The Forbidden Read online

  Juran, her mate and the father of her child, was gone.

  Denial rushed through her, overriding her pain. Refusing to trust her overwrought senses, Rebaa scrambled up to gaze down over the rocks at the blood bath far below. Her eyes scoured the bloodstained snow, searching desperately for life among the mauled forms strewn about the frosty plain.

  The carnage stretched away to the thickly wooded foothills of the mountain range behind. She saw no survivors. Only their savage enemies sauntered about the killing field, huge, grotesque forms spearing the fallen, seemingly for the fun of it. One by one, they began to disappear back into their mountain forest lair. Some dragged the bodies of the dead behind them, further tainting the innocence of the snow with streaks of red.

  Rebaa turned her face away and grasped at the icy rocks to steady herself, fighting back vomit. He had promised he would not leave her. He had promised.

  She panted against the crushing grief, fighting the truth that was closing in around her. Her eyes scanned the way behind again and again but it was empty. The snow swirled in the void, cold and lifeless. She remembered his grey eyes, filled with determination as he had slipped the carved spearhead necklace from around his dark throat and placed it around hers. Give this to our son….

  The lie that had got her this far crumbled as the truth closed its merciless jaws around her heart and sank in deep. He was dead. Her senses had already told her what she needed to know but some masochistic part of herself reached out for him all the same.

  He promised.

  The nothingness that came whipping back to her was crippling. She screamed her loss to the frozen, uncaring sky.

  Rebaa did not know how long she crouched there, lost in her grief. The wind howled, whistling through the rocks, tearing relentlessly at her furs. The loneliness of its wail settled the true extent of her situation around her quaking shoulders.

  She was utterly alone; a pregnant Ninkuraaja female abandoned far from her native land with no tribe to protect her. Her breath came faster. She was a dead woman walking.

  Why did you make me leave? She should have stayed by his side. At least then the tip of a knife would have granted her a quick death; sparing her the slow painful demise of starvation.

  The last of her will evaporated on the wind and Rebaa collapsed into a ball of despair, unable to move further. What did it matter if she died here or elsewhere in this Fury-bitten landscape? Her only wish was to be at the side of her beloved when the Great Spirit claimed her but she did not have the courage to go back to the killing field to find it. This resting place between the rocks would have to do.

  Memories of Juran flickered through her mind, each one gouging a wider hole in her chest as they cruelly reminded her that he was gone. A fresh wail of agony found its way through her teeth. Why did you leave?

  The memory of his voice hit her then as clearly as if it had been shouted in her ear. Run. Take our baby. Get to safety.

  Fresh tears leaked down her cheeks, stinging in the biting cold. Their baby. He was going to die, too.

  That thought was too much to bear and it fought back fiercely against the crippling emptiness in her heart. Rebaa uncurled and scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her maternal instincts would not let her lie in the snow and allow her baby to die without a fight. She was close to her time. She needed a people or she and her unborn would die.

  She scanned the empty landscape, searching for a possible direction, any sign of salvation as the wind whipped her dark hair across her features. The tumbled, frozen rocks of the mountain foothills stretched as far as she could see, lifeless and empty.

  A long forgotten desire flitted unbidden through her mind. Home. Go home. You are free now. Go back to your own people. Go back to the forests. She shrank away from the thought. That wasn’t salvation. She was an outcast now. Tainted. They would drive her away as soon as they saw her. As soon as they saw-

  She dropped her head into her hands, closing out the terrifying nothingness that surrounded her as she struggled to clear her mind enough to think. There was nowhere she could take him where he would be safe. The only true safety had been butchered far below. But as one choice after another crumbled into the dust of impossibility, only that first unthinkable temptation remained.

  She wondered if they would kill her if she returned, not even risking the wait for what she carried to be born. Maybe. But it wouldn’t ever come to that. The forests of her birth were many rises and falls of Ninmah away and she would perish long before the journey was complete. At least it was a direction to follow, a destination to keep her on her feet. She would die in the attempt but when she met Juran again in the arms of the Great Spirit, she could look him in the eye knowing she had tried.

