by Claudia King
Without a word, she threw herself into his arms, all but sobbing as the drape fell closed behind them.
"I knew you still lived," he gasped, crushing the breath from her lungs as he squeezed her fiercely. It startled Netya to hear him speaking in the language of the Sun People, with a cadence of voice that now sounded strange to her ears. Rearranging her thoughts to adjust back to her own tongue took Netya a moment, and in the meantime Layon let go of her and took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I barely recognised you," he said. "What happened that night? Where have you been?" Layon's eyes flicked in the direction of another set of drapes to his right, the ones Netya knew cordoned off the sleeping area of his house from the living space. He was speaking in hushed tones, and, while she was thankful for his discretion, he could not have known that she was here in secret.
Glancing through the gap in the drapes, Netya saw a dark-haired woman sleeping on a broad bedroll that was large enough for two. Layon's space was empty beside her, and one of her hands was cupped around her swollen stomach. By the look of her, she had been with child for some months.
"It was difficult for all of us after the night you disappeared," Layon said, an almost apologetic note in his voice. "Derith was very kind to me during that time."
A strange sensation wormed its way through Netya's body. She recognised Derith now, but even without her enlarged stomach, she seemed somehow different. It was not a pang of jealousy Netya felt. Jealousy, perhaps, would have been better. Instead, a heavy sadness settled upon her. How much else had changed in her absence? How much had she missed? Having never spent so long away from home before, she had simply expected everything to be much the same when she returned. But life had continued on without her. Had she waited too long?
"What ever happened to you?" Layon whispered, tugging the drapes closed. "Did you escape the Moon People?"
Struggling to piece her weary, scattered thoughts back together, Netya shook her head. "I am sorry, Layon, but I cannot stay and tell you everything. I must be gone again by morning. Just know that I have been well, and living among good people who have cared for me."
"Gone? Why? What has happened? Oh, Netya, you must tell me!"
"I cannot! Listen, someone I care for is close to death. I risked much to come here, because I know our people have medicine that can help her. Will you get it for me?"
She could not help but feel for poor Layon as he looked at her in bewilderment.
"You cannot stay?" he said after a brief pause.
"I will come back to see you again soon, I promise. I will see all of you again. But please, right now every moment is important. Do you still help Seymon with his herbs?"
"Yes. He is barely able to organise them himself these days."
Netya let out a relieved breath. "I need the medicine that purges the poison of the nightwood berries. I mean —" She shook her head, searching for the name her people used. She realised she must have heard it fewer times than the Moon People's version. "The bitterthorn berries. Do you know the one?"
Layon gave her a hesitant nod. She took his hands and clutched them to her chest, hoping he understood the desperate pounding of her heart for what it was. "Please Layon. It must be fast, and I cannot stay. No one must know I was here until after I am gone. They would only try to stop me from leaving."
"If I find what you need," he said falteringly. "You must at least tell your mother. She believes you are dead."
Netya shook her head. "There will be no time—!"
"You do not know what it has been like for her, Netya!" Layon exclaimed, jerking his head suddenly in the direction of the sleeping area as Derith murmured, before lowering his voice again. "I will do as you say, because you are my friend. I will not ask you of the things I long to know. But in return, you must put that poor woman's heart to rest. At least speak to her before you leave."
There was no response Netya could think of to argue with. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"The seeds you need are almost as dangerous as the bitterthorn berries themselves. I will have to wake Seymon to find them, and think of some lie to explain why I have disturbed him in the middle of the night. It may take some time. Go to your mother while I am gone. I will meet you behind your house, near the bank." His expression softened a little. "You remember, our old place?"
"I could not forget in just a year," Netya said, refusing to give in to more tears. She suspected they would come of their own accord soon enough, whether she fought them or not.
"It feels like you have been gone so much longer." Layon squeezed her hands, then lifted up her headdress so that he could look into her eyes. She need not have hurried him along. After taking in the sight of her for only a brief moment, he lifted his cloak from where it lay crumpled on the ground, and hurried out into the darkness.
Her wolf pelt was more than enough to ward off the mild chill of the summer nights, but before Netya left she pulled back her headdress and wrapped another of Layon's spare cloaks around her shoulders. Nobody would think anything of a girl wrapped in a plain cloak. Creeping silently out of the house, she caught sight of Layon disappearing around the side of the great hall, a large wooden lodge from which her uncle and some of the other elders organised the business of the village. How different it was from the alpha's den.
The handful of outside sleepers had still not stirred, but Netya stuck to the shadows near the houses all the same. She hurried back in the direction she had come, not knowing what she was about to do, but unable to break her promise to Layon. She owed him this much. She owed all of them.
Running her hand down her breast, she felt the wooden pendant hanging in its place. The weight of the beads in her hair had become so familiar she barely even noticed them any more. Even in the dim light of the village fires, she could see the way the skin on the back of her hand had darkened from weeks spent out under the sun, studying plants with Adel or wandering with Fern.
