Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two) (55 page)

Forgoing his momentary respite, he tucked the javelin beneath his arm and jogged after her. It did not take long before he caught up. In the shadow of a rocky overhang at the edge of the valley, Fern stood frozen in place as she stared at two pale figures sprawled before her. Their bodies were scattered with dirt and leaves, one of them soaked in crimson. For an instant Caspian's blood ran cold. Netya's spear lay on the ground nearby, its red feather adornments twitching gently in the breeze. A cruel hand clutched his heart, squeezing tight and refusing to let go.

"Netya is not with them," Fern said, her voice reflecting the dazed shock that registered on her face. She groped for Caspian's hand, and he dropped his javelin to grip her fingers in a clammy palm. It was Meadow and Selo, one hunched over and covered in blood while the other lay staring up at the sky with glassy eyes, her neck twisted at a strange angle.

"Netya!" Caspian called out, startling a pair of birds that had been eyeing the bodies from the branches nearby. "Netya!"

"She may be back at the den," Fern began, but Caspian had already let go of her and taken the shape of his wolf.

The pressure building inside his chest felt as though it would crush him if he did nothing. He stuck his muzzle into the loam, searching desperately for Netya's scent. What he found instead was the smell of Miral, thick and bloody, and the rush of furious despair that surged through him was so great he could not bear it. A feral howl burst from his muzzle, echoing through the valley as he threw his head back and succumbed to the clutches of his inner beast.

He all but forgot the man he was in that moment. All of the calm, the reserve, the years of striving to distance himself from the base instincts that drove so many of his kind. Miral had been here, and Netya was gone. The scent of the alpha clung in his muzzle, refusing to leave. The thought of him touching her, hurting her...

Caspian's world seemed fringed with red. He pressed his muzzle to the ground again, consumed by a singular impulse. He had to find Netya's scent, but all he could smell was Miral, driving him wild like shards of broken flint forcing their way through his sinuses.

A rustle of footfalls approached from the forest behind him, but he barely paid it any heed. The taste of Meadow's blood in the air told the tale of a tragedy he was not yet willing to accept. He could not, not while Netya's fate was still hidden from him.

A voice he recognised as Ura's wailed in despair once the footfalls drew near, joined soon after by the softer tones of Fern and Adel as they tried to comfort her.

"My Meadow, my Meadow," she sobbed, falling to her knees beside the den mother, who had Meadow's head cradled in her lap.

"Ura, listen to me," Adel said, gripping the distraught woman's hand. "Feel her heart. It still beats, but not for long. If there are things you would say to her, say them now. Her spirit may still hear you before it departs this world."

The tearful words Ura spoke as she bent over the dying woman pulled Caspian's inner beast back long enough to give him pause, such was their sadness. He faltered in his mindless pursuit, breathing deep and slowly enough to clear Miral's scent from his muzzle. Seeing through the blind emotion that had been driving him, he tasted Netya's sweet fragrance on the air. Only a taste, but it was enough to tighten his wolf's grip over his thoughts again. It was the most bittersweet scent he had ever smelt.

Ignoring the calls of the women, he latched on to it and drove his paws into the earth, bounding away to the west. Foolish or not, it was only men who considered caution at times like these, and Caspian was consumed by the wolf raging within him.

—37—

Captive

Every jolt of the wolf beneath her felt like a hammerstone pounding against Netya's skull. She remembered only faded moments of what had happened after Miral struck her. Each time she had managed to open her eyes the pain beating against the side of her head had made her long for the refuge of unconsciousness again, and it had been quick to oblige. They had dragged her a short distance, she recalled, then someone had hefted her across the back of a wolf. At some point they had stopped, and she thought she heard the sounds of raised voices nearby before her world faded to black again. Later, perhaps hours, perhaps mere moments, she was jolted awake again as the wolf bearing her began to move. She had been slung over the warrior's back like a sack of supplies, her toes and fingertips trailing through the grass as his spine pressed up against her midsection, leaving her bruised and short of breath before long. Someone had bound her wrists with a braided leather waist tie, though she could not recall when it had happened.

With a great deal of effort she forced herself to open her eyes one more time, blinking away the crusted blood that had trickled down from her throbbing temple. In the darkness she could discern nothing more than what her ears had already told her. At least a dozen panting wolves ran alongside them, perhaps more. The light of the valley fires was long gone, replaced by deep darkness and a cold brush of drizzle misting the air.

She tried to think, but the only thoughts that graced her were those of the terrible scene she had just witnessed. All she could see was the look on Selo's face as Miral held her. All she could hear was the sound of Meadow's scream. The memories chased themselves around in her mind, playing out over and over again like the motions of a numbing dance, keeping her from thinking or feeling anything else. Fear, despair, pain: she felt none and all of them at the same time, knowing only that she might soon face the same fate as her pack-sisters. Perhaps a fate even worse. Miral had not killed her, but she was his captive now, and she could entertain no thoughts of escape in her current state.

The wolves ran until dawn, the journey leaving Netya's body wracked with pain by the time the sun spilled across the horizon. Her thick wolf pelt cloak had kept some of the rain off her, but she was still damp and shivering, her stomach twisting with nausea as someone hauled her upright and set her back on her feet. The warrior barely paid her any heed as she staggered against him, clutching her aching temple with an quivering hand.

Unfamiliar shrubland studded with rocks and tall, shaggy trees stretched away from them to the north, and the view to the south was obscured by the hollow outcropping they had come to a halt beneath. The sizeable spur of rock grew out of the earth like a cairn, with a natural tunnel passing all the way through from one side to the other. It was within this sheltered passage that Miral and his wolves had sought refuge from the rain. The alpha himself was struggling to dismount the wolf he had been riding, breathing heavily as he swung his injured leg over and dropped to the ground.

