by Claudia King
Yet, just as her hope was fading, she glimpsed something up ahead. The wall of water in front of her dropped, tugging her down through another series of horrendous rapids, at the base of which a series of sharp stone spurs protruded from beneath the river's surface. She had only a moment to take it all in before the riverbed rose up and caught her feet, sending her tumbling head over heels down the steep decline. More rocks caught her body on the way down as the river sped up and lost most of its depth, making her feel like she was skidding down the side of a barely-submerged hill toward the jagged terrain at the bottom. But it was not the danger in front of her that had caught Netya's attention. The spurs of rock were long and flat, slanting out of the water at an angle like backwards-facing teeth, each large enough for a person to grab on to. During her bruising, breathless descent through the rapids she lost sight of where she was headed several times, but whenever she caught a glimpse of the ever-growing rocks beneath her she kicked with all her might, whether her feet met water or stone, propelling herself with the last of her energy back toward her one chance at survival.
Suddenly there was only one crest of foaming water between her and the rocks. The current pulled her over a short weir, scraped her bare toes against the rough riverbed, spun her into a sideways roll, and then plunged her into deep water again. She barely had time to kick her way back to the surface before the first spur of rock slammed itself into her chest, bringing bursts of colour to her vision as her cheek cracked against it and she tasted blood. Her fingers scrabbled and slipped against the water-smoothed surface, failing to find purchase before the current pulled her aside and forced her back into the rapids.
Netya felt her hope draining away, but no sooner had she slipped past the first spur than another loomed out of the river in front of her, larger this time, and flat on top, like the long scale of a serpent protruding from the water. Spreading her arms wide, she embraced the rock as the current pulled her into it, clawing with hands and feet for any nook or nodule she might cling on to. The stone near the surface was as slippery as ever, but beneath the water Netya felt her bare toes catch against something hard and sharp. It hurt to put her weight on it, but it also gave her the moment of leverage she needed to force her upper body out of the river and on to the flat edge of the spur. She pushed again, catching the sharp foothold with her one remaining moccasin this time, and as the slab of rock in front of her narrowed she was able to get a grip on both edges of the flat top with her hands. Fiery pain seared her broken wrist as she pulled, drawing a cry of agony from Netya's lungs. For a moment dizziness gripped her, bringing her to the brink of consciousness, and then she was free from the water.
She grit her teeth, curling into a ball to nurse her trembling right hand. She was battered and bruised, bleeding from a dozen different places, with pain pounding at every inch of her body. But the rock was firm, and she was free from the current. Lank strands of Netya's dark hair clung to her face as she shivered, all the horror of her flight from Miral's camp replaying in her mind as she struggled to keep her eyes from closing. Try as she might, it was a losing battle. Her body was too weak, her stomach too empty, and her strength of will too shattered to keep up the fight. The refuge of unconsciousness claimed her, and she slipped into a black void mercifully distant from reality.
Netya did not know how long she lay there upon the spur with the water crashing around her, but when she awoke it was to a horrible cramping sensation in her lower belly. A choked cry left her lips as she doubled up again, eyes closed and teeth grit as the pain returned a second time. Was her body injured inside as well as out? There were no seers to treat her, and she knew nothing of healing such injuries herself. Then she felt a faint warmth running down her leg, horribly distinct from the cold of her shivering body. Somewhere in the back of Netya's mind, she already felt the fear. It was there from the first moment, distant and indistinct, refusing to be accepted. She reached between her legs, beneath her clothing, and when she withdrew her fingers they were covered in blood.
"No," Netya whispered tearfully. "Spirits, please." She beat her hand against the rock, eyes squeezed shut as the latent fear became dread. "No, you cannot! No!" The tight ache clutched her lower belly again, and she felt the trickle of blood working its way down the back of her thigh.
It could have been anything. A wound from the rapids, perhaps. And had Adel not said that she might bleed a little in the weeks to come? But the pain in Netya's belly was too strong. The blood was thick and clotted. When she saw it, she could think of nothing but the blood she had poured from Essie's bowl when Adel helped her lose her child.
She knew. This was her punishment. She had taken a life, and now a life was being taken from her in return.
"Please," she begged once again, feeling her last thread of hope slipping away as she wept. She had never felt more alone. More betrayed by everything she had put her faith in. Her visions had told her... They had promised! She had kept going when despair threatened to consume her. Without Caspian, without her pack, she had nothing. All she had was her daughter. The moon spirit's promise of a great child, with a great destiny. Had her visions been nothing but a lie?
"Why?!" Netya wailed, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her face between her elbows as she knelt on the spur of rock. "Curse you, spirits! You cannot. No! No..."
Her throat hurt. Her wrist throbbed. Her stomach clenched with pain again. What was she now but some wretched vessel for her own suffering? There were no more lights in her darkness. She had done everything she could, fought through the deepest despair she had ever known, taken a man's life in desperation, and still she was being punished. When she thought of her visions, she felt sick. The moon spirit was a trickster after all. Cruel and wicked.
