Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two) (9 page)

Netya could tell her mentor's anger was partially directed at herself for how she had reacted the night of the flood. It had been a rare crack in her composure, and she had responded by retreating even farther within the prickly exterior she presented to the rest of the world.

Netya was one of those who found herself on the receiving end of Adel's temper more often than not. The way she had behaved the night of the flood still haunted her deeply, and many days she found herself unable to muster the enthusiasm to work, the memory still fresh and bitter in her mind.

"Get yourself up!"

She awoke one morning to the harsh tug of the den mother's hands yanking her off the ground. She had been dreaming of swimming in the pool again, only now the dreams were bereft of any whimsy as she danced with the fishes. All that remained was the cold, choking water filling her lungs, and the terrifying creak of the ice growing louder and louder above her head.

"I said on your feet, Netya! I need you hunting with Fern. You have slept longer than anyone."

She slumped back to the ground against the wall of the shelter, shivering as she blinked the sleep from her eyes, trying to extricate herself from the fear of her dream.

"Do not make me pick you up again, girl," Adel growled.

Netya tried to make her body obey, but she was breathing too fast, her chest tightening as if she was trapped under the water again. The thought of taking the shape of her wolf and going out to hunt would only bring the memories closer. She tried to speak, but the words constricted in her throat, leaving her even shorter of breath until she was wheezing and gasping, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as moisture spilled from the corners of her eyes.

"Netya?" The anger vanished from Adel's voice. "What is it, girl?"

Netya shook her head rapidly, unable to speak. Her pulse only pounded harder, the rapidness of her breathing becoming too much for her to cope with. She felt like she was drowning again, and this time there was no way for her to come back up.

"Shh, shh," Adel said, taking her apprentice in her arms and clutching her by the hand. "Calm yourself. Breathe. Slowly. Your body will take care of itself if you let it."

Netya clung on to the den mother tight, staring at the far wall of the shelter as her chest rose and fell sharply, her painfully shallow jolts of breath making shrill noises as she struggled to do as Adel had instructed. Finally, her breathing began to ease. She closed her eyes, but the images of her dream were still fresh, and she focused on staring at the wall again.

Adel held her gently, stroking her hair until she had calmed herself. "Speak to me, Netya. I have seen this sickness in you before, but it is not one that can be cured by any medicine I know of."

"I am afraid," Netya whispered, swallowing the tearful pain in her throat. "But of what, I do not know. Sometimes I think it is the water, sometimes myself, and it is getting no better."

"What happened to you the night of the flood?"

"I ran. I was caught in the current."

"I know that, but why? You threw yourself in front of Khelt to save my life. You are no coward."

"Am I not?" Netya screwed her eyes shut, feeling nauseous as more tears rolled down her cheeks. "I thought of nothing. Of no one. Only myself. I left my sisters to drown, I left Caspian
—"

"Was it you who did those thing?"

Netya paused, then shook her head. "It was my wolf. What does it matter? She is me and I am her. It makes no difference which one of us is at fault."

"I do not believe your wolf is a coward either," Adel said. "She was born of you, like a child to a mother. Any child of yours would be raised to have the same strength I have seen in your own heart."

"I do not know how. I have tried, but my wolf is so different. I cannot tame her or teach her like the rest of you can, and ever since the flood I am afraid to so much as wear her fur!"

Adel took a deep breath, holding her apprentice gently for a moment before responding. "One day your wolf charges you into danger to try and save the lives of strangers, the next she abandons her sisters at the first sign of trouble. She values her life too little, and then too much. She is a child, my girl. Confused and impulsive, and perhaps there is nothing that will mature her but time itself."

"Then what am I to do? I cannot bear to feel like this."

Adel picked up Netya's spear from where it lay beside her, and pressed the weapon into her apprentice's hands. "Perhaps it is best for you to hunt with this instead of your teeth and claws. Our wolves grow and mature within us for many years before they finally emerge, but yours has been thrust upon you, like a moth splitting its cocoon too early. Keep her subdued beneath your skin. I will not ask you to practise mastering your animal again until you feel ready."

"What if she comes of her own accord?"

"Then try to keep her under control. Perhaps by preventing her from taking hold she will learn the restraint she needs. I cannot pretend to know the troubles of your own mind, but this is my advice. I still believed you to be a fine young woman before you were one of the Moon People. You do not need a wolf to belong to my pack."

As frightened as she still was, the prospect of hunting without the aid of her wolf filled Netya with relief. She felt the teeth of her animal nipping impatiently at the back of her neck, but it was a feeling she could endure. It was better than revisiting her panic, and the guilt of having run while the others faced the flood without her.

"Thank you, Den Mother." She put her arms around Adel's neck and buried her face in her shoulder. For a brief moment, it almost felt like being held by another woman who had once offered her comfort.

Netya's dreams continued, and many mornings she awoke breathless and fearful. Sometimes she felt the panic returning even when she was awake, clawing at her throat and squeezing at her chest until she had to stop and be soothed for several minutes before it went away. It could be triggered by slipping into a drift of heavy snow, or by something as simple as swallowing a cup of water too quickly. It hung over her like a dark spirit, harrowing the young woman night and day.

By the grace of Adel's advice and the understanding of her friends, she coped. She did not take the form of her wolf again that season, and to her surprise the beast remained mercifully dormant. Perhaps she, too, was afraid of letting her fears come to the forefront, content instead to curl up and hibernate until they faded away.

It was more difficult to hunt without the aid of her wolf. She did not have the senses to track prey properly, and her spear was still an inelegant tool that she had yet to master. Fishing suited her better, though being so close to the icy water made her nervous.

