Chapter 47
"Redemption"
The scales came swinging back.
Something was broken inside of me. The fight at the graveyard took a part of me in its making. Such a name was befitting the deathbed of the last Shaman of the Bone Wars. It recognized the lives that were lost, the legion of souls that once terrorized the land, and the tombs that rose from the earth to appease them. I once stood at the pinnacle of that macabre collection. Now, I picked off of the bones of the fallen. The pain of biting through flesh seared my gums and teeth every time it pushed up against them.
My fangs could barely pierce through the hide of a Touring Bull, let alone bring one down. Catching their shadows was all I could manage, slowly chasing after the pack as they pursued the endless hunt. Their steps were far too fast for even my quickest of paws. I first felt it during the sprint back to the den from the graveyard. That overexertion far surpassed my bodily limits, even for my ability to rest. I could not name it or place it. Only know that it would never be the same again.
Either way, I could no longer keep up with the hunt.
I followed behind the pack wherever they went, waiting for carcasses to be cleaned because I could not tear through the fat and flesh and muscle on my own. The unending cycle of injury and recovery finally became as unbalanced as I was. The last of my might, my physical bearings, finally wore out. I ate last, even letting Phantom Back rip and gnaw on the remaining nourishment before I took my fragile teeth to them. He made a mess, leaving bits and pieces, thinking I did not notice he did so, so that I would not have to work as hard to get to them. His habit of watching me never seized now that I was within sight again. Only now, he was the one looking back. I did not like to think I had fallen below him, but graciously accepted my place at the very beginning. The unseen foundations of the pack.
The wild may not have forgiven me, but the Spirit was merciful and every pack of Mighty Hena needed a shadow to carry on their backs. Not that they could do anything with it other than know it was there. My reputation outpaced me. The pack's memory of me was far more prominent than the specter of a Hena that followed them now. I did things no Mighty Hena had done before. Feats greater than all who came before me. I was no longer relatable. I became an unobtainable model. A thing of legend for stories. In this way, my Spirit became indistinguishable from the pack's. Thus, my purpose was replaced by all of these beautiful and boisterous Mighty Hena who, when together, were just as worthy as that legend. The greatest curse was conquered. Now, the greatest good must also vanish. The wild wished to return to balance.
The grasslands no longer needed a Mother.
My strange pack had also parted ways, returning to their nests and fields and normalcy now that the war was over. We, too, returned to the usual ways of Mighty Hena. Of predator and prey. Respect, caution, and common course. Not every creature knew my name. Nor did they care to. The world went on. So, I sat at the top of the hill near the den, keeping watch, day and night, because that was all I could do anymore. Sometimes, I told stories. Occasionally to Mahakah Dust Eater who probably knew more about my condition than myself with that blessing of his, but mostly to Omega. He told me of the pack's exploits when they traveled too far ahead. I listened and let his words fill my mouth until he was the only one speaking anymore. But he was a Hena with increasing rank and responsibility. His visits grew less and less frequent. I grew more and more tired, yet I found no rest.
Exile was still out there, somewhere, haunting the pack he resented with all of his heart, biding his time until he found a chance to strike again. His vendetta was the only curse I had yet to conquer. The seasons passed and the pups grew up. Yet the light of their naming ceremony did not captivate me. I was too busy watching the snow fall in the darkness, waiting for the enemy to reveal himself. I caught glimpses of Exile here and there. Visions indistinguishable from memory, dreams, Walks, fear, anticipation, and reality. He did not dare approach physically when the pack was within howling distance, but there was a time when Omega stopped visiting and the hunt finally left me behind.
I remained at the den to hold out the winter season. That was when Exile finally came forward. He waited so long for this moment and I envisioned this day so many times that it was hard to tell it was actually happening. We met so often in the void that our final reunion felt like a dream. It looked like one too. Dressed in white from ground to sky, the winterscape of the grasslands was striking bright, especially in the day when the light washed out everything else, leaving our surroundings seemingly endless.
