by Claudia King
After half a day of running from Beron's people they had sought shelter at another farmstead, hungry and exhausted from their flight. The patriarch there had been less welcoming than Beron, and had asked for something in trade. Upon showing him the blade he had visibly recoiled, and his sons had gotten the same look in their eyes that Caspian remembered from the men who had accosted them.
They had decided to stay away from settlements after that, sleeping among the tall grass and hunting what prey they could find. But prey was not common in the Sun People's heartlands. Rodents could be found along with a few hares, but Caspian and Fern were unfamiliar with the scents of these foreign animals, and hunting anything substantial slowed their travelling pace to a crawl. Had it not been for the map they might have lost even more days attempting to retrace their steps in the wake of meandering hunting trips. They had long since moved south of the river, having expected Beron's people to travel that way if they were still hunting them, and without such an easily recognisable landmark to follow they were reliant upon the map to guide them toward the temple village while avoiding any more settlements. Even with the map's help, it was difficult. The Sun People roamed far and wide here, and they appeared more often the farther east they went. Having to stop and hide every time they scented Sun People on the wind impeded their progress even further, and they were routinely forced to revert from the shapes of their wolves and walk on two legs rather than risk being seen.
Never before had Caspian felt so lost in an unfamiliar land. Even skirting the mountains with Adel had held a familiar reassurance. Those lands had been strange, yes, but raw and welcoming in the way the deep wilderness often was. This place was not welcoming at all. They could not walk more than half a day in any direction before coming across either a traveller or a settlement, and the more time that passed the more keenly aware Caspian became of how little they understood these people. He wished Netya was there at his side, knowing what to say and what not to. Ever since the night at Beron's house he had been afraid of inviting more danger by bedding down with the Sun People. Yet as the days passed and their hunger grew, he and Fern realised that if they were to reach the temple village soon they would have to throw themselves upon the mercy of strangers once again. They needed food and water that could be carried with them so that they would not have to hunt. Two days worth, Caspian estimated, though it might be as many as three or as little as one. He was making his assumptions based on the map, and the more closely he studied it the more aware he became of its inaccuracies. A span of one finger between two villages did not always signify the same amount of distance. The map was roughly accurate, but not so much that he could use it to measure travel time. In that respect the murals Sister Meadow daubed on her cave wall had been more useful, for while they did not paint an all-encompassing picture of the land like this sheet of leather did, they always described exactly how long it took a running wolf to reach a specific location.
With the blade beaten into an unrecognisable twist of metal they set out toward the northeast, hoping to cross a path they had glimpsed there the day before. It took longer than Caspian had hoped, and once they were on the worn earthen track they had no choice but to travel without the legs of the wolves. Sun People passed them regularly on such routes, and some carried staves or cudgels with them. Most kept their distance. At one point they walked past a short column of warriors, all of them carrying spears and dressed in the bone scales Liliac's men had worn. Caspian kept his eyes on the path and his pace steady. Rarely in his life had he felt so threatened by other travellers, but everything was different here.
To his relief the warriors passed by without accosting them, and he heard Fern let out a held breath once they were gone. Their stomachs were rumbling by the time the light began to fade. They had made precious little progress. Caspian began approaching some of the larger groups of travellers on the path, asking whether they had any food to spare in their sacks. None of them did. Most warned him off with a shake of the head or a hand on their weapon.
“We look like wild folk,” he said through gritted teeth as he returned to Fern. “We have no children with us, no sacks of belongings.”
“If we went back to the river we could bathe,” she replied wearily. “That might help us look less wild.”
Caspian looked at his hands. There was dirt in the creases of his skin, and what looked like flecks of dried blood beneath some of his nails. “If we can't get travellers to speak with us I doubt we'll find another settlement willing to take us in. That village up ahead is the last one we can try today.”
“What if they turn us away?”
“Then we'll sleep out in the grass again. They'll have to have a spring or a stream nearby that we can drink from.”
Fern nodded in agreement, but he could see the deep weariness in her eyes. He felt it too. It was not just the physical toll of their journey, it was what it was doing to their spirits. They had faced similar hardships before, but never with such uncertainty. They had not spoken of it, but both of them knew they might reach the temple village only to find that their friends were not there. Caspian did not know what would be worse, learning that Netya and Adel were dead, or learning nothing at all. The thought made the ache in his knees grow until it threatened to drag him to the ground. How long could they keep going on determination alone?
He put out a wavering hand, and Fern grasped it.
“Just to the next village,” she said. “Then the next. Then the next.”
She was right, of course. They could not afford to think about what might await them at the end of their journey. That was not how such journeys were overcome. They had to take one step at a time, defeat each problem as it came to them, and only worry about the future once it arrived.
