The Alpha's Oracle

by Merry Ravenell

  Another kick swept both my legs out from under me.

  He was so fast I couldn’t even see the kicks or punches coming, or even as they happened. Just bam! and I ate dirt while my nerve endings tried to feed so much pain information to my brain I felt nothing at all, and my mind went blank from the overload.

  Great. I was going to be Flint’s mental discipline example for the day. Week. Month. Year. I couldn’t quite hear the lecture he was giving to the wolves about signs to look for in a student who still had more to give, or what body part was giving out from exhaustion and trauma. My left thigh trembled with exhaustion, and to prove his point, Flint snapped a kick into it. I dropped, questioning how many times my leg would physically let me stand up after so much punishment.

  I crawled back to my feet. Now Flint held up both of his broad palms. “You know the drill.”

  I was already exhausted from being pounded like sand. It didn’t matter to Flint. He offered his hands, and he expected me to punch them. “Harder! More. Faster. Again. Again. Again!”

  My arms burned, ached, dissolved to jelly, flopped about. I swung a final time, my left leg quaked, and I lost my balance. I dropped to my knees in the sand and collapsed forward, somehow managing to catch myself on my hands before I face-planted into the sand. I panted and dripped sweat that quickly froze against my skin.

  “Hix is too easy on you,” Flint growled at me. “He never pushes you as hard as you can go. Are you going to quit?”

  “Fuck you, Flint.” I gasped for air. I hadn’t bowed to Gabel, I wouldn’t bow to Flint or his little demonstration of how far and how hard to push a student.

  “Haha, little wolf! Then get up!”

  My battered legs shook. They were filled with throbbing-numbness and didn’t want to hold my weight. I wanted to quit. I needed to quit. My body screamed at me to quit.

  The song to call a Queen to war rang in my memory as my physical exhaustion eroded the barrier between my waking mind and my gifts, and the visions leached through.

  Flint smiled at me, his eyes flickering green to amber in my wavering vision, and I felt half in, half out of my flesh.

  “Enough!”

  The song shattered, and the curtain in my mind flopped shut, snapping me back into the rather painful reality of my battered, exhausted body.

  Half the wolves present plummeted to their knees.

  Gabel stormed into the center of the ring, shoved his face right into Flint’s and snarled, “Master of Arms. What are you doing?”

  Flint didn’t budge an inch, didn’t even flinch or twitch. “Giving a lesson on recognizing the limits of one’s students and sparring partners.”

  “And you are using your future Luna to do it?” Gabel circled Flint, growling under his breath. Some of the wolves present whimpered and cowered in front of his anger. Flint was calm, but for the first time, I saw the Master of Arms be wary.

  “I understand your concern, Alpha Gabel,” Flint said very calmly, “but all is well.”

  “She is here to improve herself, Master of Arms. Not be used as a tool to improve my warriors or your skills.”

  “I taught you in a similar way. Are you dissatisfied with the results?” Flint asked mildly.

  “She is not a warrior!” Gabel shouted. “She is an Oracle, and your future Luna, and there may be my pups within her now! Have you lost your mind?!”

  “Alpha Gabel, if she does have your pups within her it is so early there is no danger.”

  Gabel’s menace shifted, sharpened, solidified into something very real. “I have no reason to trust your expertise on that subject.”

  Whatever Gabel could say to Flint, that was apparently on the forbidden list. The Master of Arm’s face hardened, the calm teacher disappeared into something wrathful, and the blue-gloss tattoos squirmed on his skin, limned in a faint burning light. His growl trembled the ground under my feet. “Invoke that again at your peril, Gabel.”

  Gabel had made his point. “I have never approved of her being here. You have pushed my tolerance too far.”

  “No harm will come to her under my eye.”

  “Those bruises and pain and blood are harm!”

  Flint didn’t give an inch. “Superficial.”

  “She is out here to improve herself. Not you, not my warriors!”

  Flint stated the appropriate response, “As you say.”

  Gabel tried to scoop me up. I shoved his hands off me. There was no way Gabel was going to carry me out of that sand ring, no matter how battered my legs were or how shaky they were. No. I was going to walk. Or crawl. But I would not be carried.

