Moth

by Daniel Arenson

  My blood is lowborn, Okado thought. I am from Oshy, a humble village. But that blood burns with fire. It made me strong. It made me stronger than all in this pack.

  The other riders climbed the mountainside, coming to gather around him. Soon all ten thousand gazed at their distant home. The wolf constellation shone above, the only time of the year it crested the zenith of the night. The full moon blessed them. And their council began.

  Alpha Yorashi rode his wolf onto a towering boulder, a stone tongue that rose between the jaws of the mountaintop. He drew his katana and raised the blade. The moonlight shone against his scarred, leathery face.

  "Chanku Pack!" he shouted. "I am Yorashi, son of Juntey. I am alpha! Hear my howl."

  He tossed back his head and howled to the moon. His wolf answered the call, a deafening sound that pealed down the mountain. The entire clan shouted at the sky. Wolf fangs gleamed. Swords rose like a city of steel. The cries of the pack rolled across the landscape. It was a cry of honor, of courage, and of pain hammered into strength. Okado hoped that even in Pahmey, far upon the horizon, they heard the call . . . and feared it.

  This is the cry of our banishment, he thought, but also of our rebirth. This is the cry that will spell your doom, city of decadence.

  "This year our council is blessed," said Yorashi, sword still raised, his wolf upon the boulder. "We climbed the mountain with ten thousand warriors, the greatest our force has been."

  The army roared again, brandishing their weapons. Ten thousand helmets, shaped as wolf heads, gleamed in the night. Ten thousand true wolves howled beneath them.

  "We can let no crater contain us," said Yorashi. "We've grown too numerous, too strong. For too many years have we lived in exile, huddled in our den of stone. Too long have we fed upon dwindling meat, depending on hunts that can no longer sustain us."

  The warriors jeered. Okado snapped his teeth. Yorashi was speaking truth. The crater and the hunts had sustained the original exiles of Pahmey, but the pack had grown too large to live like this. They had grown too strong to cower in the darkness. He looked back toward the distant patch of light.

  "It is time," Okado said, "to claim what is ours."

  Yorashi's voice rose louder. "I, Alpha Yorashi, will lead you to glory! I will lead you to greater food—not only to meat, but to fish, to crab, to mushroom. The time to leave our crater has come!"

  Okado leaned forward upon his wolf, gripping his sword and dagger. He could already imagine the heat of battle, his blades slicing into the elders of Pahmey, those decadent usurpers. He could already imagine living in their palaces, surrounded by the spoils of war.

  "We will travel south!" cried Yorashi. "We will head toward the southern waters of Inaro, far from where the ships of Pahmey sail. We will grow mushrooms in the soft, wet soil. We will grow algae where moonlight hits water. We will fish in the river and we will grow plentiful. We will not have a mere crater in the rock, but a great civilization in the south. Chanku will rise!"

  Okado frowned. Warriors mumbled around him. A few cursed.

  Travel south? Okado gritted his teeth, scarcely believing his ears. Travel away from Pahmey? Become fishermen and farmers, the life he had fled?

  He glanced over at Suntai and saw the same shock on her face. She was gaping at Yorashi, clutching her weapons in shaking fists.

  With a grunt, Okado spurred his wolf. He rode toward the boulder and snapped his teeth up at Yorashi. Beneath him, his wolf bared his fangs.

  "You will have us become fishermen?" he cried up at his alpha. "You will have us grow mushrooms like farmers? We are the Chanku Pack! We are warriors. We do not fish. We do not farm. We hunt for our meat. We take our food with sword and fang, not net and basket." He snorted, breath steaming.

  Atop the boulder, Yorashi leaned down and glowered. His wolf, the scarred and shaggy beast Felsan, snarled down at Okado and snapped his teeth.

  "Hunting is a sport for small packs," he spat, disgust filling his voice. "You cannot support an army by hunting on the plains, playing games of glory suited for lesser tribes. The stonebeasts you hunt migrate here too rarely." Yorashi raised his voice to a shout. "I will not lead a mere pack of hunters. I will lead a nation!"

  Okado gave his wolf a quick jab of the heels. The beast reared and placed his paws against the boulder, growling up at the alpha.