The snows came down upon the forest in thick drifts, carpeting the roof of the shelter until it was half-buried, and every few days a new path had to be excavated around the entrance. When it became too cold to hunt regularly, the pack retreated back inside and huddled together around the fire, rationing out the dried meat and fish they had managed to collect while drinking from cups of melted snow.

It was impossible to find comfort, even close to the fire. Invisible tendrils of cold air crept into the shelter all day long, the freezing drafts dispelling their fantasies of warmth within moments of them manifesting. The days became darker, the world grew colder, and the pace of the pack slowed until they could do little but sit huddled together for hours on end, trying their best to sleep or tell stories that might rekindle their spirits.

All winter long Netya's life became a numb routine of dozing, staring at the fire, mumbling forgettable words to Caspian, and trying to ignore the ache of her empty stomach. She climbed the ridge to try and fish a few times, but it was rare she caught anything, and soon the trembling of her body and the bite of the cold forced her back to the others.

It was surviving, but it was not truly living, and day by day Netya felt a little more of the pack's strength slipping away. If the winter did not end soon, they would die. The meagre amount of hunting they could manage was not enough to replenish their supplies faster than they ate through them, even with Adel's stringent rationing.

Dark dreams visited Netya as the weeks went by, visions of waking to find the skinny bodies of her pack-sisters frozen in their sleep, leaving her alone and abandoned in a miserable land of ice and snow.

The thought of being one of the few who might survive was almost worse than the prospect of dying herself. How would they be able to go on with their spirits so broken, their meagre strength so diminished? She tried not to think about it. All she could do was face the cold day by day, clinging to the hope that soon the clouds would part and the sun would emerge from its long slumber.

"The moon hides her face, too," Caspian whispered to her as they huddled together amidst the sleeping bodies of their companions. Netya thought it was evening, or dawn, but the light outside was so dim she could not tell.

"What is the moon?" she said, staring up at the logs crisscrossing overhead. "My people told the story that it was a star. The greatest star, who gave birth to all the others."

"We say the moon is Syr, the mother of wolves. She who gave birth to the first of our people, and who blesses them with her light when the children of the sun are driven to sleep by the darkness. She knew her daughters were fewer than the Sun People, forced to hide in the night while their enemies claimed the day. So she made the night their refuge, and she gifted them with her light when all other lights were gone."

"Why then does she hide her face some nights? The sun shines bright every day, but the moon comes and goes."

"She the weaker of the two. Syr the wolf is the sister, and Ner is the brother. He is the horse spirit of the sun, the shaman, warrior, hunter, and father of the day. His sons were the first of your people."

"Syr does not sound nearly so grand."

"Perhaps not," he said, "but she is powerful also. She is the seer, the trickster, the mother of the spirit world. It is from her gifts that women like you and Adel draw your power."

"Are the sun and moon spirits enemies, like their children?"

"Who can say." Caspian shrugged. "They are brother and sister, lovers, rivals. They fight for control of the sky, but when winter comes they diminish together. Ner may be stronger, but Syr is just as much a part of the world as he is. They were here before any of us, and they will remain long after we are gone."

Netya remained awake for a long while afterwards, still staring at the roof once Caspian began to doze. She tried to imagine the moon spirit Syr looking down on her. The wolf among the stars. Was she still watching over this struggling band of her wayward daughters? Or had winter hidden them from her sight completely?

—7—

Finding the Way

Netya's troubled spirit made winter a difficult time for Caspian. He was both afraid to leave her alone and desperate to go out hunting for her. Perhaps with a few more meals inside her, or another warm fur to wrap her body, she might not seem so fragile when she awoke in the early hours of the morning, shivering and clawing at him, eyes wide and breath shrill in the wake of her nightmares.

Capsian had never been mated before, not had he been with any one woman long enough to fall into the routines that seemed to come naturally to men like Rokan and Hari. He was used to the simple, satisfying pleasures of taking a girl to his bed every few months when the need took him, sharing an intense and fulfilling experience with her, and then allowing the feelings to subside in favour of friendship. Netya was the first person to have kept those feelings alive in him for so long, and it was as taxing as it was wonderful. Now that he had someone to care for so fiercely, he could not sit back and endure the winter without worrying over her.

When the weather was at its coldest, he told her to stay inside, refusing her offers to go out fishing or hunting with him. He made sure he was curled up close to her every night when they slept, ready to hold her when she awoke from her troubled dreams. The driving focus of his winter became to tend to his female, blotting out all other concerns until she was the only thing he could think of. His body was weak from hunger, but the wolf within him kept him strong, standing up proud and content in the knowledge that he was dedicating himself to the duties of a male.

He lost count of the weeks as they passed by. At first he had made marks on one of the logs supporting the roof of the shelter, one for each day after the snow began in earnest, but morning and night became a blur in the hours he dozed, and the tally soon lost its meaning. The winter seemed endless, and he felt hunger slowly thinning his muscles as the long cold sapped the pack's collective spirit week after week.

"Hunt for yourself," Adel told him as she brewed a bitter tea of strange plant leaves that held no flavour or medicinal properties. She brewed anything she could find these days, trying to seek out uses for the plants of this land, but mostly just to occupy her mind as she fought off the malaise that had afflicted the rest of her pack.

"I can make do without," he replied huskily, trying not to think of the taste of food.

"Who will bring us back scraps when you are too weak to rise from your furs?" The den mother gave him a cold look. "There is a reason hunters feed their strongest first."