A gentle mist was spiraling along the river Wye when Miranda, Cadfael, Remus, and Beatrix appeared on her ancient shore. The mist blurred the edges of the river as she wound off into the the distance, disappearing into the dark green of the forest beyond. Miranda breathed deeply, drinking down lungful after lungful of air thick with magic. Without meaning to, she let go of Cadfael's hand in order to reach out towards the lingering shadows of the mist, as though she could catch a piece of them to put in her pocket.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"There's more," Cadfael replied. "Look."
On the banks of the Wye, the bleached ruins of Tintern Abbey rose up out of the earth, like the skeleton of some long extinct creature. Though they'd been made by human hands, nature had claimed them. They were as much a part of the landscape as the forest, or the river, or the purple meadow that framed them.
"Fuck," Miranda breathed.
"How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods," Remus quoted. "It's stunning."
Mary, Enid, and Olwyn appeared on the bank with a quiet pop. The wolf was off like a shot, disappearing into the ruins. Enid pulled Mary after her, catching Miranda's hand as they passed.
"Come on!" Enid said, "We've almost missed the whole thing!"
"We can't have that," Miranda replied, allowing the girl to pull her along.
Beatrix smoothed her hair and followed at a more sedate pace. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll still have plenty of time to make trouble, Enid."
"Let her have her fun," Mary said. "Who knows how long it will last. Come on, Enid. I'll race you!"
Mary dropped Enid's hand and darted ahead. And while Enid laughed at the game, Miranda couldn't help wondering if Mary was running more to avoid Remus and herself than to give Enid pleasure. There was an uneasy truce between them and Mary—one that would take little to break.
As they rushed headlong into the ruins, Miranda shivered. A shockingly cold and wet sensation passed over her, as though they'd gone through an invisible waterfall. Miranda's magic started crackling through her hair and out of her fingertips, white sparks popping and sizzling. Enid's curls were frizzing in all directions, with purple lights zipping between the locks. Mary was surrounded by an orange glow, a fiery aura waiting to explode.
"Here we are," Mary said, rounding into what was left of the nave of the Abbey church. "Are you ready?"
"I was born ready," Miranda replied.
Mary ran straight into one of the arched columns, disappearing as her body hit the stone. The hair on the back of Miranda's neck pricked her, and her stomach flipped as she and Enid approached the stone running full tilt. Although she was quite familiar with these sorts of magical entrances, there was always that moment of fear when the No-Maj part of her brain tried to warn her that she was about to smash her body into a solid structure.
"Onward and upward," Miranda said, her muscles tensing as they reached the stone.
Enid's run turned into a skip as they passed through to the other side. Miranda stumbled and skidded, narrowly missing a collision with Mary's back. Mary was standing with her hands on her hips, scanning the crowd with a little smile playing on her lips. It was the most relaxed and open Miranda had ever seen her.
The space between them and the forest covered hills beyond was filled with a rainbow-colored sea of tents. Most of these were open to the late morning air, and people of all ages were darting from tent to tent. Fires smoked at regular intervals, cooking meats, vegetables, nuts, and even fruits. The rich blend of smells wafting over the meadow set Miranda's stomach growling.
On this side of the magic, the ruins of Tintern Abbey were done up for a party. Its stones shone a polished white. Garlands of blue and purple flowers hung from every arch. Groups of people wove in and out of its body, dancing and chasing each other. A pair of musicians armed with guitars and Irish bones were perched in one of the empty window frames, playing an infectious tune. The dull roar of conversation and laughter, cheerful and rough, washed over Miranda, making her thank God to be alive.
Several children, already covered in dirt and sporting crowns of bright flowers, half ran, half rolled up to them.
"Enid! Where've you been?" shouted the tallest of the children.
"Yeah! You've missed everything," added another.
"I have not! And I'm here now," Enid shot back. "May I go, Aunt Mary?"
"Yes," Mary replied. "Before Aunt Bea comes through and tells you to act like a lady."
Enid was off like a shot, vanishing with the other children between the tents.
"This is not at all what I expected," Remus murmured as he and the others caught up to Miranda and Mary.
"It feels like a carnival," Miranda said. "I like it."
He frowned, studying the crowd. "We'll see."
Cadfael clapped them both on the shoulders. "It's going to be a good day. I can smell it."
"I wish I shared your optimism," Remus said.
"Put away the long face, Remus," Beatrix said. "You'd best act like you're confident, regardless of what you feel."
"Yes, ma'am," Remus said.
"There's no sense in standing here on the edge of everything. You've met everyone here. Time to get to work," Cadfael said, starting off towards the tents.
Mary linked arms with Beatrix. "I don't remember volunteering to baby-sit. Beatrix and I will see you later."
"That's probably for the best," Remus muttered as he started after Cadfael.
Miranda matched his pace. "You're letting me hear more and more of those comments you usually keep to yourself."
He straightened his shirt, though it was a loosing battle against the wrinkles. "I have to let some of it out once in a while, or I'll explode at an inconvenient time."
"I know. Why do you think I lit a match under you the other night?"
"Well. It was a long time coming."
They halted just inside the first row of tents. Remus tilted his head, testing the air. There was a press of people on the other side, all talking, laughing, shoving, and calling to each other. Cadfael was already deep in conversation with a trio of women; one of whom was nursing a baby, another had a toddler balanced on her hip.
"I didn't think there would be so many children," Remus said. "I didn't think it would be anything like this."
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Miranda said. "There's so much life here."
"I don't think I can do this."
Miranda put a hand on his shoulder, but when he tensed at her touch she withdrew. "You can. I know talking in front of crowds isn't fun—"
He cut her off, his eyes full of anguish. "That's not it. I can't ask them to fight for us. I can't ask them to risk their lives. To risk this."
