Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two) (19 page)

She let out a gasp of surprise as Caspian picked her up and braced her against his side, allowing her to cling to his shoulders for balance as she rested her foot in a step made by his interlocking hands. Despite their harrowing arrival, he and Fern both seemed in higher spirits now that they were among the boisterous companionship of the gathering, and it helped to lighten Netya's heart a little also. Clutching her man's broad shoulders, she craned her neck and peered out over the heads of those in front of her.

"You see her?" Caspian said. "The only living woman to have fought for a place alongside the alphas and succeeded."

If Adel's arrival had caused a stir, then the procession making its way through the crowd in front of them was almost ceremonial. Respectful silence and rampant curiosity fought among the onlookers as the group parted, clearing a space for the column of perhaps two dozen warriors that flanked their leader. It did not escape Netya's notice that each and every one of them was female, tall and tightly muscled, bearing spears tipped with animal claws so huge that Netya did not dare to imagine what kind of beast they must have come from. Each woman wore a long feather in her hair stained red with bright dye, and in the centre four harnessed wolves bore what could only be described as a throne made of straight, hollow wooden poles supported across their backs.

It was upon this throne that their leader sat, a woman so distinct that she rivalled even Adel's ability to strike awe into those around her. From the look of her she was slightly older than Netya's mentor, dressed from head to toe in red-stained leather, with a head of dark hair that had been swept back and twined into two tight braids that ran backward from her temples until they disappeared beneath a magnificent headdress that put the garb of any seer to shame. Not just one feather, but a vast crown of them sat atop the woman's head, plumed like the display of a majestic bird.

Netya stared at the woman in wonder, transfixed by her red feathers as she made her way toward the centre of the gathering. Trailing behind her throne, a handsome golden-haired man brought up the rear of the procession. He was so innocuous compared to the rest of them that Netya had not even noticed him at first.

"Who are they?" she said at last.

"If there is one pack Adel surely hopes to make an ally of at this gathering, it is theirs," Caspian said. "The woman leading them is named Octavia. Many years have passed since she forced the alphas to accept her as their equal, and since then she has gathered a pack of female warriors to her side while driving the men away."

"They say she killed the old alpha of her pack with the aid of his son," Fern said, the excitable note still in her voice. "The son is alpha now, but in name only. He and a few others are the only males Octavia allows within her clan, to continue giving them offspring. At most gatherings they arrive with one or two male children to send away to whichever packs will have them."

"And the others tolerate this?" Netya said. She could not quite believe that a female—a whole clan of females—could flaunt their roles and subjugate the authority of men against all tradition. It was simply not the way of the world.

"Octavia is strong enough to make the others wary of challenging her, but only barely," Caspian replied. "I have never seen the territory she calls home for myself, but it is said to lie beyond a barren and treacherous land of marshes that keeps her safe. If she ever threatened the other packs, or demonstrated that she had something worthy of taking, I fear their tolerance for her might come to an end."

"I think she is a great woman," Fern said wistfully. "And she will be a great ally to us, I am sure of it."

"I hope so," Netya replied, gazing after Octavia's procession until it halted near the central fires and the wolves prostrated themselves to allow their mistress down from her throne. If such strange things could come to be in the lands of the Moon People, perhaps there was hope for Adel's clan to carve out their own niche yet.

—13—

Old Friends

In many ways, being back among the gathering felt like a homecoming to Caspian. After spending so many months isolated from the companionship of a full pack, part of him was deeply content to hear the rumble of noise around him, to breathe in the smell of cooking meat on the air, and to hear the snarls of eager young wolves challenging one another for dominance. He had never thought he would miss such things, and why would he? All his life he had taken them for granted, finding himself longing, in fact, for the small moments of respite he could find away from them. But absence had made him realise that he needed this. He had pledged his heart to Netya, but her recent distance when they lay together in the evenings had shone a flickering light on the fact that his love for her could not be the only thing that defined the man he was. Had it been foolish, perhaps, to sacrifice so much for her?

No, he told himself, berating his own treacherous thoughts as he stripped twigs from a tree branch, preparing poles upon which to hang the single tent covering they had brought with them. As wise and confident as everyone believed him to be, Caspian possessed much less wisdom in the ways of love than he would have liked. He could please a female with the skill of a craftsman, make her feel euphoric pleasures and leave her warm and contented in his embrace at the end of a long night, but what did he know of being with a mate? Of caring and providing, day after day, season after season, sacrificing many of the things he cared about for the sake of his female?

No, his decision had not been foolish. But it had been trying. A greater challenge than he had ever faced, and one from which he now felt a much-needed respite. With any luck, by the time the gathering was over he would be sick of the company of males again, and he could return to dedicating himself to Netya as she deserved.

Adel had picked out a spot for them near the edge of the clearing, at the top of a grassy hillock with the trees at their back. It was too small for anyone else to have thought about setting up camp there, but for them it was perfect. The elevated spot made the others cautious to approach the clan of witches—as their fellow kin had now taken to calling them—and it commanded a position of authority that rivalled even that of the alphas who had set up their own small villages of tents and claimed the prestigious rocky dens on the opposite side of the great clearing.

Though the night was old and likely closer to sunrise than sunset, the gathering did not sleep. It rumbled on like a great bubbling spring of life, the weary slipping off to the edges to rest only to be replaced by more of their excitable brethren congregating in the centre, rekindling companionships with old friends and laying down warriors' challenges to old enemies. The scent of blood in the air was almost as strong as that of food, and howls of laughter fought with just as many snarls of aggression on that first night.

