The Queen and the Dagger
By
Melanie Ansley
Copyright © 2016 by Melanie Ansley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Monika Zec
For Artemis
Prologue
In a distant time, those we know as animals had the gift of speech. Aktu, the goddess of all things, gave written speech to all living creations in the land of Mankahar, so they might know the power of trapped words.
But Dakus, king of those who called themselves Man, used the written word to discover how to Pacify his fellow beasts, and rob them of speech.
He did so on a mass scale, so that his kind might control and rule over others. And so the Order was established: a society of animals who vowed to fight Dakus.
Because Dakus’s power was gained through a book, the animals of Mankahar reasoned that the written word must be an evil, a punishment sent to sow discord and slavery.
And so Aktu’s language was banned, and those who knew how to read or write were termed “omatjes,” sorcerers who should be put to death. The animals destroyed all artifacts with the written word, killed all those who practiced it, and forbade its teaching.
But language, unlike other living things, does not always die so easily.
Chapter 1
Indigo saw the wolf first.
She wasn’t an alpha, but her paws were as wide as Indigo’s head, her grey-flecked snout long as Indigo’s arm. The wolf’s belly stretched smooth and taut. Evidence of her recent meal.
Indigo flicked her long, tapered ears. Beside her, three fellow initiates crept forward in the foliage until they saw Indigo raise a cautionary paw. This was their first sighting, but they knew there must be others nearby. A female wolf did not hunt alone. Especially during the annual Run.
Indigo tried not to focus on the wolf’s belly, or the conspicuous ochre staining the muzzle. The predator lay in plain sight, cleaning one paw with a languid tongue. Indigo hadn’t known the slain initiate. Now she never would.
The wolf would be slower because of her meal, but only just. And her pack mates—six, if the reports were to be trusted—would be more eager now that one of them had feasted.
But where were they?
A chirrup made her hackles rise. A warning from a fellow initiate: they should skirt the wolf on the left hillock and hug the opposite side. This brought her attention to the stretch of tall grass on the far right. Everything looked clear, yet Indigo hesitated.
She could see no one, not even the seasoned Alvareth warriors who she knew were watching from a hidden vantage point. Watching and waiting, like the initiates, to see who would survive the Run, and who would fall to the wolves and go to Aktu.
Every year they gathered like this, when frosty winter gales thawed into mild breezes that no longer bit the flesh and singed the eyes. This was when young Alvareth rabbits proved themselves and came of age. A princess of Alvareth had never failed the Run, and Indigo wasn’t about to be the first. Especially when she had more at stake than anyone else.
Every nerve in her itched to leap up and race down that hill, to feel the grass scrape her as she sprinted past the wolf. She saw herself flying through the far stretch of stunted growth and into the safety of the initiates’ gate, a warren designed as the Run’s end point. All who passed that gate became true Alvareth clan members and earned their tattoos. All who didn’t became food for the wolves.
Every spring, the wolves of Blackmoon circled through this corner of their territory, and they knew the ritual as well as the rabbits. Every spring, three days after the rise of the new moon, the rabbits ran the gully known as Cragged Pass. And the wolves would be waiting. It was a time-honored tradition, a way of celebrating the cycle of life and death, a dance between hunters and fighters. Surviving the Run would mark her as adult, which meant receiving her tattoos and becoming Alvareth’s queen.
The sun crept higher, making Indigo’s paws itch with a fresh layer of sweat. If one of them broke cover, they’d all have to follow. Being last, and alone, would mean certain death. Indigo’s nerves prickled with unease. Something felt wrong.
She saw a blur to her left. In a flash of amber and tan, an initiate burst from the grasses and streaked towards the right, away from the grooming wolf. The others followed suit, their pent-up anticipation propelling them like silent arrows over the scrub and down the slope.
Indigo scrabbled over the boulder she’d been crouching behind, and after a split hesitation, veered in the opposite direction. Though they’d been taught that their strength lay in staying together, some instinct warned her away from the others.
The wolf looked up from her cleaning and stood. Indigo’s blood pounded, the wind rushing through her fur. It felt good to run. From the corner of her eye, she saw dark smudges appear on the horizon, and she knew.
A trap.
The wolf threw her nose into the air and howled. And that was when Indigo’s nerves turned to ice.
This was no Blackmoon wolf.
It howled wordlessly. This was a howl of primitive blood thirst, a howl without soul.
The wolves on the edge of Indigo’s vision flew towards their prey. The female wolf had deliberately planted herself where the Run was easiest, leaving the right side enticingly open. The problem was, the open space bore teeth of jagged rock, slowing down anyone attempting to speed across it. The crest meant that the pack could hide downwind from view until their scout gave them the signal, and now they rushed over the edge, silent and swift.
The scout wolf came at her, jaws open in what could only be a semblance of a grin. For Indigo knew this wolf could not grin. Could not speak. Would never speak again.
Indigo could easily outrun her, and she knew the rules: outrun the wolves, do not fight them. To fight them was to tempt fate, for this was a test of speed and strategy, not combat. But the pack was closing in on the twenty odd initiates who had chosen to run together, and these were not the ordinary wolves from Blackmoon. Perhaps they were, once. Now they were aberrations.
