Servant of the Moon #1 - unedited draft

It was the first time Comhnyall had gone back to the Keep, and as he feared, nothing remained. Those who had attacked had even piled all the bodies in the barns and burned them, using the cords of wood the pack had labored so hard to put aside for the long winter. Bitterly, Comhnyall thought that if he had know that wood was to be used for the funeral pyre of his pack, he would not have broken a twig of it.

His wolf sniffed all around the ruins of the almost 400 year old keep, taking in the frozen scents of those who had remained alive and left this place. The ice of the storm had preserved them for him, like a gift from the winter. Pure snow and the scent of his enemies. His wolf committed these scents to memory, he would find these wolves. His wolf marked the edges of the Keep and clawed everything that would hold a mark. If any of the few that survived that night returned, they would know that at least one of the Wemyss warriors survived to someday hunt them and send them to the Moon.

Comhnyall split wood and hunted and trained, while he healed during the remaining winter months. Moire was walking again, but the scars left by the wounds of that night still pained her. Her leg had been slashed to the bone and would never heal fully, and the blood on her face that night had hidden the slash of claws that had damaged one of her beautiful honey-colored eyes and left it pale as the Moon Herself. She remained weak in spite of Mamó’s best efforts. Moire also could no longer shift into her wolf.

Ainsley had not spoken since that night and Mamó had said she did not speak when Comhnyall heard her call to her sister. The six-year old did whatever she was told, but she almost never slept. Often Comhnyall would carry her cold, tiny wolf in from staring at the Moon. Ainsley began compulsively drawing on any scrap of paper she could find, or on the walls and floor and even sheets of the beds. Haunted, saddening scenes witnessed by one too young to know such horrors.

Those wolves who remained in their homes near Cloud Lake, Weymouth and Caledonia been murdered in the days after the Keep fell. All died except one, a fisherman who had been at sea and not yet returned to port. The attack had been thoroughly planned, the warriors had known the locations of all the wolves in Nova Scotia thanks to Beta Cauly and his son.

The few wolves living in the safety of the towns of Whycocomagh and Wolfville fled their homes less than a month after the attack. Comhnyall had seen them one week, and they were just gone the next. By the spring equinox, Comhnyall’s wolf had searched the length and breathe of the peninsula, no New Wemyss wolves remained on the land once given to them by the king.

The snow was melting and spring was coming late after the long, harsh winter. Comhnyall gathered the ashes of his pack and buried them where the New Wemyss wolves had buried the ashes of their dead for over three and a half centuries. He was angered and disgusted to discover the faint scents of Cauly and Cullen among the ashes of the pack and not among with the ashes of almost two hundred wolves he did not know in the second barn. Whomever the wolves were, only one-fifth had left alive.

Comhnyall was grateful that they had burned their comrades separate from the New Wemyss dead. He took their ashes and dumped them in the ocean. It took two days for him to remove the ashes of the wolves who had murdered his pack, he made sure their kith and kin would never find their final resting place. One final time he took in the blood scents of those who had left the site of his pack’s murder alive. One day they would kill them all, he and his wolf promised each other.

The only other New Wemyss survivor who called their old territory home was the sea captain wolf, who had helped Comhnyall get the identity papers required to move in the human world. Next summer, the old seadog, as Shamus called himself, would take them back to the isles to join the old world Wemyss pack. Locals had been lead to believed ‘Nyall MacGeal’ was his grandnephew, come to help the old captain who was alone in the world. It allowed Nyall to work and move in the human world of fisherman and dock workers. Those hard working humans held their friends close and protected them as family, or even pack.

His tattoos and youth had drawn a lot of attention from his fellow longshoremen at first but his willingness to work and integrity had earned him respect. He had been been in only one fight on the docks, and the troublemakers had quickly learned to avoid him and his ‘friends’ whom he protected with a fierce, almost feral loyalty. All they knew about him was that he lived near Wolfville with his grandmother after his family died in a home invasion, and that he liked a girl named Moire. None knew the whole truth. However, if anyone from the outside world had asked after him, they would have met a wall of silence.

Nyall had carried Moire to the meadows. Ainsley followed like a little shadow. He worked the morning in Halifax before hurrying home again. Morning shift at the docks really meant middle of the night to noon 6 days a week so he stayed in a boarding house for 5 nights between shifts and took as much extra work as he could get. He had a day and a half before he was to return to work. He was tired but she had wanted to see the mid-summer wildflowers after the handful he brought home to her.

