Chapter 6: Internal Divide

P.o.V. Patrick/Colm

Watching his sister's wolf saunter into the enclosure on the platform squeezed the knot that had formed in Patrick's stomach when everyone realized he wasn't the large black wolf. How could she and Trajan disregard mother so? It was cruel for them to set her up like this in front of the entire pack. Moira never thought of how her ideas would hurt others, and clearly Trajan wasn't any different.

As she emerged and announced her own wolf's name, the crowd started cheering and the young wolves rushed forward. Patrick felt heat rising to his face. She had planned this all along to raise her own standing. To make herself the center of attention. To steal the night away from everyone else. His mother tried to congratulate the entire group but it was chaos and she was forced to retreat to the pack house.

As Patrick turned to follow his mother, a soft voice spoke from inside his head. "We should pay respects to the young Alpha."

"I have no respects to pay to my sister," he thought back angrily. He felt his wolf's uncertainty grow as they kept going towards the house and tried to calm him. "Look, we've been practicing with the two of them for months. There's nothing different about them today than there was yesterday except everyone is now fawning over them. Mother is the Luna and she worked hard to put tonight together. They ruined it for her by having to make it a spectacle."

The feelings from his wolf didn't really change, but he felt Colm retreat further into his mind rather than argue. Wolves would never understand the way the world worked. Mother always said that's why the Goddess made the human side the primary form. Moira never understood that. She always embraced whatever whim or fancy she was struck with and didn't care what happened in the process. Not that she was callous. She just didn't think before following whatever her instincts told her and everything always just seemed to work out. And, based on tonight, Trajan was going to be no better of an influence than her own imagination.

Frustrated, he walked slowly, deep in thought, and was caught halfway to the pack house by very concerned Stan and Seamus. He turned them away, wanting to speak with his mother alone. They were hesitant to leave him, but both returned to the rest of the group across the lawn. Patrick gazed over their heads and saw Moira standing on the platform talking with the other three from their group. He wished he could her what she was saying. 

"I bet they're going to do something to disrupt training tomorrow," he groaned internally. "Maybe we should have stayed and tried to talk them out of it."

He felt his wolf stir, but it did not respond. It seemed to be giving him the cold shoulder. Well he was fine with that. It struggled all through the run to keep up and the warrior with them had to slow down for them several times. Maybe some time to himself would make Colm realize he had to do better.

Disappointment. Jealousy. Anger. All drove him on into the house. His mother would fix this. She always did when Moira or one of the other boys were messing things up. She'd put a stop to this nonsense and showboating.

He followed her scent into her office on the first floor. It was off the parlor overlooking the gardens. She always said it was a perfect place to plan for guests. The relaxing and peaceful environment eased her mind. Surely if she ever needed it, tonight was the night.

His mother was sitting with her back to the door gazing out of the tall windows at the moon. As he walked quietly forward and sat across from her, she addressed him. "I ask her for guidance but never hear anything. The Moon Goddess has given us so very much but she also tests us to know we are worthy. But I never can decide if things like this are a test or a gift."

Patrick sat and waited. He had no answers. Did she blame him for being in on Moira's stunt? His heart stuttered and he was about to defend himself when...

"No. Moira's... condition... is no gift," she responded to herself matter-of-factly, cutting across her son's silence. "It's most likely some sort of joke of Moira's, she never has taken our traditions seriously, but at worst it's some sort of fluke. It doesn't change anything. The elders will know what this situation means and how to remedy it. I will call for Elder Micah tomorrow." With that, she turned to her desk and pulled a sheet of paper towards herself and began writing, a look of calm efficiency back on her face.

As she seemed to have reassured herself with the note, she finally looked up at Patrick. "You should return to the ceremony. Remember to greet everyone and don't remain tied into the same group for more than two minutes. Mingle. Go on."

Her got up and headed for the door as she waved him away. Behind her composure was the tired, strained look she always got when Moira had a plan that needed to be cleaned up. It brought him back to when they were 11...

Moira decided they were going to get a firebird feather. The birds flew over the mountains in the winter and she had heard some of the witches talking when they came to pick up some herbs. "They fly just over here and often stop on the slopes of the mountain around there to rest before moving on," she pointed and traced a path with her finger. "It should be straight forward to follow some of them and see where they land then find a feather. Same as we do with the geese."

"What would we do with them?" one of the boys asked.

"Just to have and show we did," she responded with a shrug before continuing to outline her plan.

It all sounded simple, but you could only see the firebirds clearly at night. So all the following and searching would be done in the dark. During the coldest part of the year. And it was a new moon so it was the darkest they'd seen all winter. Seven pre-teens slipping over rocks late at night after birds that rumor said maybe landed here... they were lucky to survive. They only did because a patrol heard their stumbling about and shouting so came and found them. Stan had slid into a shallow crevasse and drug Rich in with him. It wasn't so deep they were seriously injured, but they couldn't climb out. His mother's face as she apologized to the other parents once the kids had been fished out and returned to the pack house looked just like this.

But Moira didn't feel bad at all. In fact, she seemed to consider the night a smashing success. She'd seen two feathers burning brightly near an outcropping. Since she was always more sure of foot than the boys she volunteered to get them. To get there she climbed up a tree and out onto a narrow limb and leapt onto the shelf below the outcropping before climbing up. Chris covered his eyes the whole time and Bo and Rich stood just below the lip in case she came tumbling down. In the end, she gave one each to Rich and Stan at school the next week since, as she put it, "They were the ones who the mountain tried to eat to keep these. It's only fair they should get the prizes."

He knew Rich kept his sealed in a jar on a shelf in his bedroom like some trophy. Stan was more clear headed and gave his to one of the elders who had studied the firebirds for years to earn a bit of goodwill. Moira moved on to another idea in the next few days as she always did and never questioned what happened to the treasure she'd risked their lives for. She was always getting them into scrapes like that. He was sure his dad assigned extra patrols to watch the pack house and follow them when they snuck out so he could be sure they weren't in real danger.

"So why did you follow her?" Colm's voice startled Patrick out of his memories and stopped him in his tracks as he started down the steps onto the lawn.

"She always had an idea for something to do," he said, but it felt lacking. "They weren't all bad ideas, and it just felt like I should. I'm her brother and the guys were all going, so it's just what we did."

"Seems like you were all treating her like a leader. Not sure why you're surprised she is one." And with that parting shot, Colm retreated again and Patrick was left with a feeling of being all alone and adrift, gazing at the shadows cast by the firelight wrapped only in a cloak of uncertainty for what was to come.