The Alpha's Oracle

by Merry Ravenell

  I didn’t need a shovel; I seemed to be doing quite well digging myself into a hole with my own two paws.

  It was customary that the Alpha congratulate the newly minted Beta on his first successful campaign, but Gabel only clapped Eroth on the shoulder as they came up the walk. Eroth nodded, and as he passed me, inclined his head with a respectful, “Lady Gianna.”

  “Beta,” I murmured back. Gabel brought a familiar sort of hot turmoil, not unlike the air from my cave vision.

  Gabel stood on the step below mine, his lips curled in a frown. “It is done.”

  “No feting of the warriors?” Normally returning warriors were given a fete at dinner, or if the victory had been noteworthy enough, an entire party. Gabel didn’t exactly seem in a festive mood. I cursed asking the question. An Oracle wouldn’t have asked.

  “No,” Gabel muttered. “Nothing. It was worth nothing. Just cleaning up.”

  He pointed at a few warriors carrying boxes into the house. “Records from the SpringHide. Probably nothing there, but... not now. There’s no rush. Buttercup.”

  Only then did he take my wrist and lead me upstairs to our room.

  The Bond was glad to have him back, and it basked in his return. It was a strange feeling of contented warmth, similar to laying in front of a fire on a cold winter evening. One of my favorite feelings in the world. I wasn’t sure how I felt about sharing it with the Bond

  Gabel pulled off his shirt and his kilt. The lash marks on his shoulders had ripped open and re-crusted with thick, black blood. Gabel poked them with a fingertip.

  “Don’t do that,” I said. It was creepy, gross, and it made the cuts take longer to heal. “Did something go wrong at SpringHide?”

  “Not for us, but for that Alpha, something went very wrong.”

  “Obviously, ” I said, annoyed at his attitude. “We knew that was going to happen.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant the Alpha was surprised. They all seemed surprised when we fell onto the house. The Alpha, once I had my claws on him, said to me ‘this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.’”

  “Supposed to be like what?” I tilted my head to the side.

  “I have no idea,” Gabel said. “They were surprised, but not that I was there, just that something else was also supposed to happen that didn’t.”

  My stomach started to churn. I licked my lips. “Are they all... dead?”

  He shook his head, aggravated. “No. I confined the violence to the warriors. Some have to survive to spread my reputation.”

  Logically true, vaguely noble, and unsettling all at the same time. “What now?”

  “Now I look through his records.”

  “For what?”

  “Anything.” Gabel shrugged. “You are very pale.”

  We were looking for the MeatMan. I could have put him onto the scent.

  I licked my lips and swallowed the lump in my throat.

  He cocked his head to the side. “It’s late to try to convince me you don’t have the stomach for this. You’ve invested in showing how much spine you have.”

  The ocean-blue eyes that looked at me were those of a predator, like we were two wolves that had met on a narrow mountain pass.

  I could have told him I didn’t have the spine for it, that I couldn’t be a part of anything more with the IronMoon, that I was weak and fearful., and that I couldn’t accept any of this.

  Shadowless hadn’t fought. Shadowless had decided sacrificing one daughter without asking the warriors to shed their blood for her was the logical course of action. My mind understood it. My heart didn’t.

  I raised my chin to him and shifted my shoulders back, assuming a posture of defiant courage.

  I was still the only one who had any control and influence over Gabel, who was both his victim and the only one who could meaningfully harm him. It was too late for me to flinch now, even if he was taking me further and further into a dark grotto.

  Gabel grinned. “I’ll get changed for dinner, buttercup.”

  Comets, Swords, Scissors, and The Oracles Bound To Them

  Mid-afternoon meant Flint would be in his rooms, at least for another twenty minutes. I hated to intrude, and but he was the only one in the pack who might know about the symbol on the underside of the ring, the same one blasted onto the stone. And he’d probably take the opportunity to give me a scolding if things were as obvious as Gabel seemed determined to make them.

