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

by Claudia King

  The burn of Netya's shame was a distant thing. She was proof, was she not, that the alpha had been right all along. That Adel's followers were weak. Women playing at taking on the authority of men. A part of her rebelled violently at her own thoughts, but it was a tiny, broken fragment. Soon forgotten, and with little left to bring it back to life.

  If Miral was speaking of the next gathering, then perhaps he intended not to kill her before then. She might have the chance to be a mother. To raise her daughter quietly among this pack, in a way that would meet with Miral's approval. That, at least, was something.

  She worked the knife back and forth, carefully sawing small pieces of meat off the bone. She took care not to let any of the tender slices fall apart, placing them at the edge of the rock nearest the fire so that they would stay warm. Once she had carved half the aurochs' leg she piled the cut meat and some of the roasting leaves upon a flat piece of slate and brought the meal over to Miral, who rewarded her with a light touch of her hair before sitting down to eat.

  The alpha lounged upon his furs on the opposite side of the fire, back half turned to her as he gazed up at some of the painted patterns decorating the tent walls.

  "Tomorrow I think I shall go south and walk the forests with my hunters," he said. "I must stretch my legs and taste blood again before winter. A pity we already have enough food. But perhaps I will catch some other prey, hm? One of Adel's pack wandering away from that valley. Or maybe we will head farther south and to the west. I would like to see whether Octavia has summoned the courage to step out of her swamp again."

  Netya focused on cutting the rest of the meat, pushing away the fear she felt for her former packmates. She could do nothing to protect them. If Miral sought to hunt them down, then he would do it, and afterwards she would have to sit at his fire and listen as he recounted the bloody tale.

  "I may have to leave you for some time," the alpha continued in between mouthfuls. "So before I go, we must talk."

  "Talk of what, Alpha?"

  Miral glanced her way. "Of the things you have been keeping from me."

  A chill ran through Netya's blood. "I have been hiding nothing."

  A moment of silence passed as the alpha chewed his meat. Every rotation of his jaw was slow and deliberate. "Every time you lie to me, you will spend a night bound to the dead tree at the centre of the camp. That is one night."

  "I do not know what you speak of!" Netya replied, the desperation in her voice growing.

  "Two nights. Perhaps we will be able to keep you tied there every day until I return?"

  Netya bit her tongue, torn between pleading her innocence and incurring any further punishment. Being forced to sit there in silence as she awaited Miral's judgement was a fresh new torture.

  "Speak, Sun Wolf," the alpha growled. "Or perhaps your slow mind needs some help. My pack tell me things about you. What they have seen. My seers. The women whose tent you share."

  Netya's hands trembled as she tried desperately to focus on cutting the remaining meat, hoping, somehow, that Miral would forget the topic if she continued to show obedience. Yet she knew what was coming, as much as she struggled to pretend otherwise.

  "You are with child, and you have been trying to hide it from me. Why would you deceive your alpha so?" He waited for a response, but the sound of the knife chattering against the stone slab was his only answer. "Well, if you cannot find your tongue then I will find it for you. You hope to have this child, yes? Raise it as one of us? You may not be as wise as you think, Sun Wolf, but you are not a fool. You know that I cannot tolerate another one of your kind in my clan."

  "Please, Alpha," she stammered, feeling something sharp and painful pinch at her breast, the last surge of her dying hope. "I will do anything you ask, but please, let me raise my child."

  "You will do anything I ask regardless. Why would I let you bring another weak wolf into our fold? If you ever bear a child, it will be because a male of this pack desires it, and it will be his place to convince me of its worth, not yours."

  The knife broke in Netya's hand. She had not realised she had been grinding the blade against nothing but rock for several moments. Brittle fragments of flint scattered across the cut meat as the remnants of the useless tool fell from Netya's fingers with a rattle. This was to be her fate, then. Miral would not even permit her the one last thing that had given her the strength to carry on.

  "Will you have the seers do it?" she whispered.