Now was a hell of a time for Remus to grow scruples. "None of us gets to choose when we're born. Every time has its own troubles. There's no guarantee that if the werewolves stay neutral they'll be safe. Do you really think the Dark Lord won't come for them when he's through with us?"
"You may have a point."
"At the end of the day, we're not going to force anyone to join us. All we're here to do is state our case, and make our offer. It's up to them if they take it."
Remus dug his hands in his pockets, unconvinced. Before Miranda could argue further, Cadfael was calling them over, pulling Remus forward to join the conversation. Though the werewolves they talked to were perfectly polite, and Cadfael made sure to introduce her to everyone, none of them paid Miranda much attention. She was a dieithryn—and not one of their dieithryn.
The sun was beginning to peak through the clouds, and Miranda's face felt like it was about to crack from smiling a long hour later. Her eyes were beginning to wander, taking in the countryside and watching the children run. Maybe if she could get someone else to acknowledge her, she could escape.
"Watch out!" a child called.
Miranda spun in the direction of the warning in time to see a ball flying towards her face. Her hand snapped up, her fingers closing around the ball a split second before it smashed into her nose. The child ran over to her, followed by his friends.
"Nice catch," he said.
She tossed the ball back to him. "Thanks. Nice ball. What's your name?"
"Michael. What's yours?"
"Miranda Rose. It's good to meet you Michael."
Michael studied her, sizing her up with his intelligent brown eyes. "Do you want to play with us?"
Did she ever. "I would. But I don't know the rules."
"We can teach you. Come on."
She followed the children to the meadow past the tents, where a group of children and adults were waiting for the return of the ball.
"There's these pockets, and you have to get the ball into one by throwing it. But you have to do the pockets in the right order, or you lose your turn. And if you miss too many times, you're out," Michael was explaining.
Child's play. "I think I can handle that."
"Then you can be on my team."
There was a clamor over whose turn it was as Michael returned the field. Miranda smothered a smile as the players argued. It was a spirited and good-natured fight. It brought her back home to the many afternoons she'd spent playing baseball with her brothers, arguing balls and strikes.
"Miss Miranda Rose! As I live and breathe. My nose must be getting stupid to miss one of my own, and yet, here you are," said a familiar voice, breaking her out of her reverie.
Miranda turned to see a gentleman in sandals and rough brown robes holding his hand out to her.
"Brother Ronan!" she said, laughing with surprise as she grasped his arm at the elbow. "I—are you—what are you doing here?"
The friar patted her cheek. "I'm a werewolf, of course. Here to represent the packs of Ireland. The rest of them weren't so keen on making the crossing this spring."
She must be losing her touch, failing to recognize a werewolf when she saw one. "I had no idea. You never let on."
He tilted his head and sniffed the air. "Are you not one of us?"
"No, only a dieithryn Animagus."
"I see. You're that Animagus."
"You've heard of me?"
"I would say that every wolf here has heard of you, lass. You and Remus Lupin."
Good. They were there to be seen. "Then Remus has done his job. I'm sorry I didn't realize what you were when we first met. I can't always tell when I meet a werewolf."
"There's nothing to apologize for. I never was a wizard, so the magical signs aren't as pronounced on me. But if you saw me at the full moon, there'd be no mistaking."
"I hope I'll have that pleasure tonight."
"And so you will. But before that, are you joining us now? I like to play Pockets early and bow out before everyone's blood starts boiling."
"I am. Michael's claimed me for his team."
"He would. That boy is sharper than a wolf's tooth."
The boy in question demanded Miranda's attention, dragging her over to the throwing line. He rattled off instructions and advice, then pressed the ball into her hand. It was somewhere between a baseball and a softball in size, and its surface was covered with grooves rather than smooth. She rolled it between her fingers, getting the feel of it and testing its weight. Then she narrowed her eyes on the target, and threw.
It landed directly in the center of the first pocket with a soft plop. Michael nodded solemnly while the rest of their team cheered. Brother Ronan shook his head, and went to retrieve the ball to take his turn. Though he stalled his throwing with many hems and haws, and much studying of angles, Brother Ronan also put his ball in the center of his pocket.
"I see I've got my work cut out for me," Miranda said.
"Indeed you do," Brother Ronan replied.
As the game went on, a small crowd gathered around the edges of the field to watch the play. There was much cheering and heckling as the players took their turns. When the ball came around to Miranda again, she noticed that one of the onlookers appeared to be running a betting pool on the outcome. Thankfully, she'd always been good at shutting out other distractions while she was pitching.
One by one, the players on each team missed their pockets and were out of the game. Miranda's aim never faltered, and she found herself the final player against Brother Ronan. As they faced off over the last pocket, she thought she could hear him growling softly. Competition really could bring out the wolf in people.
"Looks like it's down to you and me, lass," Brother Ronan said as she took aim. "Are you ready to give up?"
"I don't think so," Miranda said. "I'm playing for dieithryn pride."
She narrowed her eyes on the target, then let them go slightly unfocused as she threw. The ball plopped in neatly. Michael and the rest of her team started cheering as Brother Ronan prepared his shot. The friar's face was screwed up in concentration, his throw short and fierce. The ball landed right on top of Miranda's. A cheer went up from the friar's team as they came back onto the field, exchanging handshakes and embraces.
"Well done," Brother Ronan said, tucking Miranda's arm in his. "What do you say to grabbing a bite before the talking starts."
"I wouldn't say no," Miranda replied.
They made for the edge of the field, maneuvering through the players and onlookers who lingered there. Brother Ronan scanned the row of tents, deciding which one would offer them the best snack.
"Judith makes a good cheese and sourdough. But Francis's sausages can't be beat. If you're in the mood for something sweeter, Delilah's pastries are the finest on this island."
