The Dawn King (The Moon People, Book Five)

by Claudia King

  “You'd be very foolish to try and slip past us,” the warrior in front of him said, sensing his intent.

  Fern tugged on Caspian's hand and whispered, “We should go.”

  It felt like he was giving up, turning back when he should have been pressing forward. If only he could think of something to say. Where was his cunning, where was his reason? It took another sharp yank on the arm to finally turn him away, and when he did the weariness of travel struck him like a gust of wind. He stumbled back through the mud after Fern, letting her lead him blearily away from the village. After a short walk they reached the edge of the river, where a cluster of other travellers had built a scattered camp. No one seemed to care about the two new arrivals. Some of the vagabonds looked as bedraggled as they did.

  “We can't wait for days,” he said as he slumped down on the riverbank beside Fern.

  “What about until nightfall? They can't watch every entrance after dark.”

  Caspian conceded that it was probably the wisest choice, but fresh optimism was hard to come by. As he studied the temple village from afar he realised that the grasslands around were cut thin, and there were no rocks or trees to cast shadows. Even the fields of the nearby farmsteads were placed a considerable distance from the village proper. If men stayed up on those roofs all night long they would have little trouble seeing people approaching, even when the moon was thin. He wondered if Netya was in there somewhere amidst the dozens upon dozens of houses, and the thought made his chest ache. His wolf squirmed restlessly beneath his skin, yet it was powerless to help him. All of his strength and speed meant nothing in a land where donning fur would instantly mark him for death.

  For a while all he could do was sit and stare at the river, overcome with weariness and heartache. They had come so far, and at the very end of their journey they had been rebuffed. Now all they could do was wait, and waiting was a torture unlike any other.

  Only Fern kept him focused for the remainder of that afternoon. He thanked the spirits for his companion, for while he rested and bathed in the cold shallows she spoke with the other travellers in the camp and managed to trade another piece of their metal for a huge side of dried meat. Some of the scruffier men eyed them enviously, but they kept their distance.

  By nightfall most of the scattered camp had dispersed. They were all either traders resting before their journey home or unfortunates like Caspian and Fern who had been turned away. Making as if to depart as well, they slipped away under the cover of dark and moved north up the river before crossing east through the edge of a field, then circled back around to the temple village. On the way they made sure to wrap their remaining meat in dried grass and hide it near the edge of the field, hoping that no animals would come across it if they needed to come back.

  As they crept closer to the village Caspian's heart once again sank. There were still figures standing atop the houses, and torches had been lit near all of the paths. He glimpsed fewer warriors on the ground than there had been during the day, but every now and again a flicker of movement stirred near one of the torches to remind him that every entrance was still watched. If he could see so much even without his wolf's night eyes, he had no doubt that the guards would be able to spy a pair of figures approaching. And even if they could slip inside, what then? They might just be turned out again, or worse. They would have to be quick, yet the thought of searching the entire village for their friends in one night was terribly daunting. There were dozens upon dozens of houses, all clustered so tightly that it was impossible to count them, not to mention the grand temple up on the hill.

  “Let me try going alone,” he whispered to Fern. “If I can get close, follow after me.”

  Opting for his wolf's dark fur and swift movement, he changed shape and pressed his body low to the earth, prowling forward toward one of the dark gaps mid way between two torches. It looked like there was a narrow opening between a pair of houses that had been blocked by a wall, but it was low enough that he could vault it. Hopefully if anyone saw him they would take his wolf for a wild animal.

  A sudden jerk of movement caught his eye when he was about half way to the village. One of the figures on a nearby roof had stood up. Caspian pressed himself flat and froze. The man was leaning out over the edge, staring in his direction. He put his fingers in his mouth and made a sharp whistle. Caspian did not move a muscle. The guard said something sharp that might have been a curse, then unslung his bow and ducked down to string it. Had he seen him? Amidst the low-cut grass every lump and bump looked conspicuous, yet Caspian knew his night eyes were casting everything into sharper relief for him.