  "The seers? No. When the child is born, I will do it myself."

  Silence fell within the tent as Netya stared at the cut meat. Miral spared her a cursory glance, but returned soon after to eating his meal. Piece by piece he devoured the meat, skewering each tender morsel on his stick and bringing it to his lips until his platter was clear. With a groan of satisfaction he stretched again, leaning up against his log seat as he picked a stray piece of sinew from between his teeth.

  Netya only sat and waited, watching the fire as the alpha finished his meal. After a time her hands strayed automatically back to the slab, picking the remaining meat clean of flint fragments. Miral would punish her if she spoilt the rest of the food. Using her fingers, she stripped the last of the meat off the bone in pieces she hoped were small enough for the alpha to enjoy. It was a stoic task, simply a repetition of motions she had carried out many times before. Dutiful and obedient, just as the alpha desired. Never faltering, never offering a word of protest.

  Miral had seen through her deception. He had seen who she was from the moment he first set eyes on her at the gathering. Weak. Timid. Easily cowed by a firm hand. Lacking the will to take so much as a single life, even in defence of her own. She could keep no secrets from him. She could make no life for herself save for what he willed. Every ounce of resistance she could muster, he expected.

  Setting the remaining meat upon a second flat stone, she brought the platter to Miral's side and set it down next to his furs.

  "I am glad you still understand," he said with a smile, taking her hand and stroking it almost reassuringly. "You see? So long as you trust in your alpha, you need not concern yourself with a thing."

  "I see, Alpha," she said.

  Everything she could have done, he expected. And so, as she opened her palm and withdrew the long fragment of flint concealed within, she pretended it was not her, but someone else that took control of her body. The alpha did not so much as glance upward as she lifted the sliver of the broken blade behind him, drew back her hand, and plunged it into the side of his neck.

  —45—

  Violet and Crimson

  The only sound Miral made was a sharp wheeze of breath, then a choked gurgle. The slate platter tumbled from his hands as he jerked to his knees, an instinctive burst of strength pulling his body into action even as blood began to pour down his shoulder and across the side of his chest. In a scrabble of vicious grasping his fingers caught Netya's lower arm, holding her back as she withdrew the blade to stab a second time. She felt her wrist ignite with pain as it snapped within the alpha's iron grip, but she voiced not a whimper. The piece of flint fell from her fingers into the palm of her free hand, driving at Miral's neck again and again as he clawed at her chest, eyes bulging with impotent fury.

  I know my place. The words blazed at the forefront of Netya's mind. It is with my daughter.

  Whether she lived or died, she no longer cared. The fragment of flint broke as it disappeared into the alpha's neck, opening another wound that spattered Netya's face with hot blood, drenching her skin and matting her hair. He had made her do this. He had given her no choice. He deserved far worse.

  Miral tried to speak, but his words were drowned out by the blood filling his mouth. Netya saw all she needed to see in the alpha's expression. Anger. Incredulity. Even as his life slipped away from him and his grip weakened, not for an instant did his face betray any hint of fear or remorse. He was a beast to the very end.

  "I may be a witch," Netya sobbed as she pried Miral's hand away from he
r throbbing wrist, "but you are the demon."

  He bared his teeth at her, a final burst of strength rippling through his body as if he was trying to call upon his wolf one last time, then his eyes glazed and fell dark. He slumped back against the log seat, allowing Netya to pull away. She knelt there, trembling, the broken piece of flint still clutched in her left hand, until she was sure he was no longer breathing.

  Tears ran down her face to mingle with the mask of blood, hot and cold shudders running through her one after the other. He was dead by her hand. She had killed, and already she felt the dread at what she had done creeping into her heart like poison. Was this what every warrior felt the first time they took a life?

