Rayna scratched at the ground. “What will Bayne and the others do to the men that hurt Mada?”
“Make sure they don't hurt anyone else.”
“How? What if they hurt Bayne or Roxen? What if they come find us, too?”
“They won't. Your uncle will see to that, and even if they did, I’d protect you. Try not to think about it, Rayna. Let’s think of something else. Why don't I braid your hair? You look so pretty in braids.”
Rayna felt her aunt's hands tremble as they ran through her hair. Silver had twisted it into two braids by the time Bayne's howl wavered through the forest. They rose to their feet.
“We're over here, love.” Glossy trails of tears framed Silver's face.
As Bayne approached, a coppery, salty scent hit Rayna. Her aunt's nose twitched and her face fell. They could both smell the blood even before they saw it coating Bayne's hands, legs, and chest.
Rayna sprinted toward her uncle. “Bayne! Did they hurt you too? Is everyone okay? Can I see Mada now?”
His dark eyes caught Silver’s gaze. He shook his head, and she began to weep. Bayne knelt in front of Rayna, gently grasping her shoulders. “They didn't hurt me, dear one. It's ... the healers did everything they could, but we didn't get there in time. Rayna, I'm sorry. Your mother–she's gone.”
Chapter Two
Twelve years later
Rayna dashed through the southern forest, her pursuer a tail-length behind her. Ears pinned, she pushed herself as her muscles ignited in agonizing exhilaration. She was Fenearen and Fenearens were born to run.
Rayna! Slow down! the wolf barreling after her yowled. Rayna!
She whirled, shifting into her two-legged self. “Sorry, Channon. Got a little carried away.”
Channon formed human as well. He exaggerated his breathing even more, gripping her shoulder as if he needed help to remain standing. “A little carried away? Wolnor knows we can’t all be as fast as you, Ray.”
Rayna could not hide her smile. “Then again, maybe you’re just slow!” She formed again and sped past him.
“That’s it! You’re going to regret that!” Channon transformed into a golden wolf and raced after her.
Rayna’s paws flew over pine needles and dried leaves, propelling her deeper into the woods with Channon close behind. Autumn colors crowned the trees, and roots spread across the path like spider webs. Once they reached a glen framed by thick shrubs and shrouded with morning mist, Rayna slowed to a trot.
All right, all right. We’re supposed to be hunting, remember?
Oh, right. Channon searched the ground and air currents for signs of their prey.
Rayna tipped her muzzle toward deer tracks in the mud leading toward the nearby brook. Judging by the scent, they were fresh.
Channon cocked his head, examining the depth and size of the hoof-prints. A fully grown doe? Can we take her down?
No problem, if you can keep up. Rayna shoved his neck with her muzzle.
He returned the favor before starting toward the brook. Rayna trotted beside him, feeling content. She had been craving a good hunt.
Rayna and Channon crept up the hill that separated the glen from the brook below. Once they reached the top, they slunk low, melting into the underbrush. Rayna peered around a fern. Through the mist at least two dozen tail-lengths away, a doe dipped her snout into the stream and drank. She was alone, which was unusual for autumn, and would be on her guard. Channon tapped Rayna's side before creeping down the hill, heading downstream from the deer.
Rayna understood. They had been hunting together for many seasons and needed no words to strategize. He would approach the doe from behind, and when Rayna was ready, would startle the deer toward her.
Avoiding twigs or crunchy leaves, Rayna wended down the hill, heading upstream. The mists deepened as she approached the brook, hiding the deer from view, but she could still smell her and hear the water dripping from the doe's snout when she raised her head. Rayna crouched beside the cattails and waited. Heartbeats later, a snarl, splashing water, and desperate hoofbeats shattered the peaceful scene.
Rayna fought the rush of blood, the almost overpowering instinct to attack, and waited. When the hoofbeats were painfully loud, she jumped from her hiding place in front of their prey. The doe whirled in a panic, but it was too late. Rayna sprang forward, tearing into the back of the deer's neck. She brought the deer to the ground, and a final clasp of her jaws released the doe from her terror.
