by Claudia King
"I knew you were a weak one," Miral's voice drifted into her ears. "Spirit of a woman, a child!"
Netya shot a glance to her left and saw that the other warrior was backing away, eyes flitting to and fro in agitation. His wolf was not enduring the sensations of the spirit world as well as the rest of them. Miral barely seemed to notice as the shaken warrior turned and bolted a moment later, disappearing into the night to follow the rest of his brethren.
The sound of moving paws called Netya's attention back to the wolf in front of her. She swung her spear in a clumsy sideways arc, catching the warrior on the muzzle with the crosspiece and sending him stumbling to one side. Again she saw her opportunity to thrust the razor point of her weapon into his neck, and again she hesitated.
She did not know what to do. Already the strain of holding up her spear was beginning to weigh on her upper arms, dragging on her healing wounds and making them ache with fresh pain. How long could she keep the wolf at bay? How long before another one of Miral's followers arrived? She had to kill him. He would kill her. This was the way of battle, was it not?
But Netya was not a killer. Deep within her soul there was a brightness that recoiled in horror at the thought of taking another person's life. She was not a warrior. She was a healer. She backed away again, hoping in vain to hear the sound of her own clan rushing to her aid. Where was Caspian? Where was Adel?
She kept her spear levelled at the wolf's snarling muzzle, though the tip had begun to tremble uncontrollably. Selo and Meadow reverted from the shapes of their wolves, backing away toward the rocks behind them as the younger woman urged the elder to climb up to safety. Selo turned her back on the forest and twined her fingers together to make a step for Meadow, leaving Netya to fend off the one remaining wolf by herself.
Miral was so quick and so silent that only the brush of grass beneath his paws gave him away. Wounded or not, he was far less helpless than his crumpled posture had suggested. He was in the shape of his wolf and on top of Selo in an instant, digging his claws into her back and dragging her to the ground without so much as a growl. It was only when her pack-sister cried out in pain that Netya's sluggish thoughts caught up with what had just happened.
She spun around, trying to take in the scene before her as Meadow slipped and fell, sliding down between Netya and Miral. The one remaining wolf lunged, but just as his jaws were about to close around Netya's leg a command from his alpha stilled him.
"Wait!" Miral barked, reverting from the shape of his wolf as quickly as he had leaped into it. When he rose back up on two legs it was with one thickly muscled arm hooked tight around Selo's slender neck, squeezing the breath from the woman's body as he dragged her after him. Grinding his bloody teeth as he fought through the pain of his broken leg, Miral fixed his eyes on Netya. Her spear tip flicked between him and the wolf behind her, desperation unravelling her resolve.
Miral jerked his head in her direction, ignoring Selo's struggles as she clawed and kicked at her captor. "Put down your weapon and fight me with honour. No more of your seer's tricks. Let me show you how little strength you truly have."
Netya shook her head feebly, pulling a terrified Meadow close to her side as she braced her spear within the crook of her arm. The wolf behind her was forgotten now. All she could do was stare at Selo as she struggled in the alpha's grasp, her face colouring as she gasped for breath.
"Do it!" Miral roared, his heavy words rushing through Selo's hair as he panted in her ear, his face a mask of fury. "Give me one challenge, one warrior who will fight me wolf to wolf this night, even if it must be a woman like you!"
"Spirits help us," Meadow whispered, her thin fingers groping at Netya's arm desperately.
"Please, Alpha," Netya forced out, "what good will it do?"
Miral's furious expression slid from his face, leaving only pale weariness behind. "A fool I am for expecting any more of your kind."
Selo's wordless cry of pain froze on her lips as the alpha's arm tightened, yanking upward and back in a single brutally vicious motion. The life left her eyes as Miral wrung her neck with the kind of strength only an alpha of the Moon People could have mustered. Something within her cracked, and her body went limp. When the alpha released his grasp she slumped to the ground like a tangle of broken sticks.
