Hour of the Moon

Chapter 17: The Moon's Debt

"Slowpoke!"

Eight-year-old Wohali's laughter echoed through the trees, wild and bright, as he sprinted ahead of me. My stubby six-year-old legs couldn't keep up.

"Wait!" I gasped, tripping over roots and frustration. The tears came fast, hot and stupid, as I pressed a hand against a tree trunk for balance.

Our father always said that the sooner we learned to run, to fight, to hunt, the easier the change would come. But the wolf inside me was dormant — silent, unimpressed by my tears.

"Boo!" Wohali leapt from behind a tree, and I nearly fell backward from fright.

He grinned until he saw my face. Then the laughter faded from his golden eyes.
"Hey... baby brother, you okay?"

"I'll never be as fast or strong as you," I choked out between hiccups. Mucus ran from my nose; shame burned hotter than the summer air.

Father's words haunted me: Weakness will be beaten out of you.

Wohali didn't scold me. He crouched down, pulled me into his arms, his voice soft as riverwater.
"All is well, little brother. I'll protect you. Always."

He looked me in the eye. "What's our clan's creed?"

"The moon is our guide," I sniffled. "Our bloodlines stand the test of time. We never walk alone."

"Good," he said, brushing away my tears. "Never forget that."

⸻

The forest shimmered — the green burned to silver, the scent of pine replaced by cold air and iron.
When I blinked, we were older. Men now, not boys.

The same forest. The same lake, whispering in the distance.
But this time, the moon was swollen and white — sovereign, watching.

Wohali stood beside me in a white tunic and linen pants, barefoot, the mirror of our father without his cruelty. His shoulder-length hair swayed in the night breeze.

I looked down — I wore red. Blood red. A warning.

"There's nothing troubling me, Woha," I lied.

He smiled — sad, knowing. "You were always a terrible liar. Why are you running?"

"Running from what?"

His gaze drifted to the moon. "Danger. You tampered with old magic, brother. Ancient elemental blood-binding. Did you really think it would sleep quietly?"

"There's nothing I can do now. What's done is done."

"Wrong." His voice cut sharp as glass. "You can still choose. You're hiding behind duty — behind the clan's demands. What do you want, Waya?"

"I never wanted to be Alpha," I said, my voice breaking. "Never wanted the role. But now it's mine. And Nanye-hi—"

"You never take responsibility." His tone hardened, anger flashing for the first time in years. "You act like the elders are your shackles, but you wear them willingly."

I flinched. Wohali rarely raised his voice.

He sighed, some of the fire draining from his eyes. "These deaths are not random. They're part of something older. Something wicked. And you, brother, are standing in its shadow."

The night quaked with silence. Then Wohali smiled — small, sorrowful.
"You're stronger than you know. Stronger than I ever was. Don't run from your fate, Waya. Face it."

His form began to dissolve, the edges breaking into smoke and light.
I reached out — but he was gone.

The moon above us bled red.