Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two) (66 page)

Her injured wrist burst with pain when she was slammed up against a large rock, pinned in place momentarily as the current beat against her back, eager to tug the half-drowned girl into its depths once more. Grasping at the slippery stone with both hands, Netya was able to drag her head above the surface long enough to choke up some of the water in her lungs and suck in a few breaths, enough to force away the dark spots that had been creeping into her vision. But as soon as she moved, her palms slid off the rock and the current carried her away again. This time she was able to keep her head up, though she was unable to see anything but the trees reaching up to the sky and the white water crashing about her ears on both sides.

It was all she could do to keep her injured arm tucked close against her breast, reaching out with her left hand to paddle and take the impact of any submerged debris she ran into. She tried to kick beneath the surface and keep herself oriented, but the current span her around and tugged her back and forth constantly. The rapids showed no sign of evening out, and Netya's strength was already failing her. The throbbing in her wrist had grown so intense she could feel it pounding all the way up her arm and into her skull. Her body was at its brink, and every time the current threatened to pull her under she feared she would not come up again.

Unbidden images of the night of the flood flashed before her eyes, the memory of her wolf's panic resurfacing stronger than ever. The beast writhed within her skin, bringing a hot prickling sensation to her body that undercut the cold of the water and the pain of her injuries. Had she not been so helplessly trapped within the deluge, or so numbed by the shock of what she had just done, her wolf might have broken free at any moment. Her animal side clung close to the edge of her consciousness, ready to pull itself to the forefront, but it seemed just as fearful and desperate as she was.

A passing lump of driftwood or a fallen tree trailing its branches into the river might have given Netya something to cling on to, but it seemed that no such fortune was going to present itself to her. The watercourse was so vicious it smashed everything that fell into it to pieces, and it would not be long before Netya shared the same fate. Pulling her head up one more time and spitting out yet another mouthful of water, she tried to kick hard enough to elevate herself above the wreath of spume crashing about her ears. Through her water-stung eyes she caught a hint of green at the river's edge, but it seemed hopelessly distant, and no sooner had she glimpsed it than her body plunged back down into the current. A submerged rock caught her feet, pulling loose one of her moccasins, and a moment later the drag of the water tore it off completely. Her waning efforts to keep herself afloat were just barely enough to preserve the air in her lungs, but if the river did not kill her soon then the rocks would.

Yet, just as her hope was fading, she glimpsed something up ahead. The wall of water in front of her dropped, tugging her down through another series of horrendous rapids, at the base of which a series of sharp stone spurs protruded from beneath the river's surface. She had only a moment to take it all in before the riverbed rose up and caught her feet, sending her tumbling head over heels down the steep decline. More rocks caught her body on the way down as the river sped up and lost most of its depth, making her feel like she was skidding down the side of a barely-submerged hill toward the jagged terrain at the bottom. But it was not the danger in front of her that had caught Netya's attention. The spurs of rock were long and flat, slanting out of the water at an angle like backwards-facing teeth, each large enough for a person to grab on to. During her bruising, breathless descent through the rapids she lost sight of where she was headed several times, but whenever she caught a glimpse of the ever-growing rocks beneath her she kicked with all her might, whether her feet met water or stone, propelling herself with the last of her energy back toward her one chance at survival.

Suddenly there was only one crest of foaming water between her and the rocks. The current pulled her over a short weir, scraped her bare toes against the rough riverbed, spun her into a sideways roll, and then plunged her into deep water again. She barely had time to kick her way back to the surface before the first spur of rock slammed itself into her chest, bringing bursts of colour to her vision as her cheek cracked against it and she tasted blood. Her fingers scrabbled and slipped against the water-smoothed surface, failing to find purchase before the current pulled her aside and forced her back into the rapids.

Netya felt her hope draining away, but no sooner had she slipped past the first spur than another loomed out of the river in front of her, larger this time, and flat on top, like the long scale of a serpent protruding from the water. Spreading her arms wide, she embraced the rock as the current pulled her into it, clawing with hands and feet for any nook or nodule she might cling on to. The stone near the surface was as slippery as ever, but beneath the water Netya felt her bare toes catch against something hard and sharp. It hurt to put her weight on it, but it also gave her the moment of leverage she needed to force her upper body out of the river and on to the flat edge of the spur. She pushed again, catching the sharp foothold with her one remaining moccasin this time, and as the slab of rock in front of her narrowed she was able to get a grip on both edges of the flat top with her hands. Fiery pain seared her broken wrist as she pulled, drawing a cry of agony from Netya's lungs. For a moment dizziness gripped her, bringing her to the brink of consciousness, and then she was free from the water.

She grit her teeth, curling into a ball to nurse her trembling right hand. She was battered and bruised, bleeding from a dozen different places, with pain pounding at every inch of her body. But the rock was firm, and she was free from the current. Lank strands of Netya's dark hair clung to her face as she shivered, all the horror of her flight from Miral's camp replaying in her mind as she struggled to keep her eyes from closing. Try as she might, it was a losing battle. Her body was too weak, her stomach too empty, and her strength of will too shattered to keep up the fight. The refuge of unconsciousness claimed her, and she slipped into a black void mercifully distant from reality.

Netya did not know how long she lay there upon the spur with the water crashing around her, but when she awoke it was to a horrible cramping sensation in her lower belly. A choked cry left her lips as she doubled up again, eyes closed and teeth grit as the pain returned a second time. Was her body injured inside as well as out? There were no seers to treat her, and she knew nothing of healing such injuries herself. Then she felt a faint warmth running down her leg, horribly distinct from the cold of her shivering body. Somewhere in the back of Netya's mind, she already felt the fear. It was there from the first moment, distant and indistinct, refusing to be accepted. She reached between her legs, beneath her clothing, and when she withdrew her fingers they were covered in blood.

