Sisters of Syr (The Moon People, Book Four)

by Claudia King

  “He knows where I am if he seeks a challenge. If the coward doesn't have the courage for it then he isn't worth my claws.”

  As much as Kiren admired her friend's restraint, she sensed that Vaya still meant what she said. If someone did challenge her, she wouldn't be able to let her honour suffer the insult of refusal. Kiren would just have to make sure she was there to intervene if that happened.

  Either way, you give the den mother another excuse to keep you banished, she thought.

  What did Adel want out of all of this? Before Kiren's journey north she had rarely given consideration to the thoughts and motivations of others. She read people through their actions, trusting that the things they did reflected their inner desires. Yet since her encounter with the Sun People, she had begun to question everything. Actions could hold lies and manipulations just as easily as words. Cunning leaders knew how to deceive. They saw the hopes of their followers as cords that could be plucked and tugged, leading them astray like fish hooked upon a line. She still wanted to trust Netya, for her mentor had made no further attempts to influence her since the night of the hunt. That kind of respect seemed honest, at least. Netya trusted Adel, but what if she had been deceived too? The den mother seemed like a bitter woman, concerned only with the status of her pack. Like Kiren's own mother, in many ways.

  With these thoughts weighing heavily upon her, the wet season was a troubled one. She tried to lose herself in training with her bow as often as she could, even learning how to whittle and fletch arrows from Kale. Some days the distractions absorbed her well enough, but she was a restless soul by nature. Every time she heard talk around Vaya's hearth about the troubles in the pack her mind began to wander. Tension gripped her body every time raised voices echoed off the moist cave walls, sending her arrows flying wide to snap and blunt themselves against the rocks. Sooner or later someone close to her would be drawn into one of the challenges, and when that happened she knew she would be unable to keep her head down any longer.

  —17—

  Healing Hands

  As soon as word of the unrest in Orec's pack reached the valley Netya began volunteering to tend the warriors as often as Adel would allow. Her worry extended not just to those wounded in the challenges, but to Caspian as well. Ever since the Rainfall Hunt she had spent more nights alone in her cave than not, and the precious few moments she did get to share with her mate were weary and fleeting. She knew asking Orec to send him home would do no good. Caspian could not sit idle while troubles like this were brewing, and so she had decided to go to him instead.

  There had been other reasons too, of course. While she did not relish spending time close to Vaya, her concern for Kiren had overturned that worry since the night of the Rainfall Hunt.

  Then there was Adel. Netya had outright disobeyed her mentor when she ran after Kiren, and her reward had been a frosty distance between the two of them ever since. Adel only ever spoke to her formally now, as if addressing an apprentice. Her attempts at conversation were rebuffed, and any talk of what had happened quickly stirred the den mother's ire.

  Had Netya not known better, it would have seemed as if her mentor was upset. Did she see it as a betrayal, perhaps, that Netya had shown sympathy to an old enemy rather than sharing in Adel's enthusiasm to punish her?

  There are no sides, she wanted to tell her. Not everything must be the conflict you turn it into.

  Yet with no way to reach Adel, she resigned herself to tending the more obvious wounds in their clan. Perhaps the den mother would become more agreeable again once her temper settled. That might take a long time, but they had a full winter ahead of them. A winter that arrived close on the heels of the wet season.

  The spirits of frost and snow delighted in playing their games on this side of the mountains. Across the plains and in the forests to the far east the icy weather was more fleeting, but here in the wooded valleys the cold lingered, seeping deep into the land and nesting in its ancient crannies. When the rains began to falter they gave way not to sun, but sleet. Morning dew left a rime of frost upon the grass, dusting the valley's green with patchy white. It would soon be time for the witches to migrate into the seers' cave. While mild winters could sometimes be weathered without the need to share firewood and body warmth, the signs pointed to this one being long and bitter.

  For once Netya was not preoccupied with winter preparations, however. Most of her time was spent with Orec's pack, making sure the seers there were well-stocked with medicinal herbs that might otherwise have been hoarded away for the witches' own use. With the number of fights breaking out, the wounded warriors needed relief from their injuries more than the seers needed colourful visions. Besides which, she knew from experience that it was often wise to keep hot-blooded warriors sedated in the aftermath of a challenge.

