by Claudia King
A smile crept across Netya's face as she watched the two older seers wandering together, arms about each other's waists as they meandered with the listlessness of young lovers. The spirits could be kind as well as cruel. For all the things their pack had lost, at least something had been given back in return.
"Selo, though," Netya said.
"There was no healing to be done for her," Adel said, a sombre note entering her voice as she pointed toward a small patch of dark ground on the far side of the valley. "We gave her a pyre over there, near the standing rocks. I think that is where we shall honour all our dead. Somewhere close, but peaceful."
Netya sniffed, pulling her clothing a little tighter about herself as she rose to her feet. The wind was bringing a chill to the overcast valley, but she wanted to walk to Selo's pyre before she retreated to the warmth of the caves.
"You will need the garb of a seer again," Adel said. "The pelt of another wolf, perhaps?"
Netya shook her head. "No. I must find a new guardian."
The den mother let her go, and Netya made her way down the valleyside again, pausing within earshot of the central cave to listen as Caspian held the others enraptured in his skilful retelling of their story for what must have been the dozenth time by now. She smiled, leaving them be.
Before venturing out across the valley she returned to her small cave, finding her spear there as she had expected, thankfully cleaned of Meadow's blood. She had hoped to take strength from the feeling of gripping her trusted weapon again, but staring at the sharp flint tip made her uncomfortable. She considered leaving it behind for a moment, but instead tucked the spear beneath her arm and made a short detour to a cave in which some of their crafting supplies were stored. A few moments of rummaging through a heap of bones leftover from many months of hunting found her what she needed. She bundled her findings up in a square of deer hide along with a length of woven grass cord, some strips of birch bark, and a handful of feathers.
It was difficult to carry the bundle with her injured arm, so she used the cord to tie it closed and form a loop she could hang from the crosspiece of her spear. Resting the weapon over her shoulder, she slipped away from the den and made her way across the valley, passing by the stag skull cairn along the way. It took a while to reach the standing stones on the other side, and there she found a small depression in the land filled with fragments of dark ash. Here Selo's spirit had been released to the world beyond, and here it would linger, joining the others to whisper wisdom into the dreams and visions of her surviving sisters.
Netya stood there for a moment, staring into the remnants of the pyre. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to recall the moment of Selo's death and face it not with fear, but with respect for the sacrifice her pack-sister had made. Pain tightened inside her chest, bringing back memories of helplessness. Anger, despair, betrayal. She could never stop feeling it entirely, but she wanted to let it go. For it was not only Selo her goodbye was meant for, but also the other life she had lost.
The pain in her lower belly had been gone for some time now, but its phantom still lingered. Again, thoughts of the daughter she had never known returned to her, fantasies of the future, questions of who that girl could have been and what she might have accomplished. Netya had never known feelings as bitterly sweet as those that visited her when she thought of her child. And yet they tethered her to the past, to the darkness she had lapsed into beneath the current of the river. She could keep on dreaming, keep on wondering what might have been, and in doing so she might keep those sweet fantasies of her unborn daughter alive. But she could not live like that, always wondering, always fostering a coal of resentment for the moon spirit that had sent her such misleading visions. She allowed herself to relive it all one last time, breathing out a shuddering breath as she embraced all that had been lost. Then she let it go, relinquishing the memories to a distant place where their power over her could slowly drift away, just like the smoke of a pyre.
Selo had been the first of their clan to die before her time. Netya hoped she would also be the last. She wanted the pyres that would one day burn alongside this one to be only those of elders who had left this life in comfort and happiness. She doubted it would be so, for fate was cruel. Cruel, yet sometimes kind. She had expected to return home to the ashes of two pyres instead of one.
Sitting down at the edge of the depression, Netya set her spear across her lap and untied her bundle, running her fingers over the collection of small animal skulls she had gathered up until she decided on the one she wanted. It had been the first one her eyes darted to in the cave, and it still felt right.
"What do you think, Selo?" she said. "Will this one do?" In the gusting of the wind, Netya decided to hear a warm whisper of agreement. She smiled. "I think it is right."
The bone of the heron skull tapered to a point at the end of its long beak, smooth and firm beneath her fingers. She picked it up, peering inside the hollow at the base of the skull to make sure it was the right size, then set it upon the tip of her spear. The flint head nestled inside the cavity snugly, covering up the razor edges and all but concealing them from view. It was still the spear of her father, and she would not dishonour his memory by dismantling or abandoning it, but she no longer wished to carry a weapon at her side. She had learned that she was able to take another person's life, but it had only made the prospect of doing so again all the more repellent. If she ever had to kill, she did not want it to be with this spear. She would not leave it stained with blood like her pendant.
It was hard to work with her injured arm, but a few loops of cord through the eye sockets of the skull and around the shaft of her spear managed to secure the two pieces in place. Next she wrapped the crosspiece with bark, folding the strips diagonally around the middle until the intersection resembled a thick, branching piece of wood rather than an angular weapon. The aggressive red tassels took on a more soothing look as she adorned them with new feathers, these ones tinged with the white and blue of the bird whose skull now rested upon the spear's head. By the time Netya rose to her feet again, it was no longer a spear that she held in her hand, but a staff. The weapon's awkward making had always left it cumbersome and unwieldy. It seemed right that it was now a seer's totem rather than a weapon of war.
