by Asher North
When they were mere yards away from the shore, the Packless formed a single line along the stones that lined the beach. Fearful, Rhys passed his son to Damon. If they were going to be attacked, he didn't want the baby to be in the direct line of fire. Of course, if they were attacked, there would be no saving any of them, so maybe it wouldn't have done much good, but it made Rhys feel better anyway.
The boat came to a halt with a gentle thud against the rocks, and for a moment, everything around Rhys stood still. Even his heart seemed to have ceased beating. One wolf, much larger than the others, with cold gray eyes, fixed his gaze on Rhys and bared his fangs.
"We mean you no harm," Rhys said, his voice coming across much stronger and in control than he felt inside. He knew that at any moment the situation could unravel, and they would all be claimed as casualties in the process. He had to carefully measure his words before letting them come out of his mouth. One wrong turn of phrase could doom them all—if they weren't already doomed. Moments passed and none of the wolves answered Rhys, but thankfully they also hadn't moved. Rhys took that as a sign to continue.
"We’ve come from very far away and we’re sick and injured. We couldn't make a move against you if we wanted to. Like you, we were banished from Moonvalley," Rhys said and at that the larger wolf of the line took two steps forward, making Rhys withdraw.
"You are nothing like us, outsiders," the wolf said. He showed more of his fangs, which were long, broken in places, and as yellow as the moon itself. Now that he was closer, Rhys saw that the wolf was emaciated as well, as if he hadn't eaten in many moons. Most of the other wolves looked the same. That did not bode well for their chances. They had no food to offer, even if they wanted to, and he doubted that these wolves would have been prone to negotiate with them anyway.
"You may be right, we are not like you, at least not in very many ways," Rhys admitted. The pounding of his pulse in his ears drowned out every other sound.
"Then why are you here?" the wolf snapped. "No one comes to the Forsaken Isles unless they want something."
"I promise you, we didn’t come here of our own accord. There’s war on the mainland and it has consumed each pack. We fled for our lives," Rhys said.
"Then you fled to the wrong place. I don't know what you mainlanders have been told about Packless wolves, but you must know that we don’t take kindly to outsiders," the wolf said. His eyes had narrowed such that they were barely more than slits and Rhys moved further backward into the boat, as if that might save him.
"At least allow us to make our case before you decide our fate," Rhys said.
"You ask that as if we haven't already done so," the wolf said.
"What is your name? If you would sentence me to death, at least let me know my killer," Rhys said and the wolf chuckled.
"You are more brazen than any of the other wolves who have dared to come here, and that’s saying something," the wolf said. He turned and took a look down each side of the line of his wolves, as if he were asking their opinion. Not a single one of the wolves spoke up in favor or opposition.
"Brazen? No, desperate," Rhys admitted. He had nothing left to lose, so there was no point in lying. Their situation was the very definition of desperate; no wolf in their right mind would have come to the Forsaken Isles to beg for the assistance of the Packless. It was a suicide mission.
"Clearly. We haven't had visitors from the mainland in a very long time. I assume they would much rather forget about us given that we don't make them look very good," the wolf said.
"I think they misunderstand you and always have. If you would be gracious enough to allow us entrance, and allow us to explain ourselves, I think you’ll find that we are more similar to you than to our own pack brothers and sisters."
"Small chance of that," the wolf snapped.
"So instead you'll kill us where we sit, a group of wounded, defenseless wolves and a newborn child?" Rhys asked. He knew it was reckless but if there was even a small chance of success, it was worth the risk. The wolf let out a low growl and his eyes flashed in the light of the sun, which had risen behind Rhys while they spoke. Rhys hoped that was a good sign, an indication that something or someone in the heavens was watching over them all.
"Perhaps not right away," the wolf said.
"If not now, when? If I'm to die, I’d like to be able to prepare for it," Rhys said. He knew now that they were engaged in a delicate dance, a display of power and dominance. It was a dance that he knew well, one that his own father had tried to perform and failed.
"Do any of us know when we’re going to die?" the wolf asked.
"Some do. And I promise you this, if you don't allow us passage, your own death and that of every wolf on this island chain will not be far behind," Rhys said, daring to hold the gaze of the wolf who stood before him. Though his hands trembled in his lap, and his courage threatened to vacate him, he refused to look away from the wolf; to do so would have been to admit defeat.
"You think yourself strong enough to murder each and every one of us?" the wolf asked with a laugh, though the laugh rang more with nervousness than with confidence. Good, Rhys thought, I'm getting to him. This wolf had likely never had his authority challenged before, much less by an outsider, so he was already on the defensive. Rhys only needed to push him a little further to make his point and turn things in his favor.
"It’s not us who threaten you, it’s those who follow us," Rhys said.
"Rhys, what are you doing? This is folly," Damon whispered in his ear, but Rhys paid him no mind. He knew this was treacherous—it had been from the very beginning—but he also realized that the only way to solve the problem was to take risks. He’d learned a great many skills from his father, but risk taking was not something that Juno was adept in, and his refusal to take chances had put him in an early grave. Rhys refused to follow in those footsteps; his father’s failure was yet another lesson from which he could learn.