  The cold was already seeping into her small body. Her pale red-gold skin prickled; the heavy fur wrappings were not enough to protect her out here, exposed and without shelter. If she gave up now, she would be dead by nightfall. For the sake of her baby and her soul, she must at least try.

  With one last despairing look at the destruction below, Rebaa heaved herself to her feet. Her mouth set into a grim line. He was not coming back. The life she had come to know was gone. Turning to the empty wilderness, she walked away.

  She was at Ninmah’s mercy now.

  3

  Ninmah’s Mercy

  The drifting snow was endless, Rebaa stumbled and slipped often on the rock-strewn ground. The forsaken foothills fringing the great Mountains rose up all around her in an endless maze. She did not know where she was going and at times she was so consumed by grief that she did not care. Only the powerful compulsion to keep moving in a futile effort to save her baby drew her on.

  Rebaa choked and wrapped her arms protectively around her heavy belly. Not for the first time, her knees almost buckled under the enormity of what had happened and the fate that she faced. The grief and longing she felt for Juran was now overshadowed by a terrible anger at him. Tremors rolled through her body at the memory of their enemies. He should not have provoked them. He had drawn them out of their mountain lairs and brought death upon their heads. He had forfeited the life of his own child.

  Rebaa cursed the moment she had ever laid eyes on him. He had taken her from her home, entrapped her, made her live a life she hated among enemies and burdened her with his Forbidden child. He had ruined her and all she believed in. Worst of all, he had made her fall in love with him.

  Another sob escaped her throat. She had fought it. She was Ninkuraaja and he was a Cro. Ninmah Herself forbade such a thing. The greatest of sins. But she had not been able to resist. The attraction of a strong and attentive mate who provided could not be so easily ignored.

  The cold wind blew, whistling through the rocky landscape and the sparse trees. Rebaa wrapped her dirty furs more tightly around her. She marvelled at how what had once seemed so alien was now so natural to her. Her own forest people did not wear furs. When Juran had first made her wear them, her skin had crawled with revulsion. Now her very survival depended on these grisly coverings.

  Despite the thick clothing, her feet were numb. Rebaa found herself stumbling more and more often. She had been walking all day, she had not eaten and her baby was quiet. She had no idea how long she could last without nourishment but she did not know how she was to find any. She did not hunt. She had felt the same way about eating meat as she had about wearing furs. It was not the Ninkuraaja way. Her people relied on their sacred forests to feed and clothe them. Fruits, fungi, nuts, roots. That was the extent of the Ninkuraaja diet. The great Ninmah had taught them to live so.

  Rebaa looked to the bare, scraggly trees dotting the darkening landscape, the snow piling up about their black roots. Their bounty had long ago perished with the first frosts.

  Had she been living with her people, she would have gathered provisions to see her and her tribe through the long Fury. The Cro had no such tradition. How foolish they were. How foolish she had been.

  Rebaa passed a han
d over her eyes, fighting the weariness that was seeping into her bones. It begged her to lay down and simply close her eyes. Rebaa shook her head sharply to clear it. She must not succumb. If she did, she would fall into a sleep from which she would never wake. She forced herself to walk on. Only to tumble back into the snow as a hidden rock tripped her trailing foot. Rebaa cried out in frustration. She gated the sound behind her teeth as she caught sight of something in the snow.

  Footprints.

  Rebaa pulled herself back to her feet as swiftly as her body would allow. Human footprints. Men had passed this way. From their size and shape, she guessed they were Cro. She might not hunt but Juran had taught her a few things about tracking. She wasn’t quite as alone as she had thought in these bare hills. The knowledge brought with it an instinctive wave of comfort before better sense kicked in and the hairs rose on the back of her neck. If there were other men out here then the danger to herself and her baby had just increased. Not all Cro were led by chieftains like Juran.

