Music filled the world.
It flowed from the moon above in a language I had never heard, but which I understood. A language like water, like light. For an instant, I understood everything! Only for an instant, but it was so clear while it lasted. I understood that the Beast was not the giver of life. No, not even the giver of death! I understood that I had always been made to sing, to raise my voice to join with those of the moon and the sun and that greater, more beautiful voice that had taught them the songs! Such a moment it was . . . a moment beyond life, beyond death.
But when I opened my mouth to sing in reply, instead of my own voice, I heard that final scream.
The moon vanished behind the clouds. The song was gone, as though it had never been. I turned to gaze up at my father’s house and knew, as I looked at the light shining dully through the low doorway, that my mother was dead.
But the baby . . .
The next moment, my feet were flying back up the hill. There was no time for thought. I burst through the curtain hung over the entrance. The hearth fire cast horrible shadows upon the walls, like the giants of old etched in darkness. Mother lay so still upon her pallet. The midwife beside her wrapped something in soft skins. The bundle mewled unhappily.
The Panther Master stood across the room, his arms folded and his face like a stone. He saw me in the doorway. “I told you to go,” he said.
I heard him but could not make myself understand his words. The midwife, still carrying the crying child, stepped over to the fire and stirred an evil-smelling brew that bubbled in a pot. Noxious fumes rose with the smoke.
Poison!
I flung myself across the room and snatched the baby from the midwife. A foolish gesture, I knew, for where could I go? The midwife, crouching by the hearth, lunged after me, staggering under her own heavy bulk so that I easily eluded her grasp. I backed away from her until I hit the far wall. Both the midwife and my father approached.
“Give back the child, Starflower,” said my father, putting out both hands. I held the infant closer. “You know the law,” my father said. “Hand over the babe and let Doefoot feed her the brew.”
I bared my teeth at him like a mongrel. When he took a step closer, I ducked under his arms and fled to the doorway.
I ran into Wolf Tongue’s arms.
———
The High Priest was taller than any man in the Land, so tall that he could scarcely fit inside my father’s house. His strong hands, which could have broken my neck without a thought, pinched deeply into my shoulders. I was a rabbit caught in a hawk’s talons. But I clutched the baby close to my chest.
“Wolf Tongue!” the Panther Master gasped as he ducked his head to exit the house. “You have come already.”
“The Beast sent me,” said the priest. At the sound of his voice, my body trembled so hard, I feared I would drop the baby. I had never before stood so close to Wolf Tongue, never heard his voice so near. I had always seen him at a distance, offering the harvest sacrifices or giving his dark blessing to the warriors before they marched off to bloodshed. Even from a distance, he had seemed too terrible and enormous to be flesh and blood.
But now I stood near enough to hear his deep-throated breathing, to smell the mustiness of his wolfskin robes. This nightmare was real. I felt his eyes upon me, though I ducked my head and hunched over, trying to hide the wailing baby.
“Have you an heir?” Wolf Tongue asked.
My father stood for a silent heartbeat. Then he shook his head. “I have a second daughter.”
Just as Mother said. The Beast had not heard the Panther Master’s prayers.
One of Wolf Tongue’s hands let go of my shoulder. I heard the scrape of a knife being drawn.
My body reacted without thought. I brought my heel down sharply on the priest’s bare foot, then drove an elbow into his stomach. He grunted, astonished if not hurt, and I took that moment to wrench myself free. I stood then in the empty place between my father and Wolf Tongue, a cornered deer with hounds and hunters all around. My senses whirled with the need to flee, and the baby screamed. But my limbs were frozen.
Wolf Tongue clutched a flint knife in his hand. He did not look at me. His eyes bore into my father instead.
“You know the law, Panther Master.”
The Eldest opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Two daughters are a disgrace,” said the priest. “You, the Eldest of the Land, are shamed this night. Your shame can only be cleansed with blood.”
A shudder ran through my father’s body and escaped in a long sigh. “The babe’s mother is dead,” he said. “Is that not blood enough?”
The look on his face was unfathomable to me. The twisted pain and sorrow mirrored my own. Once again I wondered: Did the Panther Master love my mother?