A Pack Divided Read online

  “I’m fighting for my Mother-Dog,” barked Thorn, pausing in her pacing to glare at Twitch. “I’m fighting for her place—to prove he can’t steal it.”

  “Wait,” growled Storm, her hackles rising. “Is that allowed? Can Thorn even do that—fight for Moon to be top patrol dog?”

  Lucky glanced at Alpha, but neither of them responded.

  Storm clenched her jaws. What’s going on? Thorn’s going to humiliate Twitch for no reason other than pride—hers and her Mother-Dog’s! It seemed so stupid and unnecessary, and Storm laid her ears back with anger.

  “Beta!” she barked.

  Lucky shook his head slowly. He wasn’t even looking at Storm; he was watching Moon, steadily and expectantly.

  He thinks Moon’s going to put a stop to this. But she won’t! And indeed, Moon only stared at her pup and at Twitch, and stayed silent.

  “It’s all right, Storm.” Twitch’s husky growl was perfectly calm. “I accept Thorn’s challenge.”

  “Wait!” A low, aggressive bark rang out across the clearing. “If Thorn can fight for Moon, then any other dog can fight for Twitch!”

  Storm glanced at Lucky, who was silenced by surprise. Alpha herself looked startled. They both turned to the dog who had spoken: Breeze.

  Storm felt her heart swell in her chest, and her blood race through her muscles. Of course—Breeze is talking sense! I can beat Thorn for Twitch—and that’s as fair as anything about this challenge! She took three paces forward and raised her head to speak.

  “I’ll do it.” Another dog stepped into the circle before Storm could draw breath to offer. He had a mottled brown-and-cream coat marked by the scars of many battles; he was one of Terror’s former Pack.

  “Woody?” said Lucky, his tail twitching. He looked, thought Storm, as if he didn’t like how things were going.

  “Yes. I’ll fight for Twitch.” The tough hunt-dog swung his head to eye Thorn and Moon. “You have your champion, Moon; now Twitch has his. That makes this a more equal contest. Do you agree, Alpha?”

  The swift-dog dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I do agree.” She and Lucky shared a resigned sigh.

  Storm felt a prickle of guilty pleasure in her fur. Woody was a lot bigger than Thorn, and he had much more fighting experience; she remembered very well how skillfully and fiercely he’d fought in the Storm of Dogs. Thorn, as far as Storm was concerned, deserved a good beating for her unjust challenge. She pricked her ears and watched with a new sense of hope, as Woody clawed the earth aggressively.

  Alpha still seemed hesitant; this kind of conflict, Storm knew, was not what the swift-dog would want for her Pack. But Alpha spoke firmly.

  “Thorn, you issued the challenge. You may withdraw it if you wish, and without shame, but it is your choice.”

  Thorn didn’t tear her gaze from the burly form of Woody. All she did was stiffen her shoulder muscles and inhale a deep, determined breath.

  “No,” she said. “I won’t withdraw. I’ll fight Woody.”

  Tension hummed in the still air of the clearing as the dogs formed a circle around the two challengers. Storm found she could hardly breathe; Thorn might be of her original Pack, but she very badly wanted Woody to win this fight.

  It was Thorn who made the first move, hurling herself at Woody in a full-on charge at his throat, as if she hoped to end the fight before it had really begun. I taught her that move, Storm realized, her neck fur bristling with resentment.

  Woody, though, was too big and strong to be knocked down so easily. He shrugged Thorn off, twisting away from her jaws and shunting his body hard into hers while she was still off balance. Thorn thudded to the earth, rolled, and sprang back onto her paws. She attacked again with barely a pause for breath, but Woody was obviously expecting such a rash move from the young dog. He dodged, ducked, and charged with his full weight, crashing into Thorn’s exposed belly and sending her tumbling. As she tried to rise, he grazed his teeth harshly along her shoulder, nearly drawing blood. Thorn yelped and slithered sideways, then struggled to her feet. They faced each other, panting and snarling.

  It’ll be a lesson for her, thought Storm with grim satisfaction. A painful one, but maybe she needs it. Especially if she’s too stupid to back down right now.

  “Stop!” The bark rang out in the charged silence, and every dog turned. Twitch limped forward to the center of the circle, and stood between Thorn and Woody.