"Are you threatening us?" the wolf asked.
"No, it’s not a threat. It’s a promise. The wolves who follow us will not stop until they have murdered each and every one of us, and our very presence here has already tainted you and yours. They will kill all of you too when they arrive, and make no mistake, they are coming," Rhys said. It was true, all of it. Whether or not these Packless wolves decided to believe it was on their shoulders, but the truth was now out in the open. The wolf turned to his fellows, his gaze lingering on seemingly every one of them, searching their faces for any sort of advice. He's no leader, Rhys thought. If he were, then he would know better than to seek the advice of his fellows. True leaders don't ask for anything, they do what must be done.
"Bring them ashore," the wolf snapped at his fellows, and is if a whip had been cracked, several of them ran forward. A few shifted into their human forms, revealing pale and sickly men with twigs for arms and empty sacs for muscles. With great effort, they pulled the boat further ashore such that the sea would not be able to pull it back into its grip. Rhys dared to breathe a sigh of relief, despite knowing that things had not yet been settled. The dance would only get more complicated from here, but they had successfully completed the first act.
"Come with me, all of you. I won’t leave any of you behind to attack my wolves when we’re not paying attention. For all I know, this is an elaborate trap," the wolf said and then turned away from them, loping up the beach toward a steep incline. Climbing carefully out of the boat, Rhys took his son from Damon's hands and followed the gray-eyed wolf.
When they reached the top of the hill, Rhys looked down on an encampment in total chaos. There were no homes, no dens, nothing to resemble the life he had known on Moonvalley. Instead, there were ragged, stained cloths stretched tight between logs to serve as tents and unkempt fires blotting the snow. Wolves openly fought with each other and drew blood, though what they were fighting for Rhys couldn’t say. The land itself was barren, nothing but ice and stone, an environment in which not even potatoes could have grown. Small wonder
these wolves are malnourished, Rhys thought. He had known that the Packless wolves were impoverished but he would never have believed things were so desolate for these wolves if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
Part of him felt sympathetic toward the Packless because he knew that he could just as easily have ended up as one of them had he been born to a different family. In fact, even being born among one the major packs and their long-lasting houses, he might still have ended up here because he was so unlike his fellow wolves. Had it not been for his family’s willingness to accept him as he was, he might have been sent to this frozen wasteland himself to live out his days in misery.
Shame coursed through him for all of the problems he’d caused his parents over the years. He’d needlessly challenged nearly every one of their teachings and rules, all while they continued to provide for him and ensured his safety. He’d been selfish, he realized, a realization that made his face tingle with embarrassment. And yet, he’d also been given a chance to redeem himself with his own family, with Damon and their son—assuming that they made it through this alive—and he promised his parents’ memory that he would make things right for their sake, to repay them for what they’d given him.
As they crossed what seemed to be one of the largest of the Forsaken Isles, Rhys didn't need to look to know that every eye that they passed words on him and his friends. He held his son close, ready and willing at any second to defend him if need be. Damon followed closely behind him constantly keeping an eye on the two of them and through the bond that they had formed, Rhys knew that Damon would have done anything to protect the baby as well.
Though he was not happy to be here in this environment, he was grateful that he at least had Damon, Eleo, and Kaster with him. They had left Knox on the boat where he had passed. None of them were in their best shape physically, but it wouldn't have mattered if they were. If these wolves decided to set upon them, there would be no saving themselves. Even untrained and wild as they were, their numbers and strength greatly outmatched that of Rhys and his friends.
In the distance, one tent in particular seemed to rise above the rest in prominence. That must be this grey-eyed wolf’s quarters, he thought as he followed the wolf he assumed was the leader. For a space meant to accommodate a ruler, it was unremarkable at best and pathetic at worst. They reached the tent in a matter of minutes and gathered around a small fire, stoked by one of two other Packless wolves who seemed to be servants for the grey-eyed leader. Long, tense moments passed between them all, until at last the gray-eyed wolf cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on Rhys.
"You've made it further than any other wolf from the mainland in history," the wolf said.
"Thank you…?" Rhys started, not sure which title to use for this wolf.
"Cynno," the wolf finished. "My name is Cynno Nevermorn."
"Thank you, Cynno. Truly, thank you," Rhys said, and though it was strategic, still Rhys meant it. These wolves owed him less than nothing, and yet Cynno had still decided to allow them in. That showed a certain amount of willingness to barter, a willingness Rhys fully intended to capitalize on.
"There's no need for thanks. It wasn’t done out of kindness," Cynno said. "You said that you’re being followed, and that those who are following you mean to kill us all. I would hear what news you bring. Tell it true."
"It’s difficult to know where to begin."
"Start with what brought you here. As you said, you didn’t come of your own volition, so what spurred you?" Cynno asked.
"How familiar are you with the packs of Moonvalley?" Rhys asked. Cynno scoffed.
"Much more familiar than I'd like to be," he said.