"If you are looking for the best cooking, I would be remiss if I did not mention my sister Hela's talents. We've quite the spread at our camp, if you don't mind a short walk," said a stranger's smooth voice.
The newcomer was clad in robes whose understated perfection revealed how expensive they were. His long brown hair was pulled back into a braid at the base of his neck, and a wolf's head ring in heavy gold glittered on his index finger. His eyes were sharp as his bone structure—he was the perfect blend of culture and ferocity.
Brother Ronan's lips dipped briefly into a grimace, before his usual pleasant smile returned. "Julius. May the moon shine bright."
"Never the dark." Julius's eyes darted to Miranda. "And who is this?"
Miranda held her hand out to Julius, but he did not grasp her arm in the usual werewolf greeting. Instead, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. As he bent over it, he inhaled deeply, his eyes never leaving hers. His breath was warm on her skin. He was just dangerous enough to be handsome.
"Forgive me," Brother Ronan said, clearing his throat. "Miranda, this is Julius Wilbourne, head of Read Clawu. Julius, Miss Miranda Rose."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Wilbourne," Miranda said with a pleasant, if cool, smile. Julius had about thirty seconds to let go of her hand before she yanked it out of his grasp.
His smile could only be called wolfish. "Miss Rose, of course. I ought to have realized. What a pleasure to meet you at last."
He was too polite to be honest. "Thank you."
"Animagi have grown rare in these latter days. It's not often we have new blood such as yours wander into our Circle."
She deliberately pulled her hand out of his grasp, and rubbed it over the side of her neck. The mark Severus had left there was faded to a dull grey, but it was still clearly visible. "You're too kind."
His sky blue eyes tracked the movement of her hand. "And already marked. How disappointing for the rest of us. You must tell me who was faster."
"I'm sorry, but that's not really your business," she said calmly. "You were telling us about your sister's cooking. It's been a long time since breakfast. I could use a bite."
"Of course. This way, if you please."
They fell into step together as they headed for the end of the line of tents. Julius set an unhurried pace, and everyone they passed fell back to make way for him. He moved with silent grace, like a predator—royalty who demanded his due, and was granted it at every turn. The back of Miranda's neck was pricking her as she followed one of Cadfael's least favorite wolves into enemy camp. But werewolf Law and etiquette had been drilled into her for months now. It would be far worse to refuse Julius's invitation, at least during Circle.
"How long have you been here? I'm surprised our paths have not crossed before now," Julius said.
It begins. "We arrived a few hours ago. Cadfael wanted to be sure I smelled as little like a dieithryn as possible."
"Ah, yes. Cadfael is always so careful to observe such niceties. Tell me, is Pryderi with you?"
"No. He's been unavoidably detained."
"Unavoidably detained? How polite of you. Unavoidably detained by a bottle, I've no doubt."
"Watch your tongue, Julius," Brother Ronan said, a growl coloring his usually mild voice. "Even you can speak respectfully of your elders."
Julius raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "I've the utmost respect for Pryderi ap Tegid. It wounds me you would think otherwise."
They reached the edge of the camps, entering a ring of tents set apart from the rest. As promised, a table laden with food waited for them. Stews charmed to keep hot, freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and bowls of tiny strawberries so sweet they made you cry sat together with muffins, cookies, and cakes. Miranda's stomach started rumbling at the sight and smell of the bounty.
"Come, we'll eat together," Julius said, handing her a plate. "And I would introduce you to my sister."
"Did your sister make all this herself?" Miranda asked, impressed.
Brother Ronan, for all his apparent distaste for Julius, did not hesitate to help himself to the food. "I expect she did. Hela's cooking is legendary."
"It certainly smells good," Miranda said as she worked to put a little of everything onto her plate.
Several teenagers were lounging on a blanket in front of one of the tents, but they scattered when Julius guided Miranda and Brother Ronan to the spot. A lanky girl whispered something to one of the boys, who glanced at Miranda before bursting into laughter. Julius glared at the children until they were out of sight.
"What was that you were saying about respect, Brother Ronan?" Julius said wryly.
"Well, we did take their spot," Miranda pointed out, stifling a sigh of pleasure as she took a bite of a rich stew. Whatever else Hela Greyback was, her abilities as a cook had not been exaggerated. "Wow, that's delicious."
"I'm so happy you like it," said a bright voice.
Miranda took another bite, chewing carefully as she observed the newcomer. Hela Greyback was nearly as tall as her brother. Her blonde hair was cropped close to her head in an adorable bob, and her dark blue eyes were framed by thick black lashes. She had a friendly, infectious smile, and she was dressed in a charming sundress.
"Hela, you've outdone yourself again," Julius said, rising and kissing his sister's cheek.
"Do you think so? I had to leave off the raspberry tarts this year. None of the berries had come in yet," Hela said apologetically.
"Everything is excellent, don't be worrying about the tarts," said Brother Ronan, also rising to his feet. He grasped Hela's arm at the elbow, patting her hand as she returned the greeting. "How do you fair this year?"
"Oh, same as ever. Busy. Iseult is due any day now. I wouldn't be surprised if she went and had the baby tonight while we're all running," Hela said.
"Hela is one of our Healers," Julius explained, extending his hand to Miranda, who was still seated on the blanket.
She took the hint, quickly dusting her hands off on her trousers, and allowing Julius to guide her to her feet.
"That would make for an exciting Circle," Miranda said.
"It always does. Thankfully Judith is here. She'll see to her if I can't. I'm Hela Greyback by the way. I don't think we've met," Hela said, holding her hand out to Miranda.
"This is Miranda Rose," Julius said, doing the honors before Miranda could speak. "Cadfael's dieithryn."
"Of course! It's a pleasure to meet you." Hela took Miranda by the hand, shaking it enthusiastically.
"Likewise," Miranda said, wondering if this dieithryn greeting was an attempt to make her more comfortable, or subtly insult her. "You're an excellent cook."
