The point of these trials was not to fight to the death, or even serious injury. It was to force the other opponent to submit. Refusal to submit when one had obviously been bested was a significant mark against a wolf. Gabel, Hix or Flint could stop the match and determine the winner, and it was a loss of face for this to happen. A wolf who lost had to accept he lost.
When a wolf lost his stone was removed from the basket and thrown onto the ground before us.
“There is more to it than simply winning one round,” Gabel told me as the third fight concluded. “A wolf has to win, but he has to have enough left to win the next round, and the next. It is not just blood and fur. It is strategy and knowing oneself as a warrior.”
As far as I knew, Shadowless had trained its warriors in more practical terms. Not so much talk of honor and tradition and the old ways of doing things. Not all of the old ways were things I fancied, but the type of warriors Flint trained, and Gabel seemed to prefer, appealed to me. There was a weird sort of nobility to it all.
Gabel tossed two more stones to the ground, and now just two wolves were left. They were tired, exhausted, bloody and torn up, but still game to fight. The crowd cheered and howled for both of them.
“This is heart.” Gabel held up the two stones between his fingers so the pack could see. They shook the sky with their howls, honoring the courage and heart of the warriors. “They are tired, bleeding and wounded. This last round is won on mental strength. The winner will be worthy to serve at my side as Second Beta!”
When it was over one wolf staggered to his feet to throw back his head and howl his victory to the Moon, while his vanquished opponent crawled to the edge of the ring. Then the winning wolf howled again to honor the wolf he had defeated.
Such was the custom.
Gabel threw the losing wolf’s stone onto the ground, then tossed the winning wolf’s stone at him to keep as a trinket of his victory.
The wolf shifted back to human form., One eye was already swollen shut, and blood crusted his face, but the stone lay clutched in his fist. In human form I recognized him: Eroth.
“Alpha Gabel,” he said. “I greet you as Second Beta of Iron Moon.”
Gabel rocked to his feet. He extended an open palm in my direction. I stared at him like he was stupid. I was allowed to sit with him during this event, but I could not stand next to him to welcome the new Second Beta. So said tradition. Hix twitched, surprise rising off him like a mist, Flint’s eyes warned me to be careful.
Gabel twitched his fingers impatiently.
The eyes in the dark turned to me like a swarm of fireflies, flickering with lantern light, and there was a hush.
What could I do? I couldn’t refuse. I got to my feet but did not take Gabel’s hand. I tried not to look as panicked as I felt standing before the whole of IronMoon at his side.
Gabel captured their attention with his voice. “Second Beta Eroth. Your victory is well earned. IronMoon Pack! Your new Second Beta. Greet him as he deserves!”
The IronMoon howl shook the sky, and nobody noticed my shaking.
How To Catch An Alpha
I dug out the four canines I had rescued from ill-earned disgrace. They had been buried in salt for long enough. I cupped them all in my palm, then transferred them to a small, velvet bag. Although I could discern the two pairs from the similarities between the teeth, it seemed more appropriate to keep them together. They had died together for the same reason and by the same fangs, so perhaps should stay together.
I placed the little bag with the rest of my tools. Maybe one day I’d have a use for them.
A sudden, hot, stabbing pain burst through my midsection.
I choked, clutched myself with one hand, and fell forward onto my runes, scattering them. My palm pressed into some of the runes. I panted, eyes wide. The pain receded a bit, just enough that I could squeeze out a few choking breaths. A hot twist yanked another gasp from me.
Calm, steady, calm.
My insides were so hot, but my body was so cold. I couldn’t shiver. I needed to sweat, because I was burning inside along with the furious, stabbing pain all throughout my midsection, but my skin was cold stone.
Was this a bizarre vision? I had suffered pain before in my visions, but I wasn’t in a vision.
Right?
The world wobbled within my mind for a terrifying moment. Where was I? Had I gotten lost on the Tides, and this—all of this—was an hallucination?
