Sisters of Syr (The Moon People, Book Four)

by Claudia King

  “Do you envy me for it?”

  “Envy is the pursuit of children stumbling after their elders.”

  “But do you?” Another step closer.

  Adel turned away slightly. The wind caressed lines into her pale face. “Who would not envy the flower that never wilts.”

  “Any happiness you think I have is still something you can share too,” Netya said softly. “You are loved. You need only reach out for it. Do not be this dark sorceress you have made of yourself.”

  “I am who I am. The path that led me here is too well-trodden now.”

  “It is in the past.”

  “No, it is not!” Adel exclaimed, pointing out to the dark horizon. “This world is still the same world I was born in! Our people have not changed. The alphas speak through death and bloodshed, and all who follow them think it is their destiny to throw their lives away for nothing! There will always be men like Miral, like my—” She faltered momentarily. “Till my dying day, I will be better than them. If that means I must remain this den mother you hate, then so be it.”

  Netya could sense the anger searing the air around her mentor, burning away her sorrow with every heated breath. Where did that anger come from? Did Adel even know herself? Or did she choose not to see, for fear of gazing upon something that blinded her?

  “Men like Miral,” Netya said. “Do you mean men like your father?”

  For an instant Adel seemed to diminish. Her hands withdrew ever so slightly into the sleeves of her gown. One of her moccasins shifted roughly in the snow. It was little more than a twitching of motion. Then the anger reclaimed her, overwhelming her hesitation.

  “Of course like my father! If ever an alpha ruined a people, it was him. But you know all this, I am sure.” Adel curled her lip. “You have heard the stories.”

  “Only pieces.”

  “Then let me tell you, girl. You lived for but a few days as Miral's captive. Imagine a lifetime trapped by a man like that, your voice silenced by his fists, all your wisdom falling past deaf ears, every attempt rebuffed again and again while those around you suffered. Not for any wisdom, but for pride.” She shook her head in disgust. “My father saw his chance at greatness, and he held on to it so tight he crushed his own pack with his ambition.”

  Hearing the spite in her mentor's voice, the deep, heart-wrenching malice, was almost unbearable. Anger had always been a shell for Adel. A barrier to put between herself and the people around her. Protection for a woman that Netya knew still nurtured a loving, caring soul. Yet now it was no longer a barrier, it was her everything. A layer of ice that had thickened until it suffocated the very heart it had once protected. Netya felt tears beading in her eyes. How could such hatred lead their pack? She feared her own words, but she knew now that they needed to be said.

  “Your father sounds very much like you.”

  Another tiny hesitation, quickly smothered by Adel's anger. “How dare you compare me to that man.”

  Netya's voice shook, sounding weak and brittle to her own ears, yet something forced the words through the knot in her throat. “He used tooth and claw to keep order, you use tricks and poisons, but I still see a leader who hears no one's voice but her own.”

  “I never sent my people to die for my pride!”

  “No, you'd only exile them, torment them, fill their dreams with demons. And now you'd take away the very traditions that make Orec's pack who they are.”

  “Would you rather I let them slake their thirst on each other's blood? You saw where this led Khelt's pack! Can you not remember how many of your own kin died by his hand?” Adel spoke firm, but her hands had begun to tremble. The tension in her face betrayed the same emotion that threatened to steal away Netya's voice. She could not be argued with. Netya did not have the answers nor the quick wits to convince her that her actions were seeding problems in Orec's pack that went beyond a few violent challenges. Yet she had opened a crack in the den mother's composure. The ice was splitting, fracturing loose in slivers of emotion. What would Netya find if she broke through?

  “Perhaps it is not the kind of leadership that matters,” she said, “but the heart behind it.”

  “Romantic foolishness,” Adel spat. “A leader cannot always be your friend!” The two women had drawn within arm's reach of one another.

  “I do not think you would say that if... if Jarek was still with you.”

  Adel's eyes widened. Her hands crossed protectively across her front, fingers curled into her palms. “Be quiet.”

  “Did your father kill him?”

