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

by Claudia King

  —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 i
n 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?"

  We are people, Netya wanted to sob. People just like any of you. But her throat was dry and tight, and she could not bring herself to give voice to such feelings. Instead she swallowed, blinking some of the redness from her eyes, then raised her head and looked at the man through a tangle of dark hair.

  "If I tell you, will you tell me something?" she said.

  A look of fear crossed his face, but he bobbed his head eagerly.

  "How many of my clan did you kill last night?"

  Nekare averted his gaze for a moment. It was difficult to tell whether it was a gesture of shame or wounded pride. "I do not know. I saw no one fall, and many say they fought nothing but spirits. Perhaps we took many more lives than the two our alpha claimed, perhaps not. Most of our number are still missing. We travelled only with those who had the strength to follow."

  Netya cast a glance around the rugged tunnel. It was true; there were far fewer wolves with them than she had seen leaving the valley.

  "Will you answer my question now?" Nekare pried.

  She looked back at him, feeling even more numb than before. "Yes, Adel is a demon. She is a demon greater than any your seers have ever dared to glimpse. No dark spirit refuses her call. She can poison a man's mind to madness with a single word, and her curse will follow your alpha to his dying breath."

  Nekare's brow twitched. She could tell he doubted her words, but perhaps the fear of them being true was enough to keep him silent. She buried her face in her arms again and closed her eyes, trying to block out the world around her and find some small spark of hope in the darkness.

  It was truly a miserable morning. Even Netya's captors seemed quiet and subdued as they sprawled out around the tunnel to rest and lick their wounds. Those who had been unfortunate enough to stumble upon the traps were the worst off, shivering and sweating as if afflicted by potent fevers while their companions attempted to rouse them back to their senses. A few more stragglers began to appear as the day grew brighter, but more than half of Miral's number were still unaccounted for.

  Thankfully none of the other men approached Netya, keeping their distance from her fire as they tended to their own concerns. Perhaps it was only Nekare's presence that kept them away, for she saw the way they looked at her. She was hated and feared by these men, just as her own kind had reviled the Moon People. Did they still desire further retribution for their defeat?

  Netya must have been exhausted, but sleep was impossible. Thoughts of Meadow and Selo still hounded her every waking moment, until the danger of her situation eventually forced her to push past them. Her pack-sisters might be dead, but she was not. As much as she wanted to give up, to close her eyes and hope that when she opened them she would be back in the valley, she knew that such self-pity would not help protect her unborn daughter. Even if the child had to be raised a captive of Miral's pack, it was Netya's duty to have faith in the vision she had been gifted. Syr's light must still be there protecting her. It had to be.

  A few foragers returned with handfuls of dirty roots and hard nuts for the others to chew, but when Nekare moved to hand Netya her share Miral's voice interrupted them from the other side of the tunnel.

  "Not for her. Let her go hungry a while longer." The alpha stared at Netya, his eyes bloodshot, one leg bound tight against a straight branch. He leaned back against the rocks, watching her for a moment, breathing heavily, then gestured in Nekare's direction. "Tend his wound, then come here and bind my leg properly. I need a seer's touch."

  Netya stiffened, drawing back from the alpha's gaze, but a tiny shake of his head and a warning look from Nekare stilled her. She did not want to anger her captors any further. Miral's sickly smile returned to his lips as she shuffled around the fire to do as he had instructed, shivering with revulsion.

  "It does not seem bad," Nekare said as he loosened the improvised dressing from his hip, peeling away the bloody wad of grass so that Netya could examine his wound. "I took a javelin from one of your warriors."

  "Is it painful when you breathe?" she asked, distracting herself by focusing on the task at hand.

  Nekare shook his head. "Only when I walk. The pain is all in my hip."

  "You should not dress it with grass. It may slow the healing, or make it worse," Netya said, allowing Nekare to untie her wrist bindings so that she could work properly. With her hands free she lifted the man's clothing to examine the ugly wound the javelin had punctured through his flesh. "I could make you a proper dressing with the right leaves."

  "Tamnin," Nekare called, jerking his head in the direction of one of the recently returned foragers. "She needs leaves."