The water roared its harsh song around her, drowning out the sound of Netya's tears. She slumped back against the wet rock, alone with her pain, and as the sun grew heavier in the sky she felt her will to carry on slipping away along with it.
Rain joined the spray of the rapids to patter against her back. The drizzle became a fall, then a downpour. The sky darkened, cold water soaking Netya's hair and body afresh, but she did not move. With her cheek flat against the rock, she felt the rain pooling between her lips and trickling into her eyes. After a time the pain in her lower belly ebbed, then returned just as strongly as before. Still she did not move, trying only to think of Caspian and the happy times they had shared. They would share them again in the spirit world. Perhaps it would not be long now.
The deluge continued as the sky grew darker, swelling the river until it lapped at Netya's feet, creeping up the side of the rock and tugging at her legs. It was beckoning her back in. If the rain continued, the water would keep rising until it pulled her away from her perch. She could crawl farther up the spur. Cling on to the edges and try to wait out the downpour. Perhaps she could paddle her way to one of the larger rocks nearby. But as the current began to tug at her legs, she let it take her. It dragged her body to one side, inching her bit by bit to the edge of the spur, before catching enough of her weight to pull her free. She slid off the rock and into the water, making a half-hearted grab for one of the other spurs before it swept past and she was once again dragged into the current. Perhaps she would wash ashore or catch herself on another rock. She would have liked to live, Netya thought, as the water filled her mouth and dragged her under, but she no longer had the strength to fight for it. In many ways, it would be better just to be free from everything.
She tried to distance herself from the violent tug of the current, pushing away the pain in her wrist and the aches of her body. She thought of Caspian's embrace. The warmth of home. As the water filled her lungs and drowned out her senses, it became easier. Seer, witch—whatever she had been, she hoped she had at least done some good in her short time in the world of the living.
Her body drifted as if in a dream, the same way her mind had drifted after she lost Caspian. She felt herself being tugged away from the cold, the pain,
the sense of emptiness at her core. Like a tether attached to her soul, she was pulled free of reality by a firm, but welcoming grip. The strong arms of the spirits encircled her, taking her toward a place of light and sound once again, dulling the churn of the river bit by bit until it was nothing but a dim roar in the background. She could hear them calling her name, caressing her body back to warmth, laying her down upon something soft. The relentless tug of the water was gone. The pains of her body were gone. All that was left was the embrace of the spirit world.
She saw him then, tasted his lips against hers, felt his hand running through her hair. She smiled, opening her eyes to her new existence. He had been waiting for her.
"Caspian," she tried to whisper, but it was hard to make her lips move. Perhaps she no longer needed her voice. He whispered something back to her that she could not quite make out. He said it again, but the effort of straining to hear hurt her. It brought back the pain of her body, the sensation of the water filling her throat.
He spoke again, and this time his voice was not soft and soothing, but hard and urgent. She closed her eyes, no longer comforted by what she was feeling. Something firm patted her cheek, and this time Caspian's voice sounded clearer than before.
"Please, Netya," he called to her through the veil. "Breathe!"
—47—
Syr's Light
Water poured from Netya's lips in a fit of choking as she rolled over on the riverbank, all the pain of her battered body returning in an instant. She was lying on wet grass, the chatter of rain and the roar of the river still loud in her ears. Someone was holding her, patting her back firmly to help her bring up the last of the water. The sickly bursts of colour erupting in her vision made it difficult to make out anything but the ground beneath her, and no sooner had she cleared her throat than she slumped over on her back again, gasping for the breath she desperately needed to refill her aching lungs.
For a moment she had thought she was awake, back in the world of the living, but the silhouette leaning over her was that of a man she knew to be dead. A sad smile touched her lips as she reached up to touch his cheek, rubbing her fingers through stubble that was longer than she remembered, toying with a wet lock of sun-lightened hair. His hair always looked brighter after the summer, with hues of gold overtaking the soft brown.
He took her hand and kissed it. The touch of his lips was so tender she almost believed it was real.
"I knew I would find you," he whispered, his voice holding an unusual, throaty deepness. He gazed down at her for a moment, touching her face gently as if to reaffirm her presence, then a pained chuckle left his lips. "No, that isn't true. I just couldn't imagine what I would do if I didn't."
A fit of coughing racked Netya's body again, and Caspian's soothing touch brought tears to her eyes as he helped her upright and cradled her against his chest.
"You are just a spirit," she said in her native tongue, forgetting the words of the Moon People.
"I am no spirit." He gripped her left hand and brought it to his neck. His skin was soft and uneven, a fresh scar marking the place Miral had bitten him.
Netya's brow creased, her eyes searching his face for something elusive. It really did feel like she was awake. But it hurt to remember. It could not be real. It was another trick of the spirits.
"Spirit—" she began, but before she could say any more Caspian claimed her lips in a kiss, pulling her deep into his embrace and holding her there. The strength of his pounding heartbeat resonated against hers. His fingers ran up her back and pressed her forward. Passionate hunger. Intense longing. Love. She felt them all in his kiss. Her chest rose sharply with a sudden intake of breath.
