Red Moon Rising

  Thorn was silent, padding beside her.

  Storm licked her jaws. “There was a Fierce Dog there. One of the Pack from the Dog-Garden, I think. He was called Axe.” She stopped herself suddenly.

  Should I even have mentioned Axe? she wondered uneasily. Do I really want to remind Thorn about our Fierce enemies from the Dog-Garden?

  But Thorn wants the whole truth . . . and it’s part of the story. Storm sighed. “Axe was a true follower of Blade, the Fierce Dog Alpha, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog so angry. He hated those longpaws, hated what they’d done to him, and he wanted revenge. We tried to stop him, but he was in such a rage. . . .”

  “What happened to him?” Thorn asked breathlessly. “Did he get his revenge?”

  “He tried.” Storm hunched her shoulders, hating the way she could still see Axe’s enraged face in her mind’s eye. “He ran straight to their house, a house on wheels, and he challenged them to come out and face him. Well, they did. They came out with a loudstick, and they killed him with it.”

  Thorn gulped. “They hit him?”

  “No, a loudstick’s different. The longpaws don’t even have to touch you with it. They point it, and it makes a tremendous noise, and a dog drops dead.” Storm shook herself. “Don’t ever go near a longpaw with a loudstick, Thorn. They’re deadly.”

  “But the rest of you, you escaped. . . .”

  “We did. We got Fiery away, I guess because the longpaws were busy with Axe. But Fiery was so weak from the poisoned water. When Terror and his crew attacked us on the journey home, he couldn’t defend himself. They . . . they killed him, Thorn. He tried to fight, because he was still such a brave, good dog—but Terror’s Pack killed him.”

  “And you killed Terror.” Thorn lifted her head, a look of fierce gladness in her eyes. “You protected the Pack, and you avenged my Father-Dog. Terror deserved to die, Storm, and I’m happy you killed him.”

  Storm said nothing.

  Thorn lowered her head again, seeming deep in dark thoughts. Bitterly she growled, “But Terror would never have been able to put a claw on my Father-Dog if the longpaws hadn’t done what they did. They’re the ones who are really to blame.”

  “Yes,” agreed Storm. “But there’s no way for any dog to fight the longpaws, Thorn. Axe tried it, and look what happened to him. It was best to just run, and leave them far behind. And to know we should never, ever go near them again.”

  Thorn padded on for a while in silence. Storm did not feel it was wise to interrupt.

  “There must be a way,” Thorn muttered at last.

  Storm swiveled an ear at her. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  It wasn’t nothing, Storm thought, a chill of trepidation running through her bones. What did she mean by that?

  But Thorn would not say anything more, and Storm was just glad the young dog was content with what she’d been able to tell her. Storm hated reliving the past, especially the horrible parts of it, like Fiery’s death. Some of the others in the Pack were gentle and empathetic, able to handle such conversations—but Storm wasn’t one of them.

  Who would have thought just talking could be so hard? If only Martha had still been here to explain the horrible events of that day to Beetle and Thorn. She would’ve handled it so well, thought Storm. Much better than I did.

  It’s done now, she decided. I’ve told Thorn what I can, and I’ve warned her about the dangers of the longpaws. Maybe she’ll be able find some peace. Just please, Thorn, tell Beetle yourself. Don’t ask me to go over it again for him. . . .

  She was just glad down to the tip of her tail that it was all over.

  Anxiety was still nibbling at a corner of Storm’s mind as the three dogs padded back into camp after sun-high. She shook it off. There were more important things to think about than that awful discussion—real, solid things, like their excellent haul of prey. They’d found another rabbit, out on its own; Thorn had managed to trap a squirrel before it raced up a tree; and Chase had sniffed out a nest—not of voles but of equally delicious rats. Alpha will be pleased with us, thought Storm. And we’re all home and safe. Chase couldn’t go far from us, but she still found that nest and dug it up. We’ve done a good job, we kept an eye out for one another, and we’re in one piece.

  What was more, they had all remembered to check the borders for strange scents as they hunted, and they’d found nothing untoward. As she and Thorn and Chase passed the boundary into camp, their heads were high, their muscles relaxed, their tails waving loosely. It felt good to be home. One by one they dropped their jawfuls of small bodies on the prey pile, and Storm felt warm with the knowledge of a job well done.

