Wolfmoon I was born in Moambe, a small village deep in the Silver Forest. My family and
I lived in a longhome, a large, sturdy house built on stilts off the ground. The roof dipped in the
middle and flared out at either end, as if wanting to sprout wings. Tall trees stood all around us:
parong, monkeypod, sweetgum. Some gave fruit in the summer, others flowers in the spring. The most
precious gave us medicine and bark paper to write on. Our home was very crowded. On the bottom,
among the stilts, was where we kept our pigs, chickens, and goats, while meals, meetings, and
ceremonies took place on the main floor. Colorful reed mats covered the floor, for my mother was
the village's senior reed-weaver. Living with us were my mother's sisters and their children, whom
I called brother and sister even though we were cousins. My father, a trader, lived apart from us
in a small hut as was customary for married men. As I was a bright child, curious and quick, my
favorites among my extended family were those who had a healthy sense of imagination. We had many
adventures in the friendly trees. Did I mention most of us went about naked? Although the Silver
Forest is not a proper jungle like the Panjarl, it could get quite hot. When we passed puberty, or
had to travel out of the village, boys wore a loincloth, girls a decorated apron. Adults dressed
more modestly, but not by much. Things were uneventful up until the time I neared puberty myself.
Soon after my birthday my father visited the longhome to see how I was getting on. "How old are you
now, Jozhande?" he asked. He had a soft deep voice, and I thrilled to hear it. "Twelve, Papa." I
said. "You're old enough to go to the city. Tomorrow I am taking some of your mother's mats to the
marketplace in the city. You will come with me." My mother cast him a sharp glance, looking up from
her mats. Her fingers were as rough as the bark strips she wove. But that was my father's way of
introducing his children to the world. He had taken my two older brothers to see the city when they
came of age, and so he would do the same with me. The next day at dawn we loaded up the oxcart with
reed mats, bright batiked cloth, coconuts, and several cages of fat pullets. I was so excited I
could hardly eat my breakfast. I had never been more than an hour's walk from the village before,
and Karistanapool was large enough to hold ten, twenty, fifty Moambes within its high stone walls.
The God-King of Pharazion lived there in a pyramid-palace built of somber basalt. My father told me
he would sometimes come onto his balcony to throw copper coins to the people. I was impressed. We
did not use currency in our village, only barter, and even a copper coin seemed the height of
luxury. We set out, my father guiding the ox, I sitting in the wagon atop the bed of our
merchandise. At first the forest looked no different. The vegetation grew lusher as we crossed a
river, than more parklike and open. By midafternoon the trees were so scattered so I could see many
miles in front of me. The openness made me feel strange and small. I had never been out of the
trees before. In late afternoon I saw a dark hump lying far ahead...Karistanapool. I was so excited
I could barely sit still. The gate-guards waved us through into the city, and my eyes went wide,
taking in the wonders. Over here, a magician performing tricks with bowls of colored fire; there, a
weaver selling bolts of fluttering cloth; in front of us a shaggy, long-legged beast with two humps
on its back that I later learned was called a camel. Crowds to the left and crowds to the right,
the smell of roasting meat, animal dung, expensive perfume. Ahead of us walked foreigners with skin
like cinnamon and eyes like emeralds; and behind us a tame elephant with a miniature hut on its
back! My father noticed me staring and laughed good-naturedly. "Don't gawk so much. After a few
days here, you will be well used to such sites." I continued to stare as we entered the bazaar
where my father had his contacts. Suddenly I heard a deep, brassy, melodious sound. It was the
first time I had ever heard a royal trumpet, for the only musical instruments we had in our village
were flutes and drums. "Make way! Make way for the Akkidri, the chosen of Ylangaz, the
warrior-wives of the God-King!" The crowd stood back, lining each side of the road, and my father
pulled his wagon aside. From my perch on top I had an excellent view. A dozen fierce haxtos marched
solemnly up the street with mincing steps that might have looked ridiculous if they were not the
mounts of the Akkidri. The warrior-wives rode these fierce, flightless birds into battle, for
horses were unknown in our part of the world. They had massive hooked beaks and were more than
capable of disemboweling a man with the sharp, curved claws on their inner toes. They were also
notoriously hard to control, their riders needing to bond with them as chicks to have any hope of
taming them, so they were used only by the God-King's finest warriors. But fierce as the haxtos
were, the Akkidri were fiercer. They were not the actual wives of the God-King, for he had a
sister-wife and a passel of concubines, but were blessed by Ylangaz the sun goddess to protect him
as his personal guard. They were dark and polished as ebony, each naked but for plates of gold
metal over their breasts and loins; feathers plumed from their helms like puffs of colored smoke.