"I love doing it. There's something so satisfying about taking raw ingredients and turning them into something beautiful. Do you cook?"
"I do, but not passionately."
"It's therapy for me. You're from America, aren't you?"
"Yes. From Kansas. It's somewhere in the middle of the country."
"I've always wanted to go there. Julius says he's never seen so much sky as when he was there."
"It's true," Julius agreed. "Though your cities leave something to be desired. They're choking on light and smoke. It's a crime."
"I suppose you're not wrong about either of those opinions," Miranda allowed.
"Ignore him," Hela said, sitting down and gesturing for Miranda to join her. "Tell me about Kansas. Have you ever been in a tornado? I read about them in a children's book once and I've wanted to see one ever since."
Julius huffed as he took his seat again. "You've seen plenty of tornados, Hela. You know how to make them."
Hela rolled her eyes. "A magic tornado isn't the same as a real tornado. They can form right out of the sky. It's different."
"They're impressive, to say the least," Miranda said, amused by the squabbling. "One year we lost the whole barn to a bad one. It ripped right through our property. But the weird part was how the fence next to the barn was completely untouched."
"That kind of chaotic power sounds exhilarating."
"It is. Terrifying, too."
The next half hour passed more pleasantly than Miranda had expected it to. Hela was attentive and open, asking questions and telling stories with ease. By the end of the meal, Miranda had decided she liked the woman, which was somewhat unsettling, considering Hela's connection to Fenrir. Julius was an ass, but his love for his sister was evident, even when he was ribbing her. Brother Ronan was quiet for the most part, but Miranda had no doubt that his mere presence was keeping Julius from stepping too far out of line.
They were lingering over cups of strong, sweet tea, when the devil joined them. Though he was a head shorter than Hela, he was powerfully built. His silver hair was brushed back, shining in the afternoon sun; and his fingernails, though filed into sharp points, were impeccably clean. He was dressed like a warrior, in black boots and sturdy clothing. His wand was strapped to his belt, alongside a huge bowie knife. Miranda knew without being told he was Fenrir Greyback.
Hela's smile faltered briefly as her eyes darted from Miranda to Fenrir. Then she was on her feet, brushing a kiss against his lips and placing herself firmly between him and the dieithryn. In the meantime, Brother Ronan was tugging Miranda to her feet, and pulling her to the edge of the blanket, as far from Fenrir as they could get. Julius stayed lounging where he was, watching the proceedings with a vicious smile.
"There you are," Hela was saying, "I've been missing you all afternoon. Are you hungry? They're bound to start soon and I know you hate listening to speeches on an empty stomach."
Though Miranda guessed that Hela was a few years older than herself, she looked terribly young next to Fenrir's rough, wrinkled face. Hades and Persephone come to earth. Fenrir caught her staring at them, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring as he took her measure.
"Who's this?" Fenrir asked, his voice surprisingly smooth.
Hela hesitated, but Julius refused to let the opportunity pass. He was on his feet, snatching Miranda from Brother Ronan's grasp, and bringing her forward like he was presenting her to the Queen. The hair on the back of Miranda's neck stood on end, but short of tucking her tail between her legs and running for the hills, there wasn't much she could do to escape. She set an easy smile on her lips and paced her breathing.
"Fenrir, may I present Miss Miranda Rose," Julius said. "You remember her. Tyr Hagen's executioner."
Hela shot her brother a withering glare, but he only grinned back at her. Brother Ronan positioned himself at Miranda's right hand, as Fenrir gently, but firmly, pushed Hela to the side. His eyes were a startling shade of green, and he ran them boldly over Miranda from head to toe.
When he made no move either to attack her, or to speak, Miranda slowly extended her arm to him.
"May the moon shine bright, Fenrir Greyback. I am honored by the hospitality of your pack," she said.
Fenrir raised his bushy eyebrows, amusement glinting in his eyes. His touch was light as he grasped her arm at the elbow, but she could feel the strength of him in the tautness of his fingers.
"Never the dark," he said. "You're a bold puss to come creeping into my den, looking for scraps."
Don't look away, don't blink, don't narrow your eyes. "Your wife is an exceptional cook."
He was still holding her arm in his light grip, waiting to see if she would flinch. "She is."
Fine. If Julius had thrown the gauntlet, she was going to pick it up. "Tyr Hagen was a good warrior. I have the scars to prove it."
Fenrir's lips spread into a malicious smile. His canine teeth were as sharp as Dante's. "But he wasn't good enough."
The sound of Julius's boot grinding into the dirt was the only warning she had. As he lunged at her from behind, she pulled her arm out of Fenrir's grasp. Fenrir's fingernails caught on the fabric of her shirt, but he did not try to hinder her. She dropped into a crouch, grabbed Julius's arm as it came over her shoulder, and used his own momentum to send him rolling into the dirt. By the time he was on his feet again, she had her wand aimed at his heart.
"Careful, little witch," Julius purred. "Someone might lose an eye."
"Miranda, you don't have to fight him," Brother Ronan said.
Julius drew his own wand and raised it in a mocking salute. "Actually, I think she does. Don't worry, friar. It's only a duel between friends."
Brother Ronan ignored him, stepping close to Miranda to hiss in her ear, "Cadfael isn't going to like this."
But Miranda was tired of being toyed with. "It's my pleasure entirely, Mr Wilbourne."
"But—" Brother Ronan began.
Fenrir laughed, an ugly bark of a sound. "Hold your tongue, Ronan. Let's see what Cadfael's dieithryn can do."
Julius made Miranda a formal bow, and attacked. "Incendio."
