“I don’t want to.” Indigo dug in deeper, tightening her arms.
“You must. Be the wind that shapes Alvareth, not the grass trodden underfoot.” She heard her mother’s voice in her ear but realized she couldn’t feel her anymore. She was holding nothing but the mantle, its fabric stained in blood.
“Wake up, little Indigo. Find the omatje.”
* * *
Snap.
Indigo resisted the urge to rush up and bolt. She forced her eyes to remain closed, to let her nose and ears do the work for her.
Judging by the light seeping through her lids, it was close to noon. Despite her exhaustion after little sleep during their hunt for the wolves, and then spending all morning digging the grave, she had said the customary prayers over the mound. Then she had decided to shut her eyes—only for a few moments—before she set off to join her sisters.
Snap.
She could smell it now, the clear, overpowering musk of wolf. Her heart set off like a panicked bird, and she felt as she did at the Run: trapped. She knew her best defense was to stay still. Although she’d been foolish enough to fall into a deep sleep, she’d been cautious enough to hide herself in a nearby thicket under her brown cloak so that she blended into her surroundings.
She cracked one eye open and peered through the tangle of branches. A set of wide paws, nails chipped and discolored, were visible just at the edge of the freshly turned earth. A snout came into view as the wolf—it was definitely a wolf—sniffed deeply at the grave and pawed at the dirt.
Indigo’s fear dissolved into anger. She hadn’t labored all morning to have one of these unliving monsters come and dig up the body. Though the smart thing would have been to quietly back out of her hiding place—for she had the advantage of being downwind, but that could change—she couldn’t let this wolf desecrate the new grave. Her paw strayed to the scabbard next to her and she touched the reassuring bulk of her sword. She could have it free within a breath, steal from the thicket in two or three if she was slow. After that, she’d have to decide between nicking a tendon or sinking the weapon somewhere more vital.
She inhaled and drew her sword. She slid, silent, until she was in the open, just behind the newcomer, whose snout still probed the fresh earth. She pushed herself to her feet and rushed the wolf with sword raised.
She realized in the blink it took her to cross the space that she had misjudged. Focused on staying silent, she had failed to notice the shift in the wind. In the time it took to draw her sword and get to her feet, the wind had veered, sending her scent directly to the wolf. She realized it in the way he—for it was a he, and an alpha at that—turned towards her, expectant and ready.
So fast that she barely saw him move, the wolf was on her. She had no chance to bring her sword into play before he knocked her to the ground, pinning her with his wide grey paws and baring his yellowed fangs in her face. She lay on her back, rigid with fear, ribs screaming under the monster’s weight.
So this is what death looks like. She forced herself to look it in the eyes.
“You are far from home, rabbit.”
She blinked, her terror momentarily replaced by confusion.
“Get gone, child,” the wolf growled. “Before what happened to her happens to you.”
He backed off, but his eyes never left her. Indigo sat up, rubbing her bruised arms.
“Are you a Blackmoon?”
A look of sadness creased his face. She noticed the loose skin around his ribs, the gauntness of his muzzle. He had missed many meals. Unusual for spring.
“I’m the Blackmoon, rabbit.” He motioned at her sword. “Take it. But use it on me and I will send you to Aktu.”
She stood, making no move towards her weapon. “What do you mean, you’re ‘the’ Blackmoon?”
He gave her a cold, predatory smile. “I’m the only wolf of Blackmoon left. The others.…” His eyes wandered towards the grave, and she didn’t need him to complete the sentence.
“How?”
The wolf glared at her, bitter. “What does it matter? They’re gone. Might as well be dead. They’d be better dead, truth be told.”
Indigo cautiously picked up her sword and sheathed it. “If the Pacification is coming north, we need to know.”
The wolf sat, studying her for a moment. “You’re a royal.”
“I thought that’s why you didn’t eat me.”
He flashed her a bitter grin. “I’ve been surrounded by the Pacified for so long, it’s nice to see someone who speaks. Even if that someone is usually food.”
An idea struck her. “Then help save others like us,” she said.