  Flint had quarters at the far end of the house on the first floor. After spending all day shouting orders and dealing with students, nobody blamed him for wanting a little peace and quiet to himself in his off time.

  I knocked on the closed door. The house was always so damn quiet. Not just quiet, but empty.

  A few moments, long enough that Flint had taken a second to decide if he actually would answer or not, and the door opened. He greeted me with surprise. “Lady Gianna.”

  “I’m sorry to intrude, but do you have a moment?”

  “Always for you.” Flint stepped aside.

  Flint had a large front room with huge windows that overlooked the forest, then a narrow hallway off to the right, which led to the bathroom and bedroom. The front room was pale creams and tans with the occasional splash of bright red or green. It reminded me of classy Christmas decor. It suited him.

  Flint was in a simple tee-shirt of heathered grey and a pair of jeans. I had never seen him in anything except a kilt, and now with just the tattoos on his forearms visible, he seemed like a different person to my eyes.

  “Sit.” He gestured to a chair. On the coffee table was an upside-down book. A cheesy mystery from the looks of it, with a well-worn spine. He caught me glancing at it and said, “Book roulette. I buy boxes of books for pennies at yard sales, flea markets, warehouses.”

  “You and Gabel are the same that way.” Gabel seemed to read anything and everything, although I had never caught him reading a cheesy mystery.

  Flint took a seat in a well-worn chair. “What can I do for you, Lady Gianna?”

  “My name is Gianna, at least in private.” I handed him a piece of paper on which I had sketched the unknown symbol from my vision. “Do you recognize this?”

  “The paper or the drawing?”

  “The drawing. I don’t know that mark. I think I’ve seen it, but I can’t place it. You know the old runes and sigils. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me what it is.”

  Flint turned the paper around, looking at it from each angle. His brow knitted together in ridges. Then he reached across the table and handed it back to me. “I know it. Where did you see it?”

  “A few days ago, in a vision.” I studied him carefully to see if there was any flicker of recognition, like this was something I was supposed to have found.

  “An old rune. You’ll see it on ancient shrines and talismans. It means ‘comet.’”

  “Comet. Those are the heralds of destruction in the old legends.”

  “For humans, too.”

  “But there’s a rune for them?”

  “I don’t know if it’s a rune that Oracles have ever used. I’ve only seen the sigil a few times, as I said.”

  He didn’t seem to be playing coy. I frowned. “Of course a wolf wearing blue-gloss tattoos would know it.”

  He chuckled. “I’d hope so. The Comet was like you said. The symbol of the Moon’s wrath, or Her vengeance. Moon and Mother always appear together, but the true greater meaning always depends on the other symbols present. It usually means destruction, sometimes literal, but often symbolic, like the Death card in Tarot.”

  “I didn’t see the Moon rune.” I shook my head. “I saw it on a pup-ring. The symbols for Luna and Mother were on top, then on the inside of the band, directly under those, was this symbol, blasted into the gold.”

  Flint leaned forward on his knees. “It was your vision, Gianna. The symbol for Luna and Moon are very close, of course. I doubt the Moon made a mistake if the symbol was Luna. Unless it was a literal ring you
were looking at, and a mistake was made during the ring’s manufacture.”

  “Or a conceit,” I said.

  “History has had its share of arrogant Alphas,” Flint said.

  “You seem to know more about what’s going on here than you’d like me to know.”

  “I’ve known Gabel longer than you, and I am the Moon’s Servant, no different from you,” he said. “And I’m old enough to be your father. Conceit of age and seniority.”

  I sighed, but he didn’t seem to be lying about any of that. “A Moon’s Servant.”

  “A Moon’s Servant. But that’s obvious, isn’t it?” He gestured to his tattoos.

  Obvious? Maybe, but the tattoos were a mystery. I set it aside. He wasn’t going to tell me where those blue-gloss tattoos had come from. “Flint, why the Comet? There’s already a rune for destruction.”