A jet of blue flame shot out of Julius's wand. Miranda parried it with a blast of icy water from hers. As the fire vanished in a hiss of black smoke, she sent a pair of silent Stinging Hexes flying at him. He grunted as the first hex hit its mark, and dodged under the second as he set his Shield Charm in place. Her next set of hexes bounced harmlessly to the ground, sparking as they hit the dirt.
"You're quick on your feet," she said gamely.
"Let's see how quick you are," he replied, "Chasmatias."
A deep gash split the ground between them, ripping towards Miranda. Hela, Brother Ronan, and the gathering crowd hurried out of its path. Miranda shoved her wand into her sleeve and threw her weight backwards. She landed on her hands, springing through to a backflip, and then another, staying just ahead of the gaping chasm chasing her. It was a showy move—but she meant to show off.
"Poor little kitty can't run forever," taunted Fenrir.
"Poor kitty doesn't have to," Miranda shot back. She tucked into a roll to get out of the chasm's immediate path. The instant she had a free hand, her wand was in it. "Finite Incantum!"
The chasm shuddered, but stopped advancing.
"We're not done yet, Dieithryn," Julius said.
"I should hope not," Miranda said, scrambling to her feet. "Curatio."
She and Julius stood on opposite ends of the chasm now, both sweating and fighting for control. Little tremors ran along the ground, drawing more and more attention to the "friendly" duel. Miranda's eyes went out of focus as she threw every ounce of her will into her magic. There was a loud snap, and then the chasm began closing back in on itself. Julius stumbled back a step or two as his spell was undone.
"Stupify!" he snarled.
"Not today," Miranda gloated as she parried the clumsy hex. "Incarcerous."
A set of four thick vines sprang out of the earth and wrapped themselves around Julius's arms and legs. The harder he struggled, the tighter they became, until they had pulled him down to his knees. His wand fell from his hand, rolling to a halt at Brother Ronan's feet.
"This round goes to Miss Rose," Brother Ronan said sternly, scooping up the wand and tossing it to Fenrir.
Fenrir shrugged as he caught the wand. "I expected no less from Tyr's killer."
Miranda frowned as she slid her wand back into her sleeve. Fenrir's praise made her feel dirty rather than triumphant. She waved her hand, wordlessly vanishing the vines holding Julius.
"Thanks for the dance," she said.
Julius ran the back of his hand across his lip, wiping away blood from the gash her Stinging Hex had given him. His eyes locked to hers, and his lips curled into a feral smile as he licked the blood off his hand.
"First blood to you, Dieithryn," he said, retrieving his wand from Fenrir. "I won't forget it."
Hell no. She was not flirting with this fucker. She let her voice grow cold as Beatrix's. "If you do, let me know. I'll give you more of the same."
Julius's smile twisted into a snarl. Hela grabbed hold of his arm as he took a step towards Miranda, whispering furiously in his ear. Unhindered, Fenrir started stalking slowly towards Miranda. She held her ground and refused to look away from his predatory gaze. Brother Ronan tried once again to extract her from the situation, but the crowd had tightened around them, eager to see the drama unfold.
Fenrir halted less than an arm's length from Miranda. When he spoke, his voice was a low growl. "Cadfael should take better care of his things."
"I'm not Cadfael's thing," Miranda said.
"Miranda Rose, where have you been?" Beatrix's icy voice cut through the camp. The onlookers fell back to let her through, their curiosity no match for her frosty gaze.
"Beatrix! May the moon shine bright. Miss Rose has been taking her tea with us, but we were just finishing." Hela hurried forward, ushering Miranda towards Beatrix.
"Never the dark, Hela. I'm glad you found her for me. She's needed up on the Rock. They're starting," Beatrix said.
"Then, by all means, take her," Hela said.
"Thanks for the tea, Mrs Greyback. It was entertaining," Miranda said, falling into step behind Beatrix. What was it about Beatrix that made her feel a school girl about to get detention?
"What was that about not being Cadfael's thing, puss?" Fenrir taunted.
Miranda froze, her wand halfway to her hand, but Beatrix grabbed her arm and dragged her onwards.
"Leave it, Dieithryn," Beatrix hissed. "You've done enough."
"Don't be so hard on the lass," Brother Ronan said as he caught up to them. "There wasn't much else she could have done. Julius attacked her without a by your leave."
"That may be true, but if she does any more, we'll have a feud on our hands. We simply haven't the time for that sort of nonsense," Beatrix said.
Miranda counted to ten before answering. "You're right. I'd say I'm sorry for kicking Julius's ass, but I don't think I could do tell that lie with a straight face."
Beatrix raised her eyes to heaven. "Well, do try to find a straight face by the time we reach Singer's Rock. This is life or death, after all."
"Yes, Ma'am."
It took them fifteen minutes to cross the river and climb the winding trail up the tree covered cliffs to Singer's Rock. Though the camps they left behind were still boisterous with activity, the people gathered atop the cliff were much more serious. They stood in small groups between the trees, speaking in whispers if they spoke at all. An ancient piece of brown limestone jutted out from the cliff at the edge of the trees. A magic far older than the ruins of the church below pulsed from the Rock. It thrummed through Miranda's body, making her feel as awed as any great cathedral ever had.
A woman was perched on the rock, playing an Irish harp and singing in a wild, sweet voice. Her black, braided hair was pulled back to reveal a pair of ears that were distinctly pointed. Her smooth, dark brown skin, and bright brown eyes made her look younger than Miranda, though her regal presence and the depth of her magic belied her youthful appearance. She sang in English, but Miranda was unable to catch the meaning of the words, she was so mesmerized by the beautiful sadness of the woman's voice.
"Who is she?" Miranda whispered.
"That would be Rhiannon Parkinson. Hector's wife," Beatrix explained as she steered Miranda towards the tree where Cadfael and Remus were waiting.
Miranda had eyes only for Rhiannon. "She's stunning."
Brother Ronan smiled. "She is indeed stunning."