  The small seers' cave at Orec's den held none of the ceremonial importance that usually surrounded such a spiritual place, but it was comfortable and warm, with a narrow entrance keeping out most of the cold and a squat circular interior large enough to house several people at the front and some baskets of supplies at the back.

  One morning Netya found herself tending a regular patient, an older warrior named Koura who was always eager to throw himself into challenge after challenge despite coming out on the losing end more often than not. He was resilient, Netya had to admit, though as she carefully stitched the claw-shaped gashes in his back she wondered just how many more scars the grizzled old warrior would be able to take. She crushed a fragrant leaf between her fingers, wrinkling her nose at the sinus-prickling smell of it, and rubbed the residue along the edge of the next cut. The pulp had already left the fingertips of her left hand numb, but her right still worked dexterously with the curved splinter of antler that served as her needle. Numbed or not, Koura barely seemed to notice as she pushed the point into his skin and dragged a thread of animal sinew through.

  “I know you all have your reasons to fight, but one day you will come to me with something I cannot mend with herbs and stitches,” she said.

  “Hm, I'm tough as an old rock. None of those pups can do worse to me than I've already had. See that scar on my side?” He reached around awkwardly to point at a puckered mark a little to the left of his spine, forcing Netya to stop stitching until he lay still again. “Took a javelin of the Sun People right through my body. Seers wanted to put me asleep so I could have a quiet death instead of a painful one.” He grinned. “Showed them I don't die that easily.”

  “You are very fortunate, but if you keep on challenging strong young warriors that fortune will run out.”

  Koura grunted irritably. “I'm still strong as any of them. They're just faster. Scars make you stiff.”

  “Then perhaps you can save some of that strength for protecting your den mother rather than fighting your packmates?”

  “They are the ones who disrespect the den mother! She chose Narolen as our champion. Her word should be good enough for them, but no, the young fools think they know better—as if the sister of fair Uriel herself is not worth a dozen of their lives!” Koura had become so animated that Netya was forced to sit back after her next stitch, giving up on trying to tend him until he calmed down.

  “Uriel?” she asked. “Is she another great spirit of the Moon People? I thought I had heard all their names by now.”

  “No, no,” Koura grumbled. “You never knew Adel before. Who she was. Where she came from. I always knew, even from the day she was born; she was a star plucked from the heavens to live among us.”

  “You were part of her birth pack?”

  “Oh yes. Not many of us came when we heard the call of the witches, but I did. Braved Alpha Ulric's wrath to pledge my loyalty to his daughter. I have never regretted it.” A solemn reverence settled over the warrior, and Netya tentatively returned to her stitching as he continued. “Uriel was no great spirit, though perhaps she is now. She was Adel's sister, every bit as fair and wise even when she was young. The firstborn child of Alpha Ulric. Hi
s greatest treasure.”

  “It is hard to imagine anyone else quite like Adel,” Netya said.

  “Perhaps there was no space in our world for two such women.” Koura sounded bitter. “It never settled with me, the way Ulric treated Adel after her sister died. That girl always had the right way of seeing things. Ulric didn't. Thought he knew better than his seers, just like that thick-headed fool who clawed up my back—!”

  Netya soothed the warrior before he could yank out his stitches, offering him a bowl of smouldering herb smoke to breathe until he calmed down.

  “Adel never speaks of her past,” Netya said, curious now to hear more. She had not even known that any of Orec's warriors came from Alpha Ulric's pack. If what Koura said was true, perhaps they were ashamed to speak of it.

  “Hmph, then I should keep her secrets as well. You are a good seer, Sister Netya, but you are still a sun wolf. It's not your place to know our history.”

  It was a familiar excuse, one that always prompted a roll of Netya's eyes. Her closeness to the den mother ensured that even the most sceptical of packmates tolerated her, but it was hard for them to forget their prejudices entirely. If ever a disagreement loomed, “sun wolf” was an easy way for them to dismiss her.