  "You sound like an old, tired elder of Pahmey, not a warrior." Okado spat. "When is the last time you fought a battle, Yorashi, or joined us on a hunt? When did you last prove your strength? Only the strong may rule the Chanku. I deem you weak."

  Yorashi pointed his sword down at Okado; the blade nearly reached his eye. Okado stared up, daring not look away, flinch, or even blink.

  "I speak," the alpha said, "as a leader of a great nation. Not as a brute leading a simple hunt. Children of Chanku can hunt; men lead. I speak wisdom, not blind fury. I am no angry, rash youth, beta."

  Okado drew his own katana, swung it, and knocked his alpha's blade aside. Beneath their riders, the two wolves snapped at each other, the alpha wolf upon the boulder, the beta below and ready to climb.

  "Wisdom?" said Okado. "You speak as a tired old fool. We are warriors. You want mushrooms and fish instead of fresh red meat? Then we will fight for these prizes." He turned his head to address the crowd. "We will take them from Pahmey!"

  The pack's eyes gleamed with approval. Okado knew that he had them. These were hard warriors, thirsty for battle and glory. Even the slimmest, youngest woman among them was stronger than any soldier of Pahmey. They wanted war, and Okado knew they would follow him.

  Yorashi's wolf reared and clawed the air. Upon his back, Yorashi swung his blade, slicing the sky. His wolf dropped back to the boulder, his claws striking sparks against the rock.

  "Pahmey has high walls!" said Yorashi. "We have no siege engines. Pahmey has thick gates, and we have no battering ram. Pahmey has three warships patrolling the river; we have none."

  Okado barked a laugh. "So you are a coward. You fear the soft elders of Pahmey with their silks and powdered skin. But I am a true warrior. A true warrior does not fear a city fallen into decay. Our wolves can cross the river; they are strong and can swim fast against the current. The city gates?" He snorted. "We will tear through them like steel through leather. I am not afraid, Yorashi. Are you?"

  Behind him, Okado heard the others mumble their agreement. Voices rose, calling Okado's name. But Okado would not turn to face them, not even his mate. He kept his eyes locked on Yorashi, refusing to blink first.

  This old man ruled long enough, he thought. His time has ended.

  The alpha's mustache bristled, his eyes blazed, and saliva flew between his teeth. Finally the old fire of youth rekindled in him, and his muscles bulged as he gripped his sword.

  "You will not make this decision, boy. You joined this pack as a pup, and I groomed you, and I made you my beta, but you are still only a boy. You will obey me." He shouted at the warriors who covered the mountaintop. "We will travel sou—"

  "We will not!" Okado said. "I will not obey you. Neither will the warriors behind me. South? Fishing? Farming? No. That is not Chanku. That is not the way of the wolf. Pahmey is our birthright! You are right, Yorashi. We are many now. We are too many to live in a crater. We will storm the city walls!" His shouts rolled across the mountain. "We will reclaim our homeland! The elders will die upon our blades. Their hearts will feed our wolves. We will rule the crystal city again, as our forebears did."

  "Our forebears?" Yorashi spat down upon him; the glob hit Okado's wolf. "You are not one of us, pup. You are the son of a lowborn, filthy fisherman from a distant village. The pure blood of Chanku does not run through your veins. You are nothing. You are dust. Your blood stinks of crayfish."

  The crowd hushed.

  Okado stared, silent.

  Yorashi smirked.

  For years, nobody had dared speak of Okado's lowborn blood, not since he'd risen to the rank of beta. In the Chanku pack, strength and valor made a
man, not blood; the pack welcomed all those who could prove their honor. To spit upon Okado's blood was the basest insult. It was an insult that meant Yorashi was grasping for his last weapon. It was an insult Okado could not overlook.

  He stared at his master and spoke in a low voice, though he knew that all could hear him.

  "Yorashi. When I was a boy, running from my village, you took me in. You taught me strength, honor, and valor. You taught me that the world is hard, cold, and dark, that the night is endless and full of danger. You taught me that in the eternal shadow of Eloria, only strength can rule. You've treated me well, and for that I have served you, and for that I honor you." He raised his sword. "So I will live by your lessons—the truth that only strength can rule." He raised his voice. "Alpha Yorashi, by the ancient rites of our people, I challenge you to prove your strength. I challenge you to a battle of wolves."