"What is she singing? I don't know this song."
"I'd be more surprised if you did know it, as it's one of ours. It's a love song, about death and new beginnings."
"She looks like Galadriel's younger sister."
"Snap out of it, Miranda," Beatrix said. "You're going to need a clear head for this."
Miranda let the haunting music wash through her for another moment, then dragged herself back to the present. Though she shut her ears against the magic, it played on the edge of her awareness, setting every nerve sparking.
"Where the hell have you been?" Remus snapped when they reached him.
"I was working on interpack relations," Miranda said.
"Don't be too hard on her," Brother Ronan said. "Julius got hold of her. She's lucky to be in one piece."
Cadfael's usually cheerful face was grim. "I'm sorry. I should have kept better watch on you."
"There was no need," Beatrix said. "She handed Julius his arse. I only wish I'd witnessed the entire beating."
Cadfael was not diverted. "Did Greyback touch you?"
"No. Not beyond the formal greeting," Miranda said. "I'm fine. Really. What's the plan?"
"Same as we practiced," Remus said as he fidgeted with the frayed hem of his jacket. "I do the talking. You hold the box. We hope nobody eats us."
Cadfael passed the potion box to Miranda. The weight of the wood, and the knowledge that the vials inside were the work of Severus's hands grounded her.
"I'll do my best to look more like a Valkyrie than Vanna White," Miranda quipped.
"What?" Remus asked, visibly confused.
"Never mind," Miranda said. "It looks like it's showtime."
Rhiannon brought her song to a close, and handed her harp off to a young lady with flowers in her hair. Even the whispered conversations ceased as a man came through the trees to meet her. His regal bearing made him appear even taller than he was, and his dark green robes were shot through with gold. He was darker than Rhiannon, and the white peppering his hair made him appear older. But he had that same ineffable quality about him, making him seem to be from another world. There was no question that Hector Parkinson was the first among equals.
He took Rhiannon's hands in his and kissed them. She graced him with a smile as he took his place at her side. They took their time running their eyes over those gathered in the glen. Miranda shivered as their glance fell on her, but she did not look away.
"It is good to be here with you again," Hector began. His voice was quiet, but it rang with power. "The year is not half gone, but it has already been long for us. There is trouble in the wind. The earth trembles and quakes under our feet. It does not require the wisdom of the centaurs to understand what is coming."
"It is time to speak of it together, before each pack chooses which way they will go," Rhiannon said. "Remus Lupin, come say what you have to say."
All eyes turned to Remus, who had his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he slunk towards Singer's Rock. Though he kept his eyes off the ground, his gazed was fixed on some vague point over everyone's heads. Miranda and Cadfael flanked him, standing just behind him after he'd taken his place on the rock. He looked like a boy giving a school report under duress instead of a leader of wolves.
"Thank you for giving me this moment of your time," Remus began. "This place—all of us, here together—it's more beautiful than I'd ever dreamed. I wish that I had grown up running in these hills and splashing through that river alongside you."
"You were given the chance," Fenrir retorted from across the glen, where he stood leaning against a tree. "Don't bore us with whining."
There was a rumble of laughter from Julius and the other men and women gathered around Fenrir. Remus glanced at Hector, but the First Wolf merely stared back at him, doing nothing to check the interruption. Remus was on his own.
"I am grateful to be here," Remus continued in a louder voice. "And grateful for the time I've spent running with all of you."
"Run with me again, and I'll give you more to be grateful for," Fenrir jeered.
A growl crept into Remus's tone, and he finally pulled his hands out of his pockets, making wide gestures to emphasize his points as he spoke. "We can all feel the darkness of Voldemort growing. We can smell it with every breath we take. Left unchecked, it will smother us. There is a band of wizards opposing him. But we can't do it alone. We need your help. We come to you today as beggars—"
"And as beggars you'll leave empty handed," shouted Julius.
"—as beggars pleading for your aid."
"Why should we risk our necks to help a pack of dieithryn wizards?" demanded a woman from one of the other packs. "We can breathe in the dark."
"For now we can breathe, but only for now. Voldemort's way will not bring balance to Albion. He will only bring it to ruin," Remus said.
The woman was not convinced. "What would be the benefit to us? Wizards are fond enough of begging for our strength when their puny forces are overwhelmed. But they do nothing for us in the times between. Why should we help them for nothing?"
"That's a fair point," Remus allowed. "And it won't be for nothing."
He nodded to Miranda, and she opened the box in her hands. Row on row of glass vials glittered in the afternoon sun.
"This box contains a potion that will put an end to the Wolfsbane poison so many of us have choked down month after month, when we could get our hands on it at all." Remus said, his voice growing stronger all the time. "The New Moon Potion was created by dieithryn wizards, solely to help us. Instead of restraining the wolf by painful force, it unites the wits of our humanity with the wisdom and strength of the wolf."
Murmurs of disbelief and interest went through the crowd, as people craned their necks to get a better view of the box. Maybe they had half a snowball's chance in Hell after all.
"Who says that it works?" sneered Julius.
"I say it works," Beatrix said. "Pipe down, Julius, so we can hear."
Remus forged on. "Beyond this, I promise to you, on my honor, that werewolves will not be forgotten when Voldemort is defeated. We will no longer skulk around the edges of the magical world. We will be free to come and go as we please, as respected and valued members of society."
"It's been centuries and the Ministry hasn't found a place for us yet," said a man near Beatrix.
"That will change. I promise you that it will." The conviction in Remus's was greater than Miranda had ever heard it. For a moment, she almost believed he believed his words himself.
