“I’m trying to concentrate.”
“You look like you’re in pain.”
I open one eye and find Jasper leaning sheepishly through the door, half in, half out. With a sigh I let my posture collapse and quit meditating.
“You can come in,” I say.
He slips through the flap but hovers anxiously at the edge of the rug.
“About earlier,” he says, “I want to apologize.”
“Oh yeah?” I crab-walk on my hands and feet backward to the bed, hoisting myself onto the lumpy mattress.
“Yeah,” he says, and comes to sit at my side. “I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to—I don’t not trust you. It’s just hard for me to be around the people who…”
“Who you think murdered your mother.”
He looks up, a little shocked at my candor.
“Jasper.” I squeeze his knee with one hand and clutch his arm with the other. “I’m sorry. I know how much losing her has hurt you. But these aren’t the same people, the same wolves who did that. This place is proof that rogues are just as civilized as any pack wolf—more than some of the ones we’ve met. You can’t blame them for something they didn’t do.”
To my surprise he leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder and burying his face in the crook of my neck. He stays there for a moment, just breathing, then he kisses my neck and sits up to look at me.
“I know. You’re right. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know I’m sort of forcing you to stay here. That can’t be comfortable for you. I appreciate it.”
“I appreciate you.” He kisses me softly then leans back, smiling. “Did we just have an adult conversation?”
I laugh. “I think so.”
We both smile and Jasper pulls me in for a hug.
“Sooooo, it’s a full moon tonight,” I say. “There’s this drum circle thing happening out in the desert. You want to go with me?”
He takes a moment, swallows. “Sure. Yes. I’d—love to.”
The night is warm and the lamplight golden as Jasper and I walk hand in hand along the path that leads to the edge of the Sanc. Around us rogues are emerging from their tents to join the trail, everyone dressed in their nicest clothes—light, flowing fabrics dyed natural colors. Kids are running excitedly up and down the path and there’s a sense of occasion in the air, like something special is about to happen.
Once we reach the edge of the settlement, the desert stretches out into eternity under a deep, dark, star-dotted night sky. Rogues drift toward the horizon, all heading in the same direction but finding their own paths. Jasper and I follow.
We walk for the better part of an hour until the Sanc is just a light haze on the horizon at our backs and a bonfire comes into view up ahead, lighting up the yucca trees and the bulbous rocks. In a circle around the bonfire are wolves wearing hooded robes of the darkest crimson. Before them sit tall drums, with real hides stretched over the top of the wooden barrels. Sparks fly up from the fire and get lost among the stars. The moon is already a quarter of the way across the sky, full, silver, and welcoming. The crowd of rogues meanders at the edge of the drum circle. Some groups form, others stand holding hands with their loved ones, watching and waiting. Jasper and I find a spot between a family of five, their youngest kid swinging from Mom and Dad’s arms like an excited monkey, and an older couple, the woman leaning her silver-haired head on the shoulder of the man.
For a second I catch a glimpse of a face across the circle, half in shadow but weirdly familiar, and a ping pinches at the front of my brain, just like the one I felt earlier. I squint to relieve the pain and when I look up the face is gone as quickly as the sensation.
Who was that?
“I think they’re starting,” Jasper says, stepping forward ever so slightly.
From the edge of the circle Yoki emerges in a matching robe, carrying a long stick with a bulbous globe at one end. Omar trails behind them, also sporting a blood-red robe but unlike Yoki and the others, his is sleeveless, revealing his muscled arms and his rogue tattoo. He has a drum strapped to his chest.
He and Yoki stand at the edge of the bonfire and the crowd settles, silence stretches across the desert. Slowly, Yoki raises their staff to the sky and shakes it. The bulbous head must be filled with beans or rice because it makes a sound like a maraca. Yoki’s shaking grows in intensity as they raise their free arm to the sky and let out an animalistic yelp. In response Omar raises his right hand complete with drumstick, the other drummers in the circle follow Omar, and then in unison they bring their drumsticks down onto the skin of their drums.
The beat is deep, resonant, and echoes across the desert. Together the drummers beat a steady rhythm, with Omar leading and keeping the pace. Yoki yelps again and the drummers in the circle turn in unison to the right so they’re each now facing the back of the drummer in front of them. Another yelp and they begin to walk, their steps uniform and in time with the beat. They march and drum, kicking up dust and gaining momentum. Omar beats faster and the circle responds in kind.
Each beat of the drums sends a vibration through my body, as if the sound waves are rippling through my muscles. I shiver and squeeze Jasper’s hand tighter. He squeezes back. I wonder if he’s feeling it too.
As the circle continues to move the wind picks up, seemingly whipping the dust in a whirlpool along with the drummers. The edges of their robes catch and flutter about as if caught in a magic cyclone. The fire spirals. I turn my gaze skyward and it feels like the stars above are rotating as well. Or maybe the stars remain where they are and it’s me and the earth that are spinning.