These were the dreaded Pacified.
A few more strides and the wolves would have the others surrounded, with no chance of escape. They would die in the jaws of these monsters, and Indigo could not think of a worse death.
She darted sideways, scanning for a weapon. Initiates went to the Run unarmed, and she longed for her familiar sword. She settled on a sharp rock the size of her paw and scooped it up. No time to think this through. She had to act if this year’s Run was not to be a meaningless slaughter.
She turned, forcing her breath to slow so her arm would steady. If she missed, she would be the wolf’s second course. A normal Blackmoon wolf would have hesitated at the unorthodox action. But the beast never faltered, if anything the action spurred it on. The rabbit took aim and launched the rock with all her strength. It flew wide, useless. Indigo reached for a second rock. Any rock.
The wolf was almost upon her. She smelled the blood matting the predator’s fur, the reek of its breath. She took aim and threw, hard. This time the rock connected, a telltale cracking as bone fractured. The wolf grunted but didn’t back down, and none of the other wolves took interest enough to abandon the main chase. Indigo burst into a sprint for the initiates’ gate.
She heard the monster’s breath behind her, close, eager, the bloodlust overruling any pain from the fractured leg. Indigo had lost precious t
ime fighting. There was little hope of any of them surviving.
Something shook the ground, and then there was a snarl of fear behind her. She heard a series of pained yelps. She risked a look over her shoulder, and froze in disbelief.
A giant bear the color of night had appeared, barreling into the attacker with all his weight. The injured wolf, realizing she was outmatched, backed away, snarling in frustration. The other wolves, wary, circled with hackles raised but kept their distance.
“Kuno?” Indigo breathed. “Is that you?”
The bear towered over the wolves on his hind legs and pushed them further back. Indigo’s fellow initiates huddled in the shrubs nearby, stunned at the turn of events.
“Stay down!” the bear snapped.
It was Kuno. She knew that voice, even after all these years. Indigo felt a mixture of relief and confusion at her old friend’s appearance. She hadn’t seen him in eight seasons, perhaps more. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be with the Order, out in Mount Mahkah.
Their giant ally roared at the wolves, who had gathered in an angry knot, eyes narrowed and lips drawn back over yellowed teeth. Indigo knew that even a large bear was no match against an entire pack.
The wolves eyed the rabbits, growling and snapping their anger. One of the larger ones decided to try its luck and leaped for Kuno. The bear opened his massive arms and pulled the attacker to him, pinning the wolf’s snout with one arm while crushing its torso with his other. The wolf yelped as its bones cracked, and with a twist of his boulder-sized paw the bear broke its neck. The wolf was dead before it hit the ground.
For a moment, all was still as the remaining wolves eyed their dead companion hungrily. With a few last snarls, the pack slunk away to a safe distance.
Kuno turned to Indigo and the other initiates.
“Everyone all right?”
Her companions nodded, but Indigo knew with a thundering heart that Alvareth, and her future, had just changed forever. Pacification had arrived in the north.
Chapter 2
“Indigo!”
The initiates were greeted by a milling throng of family and curiosity seekers. Indigo looked around for her older sister Borla, and spotted her approaching, waving her good arm. Borla’s twin, Dorju, followed her like a silent shadow.
The twins had the same lilac coat and green-flecked eyes as their father, but vastly differing personalities. Borla was the thinker, the reasoner. A nearly fatal fever when they were young had twisted Borla’s left paw into a stiff, curled limb that she kept tucked close to her chest. The twins shared everything, including illness. While Dorju had kept the use of all her limbs, she had paid with her voice. She had developed a way of communicating most things through her paws, but only Borla understood her all of the time.
Indigo felt the familiar admiration at seeing their wide ears, the insides decorated in the tattoos they had earned from their initiation. Though most had tried to prevent the twins from joining the Run, convinced they would fall to the wolves, Borla and Dorju had proven everyone wrong. Excitement fluttered within Indigo, for soon she would have her own markings.
“We heard what happened. Are you hurt?” Borla asked. Dorju hugged Indigo, her eyes questioning.
“We’re fine.” Indigo motioned towards Kuno, who was approaching in the distance. “You’ll never guess who saved us.”
Borla shaded her eyes with her good arm. “Is that who I think it is?”
Indigo nodded. “He’s back.”
“From the Order?” Borla glanced at Indigo. “Perhaps they are choosing an apprentice.”
Indigo was giddy at the thought. Only the best were invited to join the Order. Fascinated with the old legends of warrior queens, she had trained harder than anyone at the sword—might the Order choose her?
Kuno had left years ago with his brother for the Order’s stronghold in Mount Mahkah. He and Indigo had been close once, striking up an unlikely friendship during the summer when animals of the steppes and those living in the mountains gathered near the waters of Raven Toe. Her aunt Kalmara, now the regent, had been adamant against friendship with a meat-eater, but her mother Queen Delamar had joked that it was Indigo’s first act of diplomacy.
