“No!” Falkirk said.
And as he retrieved the mask, he must have heard it too. A complete, perfect silence. The wolves had stopped howling.
D’Arc’s body sways. Something carries her. She knows right away that she has fallen away from the field and its mysterious grove. She has tumbled out of the present and landed in the future again.
The brim of a straw hat blocks her vision. She lifts the brim. D’Arc straddles the thorax of an Alpha on a late summer day, with blazing heat, blinding sun, and dry grass everywhere. Ah, this is not the future. The past, then. Her past on the ranch, where she takes her herd for a daily walk. My ladies, she calls them, marching in single file, leaving the exact same tracks. Abdomens bobbing, antennae probing. None of it meant to be, all of it happening anyway.
She hears a scuffle somewhere in the rear of the herd. One of the older ants has tripped. She pulls the reins on Gai Den, her strongest. The ant stops, and the rest obey. She dismounts and races to the injured Alpha. On the insect’s hide, a brand marks her as sugar. They’re all named after the Old Man’s friends from the war. This ant has long since passed her lifespan. Cracks have splintered through her exoskeleton. When D’Arc arrives, the antennae probe her. One of them has broken, leaving it shorter than the other.
Euthanizing these older ants typically requires two people. One to hold her, the other to deliver the killing strike—a sharp point at the base of the skull. Instant death. This one seems ready. Despite having no face, no expression, the ant’s calm demeanor, her stillness, tells D’Arc what she needs to know. It is okay. You have been good to me. It is time to rest.
She has a knife. She can do it. Too far to call for the Old Man anyway. He has already warned her about Sugar. Every season, more of them will leave us. Still, she needs to wait. She needs to sit with Sugar, resting her head on the beast’s armor.
A breeze rustles the leaves.
The herd waits.
The sun inches across the blue void.
D’Arc blinked. She knelt on the ground, propped forward on her hands. The St. Jude medal dangled below her nose. When her palms went numb from the cold mud, she knew she had returned to the present. For now.
The noise grew around her, filling in the silence. The soldiers took cover in their barricades and ditches. Pistol in hand, Jackson waved them on. His mouth moved, but D’Arc could not make out the exact words.
Something tugged at her arm. She managed to tilt her head to see Falkirk urging her to follow him. Her body felt so heavy. It still needed to catch up with the present.
“They’re here,” Falkirk said.
Before she turned, she already knew what she would see.
Cruising beneath the clouds, in a triangle formation so perfect it resembled an arrowhead, a group of flying Alphas approached, at least twenty strong and descending rapidly. D’Arc wanted to call them a flock, but that wasn’t right. A pack? A brood? There was no name for this. Their wings beat so fast that they became invisible, leaving only the sleek armor, like misshapen torpedoes.
“Quarantine!” one of the cats shouted. “It’s a quarantine!”
“No,” Jackson said. “Do not fire! Do not fire!”
“Hold your fire,” another officer called out.
Jackson dropped his binoculars and aimed his handgun. Like so many other commanders in so many other wars, he took a guess and immediately doubted it. D’Arc could not blame him.
Falkirk shielded her body with his. He faced her because he could not bear to look at them.
The Alphas passed right over, their wings buzzing in D’Arc’s ear. A breeze followed, so strong that it nearly knocked Falkirk on top of her. The rifles pivoted to follow the insects as they headed for the train. There, the smarter wolves had already broken into a run, while the ones with something to prove, the ones with so little to lose, barked in defiance. They thought they were protecting some newly conquered territory. But here, they became the trespassers on land that was more than sacred, more than holy. The lead Alpha picked out the loudest canine—not even a wolf, but a brown dog—and landed on top of him. D’Arc felt his bones snap.
The Alphas cut through the pack. They snatched the fiercest marauders, the same ones who’d fought their way out of Hosanna. The wolves’ pack mentality worked against them here. They tried to flank the Alphas like they would with any prey. But the ants would shake them off, then pin them with their jaws. With a quick thrashing motion, the ants broke their enemies, leaving them as furry bags of blood and shattered bone.
