by Claudia King
In a rare moment of whimsy, Adel touched her stomach, wondering whether Jarek's seed might be quickening there right now, making a son or daughter who might one day give her grandchildren of her own. How lovely it would be to leave this land carrying his child. Then she would be able to keep a piece of him with her forever. It was a thin hope, yet it made her more determined than ever to savour the time she had left with him.
When she arrived at Netya and Kiren's domicile she found it empty. Having little else to do at that moment, she sat and waited. The guards following her lingered outside, but after a while she heard them step away and begin conversing quietly between themselves. Netya arrived a little later, looking distracted. She was surprised to see Adel waiting for her on one of the cots.
“I am seeing ghosts everywhere today,” she murmured, forcing a smile as she came to embrace her mentor.
“Why?” Adel asked. “What is troubling you.”
“Nothing you need worry about. I'm glad you're here. Kiren can be exhausting sometimes.”
“It's Kiren I was hoping to speak to, but you'll do for now, girl.” For perhaps the first time since meeting Netya, she added a playful twist to the last word of her sentence. Jarek's awful influence again.
Netya frowned at her quizzically, then her expression relaxed in understanding. “I see why you love him. Caspian makes me feel the same way.”
“How?” Adel asked.
Netya thought for a moment, then said, “He makes me certain when I am uncertain. Jarek softens you when you are too hard. Two people can make something better of each other when their love meets in the middle, I think.”
An immense feeling of pride welled up inside Adel as she looked at her apprentice. The girl who had once been so timid, so lost in a world beyond her understanding, had grown into a woman whose simple wisdom often put her own intuitions to shame. She had always been destined to walk the path of a seer.
“I sometimes wish my mentors had been more like you, Netya.”
The girl looked away bashfully, but Adel snapped her fingers and beckoned her attention back toward her. “Now tell me what's troubling you.”
Netya shrugged and said, “I think of my village so often these days. Atalyn wanted to send me back there, but I suppose there is little hope of that happening now. Part of me feels like I have lost the chance to do something important.”
“If that is truly what you want, we will make it happen. Caspian and Fern are out there waiting for us. After we find them again, we will seek out your people on our way home.”
Netya smiled distractedly. “Thank you. However this ends, I would like to at least try. Living among my own kind again, it makes me think of my family constantly. I keep seeing them in the faces of the people coming and going.”
“I promise you,” Adel said, “before we leave these lands you will have your chance to say goodbye. We all deserve that.”
—43—
Sayla
“Rat.”
Thakayn's fingers dug into her robe, twisting the side of her breast painfully. She thought she would have gotten used to the name by now. It had been her own choice, after all. The woman she'd been before had died along with the rest of her surviving family the night the Moon People came.
“Yes,” she gasped, looking up at the high priest submissively. She'd grown to hate Thakayn in the time she'd known him. At first he had seemed like a kindred spirit, a man who despised the Moon People just as much as she did, yet since then his cruelty had become plainer by the day. Perhaps she had grown cruel as well. She hated the Moon People more than she hated Thakayn, and so she continued doing what he said. That seemed to be her only reason for living any more.
Sometimes she thought of Jarek, and the way he had offered her his kindness when she was destitute back in Nirut's wayhouse, but that was still not enough to quench her anger. Kindness meant nothing in the end. Her mother's kindness had not saved her. Her sisters had not been spared from the Moon People's fangs. She awoke in her sleep often, slashing the air with her knife, the taste of blood in her mouth where she had bitten her tongue. The terror of that night still haunted her, when she had woken and stumbled outside to see her village aflame, men yelling and women screaming as wolves the size of horses tore them apart. She still did not know how she'd survived. The last thing she remembered was her sisters telling her to run. She'd run, and run, until the screams faded and she was alone with the quiet whispers of the forest. When she'd gone back after a day of terrified hiding, all that had remained was ash and blood.
“Rat.”
She felt Thakayn's knife pressing up beneath her throat. She swallowed and nodded hastily.
“Yes, High Priest.”
“I need you to be focused today. Can you manage that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. The seeress and her wicked followers have infected Hasham with their curse too. He looks to them for help. If they have their way, he will become Dawn King and allow our enemies to pour into these lands without resistance.”
Rat did not believe him entirely, but the thought of seeing the Moon People ravage the farmsteads of the heartlands filled her with such fear that she nodded without thinking.
“Radeen-Na will not listen to my warnings,” Thakayn continued, “so I need you to speak with him instead. His favoured concubine, the one who carries his child, has been meeting with Hasham in private. You must tell Radeen-Na that Hasham means to take the woman as his new wife.”
“Is that true?”
Thakayn pressed the knife harder into her neck. All he had to do was tilt his hand slightly and the point would dig in beneath the base of her jaw.
“Don't you dare question me after all you've done. The Dawn King is dead because of your failure. If you ever want the spirits' forgiveness, you'll do all you can to make sure that a worthy man takes his place.”