  “Perhaps I am as dull-witted as the warriors you fight with, then, if a sun wolf like me could never understand your loyalty.”

  Koura's shoulders tensed. The gentle probing seemed to have struck the right nerve. “Adel knows suffering—she knows the difference between honour and foolishness! She'd weep for the slaying of Great Rook, not celebrate the loss of such a proud beast.”

  “Adel does not weep for anything,” Netya said, trying to dig a little deeper.

  “Oh, how little you know, Sun Wolf. If Uriel was the spirit of moonlight then Adel is the spirit of sorrow. The day she left her father's pack I wept myself, I'll not be ashamed to say it! Her love and her heart stolen away, and still she took than burden upon herself. All to save the very ones who wronged her.” He shook his head, sounding tearful just at the memory. “No soul so noble. No spirit so proud. That day I saw that alphas are nothing more than men. Yet seers, they hold in their hearts the nobility of the stars.”

  “Who was this love she lost?” Netya said under her breath, gripped now by an insatiable curiosity. Finally she had found someone who knew the secrets of Adel's past. Secrets that might help to shed light upon her present temperament. Why did Adel do the things she did? What had made her this way? Many times over the years Netya had felt that if she only knew the truth of it, perhaps she might be able to reach that tender part of her mentor that so often hid itself away.

  But she had pushed too far, as Koura's muted response soon revealed.

  “No more to be said. I am the den mother's servant, and I will protect her honour till my dying day.”

  Netya sighed. “Then let us try to make sure that day lies far in your future and not at the hands of your packmates, mm?”

  Koura muttered something under his breath, but he held still long enough for her to finish stitching.

  “Kiren, I have something to ask of you.” Netya cast a conspiratorial glance over her shoulder at the other warriors in the training cave. As usual Vaya was glowering at her, and the wolf pup in her lap had taken to snarling every time she walked by, but everyone else seemed preoccupied with their exercises.

  With the heavy thwap of an arrow burying itself in one of the battered grass targets, Kiren lowered her bow and turned to acknowledge Netya.

  “Can you still make demands of me now that I am no longer your apprentice?”

  “Seers hold higher status than warriors,” Netya reminded her. “But this is not a demand, it is a request. Will you help me with something today?”

  Kiren looked to Vaya, then shrugged. “What is it?”

  Netya put a hand around the younger woman's shoulders and led her aside. Trickling water still shimmered on the wall next to them, though it was limited to a few sparse rivulets now that the rain had begun to freeze.

  “The people of Orec's clan hail from many different packs. I am sure you have heard the names of alphas Gheran, Turec, and Neman often, but there are a few others from the smaller clans as well. Do you know Koura?”

  “The old one who keeps losing?”

  Netya smiled. “Yes, he is hard to miss, isn't he? Before he joined us he was part of Alpha Ulric's clan. I would like to know if there are any others like him.”

  “Why not ask them yourself?”

  “This is not something I would wish to share with the whole clan by asking openly, and I have not the time to speak with all of them one by one. You've seen how the warriors are lately. Ulric's pack is not well loved, and some of these people would rather their pasts remain forgotten.”

  Kiren pursed her lips, something between annoyance and curiosity on her face. It was endearing to see that the young woman's stubbornness belied a lingering spark of enthusiasm. She had not become as jaded as her friend Vaya just yet.

  “Surely Orec or your mate must know,” Kiren said.

  “Perhaps, but they are busy enough keeping this pack in line without having to run my errands for me. Can I entrust this one to you?” She looked over at the cave's entrance. “I must return to check on Koura soon. He will tear his stitches unless I keep him sleepy for the rest of the day.”

  Kiren pondered for a moment, then said, “Only if you tell me why.”

  “I—” Netya's gut told her to stop. She knew Adel would be angry. So protective was the den mother of her secrets that even hinting at them to an outsider like Kiren was sure to draw her ire. Adel had taught her to speak in half-truths, to insinuate and curry favour without exposing her true motivations. This whole conversation held the secondary purpose of judging Kiren's feelings toward her, after all.