The markings on the ants’ skin gave them away. These were D’Arc’s Alphas. The rahvek had called them to become like their true mother, the Queen.
“My God,” Falkirk breathed in D’Arc’s ear.
One of the wolves in full battle gear charged at them with a scimitar. His blade came to a dead stop on an Alpha’s hide. As he lifted the sword again, the ant coiled and struck him like a viper, leaving a bright red gash from the wolf’s chest to his hip. Another strike. The ant clamped the wolf at the neck and shook her head violently. The sword flipped through the air and sank into the earth blade-first, the hilt wobbling.
It was that image—of a primitive weapon torn from their enemy—which prompted a wild cheer from the soldiers of Hosanna. They lowered their rifles and pumped their fists. In a show of loyalty, the dogs made the most noise, letting out a howl to match the primate-like hooting of the humans.
“How do you like it?” a human shouted. “How do you like it now?”
“Give that ant a hug!” someone said. “She wants to play with you!”
It had finally happened. The Mudfoot had gone too far, and Nature had corrected them. It must have felt so good for the humans to see this. They must have believed that they earned this somehow. The tables had finally turned. “That’s what you get!” someone said.
With Falkirk’s help, D’Arc stood. The ants continued to swarm, picking off the marauders. A few armed wolves opened fire from the edge of the field, but it drew the insects’ attention. The ants made the snipers regret it.
“Our son’s out there,” D’Arc said.
Falkirk let go of her and walked toward the perimeter, right behind a wall of sandbags. A row of soldiers cheered on the ants each time they dispatched another wolf. Like a human at the end of his rope, Falkirk ran his fingers along his scalp as he watched the carnage. He had told D’Arc about his own experience with the quarantine—about a feeling of helplessness, of inevitability as a force he could not control tore apart everything he knew.
Falkirk turned to her, extending his arms, ready to embrace her and shield her from all of this. Such a sweet dog.
D’Arc did not have time for any of that. She ran past him, shoved the soldiers out of the way, and vaulted over the barricade. The laughter and the cheering faded behind her as she raced across the field, so fast that she floated over the earth.
Chapter 28
Allegiance
With the pup riding on her back, Mercy tried to shake Augur awake. The human lay on a pallet made from deerskin and two polished branches. A blanket of bear hide kept him warm. His eyes danced beneath his lashes. Despite all the screaming around them and the barely healed wound in his chest, she had never seen him so calm. He must have dreamt of someplace far from here. Or some time far removed, or a time that could never be, a path long since covered over.
She nudged him again with her snout and whined in his ear. One of the flying monsters streaked overhead. The pup began to cry. Mercy couldn’t believe it had taken him this long. The marauders had formed a protective wall around her, but it would not hold. And for every wolf that tried to fight them off, there were two or three more who remained still, paralyzed by their fear of these demons. The most vicious predator could behave like prey when confronted with a creature that showed no remorse.
Creek and Mag appeared at her side, both panting. Creek
jumped around in a panic, hoping this would stir Mercy to run.
Mercy snapped her jaws a few inches from Augur’s face. The man awakened. He grinned upon seeing the pup.
Mercy grabbed his collar and pulled him upright so he could witness it all: the monsters dropping from the sky, the shattered bodies, the wounded trying to limp away. She expected his lip to curl and his brow to knit, a sign of distress that their species shared. Instead, his face softened with relief.
“You see this coming?” Mercy demanded.
He leaned on her shoulder as he got to his feet. As the wolves ran away from the slaughter, Augur moved forward, arms outstretched. For two days, they had dragged him to their territory as he teetered on the edge of death. Mercy thought she had lost him, that his spirit would drift into the woods and rejoin his people. But here, the human swaggered as he did when she first met him.
One of the creatures swooped above. Augur’s tunic flapped in the breeze. The insect hovered in front of him, its abdomen pulsating. Someone had burned a marking into the ant’s skin, a word in the human language. Each ant wore its own unique brand, though Mercy could not read them.