  Beetle was already back in camp, his and Breeze’s turn at High Watch over for the day. Thorn barked a greeting and bounded over to her litter-brother, and Storm watched them nuzzle and lick each other happily. It was a lovely sight in the late afternoon, but it gave Storm a pang. I wish at least one of my litter-brothers had lived. I’d have had some dog to talk to, to confide in, to make plans with. . . .

  Sure enough, as she watched, Thorn and Beetle fell into a deep, quiet conversation, their heads close together. Storm sighed, shaking off the twinge of jealousy. Chase had dashed off to be with another group of dogs as soon as the prey was delivered; the scout dog clearly couldn’t wait to be out of Storm’s company.

  “Storm!” Alpha was trotting toward her, her tongue lolling from her slender jaws. “Lucky and I just took a look at the prey pile. What a good catch—well done!”

  “The hunt went well.” Storm felt a glow of happiness at the praise from her leader. It was quite hard to make Alpha happy these days, with all the stress she was under as both Pack leader and Mother-Dog, and Storm felt as if she’d completed another successful task.

  “And you didn’t run into any unforeseen problems or dangers?”

  Storm shook her head. “Chase didn’t scout too far from us, and we all kept each other safe. We each knew where the others were, all the time; the new system worked well, Alpha.” She hesitated. Perhaps now is a good time . . . while the worry is still fresh in my head. “Alpha, may I speak with you?”

  “Always, Storm. I told you that.” Alpha licked her muzzle fondly.

  Flank-to-flank, the two dogs paced toward Alpha’s den, where Lucky, as always, was watching the pups. While they were still out of his earshot—and safely distant from any other dogs—Alpha stopped and turned to Storm.

  “I’ve tried my best, Storm. I’ve done what I can to stop the other dogs from gossiping about you. I hope—”

  “No, Alpha—no, it’s not that!” Sitting back on her haunches, Storm looked steadily at the swift-dog, warmth spreading through her at the thought that Alpha had been standing up for her, even trying to persuade the other dogs she was good. She went on, certain now that she could tell Alpha her worries. “It’s not me I want to talk about. It’s Thorn.”

  “Thorn?” Alpha cocked one ear and frowned. “What about her?”

  “She kept asking me about Fiery’s death. Out on the hunt today. She was desperate to learn exactly what happened.”

  “Well.” Alpha tilted her head thoughtfully. “That must have been hard for you, Storm, and I’m sorry you had to deal with it. But it’s natural, I suppose. I’m only surprised she took this long to ask—otherwise I might have been able to deal with it earlier.”

  “It’s not just that.” Storm lay down on the ground, sighing and letting her ears droop. “Alpha, she seemed almost too interested. About the longpaws, also. I’m worried she’s planning something.”

  Alpha wrinkled her brow, looking a little surprised. Then she lowered her long body and lay down with her nose nearly touching Storm’s. “Storm, listen: I don’t want you to worry about this when we have so many other problems. I suspect you’re overthinking Thorn’s motives. You don’t remember your Mother-Dog or your Father-Dog, do you?”

  “No, but—”

  “Believe me, it’s normal that Thorn still talk
s about Fiery. It’s normal that she wants to know as much about him as possible—including his death. It’s all part of coming to terms with losing him.”

  Alpha’s dark eyes were gazing intently into hers, sympathetic but a little condescending. Storm could see clearly that the swift-dog did not really grasp what she was being told; she didn’t know what it was about the things Thorn had said that had so unnerved Storm.

  But I don’t know how to explain it. I can barely put it into words in my own head, let alone describe it to Alpha. It was just . . . Thorn’s face. Her eyes. Her voice . . .

  Briefly Storm shut her eyes, defeated. “All right, Alpha. I understand.”

  “Good. I’m glad you felt able to come to me, Storm, but on this—I really don’t think it’s the problem you think it is.” Alpha flicked out her tongue and gave Storm’s nose a quick lick. “Do you feel better?”

  “Yes, Alpha,” she lied. “Thank you.”

