Chapter 9

  Risol

  I left the academy after dark. The moon council convened in the old hall at the base of the eastern ridge, an hour's walk from the academy. I did not ride Niull; he walked beside me. His head was down, his wings folded tightly, and he hadn't eaten since the garden. I placed food in front of him twice, but he looked at it and turned away. The trail down the eastern ridge was narrow and steep, and I knew every stone on it. I first walked it at fourteen, the night I bonded with Niull and brought him before the council for registration. I also walked it the night I won my first Cup. Additionally, I walked it when Niull's partner died after laying the clutch, and I stood before the council to promise I would protect the eggs.

  Three eggs. Two of them cold. One alive.

  One.

  The cool night air was thin, carrying the scents of frost and pine resin. The sky above was clear, with a full moon casting a silver glow along the mountain trail. Niull's fur caught the moonlight, shifting from black to a deep blue with a bruised hue, while the edges of his translucent wings shimmered faintly. He was made for this kind of light, as were all wolves, including his pup. As the trail levelled out, the old hall appeared below. Built into the ridge, it was low, wide, and constructed from dark mountain stone, with no windows, only a single door framed by columns engraved with ancient symbols. The flickering glow of torches shone between the stones. Outside, two guard wolves rested near the door. They lifted their heads as Niull and I approached. One of them rose and nudged Niull's side, but Niull remained still. The guard wolf withdrew and settled back down. I went in.

  The council chamber was circular and lit by torches set in iron brackets along the wall. The floor was packed earth. The ceiling was low, and the smoke from the torches gathered there in a thin, shifting layer that smelled like pitch and animal fat. Seven seats, arranged in a crescent. Six of them were occupied. The seventh, at the centre, belonged to my brother.

  Serath sat with his hands resting on his knees. He was four years older than me, broader in the shoulders, and heavier in the jaw. His long hair was pulled back, and the torchlight reflected the silver at his temples, which hadn’t been there a year ago. Behind his seat, his large grey female wolf named Oren lay with her chin on her paws. He looked at me when I entered. His face was still. I knew that stillness. I had seen it the night our mother died, and the night Niull's partner died, and every night since he had taken the council seat and learned that leading the moon faction meant holding your face together while everything behind it broke. I walked to the centre of the crescent and stood.

  "Risol," Serath said. His voice was formal. The voice of the moon leader, not my brother. "You were entrusted with the protection of a clutch laid by the wolf Niull's bonded partner, Vessa, who died seven weeks ago. The clutch contained three eggs. Two were cold at laying. One was viable. That egg has been lost."

  "Yes."

  "The egg was taken from the moon nesting ground and, by unknown means, placed in the sun faction's griffin nesting ground. A sun rider collected it during a bonding trial. It hatched on the sun side of the rider garden. The pup was killed when the sun rider tried to force a bond using sun magic."

  "Yes."

  A council member to Serath's left leaned forward. She was old, sharp-faced, with white hair cut close to her skull. "The pup was the last viable offspring of a bonded pair. Vessa is dead. The bloodline is closed. Do you understand what has been lost?"

  "I do."

  "Then explain how the egg left your care."

  I could have explained that I had stored the egg in the nesting alcove behind the moon dormitories, where bonded wolves laid their clutches. That I checked the egg twice daily, in the morning and evening, and that on the morning before the sun faction's bonding trial, the egg was present, but it was gone by evening. Explained that I had been searching for six hours when I heard the commotion in the rider garden. And told them a desperate sun rider killed the pup and even provided a name, but I said none of these things.

  "I failed," I said. "The egg was in my care. I did not protect it."

  The sharp-faced woman sat back. Another council member, a heavy man with scars on his forearms, shook his head. Serath watched me. His hands had not moved from his knees. His expression had not changed. But I knew him. I knew the way his thumb pressed harder into the bone of his kneecap when he was holding something back. I could see it now, his thumbnail going white.

  "The wolves are dying," the sharp-faced woman said. She was not speaking to me. She was speaking to the chamber. "The wars have thinned the packs to a number we have not seen in three generations. Breeding pairs are fewer each year. Every viable egg is a life we cannot afford to lose." She looked at me. "You are the brother of the moon leader. You should have known better."

