? Everything?”
“Well, not quite. They still remember the battle. But ‘tis in the past now, yes? Now, ‘tis only a story. A story for them to tell and remember. Not so different from the stories I tell you. All stories begin somewhere, you know.”
The fawns were quiet, considering this new piece of information. Finally, the doe in the front spoke up again.
“But the wolf fawn,” she said. “What happened to the wolf fawn?”
Delphinium smiled, a bit sadly this time.
“Ah, our Alankhi,” she said. “She was the object of much dispute after the battle’s end. What should the packwolves do with her? Should they destroy her? For she had murdered their captain, and the fitting punishment for murderers is what they have dealt. But there was something
else—she had destroyed the Captain, so therefore, by the laws that Leron himself had established in the marsh, the position of Captain of the Pack was hers. But Alankhi was a renegade, and still loathed by many, Liyra in particular. It mattered not what Tir said—Liyra would have had Alankhi slaughtered.” Delphinium’s eyes grew grim. She gave a wry smile. “But that, my dears, was Liyra’s last and fatal mistake.
“’Twas Palva who stepped in, her eyes cold and jaw set. And the Gatherer denounced Liyra in the presence of both her and Misari’s pack—she told them all how she had been forewarned about the battle, by a prophecy, and how Liyra had known it. She told them how she had spoken with Liyra before they began hunting the deer, how she told her that it would lead to trouble. How all of this mess may have been avoided, had Liyra heeded the warnings of her Gatherer.
“…and that was the end of it. Liyra was not evil, no, nor did she intend for anything less than the best for her pack. But as a leader, she had failed. No, Palva said, Liyra’s reign of confusion was over, and the packwolves agreed.”
“She was banished!” a fawn said, bouncing up and down. Delphinium nodded.
“Yes, Liyra was sent into exile. ’Twas declared that she should find a new life for herself, as a renegade, in the land beyond the forest. And so Liyra left in shameful defeat, driven out by her own wolves, and was never seen again. Of course,” Delphinium continued in a lighter tone. “That left one pack without an alpha and a Council nearly decimated. ‘Twas decided that the bonds that had ended the battle must also be the bonds that kept the packs at peace with each other—Tir was chosen as alpha by his own packwolves. As son of an alpha himself, he had been well raised for the task, and ‘twas not one he was foolish enough to take lightly. To keep the Council meetings balanced and to attempt to mend the rift between the pack and the renegade, he chose his sister as his captain. The wolf fawn herself had wanted nothing more than to return to her forest, but that was not to be—Tir insisted that she join him in beginning again, lest she return to what she once was. And so the wolf fawn’s forest was free to serve as territory to Misari and his pack.”
She looked back down at the fawns. “And as for us, the deer, we were left in peace. No wolf would harm us. No wolf ever will, or face the terror of Captain A-Lankhi, ever renowned as Child of the River.”
“But—”
“Yes,” Delphinium said with a sigh. “I know. I forgot to mention Palva.” She looked away, across the shining water of the Lake, and was silent for awhile.
“Palva was honored amongst the wolves of both packs,” she said, her voice soft. “For a year, she and the others lived in peace. But when spring came, so did pups. One particular pup, a female, was born to Mluma on the night of a blue moon. This pup was blind in her left eye.”
“Oh,” a fawn said sadly. Delphinium was quiet for a moment.
“Palva knew well what it meant, but she did not despair. ‘Tis what must happen; ‘tis what she knew would happen someday. And ‘twill happen in the future, to a different Gatherer. One may die, but the pattern goes on forever.”
“So that’s the ending,” a fawn mumbled to herself. “That’s the ending to the wolf fawn’s story, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I shan’t presume to know the ending of anyone’s story,” Delphinium said, looking surprised. “ ‘Tis limited, the things I may say now.”
“But the other stories you tell us have endings.”
“No, even the old stories change each time they are told. One day, one of you will be a storyteller, and you will share these tales in a new voice. You shan’t tell them the same way I do. One day, these stories will have all taken new forms.”
“But what happened, then?” the fawn insisted. “How were they after the battle—what’s happened now? To the wolf fawn and the other wolves?”
“I can tell you of the ending of the night, the ending of the Battle of the Fire Moon, and the mindset in which our friends rose to greet a new day. But I cannot tell you that all things were calm and settled from then on; I cannot pretend that there were no problems, that Tir did not face struggles as a new alpha and that Alankhi ever truly became a part of his pack.”
“Then there is no happy ending,” a fawn said sadly.
“Is that what I said? Nothing falls together so easily, my dears. Nothing ever ends. When the journey is over, we must learn to settle; when the battle has ended, we must learn to live in peace. But we can take comfort in what we have overcome, and that we may live to hear our own stories told in new voices. The end of one story marks the start of another. We are still alive,” Delphinium added. “And for all creatures, that is a victory.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Allow me to be a little self-indulgent here, because the honest truth is that this thing took way too damned long to edit and actually publish, so as a result there are lots of people to thank for their guidance and/or pity.
For my dad, first of all, for believing his twelve-year-old daughter when she informed him that she was writing a book, and one day she wanted to publish it. Misari isn’t perfect, but I hope you found him a more comforting representation of fathers than the bumbling, fictional dads you’re so tired of seeing. One day, I’ll write you a happy story. Just not for awhile. Ask me again when I’m no longer an angsty teenager.
For my mother, of course, for running a tight ship and making sure I remember to eat...but most of all for teaching me to read, and encouraging a love of books and stories from the very beginning. You’re strong and tirelessly creative, and I love you. But sorry, I’m still not going to change my author photograph. I’ll be sure to tell everyone you took it, though.
For my high school Creative Writing teacher, Ms. Naitnaphit Limlamai, in whose name I performed the bloodiest Massacre of the Adverbs ever seen on this side of the equator. I mostly owe you for your guidance with regards to my second book, though, so I’ll have another limerick for you when that one comes out.
And lastly, for Mr. John Thompson, author of The Armageddon Conspiracy and The Girl From Felony Bay, without whose invaluable advice and words of encouragement this book would be 200 pages longer and 200% more boring. Thanks for humoring a little kid and her talking wolves.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Aoife Fallon was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, where she currently resides with her family and armloads upon armloads of pets. Her hobbies include reading, climbing trees, cleaning aquariums, and biting her fingers until they bleed.
The Rise of the Fire Moon was for the most part written and edited when she was 12-15 years old; recently, however, Fallon turned 18 and began attending the University of Notre Dame, where she plays saxophone in the marching band and, as of this week, is an Anthropology major.
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Watch for Gatherer, a sequel, coming early 2014!
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