Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two) (28 page)

"That will not be for so many years," Wren sighed. "Do you think he might come with us? The den mother said we should try and persuade more men to join our pack."

"I think she meant men, not boys. But it will not be so long! Think, by the time the next gathering falls you will have grown into a beautiful young woman, perhaps with a calling of your own! You could be an apprentice to Briar, or a huntress with me."

Wren pulled a face, poking a piece of grass through the loop she had made. "I suppose so."

"You are certainly getting the moods of a young woman." Fern rolled her eyes, looking back to Netya as her friend walked past their fire. "Netya, help me!" She tugged on the edge of the other woman's cloak. "Come and tell Wren that she will find wonderful happiness and the love of many young men at the next gathering!"

"Not now, Fern, I must bring these to the den mother—" she began to protest, but the huntress stubbornly refused to let go.

"She has waited all year for new herbs, she can wait a little longer. Come, you cannot let your spirits be so low at a time like this. It is the day of the celebration!"

Netya relented, easing her bundles down and coming to sit beside Fern. "Is there much to celebrate?"

"Of course! We are alive, are we not? We are free, we have made a place for ourselves among the packs, and tonight we shall play as witches, winning their love and calling them to our furs!" She draped herself over her friend's shoulder in an exaggeratedly sensual manner, trying to coax Netya out of her gloom. "We missed the celebration last year, but do you not remember the time when you first joined us? With Erech and Jale?"

A hint of fondness came into Netya's expression, and she nodded. "It was nice."

"More than nice. The spirits bless us when the summer fires burn high, and we honour them with our pleasure. If there is a night to forget our troubles, it is this one. I think we all need such a night." She smirked. "Especially those of us who have not felt a man in many seasons."

Netya's sullen mood was hard to shake her out of, but if there was one thing Fern had grown skilled at over the years it was chasing away worries and doubts, both in herself and others. Besides which, she had been missing her friend. Back among Khelt's pack they had been free to come and go as they pleased, attending their light duties together without any real urgency getting in the way of their companionship. But Adel, Caspian, and the ever-present burdens of survival had resulted in them spending less time together recently. Now that it was the night of the celebration—a night when all of those things could settle to the back of Netya's mind—Fern was keen to enjoy it with her.

They pulled Selo into their small group as the evening drew near, but both of the other girls still seemed apprehensive. Fern had gleefully attended many celebrations, sharing her furs with dozens of men and a handful of women, but her companions were considerably less versed in the easygoing charm that came so naturally to her. Netya in particular kept throwing longing glances in Caspian's direction, as bad at keeping her romantic desires to herself as always.

"If you want to be with him, then be with him," Fern said with a kindly squeeze of her friend's hand. "Love is love, and on the night of the fires you should celebrate it in any way you can."

"No, I cannot," Netya replied. "Adel is sending him to Octavia, and I am to attend the main gathering with you and Selo."

"You cannot put your happiness aside on such a night for the sake of others! That is not what will please the spirits. Surely you seers understand that better than anyone."

"I am not putting my happiness aside. I want to attend the celebration with you. And if it pleases Adel, then it pleases me. Caspian would say the same."

Fern gave her a reproachful look, but Netya's brow was set stubbornly. There was something else going on, but Fern could not quite grasp it. She sighed, resigning herself to her friend's wishes. "Then I must at least put a smile on your face before the celebration begins. You too, Selo. Do you remember that piece of orange root you brought back earlier?"

"The lakefire root, yes." Netya nodded.

"Bring me some, and that skin of drink Hari has been sipping from all day. It won't be difficult to get it away from him after how much he's had."

"What for?"

Fern winked. "Seers are not the only ones with their secret remedies."

By the time dusk was falling Fern had boiled the crushed root into the contents of Hari's waterskin. She added in a few more ingredients from their newly replenished supplies and allowed them to stew, then took a careful sip to test her concoction. It burned and made her tongue tingle, the taste bitter and sharp, but a few moments later a sensation of deep warmth began to spread through her body.

"Here, try some." She offered the bowl to her pack-sisters. Selo swallowed hers without protest, but Netya spluttered and almost dropped the clay vessel as the unpleasant taste hit her tongue.

"It tastes worse than the drinks the hunters share," she objected.

"We aren't drinking it for the taste. Do you feel the warmness in your body? The readiness for the evening?" Fern smiled, squirming pleasurably on the spot. She rarely needed any such liquid encouragement, but the small mouthful she had swallowed was already doing its work. She felt looser, more excitable, and the tingle of the drink had begun to spread across her skin. Nothing seemed more appealing in that moment than the embrace of a man and the sensation of taking him inside her.

"Yes," Selo said after a hesitant moment. "I feel it."

Fern's grin spread. "There. I told you this was an evening for pleasure. Come, they are already lighting the fires! We must make ourselves ready."

Though she was a little sad to leave Wren alone with her weaving, Fern could not allow herself to be too concerned with her young companion's lack of inclusion that night. She was too young to share in the pleasures of grown men and women, and she would be able to join them soon enough once a few more years had shaped her.

The three of them had little in the way of adornments to make themselves beautiful, but they followed the busy path that had been cut through the brambles to find an unoccupied stretch of the nearest stream, where they undressed, bathed, and then clad themselves once more in only their lightest garments of clothing. To dry their hair they joined a nearby fire occupied by a handful of women from Adel's former pack, finding their temporary companions to be quietly apprehensive, but welcoming enough of the trio of witches. They brushed the tangles from their hair, allowed the fire's warmth to steam away the moisture, and wove their locks into attractive braids. Netya, Fern noticed, seemed to be trying to copy the strikingly complex weave of Octavia's hair. Though her efforts fell short of perfection, she still managed to create an elegant pattern of braids running from her temples to the back of her neck.