The wolf’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
Chapter 5
As she expected, she met a great deal of resistance.
A Blackmoon wolf hadn’t been received by the queendoms in anyone’s living memory, and Indigo had to plead her case with Kalmara for hours. Kuno, whose petition to the queendoms to support the Order had met a lukewarm reception, stayed quiet. There was little he could say, he argued, that would be as convincing as the wolf’s words. In the end, Indigo’s father persuaded the regent, appealing to his wife’s pride. She would be famous, he said, for being the leader who met with a wolf.
And not just any wolf, Indigo discovered. Only when the outsider and the regent had stepped into the specially made Peace Ring and exchanged formal names did Indigo realize the wolf was Argasar, the Blackmoon’s High Alpha.
“Indigo tells me you lost your entire pack,” the queen regent said. “My condolences.”
“Lost is a polite term,” Argasar growled. “They are worse than dead. Your princess here buried my mate, Bakha.”
Guilt coursed through Indigo. She had lamed the Alpha female during the run, which had led to her being attacked by her own kind. Did Argasar know this? If so, he gave no indication.
“So it is the Urzok’s Pacification?”
The wolf nodded, his tail limp and defeated. “Get north, while you still can. They eat your kind.”
“So do you,” Kalmara retorted.
The wolf barked a mirthless laugh. “Not like this. They breed and raise your kind in cages and then slaughter them in the thousands for skins and meat.”
Indigo’s insides grew cold. The thousands? That was half the queendom.
“Those are rumors only,” her aunt said, but she sounded unsure.
“I’ve seen it,” the wolf snapped. “How do you think my pack was Pacified? One of ours thought it would be an easy meal, to steal into these breeding farms and make away with a rabbit. I was against it. I didn’t care that it was winter, that the herds had been steadily disappearing. We wouldn’t touch Urzok territory. But my son persuaded the pack to join him, and my mate couldn’t bear to lose him. So they went without my knowledge or blessing.” The wolf’s voice held not only anger and regret but, most of all, sorrow. “I followed. But was too late. They’re not the same.”
Indigo never thought she’d feel such pity for a wolf. Cold loneliness radiated from him like winter sunlight off snow. A wolf without a pack was simply a wild dog. No clan, no kin, no purpose. There was no cure for Pacification. It was what everyone feared most about the Urzoks and their expanding empire: their ability to rob other beings of speech, of identity. Indigo still couldn’t believe that the wolves of Blackmoon were no more. She suddenly realized the significance of there being no more Runs, no more initiates. It was as though a part of Alvareth culture and identity had died with the Blackmoons.
“…to do what you suggest,” Kalmara was saying. “These are our lands, we should just abandon them?”
“This is my land, too,” Argasar growled. “And I led the entire Blackmoon packs. Our families have hunted here for generations. But if I could make those decisions again, I would head north and save my kind. Save my mate, my sons.” He turned to leave. “You have that chance—do not waste it.”
“Where will you go?” Indigo asked.
His answer sent her heart pounding. �
�I will pray to Aktu, then head for Mount Mahkah to join the Order.” A hard, angry look settled on his features. “Unlike you, I have nothing left to lose.”
* * *
Feeling upset always led her to the same place.
Indigo entered the training yard, a patch of flattened grass northwest of the main warrens where the royals honed their fighting skills. Whenever her mind felt scattered, she could always rely on sword movements to calm and center her. Strange, she thought now, that it had been Kalmara who had first shown her how sword play could soothe as well as stimulate the mind. Was there a distinct moment where their relationship had started to sour? Or had it been a gradual erosion, their opposing natures grating more and more with the years? Everything had changed once her mother and Azel died.
She chose a practice blade from the wooden rack, its face scarred from numerous sessions, and began thrusting and hacking at one of the straw targets propped in a corner. It felt good to focus her anger, to have an enemy to shred. Soon she was sweating in the afternoon warmth, her arm burning from the exertion.
