Aviva
Fall
The air is crisp and scented with smoke as I walk through the maze of brightly colored canvas tents. Lexa, dressed in furs to stay warm and beaded booties I worked tirelessly on the past few weeks, looks around, turning her head side to side like a little owl, taking in every new sight and sound.
This is the largest Harvest Festival I’ve ever been to. So large, in fact, that the festival stretches for over three miles. Just two days ago, this sacred place was nothing more than a grassy field. Now, it explodes with life, color, and the promise of a comfortable winter where food and supplies will be far from scarce.
We pass a tent selling apples covered in sticky, hardened sugar. I drop a few coins into an elderly woman’s hand in exchange for the treat, letting Lexa paw and mouth it while continuing our exploration.
I’ve been Luna of Silverhide for just over a year, and Queen of the Deadlands for just as long, but I’m not used to being recognized by anyone outside of Silverhide and Endova. Since we arrived two days ago with our pack, however, I’ve been stopped repeatedly, fawned over, and often blessed by weathered hands.
People stare at me as I walk by, sometimes whispering to their companions and pointing, giving me a wide berth, but others are braver, willing to reach out to touch me, to talk to me.
Still, I feel like an imposter. I’m sure the feeling will pass with time, just like the odd sensation of the new, so far untrained and likely undiscovered, powers in my blood.
“Where’d you get that?” Ryan asks, plucking the apple on a stick out of my hand and taking the biggest bite imaginable. Lexa squawks at having her snack taken from her despite the fact she doesn’t have any teeth. “The juice is the best part, see? Isn’t it better?” Ryan holds the apple out for her to lick and gnaw at the raw apple beneath the layer of sugar, smiling as Lexa’s eyes go wide and she bounces in my arms, her mittens sticky with sugar as she grasps the apple with her iron grip. “She’s going to be bouncing off the walls,” he laughs, meeting my eyes.
“Good, then she’ll have a nice, long nap afterward.” I adjust her weight in my arms and scan the dozen or so tents we spent two days setting up near the center of the festival. Our pack takes up residence here, trading and selling their wares.
I step to the side as a cart full of rolled furs and stacks of cut leather passes, pulled by two wolves. A young woman wearing traditional Teshkan robes steps past, carrying two bundles of fabric under her arms as she leaves Freya’s stall. I let out a deep breath as I watch the gathered crowd and our pack members. It seems like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks.
“We’ll make it through winter and then some,” Ryan says, following my gaze with a sigh. “I’m not sure how we pulled this off with everything else we had going on this summer.”
“The Goddess took pity on us,” I whisper loud enough for only me to hear.
A trio of men from one of the newly settled packs in the Deadlands walk over to us to speak to my mate about grain or something, I have no idea because I turn and walk to the largest tent in our camp. Unlike the others, there are no stalls attached to sell goods. I pull back the flap and step inside, sighing against the rush of warmth and the smell of astringent.
Cole leans on the side of a worktable with two small children wiggling side by side on top of it as he checks their ears. Their mother watches with fascination, eyeing the otoscope, which I doubt she’s ever seen before.
“Hey,” Misty says. Her tone rushes as she brushes past. “What are you guys up to?”
I turn to her, watching as she packs a bag with her notebooks and several pens.
“Just killing time before the ceremony tonight,” I reply, nerves I’ve been trying to tamp down all day creeping back to the surface of my subconscious.
“Want to come with me? I’m finally getting some time with the warriors from Teshka today. There’s a few Tarsian warriors who married into the pack after the war who I’m interviewing today, too.”
I glance at Cole and the line of parents and children waiting to have exams and nod, switching Lexa to my other hip. “Sure. Where’s Addy?”
“He’s with my mom. I have no idea where she is.” Misty laughs, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear before flinging her bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go!”
The sun begins to set on the festival as I walk from tent to tent with Misty, watching and listening as she interviews warriors who fought in the war, writing down their stories. Lexa falls asleep in my arms at one point, but I know the rest will be short lived.
As time ticks by, and the stars come out to play, my nerves grow stronger, my heartbeat more rapid, and it becomes almost impossible to focus as I go back to the Silverhide camp in search of my mate.
People are clearing out of the festival to gather at the ceremonial hill for another night of speeches, celebrations, and a few weddings. It’s usually my favorite part of the day while at the festival, but this feels different… because I will be the one standing on the hill calling to action an entire generation of people to join a cause that died centuries ago.
“Are you ready?” Ryan asks in our private tent, which is big enough for a few bedrolls and our personal belongings.
I have no mirror to look in, no idea what I look like right now, but I can tell based on the look on his face that I must be pale and nervous.
I twist my curls around my face and smooth the fabric of my dress–Endovian made for shifting. It’s simple. Something I’d wear day-to-day while hunting.