The head tilted. Was it afraid? Did it recognize him?
Creek yipped in Mercy’s ear. Please, he was saying. Run away! But the same force that drew in this human called to her as well. She had tasted this same power. So much suffering had brought her to this barren field. She needed to know what it could really do.
Two more of the ants stopped attacking, hanging suspended around Augur. He became a planet with three misshapen moons orbiting, his gravity pulling them closer. A fourth and fifth joined while the other insects flew high above.
Mercy stayed outside of the circle. The pup tightened his grip on her shoulders. She brushed him with her cheek to keep him calm. He squirmed, feeling like a sack filled with warm water. She realized too late that he wanted out of the backpack in which she carried him. Before he slid face-first into the dirt, she caught him by the neck with her jaw. When he responded by scratching her, she squeezed harder, compressing his scream into a growl. Her own mother had done this to her. All the young ones needed to learn the hard way, and it could take longer for this half-dog.
Still, he insisted on getting away. His tiny hand reached toward the swirling mass of insects surrounding Augur. The ants revolved around the human faster now, creating a whirlpool of dust. And through blurring bodies, Mercy saw the bright white fur of the wet nurse. While the wolves retreated, this dog ran toward her on two feet. She was afraid, like all Hosanna’s pets. Yet she kept putting one foot in front of the other. Her dog friend, the fake wolf, chased after her, shouting her name, something Mercy had never learned. “Dark, wait!” he said. He slipped the gas mask from his snout and gazed at the flying creatures.
All of the ants formed a cloud around Augur. Mercy felt the crowd gathering behind her. A few of the wolves could not help but lower to the ground in a show of submission.
When Augur turned to face the two intruders, the cloud turned with him. And with each step he took, the swarm lurched along, as if connected by strings to his outstretched hands. The wet nurse backed away.
Augur lowered his arms. He gave the wet nurse a chance to contemplate her last few seconds in this world. To her credit, she seemed ready. The soldiers from Hosanna waited behind their barricades, unwilling to intervene.
In a quick jerking movement, Augur stretched out his hands toward the dog. All at once, the ants flew at her, like stones tossed from the top of a hill. They landed in front of her, forming a wall at first, then piling on top. A dome of insect bodies grew, the abdomens writhing.
“No!” the husky screamed. He grabbed the nearest ant’s leg and tried to wrench it free from the pile. The creature snapped its hindquarters like a whip and flung him away. He landed hard and skidded across the dirt. On his stomach, the pathetic dog watched in horror as this mobile colony executed the spy from Hosanna. He must have known that they would come for him next.
Their hunger satiated, the ants on top climbed down from the pile. Like the mouth of some massive animal, the dome opened, revealing the space where the dog had waited for death. A furry body lay on the ground, amid the tracks left by the insect’s claws. The husky moaned when he saw it.
The body moved. The dog had curled herself into a ball. And now she rose, surrounded by her would-be executioners.
One by one, the ants lifted off and flew in Augur’s direction. Shaking, he held out his palms, ordering them to stop. They continued past him.
They were coming for Mercy.
And suddenly, the wolves who had gathered around her dispersed. She and the pup stood alone. Strangely, the young one stopped crying. As she cradled him, he bounced in her arms and reached out to the creatures, these demons with hinges for mouths. The first landed to Mercy’s right, the second behind her. The pup gave a friendly bark. Hello, he said. He had no idea what they could do.
One of the ants lifted onto its hind legs and clamped its claws onto the pup.
“Please,” Mercy said. As if the monster would understand.
The ant pulled the dog from her grip. She did not fight, as a wolf should. As a wolf would, if this pup really were her son. And every canine here saw it. Every wolf who renounced their pack, every dog who defected from Hosanna. They saw her simply let go of the future of the Mudfoot.