* * *
The pain within me ebbed, coalesced, and took the vague form of something I could understand and recognize.
Gabel.
Anger. Wherever he was, he was furiously, violently angry. And it had burst through the Bond with overwhelming force.
Air rushed into my lungs and helped cool the searing heat. A shiver coursed over my skin, sort of a strange relief. Just Gabel. Just Gabel’s—
unholy
anger.
My insides felt seared, like they had been brushed with a light coating of acid. I stumbled a little going down the stairs and fought the urge to hold my belly as I went to his office. Flint had said there were symptoms that were obvious to those who knew. Me stumbling into his office clutching my belly saying I knew he had just busted a vein over something would have been a dead giveaway.
I tip-toed inside, expecting mayhem and carnage. Papers were scattered all around his desk, and shattered pencils lay in fragments on the floor. The room was full of the scent of his fury, and as I emerged from under the balcony that ran around the second level, I finally spotted him standing, stiff-backed and furious, in front of his map. His shirt struggled against the taut, clenched muscles of his shoulders and arms. His knuckles were raw and bleeding from whatever he had found to punch.
“Buttercup.” His tone cut into me like a whip.
I made a small sound and backed up a step, reconsidering all my life choices. Especially the one to intrude on his anger.
“What are you doing here?”
“I... I came to see what has you so angry.”
“Ah.” His lips twisted. Annoyance. “I guess you would know, wouldn’t you?”
“When you’re this angry? Apparently.” That’s how it worked, or had he not figured that part out yet? I retreated to my usual couch.
“The SpringHide.” Gabel growled at his map.
“SpringHide? Who are they? What kind of pack name is that?”
“Exactly.” Gabel jabbed his finger at the tiny little section of map right smack in the middle of nowhere important. Gabel had taken my advice (if you could call it that) and turned his attention to the southeast of IronMoon. “I just called their Alpha. It was a brief conversation. He told me to fuck myself, and if I wanted his pack, I’d have to take it.”
I frowned. “Gabel, you’ve had packs tell you to sod off before. Get over yourself.”
He fumed and yanked himself away from the map to stalk over to me. “No. He’s being stupid. That little pack? He doesn’t have a chance against me, but now he has defied me, so I have to go myself, and I have to make a point. Make a point to a pack that can’t even put up a good fight.”
“You mean make an example of them,” I corrected.
“Exactly.”
“Some packs have pride.” Shadowless hadn’t had enough pride to even growl at Gabel. No, just line up all the females so he could select one he fancied.
“Pride, stupidity, which goes first? This Alpha practically dared me to come for him, and I’ll have to lower myself to teach all the clever Alphas in that area to reconsider their own arrogance. What a waste of my time and their blood.”
I worked my jaw. The MeatMan, perhaps. I stole a glance at the map, but there were no clues there; the MeatMan had been an Alpha of prestige and weight. The ruler of the little SpringHide couldn’t be that Alpha. SpringHide sounded like something you’d name a herd of rabbits. “Do you think someone’s been whispering in his ear?”
“Who would bother? The SpringHide are tiny. A speck. No value.
They shouldn’t be surprised I’ve finally gotten around to them.” Gabel’s voice was edged with venom and steel.
“So why bother with them at all?” I ventured.
“To feed the pack. The warriors are restless. They haven’t had a proper fight since before Shadowless. Jermain didn’t offer anything but his abject surrender, so I permitted nothing.”
I tasted copper and bitterness.
“Romero often got to set the tone of things, but the thing about fear and cruelty is you have to do more and more of it. More blood, more death, more cruelty. If it is not necessary, it should not be used. Romero never understood that. He never wanted to. I despise wasting violence on packs like this.”
He sat next to me. “Think about it, Gianna. We notice when the Moon is full, and when She is hidden. Ah, there is no moon tonight, ah, there is a full moon tonight. We pay little attention to waxing or waning crescents.”