With the warmth of the potion stirring her blood, Fern decided to be a little more daring with her appearance. They were witches now, after all, and the thought of playing such a role excited her. When she encouraged Netya and Selo to join her in painting her eyes with dark charcoal in a pattern that mimicked the one Adel had worn when she confronted the other alphas, the group of women sharing their fire finally grew uneasy enough to leave.

"We do not want to scare the men away as well," Selo said as she glanced after the departing group.

"Men love to be challenged!" Fern reassured her as she carefully stencilled the charcoal into patterns around Netya's eyes using a firm piece of plant stem. "We will scare away the timid and draw the alphas under our spell."

That drew a giggle from Netya, and a smile from her friend in response. It might have taken the work of Fern's own unique magic to lighten the girl's mood, but she finally seemed to be relaxing and entering into the spirit of the celebration.

By the time they returned to the hill the great bonfires were roaring high and bright, filling the air with the sweet, intoxicating smoke of the special branches that were burned only on the night of the celebration. The atmosphere was expectant and subdued, the air tingling as individual packs withdrew to their own private camps to prepare. The night tightened around the hilltop, tucking the gathering of the Moon People into its own place and time. The wisps of spirits danced in the smoke. The spark of new life leaped in the flames, impatient to escape and take root in the bodies of the lovers that would soon surround it.

Fern breathed deep of the night air, letting her breast swell and tingle with anticipation. She was a witch tonight, no longer just an unexceptional huntress of low status. Perhaps this evening, at long last, Netya would not be the only one catching the eyes of alphas and great men.

There was no ceremonial beginning to the celebration, but once the fires were roaring high into the night the unspoken traditions of the packs began to draw the congregation together. One by one, the boldest, the youngest, and the bearers of the greatest status stepped away from their camps to approach the centre of the gathering. They shed their loose garments as they went, disregarding the importance of their clothing as the enticing tug of the fires reeled them in closer. Many of the alphas and their den mothers were absent, observing their own traditions of private intimacy that night, and so it was the great hunters, seers, matriarchs, and warriors who led the way. It was a procession of those who might one day be leaders among their people. Men and women of power and influence.

Fern was not often one to wrap her mind around the purposes of Adel's schemes, but even she understood the opportunity opening up before them that night as she watched the first members of the gathering assemble. It was not only alphas who held sway with the other packs. Many influential eyes and ears were waiting to be captured that night.

Emboldened by her realisation, Fern grasped her companions' hands and began to walk forward.

"What are you doing?" Selo gasped. "We must wait for the others."

Fern shook her head. "Not tonight. Have courage. Walk like Adel. We will be the envy and the desire of every man and woman in the gathering." Perhaps such boldness was foolish, but what good was there in the status the den mother had won for them if they did not make use of it? Fern wanted to be looked upon with reverence for once, with the same longing gazes she had cast a dozen times at men like Caspian and Khelt in the summer celebrations of years past.

Tugging Netya and Selo forward, she lifted her chin and focused on the warm rush stirring within her body like a sunset wind, driving her steps forward with confidence. She entwined her fingers with those of her friends, ensuring they approached as one.

Fern had rarely felt powerful in her life, but that night was different. She felt more powerful than any of the women who hung back, casting apprehensive glances at the trio of witches approaching the centre of the gathering so brazenly. They were not wise with age. They held no great status. But to those who looked upon them, perhaps they did. A mysterious, unknowable status bestowed upon the kind of women who consorted with dark spirits; a power that let them walk upon fire and conjure coloured flames at their feet. A gust of wind guttered the bonfires, dragging sparks in the direction of Fern and her companions and stirring the braids in their hair.

"You see," she whispered under her breath, keeping her eyes forward. "The fires beckon us in."

As the moments passed Fern grew more emboldened. No one intervened to try and stop them, nor was a single voice raised in objection. Only when they reached the centre of the clearing did they shed their clothes, joining with the scarce few others who had been bold enough to step forward. Most of them were men; lean and tall, with the look of high hunters about them. Old enough to bear the scars of experience upon their bare muscles, but still young enough to be in their prime. The den mother of Alpha Gheran's pack was also present, the handsome woman distinguished from the seers who accompanied her by a mane of waist-length hair, as straight as the strands of a spiderweb and as white as the shine of sunlight on water.

It was a man of the dark-skinned tribe who approached them first, the same one who was often seen in the company of his alpha. The firelight played enticingly with his ebony complexion, and Fern allowed her eyes to stray down his body to the swell of his manhood.

"Sisters," he said softly, bowing his close-shaven head with respect. "You are young to be the first among your clan, but I see no others following in your footsteps."

"Then the first and greatest we must be," Fern teased. "Have we caught your eye already?"

The man showed a flash of white teeth as he smiled, placing his palms outward in a gesture of deference. "All the packs speak of you and your sorcery now. Yes, you have won the desire of many men. But you are Adel's daughters, and so I cannot."

Fern smiled quizzically, though she tried to keep her curiosity restrained. "Our den mother would not object, if that is what worries you."

"Ah, it is not her objection I fear, but the fates that follow her and those who are drawn in by her spell. The last man whose heart she captured... Well, you must know the tale as well as I."

"We do not. You knew this man?" Netya said.

He nodded. "So it is, for he was my brother, and his last wish was that me and my clan never make an enemy of Adel." He bowed again. "For his sake, you have my respect. But I dare not walk into the same darkness that took him."