Dragon's Moon (2 page)

They joined.

As far as the rest of the world knew, though much existed to attest to their former existence, what had been considered the Pictish people were no more.

Because it was not in their nature to be ruled by any but their own, within two generations the Celtic clans that had assimilated the Chrechte were ruled by shape-changing clan chiefs who shared their natures with wolves. Though most of the fully human among them did not know it, a rare few were trusted with the secrets of their kinsmen. Those that did know were aware that to betray the code of silence meant certain and immediate death.

Stories of other shifter races, the Éan and Paindeal, were told around the campfire, or to the little ones before bed. However, since the wolves had not seen a shifter except their own in generations, they began to believe the other races only a myth.

But myths did not take to the sky on black wings glinting an iridescent blue under the sun. Myths did not live as ghosts in the forest, but breathing air just as any other man or animal. The Éan were no myth; they were ravens with abilities beyond that of merely changing their shape.

And they trusted the Faol of the Chrechte less than the wolves ever trusted humans. But just as the Faol before them, the time had come for the Éan to learn to deal with their mistrust and join the human clans.

Their future as a race depended on it.

Today I have seen the Dragon.

—C
ONFUCIUS

Donegal Holding, Highlands of Scotland

1142
AD
, Reign of Dabíd mac Maíl Choluim, King of Scots

“I
had another dream about the wolves' sacred stone.” Ciara had waited until their mother had eaten her porridge and returned to her tiny bedroom to once again stare at the wall as if it held the very meaning of life to share this bit of information with her brother.

His head snapped up and his hands stilled in their sharpening of his broadsword. Wolf's eyes the same deep green as her own focused on Ciara, silently demanding she continue.

It used to be a game. Or at least she'd been convinced it was. Before. Before Da's death and Mum's decline.

Now, Ciara knew that for whatever reason, her brother believed her dreams the salvation of their people.

Galen said the old stories were true, that the wolves once had a magic stone used in the coming of age ceremony to make them stronger. To even turn some into
conriocht
…werewolves—not merely a person who could shift into a wolf, if that gift were not amazing enough for her people. No, the old stories claimed that some would shift into
conriocht
, half man–half wolf and larger than either. Giants that could not be bested in battle, even by other wolves.

Certainly not by the Éan.

She didn't know if she believed it. And if she did, if she wanted to help such a thing come about. But Ciara loved her brother and spending the day searching for the stone with clues from her dream was yet a joy.

Despite how Galen had changed these last two years.

“The
Faolchú Chridhe
.” He whispered the ancient name given to the stone by their people in stories older than the wolves' history with the clans in a voice laced with awe.

The wolf's heart…how could they have lost it as a people, if indeed it did exist?

“What did you dream?” he demanded, his emerald eyes glowing with the shine of a zealot.

Fear she did not understand skittered down her spine, making her hands shake as she put away their morning dishes. For one thing she never doubted was that her brother loved her.

“It was like the others,” Ciara forced from between suddenly dry lips, her throat tight with that inexplicable fear. “I saw a stone that could have been an emerald, but for the fact it was as big as a laird's fist.” Surely no emerald of that size existed anywhere in the world. “'Twas on a dark stone altar in a cavern that glowed with a pale green light like I've never seen before.”

“The glowing, that's new.”

It wasn't, but she'd thought it too fanciful to mention before. Galen's recent press for more and more information led her to admit to it now though.

“Where was the cavern?” He asked it every time, as if by doing so would make her know.

It never did. Though she tried to tell him all she could remember that might help. “I felt as if I was deep in the earth.”

“You felt?” he asked with doubt that bothered her, though she never said so.

“Yes.”

“Could you see the entrance to the cavern?”

“No, I felt as if it was behind me, but I could not turn away from the
Faolchú Chridhe
in my dream.”

“So no proof you were deep in the earth?”

“No,” she had to admit.

“'Tis more likely in the hills. Birds would not bury our stone deep in the earth. 'Tis not in their nature.”

Galen's belief the Éan had stolen the
Faolchú Chridhe
had been birthed two winters past, after Da's death and her brother started spending more time with Wirp. Their da had never had a good word to say about the other Chrechte the old stories claimed had once existed, either.

But Wirp was worse; he'd acted as if the Faol were better than everyone and male wolves the most superior of all. The old man had made her
that
uncomfortable. No one was happier than Ciara that Wirp had fallen afoul of their new laird, Barr. Though she was careful not to let her brother know it.

“It felt like deep in the earth,” she repeated stubbornly.

“I told you under the ground is not the Éan's playground.”

“And if it was not the bird shifters that stole the wolves' stone?”

“It was.”

“You are so certain, but all you have are old men's stories to prove it.”

“And your dreams.”

“My dreams only say the
Faolchú Chridhe
exists, not that anyone stole it from us. Besides, they could be no more than night fancies.”

“Nay. They are prophecy and we must pay heed.”

Then why not heed that the cavern was underground? She did not ask because she did not want to argue with her brother. He might decide not to go looking for the stone. She saw little enough of him as it was now; she would not give up this day.

G
alen did want to search for the stone, but he insisted on taking another warrior with them, saying three sets of wolf senses were better than two.

Ciara did not agree. She did not like this warrior any better than she had liked Wirp. Worse, she worried her brother would give her to Luag in marriage.