Had she been gone too long? She felt almost like a different person entirely compared to the girl who had lived here a year ago. Even the thought of going to sleep on a straw-padded cot behind walls of timber seemed strange to her.
When she reached her mother's house, she did not pause to knock. She had never knocked before. Out of habit, more than anything, she tugged the doorway drape aside and ducked beneath it without thinking. The comforting smell of leather and woodsmoke and oil assailed her senses, and her moccasins scuffed against the old, near worn-through hide that covered the floor. To the left and right, wooden walls and more drapes separated off the storage and sleeping areas.
Directly ahead of her, a woman with strands of grey in her thick black hair sat beside the glowing hearth. She had dozed off again while darning a pair of leather leggings for one of the hunters. A smile came unbidden to Netya's lips, and she stood there in the darkness for several moments, watching her mother sleep. She remembered fantasising for months about what it would be like to finally get away from this woman and her house. Now that she saw her again, Netya wanted nothing more than to stay.
"Mother," she called gently, trying not to wake the girls she could hear sleeping behind the curtain to her right. She wanted to see her sisters too, but there would be no time to explain anything to them.
Her mother snorted and blinked herself awake, hands tightening around her darning needle as she squinted in the direction of the doorway.
"Mother, it's me," she said again, taking a step forward.
"Who are you?" the older woman replied, drawing back. There was a sharp, accusatory look in her eyes, and Netya found herself hesitating.
"It is me, Netya. Do you not recognise me?"
Her mother shook her head slowly. "My eldest daughter is dead. I do not know who you are."
"Look on my face," Netya said, stepping forward so that the firelight fell upon her features. She crouched down beside her mother. "I am not dead, though it pains me more than anything to have let you think so." She could not
let go of her smile, and the tears she had held back for Layon were fast approaching. "Do you see now?"
The look of confusion on her mother's face only made Netya want to throw her arms around her more, but she knew the reserved woman was not one for such outbursts. Netya's mother took her daughter's hands, then ran her fingers up her arms, across the thick wolf fur she wore, touching her braid of beads, her necklace, the contours of her face. But her look of confusion remained, and Netya's happiness became tinged with desperation.
"It is me, Mother," she pleaded. "I came back to tell you I was happy and well. I must go soon, but I will return again, and we will talk of all the things that have happened since I left."
Her mother blinked, and shook her head. "You wear my daughter's face, but you are not her. Your voice is strange to me. These clothes, these trinkets, they are not ours. And those eyes you look on me with are not the eyes of my Netya."
"I have changed much, but I am still me!" Netya clutched her mother's hand. "I love you and my sisters as I always have. When I return, I will prove it to you!"
The look of confusion faded from her mother's face, giving way to anger. "You will stay away from us. They changed you, didn't they? They put their curse into your body and let it eat away at my daughter until only one of their monsters remained." She noticed the spear slung across Netya's back, and her glare turned furious. "The man who wielded that weapon would sooner have driven it through your heart than see you become one of them."
"I am not one of them! The Moon People are not the monsters you think, they are like us, if you knew them you would see!"
Her mother pushed her away, clutching her long bone needle and rising to her feet. "Leave my house! Scurry back into the darkness that birthed you. My daughter is dead, and you, beast—you and all your kind are the ones that killed her! How much more must you take from me?!"
Netya backed away, tears of joy turning to those of despair as they rolled down her cheeks. She had been gone too long. Whatever her mother now believed had been easier for her than clinging on to hope. She could not see her daughter standing before her, only the shell the Moon People had left behind.
A grief greater than any Netya had ever known washed over her, breaking a piece of her heart away and carrying it into the darkness as she struggled in vain to hold on. The pack, Adel, the medicine—they no longer seemed important. The dream that she might one day return to the life she had known was gone, dashed in an instant like ice against the rocks. She had left, but life had moved on. She had changed, and so had the village. It was her home no longer.
Unable to let go, she struggled to her knees, sobbing out her words like a broken child. "But— but I love y—"
"Leave!" her mother screamed, jabbing the needle toward her. "Leave! Leave my house!"
The words pierced Netya's chest like a knife, leaving the space inside her numb. Only the realisation that her mother's shriek must have awakened half the village forced her to move. She did not want to move. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry, and wait for her mother to realise that she was still her daughter.
Scurrying for the door on deadened feet, she caught a flash of her youngest sister's face staring out at her from behind one of the curtains. She did not even have time to commit it to memory before she had ducked out beneath the drape, leaving her mother's house for the last time.
Layon's cloak had fallen from her shoulders somewhere between the house and the bank. She pulled her headdress back up, clutching the wolf pelt close around her as she huddled in the darkness, barely able to stifle her sobs.
She could hear them. Her mother, her uncle, the voices of a dozen men and women she had once called her own. They were looking for her. The lights of their torches flickered between the dwellings as they walked back and forth. The hafts of spears clacked together as someone passed out weapons. They were searching for one of the Moon People. For a new skull to add to their wall. When they found her, she did not know whether she would be able to muster the strength to run. Was there any point, any more?