Each Akkidri carried a round polished shield and wore a longsword strapped to her waist. The crowd
grew respectfully silent as they passed, though little gasps and exclamations could be heard. When
the parade passed the crowd broke up, leaving awed whispers in its wake. "What did you think of
that, Pumpkinseed?" my father said, using my nickname. "There go the personal guard of the
God-King. Surely you will not see such a site again!" I felt feverish, dazed, excited all at once.
I blurted the first thing that came into my mind. "Papa, I want to be one." What happened next is
very important in the history of my life. Among my people it was a serious thing for a child--who
is thought to be incapable of deceit or presentiment--to express a wish to serve the sun goddess.
Thusly, my father did not scold me, or dissuade me, or laugh at my outburst. Instead, he took me to
the temple of Ylangaz where we might find out if my desire was a true calling. The temple dazzled
me as much as the Akkidri had, for inside it was paved with white marble. The gilded symbol of the
goddess hung in midair, where a beam of light struck it from the ceiling. Beneath this burned a
sacred fire fueled by fragrant wood. My father explained what had happened to the acolytes, and
they went to fetch the high priestess. She was a tall women in a long white robe. A dot of gold
paint winked light from her forehead like a tiny sun. "What is your name child?" "Jozhande," I
answered. "Your Grace," I amended. "Do you know the true nature of what you desire?" she said
seriously. I was confused. Her eyes bored into me like those of a forest asp. "I don't know," I
said truthfully. "I only know I want. Please, can I be a warrior-woman like the God-King's guard?"
She laughed and rubbed my short, woolly hair. "We shall see." Then, to my father, "We have to keep
your daughter here overnight and give her the dream-drink, so we may know for sure. The goddess
will tell her if the portent in true." So my father left me there, with admonitions to be good and
not vex the priestesses too strongly. They took me below the main floor into a chamber that smelled
of myrrh and sandalwood. It was early evening by then, so they gave me the dream-drink and left me
alone in a stone chamber on a bed of soft animal skins. I soon dropped off to sleep. What do you
think I dreamed? Ylangaz herself came down from the sky in her robes of gold to welcome me as a
warrior, and in a fabulous montage I had many adventures fighting alongside my sister warriors.
Dazzled by my journey, the Akkidri, the city itself, it is no coincidence that I dreamed as I did.
Now I wonder if my dream wasn't so far off the mark, save for the fact I now ride a horse and not a
temperamental haxto. But I am getting ahead of myself again. The next day I spoke my dream and the
priestesses told my father the news. After I had my first menses, the priestesses would come for me
and take me back to the city, where I would be initiated within their ranks. It was one of the
highest honors of our land to be chosen for the Akkidri, and that it happened to a child in our
family, who were from a backwater village no one had ever heard of, was a cause for celebration.
When my father and I returned home my parents started planning my induction feast, an affair for
the whole village that would include roasted goat, sweet tubers and rice, and gifts of feather
cloaks, ivory beads, livestock, and decorated pots and baskets. Every wish of mine was granted, no
comfort denied; I got to wear a spot of gold paint on my forehead and received garlands of fresh
flowers every day. It was inevitable that all the attention focused on me made some of my brothers
and sisters jealous. It was also inevitable that some acted on it. My half-brother Lgoti approached
me a tenday before my going-away party as I was gathering some sweet tubers from the garden. We
were both well away from the village and hidden in the trees. "Going away soon, aren't you," he
said. I did not like his tone and stayed alert for tricks. He was the son of my father's first wife
and a sly bully a year older than myself. He liked to throw stones at the chickens and club the
slow-moving rock lizards for no other reason than to watch their brains splatter. I tried to affect
a superior look. "It is as the goddess wills." That was the standard reply the priestesses in the
temple had for everything, and I thought to imitate it as I would soon be joining their ranks. "Do
you know what the priestesses will do to you in their rites?" he asked. I had total faith in the
priestesses. They had treated me graciously the night I had spent in the temple. "You are trying to
scare me," I said. "You are jealous!" He spat. "I am not. I have no reason to be. boys can't join
the Akkidri." I still suspected he was. "You are wrong. The priestesses would not hurt me." "Oh yes
they would. They will cut off your *kili* and throw it into the flames to burn!" I stared at him in
confusion. I did not know what a *kili* was. "Don't you know what a *kili* is?" he said. I shook my
head no, ashamed to admit it. "There," he said in exasperation, pointing. "Between your legs,
Jozhande. In your secret place. Your *kili* is there." I was angry by now, thinking he made a fool
of me. I probed myself between the thighs, feeling my sparse, downy hair and pubic lips, the
concavity of my vagina. This was all I knew of my sex. I knew adult men and women used these organs
to make children, but I had never been interested enough to examine my own. "You lie. There's
nothing here." "Look." He wore a shard of mirror on a thong around his neck as a pendant, and