We stood in front of one another, separated by a few paces. The wind was calm. My breath frosted in small clouds. Exile breathed much more laboriously. Long forceful huffs steamed from his open jaws. The black cowl around his head was unkempt, stark against the ice crystals caught within it. He kept his head low and eyes level although one did not open like the other. He looked at me with hazy focus, seeing only the past while I saw the shell of a Hena I used to know. From what the herd of Rock Giants told us after the fight at the graveyard, Exile and his kin, including the Beta with the jagged marks, came upon the den before the pack arrived.
Instead of retreating when encountering the herd, the darkened pack thought they could slip through unnoticed with another nasty plot. It was a foolish decision based on the assumption that the Rock Giants were there because of coincidence. The attack failed and the Rock Giants nearly destroyed Exile, but he got away at the expense of what remained of his pack, the same way he ran away after killing Father. Finally healed, Exile approached me now just as he did back when he issued the challenge to Father. When it was only the two of us. We stood before one another disillusioned by our memories of each other, unable to see the truth that we were both nothing but skeletons. There was no alternate reality to hide that fact now.
"My offer still stands," Exile said, wiping away the time as if we were back in the dream world after our confrontation at the river temple. Such was the power of the void. It had no concept of time. Neither did madness.
"Join me, Mother."
I pitied Exile. It was the same offer. The same promises of an ill-fated obsession. Together, the greatest light and the greatest dark created the mightiest of Hena. It was the very origin of our marks. He desired this perfection since the day he evolved into total shadow as Xiuhcoatl Dark Star. All this time, he sought balance, just like I did, but in all of the wrong ways.
"Imagine what you could do if you come with me. What you could rule. Not just Hena, but all creatures."
He recognized my accomplishments in body and Spirit. The strange pack I created with other species just like him. He saw the shadow I carried no matter how much I suppressed it because he was its embodiment. The potential of my Soul Stealing was obvious to him. He made valid arguments, and they were exactly why my answer remained the same.
Exile huffed, agitating the snow and ice in his black fur.
"Give in already," he said as if my fall was inevitable.
He may be right. But he was also at the end of his patience. The Rock Giants nearly killed him. He was maimed and lucky to still be alive. This was his last attempt to settle the score. It was a dangerous gamble to face him, but now that we finally came together in the flesh, I could not let him get away again. Exile was bigger and stronger and faster than me, even in his current state, but if I gave in to the red eyed shadow of the Mighty Hena, utterly and completely, I could defeat him by becoming a Berserker. Out here in the lonely wild, I could burn through my body and soul before I came across an innocent in my rampage.
Exile started laughing, slow and low, eyes downcast with the weight of his amusement.
"You cannot kill me," he said, admonishing my bloodlust. "If you do, your precious balance will be utterly broken."
Because without him, there was no need for the greater good. If he remained alive, the land would undoubtedly call upon me once again. Exile still thought I was whole and powerful and mighty. That I cared about the wild's retaliation for imbalance. But death had never been, nor ever will be, an obstacle for me.
The wind churned about us. It picked up the loose and light snowflakes from the ground. They mixed with those that started to fall from the sky. Exile stopped laughing.
"You and I need each other!" he shouted.
The snowfall strengthened, falling heavily. It seemed I could coax out a storm just as much as I could scare one away. Summoning a blizzard was possible if I used the energy I so desperately avoided ever since Giratina awakened it within me. My blood warmed. It grew hot even in this tundra. I began to pant like Exile, building heat like the dragons. Shadow started to wick and burn from me. Exile matched me, gathering power.
"That's it, keep going!" he encouraged, claws clenching snow. Mane and tail rising high. "Come to me!"
The power filling me surged into every cell and nerve. The ache in my bones lessened. The pain in my mouth melted away. Everything became easy. Simple.
Kill him.
That was all I wanted to do. Since the moment Exile bit Father, I harbored that curse in my heart. It came rushing upon me now just as fresh and raw. The blinding fury was almost upon me. Mothers and Primas made great and terrible Berserkers even among the pack because of our primal maternal instinct. I could only imagine what my fury would be like. Giratina would likely be proud of the destruction to come.
"Mother, stop!"