Together, they had lain in the soft grass staring the the impossibly blue sky. The birds sang a happy afternoon song and butterflies and moths flitted between the flowers. Moire fingered her citrine pendant as she sat on the old wooden pier over the pond. She looked so beautiful, she took his breath away.

“Nyall, I wish weh coul’ stay like this fore’er,” she sighed wistfully as she wandered over to where he lay in the tall grass.

“I do nah think my captains woul’ like tha’, thay need meh strong back ta carry their catch off tha’ boats,” he laughed.

She sat down, placing her head on his shoulder. “I hate tha’ ye ‘ave ta leave us, but I know et tis tha only way for Mamó to get messages to and fro’ tha other oracles without suspicion and so we can afford the passage to Wemyss.”

“Aye’ll be home fur tha winter soon enough,” he kissed the top of her fiery hair, inhaling her scent of sea air and flowers. She smelled like dawn. “Then we’ll ’ave tha long cold season ta be like this.”

Ainsley poked his foot, he raised up on one elbow to look at her, “Aye, beag shionnach (little fox)?”

Ainsley held up two flower crowns of asters, coneflowers, and azaleas. She was wearing one and put one on each Moire and Comhnyall. Her large dark gold eyes reflecting the colors of the meadows.

“Do I look like a faery ta ye?” Comhnyall asked, trying to scowl. Moire smothered a giggle as Ainsley nodded solemnly. But then the young, sad wolf smiled in an ornery way. It was one of the first signs of mischief she had shown since that night, but she still didn’t speak.

Moire pressed a kiss into his cheek. “I think ye make a handsome fae.”

“An’ aire ye meh fair fairy queen?” He teased, his eyes shining with love.

Suddenly Moire golden eyes turned sad, “Do nah tease meh so.” She tried to stand but he pulled her into his lap.

His fingers traced her scars, not letting her turn her face away as she often did. “Moire, I am nah teasing ye. Ye are fairer than anyone I ‘ave ever looked upon, an’ braver too. Thar es no one in the world more beautiful to meh than ye, mo ceile (my mate).” He kissed her scars, tasting her tears and wishing he could undo every moment of pain and unhappiness she had felt since that night.

His lips lingered over hers, waiting but a small cough distracted them before the kiss could become more. Ainsley was staring at them, arms crossed, tapping her foot with a cross expression.

Moire giggled. “Ye be such a peeper, beag shionnach ( little fox).”

Ainsley made a disgusted sound in her throat, her face twisting into a very adult scowl, and she threw her hands in the air before pointing at the sun. It was sinking toward the west, heavy clouds looked like an evening shower was building.

“Aye lil’ one, tha season es changin’ an’ weh’ll follow ye back.” Nyall stood with Moire in his arms, bridal style.

They made their way back to Hellsgate, and into Mamo’s den with only minutes to spare. It rained the entire night. In the cavern, the sound of the thunder was muted but Comhnyall could still feel it like a vibration in his soul. As Moire’s soft breath fanned his cheek, he wondered if the storms were finally over for them.

Nyall’s breath hissed out as Mamó tended his shoulder, he was glad that Moire was not back from her job in Wolfville. He had missed his afternoon shift at the Docks to deal with 5 rogues. He had misjudged their skill and nearly gotten himself killed. He would have to take the bus to Shamus’ home without Moire knowing, he knew he could rest there and would be healed by the next time he was due home.

“Ye need to beh more careful, m’ogha(my grandson), or aire ye tryin’ ta leave tha worlt?” Mamó scolded. “Wha’ would Moire do if she lost ye? Or Ainsley? Thay need ye.”

“Sorry, Mamó. I thought thar was only four of ‘em, the las’ almost got tha drop on meh. Mo wolf saved us. When I smelt one of THEM with tha rogues, I lost mo temper.”

She took his hands in hers, “Ye need ta nah let yur rage rule ye, Nyall. Yur father taught ye better ‘en tha’. Now, git ye gone afore Moire returns, or ye will be explainin’ to ’er about ye foolish vendetta.”

Mamó did not approve of him taking such risk, she believed the Moon and her potions would keep them safe. That the Moon would punish those who hunted them, but Nyall struggled to believe in the Moon’s benevolence after they had lost so much.