Caspian could tell Netya was unsettled by the conflicting atmosphere. It had been difficult for her to accept the way the Moon People resolved their disputes when she first came to them.

"Anyone who fights at a gathering is even safer than they would be among their own pack," he explained. "They do so before the eyes of a dozen rival clans. Each challenge is a test of honour, a chance of winning status. Even bitter rivals understand that the retribution for killing an opponent would come back on them a dozen times over. They would be disgraced and punished for it ruthlessly."

"So you say," Netya replied, stitching a piece of the tent together as she sat beside him, looking out over the clearing, "but wolves are not known for their good sense and restraint. I cannot believe there are none who let their anger get the better of them."

"That much is true," he sighed. "Some years are bloody, and rivalries burn too strong for reason to intervene. Thankfully we have no hot blooded young males of our own to worry over." He gave her a smile of reassurance. "Although, after your last challenge perhaps I should be more concerned about you starting trouble."

That coaxed a smile out of Netya, but he could tell she was still preoccupied. It was no small wonder, after everything they had gone through that night. He helped the others finish setting up Adel's tent, then took Netya into his arms and let her snuggle into the crook of his body within a sheltered tuft of grass on the side of the hillock. Before long the rhythm of her breath had settled into sleep's gentle murmur, and he allowed his own eyes to close as he inhaled the scent of her hair and let the noises of the gathering lull him into darkness.

The next two days were bursting with the same furious energy of the first as new packs arrived and the gathering swelled all the way to the edges of the clearing. There were dozens of clans now in attendance, from the large and powerful to the small and meek. Many were no more than single families hoping to join together with others and form the beginnings of their own pack, and soon Caspian began to hear the familiar boasts of many a young man keen to call himself alpha. The gathering was a time to win honour and claim status, filled with aspiration and vigour.

But only those who could command true respect were afforded a place within the ring of fires at the centre. Less than ten in total, and Caspian knew from past experience that most of the fresh new clans would have been absorbed into the larger packs by the time the gathering was over. It seemed glorious to fight for one's own authority at first, before questions of food and protection arose, before borders of territory clashed, and before violence left friends and family dead. When one of the more powerful alphas dangled the promise of lavish hunting grounds and comfortable winter dens before them, along with the talents of their craftspeople, the companionship of their females, and the powers of their seers, it was difficult for most prospective aspirants to favour the harsh path that lay before them over the benefits of a larger pack.

And yet there were still those who challenged the path of least resistance and struck out on their own. Those with the fire of true alphas, who gathered their strength year upon year and endured the gruelling obstacles set before them, until finally they were judged worthy of a place at the centre of the clearing. One, perhaps two faces might change every gathering, as weak packs fell out of favour and stronger ones rose up to take their place. Sometimes one was conquered by another in battle, sometimes an alpha was subjugated by a stronger challenger from within his own clan, and sometimes hardship simply broke a pack's strength until they unravelled like threads of twine and dispersed into the wilds, cursed to wander until they met their deaths or found acceptance elsewhere.

It fascinated Caspian to dwell on the complexities of how his people lived, but the task of making sense of it all was so vast that even he had trouble grasping it. At times he thought he almost sensed patterns in the way packs formed and broke apart, but it was an elusive wisdom, one that seemed forever beyond his reach. It would take even greater minds than his, and many more of them in number, to ever truly make sense of the intricate pathways of life.

Adel and the others kept mostly to their own preparations as they waited on the arrival of the rest of the packs, but Caspian spent the time wandering through the clearing, listening to tales and gossip, getting a sense for the mood of the gathering and the stories that had started to spread.

There were a great many whispers about Khelt and his absent pack. He had abandoned his den, they said, perhaps to make war upon the Sun People, or to claim the lands of a rival alpha for himself. No one seemed to know the truth of it, and for that Caspian was glad. It would be better for his friend to explain the situation himself when he arrived. If he arrived.

Caspian's brow furrowed as he walked, swallowing a sudden lump of nausea in his throat as he wondered just what had befallen his former pack over the past year. They were strong in number, and Khelt was a powerful leader, but away from the safety of their den...

He tried not to dwell on it. There was still plenty of time for them to arrive, and he had surely faced far worse hardships himself since parting ways with his old friend. Khelt would have kept his pack safe through winter. With any luck they would have returned home many months ago, and life would be continuing back on the outcrop just as it always had.

The only area of the clearing Caspian avoided was the sizeable triangle of land Miral had staked out for himself and his pack. It was larger than necessary for the thirty or so wolves at his back, but powerful alphas had a habit of claiming more than they were due. To Caspian it seemed a shallow boast. The clans he truly respected—Turec's, Octavia's, and that of Gheran, the old skull-wearing alpha—kept their camps small and practical, even inviting outsiders to share their cooking fires on occasion.

But the burly wolves dozing like watchdogs around the edge of Miral's camp never failed to perk up their noses and growl at him when he strayed too close. Adel would have to be tactful indeed if she wished to deal with their newfound rival, and once again Caspian felt a twinge of frustration at being left out of the den mother's schemes. Even he had no idea how she was planning to win the respect of the other clans and make peace with Miral.

Despite his concerns, the inviting atmosphere of the gathering kept Caspian occupied. He spoke with Turec and learned that the alpha held no ill will toward them for Fern and Netya's deception the previous winter, and in fact seemed mildly amused by the boldness of Adel and her clan. Caspian could coax no promises from him, but by the time he left he suspected Turec would be willing to lend his support when the time came.