***
The Gatherer is here.
Those words floated in the air, whispers of cotton, gaining in strength and excitement as Palva slipped into her pack’s temporary redoubt through the slippery wall of weeds. They had been waiting for her return, knowing that she would be someone different now, someone important, someone changed. Whispers fluttered around her like paper birds as the wolves of her pack milled about, brushing against her as she passed. It was the usual custom—greeting the new Gatherer as she returned, accepting her as a different creature than she had been the day before, but Palva was in no mood for customs. She ducked her head as she brushed by them, padding towards the alpha’s den, their surprised questions following her on the wind.
“No, Palva, wait!” someone shouted from behind, rushing up to her. A young black she-wolf danced alongside her, mustard-yellow eyes gleaming with excitement. “How did your—”
“Not now, Nerasa,” Palva mumbled, shaking her head, which was dragging down like a leaden weight. “I’m tired.”
The pup’s yellow eyes flickered with unease.
“So’m I, Palva,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re late coming back, and I was waiting all night, ‘cause I wanted to see what you look like when you’re a new Gatherer. Mluma says the youngest Gatherers shine like new stars, she says, and I wanted to see if it was true—”
“Don’t speak to me of stars, Nerasa, please,” Palva whispered. “I’m tired.”
“Mluma’s right, Palva. You do look different, sad, even, as if…” Nerasa silenced, and peered up at Palva, yellow eyes growing sharp and serious. “Bad. Something bad happened.”
“Nothing bad has happened, Nerasa.”
“That’s a lie, I know it—”
“Please, Nerasa, this isn’t the time.” Palva’s fur was itching and burning as though on fire, and her mouth felt dry and bitter. “All I need is to talk to Liyra. Where is she?”
“She’s in her den, Palva,” Nerasa said, ducking her head, though her yellow eyes were puzzled. “But what’s wrong—?”
Palva left without another word, leaving the yearling she-wolf standing there, yellow eyes confused.
“Well, I think she shines like a new star, anyway.” Palva heard Nerasa mutter to herself as she turned around and walked back to the rest of the bewildered pack. “…and what’s wrong with that? Does being a Gatherer hurt, I wonder?”
Palva swallowed.
The alpha’s den was on the other side of the redoubt, in a shallow cave that was shaded by a wall of bracken. A large mud-colored wolf was sitting on guard beside the entrance, his steel-grey eyes roving about the redoubt main as though to read the thoughts of the surrounding packwolves. It wasn’t until Palva was a few steps away that she noticed the other wolf who had been concealed in the larger one’s shadow—a skeletal, shaggy white yearling who looked to be a few seasons old. His face was slashed in half by a brutal red cut that seeped blood into his white fur and had almost destroyed his left eye. He was shuddering against the large brown wolf, clenching his teeth as though fighting back whimpers of pain.
“Oh, look,” the larger wolf said, grey eyes widening in a mimicry of surprise. “The Gatherer has returned. Is there anything I can do for you, Gatherer?”
“I have nothing to say to you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Don’t you?” the wolf said. “Anything you need to tell the alpha, you can tell me. Surely—”
“I am speaking to Alpha Liyra alone. Get out of my way.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t want to snap your teeth at me, Gatherer. Not before I know what is so terribly urgent. The alpha has little time for your nightmares.”
Palva closed her eyes. She was in no mood for this.
“Let me pass, Leron,” she said through gritted teeth. “And keep my nightmares out of it, Rya save you.”
“So it is another nightmare, then?” Leron said with triumph. “Poor Gatherer. But I’m afraid the alpha is far too busy to comfort you, Gatherer—”
“Captain Leron!” snapped a voice from the cave. “What do you think you’re doing? I’ve been waiting for Palva since dawn. Let her in this instant.”
Leron stared at Palva, but said nothing more as he let her pass. Instead, he turned on the trembling white yearling beside him.
“Cut your whimpering!” he snarled, and the young wolf silenced as though he had been struck. Palva brushed past them and towards the alpha’s den. The little white wolf recoiled from her in her passing, and even Captain Leron flinched, as though the air around Palva was still snarling with flames. Let them fear, Palva though savagely as she shifted through the den’s curtain of hanging vines. If Rya’s stars still burn in my fur, then they at least know who I am now.
But her spark of brief anger sputtered and died when she stood at the mouth of the alpha’s cave, and the sodden wave of weariness came rushing back.
“Palva?” came the alpha’s voice again, from the depths of the cave. “I welcome your return. Please come in.”
Palva entered the alpha’s den. She was unused to the new respect and privileges she had now earned as the pack’s Gatherer, for she knew of things that the other members could only dream of. As the Gatherer, it was her responsibility to understand the properties of numerous healing herbs and know how to use them should the need arise. She also was somewhat of a messenger for Rya, their mother goddess; she was responsible for receiving and deciphering prophecies, dreams, visions, and other things of a similar supernatural nature. Anything that Palva was sent was to be reported to the alpha as soon as possible.
Palva ducked beneath a thin curtain of vines to enter the den. She could feel her paws sink into the moss that carpeted the floor as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A second pair of silver-flecked eyes glinted in the dim light from a corner.