Netya rested upon her staff, feeling the weariness of her travels seeping back into her body. She knew this was not the end of her trials. Perhaps there was never an end for packs like hers that sought to defy tradition and make their own place in the world. What a strange journey she had taken to reach this place, to be shaped by the people she had met along the way. Had this always been her destiny since the day she was born, or had she been drawn here by the actions of others? In recent days she had begun to question whether there was any difference between the two. Fate and destiny seemed like simple words to explain unsimple things.
Whatever was responsible for bringing her here—be it her own will or that of the spirits—here was where she now stood. She was a witch of the Moon People, daughter of Adel's clan. And just like her mentor, one day she would become something more.
—Epilogue—
The clan's first winter in the valley was a difficult one, but they weathered it stubbornly, heartened by Netya and Caspian's return. Despite regular patrols, they glimpsed not hide nor hair of any other wolves in their territory for weeks on end, even when they ventured west into Miral's old hunting grounds. A few successful hunts brought home enough meat to see them through the cold season ahead, but just barely. Hunger was a constant reminder of just how close they had come to losing everything, but the warmth of the caves and the close companionship of their packmates made it easier to bear.
Phantoms haunted Netya's dreams throughout the dark season, drawing her back to the blue vision time and again as the memory of her spirit wolf echoed at her side. They were difficult remnants to shake, but as time went on their appearances grew fainter and farther between, until at last they were so infrequent Netya could almost forg
et them. Almost, but never entirely.
The clouds peeled back from the sky, the valley's glittering of frost became dew, and winter slipped quietly into spring. Still not a single wolf crossed through their territory.
Adel began to speak of sending runners out to the other packs, to carry news and bring back word from the alphas. She was convinced that another gathering would be held that summer once news of Miral's death spread, for his successor would have to prove himself in the eyes of the other clans if he hoped to maintain the status of his pack. Enemies would be eager to take advantage of a weak alpha, and the more time that passed the more tenuous the fate of Miral's clan would become. But despite the den mother's eagerness, Caspian cautioned her to wait, reminding her that there was still much work to be done closer to home.
More seeds were sown in the hidden glade, hunting parties ventured across the western river to fill the pack's bellies again, and scouts prowled far and wide to further expand the reach of Adel's eyes. Briar and Netya continued the woodworking they had begun the year before, devising ways to bind boards together and seal the gaps between them with thickened bark glue. They learned to split green boughs into the shapes they wanted before the wood hardened and became brittle, making do with flint in place of metal implements. Though they still lacked the tools and knowledge to build houses like those of the Sun People, they hoped that by the next winter they could start erecting huts and sturdy earth lodges around the entrances to some of the caves.
The clan began to thrive, perhaps for the first time since they set foot in the valley a full year ago. Under Caspian's watchful eye, Kin and his brothers began to settle, though they were still the source of most of the pack's disputes more often than not. The new apprentices, while quiet, were diligent in learning from the other seers, and Netya found herself joining them often when she was not with Adel. The night of Miral's attack had been the first time most of them had faced real danger, leaving all but one of the young girls shaken by the experience, but also indebted to their new den mother for protecting them. Already Netya sensed that not all of them would be returning to their former packs after their instruction was complete, and she pondered whether Adel had intended for it to be this way all along.
Day by day, summer drew nearer, and on a mild, clear-skied afternoon, a howl of warning finally sounded to the north of the valley. Adel and Netya had been tending the seedlings with Meadow when they heard it, and all three women paused, lifting their heads in silence as they listened again. A few moments later the howl repeated, slightly closer.
"Miral's clan?" Netya whispered, a tension gripping her body that she had spent all winter trying to forget.
"We shall soon see," the den mother replied, wiping her hands free of dirt as she rose to her feet and hurried to the edge of the glade, scaling the rocks and peering out over the lands to the north.
"They must have approached quickly, or Fern would have brought word of them before now," Netya said as she joined Adel in her vigil.
"And they must know where to find us, if they are this close already. Gather everyone. Have them prepare the traps and set the fires at the west end of the valley."
"What about the scouts, and those who are out hunting?"
"There is no time to bring them back. Look." Adel pointed to a gap in the trees where a slash of open valleyside cut a light green path through the rolling forests surrounding it. Netya had to squint, but after a few moments she made out a fuzz of dark shapes crawling slowly across the open space. From where she stood their progress seemed glacial, but she knew that anything she could see moving from so far away had to be travelling at least as fast as a running wolf.
She hurried to gather the others, organising them to collect the stacks of spiked traps that had stood ready all winter while Lyucia began to boil a fresh bowl of her poison. An entire cave had been packed with mounds of the spirit herbs that littered the valley, dry and ready to burn as soon as they were heaped into bonfires. They were carried out by the armful, people and wolves dashing up and down the valley as they prepared for the worst.
