Servant of the Moon #1 - unedited draft
the Moon's choice

Moire quickly laid a place for Nyall, while he teased Ainsley. Then smiling beautifully, she came around to hug him. They inhaled each other’s scents. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Ye made it home,” she sounded relieved. “I was worried ye would be caught ashore on tha mainland or out ta sea tonight.”

“I would nah be away from ye an’ mine on this night. Shamus got back to Weymouth then I took tha tram ta Wolfville. An’ I brough’ ye all presents,” he grinned.

Moire looked surprised, but Ainsley reacted instantly, grabbing the bag and dumping it on the floor. He laughed and scooped her up and away from the pile, but not before she had a chocolate bar claimed. “Nah so fast, shionnach. Canna starvin’ wolf get a bit o’ stew en mo belly?”

They all laughed when Ainsley shook her head violently negative, sending her fluffy mane of red-brown ringlets flying. Chocolate was her favorite thing in the world. While they ate, he told them about Shamus’ plans to sail to the old isle’s come summer and gave Mamó the letter she had received from the Delphi. There was also an envelope of travel papers and identity paperwork they would need. It had been expensive, but necessary for their future to buy the documents the human world expect everyone to have. Nyall would be home for the next two months, then would meet Shamus at his small cot in Weymouth. Shamus’ arthritis did not like to fish the coldest part of winter and his insurer did not like the risk float ice posed.

Moire talked of the two older humans she cleaned house for once a week. The retired school marms adored her little sister and Moire bragged on how well Ainsley was doing in her studies, already into the fourth grade readers the ladies had given her. Neither of the teachers seem flustered by Ainsley’s lack of speech after Moire had lied about the cause. The story was their parents had died in a house fire and only they had escaped, then come to live with their grandmother who was known to the town apothecary as an herbalist.

Together, Mamó and Moire made many tea blends, medicinal soaps, and healing creams which they sold for the ails of the residents of Wolfville and Weymouth. In less than a year they had made enough money to buy a small house here if they wanted, but they saved it for their escape to the safety of Old Wemyss.

As Comhnyall helped Moire with the dishes, she leaned against him. His wolf sighed with contentment, it felt so good to just be home and close to her again. He kissed the top of her head as he dried the cookware and cutlery.

“I missed ye, Nyall. E’ery time ye leave I worry thay will find ye an’ take ye away from meh,” she said softly, tears fell into the basin of water as she finished the last plate.

He dried it, then took her hands from the water and dried them gently, “I’ll ne’er leave ye, Moire. Soon we’ll be safe an’ may it be tha healers in tha old land can figure out what Mamó has nah. Then ye’ll ’ave yur wolf again.”

She nodded, and he pulled her into his chest holding her tightly. They did not know why she was still weak, why she could no longer shift. Her wolf only said there was a silver stone in her belly that made her weak. It didn’t make sense and no medicines seemed to work. But she was alive and for now that was all that mattered to Comhnyall.

Winter seemed to pass too quickly. Comhnyall had learned much as he killed a half dozen more of those who had been paid to destroy Wemyss. The rest were pack warriors belonging to a far away pack of brown-furs, as Mamó called them. She knew much of that pack.

Mamó had been teaching with the Moon’s Gate Oracles when their head Oracle had been a young acolyte, she was a powerful and power-hungry wolf. After returning home, she had desired to open a training temple of her own. Before Comhnyall’s birth, the oracle been given and then stripped of the title of Delphi. Returning to Des Rues in disgrace, she had tried to open her own school. Many young potentials were enticed to go there to live in the comfortable and prosperous pack, rather than the isolation of Moon’s Gate temple or the strictness of the Eye of the Goddess to learn from the true Goddess teachers. The old she-wolf grumbled that the Alpha’s son was just like his father and grandfather, and would continue to blaspheme the Goddess, but never said how.

Comhnyall was curious and conflicted, as much as he wanted to go after the remaining villains he knew he must protect Mamó, Ainsley, and most of all Moire. They would never be what was once prophesied for them by the Moon, but he vowed they would be happy.

Mamó placed a bowl of reddish brown paste next to Moire and she scowled at it before running her fingers through Comhnyall’s blonde hair.

“I hate ta loose yur golden locks,” she whined.

He caught her hand and kissed the palm, “Tis a small price ta pay ta hide en plain sight. Shamus says wolves are going from town ta town asking about a big blonde youth an’ red headed girl. He believes they be lookin’ fur us. Tha tincture Mamó made hides mo scent an’ this will hide mo father’s colorin’. It must be done, jus’ like ye an’ Ainsley must dye yorn brown. We can nah look like they know our pack looked, or smell like wolves.”

She made a frustrated sound, and began combing the paste into his hair before dabbing it on his brows and rubbing it into his hated beard with a sour, scrunched up face. “I think it makes ye look horrid.”

She sounded like a petulant child, but he knew it was just because she was so worried about him going back to work with Shamus. He would be gone for a month, long-lining lobster pots for the restaurants in the giant cities to the south. It was dangerous work at this time of year, but the payout would give them easily a few years worth of money to start their new lives with. Secretly, Comhnyall was willing to pay it all to have Moire well. She had good days, poor days and very bad days. Always he worried while he was away, because the closest pack doctor was Moon’s Gate to the north or White Mountain to the south, and those packs were hundreds of miles away. They could not risk traveling the distance because technically they were all rogues now and many were watching for them.