She waited for the ant to end it. The insect probed her, its antennae grazing her neck. The jaw opened and closed. Then the ant held the pup tight to its thorax, fluttered its wings, and lifted high above her. The others followed, leaving a dusty breeze behind them.
Your name is Mercy, Wex had told her. For that is what I give you.
The swarm once again flew past Augur. For all his power and prophecy, he was nothing to them now.
The ant landed before the wet nurse. Gently, it handed the pup to the dog. The young one curled against her and plugged his mouth onto one of her teats, his eyes closed. While the pup drank, the dog licked his head, letting out a satisfied moan each time.
“I know,” the wet nurse said. “I know.”
Still in shock, the husky stumbled over to her. He wrapped an arm around her neck and stroked the pup’s fur. Mercy saw it now: a real family, born from this madness.
The wolves, hundreds of them now, left Mercy’s side to surround the wet nurse named Dark. Even the Bounty warriors, covered in green war paint, lowered their snouts to the earth. The only one who remained at her side was Augur, the defeated human.
Dark marched over with the husky following and the ants flying above, ready to strike.
Augur got closer to Mercy. He placed his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. She wanted to face this dog on her own.
Dark stood before her like a human, taller than Augur. She cradled the young one against her chest. “Run away,” she said. “Both of you. Run away and never come back.”
The pup glared at her, then returned to his suckling.
A chorus of barking began. The dogs who had worshipped her as a god now snarled and paced about, marking a boundary she could no longer cross. She searched the crowd for her bodyguards. They were gone. The Toqwa as well.
The barking grew louder. As she started to walk away, her toe brushed something. Lifting her foot, she saw a flower with bright yellow petals stubbornly pushing out of the clay.
Keep going! the barking said.
These were urna flowers, her sister’s namesake, like little suns bursting from the ground. She sniffed for more of them, and their sweet smell invaded her nostrils, so thick that she sneezed. Dozens of the flowers had sprouted, reclaiming the dead earth. And mocking her while they did it.
“This is what you saw?” she asked Augur.
“I told you,” he said. “I saw the land at peace. And I saw spring. This is the spring we were promised.”
She looked toward her homeland
for the last time. The hills had shaded over with green. A new forest stretched its roots, lifting the dead soil. This time, she let Augur place a hand on her shoulder. He was still with her. That part of the prophecy remained perfectly clear.
The wolf and the man turned to the west. Toward the real future.
Chapter 29
Détente
(unofficial) Logbook of the SUS al-Rihla
March 25
Weather: Overcast.
Day 2 of expedition.
0600 Broke camp. Proceeding to destination at N 39 40 53.1. W 075.
“Are you ready?” Falkirk asked.
D’Arc could not yet answer. And anyway, the answer was no. It would always be no.
Having hacked their way through the woods, they emerged onto an exit ramp of a highway. According to the signpost, the humans had given this road the number 495. The three wolves who escorted them this far promised that the bridge would appear around the bend. And so it did: a flat concrete platform, bleached white under the sun. The brown water underneath flowed so slowly that one could have mistaken the river for a lake. Steel towers that once held electrical wires guarded either side like the skeletons of enormous beasts.
In the middle of the bridge, the representatives from the Sanctuary Union waited. Over a month had passed since the attack, and they chose this spot to talk peace once more. D’Arc and her party made it on time. The Hosanna delegation had arrived early. She wondered if this constituted some psychological tactic on their part.
Three wolves of the Opa pack marched in front of D’Arc so the Hosanna delegation could see their full war paint and jewelry. Swords dangled from their hips; long rifles bounced on their shoulders. Quay—the wolf who saved D’Arc’s life once—took the lead, wearing the silvery feather of a patrol bird in her fur. Another wolf displayed a necklace that included the jawbone of an adult boar, a prize meant to intimidate other marauders.
The Archon himself stood in the middle of the Hosanna delegation. The wind rippled his black gown. His long white hair bounced stiffly in the breeze. With his thin fingers interlaced at his waist, he resembled a clergyman at the steps of his temple, welcoming the flock inside.
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