They pressed on, arriving at the small village some time after nightfall. It was a cluster of just seven oddly-shaped houses with a few fields behind them. A couple of fires still burned outside. With no wall to block their path, Caspian and Fern approached in the open, hoping someone would notice them before they drew too close. They did not want to alarm the people who lived there.
No one spotted them. Fern called out softly once they were within earshot of the people sitting outside the largest house, but even her gentle voice was enough to startle the group. A youngster yelped, and two big men stood up with spears clutched in their hands.
“Who's there?” one of them called.
“Only a pair of travellers looking for a meal. We've metal to trade for it.”
“Should've said grain, then I might've believed you. Go away, or I'll have all six of my brothers out here.”
Fern looked to Caspian. He regarded the men one last time, then shook his head. They should have hurried to arrive before nightfall. None of these people trusted strangers at night.
They slunk back into the shadows and off the path, putting some distance between themselves and the houses before taking the shapes of their wolves. The sound of a trickling stream drew them to the village's water supply, and they filled their bellies with cold water in place of food.
Caspian's stomach hurt the next morning, and judging by Fern's expression hers did too. They walked on, making for a thread of smoke in the distance that looked like it came from a farmstead. Another morning of travel, and another disappointment. The farmers had no food to spare, claiming it had all been sent in tribute to the temple village a few days ago.
They moved on, the weight of the carrying bundle dragging Caspian down more and more with each passing step. The metal blade that had once seemed so light and elegant to him was now a granite weight bumping against his back. Again he considered throwing the thing away into the grass, but that would only worsen their predicament. They had to find someone willing to trade.
Fern did most of the talking to the other travellers they encountered from then on, for they had realised that Sun People responded more amicably to women. Perhaps it was because their women had no wolves to call upon, and so they were seen as less d
angerous. Caspian could not recall seeing a single armed female since they arrived in this land, and Netya had always said that no women of her village had been warriors.
After another day of following the path they began to catch up with a slow-moving group in the distance. At first Caspian took it to be a herd of animals, before dismissing the foolish thought. Beasts would not walk these paths like people did. Yet as they caught up he was forced to reconsider. The shapes waddling ahead of them were indeed some breed of aurochs, their necks lashed together with rope as men walked alongside them. Some of the beasts carried bundles slung across their backs, two sacks on either side, all tied shut at the top. Had he not been so weary Caspian would have been impressed by the Sun People's ability to harness their animals' strength.
Picking up the pace, they drew closer, and Caspian's heart leaped as he saw leafy green stalks poking out of some of the bundles. There was a great bounty of food slung across the docile aurochs' backs.
“Who leads you?” he asked one of the men guiding the beasts.
“Half way up the herd.” The man pointed with his staff. “Call for Joga.”
Joga was easy enough to find. Surrounded by burly men with staves, he was a slight and hunchbacked figure with a dirty beard and long hair. Caspian did not waste time trying to make pleasant with him.
“We want some of your food,” he said, tugging the lump of metal out of his bundle. “We have this to trade for it.”
Joga blinked a few times, letting his procession move on while he stopped to examine the misshapen blade.
“I can't. Not for this. These sacks are for the Dawn King, and he expects food from me, not metal.”
“Will it matter if you have one sack less?”
“One? That metal you have there would be worth all of them, and a few of my animals on top of it! Are you simple, boy, or just new to trade?”
Caspian was glad he was not a man of pride, for the pitying look on Joga's face might have incensed him otherwise. Instead he felt relieved that the man seemed to be honest, or at the very least willing to tell him what he had done wrong.
“What if I only gave you a piece of the metal? How much for one of the sacks?”
Joga murmured and muttered to himself, gesturing for Caspian to hand over the metal so that he could examine it. “Is this the kind of metal my craftsman can work? It isn't in rings. He says metal's always good when it's in rings.”
“It's good metal.”
“How did you come by it?”
“Do you want it or not?”
Joga worked his lips back and forth, prying at what had once been the point of the blade with his fingers. “This much,” he said, holding two fingers flat against the lump. “I'll give you one sack for that.”
Caspian suspected it was more than one sack of food was worth given Joga's prior assessment, but he was not about to argue. Bracing the twisted blade under his knee, he wrenched the tip back and forth until it finally snapped off. By then the procession had passed by, and Joga was growing impatient.
“There,” Caspian said, handing over the fragment.
“Good. Take whatever sack you like. Ask one of my men and they'll help you.”
“We need some fresh water too.”
“Ask my men.” Joga hurried off to retake his position up ahead, leaving Caspian and Fern to catch up with the rear of the column. The man they had addressed earlier helped them untie a sack from one of the aurochs, then let them fill their waterskins from a large canteen he carried.
