Chapter 22

"Truth"

Jumper and I sent Echo off with a proper howl, and when death was no longer at out paws, we rested. As the stars once again appeared, so did we and Jumper picked up his joyful reunion once more. It had been a long time since he was last in the company of another Mighty Hena. I let him paw and nudge and push me despite my wounds, so happy we were to see each other again. I endured his nuzzling and licking and rough grooming with the hopes he could answer the questions I had of him.

"How can this be?" I asked, looking him over again.

This time, without the burden of battle on my mind. His wound had been grievous. His situation, dire. Many moons and much land had passed between us from then until now. How then, did he survive, let alone find me?

"Hootie Hoot helpie," Jumper explained as if such things were normal.

Then again, they had been for some time. The Brown Owl came down and landed on Jumper's back with rehearsed ease and, having carried the owl myself, I understood their dynamic. The Brown Owl must have helped Jumper hunt during his recovery while Jumper gave him sanctuary during rest.

"Help I did," the owl further supported, proudly ruffling his feathers.

"How did you find me?" I went on, eyeing the bird carefully.

"Hootie Hoot sees you," Jumper said.

Exactly when the owl saw me was questionable. Given Jumper's timing, it was not the usual way.

"Help I did," the owl said again as if reading my thoughts.

He stared at me as if building up some great debt. Either that or he was trying to gain my favor. I did not like it. Especially when I remembered that the owl began following Jumper long before we ever met. Those annoying owls and their sight.

"You howls for me," Jumper added, so very proud of that fact.

He must have heard all of my howling earlier, but Jumper lost interest in the discussion when he realized how many scratches and bruises and bites I had. He moved away, looking and hearing and sniffing for the rest of the pack and finding no trace of them.

"Mother just Mother?" Jumper asked.

"We go to them now," I explained, starting in the direction we needed to go, assuming he wanted to come with me, hoping that he would.

Jumper excitedly bounced back to me with a hefty push. I stumbled a little and he quickly apologized by licking my face and falling into proper step. His gait was different. His pace, much slower. Hop ever apparent. But it was still not as slow as mine. I pushed through the pain of my wounds, hardening myself from it so that we eased into a trot much like the one I had before the fight. I was determined to meet up with Alpha and the others now more than ever, and with Jumper at my side, my Spirit beat itself back into rhythm with the drum of our paws. My body healed much more slowly, but with Jumper and his owl on watch, we traveled without further incident.

I could tell when we crossed into the grasslands. The ground cradled my paws and the sound of the grasses softened. The wind blew in our favor and the Spirit funneled through me with great ease and vitality. It was much cooler now, especially at night, and the clouds were smooth and heavy above. Our breath frosted just before dawn, puffing in a growing cloud as we stopped to watch a shadow that appeared on the hill ahead of us. Its silhouette was distinctly Mighty Hena in origin, but it was still too far away to recognize. The wind came from the side, blowing away both of our scents. Noticing two when there was only supposed to be one, the Mighty Hena on the hill howled to identify the territory we had crossed into.

It would have been a warning to any other, but for us, it was a welcomed greeting. The voice belonged to none other than Alpha. Several more shadows appeared and joined in his declaration. To their surprise, we did too. They recognized our voices at once, pausing only slightly at Jumper's, and ran down the hill towards us. I waited for them, suddenly very tired, but happy to see them all so well. Their trip to the river was successful. I could see the Spirit thriving around them. They had been blessed by the river and were spreading its energy like a great tide across the grasslands, revitalizing it like a summer rain.

The Brown Owl took off and watched from above as we met one another with much rejoicing. It was short lived when the rest of the pack realized how my state had greatly worsened since we left one another. Omega was furious. The pack scolded me greatly, but this, too, was brief for I brought Jumper back with me and the first snowflakes began to fall around us. We looked up at the sky with great relief. The magnitude of our efforts finally caught up to us. Having accomplished our purpose on both sides, we used our reunion as a chance to rest and exchange stories. We spent the majority of our time telling tales and fell asleep late into the morning.

In our sleep, when everything had gone quiet, and all was well, and we thought ourselves safe, I realized we were under attack.

Mighty Hena ruled the night, and although many other creatures found life in the darkness, just as many kept to the day. Thus, we Mighty Hena learned skills to devour our prey while they slept to lessen the risk of counterattack when we came across them. Some of us were Dream Eaters. We had the ability to sneak into the dreams of others and manipulate them to our will. It was a tactic most often used in pack wars to rob the enemy of hope and confidence. A successful Dream Eater could weaken the victim with fear and dread and despair before they even crossed claws. A Mighty Hena with a broken will posed much less of a threat. It was our greatest weapon since our energy and build were so similar. Packs shattered when the fractures grew large enough.