  She watched Alpha get to her paws and pad lightly back toward her den. The Sun-Dog was nearly at the end of his run, and dogs were stirring all around the glade, clearly beginning to turn their thoughts toward the prey pile.

  I still miss Fiery.

  The thought surprised her, and gave her a pang of sadness. The big dog had had such a strong sense of justice and fairness; he might have looked ferocious and brutal, but he had been the gentlest and wisest of dogs. He was one of the dogs who showed me that a Fierce exterior isn’t all there is to me. I learned that just by watching him. And he never acted as if my being a Fierce Dog was anything to fear. If he was still here, would I feel more at home in the Pack?

  Fiery had just challenged the half wolf when he died. That malicious half wolf who so hated Storm and ruled the Pack with cruelty—so many dogs were afraid of going fang-to-fang with him, but not Fiery. Storm’s own words to Thorn came back to her. Your Father-Dog was so strong and fine and brave.

  What would their Pack be like now if Fiery had lived and taken leadership of the Pack? Would the Pack have broken up the way it did? Or would Fiery have found a way to keep us together? For a moment she allowed herself to imagine the luxury of a Pack united, a strong Pack, a leader who had identified and dealt with the traitor before that dog could even begin to sabotage their lives. . . .

  Storm shook herself. No. That’s disloyal to Alpha. The bad dog is so cunning and deceitful, any leader might have had the same trouble.

  Still, she wondered: Had it all begun when Fiery lost his life? His death had led to Terror’s. And Terror’s death, she felt increasingly sure, had led directly to all their problems now.

  Bruno was killed the same way Terror was. I can’t get that out of my mind. It can’t be a coincidence.

  Storm blinked, her eyes suddenly focusing. Chase was staring straight at her, with an expression of baleful suspicion. Quickly Storm looked away, her gut twisting with alarm.

  The Moon-Dog was rising over the treetops, though the sky was not yet dark. And she is white, realized Storm. The angry red glow of the previous night had vanished. Has the Moon-Dog forgiven us?

  Or maybe—just maybe—she’s telling me that I’m on the right track. . . .

  Maybe I’m close to solving the mystery.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Moon-Dog was still in the sky when a cold nose shoved Storm, waking her. Disoriented, blinking hard, Storm could make out her pale glow at the mouth of her den. What? It’s still dark. Well, only just . . .

  That wet nose nudged her again, and a voice said, “Storm! Wake up!”

  “Lucky?” She staggered to her feet, still bleary from a vague, clinging dream. “What’s wrong? What is it?” Shaking her head to clear it, she tensed her muscles and drew back her lip. If there’s trouble, we’ll deal with it—

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Lucky didn’t look scared; his tongue was lolling happily.

  As her eyes adjusted, Storm could make out figures behind Lucky, all with their ears and tails as high as his. Mickey and Snap stood there—and Chase, she realized with a twinge of apprehension. This is big for a hunting party these days.

  “We got up to take over the night patrol,” said Mickey, gesturing to his mate, “and—well, can you smell it?”

  A breath of morning wind stirred the bedding at her paws; Storm flared her nostrils to search it for clues. Sky-Dogs! She started. The scent had a sweet-and-spicy edge that was very distinctive.

  “The Golden Deer!”

  “Yes!” Lucky could barely suppress his excitement. “Will you come with us, Storm? You’re one of our best hunters, and I don’t want to take any chances.”

  A thrill of anticipation and pride rushed through Storm’s blood. “Of course. Let’s go!”

  As the other dogs turned to lope away from her den, Storm followed at a run, full of unexpected energy. They picked up speed as soon as they crossed the camp boundary, as if no dog could wait to find the trail.

  Two shadows loomed from the trees ahead of them: Thorn and Beetle, returning from their night patrol. They looked surprised, but the hunting party barely paused to greet them, bounding on through the undergrowth. Storm let the joy of running sweep through her, stretching her legs and leaping obstacles with graceful ease. As the Sun-Dog’s first rays broke through the tree trunks, her nose tingled with the scents of waking prey.

  A gray flash caught the corner of her eye, and she veered sideways in pursuit of a startled squirrel. It fled before her, shooting up a smooth pine trunk just as her teeth snapped on thin air, but she couldn’t even be disappointed. She felt happier than she had in days as she doubled back to join the group.