Everyone started talking at once. Remus shot a questioning look at Cadfael, who shook his head once in reply. They weren't finished yet. Miranda's arms were aching from holding up the box like a showgirl. She let her eyes relax, watching the tree branches swaying gently in the breeze as she listened to snatches of the werewolves' chatter. Those in support of Fenrir were the loudest and most sure of themselves. But underneath their voices ran a murmur of questions and opposition. Even if Remus couldn't convince anyone else to fight alongside the Order, at least they weren't making more enemies to fight against.
The talking died down as Fenrir came into the center of the glen. He stood across from Remus, his green eyes full of malice. Remus's nostrils flared, and he either could not—or would not—disguise the hatred on his face as he met Fenrir's stare.
"The dieithryn will never accept us, or our ways," Fenrir said. "Anyone who says differently is selling something. The Dark Lord welcomes us—and he rewards his favorites."
"He kills them just as often," Remus said.
Fenrir turned away from Remus, his arms spread wide. "We have the strength to win this war for one side of the other. We will burn down the world built to oppress us. We will rebuild it to our liking."
"Voldemort will crush us before that happens!" Remus shot back, his hands clenching into fists at his side. "You're a fool if you think otherwise."
Julius lifted his voice in Fenrir's defense. "The Dark Lord crushes only the weak. We need not fear him."
Remus's eyes were flashing, his body straight as an arrow. He almost looked like someone you'd march into battle with. "Voldemort calls our kind an abomination. Once he has used our strength to win his fight, he will turn on us. He will hunt us down to the last wolf."
"What a good joke this is," Fenrir said. "Lyall Lupin's son indignant for werewolves' honor."
Fenrir was stalking towards Remus. Though it was custom to remain on Singer's Rock until the conversation was over, Remus was too angry to stay put. He matched Fenrir step for step, coming to meet him until they were close enough to bite one another.
"My father is dead and gone," Remus said. "You'll leave him out of this."
"Your father may be dead, but he will never be gone. Not when the dieithryn laws he supported still chain us—still threaten our very lives."
"My father—"
"When you were going from pack to pack, whining and begging like a milk-fed pup, did you tell them? Did you tell them who your father was?"
"I think everyone here knows exactly who my father was."
Miranda shot a glance at Cadfael, whose face was stony and grim. What the actual fuck was going on?
"But so many years have passed, perhaps they've forgotten," Fenrir continued. "Perhaps they've forgotten how Lyall Lupin hunted us down, and forced us to register with the Ministry of Magic when he found us. Perhaps they've forgotten how Lyall Lupin ensured none of us could work or live, or even breathe in the open—"
"Those laws existed before my father's father was even born," Remus said. "My father did not create them."
"But it was your father who enforced them with a passion not seen since Good Queen Bess was on the dieithryn throne. It was your father who called us soulless and evil. It was your father who taught you we deserve nothing but death."
Miranda snapped the potion box shut and hissed under her breath. "Did you know about this?"
"I did," Cadfael hissed back, taking the box from her and stowing it away in his robes.
"Then why the fuck was Remus sent here in the first place?"
"You'll have to ask Dumbledore that question."
"Believe me, I will." Fucking Albus Dumbledore.
Fenrir and Remus were nose to nose, shouting at each other by now. Julius was watching the proceedings with malevolent glee, the men and women around him catcalling Remus. Hela was huddled next to a tree, her arms folded and a stricken expression on her face. Most of the others gathered were arguing with each other by this point, though some were watching the main event like a Greek tragedy in a theatre. Brother Ronan stood near Beatrix, telling his beads with nervous fingers.
Hector strode towards the Rock, his face an impassive mask. Cadfael grabbed Miranda's arm to tug her out of Hector's way, but she was already stumbling off the Rock. Hector's face might be calm, but his anger radiated around him in a powerful aura.
"Enough!" he bellowed. "This is not the time or place for war."
Silence fell immediately. Even Fenrir stopped talking, though he and Remus stayed where they were, panting as they glared at each other.
"Fenrir and Remus have made their positions clear," Hector continued. "After this Moon, you may all choose whether to join one or the other. But I would council all—including you Fenrir—and you Remus—that this war is none of our concern. It would be better for us to protect the lands we still hold, and remain apart from this conflict. The Heart of the Wye will be open to all wolves who wish to remain there in safety. Let the dieithryn destroy themselves. They have no need of our help to accomplish that."
"I was afraid of this," Cadfael said.
"What?" Miranda asked.
"Most of the packs will choose to do nothing at all."
She closed her eyes briefly. So many months of wasted effort. "It's too early to know what will happen."
Fenrir bowed to Hector, then made his parting shot. "Those of you who wish to join the winning side will know where to find me."
Remus growled audibly, but Fenrir let go of him and went back to his own pack. Julius pounded him on the back, as though Fenrir had won a great duel. A cheer went up among their fellows as Fenrir continued through the crowd to Hela's side. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her, a shade too passionately to be comfortable for public view. Miranda willed Remus not to slink away like a kicked puppy, but she need not have worried. Remus stormed towards Cadfael's pack, his fury still blazing through him.
"Let it go, Remus," Cadfael said when Remus reached him. "That went as well as it could have gone."
"Albus should have sent someone else," Remus said. "Anyone else."
Miranda agreed with this, but there was no use in crying over broken Ashwinder eggs. "Albus knows what he's doing."
Remus exhaled loudly and gave her half of a smile. "Thanks for lying. I appreciate the effort."
"Anytime."
"What about Ireland, Brother Ronan?" Cadfael asked. "Will any of yours join us?"
Brother Ronan grimaced. "I doubt it. The darkness here hasn't spread there as yet. I expect we'll be guarding our own shores and leave you to yours. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Remus said darkly. "It's what any sane wolf would do."
"Why the long faces? Did somebody die?"
Miranda's head snapped around as Mary MacDonald joined them. She had a mocking look on her face, and her shoulders were high with tension.
"Did you come to gloat?" Remus asked wearily, the fight going out of him. "Because I really don't have the energy for that."