Rat felt herself nodding against the edge of the blade. She didn't like the idea that Liliac had killed the Dawn King because of her. After losing her own family, the thought of bringing such ruin upon the heartland plains was too much to bear. She'd tried her hardest to prevent it. She'd scoured the entire village for Liliac, but he'd been nowhere to be found. Surely the spirits could not blame her for that? Yet Thakayn seemed to, and he was as close as a man could get to being a spirit.
“I'll do it,” she said.
“Good.” Thakayn withdrew his knife. “Tell Radeen-Na that the seeress spoke with Lydane yesterday as well. It was not long after she finished plotting something with Hasham. Go and find him now. I plan on calling a meeting of the conclave later today, and I want it done before then.”
Once more Rat nodded. Was that all she could do now? Mutely listen and bob her head whenever Thakayn told her to do something? He let go of her robe and pushed her toward the doorway. They'd taken to meeting in a secluded part of the temple at the end of one of the middle tiers, where an extra hall had been built at some point in the past, but never used for anything beyond summer storage. Most of the walls here were made of stone and had no windows, which resulted in the rooms being either too hot or too cold depending on whether a fire had been lit. Rat was glad to be out of the place, pulling her hood up and keeping her eyes on the floor. Regardless of Thakayn's need for secrecy, she didn't like it when people looked at her. She no longer felt like she was one of them. Like birds watching from high up in the trees, their attention made her feel uncomfortable, as if the spirits were watching and judging her from afar. All Rat wanted to do was vanish. When she showed her face again it would only be so that she could look into the eyes of the monsters who had made her like this.
The silence receded as she left the disused hall and entered back into the temple proper, hearing the familiar creak of boards and the clack of sandals upon floorstones. Radeen-Na's domicile was not far. Why, then, was she so reluctant to go there? It felt wrong to tell lies for Thakayn. Even if they were in service of something greater, even if they thwarted this curse...
It
suddenly occurred to Rat that she could defy Thakayn and go to Hasham or Jarek instead. Maybe they would reward her with what she wanted if she told them the truth. But then Thakayn would probably kill her, and the seeress would gain power over the temple. She shuddered in fear again. Perhaps it would be better if she just ran away. The things happening in the temple were beyond her. All she'd ever known was the simple life of the forest. Surely, if there was any mercy in the spirits' great plan, they would make sure that the right person became Dawn King with or without her help.
The idea of putting her faith in the spirits grew more appealing as she crept down the steps to the lower tiers, walking past the high priests' domiciles until she reached the central hall. There had been no shaman in her village, so she'd never been a girl of much faith. Perhaps now was the time to change that. She needed a sign. Something to tell her whether to keep on following Thakayn, or to leave and seek out her own path.
That sign appeared to her as she stood gazing into the feasting hall. The priests were taking their audiences inside, guards escorting families in and out, and the seeress was with them. Rat had only seen the seeress a few times. She tried to stay beneath her notice, intimidated by the woman's lofty stature and striking beauty. This time, however, she gazed curiously over the crowd to try and get a good look at her. Might there be some way of glimpsing the Moon People's bewitchment in her face? She needed to know for sure. Rat had no idea what that kind of magic might look like, but her anger made her determined. She tried to imagine this woman cavorting with the same demons who had burned her village, and she began to tremble. Her foot took an involuntary step forward, taking her straight into the path of another woman who had been exiting the feasting hall.
A jolt of shock tore through Rat's body when she saw the woman's face. Her first thought was that her stare had drawn out the Moon People's curse and made it real, for the person in front of her was a ghost. She stepped back and dropped her eyes to the floor, breathing hard. It could not be.
“Forgive me,” the woman said politely. The sound of her voice almost made Rat choke.
“You're forgiven,” she mumbled beneath her hood, fighting against the urge to lift her head and look at her again. The woman stood there awkwardly for a moment, then walked away into the crowd. Once her back was turned Rat looked up again. It could not be. Yet it was. Either she had been bewitched too, or she had just seen a vision of the past. There was no question of running now. Whether she did what Thakayn wanted or not, she had to know the truth behind the seeress and the women who had accompanied her.
It took Rat several long moments to shake off her shock. The outline of the woman's face, for that brief instant she'd glimpsed it, was burned into her mind. Swallowing her fear, Rat strode into the feasting hall and pushed through one of the families being escorted out. A second group were just about to sit down in front of the seeress, but Rat darted in front of them and claimed the bench first. At the family's protest one of the guards grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, but his companion stayed his hand with a whisper of, “That's Thakayn's servant.”
“If one of the high priest's servants wishes to speak with me then I have no objection,” the seeress said. She had the firm tone of a woman who was used to getting what she wanted, accented and strange though her voice was. Rat thought she had the same kind of voice as the Moon People who had screamed their unintelligible battlecries in the distance when they'd raided her village. Her anger rose like bile in her chest.
After a moment the warriors took the family to wait outside, apparently content that one of their own servants did not need guarding.
“We've not spoken before, have we?” the seeress said. “Will you take down your hood?”
Rat did not. She lifted her chin defiantly, glaring at the imposing woman, and said, “My name is Sayla. Do you know me?”