A shadow slipped in front of me. Its passing was brief and contactless. Nothing more than a whisper, and yet it dispelled the Berserker rage within me instantly. It stole the black fire as easy as the wind did the steam from my mouth. World shattering power, gone in an instant. All because another Mighty Hena joined me, and where there were two, the Spirit gathered. Even the smallest seed of it was enough to command the most unfathomable of shadows.
Phantom Back took a defensive position in front of me. Hackles spiked as high as his jagged mane, he growled at Exile, siphoning the Spirit I had gathered to himself. He was the only one who had gone into the fury and made it back alive. He was the only one in the pack who understood my imbalance. Thus, he knew how to shoulder the burden.
"You fail to kill, so now, you bargain?" Phantom Back snarled, passing over Exile's ravings to pick up that which offended him most. "You do better to beg for your life!"
It was the most I ever heard him speak and the fastest I ever saw him challenge a higher rank. He launched an attack without tactics or deceit. Phantom Back's success and stealth as a soldier came from swift and sure kills of unwavering commitment. He plowed into Exile, biting straight for the neck. It was the brisk overwhelming immediate style of an Alpha on Alpha fight. Exile met him the same way. The two pressed their chomping bites into a wrestling match that quickly put them both on the ground. My legs froze in the snow when Exile gained the advantage. He lunged at Phantom Back the same way he did Father.
His teeth had killed even the greatest of the pack in terms of Spirit, and here, Phantom Back ranked the lowest. Yet he was also the first to come to my aid. To bring me scraps. To return to the den in the cold and keep me warm no matter the distance of the hunt. Ever since we clashed during his Berserker rage, Phantom Back was waiting for the chance to redeem himself from his fall and repay me for saving his soul. He would not see me die at the teeth of Exile. Nor watch me lose that which made me so special in his eyes. Because for him, I was still Mother, no matter my uselessness, and that name alone made me a part of his precious pack.
And packs fought together.
Exile bit Phantom Back at the throat. I raced in and bit Exile by the leg, pulling him backwards before he could close the bite. At the same time, Phantom Back slapped a paw high enough on Exile's face to avoid a fatal blow. Another yank put Exile on his side. He kicked me in the mouth with his free leg. Stars exploded in my eyes. The pain was white hot, so I tried to blast it away with a dark pulse of energy, but Phantom Back stole it again. He released a pulse instead that was stronger than anything he had accomplished before. It blew us across the snow. I raised my head and shook off the powder with the realization that Phantom Back was a Thief. Not of items, but of Spirit.
No wonder he excelled at killing ghosts. He stole their life energy straight from the source, most often to fuel his Berserker rage. I never realized because he never needed to steal from the Spirit because the presence of the pack always graciously gave him everything he needed. This was probably his first time away from the heart of the pack since he joined it. I hurried to my paws. Exile and Phantom Back were in another standoff. They slowly spun around one another, waiting for an opening.
Exile was no fool. A Berserker could overthrow an Alpha. At this distance, they both stood out against the white snow. Each a solid black. One born that way. The other, burning with the all-consuming shadow of a Berserker. Both unbalanced. One embraced his curses while the other constantly fought against them. Both were creatures of darkness that had lost their light, yet their purpose was far from the same. No matter how dark or how light, it was their willingness to keep up the fight that won the battle. The nature of their hearts defined them. I was no different. All this time, I believed the Spirit had forsaken me when it had only grown stronger within me. The emptiness I felt inside of me was not emptiness at all but the pouring of myself out onto the world, both the light and the dark. My soul had been pierced so that the secret thoughts of many would be laid bare. I could not truly understand the lowest of the depraved and wicked and suffering until I, too, knew what it was like to fall out of favor. It was a mighty lesson. One that needed a lifetime to learn. To rise to the very top and fall to the very bottom, finally bringing me back into balance.