  The Master of Arms wore a mysterious little smile.

  “This cannot continue,” Gabel growled halfway to the house, unable to keep a cork in his anger any longer. “I’ve tolerated it long enough, Gianna. I’m not putting up with it anymore! Those wolves having their hands all over you—”

  “So what?” I snapped. “You made me go on that damn Hunt. This is IronMoon. The IronMoon can’t have a Luna that’s some... some... soufflé that collapses at a loud noise! There are female warriors! Warrior Lunas, too!”

  “We’re done with this I-Can-Be-A-Warrior-Too nonsense.”

  “I don’t want to be a warrior, you arrogant prig. I don’t want to be a fat, sitting target for our many enemies.”

  “That’s not how it started. It started with you wanting to piss me off.”

  “And now I don’t want to be a helpless blob!”

  Gabel ground his teeth together. “You are an Oracle. Not a warrior.”

  “So you’ve pointed out.”

  “I will not yield on this. Flint has gone too far. I do not know why, and I do not care, but I will not let it happen again.”

  “You could ask him.”

  “I don’t care why.”

  “Asshole.”

  “But I will trade you something of great value.” He offered it like he offered a juicy rabbit.

  I glared at him. “This better be good.”

  “I have found where SableFur sources their obsidian from.”

  Pieces of the Tide

  Apparently there were humans who dealt in large chunks of obsidian and semiprecious stones, and Gabel had located a dealer out in the middle of nowhere with several acres of rocks stretched out in old corn fields. Just browse through and select whatever one wanted, with the price based mostly off the stone’s quality and weight.

  The middle of nowhere being to the east of IronMoon’s borders, which were a mixture of small packs with names I didn’t know. Donovan was sent to scout the area for my sake, while Gabel called the Alpha of that territory. SaltPaw was next.

  “The warriors might want another SpringHide,” he told me in the dark of morning. We were both leaving, and the warriors who had been chosen to go to SaltPaw scurried around the front of the estate in final preparations. “I do not. It was needless.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You think SaltPaw will accept your arrival quietly?”

  “The Alpha’s words were conciliatory, his tone was not. SpringHide was butchered for no good reason.” He was dressed in a dark kilt despite the cold. The scabs on his body slashed into his bronze form. “This will only take a few days. He is expecting me tomorrow.”

  A sly, cruel smirk, and he melted into the darkness.

  “Safe travels, Lady,” Flint stated. He was in charge; Gabel had taken Eroth, and I had Hix in tow. “We will see you this evening.”

  It was a long drive to SaltPaw—which was how Gabel and his warriors were getting there. Donovan, Hix, another warrior, and myself took a small private plane. It would prevent my presence from being announced and played into Gabel’s plan: I would arrive before him. I’d traipse in and out of their territory.

  All part of Gabel’s mental warfare: I will come for you. I can knock on your door, or I can appear on your border. I am not afraid of you. You can do nothing to stop me.

  Donovan brought a much-abused paperback of The Divine Comedy t
o read. Hix had an equally well-worn book, although the title was in Turkish.

  I mindlessly stared out the window. Gabel would have gone for the SaltPaw eventually. That hourglass had just run down quicker because of the rocks. It wasn’t much of a comfort.

  We landed two hours later at a small airport with a single runway. I uncurled my body. Donovan gave me a doubtful look as he slid a metal bookmark into place.

  “I’m fine.” I tried to shake Hix’s hands off as he steadied me. “I’m just stiff.”

  Stiff didn’t begin to cover it. I felt ancient. Like five hundred years old. My muscles refused to stretch through the bruises Flint and Gardenia had gifted me. “This must be what old vampires feel like crawling out of their coffins.”

  Hix didn’t reply. He also didn’t move his hands from me. I gripped his shoulder as I gingerly put weight on my left leg. It hadn’t yet woken up enough to bear my weight. That’s when I realized there were bandages under my fingers. I pulled back suddenly, stumbled, and Hix steadied me. “I’m sorry. Your shoulder—”

  “Not needed.”