unlooped it and handed it to me. "Look carefully, and you will see it." I had indulged in sex-play
with my brothers and sisters before, of course, but it had been only play. Now it seemed there was
something risky about it, a new dimension I did not fully understand. But still, I was determined
to prove him wrong, to stop him from making fun of me. I squatted in a patch of sunlight, spreading
my knees, and held the mirror to my crotch in one hand while I opened myself with the other. I had
never done this before and the sight shocked me. My pubic lips were long and puffy, rimmed with
fine, curly hairs. They formed the shape of an arrowhead and were a dark pinkish-plum in color,
wrinkled like a dried fruit, yet felt soft and slick. I poked my finger around, but nothing was
lurking in the damp folds. I even opened up my vagina and poked a finger in, but felt nothing but
walls of thick muscle. Lgoti must be lying, I decided. However, the probing began to stimulate me
strangely. It felt very pleasurable, far more stimulating than my previous rubs and pats. The
sensations seemed to be localized towards the front, near my urethra. I pinched the sensitive area
and felt a jolt of pleasure so intense it felt more like pain. I peeled the folds of skin back and
saw a swollen little nub like a pearl, glistening as if oiled. It was loosely attached enough to
roll in my fingers like a stone, but I dared not, for I thought the sensations just might kill me!
"That," said Lgoti, "is your *kili.* Every girl has one, as every boy has a *pottu.* That's why men
and women lie together, to give one another pleasure with their bodies." "It feels...strange," I
whispered. I was amazed that such a part of myself existed and that it had a name. I had always
known pleasure when I touched or rubbed myself, but never in this direct, deliberate way. And the
priestesses wanted to cut it off? "You aren't doing it right," he said in his familiar insufferable
tone. "Here, let me help you." There was something improper about this, but I was so fascinated I
dared not correct him. He wet his fingers in his mouth and placed them on my *kili.* They started
to do a little dance, half-drumming, half rubbing.

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 My clumsy probing had been nothing like this! I
gasped, my heart thundering in my chest. "What are you doing?" "I'm only showing you the proper
way," he said with a smirk. My hips started to jerk. Without warning, he grabbed the shallow cup of
my breast and sucked hard on the wide, flat nipple. "Lgoti!" I squealed. "Mmm-mm," he said, and the
vibration of his lips sent a new delight through me. With amazement I saw his boyish *pottu* stick
out straight, stiff as a finger. Was he going to pee on me? But we were on the soft grass by then,
and I was too transfixed to protest. He squeezed my nipples hard; then, without warning, he thrust
his stiff *pottu* deep inside me. I was too astonished to cry out. Then he began moving it back and
forth. I felt something tear within me, not a big pain but a pain nonetheless, then came the
heavenly scrape of the tip of his *pottu* against me deep inside, and just as suddenly, he was
outside of me, a long arc of white liquid shooting from his organ to dampen the soil. I felt like I
was on fire, my nerves raw and jangling. "What was that?" I yelped. "It was seed," he said
solemnly. "Men use it to make children." He wiped himself nonchalantly. It took me a few seconds to
realize what had happened. Lgoti had taken my virginity! I could never join the Akkidri now. The
warrior-wives had to be virgin, untouched by any man. If they found out about Lgoti, I would bring
shame on my family and on my whole village! Had Lgoti known of this, and acted out of jealous
spite? Perhaps. Later I found out he did not lie; all warrior-wives received a clitorectomy at
their initiation into the order, forsaking sexual pleasure in order to better serve their King. Now
I am very glad I did not become an Akkidri. But back then, I felt devastated. A little bit of blood
trickled out of my vagina. I dried it with a tuft of grass. I was almost in tears. "Go away,
Lgoti." He shrugged and left me. The next few days passed in a storm of remorse for me. I kept to
myself and tried to avoid my family and friends. What was I going to do? If I told my family what
happened, shame would fall on me because of what I had let happen; if I went through with it, the
priestesses would find me out, and there would be censure and disgrace for my family. I thought of
running away but knew no one outside the village. I loved life too much to kill myself. In the end
I decided that if a dream had gotten me into this mess, a dream would get me out of it. That night
I lay awake, concocting a likely story as my brothers and sisters slept around me. In the morning,
I rubbed salt in my eyes to make tears and went to see my mother. Pretending I was bawling, I said,
"Mama, I had a terrible dream! The goddess came to me and told me I wasn't strong enough to be an
Akkidri. She said she didn't want me!" Nothing of the sort happened, of course. I lied, and when I
lied, I betrayed the childish faith I had kept since birth...for if it was so easy to convince my
parents, how much easier it must have been for the priests and priestesses to convince the populace
to serve their ends. The only faith I hold these days is in myself, not in any god or goddess. But
at the time, the news was received with regret and a certain kind of forbearance. The goddess knew
what was best. Instead of shame I was given its obverse, the noble emotion of pity, and in some
ways that was worse. I thought I could go back to my carefree childish life, but I was mistaken.