But if one Dream Eater happened to enter the dreams of another Eater, it led to a place between dreams and reality. A place void of all but that which we projected to one another. In cases like these, the strongest in Spirit could overtake the other. That was where I met Exile. He stood before me, a lone Mighty Hena in a domain of darkness without land or sky or light. I stood across from him, just as still and sturdy. Physical weakness had no effect in such a domain, so I appeared to him just as unblemished as I did at the temple. The distance between us made no difference in this place. We looked at one another, fully aware that the quiet unmoving balance we maintained was as volatile and fleeting as the eye of a twister.

"Hello Mother," Exile said, respectfully, gently, and all together sinister. "Won't you let me in?"

I stood my ground, careful to keep a Mother's calm narrow gaze of watchfulness on my face.

"You don't have to be afraid. I am here to help you," he went on, tempting and taunting all at the same time. "I never intended to hurt you with these tidings. Not dearest Mother."

In places such as this, where Spirit and soul reigned strongest, I could tell his intentions were true and that was what bothered me.

"You of all Hena should know that the best Dream Eaters become Dream Walkers. They can take away the bad just as much as the good. You who could talk and meet in the minds of any Hena. I once heard you even conversed with different creatures in their dreams. Calmed others at the height of the Bone Wars. Soothed entire packs with visions of a great shadow shaped like a Mighty Hena before they went to battle or fell to rest. I am honored to meet you in this realm."

He was baiting me, building me up, waiting to see how high he could go before I fell. Exile sharpened his teeth with a pinch of a smile.

"The Doom Seers told me about your Dream Eating. How every creature unfortunate enough to feel the bite of your Eater never failed to lose their minds, go insane, or die a gruesome, violent, unnatural death."

I remembered those days. The types of dreams I made for war. I paid for them in my own dreams now. The marks of the Mighty Hena I targeted turned them into nightmares. But I long since reconciled myself with those sins. Exile would get no rise from me. Sensing this, he changed tactics, tilting his head ever so slightly. He'd go for the only place he knew me to bleed.

"Do you miss him?" he asked, words warping ever so slightly.

I knew he spoke of Father because everything that had to do with Exile had to do with Father.

"Do you see his face every time you look at me?"

I could not tell if it was Exile or me, maybe a bit of us both, but the ghost of Father's image appeared beside Exile for a brief moment.

"Does his death still pain you as the day he died?"

Yes. Yes, it did. In ways Exile would never know nor come to understand.

"Let me in and I will take that pain away from you. I will make it so you never feel such things again."

He spoke of memory manipulations. The deepest and most profound ways of dream distortion. He was powerful enough to make such promises. And I had endured enough to make his promise worthwhile. Yet his offer was nothing but insulting.

"Is losing Father in the flesh not enough? Now you wish to take him from my heart?" I snapped, raising the pressure and breaking the balance.

The domain began to flicker and wobble. Exile hurriedly shifted with the tilt, pushing his Spirit pressure against mine so that it materialized like a constant wind around us, gaining speed.

"I would take it all if you let me, and in return, I would give you my all," he confessed.

"You are a betrayer."

"I broke no law!" Exile suddenly shouted, bracing himself and stepping forward so that every word was a snarl. "I had every right to kill him!"

The domain spun around us so fast that a terrible howling like a true twister threatened to blow us off our paws if we let go of our hold. Our fur and manes rippled in the invisible storm.

Death followed Mighty Hena wherever we went. It was part of our nature as predators. We took its shape in the shadow of our prey, but the shadow we cast was identical. Death was a price we sometimes paid when challenging or defending our place in the hierarchy. It was why I could not hate Exile for what he did. As much as I wanted to deny it, he spoke the truth. Father's fall from balance was the very day Exile mortally wounded him during a challenge. Had I been the same Mother now as I was then, I might have let him speak his piece, but the strangeness he had brought upon us made us Mighty Hena feel in ways we never had before. And what I felt next had been burning inside of me since then.

I took the same stance as Exile and bared my teeth, digging my claws in and raising every hair, every hackle, every piece of my heart, to its fullest.

"Father couldn't kill you, but I can!" I shouted back at him.

A great black shadow with red eyes and white teeth suddenly launched itself from me to Exile, devouring his dream in a single void shattering snap that woke me up to an even more violent reality.