“Were you ever trained as an Oracle?” I asked, only half joking. The conversation about the Moon’s many faces wasn’t a new one, but I had rarely heard it spoken outside cleric circles. Given all the books on his shelves, it shouldn’t have been a surprise, although it put me on my guard. Things could get twisted to justify anything.
“Of course not. As you well know I am male.” He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand.
I withdrew from his impromptu caress. “That’s what we’re taught. The Moon can be dark and cruel, or bright and pure, but She is mostly everything in between. It’s the visions of extremes that tend to stay with us, or the very strange ones.”
“So you understand.”
“Not really.” I didn’t understand Gabel’s need to conquer or his ambitions. I just knew he had them, and he wasn’t the stupid, mindless, violent, craven creature I had originally taken him for. It had been easy to despise him when I did not know him.
But the Moon loved Her Hounds. She had created them to serve a terrible but necessary purpose. She granted Oracles their gifts to serve a purpose.
I did not like where this led.
I understood Gabel Marking me for his amusement. I understood why he’d been cruel to me. This Gabel? The one who showed me his map, murmured his plans, answered my questions, confessed his frustrations? Now it seemed as though he intended to complete our mating.
Oh no. He wasn’t going to trick me into thinking the Moon had a purpose for him, and all this was part of Her grand design.
If anyone was possible of spinning defeat into victory, it’d be Gabel.
Gabel pushed two fingers into the Mark on my arm. “Shadowless had its conflicts. You’re no stranger to what warriors do or why they exist. Or does it just bother you that you aren’t as bothered as you think you should be?”
I brushed his hand away and didn’t answer. Gabel flashed a smug grin at me, then stalked back over to his map, anger rekindled after the brief diversion. He smoldered a few more moments. “I will have to go myself.”
“You could send Hix.”
“No. Now this requires my attention.” He ran his hand over his chin, slowly eyeing his map, and making whatever calculations a warrior makes when choosing their plan of attack. “There is something off about this, buttercup. Unless I’m starting to believe all the rumors about me. Shadowless should have put up a fight, but Jermain offered no resistance. This Alpha growled right away. He’s an old dog, though, so perhaps he’s growling over scraps.”
My father hadn’t even written me a letter.
Gabel clapped his hands together, and I jumped at the sudden sound, “If it is Alpha Gabel they are expecting, I shall not disappoint. And if they hope I no longer get my claws dirty...” Gabel grinned at me, and my blood ran cold, but my feral self panted eagerly. “Then they need an education.”
He moved to go summon Hix and Eroth. I stood. “Gabel.”
He stopped and raised his brows.
“Be careful.”
“Buttercup, there you go. Worrying again. First you were jealous, and now you worry after me? What is a man to think?”
He laughed and continued on his way.
“That Alpha better not kill you before I have the chance to,” I grumbled, although everything, including my very toes, tingled at his laughter.
How Things Are Supposed To Be
Gabel, having been challenged, wasted no time in leaving for SpringHide. There was no formal send-off for warriors. This was not glorious. It was clean-up duty. Just twenty of the IronMoon: a mix of newer wolves and reliable ones, with Gabel at the helm.
“Be careful,” I warned him again as I stood on the brick stairs at the front of the house. Gabel stood one step below me, which put him at eye level.
“Did you see something, buttercup?”
“Not exactly. I just have an uncomfortable feeling. Don’t get caught off-guard.” I quelled my feeling of guilt, and bit my tongue before the Petitioner’s vision escaped my mouth.
“You’re lying, buttercup.” He sniffed my neck.
“Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer,” I whispered.
Gabel’s brows drew together. He paused for a few breaths, then told me, “Romero is dead.”
“His puppies aren’t,” I told him, meaning those who had agreed with him.
“Hix is here, and I’ve left him orders that you are his concern in my absence. If anyone gives you trouble, just use that charming wit of yours on them. You have your teeth in my thigh often enough I’m sure you can manage.”