After they returned to the Southern Densite, Channon set the doe down by the tanning racks. Since Rayna and Channon had caught the deer, another would prepare it by skinning and tanning the hide, cutting the meat, and—since winter was on the way—salting some of it for later.
Channon stretched as he returned to his full height. Rayna’s gaze dropped to his muscles where they rippled beneath his shirt. She flushed. He had not always looked like this–lean with muscle and taller than most. Just the spring before he had been the reedy boy with whom she had grown up, all legs and arms. After spending the summer training with his cousins at the Northern Densite, he had returned stronger and a head taller, though his full cheeks, cornflower blue eyes, and blond hair curling beneath his ears had stayed the same.
Rayna had not been the only one to notice the changes, either. Most of the girls their age had never paid attention to Channon before, but suddenly there was always someone on the fringes of their conversations or hunts. Channon did not appear to notice. He was still the same Channon she had grown up with, though a new found maturity fortified their friendship.
Rayna's lips quirked as they headed toward the center of the Densite.
Channon glanced at Rayna, an eyebrow creeping upward. “What?” he asked, confusion in his voice.
Rayna realized she was still staring at him. A deep blush crept up her neck.
“Sorry.” She blinked. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” It was the truth. She'd had vivid dreams despite the sleeping tonic the Lead Healer, Thera, made for her. It usually worked. She had been taking it to control her nightmares ever since her mother had been killed, but of late, it had been losing its effectiveness.
As if he had read her mind, Channon said, “Maybe you should talk to Thera about strengthening your dose. She always said it was important you not have those dreams, right? Bad for focus and all?”
Rayna shrugged. “That’s what she said.” For some time now, Rayna had wondered if there were not more to it. The times the tonic had not resulted in dreamless sleep, Thera had seemed overly concerned when Rayna had relayed her dreams. It was a mystery she was just beginning to unravel. She couldn't understand the reasoning behind Thera's anxious questions, and the healer's concern disturbed her, though she hadn't mentioned her thoughts to anyone, even Channon.
“Anyway,” Rayna went on, “I don’t even remember what my dreams last night were about.”
Channon glanced at the sun’s position. “Listen, I have to go. I promised I'd help carve the beads for the ceremony.”
“Right, that’s tonight. I guess I'll see you there, then.” They'd spent almost every waking moment together since his return from the Northern Densite, but Rayna’s spirits sank with each goodbye. Channon hesitated, chewing his lower lip. After a moment he half-smiled and edged away, waving as he backed straight into a group of younger Fenearens. Rayna laughed as he dodged out of their way, turning scarlet and apologizing.
After he was gone, Rayna sought out her aunt to help prepare for the festival, too, rather than worry Thera with her dreams. The annual Autumn Beading Ceremony was the night anticipated by every young Fenearen who had learned to shift, because the entire pack would honor their accomplishment. Rayna had been the youngest honoree at her own, just five summers old. The ceremony had come not long after Mya's murder, and Rayna had dreaded the rite without her there. But Bayne and Silver had made the occasion bearable, even happy, despite her loss.
Forcing the memory from her mind, Rayna found Silver’s scent near the den he
r aunt shared with her uncle. She made her way through the site, glancing around at the bustling confusion around her.
Arranged in rings around a fire pit, hundreds of dens filled the site, each constructed of elk antlers, tree branches, leather, and furs, and surrounded with Fenearens preparing for the festival. Some wedged torches around the fire pit while others hung wreaths of autumn leaves on the entrances to their dens. Rayna's den was near the center, within eyesight of the largest den—her aunt and uncle's—now that they were the Southern Densite's Alpha and Alphena. Because this Densite had the largest population of the six Fenearen Densites, the Alphen of the Southern Densite held the highest position in all of Fenear. Since they had no children of their own, Rayna was Bayne and Silver’s heir, which carried no shortage of notoriety and expectation. Coupled with her father’s heroism during the Maenoren invasion seventeen winters before, and her mother’s own sacrifice, Rayna often wondered how she could ever live up to it all.
