Authors: Unknown
Sometimes, when Ember came to the Reliquary, he would visit Snake's chambers first, and once Moon was astonished to find him there, sitting on the floor before Snake's chair, rubbing his withered foot with soothing oil that Ember's hostling had given to him for the purpose.
Ember said, “Fawn invites you to dinner at the clan-house, you and Moon and even Raven.”
“Perhaps soon,” Snake said.
“Fawn says it's time to come out of the shadows.”
Snake only nodded, then noticed Moon standing stunned by the door and beckoned him forward. “Represent our family with the Firedogs, Moon. Eat with them and come to tell me about it.”
Later, Moon – and not without a tinge of envy – said to Ember, “You reach him in a way that I never have.”
“You're too close,” Ember said. “He is afraid for you.”
“Afraid of what?”
Ember, for the first time ever in Moon's presence, appeared furtive. “History,” he said. “That's all my hostling told me.”
Moon was alerted then to the possibility that Fawn Firedog might be able to enlighten him concerning things about which Snake would only remain silent.
The Firedog clan lived in a shattered tower that was covered in dark green creepers. Vines had crept in through holes in the masonry and broken windows and grew over the inner walls. In the basement was a walled-off chamber, where twenty human bodies lay. Ember said they had killed themselves rather than be killed by Wraeththu. It had happened a long time before the fleeing Uigenna had come to the city. In another room, if you tore the creepers away from the plaster, there were pictures of what the city had looked like before. It was very different: austere lines and lots of hard stone. Now, it was softer and green. Humans had built this place, but since they had gone there had been no more building. Wraeththu lived in the ruins, made no mark upon the landscape.
It looks better now,
Moon thought, but at the same time he found himself wondering what it would be like to build a house to live in, one you had thought up all by yourself, that was filled with the things you liked.
“It is all still there, beneath the green,” Fawn said. “Eventually it will be buried deep.”
Fawn was a gentle har, chesna with a battle-scarred warrior named Hawk, who was not Ember's true father, even though Ember called him that. Hawk, like Snake and Raven, was damaged by past experiences and Ember said he was often prone to unpredictable rages. “He sees things we don't,” Ember said, “but Fawn thinks they're not real. Hawk has a hole in his head.”
The head of the Firedog clan was Cloud Wolf, and it was perhaps because of his patronage that Hawk was tolerated by the rest of his hara. Moon couldn't understand why Fawn stuck by Hawk, because he was never anything but surly. But it was from Hawk that Moon eventually learned a little about his family's past.
Biding his time, Moon didn't ask any direct questions until he'd visited the Firedog clan several times. He understood that to most hara of the clans the past was taboo, filled with sorrowful memories. Hawk, however, provided a convenient cue.
One evening, as Moon sat on the floor with Ember and his parents eating dinner, Hawk pointed at him with a chicken bone and said, “You are Silken's son.”
“Yes,” said Fawn, “we know that, Hawk. This is Moon Jaguar. Remember?”
“What was he like?” Moon blurted out. “Silken, I mean? I can't remember him.”
“Hara fought over him,” Hawk said, his attention returning to the plate at his crossed feet. “Like cats, like jaguars. Snake won him.”
“Hawk,” Fawn said, in a warning kind of tone.
“It was what happened,” Hawk said.
“Yes, well...” Fawn began, but Moon interrupted him.
“I wish he hadn't died. I wish I'd known him properly.”
“He screamed,” Hawk said unhelpfully.
“When he died?”
“No, when Snake took him.”
“That's enough!” Fawn said. He turned to Ember. “Take Moon outside.”
Ember obediently got to his feet and pulled on Moon's arm, who was most reluctant to leave. He wanted to hear what Hawk had to say, no matter how unpleasant it was.
“We are what we are,” Hawk said. “You are the gentle Fawn, but once you weren't.”
“Things are different now,” Fawn said. He looked at Moon. “We were young and stupid. Don't listen to him. It has no bearing on your life.”
“They were chesna,” Moon said. “They were.”
“Yes. Don't worry. Hawk doesn't remember things properly.”
“I remember
that
,” Hawk said reasonably, “and so do you. Snake did it to impress Wraxilan, because he didn't want hara to know how he felt.”
Fawn put his face in his hands and sighed. After a moment, he raised his head and said, “Ember, take Moon outside. Now!”
Ember's hostling might now be the gentle Fawn, but his son clearly understood when to do as he was told. He virtually dragged Moon from the room.
