by P. C. Cast
The injured Companions rested together near one of the campfires to the right of the Goddess image. Sora could see they were watching the proceedings closely, but they looked more sleepy than worried or even nervous. Well, no wonder—after the poppy tea and spring mead they’ve been drinking.
The rest of the Clan were spread around the inside of the circle, and they were all looking expectantly up at her. Something about their like expressions suddenly reminded Sora of a nest of baby birds, and she had to stifle an inappropriate giggle.
Her gaze shifted to the one Clansman present, and her desire to giggle evaporated. Jaxom sat with his back to the thick log O’Bryan had tied him to. He’d regained consciousness, but only barely. His face was turned up in her direction, but she didn’t see anything but the red glint of Night Fever in his eyes. She had, of course, drugged him as soon as she’d been able to pour the poppy-laced tea down his throat. Sora remembered the hopeless look in Jaxom’s eyes as she’d examined him—silently and quickly—noting the strange boils that had formed at the creases of his elbows, wrists, and knees, as well as the way he kept trying to claw at his skin, even though his hands had been securely tied. I’ve never seen Night Fever manifest on the skin like it has on Jaxom. I’ll need to talk to Mari about it, check Leda’s Healer’s journals, and then—
“Moon Woman! Our Moon Woman is here!”
The Clan’s call to her swept the jumble of thoughts from Sora’s mind. She gathered herself and started down the stairs, feeling the coolness of the stone steps under her bare feet and the soft night breeze against the skin of her naked legs. She’d wanted a proper Moon Woman’s dress—something as beautiful as Leda’s cloak. But there hadn’t been time, so Sora had decided to leave her legs bare and wear only a simple tunic she’d found in the rubble of the birthing burrow, decorated with embroidered flowers and ivy. She’d also braided baby’s breath, lavender, and ivy into her hair, in addition to the shells and feathers with which she always adorned herself.
Sora made her way to the Earth Goddess idol, bowing deeply before her.
“I greet you, Great Mother, as the Clan greets me—your Moon Woman, your servant—with love and gratitude and respect.” Then she straightened and faced the watching Clan. Now was the time to call the Clansmen to come forward, as they were always Washed first to alleviate their pain and their threat to the Clan.
Taking control of her fear, Sora walked to Jaxom. His eyes blazed red at her, and sweat dripped from his face. He was filthy and he smelled rank—his breath came in fetid pants and she could see that he was straining against the ropes that bound him. For a moment she had a flash of panic. What if he breaks free? Every inch of her body that had been bitten and battered and bruised when Jaxom and the two other Clansmen attacked her the day before ached. Her stomach heaved as she thought about what else they would have done to her had Nik not stopped them. They were going to rape me. Jaxom was going to rape me. And he would attack her again. Sora saw that clearly in his hate-filled expression and the gray tinge that already covered his broken skin.
Then from the edge of her vision a torch came into view, and O’Bryan was there—standing tall and strong, knife held out and ready, face set in grim lines as he positioned himself closer to Jaxom.
The women of the Clan moved closer to her as well. Some held torches. All wore expressions of grim determination. Jaxom would not get to her again—not while her Clan was near.
Sora straightened her spine and lifted her arms, concentrating on finding the moon that was there, even though the sun had too recently set for it to be visible. But Sora was a Moon Woman, and she could always find—could always call—the moon, as long as the sun had left the sky.
A sweet, soothing coolness spread from Sora’s fingertips down her arms, chasing away the hot gray flush that the sun’s setting had caused to mottle her skin and thus chasing away the depression that had begun to cloud her thoughts.
“Man of Clan Weaver, present yourself to me!” Sora commanded.
As if her words had an elemental power over his body, Jaxom shifted so that he was crouched on his knees, arms bound behind him to the log. He bowed his head.
Sora’s breathing deepened, became rhythmic—in for four counts, pause, out for four counts. She repeated the breathing three times and sent her silent, simple prayer to the Great Goddess, Let me be worthy of you, Earth Mother.