Her menses had started early. Though she was but twelve summers. He would wait at least two more before pressing her to wed, but then she was done for. The fear that thought caused was fully realized, making her sick to her stomach, even as she tried to hide her revulsion.

It would do no good. Luag was with them now and would not be going anywhere until they exhausted themselves searching or by some miracle found the
Faolchú Chridhe
this day.

They had been searching for hours and were deep in the forest when Luag lifted his head and sniffed the air. “I smell raven.”

Ciara could not understand the disgust so evident in his voice. She knew their clan's healer was both raven and wolf, though Ciara had never told anyone. She rarely revealed what her dreams told her, except to her brother. And she never told him dreams that had anything to do with the Éan.

“Let's go hunting,” Luag said with a smile that was more snarl than anything.

Galen shook his head. “We have things of more import to do here.”

“It's all part of the same goal,” Luag argued.

“I'll not hunt when we have Ciara with us.”

Was her brother saying he would hunt the raven if she were not with him? Ciara could not let herself believe his unreasoning prejudices went that deep. And how did they plan to hunt a bird? Would they make wings out of tree branches and fly then? They hadn't brought bows with them and their wolf forms would hardly be helpful.

She shook her head. Sometimes warriors made no sense
to her. Everyone knew that a wolf's prey was grounded animals, not birds of the air.

“Is she so weak then?” Luag asked with disdain.

Normally Ciara would have balked at being called weak, but she welcomed any opportunity to be seen as deficient in this wolf's eyes.

“My sister is not weak, but she
is
too young.”

“She's seen twelve summers.”

“A girl still.”

“On the cusp of womanhood.”

For a terrifying moment, Ciara thought they were perhaps arguing about more than whether the wolves should hunt with her present. And the argument nauseated her. She'd heard rumors that English nobility gave their children in marriage that young, but it didn't happen in the Highlands.

Not even if she'd been a laird's daughter. And she was not. Galen wouldn't give her into marriage for at least a couple of years and if he followed the usual traditions, she'd be older than that still.

'Twas not as if she had a great dowry already accumulated. She'd barely started embroidery on the linens for her own home.

“No.” Galen's tone said he would not be moved despite the years of seniority the other warrior had on him. No matter what the topic of the argument, he was not giving in.

Relief shuddered through her and Ciara took a breath into lungs burning for oxygen.

Luag did not look pleased. “She can stay here then.”

“It is not safe.”

“We are on our own hunting grounds.”

Which was not strictly true; they were at least two hours north of their pack's territory. Galen's look said as much to the other wolf.

“She can stay in the cave,” Luag offered as if making a great concession.

Ciara expected Galen to argue once again, but he nodded instead and her heart clenched. “Fine.”

She opened
her
mouth to argue, but one look from Galen and she knew it was useless. Betrayal burning in her breast, she turned without a single acknowledgment to either of them and went back into the cave they had just been exploring. There had been no secret passages they could find, but they had spent a goodly amount of time looking. So she knew it was not inhabited by other predators…or prey.

Galen followed her. “Stay here until we return. We are
not
in our own hunting grounds.”

She gave her brother a look of disdain rather than words. She knew that as well as he did. It was his
friend
who made the stupid claim otherwise, not her.

Galen threw Luag a glare showing he appreciated that truth, and then looked back at Ciara. “I do not want you harmed.”

“I will be fine.”

“Aye. I know.”

A year ago, she might have made the claim, but Galen would not have believed it. Then her menses had come and her first shift. Now Galen had more faith in her ability to protect herself.

Ciara loved her wolf and liked nothing better than to go hunting with her brother, but she saw no point in hunting birds in their wolf form. Besides, she had absolutely no desire to hunt with Luag. She didn't trust him not to try to mate with her in the fur.

Which was not to say that she would not follow the male wolves when they left. She was ever curious and since Da's death Galen had become so overprotective, it was like to smother her worse than an Englishman's feather-stuffed pillow.

Ciara quickly removed her plaid and then the chemise she wore under it, allowing the shift to take her as soon as she was unencumbered by clothing.

Taking pains to mask her own scent, she lifted her wolf's snout and sniffed the air. Guided by the ever-helpful wind, she took off at a lope after the other wolves, who at least showed the practicality of hunting flying prey in their
human skin. Though what they expected to do without bow and arrow, she did not know.

She trailed them for a short quarter of an hour before she heard the sound of Luag's voice lifted in cruel laughter.

Why would they laugh at their prey? Chrechte did not do that. All life was precious, even that which they had to take in order to eat and survive.

Ciara peeked through the leaves concealing her, blinking at what she saw. Her brother and Galen faced two young boys who wore skin loincloths rather than plaids.

Surely this was not who they hunted. Luag said he smelled ravens. Birds. Not bird shifters. That was too wicked to contemplate.
Chrechte did not hunt their own
.

They just didn't.

But the scent of raven was strong on the wind and there were no birds evident to her keen wolf's eyes.

A band of pain constricted around her heart as she fought the proof of her senses. Her brother could be no party to what her eyes insisted they saw.

Chrechte children as prey
.

“Where is your protector?” Luag taunted loudly, his voice filled with ugly gloating. “Has he turned coward and run away?”