  Yorashi stared down at him, and for a moment—just a few heartbeats—all hatred, anger, and bravado left his face. Sadness filled his eyes.

  He always knew this time would come, Okado thought. The alpha who lingers too long will always face this fight.

  Yorashi himself had made this challenge to the previous alpha, Suntai's father; he had won that battle and gained his title. Thus for hundreds of years had the alphas of Chanku risen, each ruler slaying the one before him.

  Yorashi looked down at Okado and spoke softly. "I've taught you well, Okado. But I will show you no mercy."

  Okado raised his blade. "I neither will accept nor give any."

  He tugged the reins and his wolf stepped back. Atop the boulder, Yorashi bellowed, spurred his mount, and leaped down with a swing of his sword.

  Okado's wolf reared, and he swung his own katana. The two wolves slammed together, and the blades clashed with a shower of sparks.

  The wolves broke apart, snapping their teeth, then crashed together again. Fangs bit and claws tore at flesh. Atop the beasts, the riders swung their blades again. Steel clashed and rang. All across the mountaintop, the other riders surrounded them, banging swords against shields. Their eyes swam around Okado as he fought, thousands of lights.

  The two wolves, alpha and beta, broke apart again. A groove ran down Refir's cheek, and blood matted his black fur. Yorashi's wolf too bled; blood dripped down his brown flanks. The two beasts circled each other, jaws wide and blood dripping.

  "Slay the enemy, Refir!" Okado shouted and dug his heels into the wolf.

  Refir leaped forward, claws lashing. His teeth sank into his enemy's shoulder. The brown wolf yowled, and atop his back, Yorashi swung his blade. Okado raised his shield, blocking the blow.

  "Your time has ended, old man," Okado said. The two riders moved closer together, leaning in their saddles, their faces but a foot apart. "Chanku will not cower. We will rise."

  They drew apart and the wolves lunged again.

  Beast slammed against beast.

  Blood splashed.

  "Slay him, Refir!"

  Beneath him, his mount—the great, powerful Refir, the second mightiest wolf in the pack—drove his fangs into his alpha's neck.

  The brown wolf mewled.

  The aging, scarred beast bucked and howled to the moon, then stumbled back upon his hind legs, almost a comical sight, as if the animal were imitating a drunken man.

  Then, with a thud that made the pack gasp, Yorashi fell from his wolf. The old ruler, burly and scarred and huffing, hit the ground.

  The crowd of riders whispered. To fall off one's wolf was the greatest shame for a warrior. Yorashi lay on the ground, eyes wide, hand still clutching his weapon. Bleeding, his wolf fled with his tail between his legs.

  Okado brought his wolf to stand above the fallen rider. Refir placed a claw upon Yorashi's chest, pinning the man down. Yorashi stared up, tightened his lips, and closed his eyes.

  "Do it," he said. "Make it quick. Tear out my throat and feed my heart to your wolf." Lying on the ground, he nodded. "I will have my blood flow within the veins of the pack."

  Refir growled down at the fallen man, his jaws dripping saliva, his eyes narrowed and red. With a grunt, Okado dismounted the beast. He grabbed Yorashi and tugged him to his feet.

  "Stand up," he said. "I will not have my wolf slay you. I will not have any doubt my strength." He stepped back and sliced the air. "We will face each other on equal footing."

  Their swords clashed again.

  They fought, moving in circles, blades whirring, alpha and beta, the two greatest warriors of their pack. Yorashi was aging, his face lined, his voice a rasp, but he still moved fast; he was still the greatest swordsman Okado had faced. The old man kept shuffling forward, slicing, parrying every attack, until his blade found Okado's arm and ripped off skin.

  The pain only fueled Okado's anger. He roared and lashed forward, swinging his blade again and again. The people shouted around them. Swords clanged against shields. Blood dripped down Okado's arm, and still he fought, moving faster, and soon he was no longer retreating but stepping forward, step by step, pushing the old man back.

  It was all Yorashi could do to parry. Finally, with a great cry to the night, Okado leaped into the air, and his sword slammed down with the might of falling stars. His blade drove through his enemy's shield, cleaving the steel, and severed Yorashi's forearm.

  Blood sprayed through the night. The arm and cloven shield tumbled through the air. Rather than clutch the stump, Yorashi raised his sword. He stared forward and hissed, blood spilling.