Four other times since New Wemyss had fallen, Nyall had driven rogues off the peninsula. He could not let new wolves come to this land for fear they would find his family and kill them. It had been less than a year and it was a heavy burden for a 16 year old. He hoped once the harshness of winter set in, he could relax and study with Ainsley and Moire. Mamó was teaching Moire to be a healer and Ainsley to be an oracle. It was all so fascinating to Comhnyall. No longer could they be the wolves they were born to be, Moire wasn’t strong enough and may never be again. But they could still serve the Moon as they should.

Two young Oracles stood next to the Hidden Eye Pool of the Moon at the Eye of the Goddess temple, identical in every way except their power. Long dark hair hid the scar which had reduced to eldest’s power the night their pack had been attacked and their father had died to save them. The night their mother’s reflecting pool and moonlight had brought them here. They leaned in, conferring in the internal dialog of identical twins.

The New Wemyss Oracle had sent them a message. They had survived the attack, but SHE was not healing as she should and HE had chosen to give up their destiny for a quiet life together as contented, true mates.

The younger held out her hand and the symbol for true mates appeared in the water, it turned from golden morning glow to a sickly red like seeping blood then to a pale moonlight blue.

“What does it mean. Sis?” the older asked.

“It means that if things do not change, the queen-to-be will go to the moon. We must find a way to stop it, they are the ones to lead against the brown furs and the fire that burns in their midst.”

Midnight blue eyes hold sapphire ones, “And if we fail, sister?”

“Then this generation will fall to the corruption and arrogance of those who deny the Goddess and She will pour out her censer of wrath on her children, letting cutting them be down with a fire-edged sword before the rest of the world falls.”

The early winter crab season was finally over. Winter winds blew an icy glaze over the land and dusted it with crystalline snow. Nyall came in through the tarp with an armload of firewood and a large leather carry bag. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the scents of his family beyond the wooden door. His wolf howled with joy to be home. He had spent a month at sea working, they had not yet earned enough for the passage to Wemyss and the nest money to start their new lives. Nyall took a deep breath again, he felt saddened and contented at the same time, he was happy to be home, but missed all those who were not there.

Peeking in, Moire was settling breakfast on the table. Mamó was in her rocking chair by the hearth, looking at the drawing Ainsley had made in a yellowed book.

At 7 years old, the young she-wolf had a gift for drawing. She was the mirror image of her older sister at that age, except for darker hair and eyes. Ainsley’s deep tawny eyes also held a look far older than her years. The burnished golden orbs had watched her mother and twin brother die before her sister had rescued her. They had seen her father throw himself between them and certain death, and they gazed upon the Moon every night since then. Ainsley still never spoke, or made any vocalization since she had called her sister back from the land of the dead. Her wolf was silent also, as if her screams at the horror of that night had taken her beautiful sound away forever, even her giggles and laughter at being tickled were breathy and quiet.

Pushing open the door further, he went the rest of the way in. He set the bag behind the door, he had gifts for his family underneath the groceries he had bought in Wolfville. As he placed down the wood, Ainsley scooted out of Mamó’s lap and ran to hug his legs, he smiled down into her luminous amber eyes, brushing her russet hair from her forehead, she was the perfect blend of her parents.

He shrugged out of his coat, he really didn’t need it, but humans looked oddly on anyone out in this weather without one. His size drew enough attention to him, but allowed him to lie about his age. Ainsley reached up to brush the snow out of his hair, and giggled silently as he shook it off on her face. It was good to be home. He felt he could stay in this place forever as long as Moire, Ainsley, and Mamó were safe. Their destiny be damned.

Today was the anniversary of that night, the night the storm of the century had hidden the enemy. The night 258 wolves and a witch had come to their land. Only Mamó knew Comhnyall had found and killed three more of those who had destroyed their family.

He studied the lore of the Moon hard, he had begun to pray diligently for justice, and the Moon had rewarded him. She guided him to the places where their enemies slept, and they had spilled their guilt before he killed them. But he still had not found out which pack had hired them and more than half of the survivors had disappeared back to the pack they had come from. There was a hardness in his soul that he never showed to his dawn or his little fox. He was the Moon’s claw and there was much he needed to learn before he avenged their pack on the one who had sent death that stormy night exactly one year ago.