She slipped between dens, treading the sandy ground, when a group of boys her own age grinned at each other as she passed them. The boldest of them called after her, but she ignored him. Even though Rayna could bring down an animal three times her size on a hunt, she did not know the first thing about proper courting behavior. Nor did she care to learn. Channon was the only boy with whom she enjoyed spending time, though their relationship was different from courting. At least, it had been. Moments like the one that morning–when he'd caught her staring at the smooth cut of his muscles–were becoming more and more common.
It was foolish. Both she and Channon had to focus on more important matters. They were full-fledged hunters, but each still had to solidify their position in the pack. Hypothetical futures paled in contrast. Besides, as long as she had Channon, she did not care what form their relationship took. At least, that’s what she told herself when she overheard two girls, Kiera and Amarine, gossiping about the “giant doe Channon had taken down by himself.”
Silver sat cross-legged before her den with an array of sinew strands and leather straps in front of her. “Rayna, dear. There you are.” Silver looked up as Rayna sat beside her.
“May I help?” Rayna asked as her aunt sorted the sinew and leather for the wraps that would be braided into the honorees' hair that evening.
“I’m all right, but you could go help Thera. She’s watching the pups that are being honored tonight, and she said they're a little anxious.”
Perhaps she would tell Thera about her dreams after all. “Of course.” Rayna bounded toward the clearing where Thera, the Lead Healer and nursemaid, took her charges in the mornings. Lush grass carpeted the ground, interrupted in places by a curling ribbon of dittany frost flowers or a bunch of late aster. The fidgeting children were playing with more vigor than usual. Thera tried in vain to gather their attention.
“Hello, Thera.” Rayna embraced her former nursemaid as she crossed into the meadow.
“Rayna, I am so glad you came. I was just about to tell these little runts here a story.”
“Story?” A boy hurried over to them.
“Yes, Ryann.” Thera chuckled. Seven more children huddled around them in their human forms.
“I want to hear about the Sea Guardians!”
“Or of the white wolf!”
“No, the story of the last Sinclair princess. Please, I love that one!”
“We’ve heard all those a hundred times!” Ryann groaned and rolled onto his back.
“All right then, my little dears, how about we hear the story of the first wolves?”
Ryann jumped to his feet. “That’s my favorite!”
The other children cheered in ragged unison.
Thera cleared her throat. “Long ago in the Forgotten Age, long before Fenear, there were no wolves. The forests of Osterna had a dull tune, filled not with the songs of the wolf brothers and sisters, but with the bellows of deer.
“'We are the rulers of the forest!' the arrogant creatures cried. Great Lord Wolnor, Father of us all, had entrusted the deer with caring for the forest and its creatures, but they had become too proud and had taken all their gifts for granted, no longer looking after their kingdom. Wolnor didn’t know what to do. He had given the deer too much power and could no longer teach them humility, for they now fancied themselves gods. For a long time, the God and his other creations tolerated the hubris and cruelty of the deer. Until one day, Wolnor came up with a plan.
“'The deer failed as keepers. We overestimated the capacity of their souls, a grave mistake,' Wolnor said to the Four Wanderers, Alvo, Igar, Camila, and Fenear's founder Lumae, the demigods who made up his court. 'We must sire a new race to bring balance to the forest. We can no longer shelter our children. I have spoken with my brother, Razorn, and he agrees there is but one way to ensure peace. Sadly, we must allow our creations to die.'
“Wolnor was crushed to take away Osterna's immortality, but you see, pups, he knew it was the only solution.”
She paused. “Sometimes those with responsibility must make hard decisions in order to do what is right.” She eyed the children, allowing the words to sink in, before continuing. “Wolnor created the wolves using a drop of blood from every creature and a bead of sap from every tree, for the wolf is the forest’s spirit and its keeper. He gave them the courage and strength of a bear, the grace of a dove, and the wisdom of a great oak. But he also had to give them three curses–blood-lust, fear, and vengeance–to ensure balance and to appease his brother, Razorn, Lord of Shadows.