  Rebaa’s throat closed. Juran had not been short of enemies. He had captured many a territory from others of his own kind. In these lean times, prime hunting grounds were fiercely contested and feuds between clans could last for generations. If a rival clan found her, they were as likely to kill her as take her in, claiming vengeance for lost lives and land. Even if they did not kill her, they would certainly kill Juran’s baby as soon as he was born and their chief would then take her as a war trophy and attempt to get his own children on her.

  Rebaa backed away from the footprints. She had to get out of the area as quickly as possible. She set off along a different route, heading higher into the hills. The new direction took her further off course from her planned destination but it might just keep her alive for longer. She kept all of her senses straining for the slightest sound, anything that would alert her of an approach that could spell her doom.

  Darkness was creeping over the land before she heard the first warning. A distant snarl from ahead carried back to her on the cutting breeze. All sounds were muffled on the snow but she knew she hadn’t imagined it. Poised in readiness to run, she strained her eyes into the deepening shadows but could not see much further than her immediate surroundings. Her sight had always been weak in comparison to Juran’s. In the dark, she was blind to attack.

  Rebaa quelled the panic before it could rise. She was still Ninkuraaja and she did not need to rely on sight to perceive her surroundings. Closing her eyes, Rebaa grounded herself, feeling the rock beneath her feet and the wind as it brushed her face. To her, it wasn’t lifeless stone, not simply a touch of air. The earth was a great river of energy, flowing through everything it touched and she only had to reach out to be a part of it. Stretching forth with her higher senses, Rebaa bound herself to the earth’s flow, tasting the ripples and eddies that surrounded her, letting them reveal the presences hidden in the shadows ahead.

  Not men. Wolves. A pack of fifteen wolves were ahead of her. Their energies burned bright against her awareness. They had made a kill, their hunters’ minds were satiated with the reward of food after an exhausting hunt. Rebaa gasped as other sensations flowed over her. The overwhelming sense of family contentment and slaked hunger made her ache with longing and before she knew what she was doing, she was stumbling forward in the direction of the pack.

  As she rounded the last of the rocky outcrops, their grey forms loomed against the snow. They had brought down a half grown oxen and were laying around the stripped carcass, gnawing on its bones. Ravenous anticipation flared on all sides and Rebaa knew herself to be standing among the scavengers lurking on the outskirts, waiting for the first opportunity to steal a morsel from the apex hunters. Rebaa hesitated before the feeling of warm contentedness washed over her anew and she took another unconscious step towards the family at the centre.

  The movement breached the invisible line of tolerance that existed between the predators and the waiting scavengers. The wolves rose to their feet, baring their fangs as warning snarls erupted from their throats.

  Too late, Rebaa wrenched her senses back to her own body. Grief and hunger had made her foolish. These were not the forest wolves of her birthplace. They knew not the gentling touch of her people. Their challenge and mounting tension buffeting across her senses. At any moment the stand off could break and they would attack. Everything depended on her next move. If she ran, they would run her down and kill her and so she did the only thing she could. Rebaa sank to her knees and submitted. If they were not so well fed, she knew she would have been dead already.

  The alpha pair broke rank and approached as the rest of the pack fanned out to pace in a restless circle, cutting off escape. Rebaa breathed deeply, controlling her tension as she lowered her head like a young, lone she-wolf begging acceptance. Their noses snuffled all over her body. Further snarls began to rumble in the alpha male’s chest as he scented her furs. Wolf furs.

  Please, she thought at him, though not in words, words had no place within the realm of the Great Spirit. She tempered her energy and filled his mind with images and sensations that he would understand. She was not prey. She needed his acceptance. She needed his protection. For it was true, she would not survive the night alone and the wolves were better than nothing.

  Unused to the outside influence on his mind, the alpha male backed up a step with a startled huff. His mate continued to sniff curiously as Rebaa filled the she-wolf’s mind with the same messages. A low whine of confusion came from between the sharp teeth before the she-wolf made up her mind. She pressed her heavy head over Rebaa’s neck, letting her feel the weight of her dominance. Rebaa remained still, accepting her authority. The wolf made her point and then a soft lick across her cold exposed hand told Rebaa that the danger was passed. The she-wolf had accepted her presence.