They couldn’t even risk travelling as wolves on their own lands. Moire walked him to the road, they stood and held each other for a long time. Usually he would just shift to his wolf and run down to Shamus’ cot in Weymouth but with a dozen wolves sniffing around, those times were passed. He did not want to take the chance of them tracking his scent back to their den while he was away. Only Comhnyall and Moire’s lineage as alphas allowed the pack link to work between them all, but when he was at sea, they couldn’t reach him and he couldn’t reach them. So he would be traveling as a human and ride the tram down to the port town from now on.

“Be safe Moire, get strong, we be traveling as soon as summer ends,” he reminded.

She nuzzled into his shoulder, inhaling his scent. “Don’t drown while ye be at sea, or I’ll never forgive ye.”

He tipped her chin up, looking into her golden eye and her moon eye, “I will always come back ta ye. I ‘ave already chased ye ta tha moon an’ back, ye’ll nah be rid of meh so easily.”

She smiled up at him before raising up on her toes to press her lips against his, as usual his heart stopped then galloped as electric shocks raced through his body. A growl of pleasure rumbled out of his chest at the taste and smell of her. His wolf howled for him to mark her again, but he pushed it away. It would come when the time was right, when she was stronger, but making his wolf be patient was getting harder and harder. It was good thing that he would be away for a month.

He pulled back before his wolf could take over, whispering against her lips, “I love ye, mo àlainn mhadainn (my beautiful dawn).”

“I am nah longer beautiful, mo madadh-allaidh òir (my golden wolf). I love ye, but ye aire a poor liar,” she scolded

He pretended to be offended.“Nay, I am nah a liar an’ ye aire more beautiful than tha mornin’.”

She gave him a brilliant smile to hide the pain he felt from her, then she scolded, “Git ye an’ yur lying tongue gone, ye dog. May ’ap tha sea air will learn ye ta tell tha truth.”

“Aye, I’ll go if ye kiss me once more.” He grinned.

She huffed, rolling her eyes, but gave him a kiss that would keep him warm as he spent the next month pulling fishing pots from the frozen northern sea.

Nyall thought sadly about Moire calling him a liar for saying she was beautiful as they sailed down St Mary’s Bay from Weymouth harbor. All she saw were her scars and weakness, all he saw was her beauty and strength. He would make her see herself as he saw her, if it took the rest of their lives.

“Time to stop mooning over yur mate, laddie. It’s lobster season. Tha sea is a fickle mistress, she’ll keep ye fur ‘erself if she catches ye daydreamin’ on another,” Shamus said sternly.

“Shamus, did ye ever find yur mate?” Nyall asked.

“Aye laddie, long ago but she went to tha moon without meh, an’ my stubborn wolf decided ta stay here with our mistress, tha sea.”

“Do ye miss ’er? What was she like?” Nyall can’t help his curiosity.

“Aye, Nyall. I miss ‘er like a drowning man misses air. She was beautiful, eyes deep and dark like tha evening sky, and hair as black as a raven’s wings. When she sang, even tha christian angels stopped to listen. When tha moon is full, I can her song, an’ I can feel her watching me with her wolf callin’ ta mine to come ta ‘er. But I still be here waitin’ for tae moon to open tha door an’ my mistress ta claim mo last breath.” Shamus’ voice sounds so sad and soft, then he clears his throat, gruffly announcing, “Enough of that, laddie, start on tha bait. I wan’ tha pots ready by tha time we make tha crescent isle, an’ I’ll nah pay ye to sit in tha wheelhouse drinkin’ coffee and chatterin’ like a school girl.”

“Aye - aye, Captain,” Nyall answers, ducking his head to hide his smile. He headed to the deck house to begin, by tomorrow they will be fishing in the icy northern ocean.

Three times they had made the run to Dartmouth to unload, the weather kept much of the fleet port bound, but the Seawolf and her two werewolf crew stayed out in the storms. On the full moon, a calm settled over the ocean. As the Seawolf drifted, Nyall’s golden wolf and Shamus’ gray wolf sat on the deck singing to the moon and their far away mates. It was a beautiful evening and they had gorged themselves on a seal that had tangled in the long line. It had drowned. Shamus had apologized to it before they ate it. Bellies full and anchor dropped, the lull of the low waves rocked them to sleep after so many sleepless, storm tossed nights.

Comhnyall dreamed he was chasing Moire’s red wolf toward the moon across a snowy field, only this time his golden wolf crashed into a wall, he howled after her. She turned once and looked over her shoulder, she was carrying something in her mouth, a small red pup. His heart seized at the thought of Moire and Ainsley going to the moon ahead of him. No matter what he did, he could not cross the barrier.

A beautiful woman in a white dress appeared before him, she spoke in a strange accent, “If I keep them safe for this season, will you serve me?”