  “Twitch?” Lucky asked, after a quizzical pause.

  “Stop the fight,” growled Twitch. He nuzzled Woody’s shoulder lightly. “I appreciate the loyalty you’ve shown, Woody, but my rank in this Pack isn’t worth injury to two good dogs.” He nodded at Thorn. “Nor is it worth a fight between you. Let Moon be the lead patrol dog. She’s welcome to my position, and she’ll do a fine job. Let that be the last of this.”

  He turned, a little awkward on his three legs, and dipped his head respectfully to a surprised Moon. After a moment, she nodded back.

  Most of the Pack dogs were speechless, and that, thought Storm, was probably a good thing. She couldn’t think of a thing to say herself; she felt as if Woody had butted her in the belly.

  Some of Twitch’s former Pack, though, were muttering under their breath, growling complaints. Woody looked shocked, as well he might; Breeze and Chase, Ruff, and Rake looked downright sullen. The rest of the Pack shifted uneasily, but no dog raised a voice in objection.

  Alpha got to her paws, eyeing all three of the dogs in the circle. She nodded thoughtfully. “I understand why you were Alpha of your Pack, Twitch. You put the Pack above yourself. That’s why you earn such loyalty, I think.” She touched Woody’s shoulder with her long nose, then gave Twitch a friendly lick. “I agree: Moon should be lead patrol dog.”

  The muttering among Twitch’s former Pack grew slightly louder.

  “But,” she went on, raising her voice. “It’s past time for us to create a new rank for Twitch. It’s right that his old Pack have such faith and trust in him, and it’s not surprising that many of you look to him to guide you. He’s a good leader and a fine dog, and his talents would be wasted as a patrol dog.” She brushed Twitch’s nose with her own. “Twitch, you will be Third Dog in this Pack, ranking only below me and Lucky.”

  Snap sat down abruptly, out of sheer shock. Her jaw was slack. “But, Alpha. The hunters have always ranked above the patrol dogs in this Pack. And Twitch can’t hunt!”

  “That’s beside the point,” the swift-dog told her, her eyes narrowing. “I am the Alpha of this Pack, and I know what makes sense for us here and now. Packs can change, and this is the right thing for us.”

  Lucky’s tail beat the earth approvingly. “It’s a perfect solution,” he barked.

  That, it seemed, was the cue some of the dogs needed to express their own approval. From around the circle dogs spoke up, barking and whining in praise of Alpha’s clever idea, congratulating Twitch on his promotion.

  “Well done, Twitch!” yelped Daisy.

  “You’ll make a tremendous third in command,” added Bruno gruffly. “Alpha has been wise.”

  “Yes! Good decision, Alpha,” panted Mickey.

  Storm hadn’t realized how tense her muscles were until she sagged with relief, and her own tail began wagging with enthusiasm. It had been a horrible moment, but Alpha had solved the problem with her usual elegance. Storm let her tongue loll happily as she watched the three leaders pad out of the circle together, quietly discussing Twitch’s new duties.

  A movement caught Storm’s attention, and she glanced sideways. Thorn had moved to stand by Beetle, and she was growling something in his pricked ear. Nothing good, judging by the tightness of her jaws and the angry glare of her brother. And Breeze was still and silent, her gaze fixed on Moon. Moon herself wore a confused and slightly hurt expression, as if she couldn’t quite work out what had just happened.

  A chill of apprehension rippled down Storm’s spine. I thought Alpha had solved the problem.

  But not for all
dogs, she hadn’t. Storm had the distinct sense that some were only pretending to accept their Alpha’s extraordinary decision.

  I’ve got a horrible feeling this isn’t over. . . .

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  There was coolness between and beneath Storm’s paw pads as she paced across the ground. A strange, wet, sticky coolness. She dipped her head, surprised, to look below her.

  Not ground at all. The surface she walked on was slick and shifting, a green-sheened dark liquid that was thicker than water. Her paws sank into it a little, but it didn’t swallow her up, not if she kept walking.

  Only if she stopped did it begin to suck her down. . . .

  Hurriedly she picked up her stride. All around her moonlight shimmered on the odd surface, and the Moon-Dog was reflected in a glossy path of bright silver. Storm felt herself drawn to look down again, and in the smooth surface she caught a clear glimpse of her own face.