  A flicker of fire lit the guard's face as he stood back upright, raising his bow with an arrow nocked and drawn. At the head of the shaft a ball of flame blazed like a molten fist. Before the arrow could be loosed Caspian turned and bolted, hearing a whoosh of guttering fire behind him as a streak of light shot past his shoulder and bounced off the ground. If the warrior had been unable to see him before, he certainly could now. Caspian voiced a canine yelp and darted back toward Fern, racing away from the arrow. He dived into the tall grass at the edge of the field and waited. He could hear Fern's anxious movements nearby. No other arrows followed him, but he could still see the outline of the guard standing upright, another flaming arrow nocked to his bow. A stir of raised voices followed. Shortly thereafter another figure joined the man on the roof, and with an angry swipe he knocked the flaming arrow from the warrior's hand. It was difficult to catch what was being said, but when the wind turned Caspian heard a voice yelling, “...hasn't rained yet, you pig-witted fool!”

  “The grass is short, it won't catch.”

  “I'll drop burning coals on your bed, then we'll see what catches! Throw a damned rock next time.”

  Once the archer had been suitably reprimanded the voices trailed off, and to Caspian's relief no further commotion followed. They must have taken him for a wild beast. Yet his relief was a hollow comfort. He reverted from the shape of his wolf and slumped back into the grass. The village was too well guarded. Short of a miracle, they were not going to be able to sneak inside.

  —24—

  Familiar Foes

  Caspian and Fern spent the rest of the night searching around the hill in an attempt to find some way up the slope and into the village from behind. After many steep climbs and near falls, they realised that the only safe path up was from the village itself. The hill truly was the perfect site for the Dawn King's temple.

  Weary and even more demoralised than before, they collected their meat and returned to the camp by the river shortly before dawn. For the rest of the morning they took turns sleeping, one always staying awake to keep watch over the other. The only people remaining in the camp were a few scrawny groups of men and children, and some of them were beginning to look desperate. A man dressed in a gown came out from the village to distribute food among the camp at midday, but despite a few impassioned pleas no one was allowed to return with him.

  Caspian tried to watch and think, staving off his growing desperation as he groped stubbornly for a plan. Perhaps they could wait for more travellers to arrive and attempt to enter alongside them? The warriors did let some people in, he noticed, though most were turned away. It was mostly those coming from the farms near the village that were granted entry.

  In an attempt to stay active and make the most of the afternoon they walked a short ways north to speak with some of the people on the farmsteads. They asked whether they might accompany them into the temple, even offering some of their metal in exchange. The farmers were a pious sort, however, and they flatly refused to go against the will of the temple.

  “If the priests say it, I'll not disobey,” one of the young labourers told them as he cut sun-dried stems to fill a sack. “Don't go thinking we're any more special than you. The guards only let me in to take these sacks to the storehouse, then I have to leave. They like to keep it quiet and simple after trader's moon. Lots of trade shifting hands unsettles t
hings.”

  “I understand. You have my thanks all the same.”

  “If it's shelter you need we've room out here in the stores, as long as you're willing to work for it. Farmer'll beat me crippled if I don't get all these sacks filled by tonight, so I can always use extra hands.”

  “You are kind, but it's not shelter we need,” Fern said.

  The man shrugged. “Good fortune on your way, then.” He went back to his work, leaving them to walk on. As they went past a rough wooden building at the end of the field they saw several sacks like the one the man had been filling piled up alongside it. Far from being plain, each had a rough yellow circle daubed somewhere on the hemp and a matching yellow cord tied around the neck. All the people who came bearing a sack like that had been allowed into the village, Caspian recalled.

  He glanced back toward the labourer. The young man was hunched over, eyes focused on the ground. There was no one else on this side of the building. It would be the easiest thing in the world to take one of his sacks. By the time he realised one was missing they would be long gone. Fern must have been thinking the same thing, for she stepped toward the sacks first.

