Page 163 of Moon Chosen

“Yes, I need some fresh aloe for her wounds. If you cross the stream by where we set the snares and climb over the bank to that rocky area, you’ll find a bunch of it there.”

“Okay, no problem. Go back to sleep. I might be a little while. I want to harvest some wapato root for dinner, and I’m sure I saw some growing by the watercress.”

Mari yawned again and said, “Whenever you talk about what you’re going to cook for dinner you make me hungry.”

“Good.” Sora smiled, enjoying the feeling of being appreciated by Mari. Her smile widened as she teased. “And if you’re going to be hungry, you might as well have something specific to think about. Tonight I’m going to mash the wapato root with garlic and mushrooms and some of that precious salt that you like to hoard. That and strips of rabbit rolled in ground flax and fried, and I’ll take care of that hunger.”

“You know, sometimes I don’t mind having you live here.” Mari smiled at her, and Sora thought that she had begun to look genuinely happy sometimes. Mari was still smiling when she lay back down beside Rigel—the lazy creature had hardly moved during their conversation—and closed her eyes.

“Yep, I know! I totally know,” Sora said, taking her walking stick from beside the door. She kissed the tips of her fingers and touched them to the Earth Mother carved into the arched doorframe.

Her mood light, even though she dreaded the thought of checking the snares, Sora made her way with increasing confidence through the bramble maze. Then she turned to the north and headed for the little stream that was a breeding ground for rabbits.

It was early, but the day was already hot, and Sora found herself wishing for rain. It was nice, really, in the spring when the rain made everything seem washed clean and vibrantly green. Mari was easier and easier to be around—she certainly appreciated good cooking. Soon the big peppers should be ripening. Sora mentally crossed her fingers that the crazy males were too crazy to think of destroying the Clan gardens. They hadn’t bothered the herb garden at the birthing burrow, so maybe that wouldn’t be a worry.

Almost skipping, she scampered up the little ridge beyond which was the clearing beside the rabbit stream. With happy thoughts of planning dinners for Mari and now Danita, too, Sora picked up her pace and in what seemed like no time she was slipping and sliding downhill, and looking forward to taking off her shoes and wading into the stream.

“Check the snares first. Get it over with,” Sora told herself. She went to the live snares, exclaiming in delight when both traps held bright-eyed rabbits. “I’ll have to crowd you both into one cage to carry you home, but Mari is going to be so pleased!” Then she approached what she thought of as the killer snares. Since she was alone, Sora held her hands up in front of her eyes and peeked through her fingers. Two were empty, but the third had trapped a fat turkey, which had Sora grinning, kicking off her shoes, and doing a little happy dance as she waded into the lazy stream. She bent and splashed water on her sweaty face, considering stripping down and taking a proper bath in the cool water before she started searching the marshy bank for the tasty wapato roots.

Sora was so preoccupied with thinking about how she was going to prepare the lovely turkey that she didn’t know the males were there until they were almost upon her.

“Pretty Sora. Pretty, pretty Sora.”

She spun around to see Jaxom standing just a few feet from her, staring at her with such intensity his gaze almost burned. Emerging from the tree line behind him were two more males. She recognized them as Bradon and Joshua—two men who were older than Jaxom by several winters—thoughrecognizingthem was sad. The men had changed drastically over the weeks since Leda’s death. They walked with bestial, hunched movements that reminded Sora of the stories the Clan told of Skin Stealers who would come for bad children, particularly those who wouldn’t sleep when they were told to go to bed. What was left of their clothes was little more than tattered rags, through which Sora could see strange, broken wounds and missing skin that left raw, oozing flesh.

Sora wanted to run—she might have even been able to outrun them, but her body wouldn’t obey her mind. It was as if the males had forged iron nails from the ruined city and driven them into her feet, rooting her in place.

“What do you want?” She tried to sound confident and just the right amount of annoyed, but her hands were trembling so badly that she had to ball them into fists to keep them steady.

“Wash us!” Bradon demanded, his voice rough and scratchy, as if he’d become unused to speaking.

“I’m not a Moon Woman. You know that. I didn’t even have time to apprentice before Leda died.”

“Wash us!” Joshua shouted as he and Bradon entered the clearing.

“I told you, I can’t!” Sora said. “And it’s the middle of the day. There is no moon in the sky. Even Leda couldn’t Wash you right now. Go away. I can’t help you.”

“Pretty Sora must Wash us!” Jaxom said, taking another step toward her. Sora could see that he was less hunched and feral than the other two males, but his gaze kept lingering on her tunic and her breasts that were too visible beneath the damp material.

“No! Stay back!” Sora bent and grabbed a fist-sized rock from the stream bed and held it up threatening. “Jaxom, I wish I could, but I can’t help you. If you go away now I’ll promise to practice drawing down the moon, and meet you back here, in this clearing, on the night of the next full moon. By then I should be able to Wash you.”

“You will Wash us!” Bradon said.

“Wash us!” Joshua repeated as they began to close the distance between them and her.

Sora looked frantically around, trying to find anything else she could use as a weapon. Why hadn’t she asked Mari to teach her how to use that slingshot? Mind whirring, she remembered the digging knife she’d put in her satchel—the satchel that was lying on the bank by Jaxom’s feet.

Bradon and Joshua reached Jaxom, and then everything happened very fast.

“If you can’t Wash us, then you will do other things for us!” Joshua said, and with a predatory snarl he lunged for Sora, grabbing her wrist and wrenching it so that she cried out and dropped the stone.

He began to pull her from the stream. Sora fought him, kicking, hitting and punching—though it felt as if she was struggling against a tree for all the effect she had on him. She fell, and Bradon took her other wrist, pinning her to the ground.

“Jaxom! Help me! Remember that we used to be friends? You used to like me!”

“Pretty Sora should stay with us. Pretty Sora can make us feel good.” Jaxom’s eyes were bright with lust as he captured her kicking feet by both ankles, and spread her legs.

It was then that Sora began to scream.