Then Sora began to speak the words she’d practiced over and over again the past several weeks. Ironically, she had chosen to use the moon-drawing invocation Leda had always used. She hadn’t thought to. She’d expected Mari to want to speak the same words her beloved mama had spoken to the Clan, but Mari had said no, that she had to find her own invocation because she was her own kind of Moon Woman, one who was a mixture of Clan and Tribe, but she knew Leda would be pleased Sora wanted to use her words.
And Sora had very much wanted to use Leda’s words.
“Moon Woman I proclaim myself to be!
Greatly gifted, I bare myself to thee.
Earth Mother, aid me with your magick sight.
Lend me strength on this Beltane night.
Come, silver light—fill me to overflow
So those in my care your healing will know.”
As Sora spoke the invocation, she concentrated on the Great Goddess, finding the connection she’d felt with the Earth Mother since she’d been a small child. Through that sacred connection Sora sought the moon, still invisible in the twilight sky. And it was there! She felt it! It was a silver illumination that was nothing like the sickly gray that spread over an Earth Walker’s skin, bringing Night Fever to the Clan. This silver light was sublime and pure—the cool, soothing power that healed by Washing depression and darkness from the Clan.
Filled with the strength of moon magick, Sora completed the invocation:
“By right of blood and birth channel through me
the Goddess gift that is my destiny!”
As she spoke the final words, Jaxom’s bowed head lifted—and he glared at her with a malicious red gaze. Without hesitation Sora swept her arms downward, cupping his fever-hot face in her hands. “I Wash you free of all pain and madness and Night Fever, and gift you with the love of our Great Earth Mother.”
Jaxom’s body jerked while his Moon Woman channeled moonlight through herself and into him. She watched his body begin to glow bright, brilliant silver. It seemed to take a long time. Sora had to grit her teeth against the desire to let loose his face as her hands began to grow numb with cold. And then Jaxom blinked several times. His gaze met hers, and his eyes were brown and kind again.
Jaxom smiled wearily up at her. In his voice—the voice that had always laughed at her jokes and told her how special and beautiful she was—he said, “Goddess bless you, my Moon Woman!” Then he sighed in relief and relaxed back against the log, grateful tears flowing down his cheeks.
Emboldened by that victory, Sora began to move through the Clanswomen in a clockwise fashion. The women took to their knees as she approached, lifting their faces to her. Sora rested her hand on one forehead, then another, murmuring the traditional blessing of “I Wash you free of all pain and madness and Night Fever, and gift you with the love of our Great Earth Mother.”
Sora felt an incredible rush of love for them as she moved among her Clan. Though she had only known eighteen winters, Sora was consumed by maternal emotions, and as those feelings grew, her skin took on the brilliant silver sheen that had transformed Leda each Third Night.
As more and more of the Clanswomen were Washed, they returned to the drums and flutes, only this time the music they began weaving together was joined by sweetly harmonizing voices, singing wordless melodies of celebration. Some women even began dancing—twirling around with their arms flung wide, faces turned up to the darkening sky as if waiting with joyous expectation for the first glimpse of the moon.
After she Washed Isabel, Sora pulled the young woman aside briefly. “Please move Jaxom inside the birthing burrow.
Tell him to wash. And then give him a mug of the poppy tea and a bowl of stew, and have him take the pallet nearest the hearth fire. Now that he’s himself again I need to recheck his wounds and he needs rest and quiet. A lot of it.”
“It will be as you say, Moon Woman.” Isabel bowed to her and then hurried to untie Jaxom and guide him to the burrow.
Sora continued to wield moon magick, joyfully Washing the rest of the Clan. She forgot about the nagging sickness that had been causing her to feel feverish and irritable and to cough annoyingly. She forgot about her fear of whether Clansmen would find the Gathering, attack it, disrupt it, ruin it. Filled with love for her Clan and appreciation for her Goddess, Sora moved among her people, secure in the knowledge that they needed her, they revered her, and they would never, ever leave her.