  “Don't,” Caspian said, with a pained shake of his head. “I'll not see that boy beaten for our gain.”

  “He probably made it sound worse than it is. A farmer wouldn't cripple his own workers.”

  “In these lands? I don't know. You saw what those men at Beron's house wanted to do to us.”

  Fern scowled and took a step back. “I wish the boy had been rude, then I wouldn't have felt bad.”

  “Maybe it's foolish anyway. The farmer might come looking for us, and we wouldn't be able to run far.” Caspian rubbed his eyes and cursed, feeling his resolve wavering once again. He was like a rock being chipped away by a hammer, where the very next blow might be the one to shatter his core.

  “You're right,” Fern said softly, putting her hands on his arms and walking him away. “We did not come here to be cruel, even if...” She trailed off. Talking about the ifs was the one thing that might persuade them to turn around and steal a sack after all. If all else failed, they might have to.

  They returned to the camp on leaden feet, the dry path rasping against their heels with every step. Caspian was not used to travelling without his wolf for so long, and his moccasins had started coming apart from the wear. They ate some more of their meat and sat staring at the village as the warriors began lighting torches for dusk. There was no gap in the twilight hours during which they were not on their guard. Their routine was tight and predictable.

  One thing did surprise Caspian that evening, however. A lone traveller carrying no supplies beyond a small bundle hurried down one of the smaller paths to the side of the village where a single guardsman watched a narrow gap in the houses. They seemed to converse in low tones for a moment, then the guard took a small handful of something from the traveller and stood aside. Later that night another figure dressed in dark clothing approached the same guard. She reached inside her hood, showed him something, and he let her past.

  No one else came, but Caspian made sure to watch that spot the next day. The guard was missing when he awoke, and as the day wore on he began to fear that his thread of a plan would lead nowhere. Yet in the afternoon, just as he was about to move off and try his luck with the farmers again, the same guard reappeared in his spot. Travellers were still coming and going on the path, and before long a pair of them broke off from a larger party to approach the warrior. Another quiet conversation, another exchange of something, and they were allowed in.

  “That one, over there,” Caspian said to Fern. “I think he takes things from the travellers to let them in.”

  “Like a trade?”

  “A trade for a favour, perhaps. I wonder if the others know.”

  “The one who turned us away is still near the main path. We should go around so he doesn't see us.”

  Caspian agreed, and the pair of them picked up their belongings and skirted around to the side path where the lone guardsman watched. He regarded them with a flat look as they approached, rising from his seat on a mound of earth to block their way. He said nothing, waiting for them to stop and address him first.

  “We want to come in,” Caspian said, shaking his carrying bundle so that the broken metal rattled inside. “We can give you something in exchange.”

  The warrior jerked his chin upward in the direction of the bundle. “What?”

  “Metal. A good sort.” Caspian picked out one of the pieces to offer him. The guard's eyes widened a little as he took it.

  “Does the priest of the Sister expect you with this?”

  Guessing that the correct answer was yes, Caspian responded accordingly. The guard spent a moment eyeing them up and down before saying, “Show me the rest.”

  Caspian opened his bundle and scooped out the remaining metal in both hands.

  The guard licked his lips. “Leave that with me. I'll see the priest gets it.”

  “And you will allow us into the village?”

  “I said I'll see he gets it.”

  “The priest summoned us specifically,” Caspian said. He was not about to be turned away by this man's greed.

  The guard glowered at him, then held out his hands for the metal. “Alright. Give it to me, and you can come in.”

  “We need to keep some for—”

  “I don't know your faces, but for that much metal I won't ask why. We'll find out if you're telling the truth later. Till then, I'll keep your metal.”

  Caspian was loathe to comply, knowing that he was unlikely to see any of the pieces again, but entering the village was more important than having the metal. If they needed to make any more trades they would have to hand over the map, which would be worth little to those who could not read it. Their leather bundle was probably more valuable, but without that their wolves would struggle to carry anything.

