Interlude: Unknown Rising

The splint guttered in the darkness as the flame fought for life. A gentle paw sheltered it from the world and introduced flame to wick. With a crackle, the tallow candle sputtered and began to glow.

Ramoa blew out the splint, and raised her eyes to her mate's. Laryn ignored the bright flame of the candle; his gaze was focused on Ramoa's yellow eyes. His ears twitched back against his skull as he bared his teeth in the onset of a snarl. Then with a growl he turned and stormed out of the hut.

The Lupani closed her eyes. "Great Mother," she whispered to the air. "Please, guide my daughter's feet in her journeys. Watch over Ralya and her child. Protect them with your love." The sound of an axe splitting firewood outside made her ears tremble. His temper. His anger... "Please speak to my mate's soul. Let him forgive our daughter for what she has done. Let him forgive the Acini for leading her astray." Ramoa opened her eyes and watched the candle flicker. "Great Mother, give me the strength to love them both."

She finished her devotions and carried the candle outside, shielding the flame with her paw. Laryn paused in his work as she walked past him towards the village altar, but she did not look towards him.

The wind was brisk and chilly, and had prevented Ramoa from performing her prayers outside. She walked carefully, protecting the flame with her body even at the risk of singing her clothing. A light frost covered the ground, crunching beneath her paws. The King's weather mage kept predicting that the weather would break, but winter continued to hang on.

Ramoa opened the intricately designed enclosure in the metal and glass altar and set the candle inside. Several other prayer candles burned inside, sending wishes and hopes to the Moon. She reverently closed the door, and looked up to the sky.

The Moon danced with wispy clouds, swirling her way through the night sky to her rest. She was waking, waxing. A gust of wind blew leaves against Ramoa's feet, and she bundled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Hear my prayer," she said quietly. Her throat tightened as she fought back tears, and she knew that she would not be able to sing tonight.

Besides, Laryn was waiting.

When she returned to the hut, he had stoked the night hearth into a warm glow against the bitter cold outside. As they prepared their bed for the night, he said nothing. She knew better than to speak to him when he was upset, so she rolled over and tried to sleep.

Ramoa was just dozing off, lulled by the keening wind, when Laryn spoke. "You have so much more faith than I do," he said quietly.

She turned towards him. In the pale light of the hearth he was only a dark shadow. Placing a paw on his chest, she murmured, "You need to forgive."

He exhaled with a shudder. "I can't. I've tried." Sitting up suddenly, he held his head between his paws. "Don't you think I've tried? She was our daughter."

"She still is," Ramoa said softly.

"No!" The darkness hid the expression on his face, but she could smell the sharp anger in his blood. "No daughter of mine would betray her pack in that way. No daughter of mine would abandon her family for a band of thieving, murderous savages."

It was an old argument, and it was late. She was tired. Reminding Laryn that he had driven Ralya away would only enrage him further. Instead she sighed, "Sleep, love. Think on it tomorrow."

After a few moments, Laryn lay back again and allowed Ramoa to curl up against him. The windsong was soothing, but it was a long time before either of them slept.

"Hai! Hai!"

Ramoa paused in her scrubbing to watch the horse and rider gallop past to the village center. Her ears perked with curiosity as she saw the royal crest on the human's cloak. She stood and dried her paws on her apron as Laryn joined her outside.

"What would a royal messenger be doing here?" she asked him.

Laryn grunted. "Let's go see what he wants."

A small crowd had already gathered around the alpha's hut by the time Ramoa and Laryn reached it. "Greetings," said Pomir, the village alpha. "We don't get many visitors this far off the trade roads, but we are loyal to His Majesty and his servants."

“Valued leader, I carry a message from His Majesty, King Donovan the Third,” the courier said in Basic. He took a message scroll from somewhere in his cloak, and opened it. The villagers gathered around fell silent as he began to read.

“Six days ago, in the lower canyons of the Trillton Wood, two citizens were killed by the barbarian Acini. Simir of Bell Downs and Matthew Targa were both admirable and noble men, loved of their families and mourned by their friends. They were found dead with their throats slit by Acini claws.”

The courier waited for the murmurs to die down before continuing. “This attack was not the first, and the danger that the Acini present to the good folk has always been a high concern to the Council and to the King. The Provincial Lord, his Excellence Sir Quentin, has appealed to the King for help.

"In defense of His sovereign lands, His Majesty has ordered all males capable of fighting to report for duty in the Royal Army. The Acini threat must be stopped at all costs in order to safeguard the future of our families."

A shout came from the crowd, followed by others. "What about our fields?" "Who will go out in the fishing boats?" "Who will protect our families while we are gone?"

The messenger held up a hand and waited for the cries to cease. "His Majesty understands that spring is a crucial time for the villages of His land, and that females should not be expected to fend for themselves. Therefore, in His infinite compassion to His loyal subjects, His Majesty will allow one male in ten to remain behind to raise crops, tend the fishing nets and protect the females. Village leaders are hereby empowered to select the males that will stay behind, and are expected to enforce His Majesty's orders. All fighting males are to report to the capital immediately.

"Signed, His Majesty King Donovan the Third."

Ramoa clamped her ears flat against the din of voices. She fought her way free of the crowd, tears freezing on her cheekfur as soon as they spilled from her eyes.

How? How could the King order such a thing? She stared up at the cloud-blanketed sky and shivered. The bloodshed, the violence, the pain... It would all be unbearable. And Ralya! "Ralya, where are you?" she whispered.

The alpha's voice brought her back again. The messenger had left in the wake of his announcement, and the crowd was now focused on Pomir. "We have thirty-three adult males," he said in a ringing voice. "I have every intention of following the orders of the King, but I will do so with consideration. I will accept volunteers to fight, and volunteers to stay. Only three males will be able to stay, so if more than that volunteer I will decide from there. I will give you one hour to decide. We will leave at dawn tomorrow."

Ramoa darted forward and grabbed Laryn's arm, dragging him out of the crowd. He followed her a short distance away from the rest of the villagers, and looked down at her irritably. "What?"

"Stay," she said breathlessly. "Volunteer to stay."

He glanced back towards the dispersing crowd and flicked his ears in indecision. After a long moment, he replied, "I can't."

Ramoa could feel her tail tremble between her legs. She made a conscious effort to keep her ears erect. "Why?"

Laryn put his hands on his mate's shoulders. "Because I have to avenge what they did to our daughter. I have to do this, because maybe I'll finally be able to put this behind me."

"Revenge is no reason to rush into a fight with teeth bared," Ramoa said, her voice rising in a whine as a sob caught in her throat. She made two fists against Laryn's chest, clutching at the fur beneath his vest. "I don't want to lose you, too..."

His huge hands covered hers and gently squeezed them. "Let me do this, moonflower. Let me quiet my soul and make amends. Let me go."

Through her tears, Ramoa gazed up into her mate's soft brown eyes. They were filled with sadness, anger... And hope. With a whimper she wrapped her arms around her mate. "Come home safe," she whispered.

At dawn the next morning, Ramoa watched her mate and thirty other males walk up the switchback path towards the trade road. The wind was picking up already, freezing every Lupani to the bone. Ramoa huddled with the other females, each silent with their thoughts.

A raucous flock of seagulls circled overhead calling to each other with their grating voices. Behind the sound of the gulls, Ramoa could hear the rising wail of the wind. The sound was more chilling than the cold.