Moon felt stunned. He didn't know what to think, sure only of the fact that he wanted to know more. Outside, the ghost of the old city hung around in the streets and birds off the lake wheeled silently between the broken towers. Moon didn't want to speak. His chest was full of feeling, hard complicated knots and small silverfish wrigglings: it was almost sensual. Ember put his hand on Moon's shoulder and together they walked out into the night. Sometimes, fires were burning, but nohar sat around them. Somehar, somewhere, high up, was singing: a soft wistful song. Dogs nosed through rubbish and bats flickered around like phantoms on the edge of sight. There was peace in this old, sad city: peace and death. It was hard to believe the clans had once been these terrible things, these warriors and rapists, these Uigenna.
Moon and Ember slept in an empty building they found, Ember pressed tight against Moon's back. They hadn't spoken a word since they'd left the Firedog clan house, which given Ember's love of chatter was almost surreal. Moon held onto Ember's hands and tried to convince himself they were real and solid and not likely to disappear at any moment. He didn't want to think his friendship with Ember was just some pleasant fantasy he had and that he could wake up out of it to something bleak and depressing.
In the morning, Moon said, “I want to speak to Hawk. Take me to him. Find us a place where we won't be disturbed.”
Ember sighed, scraped back his hair and said, “I didn't know about Snake and Silken, Moon. I really didn't. Maybe you shouldn't find out more.”
“I have to know about our family,” Moon said. “All of it, anything Hawk can tell me.”
They found Hawk sitting in the middle of what might have been a playground or a parking lot. The concrete was still in the process of being broken up by determined plants. Hawk sat staring at the sky, his legs straight out in front of him like a harling.
“Let me talk to him,” Ember said, and Moon was happy to agree to this. Ember was familiar with Hawk's moods.
Hawk's tattoos were faded, as if the ink had run beneath the skin because Hawk himself was in some way melting. When Ember spoke his name, he did not react. Ember hunkered down beside him and started pulling out weeds from the concrete. Moon hovered nearby, his heart on tornado-beat.
“What was is like when you first came here?” Ember said to Hawk.
There was a short silence, then Hawk said, “Pretty much the same.”
“Was it a long journey to get here?”
Hawk didn't reply, but then turned round and looked directly at Moon. “I can hear you,” he said. “You shout to me from the inside.”
Moon came forward a few steps. “Will you talk to me?”
“Fawn says it should not be so.”
“I don't care,” Moon said, wondering then whether that was the right thing to say.
“Snake has a lot to live down,” Hawk said. “A lot. He cannot forget his kin, because of what they are. And nohar will let him forget.”
Moon squatted down in front of Hawk. He could see this was not going to be easy. It was like hearing words from a distance, through a strong wind. “Tell me about my parents.”
“Silken was a spoil of war, that is all. It began one way and ended another. It was not uncommon.”
“Did...”
“Why should you want to know about this?” Hawk interrupted. “It happened long before they made you. You should worry more about the kin from Beforetime.”
Moon paused, then said, “My father's brother, the Tigron.”
Hawk jumped in such an exaggerated way it was difficult for Moon to contain his amusement. “Don't say that name,” Hawk said. “It opens doors.”
“Did you know him?”
Hawk shook his head. “No, none of us met him. I was not of Snake's kind. All I know is that he is dedicated to destroying what is left of Uigenna, and that Snake is a light we have to keep covered. You should ask him about it.”
Moon thought it was none of Hawk's business that Snake had already mentioned this matter. “Can you tell me anything more?”
“I can tell you that once we were great. The Uigenna were hunters, not carrion eaters. This land was ours. Now we hide in ruins. If I am mad, it is not because of old injuries, but because I have no hope, because I know the end will come, and there will be broken stones to hide us. If Snake has the sight, so do I, but there is no comfort in it. I see, as he does, the shadow behind the throne in Almagabra. Our way was to fight it, to unmake it, to become ourselves. The Gelaming are ignorant. They are the enemy of all Wraeththu. Enjoy the sun, harlings, enjoy it while you can. Now I have said enough and the words are sour.”
Hawk got to his feet and walked off slowly. Neither Moon nor Ember sought to detain him.
Ember puffed out his cheeks and exhaled noisily. “Nothing like good news, is there!”
Moon stood up. “They live in the past too much, all of them. Who would want to come here and take what we have? What is there to take?”
“Hara,” Ember said, also rising to his feet. “There is always that.”