She looked around at her cowering, bloody, and in some cases, dead, packmates and then back to me. “I’m not telling you anything, deary. What are you going to do to an old woman anyway?”
“An old wizened crone who has lost all her wisdom is useless,” I growled, dark anger flowing forth from within me, seeping into my blood like a toxin. “I am your Luna, and you are a traitor. Your sagging skin isn’t armor.”
She chuckled at me. A delicate grandmotherly chuckle.
I smashed my fist into her face.
She fell backwards off her seat and tumbled in a heap into the snow. Blood poured out of her nose. Her rheumy eyes rolled around a bit, up at the sky, at the world, orienting herself as everything shifted.
The dark toxin in my veins didn’t let me flinch or look away. It pumped anger through my heart so I didn’t waver for a moment.
She floundered on the ground. Blood steamed and froze on her face and shirt. I bent down, grabbed the stool and righted it. “First Beta, do help the old marm back to her seat.”
Hix, playing the part of the gallant knight, gathered up the woman, murmuring deferences in Turkish, and half-helped, half-shoved her back onto her seat.
I waited while she pawed at her nose, remembering Gabel’s patience dealing with the wolves he questioned. The defeat needed to be in her mind and in the minds of those who looked on, realizing further resistance would meet with increasing punishment. They had to see that she had done it to herself, and I only reacted with as much force as needed, and only when provoked.
Who am I to think these things?
The IronMoon Luna.
You have been watching Gabel do this too long.
I am the IronMoon Luna.
You are an Oracle.
The Moon is cruel and angry. Gabel is proof of that.
I decided to focus on what I wanted to know most, and what was most likely to lead to Aaron’s name being mentioned. I knew who the MeatMan was, I knew who Marcus had been in bed with, but I needed to get someone else to say the name. “How did Marcus know about my arrival in GleamingFang?”
The crone seemed to consider the reality she might have to bow to me, which made her angry. Good. Anger didn’t piss me off so much. Don’t pat me on the head and tell me how adorable I am. I am your Luna, you are a traitor, and you need to realize that, you old bat.
She shifted a bit. I waited. Close now.
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
“You don’t know? Are you sure?” I leaned forward, eying her, trying to catch her scent, weigh if she was telling the truth.
“I don’t know,” she muttered.
“Who ordered my abduction?” I asked.
“Alpha Marcus.”
“Why?”
“Trophy hunting.” She pulled her lips back over her blood-washed teeth.
“To bring me back here? You know what Gabel would have done to this pack. All of you dead in the most painful and horrible ways you can imagine, starting with the pups,” I said. Someone needed to confess what had really been going on in Marcus’ inner circle.
Unfortunately all those wolves might already be dead.
“I was going somewhere,” I pressed. “Where? Because it wasn’t here. Marcus wasn’t that stupid.”
She stared at me.
My brain made another connection. “In IronMoon there was a revolt. I was supposed to be kidnapped. Where was I going? Someone wanted me somewhere other than IronMoon. Who?”
She kept staring.
Time to take a risk. A huge one. “Aaron of IceMaw claims he can smell my lure-scent through my Mark. That’s the name, isn’t it? That’s who Marcus was taking orders from, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah? How do you know that, Oracle?” the rabid she-bitch howled.
I had just explained it, but if she needed it spelled out for her, fine, so I didn’t have to deal with accusations I’d violated some vow. “Aaron was at Anders’ Solstice party and made it known on no uncertain terms that he wanted me for himself. He and Gabel came to blood. It’s not hard to put all this together. Unless Marcus was a complete idiot and thought he could hold me captive right under Gabel’s nose, in which case maybe this entire pack should be butchered for being stupid beyond redemption.”
I pressed the matron with a few more questions. She had been aware of the objectives, but not the methods, and she didn’t know the details. She also refused to admit that Aaron was involved at all. The more I pressed to try to get her to drop the name, the harder she fought back, with a sly, cruel smile in her eyes.