“I do not think so. Why?”
Sayla lowered her voice. As tense as the moment had become, she still had the forethought not to cause a stir until the time was right. “Do you know the woman who just left this place? The one with the dark hair, like yours?”
“Yes.” The seeress sounded cautious now. “She is my acolyte.”
“And what is her name?”
“Netya.”
Sayla felt her spine tingle. “Then if you know her you should know me. Where does she come from?”
“My village.”
Sayla shook her head with a snarl. “No, she doesn't. She comes from mine. The last time I saw her was when my mother chased her out of our house in the middle of the night. I know my own sister's face. The Moon People stole her spirit and put that thing,” she pointed the way Netya had gone, “into her body. How would you know her unless you were a demon too?”
The seeress stared at her hard, her pale face betraying barely a hint of emotion. She looked almost like a ghost herself, soulless and cold. Sayla was convinced of it now: this woman was not simply cursed, she was one of the Moon People. A demon hid behind those icy blue eyes, perhaps the very same demon who had stolen her sister from her.
“Say something, or kill me!” Sayla hissed. “Show these people what you really are!”
“Whatever you may think of me, you are mistaken,” the seeress said, “and your master Thakayn would not approve of this.”
“He's the only one who suspects the truth! He won't let you do to these people what you did to me.”
Another pause. The woman's composure was infuriating. If Sayla had been carrying a knife she might have clutched it in her trembling hands, leaped across the table, and plunged it into the seeress's chest. When the woman spoke again her tone had softened.
“Your sister still cares for you. She would want to see you again.”
“That is not my sister.”
“It is.”
“Then why did you not know my name? If she was really my sister she would have told you about me!”
The seeress reached a hand across the table as if to comfort her, but Sayla only saw a witch's long, white claws extending toward her arm. She drew herself back.
“Sayla, I am just a woman like any other. Netya may have spoken your name to me, and I may have forgotten it. She does not talk about her family often. Would you, if they had cast you out of your own home?”
A hint of empathy tugged at Sayla's heart, threatening to break her resolve. Many seasons had passed since she'd spoken the names of her family members as well. Some days, in those years after Netya had gone, the village had behaved as if she'd never existed at all. Sayla's own mother had scolded and slapped her whenever she asked after her eldest sister.
This was all a trick by the seeress, though. She was trying to get into her thoughts, unsettle her, break her guard so that she could steal her soul just like she'd stolen Netya's.
“You're one of the Moon People,” Sayla hissed. “I'll kill you. I swear on all the spirits, I'll show everyone here what you are.”
The seeress frowned, the false compassion draining out of her face as her jaw tightened. “And how will you do that? Your own master knows what I am, and he wishes to keep it secret. Don't be a fool, girl. Anything you say against me will only end up hurting you when the high priests deny it.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Then will you believe that Thakayn is a cruel and wicked man who will say anything to get his way? You'd happily serve someone like him rather than trusting me?”
“He's not a good man,” Sayla said, her voice full of hatred, “but he's better than you. You took everything from me.”
The seeress shook her head bitterly. “Other Moon People may have, but I did not. I have only ever sought peace with your kind.”
“You're a liar!” Sayla was clutching the edge of the table now, her face burning with anger. How could the woman look her in the eye and talk of peace after everything she'd done? Sayla only realised she'd been raising her voice when the seeress glanced anxiously in the direction of the guards.
She fears me, Sayla th
ought. Good. You'll feel everything I've felt, witch, and even then that won't be enough.
“If you don't believe me then speak with your sister,” the seeress said. “You will see that she is still the same woman you knew before.”
“I'll speak to all of you before I'm done. I'll make you beg the spirits for forgiveness.”
The seeress only stared at her with a look of disappointment. It seemed that she had nothing else to say. Once again Sayla wished she had a knife, for this would have been the moment to plunge it into the witch's chest. The woman's silence was maddening. After all this time she was finally face to face with one of her enemies, and the woman was not even giving her a fight.
Sayla realised that one of the warriors was approaching her again. She dug her fingernails into the table until she felt one of them crack, then let go and stood up abruptly. Her eyes remained fixed on the seeress as she stepped over the bench and backed away, burning every line of the woman's features into her memory. She wouldn't forget her until she was dead. She'd go to Nirut's wayhouse and fetch her knife, then return after dark and take her revenge. The thought of it filled her with furious energy, smothering all of her doubts and fears. She recalled the memories of the night her village had burned, and instead of terror they now filled her with determination.
Only when Sayla broke eye contact with the seeress and turned away did she begin to think clearly again. She was breathing hard, her head buzzing. A bout of dizziness overcame her, and she stumbled, almost tripping over the step at the threshold of the feasting hall. Putting a hand on the wall, she breathed deeply and tried to calm herself. Then she began to feel frustrated again. She couldn't just slip into the seeress's domicile and kill her while she slept. The woman was protected on Jarek's orders, and even though Sayla was one of Thakayn's servants the guards might not allow her in after dark.
Then there was Netya, too.