  “I just didn’t realize your shoulder...” Now that I paid attention, I caught the scent of bandages and antibiotic cream. It was faint, but how badly had Gabel injured him? It had been so difficult to tell in the darkness after the run, and I had seen him briefly since, but in the chaos had lost track of him. He hadn’t had entrails hanging out...

  “It is not serious.” Hix’s dark eyes warned me to not speak of it further. Concern implied he wasn’t fit for duty. Concern implied weakness. He changed the subject. “Any problems, and we are leaving. If I say we are leaving, we are leaving. If you argue, I will throw you over my shoulder.”

  “You’re such a charmer, Hix.”

  “Unlike Alpha Gabel, I do not believe you should be out here, especially given your battered condition. I believe it is inappropriate and not necessary. The SaltPaw are expecting IronMoon at their front door, not their back porch.”

  “I’m glad it’s not up to you, then. If you had your way, I’d be locked into a gilded cage and spoon fed ambrosia the rest of my life.”

  “You object to a treasure being treated as a treasure?” Hix asked.

  “And when was the last time I got treated as a treasure, Hix?” I snapped.

  Hix looked out his window, expression hard, then told me, “Alpha Gabel has not always treated you well. Now he takes too many risks with you. I am not confident he is not trying to prove to everyone he fears no wolves and he can protect you even from a distance. He takes it for granted that he can protect you and is willing to gamble on it. This plan is foolish.”

  “There are only twenty-two SaltPaw, and they are miles from here, with no extended range scouts.” Donovan said from behind his book.

  Hix’s turned away from us to look back out his window and said nothing the remainder of the trip.

  The rock farm sat on a flat stretch of acreage that stretched to the horizon without a single tree in sight. Frost clung to the withered grass. There was an old iron gate with no fence attached on either side marking the drive. A two-level house with a wrap-around porch sat on the right, and an old, ramshackle barn on the left. There was a single huge chunk of smoky quartz that stood as high as my shoulders in the center of everything, and beyond it, instead of rows of corn or soybeans, were just rows and rows of rocks.

  “Interesting.” Donovan’s tone communicated it was not at all interesting.

  “Remain here. Keep a nose out,” Hix directed the other warrior with us. “Where does SaltPaw end, Hunter?”

  “That row right there straddles it.” Donovan indicated the boundary. “We’re on the right side of it. Why? Does it matter to you, First Beta? It will all be IronMoon soon.”

  “But it is not IronMoon now. You should concern yourself with that as well.”

  Donovan said something in a language I didn’t understood, but from his tone, I guessed it was an antique insult.

  The screen door on the house swung open, then slammed shut. An older man wearing a pair of battered overalls and a flannel hustled out to meet us. “Hey there! What can I do for you folks?”

  Hix said, “We have an appointment.”

  “We had an appointment?” Donovan groaned. “Moon’s Eye, you stupid Beta.”

  “The SaltPaw do not monitor the airport, why would they monitor this?” Hix hissed.

  “Because obsidian is valuable, and this is one of SableFur’s sources?” Donovan dragged a hand over his face.

  The man limped slightly on his left hip but moved with good speed. His workboots weren’t laced and gaped at his ankles. He shook Hix’s hand. “Right on time, Mr Demirci. I didn’t catch your first name?”

  “Hix. That is Donovan. This is Gianna.”

  The man shoved a meaty palm in my direction.

  “Don’t touch her,” Hix stated.

  The man held up his hands, “Sure thing. You’re the boss. What are you looking for? You said obsidian?”

  Hix didn’t reply. I sighed, and said, “Preferably obsidian. Although malachite, clear quartz, or moss agate will also do. Large chunks, suitable to be made into shallow bowls.”

  “Scrying bowls, eh?”

