Page 15 of Moon Chosen

“To be chosen by one Shepherd is a wondrous thing. To be chosen by two is a miraculous thing. But only you can decide to accept her—only you can decide to open yourself to the miracle.”

The Guardian’s gaze went to the pup, who had not moved since Maeve had turned, but was staring at the woman as if there was nothing else in the world except the two of them. “Even if you do not need her, Maeve, this young one truly needs you.”

Maeve closed her eyes and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I do need her,” she whispered.

“Then do what many of us before you have done, borrow strength from the Companion who believes in you more than you believe in yourself.”

A shudder washed through Maeve’s body. She drew a deep breath, opened her eyes, and finally, finally looked at the pup.

The pup’s eyes were gentle and brown, and reminded Maeve heartbreakingly of Taryn. But that is where the similarity to the other canine ended. This young canine was darker than Taryn had been, with beautiful brindle stripes of unique silver fur around her chest and neck. The pup was larger than Taryn had been—so much larger that Maeve was surprised by her size. She knew the litter wasn’t yet six months old, though she hadn’t known the pups were so large and well formed. She had not once visited the whelping nest, nor had she visited any of the Companions chosen by the other pups in the litter.

I couldn’t stand it,Maeve thought as she studied the pup.Until this moment I have avoided each of the Shepherd litters that have been born since Taryn’s death. The Guardian had been right—since Taryn’s loss I have not truly been living.Maeve steeled herself and met the pup’s gaze again, only this time she released the sadness that had been shadowing her for more than three winters, and opened herself to the possibility of joy.

The pup did not move. She continued to return Maeve’s gaze and suddenly the woman was filled with warmth. The pup’s emotions poured into Maeve, finding that which Taryn’s death had broken within her, and soothing her damaged spirit with unconditional love.

“Oh!” Maeve gasped. “Mourning Taryn for so long I had forgotten the love, remembering only the loss,” Maeve admitted more to the young canine than herself. “Forgive me for making you wait.” Tears spilled down Maeve’s cheeks and her hand trembled as she gently cupped her face and completed the silent oath that all Companions swore to their canines.I accept you and I vow to love and care for you until fate parts us by death.

Neither woman nor pup moved for a long moment, and then every canine in the Tribe began to howl at the exact moment Maeve opened her arms and the young Shepherd hurled herself, wriggling, into her Companion’s embrace.

“What is her name, Companion?” the Guardian asked, shouting over the exultation of the Tribe’s canines.

Still keeping her arms around the pup, Maeve looked up, her face flush with a joy so great that it made her appear decades younger than her fifty winters. “Fortina! Her name is Fortina!” Maeve laughed through her tears as the pup enthusiastically licked her face.

“May the Sun bless your union, Companion,” the Guardian said formally, bowing his head in acknowledgment of their bond.

“May the Sun bless your union, Companion!” the Tribe took up the familiar cheer.

Making his way carefully through the controlled chaos of celebration, a tall man crossed the drawbridge. At his side padded an enormous canine, whose coat gleamed with the same silver highlights as the female pup. The women who had gathered around Maeve and Fortina parted respectfully to allow the Sun Priest passage.

“Welcome, Sol,” the Guardian said, moving aside so that the man and canine could get nearer to Maeve.

“Ah, Laru, your daughter chose wisely.” The man ruffled his canine’s thick scruff. Then he smiled kindly down at the woman, who cradled the pup in her arms. “What is her name, my friend?”

“Fortina,” Maeve said, kissing the pup on her nose.

The Sun Priest’s smile widened. “May the Sun bless your union with Fortina.”

“Thank you, Sol,” Maeve said.

“It is a fortuitous choosing indeed that is completed just before sunset,” Sol said.

Maeve’s gaze found the western horizon through the thick branches of the closest Mother Tree. “I—I hadn’t realized.”

“Come, Maeve. I invite you and your pup to receive the last beams with me.”

Maeve’s eyes widened with surprise, but Fortina had already moved off her lap and was nudging Maeve’s knees in encouragement. Laughing breathlessly, Maeve stood, then she and the young Shepherd fell into step behind Sol and Laru as they strode across the wide platform and hurried up and up the steps that wrapped, helix-like, around the cluster of Mother Plant–laden trees, leading to the exquisite landing that had been smoothed and oiled to an amber sheen. The platform jutted above the canopy of ancient pines, its baluster carved in the shape of howling canines on which a gleaming, waist-high rail rested.

Maeve gazed around her, seeing the beauty of her Tribe anew. On other smaller platforms, both near and far, Companions, each with a mature Shepherd or Terrier at his or her side, turned and bowed briefly but respectfully to acknowledge Sol’s presence before their sharp eyes returned to their task, constantly scanning the land around and beneath them. A thrill went through Maeve, skittering down her spine like a cooling summer rain. When Fortina was old enough, Maeve would once again have the privilege of mounting her own platform and taking up her own watch.

Alive with anticipation, Maeve gazed to the east toward the island the Tribe called the Farm—the fertile isle that kept them alive with its abundant produce. From the distance of the hillside on which the Tribe had fashioned their homes in the sky, the island appeared to be a green jewel surrounded by the Channel on one side and the Lumbia River on the other. Sunlight played on the closer of the two waterways, the Channel, turning the green water golden, and even lighting the rusted bones of the ancient bridge—the one way on and off the island—from the color of dried blood to amber.

“Beautiful,” Maeve whispered to her pup. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it all is.”

Feeling blessed and fulfilled, Maeve looked from the island to the Tribe that spread like a secret promise around her. Large round family nests, and smaller individual pods clustered in the enormous pines, perched among their sturdy branches as if they had been created by a huge and magickal species of bird. Jewel-like, strands of shells and bells, bone and beads and glass fluttered from the latticework walkway system. In the setting rays of the sun, the decorative strands winked a myriad of colors among the variant greens of pine needles, orchids, mosses, and ferns. On the graceful walkways below Maeve, the Tribe gathered, choosing places near the great, glistening surfaces of the precious mirrors that were mounted carefully, with the utmost consideration, fashioned for form and function—as the Tribe fashioned all things. Maeve blinked, marveling at the size and strength of her people—when did there become so many of us? Little wonder the Mother Plants have been hyper-productive. Babies were being born one after another, swelling the Tribe’s numbers, but I hadn’t stopped to realize how great those numbers must be.

Sol flung out his arms to encompass the vast maze of nests, walkways, platforms, and pods that stretched below and around them. “Behold the majesty of the Tribe of the Trees!”

First, the lookouts mimicked the Sun Priest’s actions, spreading their arms wide and facing the setting sun in the west. And then the people below them raised their faces and their arms to the reflection of the last of the sun’s brilliance as light struck the perfectly positioned mirrors, careened from the glossy surfaces, and filled the Tribe with the glowing essence of life.