Exile's spiritual attack was only the beginning. He sent others ahead of him in the real world. All manner of ghost were spread out around us. From Smoking Eyes to the stronger clawed Phantoms and the fully formed Ghouls that had thick purplish bodies and devilish grins. There were more than a dozen of them. One for each of us. It was already night. The others were still asleep. The ghosts cast their own dream eating spells. Whereas I came out the stronger and awoke in control, the others were thrown into chaos and panic as victims of an initial strike.

I tried to lock the ghosts out of the otherworld before they could use it to their advantage, but three of the ghosts were already prepared for my awakening. Two Phantoms and one Ghoul. They pinned me down with alternating phantom forces. One always holding me down while the other two collected energy for the next sequential strike. With my head pressed against the ground, my breath disturbed a light layer of purple moth dust that coated the area. It was dry and discolored. Old, but potent from processing. Crushed by the club of a Shaman for later use. No wonder we did not sense the ghosts' presence nor awake when we were supposed to.

What sacrifice did the Shaman offer this time for such power?

Alpha and Phantom Back were the first to retaliate, but their attacks were wild and imprecise in their disorientation and missed. Gruff Growl warned the others of the type of danger they were in with three heavy, but quick, baying notes. It called the others to their senses, but this was a well-coordinated attack. It was Exile and the Shaman's final act of vengeance before the turn of the season and they were cut off from the grasslands. The rest of the pack finally turned on the offensive, but even our night eyes had trouble catching so many vapors and unnatural shadows at night.

Snow continued to quietly drift around our snapping jaws and swishing tails. Jumper leapt up at one of the ghosts, but it vanished into the other realm. They all did, every time we got close, and reappeared from a different direction with a shadowy punch or energized attack that knocked us down again. Omega threw up a domain in my place to try and contain the ghosts, but this was his first time attempting such an advanced technique on his own. His legs wobbled and he struggled to raise his head against the strain. The stress accelerated his fatigue, causing him to wince and pant. His dark pulsing energy slowed some of the weaker Smokey Eyes, but it was not enough to contain the Phantoms and Ghouls.

There were too many. The space, too wide. Their strength, too great. A single Ghoul was powerful enough to break free from such constraints. The melee was on a path to mayhem and Alpha was the only one left who could redirect it. He came up beside Omega and supplemented his energy with his own. The stars blacked out above us. The contrast in light deepened. Snow continued to fall through the barrier, glowing unusually bright against the sharpened edges of shadow. It made everything feel much more isolated and contrasting. It was a unique effect of Mato's unique energy. The domain fell wide around us, highlighting our grey marks as we fought. Alpha had to be sure all of the ghosts were within his radar before shrinking it like a net, forcing all of them to materialize and collect in a condensed sphere. A reversed pulse.

Alpha grunted, struggling to keep so many ghosts in such a tight ball. They wrestled around one another trying to get out. Alpha would not be able to hold it for long. Phantom Back capitalized on the moment. In a similar way that I could channel a type of spiritual armor, he could create a veil of darkness around him. It was his greatest and most dangerous technique because the Spirit relied heavily on experience and emotion, and his past was filled with far too much death and destruction for a single Mighty Hena to control.

Phantom Back's original pack, mostly his immediate family consisting of two siblings, his birth mother and father, and a cousin, were haunted and killed by an especially skilled Phantom that slowly drained their energy and drove them mad. They died off, one by one, so that the Phantom could trade their lives for its own and satisfy its desire to become a Ghoul. The ghost planned to use their deaths to fuel Phantom Back's desperation and force him to become a young one. Then, it could use the energy of his transformation to evolve.

Phantom Back's ire proved the stronger force.

If Shaman were my greatest enemy, ghosts were Phantom Back's. His name did not simply come from the nature of his mane, but the burdens he carried every moment of his life. Every day was filled with nightmares of the pack he lost. Every night, fear for the one he gained. It was why I took such caution at the river with Banette. But this was chaos and surprise he could not overcome on his own. Phantom Back ran straight into the condensed domain. Unrecognizable snarls ripped through his throat. His mouth smoked with an endless series of ice fangs as he pierced and bit and tore through the ghosts' supernatural flesh. His Spirit was so close to the otherworld that his fangs could hold no other power but its unnatural chill, even though a fang filled with darkness would have been much more effective.