  Suspicious, I leaned a little closer to him. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, get you New Age types out here all the time. Chunks of rock to make bowls or pyramids or obelisks or orbs or whatever you gonna do with ’em to align ’em to some charkha or ley line or energy field or higher vibrations.” He waved his hands at his crops. “Jewelers and mystics all I ever see. Jewelers don’t come here looking to make bowls, so you gotta be the mystic. I don’t care, ya’ know. I see UFOs out here all the time. Now I don’t think they’re aliens, mind you, but the government. You know. Black book. Ultra secret. That kinda thing. Weird critters around here, too. But I don’t bother ’em and they don’t bother me, so live and let live, I say. They don’t come any closer than that part over there, and I don’t have a varmint problem, so I ain’t complaining. The howlin’ scares anything away. Except me, but my ex-wife never said I had good sense.”

  What would he have said if Hix had gone war-form right there for him? Hix half-smirked.

  The Rock Farmer waved his hands again. “Just askin’ cause I got the pieces sorted by size, you know. Got the ones to be bowls and orbs out this way. So you looking for scrying bowls or orbs or something else?”

  After a moment of hesitation, I said, “Bowls.”

  “Right this way.” He pointed to our left and kept rambling as he walked. “Malachite, eh? Most folks come out here for scrying bowls don’t want malachite. Not hard enough, absorbs too many negative energies, wrong vibrations. Prefer it for healing. Sell lots of it for folks who want to use it for healing.”

  He chattered on about his other customers and what they bought. Lots of turquoise. Could never keep enough lapis lazuli or large quartz spears in stock. Too hard to find natural large quartz crystals. He led us out to long rows of obsidian in varying sizes laid out on narrow strips of tarp and planting plastic.

  Damn. Even if the right stones were here they’d need months of preparation to heal from the sun exposure.

  “Obsidian’s over here,” Rock Farmer said. Another hand wave to indicate a general area many rows over. “Agate and quartz is over there. Malachite’s on the other side of the property, if you don’t mind a walk. I’ll just pull up a seat, and you guys look over the rocks. They ain’t shy and can’t run fast enough to get away.”

  He chortled at his own joke and shuffled over toward an ancient tractor carcass.

  “How entertaining,” Hix muttered to me.

  I chose the farthest left hand row to start. Hix followed me so closely he was practically breathing on me.

  “Do you have to loom?” I hissed.

  “Yes.”

  “Back up a few steps. It’s not like you won’t see anyone coming from twenty yards.” I gestured to our flat, barren surroundings.

  Rock Farmer sat down on
the tractor’s fender and reached into his pocket. He shoved two pieces of gum into his mouth.

  “What are you looking for?” Hix asked.

  “The right stone.”

  “How do you know the right one?”

  “I just will.”

  “What do you mean you just will?”

  “How does a male know a potential mate?”

  “By her scent.”

  “Yes, but what is the scent from any other scent? You just know it when you smell it, don’t you?”

  “I suppose. I wouldn’t know.”

  “Well, it’s like that, I’ve been told. Blast, these are all so bleached.”

  “They are dark as night.”

  I crouched down and picked up a hunk. It felt quiet and lifeless. I rolled it in my palm. “These are all asleep.”

  “How can a rock sleep?” Hix picked up another rock and turned it over.

  “Hix, you are so literal.” He frowned as he stared down at me, watching me as he had in my jungle vision. He had been in wolf form in that vision, but it was the same expression, complete with the sunlight shining through the blue-dark of his hair. “Is Gabel sure this is where SableFur sources their rocks from?”

  “I suppose. I wouldn’t know. Why?”

  “Because all these rocks are stored under the sun. It’s going to be months to wake them. If they routinely source bowl-suitable chunks from here, why make extra work?”

  Hix glared and proceeded to loom even closer as I walked up and down the aisles. Rock Farmer watched, occasionally spitting out his gum and folding two new pieces into his mouth. Hix periodically checked his watch. He had a phone, but he also had an old, antique watch he took off his wrist to wind when noon came.

  “What are ‘varmints’?” Hix asked.

  “You must be bored to ask that. Critters. Like mice or moles.”

  “So these SaltPaw come hunt the vermin in his rock crops.” Hix squatted down, grabbed a handful of dirt, and held it to his nose. He inhaled deeply of the scent, then threw it back onto the ground. “Pathetic. Alpha Gabel should just end them. We have no use for that weakness.”