  “You don't speak of these things!” Adel screeched, her voice shrill and cutting. Netya felt her legs trying to pull back, to retreat from the den mother's fury. She pushed against them, leaning forward into the wind.

  “Does he still live? Is that why you will not let yourself be with Orec?”

  Adel's sharp fingers dug into Netya's cheeks as she lunged forward, gripping her apprentice's face in both hands. She twisted Netya's neck back with painful force. Their eyes met, the rasp of Adel's tearful breath making steam of the air between them.

  “No one saw him die.” The den mother's voice sounded an inch away from breaking. “Jarek was no fool. He'd not have let my brother kill him.”

  Netya tried to shake her head, gripping her mentor's wrists desperately. “Then where—”

  “Where is he?!” Tears spilled down Adel's cheeks. “I ask the spirits, and never do they answer! I hope. I wait. I know he must still live. When I am trapped by all around me, I still think of him, and I tell myself he is alive. I see you. I see your love. I remember when I felt it, and I hope once again.

  “We leave Khelt's pack, and my hope grows. Still a year, maybe two, but I know he will hear of our new clan eventually. He will know there is nothing keeping us apart any longer. He will come one day.” Tight needles of pain pierced Netya's skin as Adel's fingernails dug in harder. The den mother shook her head, weeping openly. “But three years? Four? And then in my dreams I wish I had seen him die!” She heaved a breath, deep and wet with anguish. “At least then I would know. What if he lives, girl?! Five, six years, still he has not come. And my heart tells me he is dead. Then I ask what if he is not? Then—” She choked on her sobs. “Then I know his love for me is no more! Not even enough to send word. To let me know!” Blood trickled down Netya's jaw. Snow crumpled as both women fell to their knees, bound together by Adel's harrowing grip. “One more year, I think. How can I not? Always one more year. How weak it makes me. How helpless. Look, Netya, at what I am, and what I cannot be.”

  Netya saw. As her mentor's hope had faded, her resolve had grown stronger. It was no longer just the shell that protected her from the world, but the frame that held her upright, like the skeleton of a burnt-out tent. Adel had carried this pain with her all her life, never letting go, only using it to strengthen her. But all the resolve in the world could not rekindle the kind spirit that had once wielded that strength. Even the fox pelt headdress her mentor wore, so old and bare now, had never been replaced in favour of a new totem. She still wore the same gown, painted her eyes with the same charcoal. What Adel feared was no mortal threat, it was letting go of the past that had shaped her.

  Reaching up, Netya slid the fox pelt back from her mentor's scalp. Adel's pain took on a thread of confusion, then horror as she recognised the blood on Netya's skin. As if releasing a hot coal, she jerked away with a cry. Slumping over in the snow, the den mother stared at the blood running down her shaking fingers.

  “Have I hurt you, Netya?” Her voice was so small it almost seemed that of a child. And Netya knew, without asking, that Adel's you referred to more than just her.

  “No.” Netya swept forward, taking her friend in her arms. Adel buried her face in her shoulder, trembling with every deep, sobbing breath.

  “I don't know—I don't know how else to be.”

  “Let go,” Netya whispered to her. “Like I let go of my people. My white wolf. My pendant. I couldn't keep holding o
n to those things when they brought me only pain.”

  “But what if he is...”

  “We can't keep searching for something we know is lost.”

  Netya held Adel as she wept, oblivious to the cold. Her throat, hot and swollen with emotion, gasped chill breaths from the night air.

  “I had hope before,” Adel said after a while. “Without Jarek, there was still my sister. Sweet Uriel. I always looked to her... but it has been so long now. I can barely even remember her face.”

  “We let go so that we can find hope anew. There is so much hope here in our pack. It can be yours again, I know it.” With a gentle hand she stroked back her friend's hair, turned, and kissed her softly on the cheek. “I love you.”

  Adel said nothing. Perhaps she could not. But she hugged Netya tighter, and in that grip Netya felt more than just fear or desperation. She felt a longing. The wish to be the person Netya wanted her to be.