"Buck up Remus. If you act like a loser, nobody here is going to follow you," Mary said.
"Nobody here was going to follow me anyway," Remus said.
"I don't think I'm nobody," Beatrix said. "And neither is Cadfael."
Remus huffed. "You know what I meant."
This was quickly going straight town the toilet. "Why don't we go down to camp and set up the potions box," Miranda suggested, more to give Remus time to get himself together than anything else. "I'm sure someone will at least want to ask more about it. They'll be more likely to do that if they aren't up here with all the hot tempers burning."
Remus shook his head, a dangerously stubborn look on his face. Wonderful. Just what they needed.
"Shut up, Dieithryn," Mary said, elbowing Miranda hard in the ribs. "Show's not over yet."
Miranda's brow furrowed as she followed Mary's eyes. Then her lips parted in surprise as Pryderi came quietly into the glen.
"Holy shit," Miranda whispered.
"Yep," Mary replied.
Dressed in scuffed shoes, and the same wrinkled clothes he always wore, Pryderi was an unassuming presence. Surrounded by packs and the ancient trees, he looked terribly frail, as though the first stiff wind would blow him away. But a silence fell as he passed by the other werewolves, leaving the glen as still as it had been when Hector spoke.
Pryderi paused near Singer's Rock, though he was staring over Hector's shoulder at the view beyond. The Abbey ruins looked like children's toys in the distance, surrounded by the valley of green and the blue ribbon of the river. Pryderi watched it for some time, until Rhiannon came to meet him, taking his thin hands in hers.
"It is good to see you, my friend," she said. "You should not have stayed away for so long."
"I know," Pryderi replied, his voice rusty. "But I like to make dramatic entrances."Rhiannon squeezed his hands fondly. "I remember. Will you run with us?"
Pryderi smiled wide. "I think I may have a run or two left in me."
He let go of her hands, and turned slowly to look at everyone gathered there. But his eyes had a far away look in them, like he was seeing faces long gone, that only he remembered.
"The dieithryn call this Rock the Devil's Pulpit," he said to no one in particular. "They named it that because they knew it was ours. The dieithryn have always feared us, even in the days of Brutus and Arthur. We walked among the dieithryn then. We guided their kings and queens for good or ill. We guarded the infant coven of wizards as they grew from a few hundred to the powerful numbers they have now. We defended them, and they respected us once. But they always feared us."
"Make your point old man," Fenrir called, Hela still pulled tight against his side. "We didn't come here today to be bored by such as you."
Pryderi shrugged. "Yes, I am an old man, so you will forgive me for wandering. But I am old enough to remember. I remember that we are the rightful guardians of Albion. It is our honor and our burden.
"The blood of the wolf flowing through each one of us is not a disease that the Healers would cure. It is a tie that binds us here. It is a call to duty. And whether it began as a blessing or a curse; it is now whatever we make it to be. Like many before us, we have come to a crossroads. We will never be the same, whichever path we choose. Those of you who would would stay here and be safe, I do not think the less of. You will tend our wounds and bury us. You will tell our story long after this moment has passed into legend."
He turned to Fenrir, regarding him with the same expression he would use to look at something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "Those of you who choose to follow this one into Hell are also free to run as you like. I will not tell you what I think of this here at a meeting of peace. But when we meet on the battlefield, my teeth with show you."
"Is he saying what I think he's saying?" Remus said.
"Shut up and listen," Mary said.
Pryderi's eyes shone with a manic fire. "But those of you whose hearts still beat with the fire of justice—those of you who can feel the need to protect thundering in your veins—those of you who are sickened by the putrid filth despoiling our sacred grounds—you will join me and mine. We will take our rightful place as the guardians of Albion once more. We will see it through to the end, though we water the earth with our tears and our blood. For though the leaders of the dieithryn be but shadows of the kings and queens that we once guarded, we are not changed. We are the same as the first Pryderi—as the first Morgan le Fey. Their blood is singing in our veins and we will be victorious!"
A roar went up from the crowd, deafening even though none of Fenrir's people lent a voice to it. Pryderi threw back his head, howling at the sun. He raised his hands, and in the afternoon light, his fingers grew, stretching into claws. His body twisted and changed, until he was the wolf-man, standing on his hind legs, his teeth shining and snapping for all to see. He turned, coming to Hector and Rhiannon with a loping gait, and kneeling at their feet.
"Fuck, I'm glad he's on our side," Miranda said.
"You have no idea how lucky we are," Cadfael said, his voice thick with emotion. "Remus, how did you convince him?"
"I didn't," Remus said.
Mary cleared her throat. "I did."
Cadfael pulled her into a fierce embrace. "I knew you'd come through in the end."
"Yeah, well, I guess I'd rather go down fighting than sitting on my arse, waiting for some cockwomble dieithryn wizard to kill me," she said gruffly.
Hector put his hand on Pryderi's bowed head. "I will not join you in this battle, but I am not sorry to see you meet it."
"I thank you, my friend," Pryderi said, his voice ringing through the glen. "Now, we run!"
The years and sorrows that had bent Pryderi's frame had vanished. He ran like one of the old gods come back to earth. The packs, trapped in their human forms until nightfall, rushed after him into the forest. Their cheers and shouts sent the birds shrieking up into the air. Only Fenrir, and the few most loyal to him, remained behind.
Remus turned to Miranda, his face alight with a hope she'd never seen there before. It suited him—smoothing the lines of care and worry that usually marked his face.
He took Miranda's hand in his and they ran together; following Pryderi like the nymphs and shepherds of yesterdays had once followed the great god Pan.
End Notes:
Remus is quoting the poem "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey" by William Wordsworth.
I pulled out all the World Building stops for this chapter. Please let me know what you think :)
I promise Severus will return in the next chapter 3