  She could have sat there in her despair until Miral's followers found her and killed her too, but the same dark force that had compelled her to raise her hand still had some hold over her. It was as if another spirit had inhabited her body, shielding her heart from the trauma of what she had done and dulling the pain of her fractured wrist. She moved without fully understanding why, knowing only that she had to do something. The alpha was dead, and she was not. At any moment she might be, but before she died she would send a message to Miral's pack. They would never cross the witches of Adel's clan again. If Netya could not save herself or her daughter, she would at least save the remaining people she loved.

  Snapping her medicine pouch free from beneath her clothes, she dropped the small bag of powder near the fire and pulled herself to her feet. The alpha's tent was stocked with wood and kindling, more than enough to set a fresh fire. The blood-soaked fragment of flint fell from her sticky fingers as she snatched up handful after handful of dry grass and twigs, keeping her throbbing wrist tucked close to her side as she heaped kindling atop Miral's body. Once he was covered, she tugged the knotted cord around her medicine pouch loose with her teeth, fighting through the pain as the burn in her lower arm grew steadily worse.

  I am sorry, my daughter, she thought as she sprinkled the spirit powder over Miral's body. I could not protect you. Forgive me, Syr.

  She looked down at Miral one final time, allowing herself to remember all of the terrible things he had done, hoping, somehow, that it would ease her own guilt. But all she saw was dark blood seeping through the grass she had scattered over the alpha's torn neck. So much blood, and all drawn by her hand. How many times had she cast her own safety to the wind to try and avoid such violence? She had betrayed her own heart. She was a killer now, just like Miral. Though the alpha would never know it, he had dealt her yet another blow even in death.

  Through her tears Netya caught sight of the wooden pendant still dangling from Miral's waist wrap, the small symbol of the sun and moon half hidden beneath a tangle of thin sticks. Trying not to touch his body, she brushed the kindling aside and snatched it up, looping the leather tie back into its familiar place around her neck.

  It was the work of a moment to touch a burning twig from the fire to the fresh heap of dry grass, the flames spreading slowly until the alpha was consumed by them. Orange, and then violet. The spirit powder burned strong, casting its eerie light around the tent as it smouldered. Then, forcing herself to relive what she had just done, Netya filled her lungs and let out a shriek so loud and so horrible that it chilled even her. Miral's pack needed to see the spirit flames before they guttered out.

  Within moments she heard heavy footfalls thudding against the ground outside, hurried, then hesitant.

  "Alpha?" a voice called.

  The sound snapped Netya free of the veil that had fallen over her, casting her situation into stark relief with all the force of a knife plunging into her heart. She gasped in pain, nursing her injured wrist as she glanced around the tent in a panic. They would kill her, she knew that. But she could not stand still and wait for it to happen. She owed it to her daughter to at least try.

  Scurrying to the back of the tent, she yanked at the base of the hide covering until it pulled loose of the stones holding it down, making enough space for her to duck her head into the gap and squeeze through. Pain lanced up her arm as she kicked and squirmed, forcing her body out beneath the heavy tent wall and into the grass on the other side. A cry of horror sounded behind her, but she had no time to look back. The fingers of her good hand dug into the grass for purchase as she hauled herself forward, finally pulling her legs free and kicking the edge of the tent back down behind her.

  More cries of shock. More pounding footfalls. She heard a wolf snarling. A few paces in front of her stood the edge of the plateau, the ground falling away sharply toward the churning river below. Yet before she could even finish pulling herself to her feet, a shadow fell over her, and she heard a sharp intake of breath.

  When she looked up she saw Nekare, his face still contorted in the same look of fear it must have held when he witnessed the violet flames consuming his alpha. The two of them froze, him a few steps away, fists clenched at his sides, her half way to her feet, still drenched in Miral's blood. The moment she moved, he would be upon her, and she had nothing with which to fight back this time. Even the claws of her wolf would come too late to be of any use.

  Her eyes flicked to the edge of the plateau, and Nekare's chin jerked back and forth in a sharp, desperate motion of warning. And yet, he made no move to stop her. The two stared at one another, their hearts warring with turmoils neither of them could comprehend. Not today. Not in this moment. But as Netya straightened up and took a step forward, she thought she understood at least a little of what had passed between them. Once, many days ago, she had spared his life when anyone else would have claimed it. He would not help her, but he did not have to harm her either.