Reacting in shock more than anything, Netya thrust her spear forward as Miral limped over Selo's body toward her, not knowing whether she wanted to hurt him, or take vengeance, or simply protect herself and Meadow from the fate that had just befallen their pack-sister. The other warrior might have been inexperienced at facing down spears, but Miral was not. Rather than attempting to get around the point of Netya's weapon, he turned his body to the side and kept on coming, letting it catch in the leather covering his stomach as he snatched the weapon's shaft in one hand and wrenched it violently from her grasp.
The wood burned hot against Netya's fingers as it jerked out of her grip, sending her sprawling to the ground as Miral yanked her off balance. Heart pounding in terror, she rolled over and shielded her face with her arms, expecting to feel the weapon biting into her flesh at any moment. Meadow's scream cut more deeply than any wound as the alpha drove the spear through her middle, filling the air with the tang of fresh blood.
They were dead. Her sisters. Her friends. Selo, who had made her feel welcome the day she first joined the seerhood. Meadow, who had never finished her painting on the cave wall. Netya was too shocked to move. She could feel Meadow's leg twitching against her foot where she had fallen. It was unbearable.
Pain exploded in the side of her head as the haft of the spear cracked against her skull. She tasted blood. The world flashed crimson for a moment, then drained away to black.
—36—
Fallen Friends
Caspian knew the risks of driving himself to exhaustion, but he also knew that there was sometimes no choice but to push his endurance to its bitter end. Such has been his night: leading the other men in their small group up and down the valley, sticking to the shadows, and harassing Miral's warriors with their javelins whenever they strayed too close to the den. The alternation of exhaustive speed and painstaking caution had demanded his senses remain as keen as a flint's razor edge, even when the waft of bitter smoke from farther down the valley began to sting his eyes and bring a muggy haze over his thoughts.
Ever since Adel had resolved to stand her ground against Miral, Caspian had been preparing himself for a bitter outcome. He was too mindful of reality to believe that courage and honour would see them through to a glorious victory, or that the invisible hand of the spirits would guide and protect them. No, he had expected death and tragedy, either paying with his pack's blood to turn their enemies away, or else fleeing with Netya and the rest to try and find another place for themselves somewhere far away in the wilderness. He had never dared to believe in a happy outcome, for he knew the price of pack rivalries all too well. Most of his early life had been spent pretending to share in the triumph of his people's victories against Alpha Ulric's pack, even as they brought home more dead and wounded year after year.
The bleak truth of it had always been obvious to him, and it was that dark understanding that had steered him away from violence. There was nothing glorious in the momentary elation his wolf felt following the taste of blood, only a fleeting joy, born of instinct and quickly forgotten.
He had prepared himself for the worst in the preceding weeks, and yet he ran that night with the kind of relentless determination he had not felt since he carried Netya to the North People. For what she had said the night before spoke to a part of him that refused to give in to grim reality. She carried his child now, and he would not accept fate's cruelties when he had the chance to hope for something more.
The pile of freshly cut javelins outside Briar's cave dwindled with every trip they made back to the den, Caspian's aching arms ever willing to cast one more throw when he glimpsed Miral's wolves slinking out of the darkness near the edge of the forest. When th
e alpha himself had appeared, making his reckless charge right to the foot of their den, Caspian had put himself fearlessly in front of the others, ready to face the wild beast down. He had welcomed it, almost, embracing his wolf's desire for victory. For if he bested Miral, it would mean an end to the threat looming over their pack. They would be powerful, unquestioned by the other clans, respected by all and favoured by those who had their own quarrels to settle with the alpha. It would make Netya safe. Safe to live and raise their child for many years to come, never having to flee or scavenge or spend their winters cold and hungry. If facing Alpha Miral could win them so much, then it was a challenge he was more than willing to rise to.
But the alpha had backed down when Adel lit her spirit fires, almost taunting Caspian to pursue as he walked away without even his wolf's hide to protect him. As much as Caspian had wanted to put an end to it then and there, he knew that his duty was to protect, not to kill, and especially not when Miral seemed to be all but inviting him to try.