  "I should have."

  "You should have guarded that egg with your life."

  "Yes."

  She waited for more, but I gave her nothing because there was nothing to offer. Every word she spoke was true. I had been trusted, yet I had failed. The reasons behind my failure didn't matter anymore. The egg was gone, the pup was dead, and Vessa's bloodline was sealed.

  The chamber was quiet. The torches crackled. Smoke shifted above us. Serath spoke. "The sentence is fifty lashes. The Horn."

  The chamber held its breath. The Horn meant a winged wolf's horn, shed and sharpened. It was not a whip. It was a curved blade of bone, ridged along the outer edge, designed to cut and bruise at the same time. Fifty lashes with the Horn would open the skin and go deeper, and horn wounds didn’t heal easily. I looked at my brother. He looked at me. His face was the moon leader's face. But his thumb was still pressed white against his knee.

  "I accept," I said.

  They led me to the yard behind the hall, an open space under the sky. The moon shone directly above, casting a bright light that made the packed dirt appear pale. In the center stood an old post, darkened with age and stained with unexamined marks. I took off my shirt, and the chilly night air immediately hit my skin, pressing flat across my chest, shoulders, and back. I approached the post and pressed my hands against its rough surface, gripping it tightly.

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  Niull stood at the yard's edge, pacing with his head lowered and wings partially spread, emitting the keening sound he made in the garden, a cry signalling that something was amiss and unfixable. Two older, larger council wolves approached to flank him, their muzzles scarred and horns dulled from years of wear. They pressed against him on either side as Niull snarled, snapping at the closest one but only catching air. The wolf remained unfazed and pressed even harder, causing Niull's paws to slide on the packed earth, yet he couldn't break free.

  The executioner moved behind me, drawing the Horn from its sheath. The sound was sharp and clean, like bone against leather. "Count," Serath said, standing at the yard's edge with an even tone. The first lash struck, with the ridged edge catching the skin between my shoulder blades and pulling across in a single precise motion. The pain was sharp and specific, like a line of fire running from one side of my back to the other. I felt my skin tear open and the air touch what lay beneath.

  I did not make a sound.

  "One," the executioner said. The second lash struck an inch below the first, with the Horn biting into muscle. I clenched my hands on the post as the wood grain pressed into my palms.

  "Two."

  By ten, my back was wet with blood. I could feel it running down my spine in thin, warm streaks that collected at my waistband. The cold air irritated the open wounds. Each lash struck skin that was already torn, and the pain compounded, transforming from a series of individual strikes into a persistent, burning ache.

  By twenty, my legs trembled. I kept my knees locked, pressed my forehead against the post, and inhaled through my nose. The scent of wood reminded me of old blood and rain. Niull howled loudly, his cry piercing the yard with ragged, extended notes. The council wolves restrained him; he pushed against them with his weight, but they held firm. His claws gouged lines into the compacted earth.

  By thirty, my vision narrowed. The moonlit yard shrank to a point. I could see the grain of the wood under my hands and nothing else. My breath came in short, controlled pulls. My fingers were cramping around the post.

  I did not let go.

  By forty, I tasted blood. I had bitten through the inside of my cheek. The copper filled my mouth, and I swallowed it and kept my jaw shut. My back was a single open wound. I could feel the Horn cutting into tissue that had already been cut, re-opening what had begun to swell, going deeper with each stroke.

  "Forty-one."

  "Forty-two."

  "Forty-three."

  I counted silently with him. Each number represented a step, bringing me closer to the end. I held the post, kept counting, and managed not to fall.

  "Fifty."

  The yard was quiet. The executioner stepped back. I heard the Horn slide into its sheath.

  I was at the post, hands still gripping the wood, with my back exposed from shoulders to waist. Blood soaked through my waistband, running down my legs. The moonlight lit my skin, and at the deepest cuts, I could sense it, cooler and softer than the air, like water meeting a burn. I released my grip on the post and turned around.