“Palva!” the alpha said, shifting in the shadows at the back of the cave. “I have been waiting. Please do not mind Captain Leron; he has had a bad morning, and one of our young Sentinels was injured on his patrol.”
Palva flinched, remembering the white pup’s bloody scar.
“What happened to Xelind’s face?” she asked, though she felt she knew all too well. “The scar…”
“A stone from a human’s thunder-stick, Palva, or so Leron tells me. Their attacks are growing constant now. The yearling may have made a fine Sentinel someday—but never will he see clearly out of that eye again, thanks to them!”
Her voice ended in an angry bark, but her frustration gave way to weariness and she sighed. “Our troubles are mounting, Palva,” she said. “We are losing time and blood—I fear this pack may have to move to different lands, safer lands.” She shook herself, and sank to the ground. “But a new Gatherer brings new hope. We have been anticipating your return, Palva, I most of all. Rya will deliver us, and she will speak through you.”
“Speak indeed.” Palva lifted her head to meet her leader’s troubled gaze. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light just enough so that she could see the alpha’s dark, silver-furred form lying on the ground. “That is what I am here to tell you about, Liyra.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Alpha Liyra rose to her paws, her eyes darkened with concern. “I hear fear in your voice, Palva,” she said, peering down at her. “What is wrong? Are you grieving for Tsila?”
Tsila was the previous Gatherer. Like the generations of Gatherers before her, Tsila had guided Palva until the third summer of the young Gatherer’s life, when Palva came of age—which had been only last night. Now that Palva no longer needed her for guidance, the old she-wolf had gone to join Rya. Someday, Palva would follow her. But not yet.
“Yes, well, of course. The entire pack mourns her passing,” Palva said. “But that is not what is troubling me now. My—my Rising...”
“You are the new Gatherer, aren’t you? Tsila didn’t die without—”
“Oh, yes,” Palva said. “I am the new Gatherer. But…” she shut her eyes tight. “I don??
?t know—I saw a sudden rush of darkness, and fire, and then a vision—”
“A vision?” Liyra said. “Rya has revealed herself? Has she shown you a solution to the thunder-sticks?”
“No. Not a solution. I am afraid that the humans and their thunder-sticks are not our only worries.”
“You mean there’s more danger coming? Oh, no. No, we can’t afford that; you must be mistaken.”
“I’m afraid I’m not. If we are to take Rya’s words literally, it seems there’s going to be a fire of some sort.”
“Fire?” Liyra hissed. “Are the humans and their thunder-sticks not enough? What other misfortunes are ahead? Does Rya not hear our cries? Why does she throw these troubles in our path?”
Palva watched as the alpha spat on the ground with frustration and anger.
“Rya must hear our cries, Liyra,” she said. “And the troubles are—”
“Humans! Humans and their thunder-sticks! We are no longer the hunters, but the hunted! Prey! In our own territory!”
“Liyra—”
The alpha growled and ignored Palva, turning towards the cave wall, silver tail bristling and rigid. “My mate has already been killed,” she said, scoring the ground with her dull claws. “Two wolves dead, and three wounded. I worried about controlling so many wolves when we joined up with Karvo and Solora’s pack, you know, but now I see that numbers are not a problem. More of them die each day!”
The problems had begun last spring, when lack of prey had driven a few desperate wolves to take sheep from a nearby farm. The humans had soon come down on them with guns and traps, driving the pack from their dens and into the dense marshland in which they were now camped, temporarily. Liyra and her mate, as the alphas, had seen no other option but to leave and find new territory. They joined up two other packs that had been living nearby—one led by Karvo and his mate, Solora; and another, smaller band of ragged wolves led by a large brown yearling known as Leron. It was Leron who guarded Liyra’s den now, her appointed Captain and the only surviving member of the other packs’ leaders. He had wanted to be lead alpha, but Liyra had fought him down by sheer virtue of experience. She still bore the scars from it. He still bore the resentment.
“Do you know how many fights I’ve had to put down since last night?” Liyra was seething. She fixed her dark gold eyes on Palva as though it weas her fault. “Three! I tell you, strangers cannot simply be thrown into a pack together. If we cannot mold ourselves into one pack, we will all die.”
“The journey will unify them.”
Liyra gave a short, bitter laugh. “I can only hope. Troubles do that, don’t they? Would it be wrong to hope for an easy journey? Oh, but then we wouldn’t be unified. Palva, I can barely bring these wolves to hunt together.”
“They greeted me only a moment ago, all of them—”
“Yes, yes, that is wonderful,” Liyra said. “They were so very excited about having a new Gatherer, you know. A new Gatherer for a new pack, ever since Karvo’s died. What was her name?”
“Venia,” Palva whispered, and Liyra nodded.
“Yes, that was it. Terrified them all, even my own wolves—Gatherers aren’t supposed to just die like that, even though they know there can’t be two Gatherers at one time. It had to be either her or our own Tsila. But you, you mark a new beginning. One Gatherer for one pack, if we could properly be called that now. They believe now is a time to start over, that you would return with the knowledge to save them.”