  So angry! She jumped, startled. Snarling like a wolf . . .

  Shocked, she halted with one paw raised; instantly she began to sink into the shining mass. I’m not angry! Her face felt calm, her jaws relaxed. I’m not snarling!

  So why would her reflection . . .

  “It’s your real face. That’s why.”

  Storm whirled, tugging her paws free of the glossy, treacherous liquid, and found herself staring into the eyes of Fang.

  Fang, her litter-brother. But he was dead. . . .

  Yes. Dead. He must be. There were two deep, red holes in his neck where Blade had sunk in her teeth and stolen his life. No blood ran from the savage puncture marks, though. None would, Storm realized. Because—this was not real.

  It wasn’t real, but that didn’t stop her from giving a yelp of fear at the sight of Fang.

  She shifted her paws, trying not to sink further. Fang gazed at her, full of sadness.

  “It’s your true self you see, Storm. The Earth-Blood never lies.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, Storm. You think you’re not as fierce as Blade, not as vicious. But how many dogs could be as brutal as she was?” He gave her a mournful smile, and the puncture marks in his neck gaped as he shook his head. “It doesn’t mean you don’t have savagery in you. Can’t you feel the rage inside? It’s there, and you know it.”

  “No. It isn’t. I don’t!”

  “Really? Each time those dogs of your Pack look at you with fear, every time you feel their unease as you pass too close . . . you grow angry. Don’t you, litter-sister? There’s darkness within you, and you want to let it out. Why shouldn’t you? You want to strike out your claws at those mistrustful dogs, those dogs who have never had faith in you. You want to bite them, kill them, shut them up. You want them to wish they’d never—”

  “NO!” Struggling to turn, to tear her paws from the sucking Earth-Blood, Storm tried to run. Every step was a battle, a painful dragging agony, and as she laid each paw back on the surface it sank even further. One foreleg plunged deep into the Earth-Blood and would not move. Then the other. She felt the liquid creep slowly up her legs, tickle her neck. She lifted her head, fighting for air.

  It was no use. She was going under the Earth-Blood, and there was nothing she could do to save herself. . . .

  Storm woke sharply, on her four paws among starlit tree trunks, blood thudding hard in her ears.

  A long sigh escaped her and she closed her eyes. She’d almost stopped feeling surprised when this happened, she realized with a heavy heart. Of course she was far from the camp. Of course she had no memory of coming here. Her head sagged.

  Still. It’s good to feel solid ground under my paws again, even if I sleepwalked onto it.

  Storm gave her coat a thorough shake, then trod a circle, eyeing the trees to try to get her bearings. When her nostrils flared to snuff the early-morning breeze, she could easily detect the strong scents of her Packmates. They were close by, then; she hadn’t wandered too far.

  But why does it happen at all? No dog walks while they sleep; it isn’t possible!

  She was so tired of it, tired of having to creep back to her own camp and avoid the watchful eyes of her own friends. This is how a dog would approach the camp if it was attacking. This is how invaders would behave. But I’m not an intruder. This is my Pack!

  “And what are you doing sneaking around?” The abrupt bark was full of suspicion.

  Storm spun guiltily to face Dart. Licking her jaws, she stilled the trembling of her limbs. Don’t look ashamed, she told herself crossly. You have nothing to be ashamed of!

  Nothing except that you’re a Strange Dog, an Odd Dog, a Dog Who Walks in Her Sleep . . .

  But she couldn’t explain any of that to Dart. If she went on wearing this guilty expression, the small brown patrol dog really would think she was up to something.

  “Nothing, Dart. I just . . . went for a walk.” That was true enough.

  Dart extended her forelegs and gave a luxurious stretch and a yawn. Clearly she hadn’t been awake for long. “Were you out hunting by yourself? Because that’s not allowed, remember.” Dart lashed her jaws with her tongue and yawned again. A light of something mean entered her dark eyes. “There are Pack rules. Beta might think you’re something special, but that doesn’t mean you can do as you like.”

  A growl rose in Storm’s throat at the unfairness of it, but she bit it back, and shook herself. Rage. I shouldn’t feel such rage! That’s what Fang spoke about in my dream.

  “I told you,” she snapped, “I just went for a walk. I couldn’t sleep. Would you rather I fidgeted all night and woke every dog in the Pack?”

