Moth

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: BETWEEN WISDOM AND WOLVES

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

BETWEEN WISDOM AND WOLVES

As they rode on, Okado wanted to sing for glory, to brandish his sword, to shout until he was hoarse about courage and honor and their rise to might. Yet as the Chanku Clan continued along the plains, down to half their strength, he could not stop seeing the dead.

The heat of battle had stirred him; tiger fangs, enemy spears, and spraying blood were fuel to a warrior's flames. It was the silence after the battle that still pierced him. The riders who would never more sing. The wolves who lay on their sides, blood trickling from their silenced jaws. The eyes staring at him, still and glassy. Five thousand riders and five thousand wolves had fallen upon the plains--riders of the Chanku Pack, warriors of the Qaelin nation, proud Elorians of the dark half of the world.

Five thousand gone.

He looked at Suntai, who rode beside him, and saw the same ghosts in her eyes. In those large, indigo orbs they were still dying--so many of their brothers and sisters.

The remainder of their warriors rode behind them. Okado moved his wolf to press up against Suntai's. He spoke in a low voice for only her ears.

"Yorashi wanted us to travel south," he said. "He wanted to forget Pahmey and its glory. He wanted to seek a life of peace." His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. "Suntai . . . was I wrong to refuse him?"

She raised her chin, reached out, and clasped his arm. "You are our alpha now. You proved your strength. We will follow you."

Strength. What was strength when five thousand lay dead? When he returned to their crater, in victory or defeat, he would find children, elders, and parents all grieving for their fallen. How would his strength help them then?

He gritted his teeth.

"Yes, Suntai, I am strong."

He cursed himself for his moment of weakness. What kind of alpha spoke of mourning, of uncertainty, of cowardice? Okado would not hold his new title for long if the others knew his doubts. His new beta, the brutish Juro, would slay him, feed his heart to his wolf, and rule instead.

For we are the pack. All we know is strength. That strength will see us triumph . . . or die in the dark.

They traveled across the land, bloodied but still holding their heads high, until they saw the Inaro River, its water silver in the moonlight. Another mile and the city of Pahmey appeared in the distance, bright upon the northern riverbanks.

First its towers rose from the horizon, shining like crystals growing from a cave floor. Blue, green, and pale pink, they reached toward the sky, hands calling lost children home. The tallest among them held a glass dome; from this tower the Chanku ancestors had once ruled, and now the cruel elders reigned.

"Behold the light of Pahmey," Okado said softly. "Behold our home that was lost, our home that we will reclaim."

As the pack kept moving, the city kept rising, revealing a hill covered with houses, temples, and pagodas with tiers of tiled roofs. Another mile, and they could see the city walls . . . and for the second time since leaving the crater, Okado lost his breath.

He tugged the reins, halting his mount.

"Stars of the wolf," Suntai whispered at his side, coming to a stop beside him.

Okado stared, unable to breathe, unable to move.

We did not defeat the armies of sunlight, he realized. We only severed a single arm from a beast of endless tentacles.