He attacked in a crazed fashion, wild with fury and despair. The ghosts turned into a smoky maelstrom around him, but their surprise did not last forever. Those not under direct attack struck back in their confinement. There was only so much one Hena's claws and teeth could catch, but Phantom Back paid them no heed. Pain meant nothing against such an uncontrollable frenzy. His suicidal plunge into the globe of ghosts was not the way of the pack. It was the actions of a darkened Hena. Furious at his behavior, but otherwise unable to stop it while creating such a barrier, Alpha commanded the others to encircle the globe at a short distance. They hurried into position, filling their fangs with darkness so that their teeth glowed when they snarled.

Maw Mouth was the only one that breathed heavy tongues of flame. They tickled his lips and nose so much that cinders flew out into the dark every time he breathed. His light strengthened the darkness in the mouths of the others by casting shadows behind their teeth. It was a trick I taught both Maw Mouth and the pack to aid in their hunts when the utmost power of our darkness was needed. When all were ready, Alpha released the domain. Ghosts fell out of the concentrated center on all sides. By the time they spilled out to where the pack was waiting, their smoky entrails condensed back into full form.

The pack launched their attacks all at once, and not having far to go to crunch down on our enemies, every mouth was instantly filled. They attacked, bite after bite, until there was nothing left but a thick haze of dissipating energy. Fearing for themselves, the three ghosts around me dropped my prison and tried to flee, but Alpha's focus was strong. His domain expanded again to cover us and the ghosts could not disappear into the otherworld while within it. Even if they tried, Phantom Back had already spotted them. His fangs would have been able to drag them back. He tore through our ranks towards the remaining ghosts. His black shadowy armor was once again visible, burning with an unholy fury. It was not of the Spirit. What he now intended to do was curse. Kill for killing's sake. It would be the end of him. His wounds were far greater than what they appeared. If he kept fighting, he might die even if he survived the battle.

Now freed, I jumped up and threw a pulse of darkness out around me. It blew the ghosts away, clearing the path to Phantom Back. His eyes followed the ghosts. He could see nothing else. My tackle blindsided him, throwing him off of his paws, but I did not stop there. I could not. Not if I wanted to save his mind, body, and soul. I rushed him while he was down, but he was fast. Fueled with too much fight. He had become a Berserker. Immune to pain and fatigue and restraint.

Phantom Back was up before I could pin him, so I tackled him again. He held his ground and threw his jaws at me. I threw them back. We slapped muzzles, snarling and jumping and grabbing at one another. I anticipated this day. I prepared myself for it, but I was weakened and he was powerful. Berserkers were common during the Bone Wars. Their ferocity stemmed from the power of their pack when summoned and Phantom Back carried the entire weight of the grasslands with him. The strongest of the three great packs. It was dangerously destructive. His violence was what we were all capable of without balance.

I would not beat him in this state, pummeled by ghosts, drained of Spirit, and on the mend from a three on one fight with a pack of assassins. Every bruise and bite and scratch the Hena with the jagged face, his Beta, and Delta inflicted on me came screaming back to life. Screaming with the voice of a female Shaman swinging her club so hard I felt traces of her dead mate at the river. I saw Banette's smile as she laughed at the moon.

Sensing my weariness, Phantom Back overpowered me. He pushed me down. His jaws followed. I felt a great pressure and knew he bite me, deep and profound.

Had I immediately relented, he would have abandoned me for the ghosts. I would have suffered no further injury. But Berserkers ultimately and always turned on their own when the enemy in their sights was vanquished. The red in their eyes would be dyed with the blood of their kin. His soul could not suffer such a fate. It would destroy him, whomever he killed, and the Spirit of the pack he carried. I did not give up. I bit, kicking and snarling, but I did not want to hurt him as he hurt me. It would kill him. Then, the pack would be shaken in new ways. So Phantom Back used his advantage and went in again.

Like a good fighter, he went for the spot he already bit. I could see how he killed a Ghoul on his own after freshly changing into a young one. I felt the rage he carried. The despair of slowly losing his pack. But his bite never landed. The crippling attack never struck because Alpha plowed into him with an anger I had not seen for a very long time. Unlike me, he struck Phantom Back with his full strength, holding nothing back. Phantom Back bounced before rolling into the grass. As if there were no time between the attacks, Alpha was on top of him. He bit Phantom Back by the back of his shoulders and shook him like a rival's bastard pup.

Many of the others gathered around and tried to join the fight. From what they saw, Phantom Back had gone out of control, attacked me, and deserved to be executed. They knew the dangers of Berserkers from the stories I told. They knew them as lost causes. But a startling growl from Alpha warned them to stay out of it. This was a lesson between an Alpha and his disobedient soldier. Like a good Alpha, Mato understood my actions. Like a true Alpha, he held his own against a Berserker. Jumper and Gruff Growl hovered nervously about as Phantom Back continued to thrash underneath Alpha's bite. Alpha roughly threw him down and tightened his jaws, forcing him still.