Before sunset Fern arrived back with Eyan, the pair of them panting for breath as they reverted from the shapes of their wolves and staggered arm in arm over to Adel and Netya.
"How many are there?" the den mother demanded immediately. "And how close by?"
"At least a dozen," Fern gasped. "We only saw them from a distance before hurrying back, but they stopped... perhaps an afternoon's walk from here."
"Why?"
"I do not know. They must have heard my howl, then decided to wait."
The den mother paced for a moment, deep in thought. "Go back out there, but be careful, and be quiet. Watch them. If they begin moving toward the valley again, let them pass by you, then howl for us."
Despite their exhaustion, the pair obeyed without complaint, leaving Netya and Adel to continue heaping herbs upon the bonfire they were building. Dusk began to fall, and still no more howls were heard. The clan itched in readiness, the traps set and the pyres built, warriors hiding among the rocks on the valleyside while the seers prepared to ignite their fires.
Caspian and Netya waited together with Adel beyond the small forest at the end of the valley, ready to call out to the others at the first sign of enemies approaching. The light dimmed, and still no one came. At the first glimpse of the moon, Fern's low howl murmured a short distance to the north, but it was no urgent bark of warning. The huntress emerged from the shadows soon after, picking out the trio with her night eyes and bounding over to them.
"They are still waiting?" Adel asked.
Fern nodded, looking weary, but not out of breath. She had made no tireless dash home this time. "Not just waiting, but making camp. They have a fire burning and meat roasting. I do not think they mean to attack us tonight."
"They may be planning. Hastiness was Miral's undoing the last time he faced us," Adel said.
"But a fire, and cooking?" Caspian raised an eyebrow. "Only a fool would leave his enemies such an invitation to attack so close to their den. How many did you say they numbered, Fern?"
"Fourteen. We counted this time. Both men and women. They travel with a great many supplies, as much as a clan would bring with them to a gathering."
"The warriors of Miral's clan were all men," Netya said, giving her mentor a cautious look. "Perhaps they are not here to attack us."
"And we outnumber them," Caspian added. "If we gathered everyone we could go to meet them without fear of a fight."
Adel considered for a moment, before giving Fern a half-nod. "You are sure they were making camp for the night?"
"Yes. They had sleeping furs laid out and roasting pits dug for tomorrow."
"Very well. Get some rest and send two of the others to take Eyan's place. If these people are still there at first light, we shall go to meet them."
Adel spread the word that some of the clan could return to the caves for the time being, but most were too anxious to abandon their vigil, Netya included. She stayed with Caspian in the long grass, their wolves huddled together in the darkness as they watched the land to the north. Some time before dawn Fern joined them, bringing a breakfast of fresh mushrooms for them to share. As dawn began to seep into the horizon Adel reappeared from the trees, with almost the full strength of the pack following in her wake. She was dressed in her shawl of black feathers, eyes painted with fresh charcoal and Netya's staff gripped in her hand. She passed the ornamented totem back to her apprentice as she approached, leading the procession out of the valley and to the north.
"They must fear our power, no matter who they are," the den mother said. Sure enough, all of the seers were clad in their ceremonial garb, faces painted and bodies adorned with trinkets and talismans.
The pack struck a slow pace as they threaded their way through the undergrowth and into the shallower valleys nearby, walking all morning until they were met by Rokan and the other scout. The two men reported that the group of interlopers had been camped all ni
ght, just as Fern had said. Even after daybreak they had not moved, as if they were already expecting what was to come. This gave Adel reason to pause, but once she glimpsed the camp on the open valleyside ahead of them the den mother resumed her march, as determined as ever. Caspian had been correct; if these people were here to make war on them, then they were far more foolish than Miral had been. Their camp was exposed and their numbers few, barely even a sentry posted to keep watch.
When Adel and her followers emerged from the trees, no cries of alarm went up. The men and women occupying the camp drew together in a cautious clump, and for a moment it seemed that they were more likely to flee than stand their ground. But the group held fast, and when a man moved forward to meet them Netya's heart leaped in surprise when she recognised his face.
It was Orec, brother of Alpha Turec, and with him stood men and women who could only have been warriors if their muscular builds and weathered looks were anything to go by. Perhaps their strength could have outmatched even that of the larger group approaching them, but they showed no signs of aggression.
"Den Mother Adel." Orec dropped to one knee as he approached, showing the kind of respect that would have been due an alpha. "We heard your scouts last night. We thought it best to wait, as we walk in your lands uninvited."
"Only our enemies have ever dared stray this close to our den," Adel replied, fixing the man with a freezing look. "How did you come to know of this place, and why are you here?"
Orec's eyes hovered over the group facing him. He was too proud of a warrior to show fear, but Netya saw the tension in his fingers as they tightened into the palms of his hands.
"We received word from Alpha Miral's pack shortly before winter. Their new leader, Alpha Halau, sent dire warnings of the curse that had befallen him and his kin. The young man who came to us spoke of demons made of fire, warriors who rose to fight on even in death, and a witch who burned his alpha's life away with a touch of her hand."