He felt the barrier give way. So he didn’t answer, just kept running after Moire and the dream continued on. The field turned the fresh green and flowers of spring, the same thing happened, then the faded high grass of summer, again the woman appeared and asked the same question. The next time, the grass was autumn gold, then snow covered it, each time the woman appeared and asked, “If I keep them safe for this season, will you serve me?”

Exhausted, he collapsed onto his side, sobbing. “Please... please.”

A gentle hand laid on his wolf’s head and skin replaced fur. He looked at Her bare feet and the hem of Her white dress, afraid to look up. “Please,” he begged, “Do nah take ’em.”

“Comhnyall, son of Lyallfr of the Gaelimir Masters-of-Arms, look at me.”

He looked up at the impossibly tall female. He was terrified, he knew who She was, but he was afraid to admit it to himself.

“Look,” she said softly.

In the distance, he saw dark wolves running toward Moire’s red wolf. They meant to kill her.

“If I protect them for this season, will you serve me?” She asked again.

“Aye... aye... anythin’,” he gasped desperately, watching horrified as they get closer and closer to his loved ones.

“Are you sure Comhnyall? You will be mine until I call you home, even if they come home before you,” She explained.

“Aye, please, please protect ’em,” he pled.

She nodded and held up her hand, from his knees, he saw a mist surround them. The dark wolves ran around in circles, confused, then ran away to a distance, prowling back and forth, waiting for the mist to clear. He watched amazed. Suddenly, he felt a burning cold sensation on his side.

The Moon Goddess placed her hands on his shoulder and his side. He wanted to thrash, but he couldn’t move as he felt the burning cold spreading across his back and waist, it climbed around his chest and up to his shoulder. He couldn’t breathe. Just as he was about to pass out, the pain stopped as suddenly as it started.

Her gentle voice reminded him, “Until I call you home.” Then he was falling.

Nyall woke in the wheel house, he could feel the vibration of the motor. Shamus was running at full speed to harbor. He groaned and rolled over, his skin felt strange but it didn’t hurt, it just felt different.

“So ye came back from Her callin’, laddie.” Shamus’ voice startled him.

“Wha’ ’appened?” Nyall choked out, his voice felt hoarse.

Shamus tossed him a thermos and he drank greedily of the warm broth. “Ye were out fur almost two days, Nyall. We’re almost ta land. Rowena tole meh ta take ye home, ta protect ye family,” Shamus explained.

“Rowena? Was that tha woman I saw?” Nyall asked, hopeful but his heart knew the truth. He had faced the Goddess Herself. He reached over his shoulder to rub his back, then ran his hand over his side where the pain had started. Shamus had put a shirt and sweatpants on him.

“Nay laddie. Rowena was my mate. Ye saw tha Goddess ‘erself, an’ I don’ know wha’ ye promised ’er, but She placed ’er marks on yur skin. Go on, thars a mirror in tha lav, look at yur tattoos.”

Shamus let loose a stream of colorful profanities as the Seawolf bucked in the rough seas. Nyall staggered into the closet washroom. On his right side was a dark circle with a crescent moon, and another over his right shoulder with a large black rune tattoo for Servant of the Moon, slashes and vines covered the whole right side of his body. They seemed to move or it could be the motion of the ship. His skin now looked like his father’s and grandfather’s. He staggered back to the wheelhouse.

“Do ye know what tha’ marks means, laddie? What did ye see? What did She say?” Shamus asked, obviously concerned as he gripped the wheel, while sleet, snow, and waves splashed against the windscreen. Comhnyall could see the shadow of land through the blowing snow.

“Aye, Shamus. It’s tha runes fur one who ’as dedicated themselves ta tha service of the moon.” He said quietly, shuddering at the memory of the dream, “Dark wolves were stalking after Moire and Ainsley, tha Goddess said She would protect them if I promised ta serve Her. Then She ’eld up ‘er hand an’ a mist surrounded ‘em, an’ tha dark wolves ran a fair distance away, looking somewhere else but they will come back. She touched meh back an’ side, thay burned cold where me skin is now painted. I ’ave ta get ta meh family ta keep ’em safe.” He couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice.

Shamus marveled at how young he sounded, reminding himself that Comhnyall was only 17 by two months, even if he had the stature and carriage of an adult.

“We shall keep yur family safe. As soon as weh land, ye shift ta yur wolf an’ run fur home. I’ll sail back to Weymouth an’ wait ta hear from ye. Thars land, Chester Port ta be exact,” Shamus said.

“But Shamus, what about all yur gear?” He knew they had left all Shamus’ expensive equipment laying on the bottom of the sea.

The old sea captain laughed, “Thas wat I ’ave insurance fur, with tha storms like they be. Aye’ll just tell ‘em the gear was lost an’ thay better be grateful not ta be buyin’ another boat. We’ll ’ave new gear fur tha next season, Nyall.”

In Chester port, Shamus docked at the fuel dock. While he was inside haggling with the Dockmaster, Comhnyall sneaked away. Soon, his giant golden wolf was running full speed toward home. The land was covered in a strange ice fog. It hurt to breath it and was hard to see through but he didn’t stop. He had to reach his family.

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