Phantom Back had no choice but to stop. The pack he loved so much was about to kill him. Only his Alpha had the power to snap him out of his frenzy. It was a special gift reserved only for Alphas and some Fathers. Phantom Back's burning eyes began to dim. The shadow around him sloughed away. His panting intensified as his body finally caught up to the spell of madness he unconsciously invoked. Alpha continued to hold him, trying very hard not to finish him off right then and there. Phantom Back had broken the rules of the pack and attacked another without the intent to ascend, subdue, or defend, proving himself a liability and a danger to balance. Especially since it was Mother he attacked. Ume and Watepei came to my sides, nervously wagging their tails and sniffing as I got up. I hid my grimace, pretending the blood dripping to the ground was nothing a quick rest wouldn't fix.

Satisfied that Phantom Back could do no more damage, Alpha roughly shoved him to the ground before stepping away. Alpha then turned to me. All of the pack did, so I hid the shakiness in my side where Phantom Back bite me. I did not lean off of the tender muscle. I kept my hackles down, getting up as if nothing more than a minor scuffle had happened. This calmed the others, especially Alpha, who might have killed Phantom Back on the spot had I done otherwise. Yet I could not hide the smell of my blood. The age on my face. The fact that I had lost the fight.

Instead, I focused on calm, steady, controlled breathing. I looked ahead as I always did, indifferent to their perception of me. Fully committed to my actions no matter the consequence. It was this confidence that kept the others steady. They knew what awaited those who stood in the way of a Berserker and did not have the guts to face a Berserker on their own. Thus, my loss was still more than their caution. I did not lose rank in their eyes. I only rose higher doing what they dared not. A single bite wound made me a champion in their eyes.

They began to mingle again, checking in on one another and glancing around for any more signs of battle now that it was over. It was then that Omega, Maw Mouth, and Keen Eye rejoined us. They had successfully exorcised the three remaining ghosts under their own power. Phantom Back sat up and turned his head away, unable to look at the others. None of them looked at him. His rank had fallen dramatically. I did not realize just how much until Omega came over to me. His entire demeanor shifted when he smelled the blood. I refused to look at him. It was the only mistake I made while maintaining my mask. Omega's Spirit rippled, feeling as I taught him. He sensed the shift in the pack at once. The troubling wave that had rearranged the hierarchy.

Picking up on body language of the others and smelling Phantom Back all over me, his eyes immediately darted to the source. I finally turned my attention to Omega, but he wasn't looking anymore. He was already on his way to Phantom Back. Using the quick paws Alpha had taught him, Omega stunned us all by attacking Phantom Back with much growling and snapping teeth. Alpha was there just as swiftly. Resolute to restore order, he broke up the fight Omega was winning by knocking him away. He then gave Phantom Back another beating for good measure. A few others caught too close to the fight also received their lesson.

It was over in an instant.

Omega rebounded quickly, shaking off his first successful skirmish as if he had taught Phantom Back something he should have known for ages. The rankings in the pack shifted again, but Omega was still too riled up to realize his new elevated position. Instead, he trotted back to me with great purpose. I turned away before he arrived in order to find a quiet spot away from the others to rest. Alpha had settled the matter and that was that. I wanted no more of it. It was no longer a Mother's concern. Omega fell into step beside me, his presence much bigger than before. He glanced at the others, daring them to try and take advantage of me while I was under his watch.

A lesser pack might do so. It was in our nature to overtake those weaker than ourselves in order to find balance in power and purpose, which naturally changed over time. But the respect they had for me was far too great. They saw the battles I fought, the experience in my technique, the pains I took to save souls, and the sacrifices I was willing to make to save even the worst of them. What would I do then, for the rest of them who were worth so much more? What could I accomplish at full strength? How many lost Hena could I find? Their eyes glittered when they looked at me.

Just how far could Mother go?

I was beginning to wonder that myself. Except I did not look down at my bloody shaking legs and see the sturdy foundations of a powerful and everlasting pack. I saw a Hena growing older. A Mighty Hena that had pulled the cloak of darkness a little closer over her shoulders. My hood, a little farther over my head. The Spirit was with me now more than ever, but my body could no longer keep up with it. Every part of me hurt. Every breath stung. And one day, I would not be able to get up again.

One day, I would be Mother no more.