  “The Comet is different. The Comet is the instrument of Her wrath. She sends the Comet to end what has offended Her. That’s why the other runes are important ,so we know if it’s Her blight, wiping something from view, or shattering something so something new can be built from what’s left.”

  I folded the paper a few more times until it wouldn’t bend further. “On the ring there was faith, love, and balance. Mother was present, but had been added later. It wasn’t part of the original ring.”

  “Then are you sure it was a pup-ring?” Flint raised his brows.

  “Then why add mother at all? Why not just have a proper pup-ring?”

  “Perhaps there wasn’t the ability to craft a second ring,” Flint said.

  I saw his meaning right away. So to honor his Luna, the Alpha had taken an existing ring from a happier time, and had the Mother symbol added later. A pre-Comet time, perhaps?

  Flint’s green eyes clouded. “Perhaps she died with an unborn pup, and he added it to a promise ring. Did you find it on a body?”

  “No, in a mangled metal box.”

  “A trinket, then. A memento.”

  Whatever this ring and rune were, Flint was as bewildered as I was. “But why have it marked with comet?”

  “It doesn’t sound like the original maker is the one who marked it. You said the comet had been blasted into the ring.”

  “But comet was original. The ring was charred,” I said, increasingly frustrated, “but mother wasn’t. It was added after comet.”

  “It was your vision, Gianna. I am not an Oracle.”

  “Yes, but you’ve got your Service inked onto your shoulder.”

  Flint favored me with a little grin. “Comet was little-used even a thousand years ago. I think it was treated as bad luck to even suggest the Comet, and most chose to use destruction instead. What’s the difference to a common man who is hungry when his fields are ash?”

  I tucked the paper into my pocket.

  “When will you two tell the pack?” Flint asked.

  “Why ask?” I couldn’t keep the sharp tone out of my voice. I hadn’t come down here to talk to him about Gabel and I, and I didn’t appreciate him shoving his snout into my business.

  “We’ve had this conversation.”

  “And I don’t see how it’s your business,” I snapped.

  “This is a poorly kept secret. Why are you so resistant? He seems comfortable enough.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “He was cruel to you in the beginning,” Flint agreed. “Baiting you with Gardenia was petty. The matter with Alpha Anders was too far.”

  “Baiting me with Gardenia. I do not care what he did with Gardenia—”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I snorted. “I don’t want to care, so I am determined to not care.”

  “I am not making excuses for what he did,” Flint said quite seriously, “but you should know Gabel has only ever tolerated Gardenia and her ambitions in this pack. She’s only here for Cook’s sake.”

  “You think it makes a difference what he did versus what he tried to convince me he did?” My throat tightened and felt thicker, and the Bond whimpered. “Baited me or actually did it, he just wanted to torment me. And that matter with Anders? He humiliated me to the whole, damn world. At the time I just knew him to be a disrespectful monster. Now I know he’s something else, and it just makes what he did back then much worse. It was all beneath him!”

  Flint wove his fingers together and his strong shoulders shifted forward, heavy with what I had just said. “You’re worried you can’t trust him. That you don’t know his true face. He’s shown you two different ones. Which one is the real one. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

  “It’s one of the problems.”

  “Gabel is no gentle soul,” Flint said. “Neither was Romero. Romero was weakness. A small, weak, petty excuse for a wolf, who saw violence as entertainment, not a tool. It’s easy to be that way. It’s intoxicating. It takes discipline to control all that into a weapon, and to understand the power it can be. The lump of steel versus the sword. A lump of steel will kill you, but it can also be a paperweight. A sword will kill you, its design and purpose is combat. It’s difficult to make a sword and easy to break one through carelessness, laziness, or just throwing it back into the fire to melt. A good sword will last generations and be an object of terror and respect. Most steel will never be a sword. Most swords will invariably be ruined. All that are used will require the occasional repair, some more repair than others depending on how badly handled they are, and how lazy the wielder is.”

  “And how do you repair a sword?” I asked warily.

  “There are many methods, but it usually involves a very hot forge and a very heavy hammer.” Flint got to his feet and escorted me to the door. “You know the fastest way to dull a pair of scissors, yes?”