  The alpha pair walked back to the kill, leaving Rebaa to do as she would. She started forward on hands and knees, keeping her head down as the rest of the pack jostled in to take a closer look, heads weaving uncertainly as this strange creature made her way through their midst. Many repeated the she-wolf’s actions, bumping her and pressing above her body to mark their authority.

  She made her way to the carcass but a belligerent adolescent looking to make his mark barred her way with a snarl. They might have accepted her but she was still the bottom of the pack. Rebaa backed away. There was nothing left but bone and slimy sinew. Hungry as she was, her stomach heaved at the sight of it.

  Her almost fatal error had at least paid off in one way. As the wolf pack huddled together for protection against the night’s chill, Rebaa found that she was allowed to share in their warmth. Among the wolves she would be safe for this night. Exhausted beyond thought, Rebaa lay down with the pack and let herself drift into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  4

  Eldrax

  Eldrax marched through the snow on the heels of his chief. The rest of the clan travelled in close formation behind him. Nobody dared to stray out of line. The totem of the Black Wolf clan marked the landscape here and there in stark warning. If the rival clan’s lookouts were to witness their trespass, the price would be blood. Stragglers made for an easy payoff.

  Eldrax gripped his spear in his pale hand until bone showed through his knuckles. He for one hoped they were spotted. He glanced behind at the two large stags the hunting party had brought down. This territory the Black Wolf clan occupied was bountiful, flowing with prey migrating from the hills to winter pastures.

  It was thanks to the Black Wolf that Eldrax’s clan were denied such luxury. Pushed to the outskirts as the rival clan expanded their hunting ranges, they had been forced to carve out a living in less than satisfactory conditions. In the ever worsening environment, a lesser clan would have succumbed by now. The indignity still rankled. The totem of Eldrax’s clan was the mighty bear. He was the Red Bear. And a bear was not intimidated by the wolf.

  “You will snap that spear in two if you are not careful, young hunter,” a mild voice sp
oke at his shoulder. Eldrax glanced down to see Rannac had moved up to his side from the rear guard position. The older man’s grey eyes regarded him with vexing clarity. Rannac had always possessed the seeming ability to see right through him and Eldrax hated it. He had done since he was a boy.

  “I do not know why he,” Eldrax jabbed his spear in the direction of their chief, “will not let me lead an attack on the Black Wolf. We could take this range from them but instead he forces us to settle for raiding like jackals. Nothing better than scavengers waiting for the scraps of their betters.” Eldrax bared his teeth at his chief’s back. “I am no jackal!”

  “No,” Rannac said, his lips turning down in the disapproving twist he always seemed to reserve just for Eldrax. “You are a clan warrior, well learned in the ways of the spear. But you were never taught to be a fool, Eldrax. Why do you insist on acting so?”

  The jab poked at Eldrax’s pride, he rounded on Rannac with a snarl on his lips. He had always tolerated Rannac’s veiled dislike of him, but he would not stand for open insult. Only his high respect for the man who had taught him how to fight kept him from striking Rannac to the ground. He was a full head taller than the older man now; Rannac no longer intimidated him.

  Rannac held up his hands in the face of Eldrax’s anger. The gesture highlighted the absence of the third and fourth fingers on his left paw, a parting gift given to him long ago by his brother. “I was foolish once and I paid for it. Chief Murzuk is right not to challenge. The seasons have not been kind to our clan of late. It would not be wise to attack the Black Wolf now, well fed and at full strength as they are.”

  Eldrax snorted. “Their chief does not frighten me, old man. If it wasn’t for them, we would be the most powerful clan of the Plains and the pick of hunting grounds would be ours. I could lead the clan warriors in an attack and teach the Black Wolf-!”