"No," Netya whispered tearfully. "Spirits, please." She beat her hand against the rock, eyes squeezed shut as the latent fear became dread. "No, you cannot! No!" The tight ache clutched her lower belly again, and she felt the trickle of blood working its way down the back of her thigh.

It could have been anything. A wound from the rapids, perhaps. And had Adel not said that she might bleed a little in the weeks to come? But the pain in Netya's belly was too strong. The blood was thick and clotted. When she saw it, she could think of nothing but the blood she had poured from Essie's bowl when Adel helped her lose her child.

She knew. This was her punishment. She had taken a life, and now a life was being taken from her in return.

"Please," she begged once again, feeling her last thread of hope slipping away as she wept. She had never felt more alone. More betrayed by everything she had put her faith in. Her visions had told her... They had promised! She had kept going when despair threatened to consume her. Without Caspian, without her pack, she had nothing. All she had was her daughter. The moon spirit's promise of a great child, with a great destiny. Had her visions been nothing but a lie?

"Why?!" Netya wailed, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her face between her elbows as she knelt on the spur of rock. "Curse you, spirits! You cannot. No! No..."

Her throat hurt. Her wrist throbbed. Her stomach clenched with pain again. What was she now but some wretched vessel for her own suffering? There were no more lights in her darkness. She had done everything she could, fought through the deepest despair she had ever known, taken a man's life in desperation, and still she was being punished. When she thought of her visions, she felt sick. The moon spirit was a trickster after all. Cruel and wicked.

The water roared its harsh song around her, drowning out the sound of Netya's tears. She slumped back against the wet rock, alone with her pain, and as the sun grew heavier in the sky she felt her will to carry on slipping away along with it.

Rain joined the spray of the rapids to patter against her back. The drizzle became a fall, then a downpour. The sky darkened, cold water soaking Netya's hair and body afresh, but she did not move. With her cheek flat against the rock, she felt the rain pooling between her lips and trickling into her eyes. After a time the pain in her lower belly ebbed, then returned just as strongly as before. Still she did not move, trying only to think of Caspian and the happy times they had shared. They would share them again in the spirit world. Perhaps it would not be long now.

The deluge continued as the sky grew darker, swelling the river until it lapped at Netya's feet, creeping up the side of the rock and tugging at her legs. It was beckoning her back in. If the rain continued, the water would keep rising until it pulled her away from her perch. She could crawl farther up the spur. Cling on to the edges and try to wait out the downpour. Perhaps she could paddle her way to one of the larger rocks nearby. But as the current began to tug at her legs, she let it take her. It dragged her body to one side, inching her bit by bit to the edge of the spur, before catching enough of her weight to pull her free. She slid off the rock and into the water, making a half-hearted grab for one of the other spurs before it swept past and she was once again dragged into the current. Perhaps she would wash ashore or catch herself on another rock. She would have liked to live, Netya thought, as the water filled her mouth and dragged her under, but she no longer had the strength to fight for it. In many ways, it would be better just to be free from everything.

She tried to distance herself from the violent tug of the current, pushing away the pain in her wrist and the aches of her body. She thought of Caspian's embrace. The warmth of home. As the water filled her lungs and drowned out her senses, it became easier. Seer, witch—whatever she had been, she hoped she had at least done some good in her short time in the world of the living.

Her body drifted as if in a dream, the same way her mind had drifted after she lost Caspian. She felt herself being tugged away from the cold, the pain, the sense of emptiness at her core. Like a tether attached to her soul, she was pulled free of reality by a firm, but welcoming grip. The strong arms of the spirits encircled her, taking her toward a place of light and sound once again, dulling the churn of the river bit by bit until it was nothing but a dim roar in the background. She could hear them calling her name, caressing her body back to warmth, laying her down upon something soft. The relentless tug of the water was gone. The pains of her body were gone. All that was left was the embrace of the spirit world.

She saw him then, tasted his lips against hers, felt his hand running through her hair. She smiled, opening her eyes to her new existence. He had been waiting for her.

"Caspian," she tried to whisper, but it was hard to make her lips move. Perhaps she no longer needed her voice. He whispered something back to her that she could not quite make out. He said it again, but the effort of straining to hear hurt her. It brought back the pain of her body, the sensation of the water filling her throat.

He spoke again, and this time his voice was not soft and soothing, but hard and urgent. She closed her eyes, no longer comforted by what she was feeling. Something firm patted her cheek, and this time Caspian's voice sounded clearer than before.

"Please, Netya," he called to her through the veil. "Breathe!"

—47—

Syr's Light

Water poured from Netya's lips in a fit of choking as she rolled over on the riverbank, all the pain of her battered body returning in an instant. She was lying on wet grass, the chatter of rain and the roar of the river still loud in her ears. Someone was holding her, patting her back firmly to help her bring up the last of the water. The sickly bursts of colour erupting in her vision made it difficult to make out anything but the ground beneath her, and no sooner had she cleared her throat than she slumped over on her back again, gasping for the breath she desperately needed to refill her aching lungs.

For a moment she had thought she was awake, back in the world of the living, but the silhouette leaning over her was that of a man she knew to be dead. A sad smile touched her lips as she reached up to touch his cheek, rubbing her fingers through stubble that was longer than she remembered, toying with a wet lock of sun-lightened hair. His hair always looked brighter after the summer, with hues of gold overtaking the soft brown.

He took her hand and kissed it. The touch of his lips was so tender she almost believed it was real.

"I knew I would find you," he whispered, his voice holding an unusual, throaty deepness. He gazed down at her for a moment, touching her face gently as if to reaffirm her presence, then a pained chuckle left his lips. "No, that isn't true. I just couldn't imagine what I would do if I didn't."