  Eventually Adel withdrew, touching her apprentice's face gently where she had scratched her.

  “I was wrong,” she whispered. “You would make a fine den mother. Not like me, but strong in another way. Strong for the sons and daughters of your clan.” A bittersweet smile broke through her tears. “You will make a fine mentor for Kiren, too.”

  Netya took her hand, echoing Adel's smile in the hopes that it would stay. It was there and gone in a moment, though, lost again to the den mother's inner strife. Perhaps sadness was what she needed right now. It spilt loose like the lakewater pouring down the ice-slick cliffs, free from the anger that had contained it.

  “She means to leave at dawn,” Netya said, easing Adel's hand away. “May I tell her she is allowed to stay?”

  “Yes.” Adel squeezed her hand tighter. “Just... stay with me a while first.”

  With a nod of understanding, Netya moved to her friend's side and put her arms around her. There was still time before dawn. As the stars spun overhead the two women sat together in each other's arms, their embrace saying more than any weary words could.

  —28—

  Sisters of Syr

  Kiren enjoyed watching dawn rise over the horizon with her mentor. It was a time of day she had often ignored in the past, but now she lamented losing it to the onset of summer. The mentor's hollow was long forgotten. All of her lessons now were taught out on the valleyside, with Netya leading them on a new hike every morning. When they finished exploring the valley they moved out into the forests beyond. Herbs and flowers, seeds and roots, they were all hers to discover in the wild now. Netya chuckled at her apprentice's attempts to pick the stinging or thorny ones, letting her try her own approach first before stepping in with advice.

  “Think of it like a hunt,” Netya had said. “This prey will not run away from you, but it will turn itself useless if you pick it the wrong way. Watch and think. Decide where to approach from and which leaves to take. Let the plant relinquish its hunter's prize to you without damaging it for the next seer.”

  Kiren knew it was not truly the same, yet the comparison helped turn a tedious task into a studious one. There were ways to prove oneself at this. Wounds to take and lessons to learn. She could tell that this would never thrill her in the same way hunting would, but for a few years... yes, for a few years she might be able to take some pleasure in this herbal witchcraft. There were still visions and poisons to learn, after all. She would need her own spirit guide one day, and she was determined it be a beast she had hunted herself. She spoke of it to Kin and Orec, and they both agreed that she would be welcome to compete with them during one of the great hunts.

  Apprentices were not allowed to hunt, her uptight rival Sephonie had objected, but the sneer had been wiped from her face when Netya cooly observed that this was because most apprentices merely lacked the prowess to hunt alongside Orec's warriors.

  The daily routine was still strict, but so long as Kiren dedicated herself to her learning Netya was happy to turn her free every fifth day at noon, giving her time to visit her friends in Orec's pack and mingle with the other seers. She had seen little of Adel since winter, and to that Kiren could not object. Wherever the den mother was, she was not imposing her will upon the rest of the pack any more, and seers and warriors alike seemed much happier for it. Even Pera and Kale found themselves able to wander into the valley more freely, though the elder seers still shooed them off with dire threats if ever they approached the den. Netya tried to be similarly strict, but unless she had a particularly important lesson to teach Kiren she often allowed the boys to tag along on their walks together. Most of the seers' secret knowledge seemed to fly past their heads anyway, and they would sooner make songs and jokes about the plants they found than study them.

  In the time Kiren had to reflect, she thought back on everything that had happened since she arrived at this place. A long time had passed since she left home. Just a few more moons now and it would be a full year. Winter had been the hardest, and harder still after Vaya left. The scarcity of food had made for many hungry evenings, but somehow the pack had managed. It was with a bittersweet happiness that Kiren remembered her friend's departure. Happy that Vaya seemed to have finally pushed past her crippling pride, sad that her last reminder of home was now gone.