  The man showed no particular aversion to Netya's presence as she described to him what she needed, for he seemed far too weary to do anything but obey instructions.

  "She could poison you with her plants," one of the others muttered.

  "She won't," Miral said, giving Netya another dark smile. "Our young seer knows what will happen if she tries."

  It took a great deal of concentration for Netya to focus on what she was doing once Tamnin returned with the leaves, and her hands shook and moved sluggishly as she worked, but Nekare's wound did not seem serious. Still, she lingered on the dressing, delaying the inevitable for as long as she could until Miral eventually grew impatient and called her over.

  "Thank you," Nekare said under his breath. "Remember what I told you. He is your alpha as much as he is mine now."

  Netya's nose wrinkled with distaste. No matter what she said or did, Miral would never be her alpha. She tried not to look him in the eye as she approached and knelt down by his leg. Try as she might, she could not seem to focus on her healing knowledge this time.

  "Don't worry yourself, child," he said, making her flinch in discomfort as he ruffled her hair with a coarse palm. "I'd not anger the spirits by taking the life of one of their dark-haired daughters. Not even a sun wolf."

  "You speak nothing but lies," she said softly.

  "I speak true," he growled, his hand suddenly tightening in her hair as he forced her to look at him. "You are the one who will make me a liar if you refuse to learn your place." His reddened eyes pierced hers for a moment, then he smiled again and let go. "Bind my leg."

  Netya tried her best to ignore that she was in the presence of the man who had killed her friends, seeing only the injury that needed tending. Every moment she spent touching him was a moment too long, and she hurried to finish as qui
ckly as possible. The gashes across Miral's knee looked to have come from a huge set of claws, and the bruising and swelling suggested broken bone, though it was impossible to be certain. She could have asked the alpha to describe his pain, but the sound of his voice was not something she wanted to endure any longer than was necessary. He had told her only to bind the leg, so she would bind it.

  Even though he must have been in immense pain for many hours, he voiced not a word of protest as she dressed his wounds and bound both the original branch and a second, sturdier one to either side of his leg with knots of cord that were far tighter than they needed to be.

  "You have a poor touch for a healer," Miral said as she finished, then looked over at Nekare. "I thought she was Adel's apprentice?"

  "That was what she told me at the creek."

  Miral snorted with amusement, addressing Netya again. "You should not have spared him. I am grateful to have my warrior at my side still, but a male would have known better than to let his enemy run free. That is why your pack will not last."

  "We drove you from our valley last night."

  Miral's hand shot out as soon as the words left her lips, her scalp bursting with pain as he dragged her by a fistful of hair to face him. "Remember how your sisters died when you tried to face me." He said the words with venom in his voice, slowly, deliberately, as if explaining something to a child. "Many of these men," he gestured to those around him, "they fear you. But you and I know what you really are. Your tricks, your spirits—there is no more power in them than the strength you hold in these little arms." He snatched Netya's wrist in his free hand, twisting until she cried out in pain. "Do you think your den mother has the courage to face me in true battle? Do you think the man I smell on you will come running to try and take back his female?"

  Netya struggled to keep from buckling beneath the alpha's vicious gaze. Her wrist felt like it was about to snap. She let out a gasp of breath that was desperately close to a sob.

  Miral bared a row of sharp white teeth at her. "I hope they do. Let them come for you without the magic of their valley to protect them." With a deep grunt of exertion he crooked his good leg beneath him and hauled himself upright, yanking Netya after him as he limped toward the centre of the tunnel. "What do you think she will do to you?!" he bellowed at the others. "You think a seer's power is greater than a warrior's? You think this spirit totem will protect her?" He snatched the back of Netya's wolf pelt cloak and held the animal's head up above her own, forcing her to don the headdress that was the symbol of her status. "A white wolf," Miral continued, his voice growing more aggressive despite the great pain he was clearly in. "White like the sun. You defile this great beast's spirit by wearing his skin." With a jerk of his wrist he tore the garment from Netya's back, the thin leather ties ripping through the edges of the hide as they pinched tightly against her shoulders.