"Then surely you know the havoc that the Black Claw pack has wrought throughout the ages," Rhys said.
"Havoc or justice, depends on whom you ask," Cynno said. "Some might say that the Black Claws have done more to restore order than to destroy it."
"I would ask you to tell that to the other packs of Moonvalley, but they've all been exterminated or taken over by the Black Claws. Would you call that justice?" Rhys asked. Cynno's eyes narrowed as he swallowed and Rhys could've sworn that fear appeared for a brief second there. He didn't assume that fear was something the Packless often felt.
"Exterminated? Why? The Black Claws have always been power-hungry, that much is true, but why would they want to kill other wolves?" Cynno asked.
"Why does any wolf kill another? For power, for control, for revenge," Rhys said. He turned to Damon, and searched his face for approval, though Damon seemed puzzled as to what Rhys was attempting to do. Rhys nodded down to the child that he held in his arms.
"This child is the product of members of two different packs, and we suspect is the primary one of several reasons we're being hunted," Rhys said to Cynno. "You see, this is Damon, my mate. He is a Black Claw himself, or at least he was once before. Now, just like me, and just like the rest of you, he has no pack. His own brother murdered their father and attempted to murder Damon as well for the sake of taking power and restoring the Black Claws to the status they think they are owed."
"And why should that concern any of us?" Cynno asked. Rhys had been waiting for that question.
"Because you’re next," he said, knowing it was true. If the Black Claws and the Silver Fangs under Sayer’s command were willing to attack and murder entire packs to try to get to Rhys, Damon, and their child, he had no doubt that they would kill the Packless as well. Likely, as far as they were concerned, it would be an added bonus.
"We've had word from the mainland of all of these battles and more," Cynno said, surprising Rhys. He didn't think they cared at all about the conflicts on the mainland but clearly he had been mistaken. Now that he thought more about it, it made a certain level of sense for them to be concerned because it always had the potential to spill over to them as well. "I’d hoped that most if not all of it was untrue, but now that you're here and echoing the same things we've heard, I fear I can no longer deny it."
"As I said when we arrived, we mean you no harm. We are no threat to you and your own. We only seek refuge, for as long as we may be able to take it, and we have nowhere else to go. The sea will only keep us safe for so long. All of us needs to prepare for the arrival of the other wolves," Rhys said. Suddenly, Knox and Lux could be heard in his mind. He remembered the words that they had each said to him, one in dreams and the other in wakefulness. The cryptic prophecy they’d recited made sense to Rhys in a flash of epiphany. The land and sea of which they spoke coming together was happening now right before his eyes. Rhys, Damon, and the rest of their party represented the land, and these wolves represented the sea. The only thing that would put an end to this needless bloodshed would be if the Packless pledged their numbers to Rhys's cause.
"You may not have meant harm, but it's harm you brought nonetheless," Cynno said. Rhys said nothing, staying silent because he knew that Cynno had the right of it. War would be coming to the Forsaken Isles soon, likely much sooner than any of them could prepare for, and many wolves would no doubt perish.
"I'm sorry. I never wanted any of this for any of us," Rhys said. "If you choose not to fight, I would understand. It's not your battle."
"That's where you're wrong," Cynno said. " This could be the chance we've always hoped for to retake what is rightfully ours. If these Black Claws are arrogant enough to meet us on our own ground, we may not ever get a better chance to beat them."
"You mean to fight?" Rhys asked, incredulous. Of course, he had hoped for this outcome, but he never dared believe that it would come to pass.
"I can’t make that decision alone. Unlike you mainland wolves, we are not ruled by any one wolf or group of wolves. Everything we do we do by consensus. I’ll have to consult with my fellows. While I do, you’re welcome to stay here and regroup," Cynno said. "I can’t say why I trust you, and it very well may be a mistake to do so, but here we are."
An audible sigh came from each one of Rhys's friends and the tension that seemed to s
tretch between them as tight as a wire disappeared in an instant. Once more, however fleetingly, they were safe. Against all the odds, Rhys had done it. He kissed his son on the head, making him coo, and smiled at Cynno as he walked away. The steel in his eyes had unmistakably softened.
Damon
Though Cynno had promised them safety among the Packless, Damon couldn’t shake the feeling that at any moment the temperament of the pack, if it could in fact be called a pack, would shift against them. Weak and famished as they were, they would stand no chance if even a few of the Packless wolves decided that they weren’t welcome.
Cynno had commanded his serving wolves to set up a temporary camp for their group. Reluctantly, the wolves had erected a small canopy of blankets and other assorted and mismatched cloths among driftwood harvested from the shore. There was a fire as well, but it was small and frail, much like Damon’s resolve.
He sat shoulder to shoulder with Rhys, who held their child, and kept an eye on each and every wolf that passed. In an abundance of caution, Eleo had sat behind them and silently watched those wolves that Damon couldn't see himself. Though he longed to relax and ease into this unsteady safety net that they’d fallen into, he couldn’t let his guard down. They’d come too far and been through too much to be careless now. It would only take one disgruntled wolf to turn everything upside down in an instant.