  The huntress would have made it back to Octavia's den by now. Though she was not yet a seer, Kiren fancied she could glimpse Vaya's safe return in her dreams. Her and Claw. The little pup would be close to fully grown. The thought of it made her smile, wondering what her mother would make of a wild beast being brought into the den. Any objections she might have had would seem petty once Vaya recounted the tale of all that had transpired since their departure. Delivering Kiren safely through battle and captivity by the Sun People, staying to protect her for near two seasons, forsaking her own honour, slaying a mighty bear—all tales of a true heroine. If that did not win Vaya status as first among the huntresses, nothing would. Perhaps she might even supplant Mother Lyre as Octavia's closest confidant.

  With some degree of sadness, Kiren reflected that her pack would be very different by the time she returned. If she returned. Without using so many words, Netya had made it clear that all apprentices were welcome to stay with Adel's clan indefinitely. Many of them, it seemed, chose to do exactly that.

  Kiren did not know what she wanted any more. Her mother's respect? Respect was a thing she had come to see in a very different light during her travels with Vaya. It seemed more and more distant by the day. And the swamp was a gloomy and irritable place compared to the golden valley that greeted her every morning. Yet here was Adel, a woman Kiren knew she could never trust. If staying meant pledging her loyalty to the dark sorceress, she did not know whether any amount of golden sunrises could sway her.

  Independence or obedience. Friends or family. All of these conflicts troubled her when she thought about her future, something a younger Kiren would never have concerned herself with. There would be a difficult decision for her to make one day, but that day was still long in coming. Another lifetime in her future. For now she was content to learn from Netya, grow closer with her new friends, and gradually let go of the tension that had weighed so heavily upon her since she first arrived. It was like Netya said so often these days, “The past is an old tale. Something to learn from, not a burden to weigh you down.”

  Not all spirit-talkers were tricksters. There was good alongside the bad. She had never asked what Netya did that night to convince Adel to let her stay, but she was thankful for it. Breathless and with blood on her cheeks, her mentor had returned just before dawn with the good news. Had she fought Adel? Won a challenge with Kiren's future vested upon the outcome?

  That answer made sense to Kiren. The witch who had slain the great Alpha Miral would surely be a fearsome foe even for Adel, and she would not want to bring shame upon her den mother by bragging of such a victory openly. Adel's recent quietness also spoke of a woman shamed. Whether by magic or through the strength of her teeth and claws, Netya had defeated the den mother somehow and secured
Kiren's future as an apprentice.

  Perhaps that, more than anything, had made Kiren question her past assumptions. Netya had been born of the Sun People. She followed the heron, a majestic spirit, but not a powerful one. In conversation she often seemed meek, yet somehow she had accomplished feats greater than anything Kiren or Vaya had ever risen to.

  She was a good mentor. Strange, yet welcome.

  As Kiren lay back on the valleyside one evening, the sunset a falling ember on the horizon, she once again pondered what the future might hold for her. Warrior, huntress, or seer. All of those things, or maybe none. Whatever her calling, she was confident now that she would find it. Just like Vaya and Netya, her trials would guide her along the right path. Whether it took one year or a dozen, she would find her place in the end.

  * * *

  “Heron,” Netya whispered to her staff, “what do you see?” She lifted the skull-topped spear to the sky, imagining her eyes swept aloft upon invisible wings to gaze down on the valley around her. A smile lit her lips. She knew the spirits could confer no such power, but it was a subtler wisdom she sought. The spirits spoke quietly, with suggestion and murmur. Her intuition told her that Kiren had not gone far that evening. Adel, too, would be sitting atop her cave watching the sun go down. Those two were her greatest charges these days.

  Back in her birth village she would have been a mother by now, tending children and husband when they came home to her house. Here she had no house. The daughter once promised by the spirits was gone, perhaps never to return. Yet she had Kiren. She had Caspian, and she had Adel. Loved ones to tend and youngsters to guide. What was a mother if not a guardian to those she loved? She remembered her trepidation when Kiren had first arrived. Her fear of confronting Adel. Those had been the last worries of a child not yet ready to don the vestments of adulthood.

  “They're afraid of disturbing you.” Caspian's soft, husky voice warmed her ear. “A thoughtful seer like you must surely have business with the spirits when she walks out into the valley alone. The evening meal is ready.”