The deception weighed on me. I grew listless, lost weight. My parents attributed it to
disappointment. With the onset of my menses I was a true woman, and if I was not to be an Akkidri,
then I would have to learn another occupation. My father had distant relatives in another village
which had a fine school for healers. They decided to send me there, in part because they thought
the change would do me good. For five years I studied herbs and healing. I caught on quickly and
was very good. Dharzain--the village--was much larger than Moambe, practically a small city. I had
to leave off my apron and wear foreign garments, shirts and trousers for their freedom of movement.
Many foreigners came to the school as pupils and patients, and one of them was a crippled soldier
who first taught me the art of swordplay. My desire to be a warrior had not left me. I learned
other tricks from other mercenaries who passed through. At the age of eighteen, I cut short my
healer's training to go off with them, and soon after that I fought in my first campaign. I often
think, from time to time, of what my life would have been like as an Akkidri. But not too hard. #
Shadow shifted in my arms, his hair a springy pillow on my chest. "I've heard those virgin
warrior-women have secret ways of satisfying themselves," he said. "Double-headed phalluses,
special tongue techniques, and all that." "No doubt they do," I said, growing sleepy. My eyelids
drooped. "When will you tell me the story of your life, Shadow?" "Can a shadow be said to have a
life?" he said, and kissed me lightly on the lips. I fell asleep not long after. # I woke with a
start. Shadow's side of the bed was rumpled, but he was not there. Moonlight poured in through the
window, creating a stripe through the crack in the curtain. I sat up. My nose told me Shadow had
not gone long, for I still smelled his scent. Every man has a different smell, depending on his
health and age, and his was slightly sweet yet musty, like cut hay in the rain. I thought he might
have gotten up to relieve himself, but his clothes still hung on the hook. I heard the creak of the
gate as it opened and shut. What was he up to? While he might slip off naked to the outhouse, in
the chill of night there was no way he would go without his cloak. I had given Shadow my trust, but
he kept a dangerous profession, and I thought it was better to follow him than be nastily surprised
in the morning. My instincts had saved my life on many occasions. So I dressed quickly, took up a
long knife--a sword being too obvious--and left the cottage intending to track him. Wolfmoon was
waxing, giving ample illumination. My breath made chill, ghostly clouds as I used my nose and my
ears. Though Shadow was a scout and used to moving silently we were still in a village, and sure
enough, the stray bark of a dog alerted me to his direction. The scent of crushed sage led me
further. It wasn't long before I began to hear him. A few times I even glimpsed him in the
moonlight, a shapeless form that took care to stay hidden in the junipers. We were climbing up the
hillside by then, past clumps of coarse grass and crumbling stone ledges. The village was far below
me while the constellations burned above...the phoenix, the battle-ax, the wheel...violet-white
Chazhani, the traveler's friend, at the hub of its thirteen spokes...all of them like distant
celebrants with their lanterns, lighting the way for a god's feast. With a pang of nostalgia I
thought of my own forgotten feast. What was Lgoti doing now? Had he found a wife to tease and
torment? Suddenly I heard the shrill bleat of a goat, then chaotic rustling noises as the rest of
the herd scattered. I drew my knife and crept silently towards the disturbance. No twigs broke, no
grass rustled beneath my soft-booted feet. Then came sounds of an animal feeding: wet slaps and
sucks, then pops as the limbs were disjointed. Had the wolf come back, and Shadow was talking with
him? If so, why meet him cold and naked? I circled the noise, approaching the creature from uphill
where it would be at a disadvantage. Or, if it was the timid sort, flee, for even powerful
predators may run rather than confront an unknown enemy. I crept around a tree and hid behind a
large boulder. Slowly I raised my head. Steam rose from the gutted carcass, burnished to a frosty
silver in the moonlight. Crouched there, feeding, was a shaggy black predator unlike any creature I
had ever seen. It had the stance and mien of a wolf, but no wolf had long legs that bent like a
man's, or paws that rooted purposefully in its prey's open guts. It was so manlike that, despite my
shock, a chord was struck in me, for something in its posture was very familiar... Dear gods, no,
not that. I must have made some noise, for the thing left off its feasting and whirled to look at
me, hackles raised in agitation. Sharp, white teeth parted in a snarl, but all I saw was the