“Wolnor sent his new creatures to our plane of existence where the story unfolded. When the deer saw the wolves they presented themselves as the rulers of the forest kingdoms. 'Bow before us. We are the chosen ones! Bow or face the wrath of the gods!' But the scent of the deer filled the wolves' nostrils, and the blood-lust fell upon them. They felt great anger as they saw how the deer had ripped the forests to shreds to feed their gluttonous palettes, and they did not restrain themselves. This was vengeance, the second of the curses. They slaughtered half the deer and ate their flesh. Once the remaining devastated deer had fled, the wolves surveyed the destruction they’d wrought. They had tasted the blood of a forest brother, and were now cursed to live off their forest kin forever. They were terrified of what they’d brought about, and this was the final curse, fear.
“At the time they did not understand, but the wolf brothers and sisters had given the forest the most important gift of all: balance. There could no longer be life without death, or gain without sacrifice. Only the rigor of winter would lead to the rebirth of spring. From then on the first chosen ones, the deer, lived in terror, forgetting their hubris, but also themselves and their history, too. Each deer will live like this until the day it is reunited with Wolnor in the Great Forest of light and immortality where all is forgiven.”
Rayna had never liked the story of the first wolves, although she understood its lesson. It had always seemed unfair for the wolves to bear such horrible curses. Wolves with no human form, or True Wolves, lived among the Fenearens and had always been a part of Rayna's life. Like every Fenearen who had formed, she could communicate with them in the Wolven language without spoken words, and she had never met a vengeful, bloodthirsty, or fearful wolf. But the story had done what Thera must have hoped and captured the children's curiosity enough to distract them from their nerves, so Rayna could not complain. Between helping the children practice their vows for the ceremony and preventing any from wandering off, she did not have a chance to speak to Thera about her dreams. She did not want a stronger tonic anyway. What was so unhealthy about dreaming, especially if she could not even remember her dreams?
Rayna sat beside the roaring fire pit, awaiting the night's events. Bayne and Silver were to her left, and to her right was Thera with her son, Roxen, who was the Beta, or second-in-command behind the Alpha pair. The human-formed honorees fidgeted on the opposite side of the fire atop a flattened boulder.
Once the pack had assembled, Bayne, Silver, and Roxen stood. As Roxen
rose, the woman sitting next to him, Haerian, smiled, pursing her full red lips and tossing her black hair. Roxen paid her no attention. He followed the Alphen to the stage, ruffling Rayna's hair in his brotherly way. She jabbed her fist lightly against his shin.
An endless stream of hopefuls angled for Roxen's affections, yet none of them engaged him for long. Some pack members whispered this was because he relished the attention of multiple companions, but Rayna knew the truth. He would never let romance distract him from his duty unless he found someone he loved.
Bayne swept an approving gaze over the honorees before turning to the rest of the pack. “It’s always a joyous time when we’re able to honor our newest two-natured members of the pack. Let us take a moment to reflect on the gift we have been given. Millennia ago, when Wolnor charged the Four Wanderers to find the greatest power in each of the directions to bestow upon their tribe, our founder Lumae scoured the north for the strongest, most unstoppable force she could find. When she gazed upon the enduring, indomitable wolf, she knew she had found it. By her grace, our northern ancestors were blessed with the gift of our second form. Today, our children share in this ancient birthright. They have mastered the art of shifting, honoring Lumae's legacy with their hard work and determination to succeed. Let us welcome them to the Greater Pack of Fenearens and True Wolves.”
Rayna howled and clapped with the rest of the pack, but a dark shadow of unease spiraled inside her. Silver’s smile was forced and Roxen's gaze had settled on his own boots. Rayna glanced at Bayne, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. He clasped each honoree on the shoulder, congratulating them. Each child had received their first bead for their hair wraps and then had formed and trotted to the other side of the fire. Was he not aware of Silver and Roxen's discomfort? Or perhaps he was not concerned?
As the last giddy child formed and left the platform, the rest of the pack shifted as well. Bayne raised his muzzle to the sky and began a song of celebration. Other males matched his rich baritone before the she-wolves and finally the pups joined the song. Each member’s notes slid into their octave. Like the wolves of a pack, each tone had its place and moment. From the forest, more howls harmonized with theirs as the True Wolves sent their congratulations to the Fenearens.
Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1) Page 2