Leaving the procession to pass on, Caspian and Fern sat by the side of the path and gorged themselves upon the contents of the sack. The strange vegetables inside were hard and dirty, but they had a moist, creamy texture to them that felt good upon Caspian's tongue. They might not sustain a wolf as well as fresh meat, but they were something. Yet as the pair set out again they hit another snag. One of them could carry the sack slung over a shoulder if they walked, but there was no way to fasten it over a wolf's back. If they were to reach the temple village quickly, they needed their wolves.
Short of wasting more time picking grass with which to weave cord, they opted to throw away most of the vegetables and stuff as many as they could into Caspian's carrying bundle alongside the metal and the map. He would have to remind himself to break the blade up into smaller pieces the next time he had a chance. Trades would be easier to make, and far less suspicious, if he had fragments of metal instead of one big piece.
They rested in the early evening and set off before the sun was up, taking advantage of the darkness to cover more distance on the legs of their wolves. They had to be close to the temple village now. Caspian suspected they had strayed too far to the south, but once they hit the river again they should be able to follow it back north to the temple. Sure enough, the glittering trail of the river hove into view the next day, and in the distance they spied a hill rising up above the landscape. By nightfall they were close enough to reach it within another half day of travel. They had also eaten through the last of their vegetables. Tasty though they were, the creamy wateriness of their flesh held even less sustenance than Caspian had hoped. They would have to trade for more food once they reached the temple village, or else go hunting again.
As they approached the hill the following afternoon they found themselves fighting against a small tide of travellers moving down the path, many of whom carried empty bundles and rattling pouches at their waists. Caspian suspected they were traders who had recently offloaded their supplies in exchange for something more valuable. It was obvious why they all congregated in this place—the hill was the most striking landmark they had seen in these lands, made all the more distinct by the grand stack of longhouses crawling up its side. Caspian wondered whether the Dawn King had chosen this place as a means of solidifying his power, or whether his power had come from holding such territory in the first place. Hills were easy to defend from enemies, and natural monuments often held spiritual significance. In the past some of the Moon People's alphas had tried to claim the site of the great gathering as their den, knowing that all the other packs would come to trade and pay homage to the spirits in their home. The collective will of the people had always turned against those ambitious few, often violently. The Dawn King, however, had achieved what no alpha had ever managed.
The column of travellers thinned as they approached the mud brick hovels on the outskirts of the temple village. Earth churned by hoof and foot made it difficult to walk in the middle of the path, so they stuck to the side, hoping to avoid the attention of the few warriors standing guard. In a crowd they might have passed easily, but on their own they were conspicuous. As soon as they tried to walk past the first house a man with a spear and a yellow cord around his forehead stepped in front of them. Caspian's eyes moved to the handle at the man's belt, and he saw a blade near identical to the ruined one—now snapped into pieces—in his bundle.
“The trader's moon is over,” the warrior said. “You came a day too late.”
Not knowing what a trader's moon was, Caspian tried to play along with his best guess. “But we have metal to trade.”
The warrior gave them a suspicious look. It was a look they had become well accustomed to on their travels. They did not look like people who had metal to trade. Perhaps they should have taken Fern's advice and stopped to bathe once they reached the river.
“Maybe you do,” the man said, “but you're still too late. It was said by the temple this morning: all traders must leave by noon.”
“Why?” Caspian's patience, already strained by the long journey, was wearing thin. Could the spirits not grant them one mercy?
“Sickness. Many travellers in one place invite ill omens. The priests never let them stay long after the coughs start.”
“Well, we wish to see the priests, and the travellers who came back from the Moon People's lands.”
“If I knew your face I might let you, but now isn't the time. The trader's moon is always chaos. The village needs a few day
s of quiet afterwards. No strangers coming and going.”
Caspian gestured to a man and woman who had just gone by the guards on the other side of the path. “What about them?”
The warrior glanced lazily over his shoulder. “We know Meru-Ba and his sister.”
Caspian felt his fists clenching. How could he impress upon this man how important it was for them to enter without revealing who they were? Surely there was some clever lie he could conceive of. He'd talked his way through more stubborn men before, but fatigue and frustration buzzed between his thoughts like flies.
“How long will it be before you let more travellers in?” Fern asked.
“The priests will tell us when. Once all the trade's been sorted and the village is calm again, I think.”
“So a day? Two? Three?”
The warrior shrugged. “When the priests say.”
“What if we have important news for your priests?” Caspian asked. “News of wild men?”
For an instant the warrior looked surprised. He had clearly not been expecting so brazen a statement. Then his eyes narrowed and he angled his spear to block the path in front of them, tapping the haft with an open palm. “I don't think we need to hear any word of your kind.” His tone had grown soft and threatening. “Go. I don't want any more trouble today.”
The hope began draining out of Caspian. He looked around for other ways into the village. There were a few walls between the houses, but most had been pushed over to make way for new buildings. It did not look too difficult to slip in... but there were more armed men with yellow tokens watching the other paths. On top of some of the sturdier houses, those built of wood and stone, he saw figures with bows on their backs.