distorted beauty of Shadow's face. I raised my knife. "Don't." It was Shadow's voice, hoarse but
recognizable. "It is I. Lower your knife. I will not hurt you." "What manner of curse is this?" I
gasped. "You are the curse, that you have seen me in this form!" His eyes kept flicked back to the
bloody disarray of his meal, as if the pull of it was too strong for him to resist. "I...I didn't
know," I stammered. "I heard you leave, and wondered where you went." I shook my head, mind reeling
at the true nature of what I had slept with. Did he change that night we had spent at the hot
springs, too? *When Wolfmoon is in the sky, I can talk to wolves.* He told me that himself. How was
I to know that it was because he *was* a wolf by nature? "And now you know," he said. As if no
longer able to restrain himself, he snatched a piece of meat and gulped it with an expression of
mingled shame and fierce ecstasy. The eyes of a wolf burned lambent amber from the sharp, altered
planes of his face. "Tell no one about this," he growled. "In this land, form-shifters are burned
alive." He turned his attention back to the horrid feast. "We will talk in the morning." I fled
down the hillside, leaving my knife and cloak behind. # I entertained thoughts of leaving during
the night, but I could not do that to a friend, especially one I had given my word to. I shivered,
alone, in the flower-painted bed, as the moonlight slanted through the window, then disappeared. A
false dawn bloomed outside the window and the first bird began to sing. I heard the cottage door
creak. I had slept fitfully during the night, awaiting this moment. Shadow sat huddled before the
fire in my cloak, shivering, rinsing his arms and face with warm water from the copper kettle. The
beast had gone. He looked no different from the playful lover I had known. But from the door to the
fire lay a trail of dark hair, and the water Shadow had washed in had a faint rusty hue. He looked
up when he saw me come, then down again very quickly. I sat next to him on the braided hearthrug, I
was determined not to feel afraid or repulsed. He smelled like the outdoors, crushed grass and
musky animal scent and the lingering odor of blood. "I thought you would have left," he said
quietly. "I never break my word," I said. I broke a piece of leftover bread in half to share with
him, but he declined. "What is this affliction, Shadow? Can it not be cured?" He went so quiet I
thought I had said something wrong. When I turned to ask, meeting his eyes, I saw the flames
glimmer briefly in the wetness there. "It is a curse, and it is not a curse," he said evenly. "When
Wolfmoon is young, I speak to the wolves, nothing more. As it grows fuller, I grow more bestial,
more wild. At its fullest, I am indistinguishable from a natural wolf. The transformation fades as
the moon wanes, until I am a normal man again. I am a man always in my mind. But I am not always in
control of my impulses. " He took up the washrag again and began scrubbing his arms. "Sometimes, I
must kill." "Do you kill humans?" I said in a low voice, terrified of what I might hear.
"Sometimes. But only my enemies. Friends have nothing to fear." He stared again into the fire.
"When I was younger---very young, only a few years older than you, my lady, when your dreams of
glory were spoiled--a horrible act was committed against me by the lord of our land. Your origins
were humble, but mine were even lower: I was a peasant, the lowest of the low, with the least
recourse to justice. Lykaon saved me from death and gave me a vengeance, as wolves avenge a
packmate who has been killed. But there was a price, and it is the animal in my nature. "It is easy
for me to hide this affliction from others. Even with the rebels I am never more than ten days in
the same place, and taking on a wolf's form has its advantages in scouting and spying. No one has
ever questioned my wanderings. No one has ever found out, until now," he said, with a significant
look. "You see why I asked you to go into Obn Dhregni. I am the one who should have gone, but I
couldn't take the risk of transforming in the city. So I tricked you, like a thief, to take my
place, while telling the others I went instead--" "It's all right," I said quickly, laying a hand
on his arm. "No! I am ashamed. I used deceit. You don't have to do this. I release you from your
promise. I--" "Listen to me," I said fiercely. "I go because I want to go, because I want to help
you. A god's curse changes nothing. I am a mercenary, a warrior. I make my own path and you are not
answerable for it. And I will say nothing. Your secret is safe with me." I kissed him then, on the
mouth that torn the goat apart the night before, because it was the only thing I could do. After I
had failed in my promises to Ylangaz, I had sworn never to break another promise again. 

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