CHAPTER 13
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Mari rearranged the basket filled with salves, tinctures, and every herb she thought might be of help, so that she could slip her hand into Nik’s and squeeze. “Stop worrying. I told you, I’m better after eating. Almost good as new!” It felt great to be walking beside Nik, her arm looped through his, even if he was frowning at her with worry. Rigel rushed past them, chasing Cammy, who was chasing a squirrel. “Hey, stay close, you two! It’s too dark to wander off,” she called.
Beside Nik, Laru sneezed and gave a growling grumble. “I know. Pups can be so annoying,” Nik said, patting the adult Shepherd on his head. He glanced around, holding the lit torch he was carrying higher. “I don’t like being out here after dark.”
Mari thought Nik sounded as grumbly as Laru. “We already talked about this. The birthing burrow isn’t far, and it’s logical that the swarm, and any other nasty things that crawl in the night, will be drawn to the dead left by the fire.” Through their linked arms she felt Nik shiver. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “I don’t mean to be callous about it. I know many of your friends died in that fire. But we’re alive, Nik. And for one night at least the forest doesn’t hold as many dangers for us as it usually does.”
“It still feels creepy out here at night,” Davis said. He glanced up at the sky, which was open and unobscured by the giant pines of the Tribe and the city that lived in the trees. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I’ll be glad to get back inside Mari’s burrow.”
“One convert down—and only a whole Tribe to go,” Nik whispered to Mari, who stifled her laugh with a cough.
“Danita, how are you feeling?” Mari called to the girl who was walking behind them, the Lynx on one side of her and Antreas, holding another torch, on the other. Mari had been surprised when Danita had insisted on coming with them to the birthing burrow. As far as Mari knew, since she’d been attacked Danita had only left their burrow to relieve herself and bathe, but the Lynx’s protection seemed to have given the girl new life. Mari had known Danita’s body would heal from the rape and brutalization, but she and Sora had discussed that it was her spirit that most worried them, and though Danita’s body still needed to heal, it was becoming more and more apparent that Bast had somehow mended the girl’s spirit.
“I’m okay,” Danita said. Like Mari and Jenna, she was carrying a basket laden with food and medical supplies, but her free hand often reached down to touch Bast’s head, as if she wanted to be sure the feline remained beside her. She needn’t have worried. From what Mari could see, the Lynx had no intention of leaving the girl’s side. “Maybe a little, um, stiff and sore. But it feels good to be out walking, even if it is at night.” Danita sent the dark forest suspicious looks, and Mari saw her shiver.
“Hey, you don’t need to worry about anything out there,” Antreas said. “They’d have to get through Bast to get you, and that’s just not going to happen.”
Bast made the coughing sound that Mari had decided was the equivalent of one of Rigel’s yips of agreement.
“Good, but don’t push yourself. Once we’re at the birthing burrow I want you to rest. Whatever tea Sora has concocted for the women, be sure you get a big mug of it.”
“I’ll see she takes care of herself,” Jenna said. She was walking just behind Danita with Davis. They both carried torches that cast dancing shadows around the group.
“Thank you, Jenna,” Mari said.
She saw that Antreas was nodding in agreement as he kept watch on Danita. Now that the rich stew and Sora’s excellent bread had lifted the terrible fog of exhaustion from Mari’s mind, she had a bunch of questions she’d love to ask Antreas about Bast and life as a Lynx Companion in general. Nik had told her Antreas had come to the Tribe of the Trees looking for a mate. Mari flicked a quick glance back at Danita—really looking at the girl—and realized with a small start that even though she was young, just over sixteen winters, Danita was definitely old enough to choose a mate.
Mari’s gaze slid to the sleek feline who padded possessively beside Danita, her huge paws making no sound as she gracefully picked her way along the trail. The Lynx looked up then, meeting Mari’s eyes. Within that light-filled gaze, Mari saw intelligence and confidence and kindness.
“What is it?” Nik asked softly.
“Just that life seems to get more interesting as it gets more complicated,” she said.
