The Alpha's Concubine (Historical Shifter Romance) (26 page)

Netya set her legs a little farther apart, gripping the javelin as he instructed. Her pulse quickened as his chest brushed up against her back, and she tried not to become distracted from the advice he was giving. "Like this?"

"Almost. A spear is heavier than a javelin, especially near the tip if it is made with a proper head. Keep the tip up, and always between you and your prey. If they slip past it, you will be defenceless."

Netya recalled how Fern had darted past Layon's spear the night at the farmlands. She hoped she would never find herself in the same position, with nothing but a small flint point between her and a snarling wolf.

Caspian showed her a few simple ways in which to hold a spear and move with it, but despite her exhaustion his guidance still ended far earlier than she would have liked. Rather than taxing her aching muscles further, his touch relaxed and soothed her, and his hands seemed to move with the grace and fluidity of a wolf themselves. The brief touches he used to correct her posture were too satisfying to be over with so quickly.

"We must find you a proper spear to practice with," Caspian said as he gathered up the javelins. "There is still time for you to learn before the great hunt."

"Will you show me more tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

Caspian shook his head. "I am afraid Khelt needs me to check the borders of our territory with him. Other packs become inquisitive when there is fresh hunting to be done after winter, and we want to make sure they have not strayed beyond their boundaries."

Netya watched her companion leave after they reached the top of the outcrop, her wistful gaze lingering on his back as he disappeared up the slope that led to his own private dwelling. Every time they were together she felt something tugging at her deep inside, and yet it felt hopelessly futile when he turned away from her without a backwards glance. Perhaps nothing about her intrigued him in the way he intrigued her. They shared these brief moments, these glimpses of kindness and companionship, and then for weeks she would barely see him. She felt like a drifting spirit, occasionally catching his notice for a few curious moments, only to fade away back into her own invisible world, beyond his sight.

At least there was someone to stir her dreams when she slept, even if dreams were all she had. It was nice to dream.

Two days later Khelt called her to his den in the middle of the day, though it was not to perform her usual duties to him. He claimed he had a gift for her, and her mind raced with the possibilities as she crept down the dark passage to his den and stepped through the drapes. He had never offered her gifts before, and certainly nothing that warranted being given in private.

The alpha led her over to his table and picked up something that lay on the seat beside it, keeping his back turned for a moment before offering it to her.

"Caspian says you are learning the spear. One will need to be made for you, but perhaps this will serve as a good head."

Netya's eyes widened as he handed her the broken tip of her father's spear. She had last seen the decorated weapon in Khelt's hand the night he took it from Layon, but since then it had completely slipped her mind.

"You brought it with you," she said, running her fingers over the familiar flint tip as she accepted the gift.

"A trophy, perhaps, but I thought it might mean more to you than me. From the look of it, it belonged to a warrior of your people."

Netya nodded. "It was my father's."

"A great warrior, was he?"

"I do not know," she replied. "He fought your people, and took one of the trophies for our wall, but he was killed before I was old enough to remember much of him."

Khelt nodded, an expression of sombre respect on his face. "Then you will honour him by taking his weapon into the hunt."

"I am not sure I would want to honour a man who killed your people."

"Enemy or not, he stood up to protect his home and family. It sounds like he was a man who fought and died in battle, rather than fleeing in fear like the one we took this weapon from."

Netya frowned, taking her attention off the spearhead for a moment. "His name is Layon. He was my friend, and I am happy that he ran while he had the chance. You would have killed him if he stayed to fight."

"Maybe better to die protecting your people than to abandon them in a time of need. That may not be the way of women, but for men it is key to our honour."

"What would his honour have mattered if he died for nothing?" Netya said.

Khelt laughed, putting a hand on her shoulder as he guided her back out of the den. "You sound like Caspian. He thinks of these things in such ways too. No matter, the spear is yours; you may honour your father with it in whatever way you see fit."

As Netya cradled the broken spear in her hands it evoked mixed emotions from her. Part of it was sadness at having been away from her people for so long. Part was shame that she was the daughter of a man who had killed the people she now considered kin. But there was also reassurance, and a welcoming sense of pride. Her father had been a brave warrior, regardless of who his enemies were. Perhaps in wielding his spear, she could recapture the part of his bravery that lived on in her. Khelt's gift was the only real reminder she had of where she'd come from, and she resolved to treasure it. Though she felt she had left Netya of the Village behind her, she did not want to forget the person she had once been. One day, no matter how long it took, she would return to her people.

That very afternoon she sought out the pack's craftsmen. They were already busy making fresh javelins and tools for the great hunt, but the man in charge of keeping the birds, who she had helped last summer, was also a skilled flint knapper, and he was eager to make time for her. Netya watched anxiously as he retouched the edges of the spearhead, applying pressure with the tip of an antler until tiny flakes broke off. He worked his way carefully down each side of the piece of flint, leaving it slightly smaller and more uneven in places, but razor sharp once more. Netya thanked him profusely, offering to assist with the birds again any time he wanted, before taking her newly sharpened spear off to find a suitable shaft.

Her second task proved harder. Sturdy wood was difficult to come by for the pack with the open plains on one side of their camp and miles of bushes and undergrowth on the other. There were a few plentiful sources of scrub woodland nearby, but the quality of the timber from those was so poor that it was fit only for keeping their fires fed all year.

