In front of that bonfire-to-be stood the Leidolf Rhej. She was a tall woman, about forty, with a broad frame and skin a shade lighter than LeBron’s had been. As soon as Rule and Lily took their places, she turned to the pile of wood. The Leidolf Rhej was a healer, not a Fire Gifted like Cullen; she couldn’t call fire directly. But she’d set her spell for fire already, so it took only a word and the clap of her hands to set the wood alight.
The drums picked up their tempo as the Rhej left the circle. In the deepening dusk, the flames spread quickly over the wood. Lily’s heart pounded along with the drums. She wasn’t scared, she told herself. Kind of nervous, maybe, but not scared.
It turned out a firnam was nothing like the other death ceremonies she’d attended. There would be no spoken tribute to LeBron, no remembrances of his living.
A firnam was a dance. A warriors’ dance.
For a moment, all was still except the drums. Then Rule threw his head back, gave a wild yell, took a few running steps and leaped over the bonfire.
Everyone shouted and began to move. First one, then another, jumped the fire, while those on the ground set the circle in motion—stamp, stamp, step—stamp, stamp, step—while others raced at the fire and leaped. This was a far simpler dance than the training dance she’d watched once—but with so many lupi, not all from the same clan, they needed to keep it simple. Lily moved with those on the ground—stamp, stamp, step!—until Rule landed beside her once more. He scooped her into his arms, backed up a few paces, tipped back his head, and let loose a yipping howl that could almost have come from his other form.
Then he ran with her in his arms—and leaped.
A shock of hot air blew her hair back. They landed. He passed her to José.
A firnam was a warriors’ dance. Warriors are not always whole after a battle where one or more of their brethren have fallen. When one is injured, the others carry him … or, in this case, her. Rule had told her that if there were no injured, they would take turns hurling each other through the air. When one was, though …
Lily’s feet didn’t touch the ground again for a long time. Every reliquae dancing the firnam had his turn to carry the wounded over the flames. Lily was passed from one pair of arms to the next. Sweat dripped down her face and itched between her breasts, and at some point she understood what the firnam meant. Understood in her blood and bones, not just her head.
For warriors, it was never just about the one. In battle some lived, some died, some were hurt. Those still whole carried on—carried the injured, mourned the dead—and kept leaping over the flames. Again and again. Together.
It was full-dark when she was passed to Rule once more. He set her gently on the ground in front of him and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned against him. His chest was wet with sweat. Her T-shirt clung to her.
The drums changed their beat, slowing, then letting the bass drum beat alone. A wolf—huge, tawny, his eyes black in the flickering light of the bonfire—stepped out of the shadows and walked up to the fire.
He was the elder of LeBron’s sons.
The bass drum beat slowly five times … in place of the sixth beat they all shouted, “LeBron!” As they did, the wolf tipped back his head and howled.
Silence again. The drum resumed its beat as another wolf stepped out of the shadows. This one was gray, a little smaller than the first … Paul’s brother. Paul had had a son, but the boy was three years old.
Again the drum signaled them with its pause. This time they all—Leidolf and Nokolai—shouted, “Paul!” as Paul’s brother tipped his nose to the moon and howled.
Silence. The drums no longer beat. No one yipped or howled or spoke.
Then a tall, dark-skinned woman stepped through the circle and walked up to the bonfire.
Lily tipped her head, looking a question at Rule. Was the Rhej going to speak? He hadn’t told her she was part of the firnam. Rule shook his head, looking puzzled.
“Leidolf!” she called. “I bring you word from the Lady.”
That caused a stir. She waited until they were silent once more. “She has spoken to me, and to every Rhej. She tells each clan that we are to offer full and formal alliance with a human man—Ruben Brooks.”
Lily’s jaw dropped. There was a rising roar of questions, comments. Twice the Rhej tried to speak, but had to stop, unable to be heard.
Rule stepped away and bellowed, “Silence!” Silence fell, sudden and stark. “You will hear your Rhej.”
The Rhej gave him a single nod of acknowledgment. “I don’t know why she wants you to ally with Ruben Brooks. I have told you what she said. I must also tell you something she said three thousand years ago, something from the memories. You know most of this story well. You do not know the part of it I will tell you tonight.”
Rule moved up behind Lily again, wrapping his arms around her, as the Rhej’s voice fell into a storyteller’s cadence. She spoke of the Etorri Rho who’d sacrificed his entire clan and who, in return, had been granted two boons: his Lady spoke to him directly, and she promised that his clan would never die out. “But they spoke of more than this. He asked many questions which she, from her love and pain for him, answered as clearly as she was able. Some of those questions were personal. I do not share them with you.”
She paused and continued more softly. “Though this is an Etorri memory, I carry it, too. Every Rhej carries this memory, for it tells us when the war with our Lady’s enemy will resume.”
Utter silence now. No one moved. Lily’s heart was beating hard. So, she realized, was Rule’s.
“These are the words she spoke over three thousand years ago: When the two-mantled calls, you will come together. When a lupus daughter is born to one of you”—she had to raise her voice again, though this time no one grew loud enough for Rule to step in—“to one of you who carries more than moon-magic in his veins, war begins again. Tonight a daughter was born to Cullen Seabourne, sorcerer and lupus, and to Cynna Weaver, the apprentice to the Nokolai Rhej. She is lupus.”
GLOSSARY
Historically, lupus clans in Europe and Britain used Latin to communicate with each other for much the same reason it was adopted by the Church—the need for a unifying tongue. Their version of the language evolved, as languages will, into a thoroughly bastardized tongue likely to make classical scholars wince. In addition, there are a few words in the lupus tongue that have no known derivation. Lupi claim these words come from an ancient language that predates Latin, but since Latin predates 1000 BCE, experts consider this unlikely.
The use of Latin to communicate between the clans is dying out now, since so many lupi speak English as a first or second language, though it’s still considered essential for a Rho and his sons, who must negotiate with other clans. Several of the words and phrases remain useful, though, since they have no obvious English equivalent. Below are a few of the words and phrases any lupus would know.
amica: Uncommon, but still used. Means friend/girlfriend (fem); a lupus might call a male friend of the same clan adun, from adiungo (to join to, connect, associate).
ardor iunctio: Literally, fire of joining. Symbolic fire used at some ceremonies, most notably the gens compleo.