Marcus had kept the details of everything limited to his most trusted, highest-ranking wolves. They were all inconveniently dead.
Good job, Gabel.
This rabid she-bitch. The one who had called out my being an Oracle. I sidestepped over to her. She snapped at me. Hix was right that she didn’t seem to be a MarchMoon, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been some kind of acquisition or couch-surfer.
There had been something else in her tone when she addressed me as Oracle that nagged me. An accusation. If I was hearing that right it meant she knew about the petitioner wolf, and the MeatMan vision, and she’d tried to trick me into incriminating myself.
I liked her right away. Smart, fierce, tough, and clever. “Hix, I think she’s your type.”
“What?! No!” the she-bitch snapped.
“You could probably tame her.” I needed an excuse to study the she-wolf without looking like I was aware of her veiled accusation. Who had the Petitioner Wolf been to her? Brother? Lover? Thrall? Not mate. No chance of that. Speaking of which—where was the Petitioner Wolf? Was he dead?
Hix came forward, pulled the she-wolf up by her arms and pressed his face to her neck. The wolf shrieked and flailed, but bound and burning with silver could only sort of thump on him, which wasn’t going to stop Hix.
He dropped her back into the snow. “Not my type, Luna. Perhaps Eroth’s type.”
“Eroth has more than he can handle already, but Ana might enjoy the competition.” Eroth was Ana’s favorite (but not only) toy, and Eroth was more than willing to follow her around like an obedient puppy. That was the extent of things: Ana used him, Eroth delighted in being used. Ana would probably get some perverse amusement from having to share her toys.
The she-wolf growled and curled into the snow. The other MarchMoon females looked on like her antics were normal. Perhaps she’d come to MarchMoon as a potential mate but it hadn’t worked out, and she couldn’t go home, so she’d remained, gnawing away at prestige.
She should have come farther north. IronMoon would have welcomed her. There was a stripe of quality that ran through her, even with her jaws latched onto my ankle.
“I don’t trust her,” Gabel muttered under his breath. “A spy, perhaps.”
“For who?” I whispered back. “These wolves know her. She’s been here a while.”
“It doesn’t mean she isn’t a spy,” Gabel murmured.
Well, true.
Gabel told some of the IronMoon warriors to sniff her to see if she was a match for them, which caused her to screech and claw and snarl, and from the reactions of the MarchMoon, they felt no pity and weren’t surprised.
“Who is your birthpack?” Gabel asked her.
She tossed her matted, stringy braid over her shoulder and declared, proudly, “EmeraldPelt.”
EmeraldPelt lived beyond SableFur’s western border. The Luna was one of Luna Adrianna of SableFur’s sisters, although I couldn’t remember if she was older or younger, or what her name was.
“Why did you come to MarchMoon? You’re far, far from home,” Gabel prodded.
She growled in response.
Gabel dismissed her. “Search the house. We won’t find anything but we are here, so the attempt must be made.”
A Simple Pen
The exterior of the house was battered, but the interior was splinters, tatters, shards, and not much else.
“They cleaned this out.” Gabel tossed a
box of shredded documents aside.
“We did give him two days warning.” I nudged some folders with a toe. Frost clung to surfaces. I picked up a wad of shreds and sort of eyeballed them as best I could. “This just looks like utility bills and bank statements.”
“Marcus liked paper.” Gabel kicked aside more shreds. “Even I’ve heard of thumb drives. Unless someone made off with those.”
“What’s there to make off with? This isn’t some human cover-up, and if they were involved with human criminals, like we care.”
“I care, but your point is well taken. It’s not what we’re after.” Gabel tossed his coat onto the remains of a chair.
“What are you doing?”
His fingers stopped at the third button of his shirt. “Taking my clothes off?”
“Why?”
“So I can use my nose?” Gabel pulled off his shirt, started on his belt, stepped out of his shoes.
“I’m cold just looking at you.” I shivered at the way the frosty air hit my own skin. Gabel pulled off his socks, belt, and his jeans. Then went the boxers. “Damn, Gabel.”