I am queen of this land, but I wear no precious jewels or fine fabrics. My feet are bare, my skin exposed and freckled from a long summer in the sun where my hands grew more calloused from hard work and the repeated use of my bow.
I will never change, even with new power in my blood.
“Yes,” I reply, swallowing back my nerves. I grab my gilded bow and slide it along my back, following my mate, my Alpha, out of our tent.
I catch a glimpse of Maddy in the crowd as we make our way to the hill. Several of our extended family members came to the Deadlands for the festival. Maddy loves it, and she’s currently wrangling Lexa for us, which I’m grateful for, but the second we reach the top of the hill I spot Ryatt and Ella waiting in the shadows.
Ryatt’s eyes burn like liquid silver as they meet mine. Ella holds Maeve, who smiles widely at me, reaching for me as she leans out of Ella’s arms.
Something deep within my soul tells me to take Maeve, so I do. She clutches my leather dress, sliding her fingers into the loops around my shoulders and hangs on as I turn toward the crowd.
I scan the line of brides awaiting the ceremony under tonight’s full moon, their mates waiting nearby. I look at the Alphas of the new packs and the patriarchs from the tribes, one being my father, who gives me a nod and a small smile, just for me to see.
I’m reminded of who I once was. A fiery, arrogant girl who wore shells in her hair and slept outside most nights to hide from her demons.
Now, I’m a queen. A warrior queen, and the day has come to call upon my army to prepare for whatever the future holds, whatever her future holds.
I smile down at Maeve as moonlight dusts over us. She looks up at me with her strange, blue-green eyes. They shine like sea glass, shimmering with power that seems unreal if not totally impossible.
She’s the only one of her kind.
And it’s my duty–my Goddess given destiny–to protect her.
“We’ve gathered here to mark the five hundredth harvest.” My voice booms over the crowd. “And what a prosperous year it has been for our people of the sacred Deadlands. Look around at your neighbors, your loved ones, your friends. Look at those who fought in the war, who stayed behind to care for the sick, the injured, and the orphaned. Tell me, what do you see?”
Murmurs float through the crowd. Excitement simmers, creating tension as tight as my bow string.
“I know what I see. I see a strong kingdom. A kingdom that has stood the test of time–stood against the terrors of a world run by kings of stolen magic and the old gods of death and despair they worshipped, anointing themselves in the blood of the enslaved, our blood. Our ancestors' blood. Those days are over.”
Shouts of joy ring out through the crowd. I feel Ryan’s pride through our bond.
“On the rise of this full moon, I challenge you to look around and see what we have built, and most importantly, why.” I adjust Maeve’s weight, swallowing hard. “We’ve heard the legends, the prophecies passed down from our ancestors to the youngests' ears around our fires, in our homes, in our temples. We know our history. We are descendants of the survivors who did not bend their knee to the wicked kings and their ungodly magic. But we must not be complacent, not after what we went through last year.”
The tension rises as howls and shouts ring out through the crowd, nearly everyone nodding in agreement. In the distance, a drumbeat begins–thrumming like my heartbeat.
“We have always been a land of equality–our women just as fierce as our men.” Women shout their agreement, and I smile. “That will never change, but change is coming. We hear it in the wind, don’t we? We see it in the land–in the trees and the mountains. The prophecy came to fruition with the birth of this child.” I step forward until moonlight illuminates Maeve entirely. “The Firestone’s will rise again, and we will, too.”
A thunderous applause echoes in my blood as people stand and shout for Maeve, our future queen.
“And we will fight for her!” I shout. “We will fight for the Deadlands! We will not allow another false god to reign terror on our lands or others!”
I’m trembling, my untrained powers desperately trying to ignite, but I hold them back.
Lowering Maeve back onto my hip, I also lower my voice, looking down at the brides, at the women and young girls in the crowd.
“I am not just the Queen of the Deadlands. I am the commander of its army–the army will be built to lie in wait for when we’re called to fight for the Goddess and Her people. An army of warriors. An army of women. Who will stand with me?”
A hush rolls through the crowd. It’s so silent I can hear the numerous fires in the city of tents crackling. No one moves for what feels like an eternity. Soft whispers of shocked conversation drift through the chilled autumn breeze, and that little voice in me that’s been warning me all day snickers.
No one will stand to fight with me. Not the mothers clutching their infants. Not the brides in their dresses. Not their mothers, sisters, aunts, or grandmothers.
But just when I give up hope, a girl of what I imagine is only eight stands and walks through the crowd, which parts for her.
She holds up a hand. “I will fight.”
The brides watch her, and then, one by one, begin to rise.
All across the crowd, women rise. Some hold babies. Some rest an arm on the swell of their pregnant stomachs. Some clutch their mates’ hands.
And the hushed silence is replaced by a roar of unity–the roar of my army.