Palva sighed.
“I’m sorry, Liyra,” she said. “But I’m afraid the knowledge is not what they would wish for. In the vision, you see—”
“Ah, yes,” Liyra said, whipping back around, eyes sharp. “Your vision. Describe it.”
Palva shivered, the memory of last night’s flames hissing in her head. “It was near the end,” she began, trying to keep her voice level. “It went on for a moment, but then—”
“No, no, no,” Liyra cut in. “Start from the beginning, Palva. The moment you left the redoubt last night, what did you do? Did you see anything unusual before you went to sleep?”
“Nothing unusual at all. Tsila and I left just before sundown, as you know. We did not go far from the redoubt; we followed the stream just to the edge of the pine grove. There, we found an abandoned badger set. I went in, and Tsila—Tsila stayed outside while I waited for night. Everything went well, considering.”
“Did anything unusual happen after you woke? On your way back?”
“No,” Palva said. “I was still shaking when the dream ended, but other than that I was fine. Tsila, of course, was…gone.” Palva stopped for a moment, her voice trembling and eyes cloudy with sorrow. “I—I buried her in the badger set, I caved in the roof. She will not be disturbed.” Palva paused for a moment to collect herself, taking a deep breath. “But no,” she said, looking back at Liyra. “Just the vision.”
“I see,” Liyra said with a bitter edge of dread. She turned around and sank to the den floor. “Tell me about your vision, Palva.”
Alpha Liyra listened in silence, her eyes betraying no emotion as Palva recounted her horror. In the darkness of the alpha’s cave, she spoke of strange white shadows, an orange moon, claws snagging and tangling amongst each other beneath the river’s surface, a forest filled with blackened wolves and a fire erupting from the edge of the horizon from where they stood now—but when Palva reached the part about the fire-wolves, the alpha gave a sharp intake of breath and leaped to her paws.
“There were wolves in the fire?”
Palva paused, staring at the shocked alpha. “Yes. Many of them. Their black shadows flickered in and out of the flames like ghosts.” She shuddered at the image, which was still burned into her memory like a scar.
“But—but were they screaming? Were they in pain, dying, or anything?”
“No. They did not make a sound.”
Alpha Liyra took a few steps backwards, muttering to herself “Did you recognize any of them?” she asked at last.
“Oh, no. In fact, it’s possible that those wolves didn’t even symbolize this pack. Perhaps another pack will suffer from the fire.”
“But if it doesn’t involve us, why would Rya show it to you? Why should the concerns of another pack affect us?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure Rya has her reasons.”
Liyra was silent for a few moments. She paced from one end of the den to the other, brow furrowed in thought. After a while, she turned back to Palva.
“Did this vision come with any sort of explanation? Do you know what it could mean?”
“There was,” Palva began, and then hesitated. She swallowed and shook her head, fearing the alpha’s reaction. “Liyra, there was a prophecy.”
“Palva! You couldn’t—” Liyra cut herself off, her face alive with shock. Palva knew why the news had frightened her so, and she lowered her head—young Gatherers were never tested with prophecies; such things are too traumatizing for an inexperienced creature to handle. There were stories amongst the packwolves of young Gatherers who had lost their minds trying to decipher persistent voices in their heads, leaving the pack in a state of turmoil. And here Palva had not yet been Gatherer for even a season, and already the future was looking grim.
To Palva’s surprise, however, Liyra shook her head with a jerk, as though shooing away a fly. The alpha’s face had composed itself into a solemn, businesslike mask. “I apologize, Palva; please go on. Tell me this prophecy.”
Palva took a deep breath and closed her eyes, the image of the flames and the ash-wolf still burning bright before her. She summoned up the words, hissed into her ear by Rya, the mother goddess, the spirit of the sun and moon eyes—words that she knew would cause her many sleepless nights. And when she had finished, a heavy silence filled the den. Liyra gazed at Palva with a mixture of horror and awe. Palva said nothing more; she opened her eyes and rested her muzzle on her paws, staring at the dark walls of Liyra’s den.
“What does it mean?” Liyra wh
ispered.
“I don’t know,” Palva said, still looking at the cave walls. Her heart was pounding, though she hoped Liyra couldn’t tell. “Nothing good.”
“Oh, yes, Palva—who knows the intentions of Rya? Here I thought that we had enough troubles clawing at our back, and she must go and send more. How can she watch us suffer like this?”
“I don’t think Rya can control what happens,” Palva said. “She can only warn us.”
Liyra shook her head and began to pace again. “Maybe,” she said. A dull weariness had crept into her tone. “But I have trouble believing it. A better warning would make more sense.”
“Rya has never been wrong before. She knows what will happen, and she is warning us.”
“Yes. I suppose you’re right. But what can we do?”
“We can’t do anything now,” Palva said. “We can only wait.”
Part I: Falling
Two Years Later
But hunted, keep watch when the claws do descend—
For what fire scatters only ashes can mend.
- Last stanza of Palva’s prophecy