His attention and instincts were elsewhere. Either he was confident Hix could handle any trouble I might have, or he cared more about the hunt than me. Either way, he spun around on his heel and barked a command that it was time to go.
I watched the line of vehicles roll down the driveway. The cold winter wind tugged at my skirt, wrapping it around my ankles like a twining cat.
With Gabel gone it felt as though much of the turmoil had left my life. I hadn’t realized what a source of confusion and conflict he was, even when he wasn’t doing anything at all. The parasite between us squirmed incessantly.
I opted to spend time in deep mediation. While I couldn’t ask the Moon specific questions about myself, I also didn’t need a specific question to enter the Tides. Just deep meditation and letting the Tides carry an Oracle was an important part of an Oracle’s work, and one I had been (understandably) neglecting.
Since I had no specific question, I chose guidance and balance, settled back on my heels, and welcomed the rush of the Tides.
* * *
~*~ In Meditation ~*~
* * *
A dark grotto. Water lapped against rocks. Purple darkness, the shine of the water, the matte velvet of the sky.
An unpleasant smell drifted from the darkness.
From behind me I heard the click of claws on stone. A wolf, ordinary tawny grey, although his shaggy coat carried a strange light around it that illuminated him but nothing else around him, padded next to me.
One of the RedWater wolves I had put down.
He wagged his tail once, twice, then pulled back his gums to reveal two missing canines before stepping ahead of me.
He led me deep into the grotto, deep enough the mouth disappeared and he was the only source of light, even though he illuminated nothing around him. The grotto could have been vast, or it could have been very tiny. There was no sound and no light, and only a hot breeze gave any sense of direction. The breeze itself had no scent.
The grotto opened up onto a burned-out house, illuminated by dim daylight, and the grotto behind me disappeared.
Everything in the house was ash and cinder. The place had been tossed as if someone had been looking for something before setting the whole thing on fire. Outside the broken windows were autumn woods, leaves thick on the ground, and the sky an overcast grey.
The house wasn’t modern. The bed had been stuffed with straw, the furniture was all wood, and the window pane glass was the wavy, thickened type of something from long ago. Even the floor was rough-hewn and
unpolished, and showed the scratches of many claws under the layer of ash and soot.
Someone had been looking for something, but they hadn’t found it. The wolf wagged his tail to get my attention and led me across the rubble to a pile of debris. Together we dug through it until ash darkened us both, and we came up with a little metal box. Inside was a gold ring meant for a human woman’s finger. It was a flat gold band, blasted sooty from -the fire, and inscribed with the entwined sigils for Luna and Mother. A pup-ring, the customary gift from an Alpha to his Luna to celebrate the birth of their first pup.
I studied the ring and its entwined symbols. The sigil for Mother had been carved over and around the symbol for Luna—it had been added later. Not the proper order of things.
I turned the ring over in my fingers. On the inside of the band were three more runes: love, faith, and balance.
Directly under the Luna and Mother sigils was the same mark burned into the stone of the MeatMan vision.
No, the ring wasn’t sooty from the fire. The ring had been blasted with that sigil, and it had somehow singed and charred the gold itself.
I put the ring down and pawed through more of the ash. The only other thing I found was a single piece of charred paper. On it was a single rune, somehow drawn in a waxy ink of many colors. The rune for Food. It could mean a successful hunt, a successful kill, but literally translated, it meant...
Meat.
Gabel and the warriors returned a few days later. One of the younger warriors had taken a bad bite to the thigh, but other than that, there weren’t any real injuries.
I had greeted plenty of returning warriors before, but this was the first time I rounded up the house and had the howls sent up, and I wondered if it was at all appropriate for me to do. I wasn’t the Luna, but Hix didn’t seem inclined to do it.
A few of the wolves gave me a questioning look when I summoned them, and I agreed. Who the hell was I to be doing it? Presumptuous, little old me.
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