Still, Netya tracked down one craftsman who had a stack of long, sturdy poles he had cut the previous summer ready to be whittled into javelins. He dismissed her impatiently all afternoon, insisting that the weapons he had to make for the high hunters were more important than her spear. But she waited nearby as hunter after hunter came, and when the sun was going down the whittler finally looked to Netya with a frown, before tossing her one of the three poles left over in his pile.

Her new shaft matched the width of the broken end of her father's spear quite well, but it was far too long and heavy for her, designed for a man rather than a young woman. She found some tools of her own and cut the pole down, lining up her spearhead alongside it, before whittling out a groove for the broken end to sit in. Once the top section of the old spear was tucked firmly in against its new shaft, she tied the two together with a generous length of cord made from tough animal sinew, binding the pieces together over and over, and cutting a few tiny diagonal notches into the wood at intervals to hitch the cord in place so that it would not slip.

The light had almost faded completely by the time she finished putting the final touches on her new spear. The old section had a small wooden cross beneath the head, from which trailed the ragged remnants of some red-dyed wool. A similar pattern of crimson stripes had been daubed down the shaft, but had long since faded with age. The only wool the Moon People had was what they traded with the villagers in the north, so Netya settled for a collection of feathers to decorate the cross segment instead. The seers were gracious enough to gift her with a small pot of red berries, and she ground them down to their pigment before using it to stain the feathers and retouch the old pattern, continuing it down across the old shaft to the new.

Netya's spear was not elegant, nor as sturdy as if it had been made afresh, but it still resembled the weapon that had hung above her mother's hearth since she was a child. It was part of her father, and part of her. Even with the clumsy binding a third of the way down the shaft, and the uneven, mismatched joining of the wood, it still felt good in her hands. It would take practice for her to learn how to use it, and strength to be able to wield it properly, but, if nothing else, the weapon was hers.

She went to sleep proud that night. The great hunt loomed, and she was starting to feel like a hunter.

—
21—

The Hunt

It was not long before the scouts reported back with news of horses and deer in the north, and with a firm target set Khelt wasted no time in announcing his choice of hunt leader. It was to be a man named Hawk, a grizzled veteran with years of experience and a dozen scars that spoke testament to it. He was an unexciting choice, but a solid one. There would be no radical changes to the structure and status of the hunting packs with Hawk in charge this year, but everyone was confident that he would lead a tight and successful inaugural hunt.

Netya trained with her new spear every day, practicing the poise and posture Caspian had shown her in the mornings, before heading out to run in the afternoons. She carried her weapon with her always, allowing her body to become accustomed to its weight as her muscles grew gradually stronger. The others told her that her spear was crude and improperly balanced, with the awkward binding between the two segments of the shaft making it clumsy to use. Vaya and her hunters frequently laughed out loud when they saw her training with it, but Netya tried her best to ignore them. Her spear may have been clumsy to those who were used to more traditionally made weapons, but with no experience of her own she learned to work naturally with what she had.

"See how worthless that thing is?" Vaya said one day as Netya headed past the hunters down to the plains. "The head will pull loose of those bindings the moment she makes a kill with it."

"I am glad to hear you are confident in me making a kill," Netya responded courteously. "I did not think it likely, but the faith of a hunter with your skill means much, Vaya."

A series of raucous chuckles erupted from the other hunters as Netya hurried on past, trying to resist the smile that spread across her lips as Vaya fumed. The huntress was not quick with words, and before she could think of a rebuttal to save face Netya was out of earshot.

The pack departed two days later, leaving barely a third of its members behind on the outcrop. Khelt remained at home with a few others to watch over the young, the elderly, and those incapable of hunting like Erech. He claimed that he was still concerned about the possibility of rival packs sniffing around while the great hunt was in progress, but Netya secretly suspected that he was more worried about leaving Adel in charge. Caspian indirectly confirmed this for her later, commenting that he and Khelt often took it in turns to stay behind during the great hunt. He would not spell it out for her, but his knowing smile was hard to misinterpret.

Erech approached her before they left, limping down to the base of the outcrop with his crutch. Netya could tell it was difficult for him to stand before the entire pack, hobbled and stumbling, while many of the young hunters he had once competed with were already racing and tussling as their wolves.

"I cannot join the hunt this year, so you must make a kill in my place," he said, then took a pouch from beneath the crook of his arm and handed it to her. "I made these for you and had the seers bless them. They will lend you a keen eye and good fortune out on the plains."

Netya accepted the small hide bag and untied it. Within she found a string of rough wooden beads, the last of which had been intricately carved to resemble the skull of a bird. The talisman was decorated with feathers, the beads stained red and orange to match her spear.

"It is beautiful," she said, then smiled and embraced her friend. "Thank you, Erech. I cannot promise you a kill, but if fortune smiles on me I will make one in your name."

"Be careful," he said as they drew apart. "You do not have the speed and the senses of our wolves, but Fern does. Stay close to her, and listen to Hawk's instruction."

"I will. Remember to keep using your leg while we are away if you want to join us on the hunt next year."

Erech returned her smile, even if the prospect of him ever hunting again was a distant one. She wanted him to hold on to the hope, however slim.

Netya began braiding the talisman into her hair before they had even set off, and soon it was hanging proudly against her shoulder from a plaited lock. It had been a long time since she wore her hair in its old single plait, and with Erech's talisman to adorn it she doubted she would return to her more modest look. She liked to feel her hair catch in the wind, keeping it long and her braids small. Her body had grown stronger already, and once the summer came her skin would darken to the same tone as that of her pack mates. Even though she had no wolf living within her, she felt just as much a hunter as the men and women walking alongside her as they began their march into the north.