  Netya's eyebrows pinched together in perplexity. But that was Adel's way, and she had resolved to treat Kiren with more respect than that.

  “Adel comes from Ulric's clan too,” she admitted. “Perhaps I am just being too curious about things that are best left forgotten.”

  “You sound like me.”

  Netya gave a little sniff of amusement. “I wonder if it is the nature of mentors to always find something of themselves in their apprentices.”

  “If you say so.” Kiren shrugged. “I can ask and listen for you. Kin might know.”

  “Thank you. I will be here until tomorrow evening. Koura's wounds should have settled by then.” Leaving Kiren with an amicable squeeze of her shoulder, Netya made to depart, yet she only managed to get a few paces before Vaya's harsh tones interrupted her.

  “Ready to challenge me yet, Sun Wolf? You may have doused the fighting spirit in your own pack, but it is still alive and well here. It grows hotter by the day.”

  Netya forced her feet to stop and swivelled around to face her rival.

  “We've nothing to fight over.”

  “Oh we do. One day you'll see.” Vaya bared her teeth in a snarl. Her wolf pup yapped at the base of Netya's gown.

  Resigning herself to the fact that there was nothing she could say to change the huntress's mind, Netya turned and found herself face to face with Narolen. The fiery-eyed warrior's brow was narrowed, the veins in his neck pressing up against the skin.

  “This outsider threatens one of our witches?” he said, staring directly at Vaya.

  “No, Narolen.” Netya tried to soothe him, placing a hand on the man's chest. “You need not worry about her.”

  “I think she should challenge warriors like herself, not soft little sun wolves.”

  “Are you making an offer?” Vaya replied.

  Netya cut in before Narolen could be provoked any further. “Please, I am exhausted from tending you all. Save your challenges for another day.”

  Tension hummed in the air between them. Several onlookers had begun to gather around the source of the commotion. Netya prayed her words would give one of them enough of an excuse to back down. Thankfully, Narolen's loyalty
to the witches won out.

  “If the seer is weary then I'll not make more work for her healing hands. Watch yourself, outsider.” He snorted in Vaya's direction, maintaining eye contact as he backed away. To Netya's relief, Vaya managed to restrain herself too.

  That was close. Would these two be able to last all winter without stirring up any more trouble? She trusted Kiren to take care of herself, but Vaya? The woman who would sooner drive herself to exile than admit defeat? Narolen had much to prove by provoking her, and he would find an excuse eventually. Netya only hoped that there had been a hint of fear mixed in with his loyalty when he backed down. Fear, as Adel often professed, could cut deeper than the sharpest blade.

  Koura's hints at Adel's past had seeded a nagging question in the back of Netya's mind, but try as she might she struggled to learn anything of substance from it. Before she returned to the valley the following evening Kiren came to her with news of two more men who had come from Ulric's pack—both of whom were too young to remember Adel. Despite their age Netya pressed on, hoping that they had at least heard stories passed down about the den mother. Pera turned out to be one of them. Given the young man's love of songs and tales Netya allowed herself to believe that he of all people must have known something, but her conversation with Pera proved as fruitless as the ones she had shared with Koura and the other warrior. He knew nothing beyond the vague tales of prophetic greatness that seemed to have permeated every pack. In its years of retelling Adel's legend had grown greater than the truth, something that even her father's pack seemed to have made an effort to suppress.

  Why would Alpha Ulric do such a thing? Netya pondered. Jealousy? Protectiveness? Shame?

  It was no secret that Adel resented her father for sending her away as tribute to Alpha Khelt's clan. Was that all there was to it? No. There had to be more. The truth was so often found in the details, not the great legends that were spun out of them. Netya knew all too well. To those in other clans—even to many within her own—she was the witch who had slain Alpha Miral. A dark sorceress with the power to unmake packs. None of those tales ever spoke of a girl whose resolve had been broken by a wicked captor. A girl who had set aside the goodness in her heart, a goodness she had thought unassailable, to give in to desperation and fear.