A branch cracked close by, and she buried her head deeper in her arms, not wanting to look. A moment later strong arms were dragging her up, shaking her by the shoulders, and she was looking into Layon's eyes.
"You have to go," he hissed. "I do not care if you are one of the Moon People as they say. You will always be Netya to me. Run back to your own kind, but you must go now!"
"Why?" she wept. "My mother... My mother..."
Layon shook her again, then pressed a small woolen bag into her palm. "You cared enough for someone to risk yourself for this medicine. Take it, and return to whatever life you have. Never think back on this place again."
She realised that her friend was almost on the verge of tears too. She curled her fingers around the bag, feeling the small seeds inside. Adel was still waiting for her.
"I will think back on you, Layon," she whispered, clinging on to him tight. "Make sure my mother is happy for me. Be a good father to your child."
He answered her with a kiss. His warm lips pressed against hers, bringing back all the memories of their night together by the wall. Her first kiss. She remembered the warmth, the happiness, and the touch of other kisses, too. Even if it was only a flicker, it was enough to drive the numbness from Netya's legs.
Without another word, she pulled away, turned, and ran. Somewhere behind her, a voice called out to Layon, but he did not reply. She did not need to look back to know he was watching her go. In her visions, she would always look for him.
She was panting by the time she reached the top of the slope, her aching eyes struggling to keep focus as the first light of dawn crept through the forest leaves. There was little left in Netya, neither physically nor emotionally, but she kept on going until she approached the spot where Vaya had left her. Realising that she still had the pouch of seeds clutched tight in her palm, she stuffed it into her clothing and secured it safely within the small bag she kept tied inside. If Adel could fight the poison for just a few hours longer, she might yet be saved.
What would come after that? Netya did not know. The comforting presence in the back of her mind was gone. All of the things that had brought her hope and joy that very morning had become dull and grey. Something kept her going, and perhaps it would need to continue doing so for many days to come. Perhaps it was the same dull drive that had pushed Adel forward, when all else in her life had been taken from her.
She could hear the sounds of the villagers drawing closer again, but it would not matter once she had Vaya's legs to speed her away. The short walk through the trees felt like the longest in Netya's life, and the angry voices of the people she had once loved hounded her all the way. By the time she reached Vaya's hiding spot, she could barely stand.
The spot was empty. Two lines of wolf tracks stood out in the soft earth, one coming from the plains, and one leading straight back toward them. Vaya had abandoned her.
The realisation almost brought a hysterical laugh from Netya's lips. It all settled into place in an instant, with a cold clarity that she had been blind to in her haste to save Adel. Without medicine, the den mother would die. Without Vaya's help, Netya could not make the journey back across the plains.
The pack would believe the Sun girl had poisoned Adel, then fled back to her people before anyone could catch her. Vaya could even tell whatever tale she wanted about how she had tracked Netya for hours before losing her in the wilderness.
Perhaps her friends would question it, but they would never know for sure. The evidence would speak for itself. Even if she somehow found her way back now, Adel would still die. She would never again be one of them.
Her last light of hope blinked out, and she knew she was truly alone. A monster to the people who raised her, a murderer to those who had taken her in. Vaya had tricked her, and in one terrible night she had lost everything.
Netya felt for the pendant around her neck, rubbing the smooth wood between trembling fingers, and fell to her knees.
<
br /> The voices in the distance grew louder.
—37—
Adel
Death greeted her with a smile, like a patient mother spreading her arms to welcome a wayward daughter home. There had been some days, long ago now, when she would almost have greeted it gladly. But not any more. The girl who had wallowed in such self-pity was a vague memory, just another one of the phantom spirits tugging at her as she drifted deeper into the sea of death, feeling the bony fingers of her ancestors plucking at her, inviting her down into the darkness, where the pain would end and her soul could finally be free.
She did not want to be free. There was too much for her to do still. What was it? What had she left behind? Adel could not remember. Had there been a girl somewhere? Or was she only remembering another shade of herself? And there was someone she hated. Hated with a passion like no other.
The blaze of anger that sprang to life in her chest buoyed her up, quieting the voices of the dead for a moment as she clawed her way through the murky depths. There was a light somewhere nearby. It shone through the fog of her dying mind like sunlight through a tent wall. Where was she? Had she been here before?
Somewhere nearby voices murmured. They sounded familiar, but she could put no faces to them. Her memories were like shadows on water, abstract and forever in motion. Some carried strong feelings along with them. Fear, hatred, panic. Things she would rather forget. One even reminded her of love. The dark figure within almost took shape before her eyes, but she pushed it away before she could be reminded of such bittersweet happiness. It would only hurt her more to remember.
Adel tossed and turned, seeing the light appear, then disappear. Sometimes the shapes around her seemed to be people, but more often than not they felt like ghosts. She was slipping deeper. How had she come to this place? It did not matter any more. This was the land of the dead, and she was trapped here now. Perhaps if she allowed herself to be claimed by the whispering depths, the phantoms would finally fall silent.