  “No, I don’t. What is it? Rock?” Rock, paper, scissors, and all.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Cutting paper.”

  “Cutting paper?” I thought of how easily scissors minced through paper, even a long line of wrapping paper.

  He pulled the door open. “Good afternoon, Lady Gianna. I hope I was of some help.”

  Bog, River, Thicket

  “I want to help.”

  Gabel waved the papers clutched in his hands at the boxes and crates. It looked like preparation for a lawsuit or a criminal investigation. Several wolves helped sort through things. “Pick a box.”

  “No, I’m looking for something else.” I was on the hunt for MeatMan or MeatTaker’s scent.

  “What would that be?”

  I ignored him and shrugged off my cardigan.

  “Well, that is not the help I was expecting.” He tossed down the papers. “You’re not usually so aggressive, buttercup. I will hardly deny you if you—”

  Yikes!

  “I need to be in wolf-form!” I scurried up the stairs to the second floor of the office and pressed myself back into a little alcove between bookshelves. “Don’t look!”

  I felt how hard he had to fight to not charge up there and—

  But, I wanted him to look, or the Bond did, and—

  “Buttercup,” He growled from downstairs

  “Being naked isn’t always about sex,” I reminded him. “Remember what you told me about modesty.”

  I shimmied out of my clothing and into my wolf’s-fur in a matter of moments, then trotted back down the steps to the main floor.

  In this form Gabel was far more vivid, his scent telling me a thousand things about him. His usual, peculiar scent of ash and burning. Just little things, aside from the big thing of sexual provocation. The scent of scabbed blood from his shoulder, soap, shaving cream, his clothing, the laundry detergent, the faint scent of other wolves picked up from moving around the pack. All familiar and normal, just... I wasn’t used to his scent being so intimate and close.

  I spent the next two hours carefully sniffing every damn item in those boxes, but there was nothing. So I tried to imprint every unique wolf scent I picked up into my memory. Who knew? Perhaps I might brush up against a wolf in a place I wouldn�
��t expect to find them, and it would provide a clue.

  I was perilously close to breaking my vow of silence. Perilously. I needed to find MeatTaker or MeatMan, and then figure out how to put Gabel onto the scent.

  “What were you looking for, buttercup?” Gabel asked as I descended the stairs, dressed as a human again.

  “I don’t know. Something familiar, I guess. But it wasn’t there.”

  “There doesn’t appear to be anything here.” Gabel tossed aside a wad of papers. “Just ten years’ worth of electric bills.”

  The door to the office opened. Hix, another warrior wolf, and Donovan. The Hunter gave me a quick, sharp look, then a cunning smirk.

  “What have you brought, Hunter?” Gabel asked.

  “Word of the prey,” Donovan replied. “Followed the branded wolves just as you ordered. They tried to cover their tracks, but they’re not good at it. They headed straight for RedWater, but only the edge. They stopped at a bar and a RedWater showed up to send them on their way.”

  “Do you think they had a connection there?” I asked.

  “No, but I find it unusual the RedWater gave them safe passage and didn’t kill them. IronMoon is not very popular in RedWater right now. Not that we ever were.” He grinned.

  Gabel’s eyes narrowed. “And where did they go from there?”

  Donovan’s grin widened a notch. “IceMaw.”

  “IceMaw,” I blurted.

  Gabel stroked his chin. “Who did they meet there?”

  “Again, no one. The IceMaw showed up almost instantly, marched them to the eastern border, and told them to keep going.”

  The only things to the east of IceMaw were the other, small packs Gabel was currently annexing, like SpringHide. Alpha Aaron of IceMaw had, more or less, sent them home.

  Donovan shrugged. “The IceMaw Hunters are experts. I couldn’t follow the trail closely. I can pick them back up again if you like but figured this would be of interest to you. They were shuffled from RedWater and IceMaw, yes, but they were not wandering. They were knocking on doors they had expected would be opened to them.”