She didn’t know what her aunt would decide, but surely the queendoms couldn’t stay, not with Argasar’s story of what had happened to the Blackmoons. Indigo thrust with even greater frustration at the thought that her aunt had, as always, disregarded her opinion. Kalmara would never fight. The most she would do would be to flee north, possibly invade other territories rather than defend her own. Indigo felt a rush of bitterness. It wasn’t even Kalmara’s decision to make, as she should rightfully be queen.
“I guess there’s some truth to the rumors. You can hold a sword.”
She didn’t bother to glance back. Kuno’s considerable frame cast most of the training yard in shadow.
“Did you mean it? About my being chosen to join the Order?”
The bear moved to a cistern of water in one corner and buried his muzzle for a deep drink. He raised his dribbling face and wiped it dry with one furry arm. “What do you think?”
“I wonder whether the Order only wanted me for my queendom.”
Kuno began examining the practice blades, testing some of them with one paw. “It’s a pity if we can’t have Alvareth behind the Order. But no, the main reason I came was for you, Princess. The head of the Order named you.”
Indigo stopped in mid stab. She had heard much of the Order’s controversial leader, as many had. “Is it true he’s a—”
Kuno nodded. “Yes. It’s true. But even so, I’d trust him with my life. You can, too.” He caught her looking at the scars that marked his body: some minor, others evidence of having grazed death. “Mankahar is in the midst of dark times.”
“So is Alvareth.” Indigo shook her head. “Would you ever believe we were once a queendom of fierce warriors?”
“Borla told me the law,” the bear said, stepping closer. “There’s no rule to say how long a regent can deny you the throne.”
“What are you saying?”
“That unless you have the support of the whole of Alvareth, Kalmara may never make you queen.”
“My father wouldn’t allow that,” Indigo argued. “Besides, Alvareth would support me.”
The bear shook his head. “Maybe in spirit. But her hold on those with power is strong as gout on old bones. You’d be hard pressed to contest her now.”
Indigo knew he was right. All these years she’d spent training at the sword, hoping the Order would accept her, while her aunt had been tightening her grip on Alvareth. She had been strengthening her own meager fighting arm while Kalmara had been strengthening her entire political base. She berated herself for being so blind.
“Perhaps I am not suited to be queen,” she said bitterly.
The bear shook his head. “You’re suited. But you may have to prove it to Alvareth.”
Just then Borla hurried over, tense. “The queendoms have decided on your initiation.”
Indigo refused to be rushed, gathering her thoughts as she carefully wiped down and replaced her blade. She then followed Borla through the maze of residential warrens to the sacred smoke house of the Holy One.
Every queendom had a sacred warren where important matters were weighed, chewed over, and decided. Alvareth’s was the largest of all the queendoms, and its priest was one of the most respected.
Indigo turned to Kuno. “I’m sorry, but—”
“I know. Outsiders can’t enter,” the bear said. “I will wait for news here.”
Indigo drew a deep breath and nodded to Borla, who opened the warren flap and followed her in.
The heady, musty tang of jairun weed greeted her, seeping into her fur. Only the most momentous decisions required the use of jairun, a rare plant from the south capable of generating powerful dreams. Judging from the haze, Indigo guessed the pipe had been passed around at least twice. Her head reeled even without having partaken.
The seven queens were ranged around the central hearth where stones to heat the jairun sat atop smoldering embers. Indigo could make out her aunt at the northern end, with three queens on either side. The Holy One, a blade-thin wisp of a rabbit whose tattoos had faded over the years, sat near the hearth, pinching pieces of jairun into a pot nestled in the stones.
“Be seated,” Kalmara said once Indigo had clapped her paws in greeting towards each of the queens. She obeyed, though cautiously, trying to keep her head from reeling.
“The other queens and I have spoken and agree that the Spring Runs are to be suspended for the time being. We have therefore devised a new initiation rite for those who ran this year.”
Indigo tried to keep her face impassive. Here it comes.
“Those who ran shall be tested by Uldana, our royal sword instructor. She will have say over who displays skill enough to be initiated.”
Indigo held her breath, confused. That was it? Uldana was a respected sword swinger, and had taught all the royals, but to simply have to display skill—it was almost too easy.