Part of him hoped he would stumble upon the alpha again as he headed back out, leaving Eyan and the other injured man behind to be tended by the seers. Their wounds were severe, but not mortal.
Short two of his strongest warriors, Fern, Adel, and Briar joined him as he set out down the valley once again. Though the women lacked the imposing presence of someone like Eyan, he knew that Adel had fought toe to toe with an alpha before, while Fern was an experienced huntress, and Briar had the wits and wiry physique to take care of herself.
It became clear by that point that Miral's warriors were losing their will to fight. Netya's idea of filling the forest with spirit smoke had worked better than Caspian could ever have imagined. No, it had not brought their foes to their knees in and of itself, but it had made them weak and brittle, like dry leaves ready to crumple beneath a heavy footfall. It was not the sort of plan that their kind favoured, for it did not rely on expressing the strength and courage of warriors, but it had proven undeniably effective. No trophies would be taken and no songs sung of this victory, but it was a victory all the same. Perhaps sometimes that was all that mattered, even if alphas like Khelt would have turned up their noses in indignation at such surreptitious means.
There was no time for Caspian to savour his relief, however, for the fight was not yet over. For a moment it seemed Miral was about to regroup a stray band of his followers and attack again, but as Caspian and the others watched from the shadows nearby the great bear that dwelt at the end of the valley burst out of the trees, sending the wolves scattering as he roared and flailed in their midst.
A low growl of satisfaction left Caspian's muzzle as he watched, his wolf smiling internally. Netya and the others had been successful in their task, and by the looks of things the bear had thrown Miral's warriors into a panic they would not recover from. They fled back into the undergrowth, leaving only their alpha and a few others behind.
Be safe, my love, he thought, his chest tightening with worry as he imagined Netya on the other side of the small forest. But she would be gone by now, disappearing back into the safety of the crags along the edge of the valley. He knew she had come a long way from being the helpless girl he had once known, yet still he longed more than anything to be at her side, protecting her. He glanced up to the fires flickering on the valleyside, hoping to catch some glimpse of her sneaking back through the shadows with Meadow and Selo, but he saw nothing. The fires were too distant and the light too poor to make anything out, especially now that several of the pyres had begun to gutter and die. She would be back at the den waiting for him by the time he returned. He could not let his focus slip now.
They tracked down the few stragglers lingering in the wake of Miral's pack, mostly those who had fallen afoul of the poisoned traps, and the snarling fangs of Caspian and his companions scared them away one by one. Even the aggressive ones did not attempt to fight back forever, and besides a few scratches and bites no one else was wounded as they spent the night driving the last of their enemies from the valley. To Caspian's slight disappointment, they found no trace of Alpha Miral or the bear when they returned to the spot where the two had been fighting. With any luck the bear had killed him and dragged his body away. It was not a thought Caspian was proud of, but after the rival alpha had threatened the woman he loved he could not help but indulge it. Perhaps there was still more of the wolf in him than he liked to pretend.
A red sunrise was beginning to creep into the horizon by the time they ventured to the far side of the forest, and the weariness of the past night along with the lingering effect of the spirit smoke was beginning to weigh heavily on Caspian. They had kept the bonfires burning in case Miral decided to return, but the wind had picked up and was starting to clear the fumes from the air. A haze of drizzle began to fall, signalling a resurgence of the wet season's onset. A grim start to the dawn, but at least they had lived to see it.
A few more of the seers ventured out to meet them once the sky began to brighten, carefully laying out the traps once more and re-binding the ones that had been broken. A wise precaution, but perhaps not one that was necessary. Caspian doubted Miral's disarrayed warriors would be able to muster the spirit to face the valley a second time.
He was leaning up against his last javelin, blinking the soreness from his eyes as he kept watch over the land to the east, when he heard Fern stop suddenly and hurry away from him.
"Fern?" he called after her, turning his head half way in the huntress's direction. Even though the forest seemed empty, there was always the chance they had overlooked one of Miral's stragglers. And the bear still lingered somewhere nearby.
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.