He looked down at himself. “It’s cold, buttercup. No male is impressive in cold.”
“Leave it to you to make it about your cock,” I sighed.
Gabel chuckled as he melted into wolf-form. The frost clung to the oily patina on his leathery skin. He crunched across the debris, nose to the ground and sniffing everything with care. Spittle dripped from his lips, steaming in the air, and I swear it had an audible hiss like acid.
Gabel’s claws scratched on something. He sneezed dust out of his snout and a low growl summoned me.
A piece of something seemed squished between two other clumps of debris. I plucked it from its place. An ordinary pen. Gabel sniffed it carefully for a few long moments. His ears slicked back, and another growl rumbled in his throat. He shifted back into his human form.
“The SpringHide Alpha.”
I frowned. He said it like it was an accusation. “So? SpringHide was the pack next door. Their Alpha having been down here doesn’t mean anything. It’d be more interesting if he’d never been here.”
“Exactly. He wasn’t here. His scent is just on that pen.” Gabel shrugged his shirt back over his shoulders.
“Okay, then Marcus went to SpringHide and pocketed the pen. We know Marcus was a traitor, and the SpringHide Alpha expected something other than what he got. I’m not even sure what you’re looking for.”
Gabel plucked the pen from my hands and twitched it at me, then put it into the pocket of his shirt. “I’m looking for who the SpringHide Alpha was expecting. Do I have a SableFur infestation, or an IceMaw infestation, or both?”
“I don’t see how that pen brings you any closer to teasing it out.” My knuckles ached in the cold. I looked at my hand. I had punched an old woman in the face. I shook my hand, but the lingering ache didn’t get better, and the punishing cold cracked sharp pains through the joints.
Gabel’s attention was elsewhere, searching the ruined walls for clues.
Hugging myself didn’t help chase away the cold. “The SpringHide are dead. That pen doesn’t matter.”
“Everything matters.”
“Gabel, dammit—” My voice cracked, but I didn’t quite understand why.
“Everything, buttercup. Everything matters.”
Anyone eavesdropping would think I was trying to keep Gabel somewhat contained, or that I didn’t have faith in him, or I was weak. I was, in a way. I didn’t want Gabel going off rampaging across the countryside on instinct. By the Moon, that was stupid.
But how accurate was a comet’s impact anyway?
...how much was left of a comet when it impacted a celestial body...?
Not much.
Was there going to be anything left of me that I recognized when Gabel was done?
“So what are we going to do about the surviving MarchMoon? It’s winter, their leadership is dead, this place is in ruins,” I said once we got back into daylight. Gabel was already off and running towards his next kill, but his attention needed to remain here a few more minutes.
Gabel shrugged. “There is no MarchMoon. They are IronMoon now.”
I stopped walking. “And I get no say in this?”
“Did you want one?”
“Yes! This territory is a long way from our den. How do you intend to administer it?”
“The SableFur manage.”
“The SableFur have been SableFur for generations. They want to be SableFur.” The SableFur were proud to call themselves that. A network of highly placed wolves acted as advisors and regional overseers for Alpha Magnes and Luna Adrianna. Even if a rebellion brewed, it’d just be a coup, not an attempt to splinter the pack.
Gabel raised a brow. “There is always a first generation.”
I gripped his sleeve. “If you’re going to do things the way SableFur does, than who are you going to have here as your proxy? IronMoon isn’t flush with candidates for that job.”
“Hix.”
“He’s the First Beta. We need him in IronMoon, not down here.” That, and he clearly had some injuries that needed time and rest to heal.
“It will be good for me to have a set of eyes I trust here in the south,” Gabel countered.
Hix being down here might be very disruptive to whatever the southern holdings were trying to put together (if anything), but not having him in IronMoon’s heart would be a significant loss, and Eroth wasn’t qualified for the job. First Betas were replacements for Alphas, but Second Betas weren’t replacements for the First.