  The others looked as if they were enjoying themselves as much as she was. Their tails were high, their tongues lolling, and they barked to one another as they ran, but no dog chatted with Storm.

  Lucky was too preoccupied with sniffing the air and peering at the horizon between the trees. He’s been obsessed with catching the Golden Deer for so long, thought Storm. Oh, Sky-Dogs, let this hunt be a successful one! If we can catch the Golden Deer, good fortune will come to the Pack. And maybe that good fortune will be followed by more. . . . Maybe the bad dog will be forced out of hiding, and dealt with.

  The Pack could really be happy again. . . .

  Snap and Mickey were wrapped up in an intense conversation as they trotted after Lucky, their heads close together and their eyes affectionate. Storm had no intention of interrupting such a private moment. Chase didn’t speak to Storm, either, but that was no surprise. The scout dog kept eyeing her—whether with nervousness or malice, Storm couldn’t tell—and when Storm caught her gaze, she turned quickly away and ran on even faster.

  For an instant Storm stiffened, the glow taken off her happiness; then she forced herself to relax. Chase acts so anxious around me—if she’s really the traitor, and she’s onto me, I’ll need to act fast. But I’m not sure. I’m going to have to talk to her.

  And that means she’ll have to talk to me. . . .

  Lucky was slowing down now, and Mickey and Snap were holding back too, all of them sniffing around uncertainly for the Golden Deer’s scent. But instead of staying with the hunters, Chase had put on a burst of speed, darting ahead through the bushes to perform her usual scouting duties.

  She’s not supposed to go so far off on her own . . . Storm thought, and overtook Lucky to follow Chase. The small dog’s paws pounded even faster, her legs a blur as she raced to avoid Storm.

  What is she doing? Exasperated, Storm speeded up. She bounded after Chase, losing sight of her briefly as she rounded a copse of bushy trees. Storm raced after her, spotting her again, just ahead.

  Abruptly Chase skidded to a halt and spun around, sending a flurry of leaves into the air. Her whole body bristled with tension.

  “What do you want, Storm?” Chase’s glare flicked past her—checking for the other dogs, Storm thought, but she wouldn’t see them, they had fallen behind—and then fixed again on her, full of hostility.

  Storm had come to a halt too, blinking in
surprise. She’s really scared. I’m scaring her!

  Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Storm took a step back. She lowered her eyes. Don’t look threatening, Storm. That won’t help any dog.

  Behind them, she could hear Lucky’s trotting paws on the forest floor; Chase seemed to relax a little now that their patrol leader was close by.

  Chase’s paws shook, but she growled, “Why are you following me?”

  “We’re on the same hunt.” Storm managed to put light humor in her voice. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Lucky, still slowing down and casting about, trying to find the scent again.

  Chase wasn’t appeased. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  What now, Storm? Think! “Chase, I . . . I don’t know you very well. I was just thinking that last night. We’re, ah . . . we’re Packmates, and I think we should get to know each other a bit better. Don’t you think so?” She licked her chops. “I don’t smell the Golden Deer, do you? I think Lucky might have lost the scent. Maybe while he’s trying to find it again we could . . . talk.”

  Oh, Sky-Dogs, that sounded lame. She gazed brightly at Chase, meeting only an apprehensive stare.

  “There’s nothing to know,” snapped Chase at last. She was edging sideways, toward Mickey and Snap, who had entered the broad glade by now.

  Storm followed her. “Of course there is,” she told her cheerfully. “Where did you live when you were a pup? That sort of thing. Like . . . well, Lucky found me when I was a pup, and he brought me back to this Pack because my Mother-Dog had died. What about you? How did you come to be in Terror’s Pack?”

  Chase’s lip curled up, displaying her white teeth. For a moment, Storm thought she’d blown it. She won’t give me an answer now. Storm, why do you have to be so clumsy when you talk to other dogs?

  Just as she was about to apologize and turn away, Chase snapped, “My Pack left me.”

  “Oh!” Storm blinked at her. “Oh no. That must have been a bad time for you. Why did they do that?”