She’d heard nothing from Kuno since he and his brother joined the Order. But Indigo had wanted to follow them to the legendary society, ever since what happened to her mother and sister ten seasons ago.
“The queen regent wants you. Now,” Borla said.
“Am I in trouble?” Tradition dictated she go directly to the ink master’s warren to be tattooed after a successful Run. But this Run had been anything but traditional.
The twins glanced at each other. “Can’t tell.” Borla lowered her voice. “There’s talk.”
Indigo stopped in her tracks. “Of what?”
Borla tapped at her crooked paw. “To do with the succession.”
Indigo tried to keep her expression neutral. She glanced back to see Kuno still behind them, wading through curious onlookers eager to see the bear who had saved their initiates.
The three sisters passed the performance grounds, picking up their pace, and Indigo noted the marked absence of the usual dancing and reveling that happened during the Run. The grounds had gone strangely quiet, muted to an anxious hum of murmuring voices as rabbits old and young discussed the wolves of Blackmoon. The only performer was a lone singer with a battered bandura, playing Aktu’s Ballad. They walked past the small audience listening in melancholy silence.
The Urzok King Dakus,
Great was his greed,
So he enslaved all the kingdoms,
He paid Aktu no heed.
He said all in Mankahar must bow,
To birth and die by his command
Until you see what you see now,
A land of slaves beneath his hand.
Thus the Order was born,
To restore Aktu’s balance
To keep Mankahar safe
And break the Urzok lance;
For did Aktu not say that all life is precious?
Did Aktu not say killing is for food or defense?
Did Aktu not say, to squander life is ignorant?
So I will fight Pacification,
I left my home and my love
To join the Order and he who leads it.
Let my grandchildren know
I stood on Aktu’s side
The side of light
To topple Dakus and restore our right.
They had reached the royal warren. Indigo could hear the sounds of scuffling and the clash of metal on metal even before Borla led her and Dorju around the back, to the quadrangle behind the warren.
A sparring match was in full swing. In what appeared a grossly unfair fight, three rabbits had ganged up on a fourth: a petite sandstone figure with sharp black eyes and a dusty tunic that hid a lean, hardened body. They attacked the smaller rabbit sometimes singly, sometimes together, the clash of their swords interspersed with grunts of exertion.
A smattering of observers surrounded the spectacle: the usual guards, a few passersby curious to see royal fighting prowess.
Indigo grimaced as she and her sisters waited on the sidelines. Her aunt, the queen regent Kalmara, enjoyed public displays of physical skill much more than Indigo did. To her, they felt like a thinly veiled ploy designed to remind the queendom that its regent was powerful, vigorous, and undefeated. Kalmara loved to show off her unmarred torso—proof that no one had ever gotten close enough to her vitals to ever leave a mark. Her compact stature and quick movements with the sword had earned her the nickname “the Bird”, and watching her fight it was easy to see why. Kalmara didn’t move with her sword, she flew. She was light, fast, and impossible to catch, earning her the undisputed title of best sword wielder in the seven queendoms.
Kalmara parried a thrust, then ducked a swing from an opponent who tried to surprise her from behind. She brought the flat of her sword down on the first attacker’s back, sending him sprawling into t
he grass.
“That is all for today,” she said, clapping her paws together. The three sparring rabbits picked themselves up, clapped their paws in reply, and bowed as they left the quadrangle. Several onlookers rushed forward to pay their respects. Kalmara said a word or two to be polite, but soon motioned for a guard to escort them away. The spectacle was meant to impress, and having done so, the audience was expected to disperse.
While the last stragglers were herded away, Kalmara handed her sword to a waiting servant, while another hurried forward to drape the royal robes around the queen regent’s shoulders.
“Tell me about the wolf.”
Indigo hadn’t expected her aunt to be so abrupt, to not even apologize for delaying her from her markings. She decided on directness in return.
“They were not normal.”
“You’ll need to be more specific, Bobo,” Kalmara pressed, tying her robes with a swift, efficient knot.
Indigo hated her aunt using her nickname. Only her mother and closest friends had ever used it. “They were unliving.”
“You can’t know that,” the queen regent said, as if speaking to a kit. “Are you sure it wasn’t just your nerves? The Run is a thrilling but also stressful experience. We’d understand if that were the case.”
Indigo shook her head. “I know what I saw and heard. Those wolves were soulless. They’ve been Pacified.”
Kalmara gave her a sharp look, but her expression softened as Indigo heard footfalls behind her. Indigo knew without looking that it was her father.
“Your daughter thinks the Blackmoon wolves have been pacified, husband.”
Indigo turned. Lukkas’s tan and lilac fur shone thick and silky, his whiskers barely streaked with any white.
Her aunt and father cast meaningful glances at one another. Glances he had once cast at Indigo’s mother, the former queen. She still sometimes had trouble believing her mother was gone and her aunt had married her father within a moon. It was her right as the temporary queen to wed the widowed consort, but it never sat well with Indigo.
The Queen and the Dagger (A Book of Theo novella) Page 1