  Serath was standing where he had been. His face was the same. His hands were at his sides. He did not come to me. He did not speak. But his eyes were wet. I held his gaze for a moment. Then I bent and picked up my shirt from the ground. I did not put it on. The fabric would stick to the wounds. I held it in my hand and walked out of the yard.

  The return to the academy took two hours, and I moved slowly, each step causing my back to seize. The cuts had started to swell, and the skin around them was tight and hot. The night air, which had felt cold before, now seemed like a hand pressing against a burn. Niull walked beside me; after the last lash, the council wolves had released him. He pressed his head against my hip so forcefully I nearly lost balance. I placed my hand on his neck; he was trembling. I held him until he calmed. We followed the mountain trail under moonlight, the path shimmering like silver. Trees loomed as black shapes against the night sky. My blood dripped onto the stone behind me in a slow, steady rhythm, a small wet sound as regular as a heartbeat.

  I thought about Vessa, Niull's partner, the wolf who had been by his side for six years. She flew on his left wing during every Cup race, laid three eggs, and died from the strain. The wars had weakened the bloodlines, making births more difficult than ever. I promised Niull I would keep her safe and warm, guarding her until the pup hatched, opened its eyes, and Niull had something of her left. But I failed to keep that promise.

  The academy came into view. Its dark buildings contrasted with the mountain, illuminated by the soft light of torches in the dormitory windows. The moon was positioned above the northern peak. I arrived at the eastern gate and paused.

  They were all waiting.

  The moon faction lined the path from the gate to the dormitories. Not a single student was absent. Two rows, one on each side, mounted on their wolves. Every rider the Moon faction had in the academy. First-years with their young wolves, horns still nubbed and short, the animals shifting beneath them with the restless energy of creatures that had not yet learned stillness. Second-years on larger mounts, wings folded, horns beginning to curve, the riders sitting straighter and quieter than the first-years but watching me with the same expression. Third-years at the far end, their wolves full-grown, elk horns sweeping back in wide arcs against the night sky, and behind them the fourth-years, the seniors, the ones who would graduate into the border patrols and the war companies and the roles that no one outside the moon faction knew existed. They sat in silence. Over two hundred wolves. Over two hundred riders. The path between them stretched from the gate to the dormitory doors, and every position was filled. No one spoke. The wolves were still. The only movement was the slow breath of the animals, ribs expanding and contracting in the cold air, and the occasional shift of a wing.

  I walked forward. The first wolf on my left raised its head. It was a young animal, small, its horns barely visible. It opened its mouth and howled. The sound was thin and high, a single note that rose into the dark. The wolf across from it answered. Deeper. Longer.

  I took another step. The next wolf howled. Then the next. Then the next. Each one lifting its head as I passed, each one adding its voice to the sound. The howls were different. Some were high and sharp. Some were low and sustained. Some broke halfway through and started again. They came one after another, timed to my steps, rolling down the two lines like a wave.

  By the time I reached the middle of the path, the sound filled the academy. It rolled off the stone walls, rose into the sky, and hung there. It was recognition. The wolves were saying: we see you, we acknowledge what you carried, and we understand what it cost.

  The riders did not speak. They did not salute, bow, or make any gesture that belonged to the ceremony. But as I passed each pair, the rider placed a hand over their chest. Left hand, flat, over the heart. They held it there until I had passed, and then their hand fell, and the next rider raised theirs. It moved down the line the same way the howls did, one after another, a wave of silence behind the wave of sound.

  Niull walked beside me. His head was high for the first time since the garden. The howls washed over him, and his ears turned toward each one, and his steps steadied.I walk ed the path. The blood on my back had dried in the cold air, and each step cracked the edges of the wounds and opened them again, and I felt the fresh warmth run down my spine. My shirt was still in my hand. The moonlight was on my back, on the open cuts, on the blood.

  The last wolf howled. A fourth-year's mount, enormous, its horns wider than my arm span. The sound it made was the deepest of all. It held the note until I passed, and then it let the note fall, and the silence that followed was not empty. It was full. I walked through the eastern arch and into the academy. The dormitory door was ahead. Niull pressed against my side. His breathing had steadied. His head was still high.