  “Take it then,” Caspian said, dumping the stack of pieces into the warrior's hands. The man dropped them into a hanging pocket on his belt and stood aside, motioning quickly for the pair to pass through.

  Despite the price paid and the days wasted, Caspian felt a new strength in his step as they made their way between the houses. Now, at least, they could begin their search. But where? The village was a jumble of houses and old farm land, with little structure to it beyond the main path running through the centre. They found themselves having to step over old irrigation ditches, some of which flowed with waste being carried out to the river. Nests of rats squeaked and scratched in long-abandoned corners between the houses, and more than once a craftsperson yelled at them when they inadvertently stepped over some indeterminate boundary into their work space. The Sun People here seemed protective of their individual territories in a way Caspian had not encountered before. The communal sense of family most packs shared had given way to territorial instincts. It reminded him a great deal of the camps set up at the great gathering. Perhaps this was simply the way people were when they lived together in large numbers?

  They tried to avoid the main path until they were closer to the hill, not wanting to encounter the guards who had turned them away before, but Fern soon pointed out that the path was where all the travellers would congregate. The loudest sounds of conversation were all coming from that direction, and it seemed that was where they would have to head if they wanted to encounter anything more than irritable craftsmen.

  Emerging cautiously from one of the gaps between houses, Caspian glanced up and down the path. He saw no flashes of yellow amongst the scattered crowd. It seemed the warriors were all attending to their duties elsewhere. Finally, some good fortune.

  Striding forward as if he had walked this path a dozen times before, Caspian headed toward a group of women seated around a fire outside an open-fronted house. They were sorting through piles of ragged clothing, salvaging thread and leather where they could, then burning what was useless.

  One of them smiled at him as he approached. “You've
a fine face on you, handsome.”

  “And you've good fingers for thread.” He gestured to the knots she was unpicking. “I am looking for someone who may have arrived here recently. I'd be grateful for your help.”

  “Someone who came with the traders, was it?”

  He shook his head. “I don't think so. There was a man named Liliac. He would have returned here after a long journey.”

  To his surprise the woman expressed a touch of fear, drawing her hands in closer to her chest and leaning away. “You aren't one of his, are you?”

  “No. Is he here?”

  Her posture loosened again. “He should be. He arrived here just yesterday. I think he's been drinking in Nirut's house since then.”

  “Did he bring strangers with him? Probably a pair of women?”

  “No, no one but him. A lot of folk are wary of Liliac since he came back. Have you heard of the curse?”

  “I've not.”

  The woman leaned in and lowered her voice. “It's the Moon People's curse. One of his pilgrims dropped dead not two nights after they came back. No wound, no sickness, he just stopped breathing. My cousin saw it all. She says Liliac speaks the demons' tongue. He spoke it so much that it got into his men's hearts, and now they're all cursed.”

  “Shh,” one of the other women said, frowning at her. “It's no good to spread talk like that.”

  “I'm just saying what I've heard. You'd do well to stay away from Liliac, handsome. Seems like bad fortune follows that one now.”

  “Curses don't trouble me,” Caspian said. “I just want to find the people he came home with.”

  “Which ones? They'll all be back at their villages now, I should think.”

  The second woman cut in again. “If you want anything more than gossip you go ask Liliac himself. Men should talk face to face, not whisper behind each other's backs. Only he knows what happened on his pilgrimage.”

  Feeling like he was only getting fragments of a complicated story, Caspian questioned them further until he could piece together the tale. Liliac's pilgrimage had never reached the temple. They had been turned away by the priests, and now rumours were spreading like wildfire about what ill fortune must have befallen him. To Caspian's dismay, neither of the women seemed to know what had become of the shaman's captives. There had been talk of strangers visiting the temple on the night of his return, but they hadn't been seen since. That might mean that Adel, Kiren, Kale, and Netya were no longer in the temple village, if any of them were even alive.