  Dart snorted with disdain. “Suit yourself. I’ll never understand Fierce Dogs.”

  This time Storm had to tense every muscle in her forelegs and dig her claws into the earth to stop herself from flying at Dart. She might have barked in fury anyway, if something hadn’t distracted her: under her paw pads, the grass was wet and cool with dew.

  Like the stuff in my dream. The liquid that sucked me down. Is Earth-Blood nothing but dew? Momentarily bewildered, she hesitated and glanced down, and in that instant Dart turned and sauntered off toward the camp.

  Storm gritted her teeth and glared at the patrol dog’s disappearing haunches. As Dart left, Bella padded toward Storm, giving Dart a curious glance as she passed.

  “Are you all right, Storm?” Bella sat down, tilting her head. She might be inquisitive, thought Storm, but at least she wasn’t hostile.

  “I’m fine,” she managed to mutter. “I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all. I went for a walk.” All these half-truths, she thought remorsefully, but there’s no way I’m telling Bella—or any dog—the real story.

  “Storm, you need to pull yourself together.” Bella’s growl was kind, though. “There are dogs who are uneasy around you already. Don’t give them extra reasons to mistrust you.”

  “I’m not trying to!” barked Storm, exasperated. “I don’t go out of my way to unsettle them, believe me.” Her voice lowered to a resentful growl. “I just seem to manage that without any effort.”

  Bella stood up to give her ear a friendly lick. “Try anyway, won’t you? The last thing the Pack needs is to think Fierce Dogs can’t be trusted.”

  Storm pricked her ears in surprise. What does she mean by that? The Fierce Dog Pack wasn’t a threat anymore; it had fallen apart after Blade’s death. And there were only two Fierce Dogs in this Pack: Storm herself, and Arrow.

  “There’s peace in our Pack now, of course,” Bella went on, “but it’s fragile. Do you understand, Storm? There are dogs who can’t let go of the fear; it clings to their hearts. It wouldn’t take much for them to turn on one another.” Bella’s deep brown eyes were anxious; she seemed desperate to make Storm understand. “You’re not a pup anymore. You’re a strong dog, you’ve proven that! You need to start acting like it. A strong, grown-up dog, a full member of the Pack. You don’t want our Pack to split, like Earth-Dog in a Growl!”

  Storm opened her jaws, unsure how to resp
ond. But before she could say anything, the calm air was shattered by a roaring blast of wind.

  She and Bella leaped to their paws, hackles bristling as they scanned the sky through the branches. This was no natural gust, Storm could tell. It wasn’t the Wind-Dogs who were making the trees shake. Storm’s heart slammed against her rib cage. There were dark shapes in the sky above them.

  “Loudbirds!” barked Bella in horror.

  Together they dashed back into the camp, as the wind stripped leaves from the trees all around them and branches were torn and tossed in the gale. In the glade dogs were hurtling from one corner to another, or spinning on their haunches, or standing dead still and shivering, and the air was filled with terrified yelps and barks. Sunshine cowered beneath a jutting rock, her tiny white body trembling.

  “Run!” barked Bruno.

  “Where to?” howled Ruff.

  “We have to do something!” That was Woody, but he didn’t seem to have any ideas himself. He was dodging from side to side in indecision.

  Storm crouched, flattening her ears and tail as she stared up into the sky. The loudbirds were flying low, wings whirring, one directly behind the other; they circled lower and lower before rising again. All the time they made that terrible roaring, and the wind of their wings lashed the forest and the camp. The barking, panicking dogs could barely make themselves heard.

  Leaping up, Storm dashed to where Lucky was staring upward, his fur rippling in the storm the loudbirds had created.

  “What are they doing?” barked Storm. “Are the loudbirds going to take our camp?”

  Lucky didn’t answer. He turned to gaze at Alpha, and there was intense worry in his eyes.

  Alpha, realized Storm at once. Is she our most vulnerable dog right now? Can she even run very fast while carrying a litter?

  And if she can’t run, what do we do?

  “Beta!” yelped Storm, but he still stood, immobile. To her shock, he took no notice of her at all, or of the frantic dogs racing around the glade. He stepped deliberately to Alpha and stood in front of her, paws planted firmly on the earth, glaring up at the loudbirds as if he was acting as a barrier between her and them.