“If I pass I shall then come of age and inherit the queendom?” Indigo asked.
The queens looked at each other. Horjanna, a dark jet rabbit whose ears and paws were riddled with white, answered. “A crown princess’s initiation should be special, and not like the others.”
Indigo’s jaw tightened. This was not Alvareth custom, but something her aunt had probably persuaded the queens to support. “No disrespect, but is it not traditional for crown princesses to be tested in the same way as everyone else? To show we do not put ourselves above others?”
“But a crown princess is above others,” Kalmara said. “This is a chance to show you’re not like everyone else, but unique. Powerful. A true warrior queen.” Indigo sensed the hint of mockery. “You have been training hard at the sword. Some even say you are the best. Therefore, to earn your initiate’s tattoos you must win against Alvareth’s top sword wielder.”
Indigo flushed as if slapped.
Borla stiffened. “You would fight your own niece?”
“I would fight those who may not place Alvareth’s interests above their own,” the regent replied, cool. She turned back to Indigo. “As Queen Regent I am formally challenging your right to the Alvareth throne, to be determined by sword combat.”
Indigo tried not to suffocate on the jairun smoke, now pressing in on her like a shroud. Her world was making no sense. She felt as if invisible shackles had clamped onto her, and she didn’t know how to escape. She didn’t even know how to answer.
“I’m doing what’s best for Alvareth,” Kalmara continued. “You’ve been chosen by the Order, which is a great honor. But someone must look after the queendom while you are gone.”
“My becoming queen and my joining the Order do not affect one another!” It took all of Indigo’s self-control to keep her voice even.
“It does if you intend to take Alvareth to war,” Horjanna said.
And suddenly it all fell into place, as if a blindfold had been ripped from Indigo’s eyes.
Kalmara had preyed on the other queens’ fear o
f war, painting her niece as the hot-blooded, inexperienced princess who would embroil them all in the Order’s battle against the Urzoks. Better to send her off to the Order and let Kalmara remain in power. Borla—wise, politically astute Borla—would have seen this coming. But not Indigo. Never before had she so envied her sister’s ability to untangle Alvareth’s political web, which to her remained so opaque. She remembered her outburst when Kuno had first arrived, saying he would have her allegiance once she was queen. What a fool, to have shown her intent too publicly, too early!
“Since Kuno wishes to leave as soon as possible,” Kalmara said, “I think it best to have the test tomorrow. Unless you object.”
Tomorrow. That gave her little chance to prepare. Yet asking for more time would, Indigo knew, be an admission of weakness.
“And if I lose?” Indigo asked. The words stuck in her throat, but she had to find out how far the other queens had turned against her. Kalmara cast a glance at Horjanna.
The old queen’s gaze was gentle, but unapologetic. “Then we will support Kalmara as Alvareth’s permanent queen, to rule until the end of her natural life.”
Chapter 6
“Indigo! Wait!”
She didn’t slow. Her feet moved of their own accord, fueled by fury and blistered pride. By the time her sisters and Kuno caught up with her, she had managed to wrestle her features into a stoic mask worthy of royalty. But none of them were fooled.
“You’re right to be angry,” the bear said. “But sulking won’t win the queendom.”
“Defeat Kalmara? Who has ever defeated the Bird? She means to keep the throne and humiliate me as well.”
“She does have the other queens on her side. They are frightened of going to war,” Borla explained.
Indigo made a face. “And to think, we’ve always been some of the fiercest warriors on the steppes.”
“Alvareth has changed much in the years I’ve been gone,” Kuno said. “I’d never have thought the queendoms would resist a just cause.”
“You’re forgetting your one advantage,” Borla cut in. “If you do best Kalmara, you’ll win the respect of all the queendoms in one stroke. You’ll be untouchable. She’s counting on you to fail, which is why she insisted she be named permanent queen if you lose. You have to fight, Indigo. And you have to win. An uninitiated rabbit cannot take the throne.”
The Queen and the Dagger (A Book of Theo novella) Page 4