“Couldn’t agree with you more,” Antreas muttered.
The path began to turn sharply to the right, and Mari raised her hand. “Okay, the birthing burrow is just around that bend and then up a length of rock stairs.” She paused, breathing deeply of the night air, feeling a great sense of relief when she caught the scent of lavender. “Smell that lavender?” The men nodded. “That means Sora has set up a perimeter of lavender oil and salt. It keeps out the wolf spiders. She’ll also have campfires and torches lit.”
“She is going to Wash the males!” Jenna said happily.
“Males? No. No, I don’t want them here.” Danita crouched beside Bast, her arm around the Lynx.
“Bast and I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Antreas said.
“No one is going to hurt you, Danita. But I do want you to stay inside the burrow until all who are Gathered have been Washed of Night Fever,” Mari said.
“I don’t really understand this Night Fever stuff,” Antreas said.
“It’s usually simple,” Jenna explained. “Every Third Night all Earth Walkers must be Washed of Night Fever by a Moon Woman.” She held out her arm so that Antreas could see that her skin had begun to flush a silver-gray color. “This is a sign of Night Fever. It’s not so bad with Danita and me, because Sora Washed us last night.”
“Yes, and even if she hadn’t, we wouldn’t be dangerous, just really sad,” Danita said.
“Like all the Scratchers—oh, sorry, I mean Earth Walkers—on Farm Island?” Davis asked. “You didn’t have a Moon Woman there to Wash you, so that’s why the only Earth Walkers I knew before Mari were so depressed that they seemed childlike and unable to take care of themselves, right?”
“That’s right,” Mari said.
Davis shook his head. “I wish we would have known. I wish the women would have told us.”
“Have you ever tried to reason with someone who has taken you from your home, imprisoned you, and made you perform slave labor for them?” Jenna asked pointedly.
“No, I haven’t. I know it sounds like too little too late, but I’ve sworn I’ll never have anything to do with capturing another Earth Walker, and I will keep to my oath,” Davis said. “You’re all so different than I thought you were, and now that I know it, I won’t go back to unknowing it—I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Just for the record—I don’t want to.”
“I believe you,” Jenna said.
“I believe you, too,” Mari said. “So, you understand now about what happens to Clanswomen if they aren’t Washed of Night Fever. It’s different for our men. Night Fever doesn’t make them sad. It makes them angry—very angry. A Clansman who hasn’t been Washed can be dangerous, but usually only to himself.”
“But once they’re Washed
they’re okay. Like my father. He was—” She broke off, her eyes shining with unshed tears, her gaze going soft with remembrance. “He was the best father in the world. Right, Mari?”
“Absolutely,” Mari said.
“What you’re saying is the Clansmen will be drawn by the fire and by the scent of lavender and want to be Washed, which means they’ll be dangerous, but only until you’ve performed your ritual?” Davis said. “Ritual? Is that the right word for it?”
“Yes, though you can also call it drawing down the moon. Here’s the thing about tonight. We don’t usually hold a Gathering at the birthing burrow. It’s a women’s place of sanctuary, where they give birth, tend babies, and hold classes for the older children. I don’t know how many males will be close enough to be drawn here.…” Mari paused and then added, “And there’s another problem. None of us knows what happens to our males after they have gone so long without being Washed of Night Fever. Our Clan has never had a Moon Woman die so suddenly without a properly trained heir to take up her role immediately.”
“You’re saying the men haven’t been Washed since your mother’s death?” Davis said.
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“I thought you were a Moon Woman,” Antreas said.
Mari sighed. “I am, but only by default. Mama hadn’t finished training me—or Sora, Mama’s other apprentice. It’s my fault, really. I didn’t take over Mama’s duties after she died. I had Rigel to think of, and the Clan didn’t know about him, or that my father was a Companion. Mama kept that hidden from them, afraid that she and I would be banished if they found out.” Mari lifted her chin and admitted, “And I didn’t want to be Moon Woman. Not after Mama was killed. I just wanted to be left alone.”