She remembered fleeing her village. She remembered the way her mother's eyes refused to accept her daughter, seeing only a phantom in her place. That time, Netya had been the one pleading for someone she loved to acknowledge her. It was easier to let go, to accept that what had been lost was gone forever. But Caspian felt real. His kiss was real. And unlike her mother, no matter how much she had lost, no matter how bleak her existence had seemed, Netya realised that she still had it in her to hope. She remembered the woman she had been before the night of Miral's attack. She remembered her last night with Caspian, and the things he had told her. Part of her kept holding on.
"Caspian," she said through fresh tears, pulling away so that she could look at him. He looked real. He felt real. Curse the spirits—if this was another trick, then she would fall for it one last time. "You never left me."
"I never would." He kissed her again, easing her gently to her feet. She could barely stand, but he held her up. "How badly are you hurt?"
Netya tried to speak, but the words became lost and tangled in her throat. So much sadness and so much joy were never meant to be felt simultaneously. She buried her face against his shoulder in a fit of sobbing, releasing the trapped emotions the only way she felt able. For as long as she needed, Caspian held her in his tender embrace, letting her cry away everything inside her.
It was only when Netya's tears began to ebb that she realised his grip was not as steady as she remembered it being. His breath was short, and his body held cuts and bruises that matched her own. He must have thrown himself into the river to save her. Plunged himself into the same deadly current that would have killed most people. He knew the danger, and yet he did it anyway. He had managed the impossible task of swimming ashore not just by himself, but with her unconscious body in his arms. For an instant she began to thank the spirits for lending him their strength, before remembering the lie of her visions. The gratitude turned to ash in her breast. She could still feel the cramping pain in her lower belly.
"I killed Miral," she said at last. "I burned his body in spirit fire."
Caspian's heavy hand stroked the back of her head. "Good."
"No. I took a life. I— I found part of myself that could. When he said he would kill our daughter—" A hiccup interrupted her as fresh tears fell. She felt Caspian's body tense.
"You can feel no regret for putting down a beast like him. It is a horrible thing, I know, but sometimes there is no other way. I would have done the same. So would Adel."
"I am no warrior. And I am not like Adel." Yet, even as Netya said it, she knew it was no longer true. She understood now. She understood how pain and loss could shape a woman into someone like her mentor. She felt it within her, touching and twining and seeping into her soul. It was shaping her, too, though in that moment she had not the clarity of mind to understand exactly how.
"You are what you are, and that is all that matters to me," Caspian said. He held her for a moment longer, then glanced up as the distant howl of a wolf echoed over the falling rain. "We must go. If you slew Miral, then we cannot stay here."
Netya nodded. She tried to keep up as Caspian helped her away from the edge of the riverbank, but after three steps she fell to her knees.
"Can you call on your wolf?" he said, after checking to make sure she was unhurt.
"One of the bones in my arm is broken."
"Then ride on my back. Hold tight. We will not stop until we are far from here."
She looked him up and down, wondering yet again at the extent of his own injuries. From the way he was breathing and favouring his left side, she suspected he might have broken one or more of his ribs.
Seeing her hesitance, he gave her a weak smile. "I have carried you through worse, remember?"
"You have." She forced herself back upright, gripping Caspian tightly and pulling him into another kiss. Had she been able, she would have kissed him again and again until any doubts about his return had fled from her mind. But there was no time, and she pulled back after a few moments, watching as Caspian dropped to all fours and took the shape of his wolf. If the shift had been difficult for him, he showed no sign of it. Swinging a leg over his back, she twined her fingers into his fur and held on tight, fighting through the throbbing of her wrist. With a snort and a growl, Caspian hauled himself upright, shifting from p
aw to paw until he became accustomed to her weight. Another howl sounded in the distance, not so close this time, but it was enough to spur him into a loping run. They splashed through the shallows that had formed at the edge of the overflowing river, keeping to the wet ground that would mask their scent as they hurried deeper into the darkening forest. Netya did not fear their pursuers. Even though the rain would cover their trail and fool the noses of Miral's hunters, she simply did not have the will to live another moment terrified of what the dead alpha's clan might do to her. She had found Caspian again, but she had lost something else. A daughter, and a part of who she had once been. She could still feel the despair that had gripped her when she let the current pull her away from the rock. The emptiness of losing everything.
Anything Miral's pack could do to her now seemed pale by comparison.
They ran through the night as the sky darkened, its shroud growing so thick that not a single glimmer of moonlight managed to pierce through. Fitting, Netya thought bleakly, that Syr would hide her face on just such a night. At many points they ended up running through what appeared to be pitch blackness, but Caspian's night eyes and the nose of his wolf were able to find safe paths where Netya could see none. He stayed close to the edge of the river, taking care not to blunder into it in the dark, but keeping the sound of the water in earshot at all times so as to better navigate by its presence. It was not long before the rapids gave way to gentler water, but the rainfall continued all night long, making sweet, tinkling music of the river where a violent roar had once been.