The old she-wolf’s nose had stopped bleeding, but she was matted with blood and snot. The rabid one braided and re-braided a few strands of hair. The surviving males kept their gaze pinned at the snow.
“Hix,” Gabel told him.
“Alpha.”
“You will remain here,” Gabel instructed. “The MarchMoon are no more, this is IronMoon now. When you identify wolves who can be trusted to manage things return to IronMoon’s heart. Until then I will need you to remain here and administrate this place.”
Hix’s dark eyes flew to me, then back to Gabel. His whole body stiffened and his spine jerked taunt. He almost protested but caught himself at the last moment. Gabel’s tone left no room for misunderstanding.
“Deal with them fairly, but as harshly as they require,” Gabel added.
Hix’s posture didn’t falter, but he wasn’t pleased, and neither was I. He glanced one more time at me, waiting for me to countermand Gabel, then said, “As you wish, Alpha.”
Gabel walked over to the elderly female. He hooked his finger under her chin, lifted her face so he could look at her. “Welcome to IronMoon. Obedience and loyalty are all that is expected. That is all I asked for, but it is not what I received. Remember that before you let another rebellion brew under your nose, Old Mother.”
“I was born a MarchMoon, and I will die a MarchMoon.” Her voice quavered.
“Then you have had ill-luck to live this long. I have cut off MarchMoon’s head, and all that has survived is these withered squirming bits too timid to look at me, or too weak and broken to do anything but bare toothless gums. Welcome to IronMoon, Old Mother,” Gabel said with a cruel smile.
The shred of fight still in her visibly fled, never to return.
“Come, buttercup. We have somewhere to be.”
“SpringHide!” I exclaimed.
“We are within a few hours.” Gabel’s attention was elsewhere.
“Who cares about SpringHide? You need to focus on other things, not digging around in the cordial relations of neighboring Alphas. I know the concept of two Alphas being able to talk in a civil fashion is foreign to you, but it can happen,” I snapped.
“Because we are here,” Gabel growled, “and I want to find those damn SaltPaw.”
“I don’t care about SaltPaw and neither should you!”
He was far away, distant and remote, cold like the winter air. It was snowing, lightly,
white flecks illuminated by the headlights.
We arrived at the eastern edge of the old SpringHide territory just before midnight. Gabel sent two of the wolves across the border into the old SaltPaw territory to scout for them.
“Gabel,” I said in the darkness. Snow powdered the shoulders of his long coat.
“Buttercup.”
“You know I shouldn’t be here.” I kept my voice low to match the night. “We shouldn’t be here.”
He looked at me as if he didn’t understand what I was saying, or didn’t care. Probably didn’t care.
I tried again. “SaltPaw and SpringHide are just the rabbits that got away. They aren’t important.”
“Are you asking if you should start calling me Ahab?”
I didn’t get the reference. “Ahab?”
“Moby Dick. The obsessed Captain chasing the whale that took his leg. Classic literature, buttercup.”
“I’ll put it on my reading list. Don’t change the subject.”
Gabel’s attention moved to the trees. I smelled the ocean, the faint scent of salt when the breeze blew just right. The SaltPaw were tiny and meaningless. No strategic value. Gabel had thought he’d devour them in one bite. That’s all this was about. His pride.
I rubbed my sore knuckles again. I didn’t want to be anywhere near Gabel’s conquests, punching old women in the face, growling and snarling and menacing and trying to beat the truth out of wolves who may or may not know anything useful. This couldn’t be leadership.
But was it conquest? Was it cementing a hold on territory? Was it all pieces of the same machine?
The King-Alphas of old were spoken of with a certain contempt. Admired for their greatness, but infamous for their brutality and constant fighting. Even the ones considered wise and fair rulers had also administered cruel justice, and there had rarely been any peace between the kingdoms. Any periods of stability had been flanked by periods of strife and bloodshed.
I hated that I had the stomach for this. It would have been easy to say Gabel had corrupted me, but I had seen worse in visions. The stomach for it had always been there.
Iron Oracle Page 3