Exile and Phantom Back shared a similar equality as they jumped and bit and scratched until the snow turned red. They were an equal match of opposing purposes. Yet despite being in a Berserker's rage, Phantom Back's movements were precise and his focus clear. That billowing ire had been tamed to deadly proportions. All the power yet none of the wild abandonments. Surely it was not because of Exile's status as Alpha of a rival pack? His pack was already disbanded and in ruins. Madness replaced any loyalty or love he once had. It frothed at his mouth as they pushed their teeth up against one another. Back and forth they thrashed. If Exile would not drop his guard, I would make a hole in it.
I thrust myself between them and into the fight. This time, they both flinched away and separated as if I had taken a Dream Eater to their primal fighting instinct. Phantom Back came close to me, chest heaving as quietly as he could control it. He lost balance and leaned into me. I caught him with my side. A few paces away, Exile also stumbled. Without anyone to catch him, he fell into the snow. When he lifted his head to look at me, the wind whipped snow at his face yet he did not blink. His eyes turned cloudy. His focus lagged. He was too tired, too lost, to keep up. Exile glanced between us weighing his odds.
"There are more," he threatened. "Others."
Remnants of his strange pack were still out there. Darkened forces that refused to give in. Yet not a single one stood with him now.
"They will finish what I started," Exile continued. "The winds will not stop even for Mother!"
And they would continue to push against me until they swept me off of my paws once more.
Just not today.
Exile grimaced, lifting and lowering his head as his muscles twitched. He tottered but caught himself, too prideful to fall in front of us a second time. Blood dripped onto the snow beneath him. His legs trembled. The damage too deep to recover. Phantom Back fought well. So had My Pack. It was never my place to defeat him. Exile started dying the moment he joined paws with a Shaman. Once, he was a great and mighty Hena. Now, he was a star that had finally burned out. He turned away. The battle lost. His body knew what had become of it. His mind retreated farther into himself, finding refuge in that which sustained him all these years. Fantasy.
"We could have ruled," he lamented, the oncoming blizzard smothering the last of his bitterness. "You the sun and I the moon."
He winced, blood patting the snow. The color in his eyes dimmed with every bright red drop.
"Does Mother not take all under her shadow?"
That foolish creature. He did not know what he asked for.
Exile slowly limped away like all wild things do when they know they will not win the fight. Finally, the wild found a way to return him to his natural state. To bring him back to balance.
Phantom Back moved to ensure the victory, but I stepped in and quickly stopped the advance. He could not see what I did.
The snow fell heavily around us, blotting Exile's figure. The shadow of a Mighty Hena appeared where Exile left us. Solid black with eyes the color of an ancient promise. It stared at me before slowly turning away and following Exile at a similar, but slightly quicker pace. Eventually, it would catch up. The two faded into the snowfall. Gone was the weight on my shoulders. The whisper that blew out my poisoned Spirit had torn the cloak of darkness from my shoulders. Ripped at the clasp, it disappeared with Exile into the storm.
At last, my soul was free from the curses of the graveyard and the Shaman and Exile. The fight was over. The last two ghosts of an era finally put to rest. No wonder the Spirit sent Phantom Back to purify us. I looked at that soldier of a Hena. His Berserker fury calmed and burned out with a flicker, leaving him rather slim and slick with snow. His breathing slowed as he cautiously kept his eyes on the place he last saw Exile. He remained so steady that snow began to collect on his muzzle. But he need not worry. The wild was back in balance and I already spent a winter fighting back the winter sleep. It was time to go home.
"Come, Phantom Back," I called.
He sharply broke focus and turned to look at me, but I was already a few paces away, muttering about the nuisance snowfall I had summoned. It did not bother him. No, what froze Phantom Back in place was my blessing upon his name because it meant he was no longer fallen. The pack he refused to abandon despite his shame and suffering and humiliation accepted him back into the fold. The hierarchy's lowest rank now stronger than the Alpha of Many. It was a fitting status for the Pack of the Grasslands. The Crescent Tribe. Leader of the three great packs.
Not that I cared about such things anymore.
All that mattered was the way Phantom Back bounded over to catch up to me, giddy as a pup. He bumped into me, threatening my balance, but quickly made up for it by blocking the wind as we trudged step by step through the blizzard back to the den.
My escort. My friend. My shadow.
I could not help but wonder who would fill it next?