Netya averted her eyes before he could look her way, keeping her gaze fixed upon the grass between her feet. She did not think she could endure attracting Miral's attention again. He had killed Meadow with her own spear, without hesitation or remorse. Never in her life had she felt such hate and fear toward another person. Bitter bile rose in the back of her throat as his gruff voice reached her ears. She turned away to brace herself against the rocky wall at the last moment, hiding her face from the alpha as she vomited, her skull thumping with pain.

"Drink," a vaguely familiar voice said.

She wiped her lips and tilted her head up. It was the man she had met in Miral's territory. In his palm he held a cupped leaf filled with rainwater.

"It will be some time before we reach our den," he continued. "Maybe several days. Drink, regain your strength."

Netya's first urge was to resist. She wanted nothing from Miral's clan. It was almost insulting for them to offer her any kind of sympathy, even if it was something as mild as a drink of water. Still, her lips were dry and her mouth tasted bitter. The cool water rippling in the leaf was the first comforting thing she had seen all night, and she could not turn it away out of stubborn pride. Accepting the leaf in her bound hands without a word, she turned her back on the man and drank, rinsing her mouth clean and swallowing down the rest. It was only a mouthful, but it was something.

She turned to step out from the shelter of the tunnel and refill the leaf, but found her way blocked.

"Stay with the pack," the man said. "If you run, the others will hunt you down."

"You would too," Netya replied. "Don't pretend you would not."

"If my alpha commanded it. But today I am in no state to run." He nudged his head toward his right thigh, where a bloodied wad of grass had been bound over his clothing. "You are a healer, are you not?"

Netya looked away, writhing her wrists against their bindings. "I would not heal men like you. You killed them." She fought back the tears threatening to brim in the corners of her eyes.

"It is the way of battle. Your warriors wanted to kill me when we met at the creek. Perhaps my alpha has spared you in return for the mercy you showed me."

"He showed no mercy to my sisters. He is without honour."

The man cast an anxious glance in Miral's direction, but the alpha's back was turned to them as he engaged in a gruff conversation with several of the other warriors.

"Mind your tongue if you would have him remain merciful," he murmured. "He can do as he pleases with you now."

Netya hung her head, her momentary flash of anger passing as the fear returned. She was beginning to shiver uncontrollably.

Syr, please,
she implored, reaching out to the spirits,
save me from this.

"Sit and dry yourself," the man said, taking her by the shoulder and leading her deeper below the overhang, to where three of the others were attempting to kindle a fire. His grip was firm, but not rough. At the very least it did not make her skin crawl. Still, it was difficult for Netya to see any of Miral's followers in a kind light at that moment. Perhaps she had been wrong to stop Kin from killing this one.

One of the men sitting at the fire backed away suddenly as they approached, regarding Netya with wide eyes that still held the haze of the spirit world. She saw that his forearm bore a line of pricked red marks from one of the traps.

"Keep the witch away from us!" he exclaimed.

"Share a hearth with her and she'll curse it," one of the others said.

"Share anything with her. Food, water
—
she'll fill it all with her black magic."

A brief thought flickered through Netya's mind as she felt the small pouch of spirit powder still resting against her breast. A pinch of magic to cast awe and fear... But what could she do with it? Scare a warrior or two. As good as useless. It was only a trick, after all.

"Why do you show her kindness, Nekare?" One of the warriors rose to his feet, glaring at the man with his hand on Netya's shoulder. "She bewitched you, sent you back to us with her curse, and you carried it into our battle last night!"

"Close your mouth, you fool," Nekare replied wearily. "What do you know of curses?"

"My sister knows the ways of the spirits. She said she smelled darkness on you the moment you came running back to the den."

"Then let your sister and her seers worry over this witch when we return home. The alpha chose to spare her life, so let her sit at your fire before she freezes. I care not whether you think she has put some spell on me."

The angry male snarled at them, then kicked the smoking embers of his fire into the grass. "We should leave her out in the rain. Sun wolf witch."

Nekare did not argue any further, leaving the three men to lope away to another spot at the far end of the tunnel. When they were gone he sat down and tried to salvage the scattered remnants of the fire, restacking the kindling and blowing upon the embers until they flared back to life and ignited a small flame.

Netya had been unsettled and a little saddened by the discord her presence had evoked in the other wolves back at the gathering, but she cared little for what Miral's warriors thought of her now. She cared little for much of anything at that moment.

"Sit," Nekare said once the fire was burning properly. "There is not much dry wood, but enough to warm us for a while."

Netya sat, but she did not remove her damp wolf pelt to let it dry. The white fur of her spirit guardian was one of the few things she had left to comfort her. She felt for the wooden beads she wore braided into her hair, tracing the shape of the one that had been carved to resemble a bird's head. It seemed a lifetime ago that Erech had given them to her. How warm those summer days on the outcrop now seemed.

She drew her knees close to her chest, burying her face in her arms to hide her tears from Nekare. All this time she had been struggling not to think of the people she had left behind in the valley. Of Caspian. Every time she did she imagined blood and death, and it was too much for her to bear. Meadow and Selo could not have been the only ones to fall. Any number of her packmates might be dead or dying.

Please, not Caspian.
She almost did not want to know the truth of it, lest her worst fears be confirmed.

"How do you make such magic?" Nekare said at last, once the fire was burning bright.

Netya did not reply.

"I saw the fires of more warriors than I could count last night. They came from all around us, disappearing like smoke when we gave chase. The others are saying your valley is not of this world." He watched her tentatively, keeping his voice low. "Will you tell me this, at least? Is your den mother a demon?"