Page 76 of Blacktail

“I am no slave,” said Sarge. “Once, yes. But no longer. I defend Mercy by choice.”

“And do you choose to die as well?” asked Blacktail. “I have no quarrel with you. My business is with your”—he spat the word out—“owner.”

Milo and the Great Dane padded over to stand beside their champion. Behind them, Larkspur trotted back and took a position on the windowsill inside House.

“Go away, Blacktail,” said Milo. “We are not part of your pack.”

“That’s clear enough,” Blacktail said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a priest?”

The Great Dane’s eyes grew wide. She cast a nervous glance at Milo. Milo himself had little reaction. “I didn’t think that you would be interested in hearing about that sort of thing.”

Inside House, the beagle yapped again. “You stay away from my mommy!” Everyone ignored him.

“Oh,” Blacktail said, “but that’s where you’re wrong. I have an abiding interest in theology. Do you know why I am here?”

“We know,” Milo said quietly.

“Perhaps not. I come to educate you.”

“Will this lesson take the form of murdering Mercy?”

“You know that it must,” Blacktail answered.

“Then kill me first,” Milo said. “I’ll admit it. I am not a hunter like yourself. But I’m not a fool, either. I have lived long and seen much. The way of Mercy is the best thing I have ever known. Does that count for nothing?”

“Is this how you all feel?” Blacktail asked.

They wagged their tails in agreement.

“Very well,” Blacktail said. “Those who seek to teach must first learn. Tell me of your Mercy. Where was she when the two-legs murdered my puppies?”

“She was here, lord, caring for those fortunate enough to be within the reach of her paws.” Milo looked at him with soft, compassionate eyes. “I wish that you could have been here as well. Once you might have been a fine husband, a gentle father. Now, I think, all good things are dead inside you.”

Blacktail had no visible reaction to this, though the words stung. “Is that the end of your lesson?”

“Actually, I have a question as well. May I?”

“Speak.”

“What is the essence of the hunt?”

The question took Blacktail by surprise. The answer was intuitive—so deeply intuitive that it took him a moment to find words for it. “The essence of the hunt is faith,” he said finally. “The hunter must have faith in himself, that his skills will be sufficient. The hunted must have faith that he can find in himself the skill to evade. It is the will of the Forest God that the stronger faith prevail.”

“Yes,” Milo agreed. “Just so. But consider: Is faith not also the essence of a pack? Faith in oneself, that you may be found worthy? Faith in one’s clan, that they will not forsake you? What we do here is not so different from what you know. There may be more than one path to the Far Hill, Blacktail.”

Blacktail snarled, yellow fangs flashing in the moonlight. “Hear me well, for I will speak on this matter only once,” he said. “The hunt is the Forest God’s design. The truth of it lies in all beasts—even those too weak to find it in themselves. Over the long ages the bloodlines of those who embrace it will be refined. At the end of creation, those that remain will be strong enough to look upon the face of God and…” Blacktail’s voice faltered. “Then…he will not be alone anymore.” Blacktail looked across the clearing, meeting the eyes of each of them in turn. “What you do here is an abomination. You will be damned for it.”

For a long moment no one spoke. Behind Milo, the Great Dane retreated to the lighted mouth of House. There she took up her station between Blacktail and her mistress.

It was Sarge who broke the silence. “Weak,” he said. “Weak. Do I seem weak to you?”

“Perhaps not,” Blacktail admitted.

“And yet, still I choose to be here. This is a good place. For us the hunt has ended.”

Blacktail growled. At the sound of it, several of the pack wet themselves. But no one ran.

“The hunt will never be ended,” Blacktail roared. “You are blasphemers and you are fools and you sicken me. This two-legs you would die for cares no more for you than you care for a pile of dung.”