  The battle froze.

  Okado stood, facing his mutilated enemy.

  "Leave," he said.

  Yorashi spat and raised his sword higher. "You will have to kill me, boy. Fight me and slay me."

  "No." Okado shook his head. "I will not slay you as you slew my mate's parents. You've weakened, but once you were strong. Once you took me into your pack and you taught me to fight. I still have some honor, Yorashi, even if you've lost yours." He pointed his blade southward. "Go to the southern lands that you crave. Go and find your fish and your mushrooms. But go alone. You were a great warrior once. Leave without your arm . . . but with your pride."

  The crowd had fallen silent around them. Not a breath sounded, and even the nightwolves stared intently.

  Okado stood waiting, sword pointing south.

  I don't want to kill you, old man. But if you linger, I will. I will.

  Yorashi sheathed his sword. He grabbed his belt and pulled it free. Never removing his eyes from Okado, the old man wrapped his belt around his stump and squeezed. The flowing blood slowed to a trickle.

  The wounded man nodded once, then turned to leave.

  The pack parted, wolves and riders forming a path. Yorashi walked down the mountainside into the endless, cold night.

  Okado remained upon the mountaintop, standing still. All around, his pack stared up at him, silent. Still not a breath stirred.

  Finally one rider—a tall woman with one eye, the sides of her head shaven—broke the silence.

  "Alpha." She bowed her head and her wolf knelt beneath her.

  A second warrior, this one a bald, bare-chested man, spoke too.

  "Alpha."

  His wolf knelt beneath him, and the warrior lowered his head.

  "Alpha," said another.

  "Alpha."

  The word swept through the crowd. All the wolfriders, warriors of Chanku, bowed before the new ruler of the pack.

  Suntai looked upon him, his mate of years, the brave and noble woman who had hunted at his side, who had loved him through his storms of struggle and now his triumph. She sat tall upon her white wolf, and her eyes gleamed.

  "Alpha," she whispered and bowed her head.

  Before her wolf could kneel, Okado approached and held the beast's chin, keeping the animal standing. He climbed upon his own wolf, the shaggy Refir, and turned so his saddle pressed up against Suntai's. He looked upon his mate, reached out, and held her arm.

  "Alpha," he said to her.

  They turned together to
gaze upon their pack. The riders sprawled across the mountaintop, kneeling.

  I wish you could see me now, Father, Okado thought, his throat tight. I wish you were here, Koyee, my sister.

  He raised his bloodied blade and roared to his pack.

  "I am Okado! I am Alpha!"

  The mountain shook with a great howl. All roared to the sky.

  "Okado! Okado!"

  He shouted above them all. "I will lead you out of banishment! I will lead you to our homeland. We will take Pahmey. We are the night!"

  Their roars rolled across the land, and this time Okado was sure the distant patch of light heard . . . and feared them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY:

  FIRE IN THE DARK

  As Torin rode his horse into the dusk, his belly twisted and his throat tightened.

  "I never wanted this," he whispered. "I never wanted to fight, only to save Bailey . . . and now she too is here."

  Nobody could hear him over the roars of the army. Men shouted for blood. Drums beat and trumpets blared. Thousands of hooves beat against the dust, and thousands of boots thumped. They marched through the shadows, trampling the last blades of grass, and emerged into a barren land.

  No plants lived here in the eternal darkness. The moon shone overhead and the stars dotted the black sky. The rocky plains flowed into the horizon, rising into distant mountains. Only the river broke the blackness, a strand of silver in the moonlight. A few miles away, beneath the Nighttower, nestled the village. It looked no larger than Fairwool-by-Night, only a few huts and lanterns rising along the riverbank.

  For a few heartbeats, the soldiers of Timandra froze. Mumbles of awe rose among the troops. Men pointed at the stars. Some cursed, others laughed, while a few prayed. Horses whinnied. The soldiers stood still, daring not advance farther. Torin had entered this land thrice already, and still it chilled him. He shivered and had to look down, for the endless sky of lights seemed so large, so distant, that it spun his head.

  Ahead of the troops, King Ceranor raised his sword.

  "Men, light your torches!" he shouted. "Fear no darkness. We will light the night!"