  Knowing that it might be the last thing she ever did, Netya gave the man the smallest of smiles. It was a thin little thing, for what more did she have left to give, but she hoped he understood all the same. Nekare's mouth opened, his weathered face creasing with emotion, but any words he might have said were lost to the rushing wind as Netya dashed forward and threw herself from the edge of the cliff.

  —46—

  Blood of the Sun

  The water crashed against Netya's body like a fist to her gut, knocking the breath from her lungs as it rushed into her eyes and down her throat, dragging her under and over in a tangle of flailing limbs until she lost all sense of direction. In her panic she could not tell which way led to the surface and which would only suck her deeper beneath the raging current. A rock cracked against her shoulder as she swept past, then something else struck her side, hard and sharp, jarring her from head to toe.

  The river was no placid stream, but a furious stretch of rapids, promising death to any who cast themselves into it. More sharp stones scraped against Netya's back as the current turned her over the edge of a small waterfall, and then she was falling, plummeting, catching half a breath as her face broke free of the water, then crashing down into the river once again. She was swept along like a petal caught in a storm, bleeding from a dozen fresh cuts as the watercourse dragged her to and fro, taking her where it willed. Surely, she would drown. She was breathing in more water than she was air, her throat contorting and stomach cramping as she retched up the liquid she had just swallowed, only to suck in more as her body instinctively gasped for breaths that were not there.

  Her injured wrist burst with pain when she was slammed up against a large rock, pinned in place momentarily as the current beat against her back, eager to tug the half-drowned girl into its depths once more. Grasping at the slippery stone with both hands, Netya was able to drag her head above the surface long enough to choke up some of the water in her lungs and suck in a few breaths, enough to force away the dark spots that had been creeping into her vision. But as soon as she moved, her palms slid off the rock and the current carried her away again. This time she was able to keep her head up, though she was unable to see anything but the trees reaching up to the sky and the white water crashing about her ears on both sides.

  It was all she could do to keep her injured arm tucked cl
ose against her breast, reaching out with her left hand to paddle and take the impact of any submerged debris she ran into. She tried to kick beneath the surface and keep herself oriented, but the current span her around and tugged her back and forth constantly. The rapids showed no sign of evening out, and Netya's strength was already failing her. The throbbing in her wrist had grown so intense she could feel it pounding all the way up her arm and into her skull. Her body was at its brink, and every time the current threatened to pull her under she feared she would not come up again.

  Unbidden images of the night of the flood flashed before her eyes, the memory of her wolf's panic resurfacing stronger than ever. The beast writhed within her skin, bringing a hot prickling sensation to her body that undercut the cold of the water and the pain of her injuries. Had she not been so helplessly trapped within the deluge, or so numbed by the shock of what she had just done, her wolf might have broken free at any moment. Her animal side clung close to the edge of her consciousness, ready to pull itself to the forefront, but it seemed just as fearful and desperate as she was.

  A passing lump of driftwood or a fallen tree trailing its branches into the river might have given Netya something to cling on to, but it seemed that no such fortune was going to present itself to her. The watercourse was so vicious it smashed everything that fell into it to pieces, and it would not be long before Netya shared the same fate. Pulling her head up one more time and spitting out yet another mouthful of water, she tried to kick hard enough to elevate herself above the wreath of spume crashing about her ears. Through her water-stung eyes she caught a hint of green at the river's edge, but it seemed hopelessly distant, and no sooner had she glimpsed it than her body plunged back down into the current. A submerged rock caught her feet, pulling loose one of her moccasins, and a moment later the drag of the water tore it off completely. Her waning efforts to keep herself afloat were just barely enough to preserve the air in her lungs, but if the river did not kill her soon then the rocks would.