The Dawn King (The Moon People, Book Five)

by Claudia King

  Metal.

  Of course. The bundles must have contained the rocks the Sun People took from the earth before using their magic to draw the metal out of them. That was the other prize they had come to this land for. Yet how had they known where to come looking for Adel on their way home, and why had their high priest been so adamant that she be taken? That part was still troubling to her. Perhaps she would have found out eventually, but she intended to make her escape before that happened.

  As the current began to move faster she tried to judge just how far they had travelled, recalling in her memory the pictures on the map. The lands of the Sun People were far, far to the east, yet this river was carrying their canoes almost as fast as a wolf could run. Rivers might loop and turn back upon themselves, of course, but there were obstacles that could cause similar delays on land. Given that the Sun People were not taking their canoes in to shore at night, she realised that they must be travelling at a shockingly fast pace. The journey around the mountains that had cost Adel a full season when she'd had her clan and all their belongings in tow might take Liliac mere days. These canoes were not much slowed by the supplies they carried, and the men guiding them could lash their vessels together and sleep in shifts to maintain their pace. Weary though they all looked, they were surely covering ground faster than anyone who might be pursuing them. They did not even need to use their paddles for speed at this point, relying on the current to sweep them along

  Just as Liliac had warned, the river began to grow rough and unpredictable by late afternoon. A fallen tree that had been bobbing ahead of them all day began to buck and twist wildly in the central current, rocking with the kind of force that might easily upset one of the much smaller canoes. The Sun People drew their vessels closer to the shore, avoiding the sprays of froth being thrown up by the tempestuous waters. The men began to lash more of their canoes together, even leaving some of them to trail behind on ropes so that they could bring more paddles forward to guide the vessels in the lead.

  Adel realised with mounting trepidation that the risk of her and Kiren drowning was very real. Cold water splashed up between the crossbeams and soaked their legs, wood and rope groaning as the canoes either side of them attempted to tear free.

  “We've not enough men!” Liliac yelled from up ahead. “Cut the other canoes loose!”

  “But the metal!” one of the others called back.

  “Forget it! Look, the current's pulling them to the centre, they'll drag us after them!”

  From her backwards-facing position Adel could see exactly what the shaman was describing. The unmanned vessels were listing ever closer to the middle of the river, bobbing and bucking dangerously as the current caught them. They were like loose drapes flapping in the wind, ready to tear out their fastenings if the elements tugged too hard.

  Two men began to haul on a rope tied to the heavily-laden canoe they were dragging, hoping to pull the errant vessel back toward the group, but it was a hopeless effort. Rather than drawing the canoe in, all they did was pull themselves closer to the middle of the river.

  “Let it go, you fools, cut it loose!” Liliac yelled. One of the men listened, but the other was slower to react. As his companion let go of the rope it snapped taut, yanking him forwards. He tripped over the edge of his canoe and plunged into the water, flailing desperately for something to grab on to. The second man tried to help him, but with no one to guide their vessel they were drawn toward the centre of the river. The current slackened, releasing the tension on the rope, then surged again and sent the rear canoe rushing forward. A pair of arms shot out of the water, clinging for dear life to the hands of the man still aboard, then the two vessels collided with a crash. All the force of the hollow tree and its metal burden struck the floundering man, crushing him against the side of his own canoe. The arms went limp, and as the rear vessel drifted away again a thin trail of red went with it. Realising that his companion was lost, the survivor drew his knife and began hacking at the rope. The cords were thick and slow to part. There was nothing anyone else could do but watch as the current drew him farther and farther away from help. Eventually the rope snapped, but not before the man's vessel was half full with water. It bobbed with nauseating suddenness, the rear end leaping up into the air followed by the fore. The man kept a stubborn grip on either side, refusing to meet the same fate as his companion, yet the river cared little for his determination. The unmanned canoe behind him dashed itself against a rock, tearing off part of its leather covering and spilling a cascade of metal ore into the river. A swirl of water yanked down the survivor's vessel, pulled its front beneath the surface, spun it, and finally upturned the entire thing. When the man disappeared into the spray he did not resurface.

  “Cut everything loose,” Liliac called. “Canoes might float along after us—men won't!”

  This time, everyone obeyed without hesitation.

  Adel and Kiren clung to their bonds in tense silence as the remaining Sun People navigated the river, paddling hard against the tug of the current to ensure they stayed clear of the dangerous waters. A line of cast-off canoes bobbed in their wake, meandering after them like a game of lost cygnets being tossed to and fro by the water.

  “Did you curse them?” one of the men adjacent to Adel said. She looked up to see him staring at her across the gap, his expression more fearful than it was angry. “Tam and Rone were river men. They should've known better than that.”

  “Perhaps you invited my curse when you took me,” she replied in the tongue of the Moon People.

  “Stop that! Don't say those words.”

  Adel was tempted to go on. She might not be able to frighten Liliac, but his men were another matter. Instead of saying anything else she looked away, craning her neck to watch the river up ahead. She could make them fear her later, when the river had settled again. That was what she told herself, though truly she found it difficult to dig her claws into these men when they were still reeling from the loss of their companions. Perhaps they did not deserve her mercy, yet pointless losses of life still sickened Adel. Who had made them believe that metal was worth risking their lives for? Maybe the man next to her was right, and her own guardian spirits had cursed them with foolishness.

  Without the extra canoes to tug them off course they managed to navigate the rest of the rough water by sunset. A fork in the river spilled off to the south, tumbling down into a ravine between two hills. It looked even more treacherous than the rapids they had just skirted, but thankfully Liliac led them past it and down the second fork, where the main current flowed more calmly. This branch continued to plunge inexorably toward the mountains, and the overhanging limestone cliffs on either side closed in until they swallowed the remaining light long before the sun had finished going down. Adel was convinced now that this river had been forced into its unnatural course by some upheaval of the earth spirits. The quiet would have been almost serene were it not for the splash of the paddles echoing eerily off the surrounding stone.

  “We need to stop for the night,” one of the Sun People whispered. “It's too dark.”

  “It'll be dark for a long time yet,” Liliac's voice answered from somewhere in the gloom. “I hope some of you managed to keep your embers dry. Light up the torches. Those who've not taken this path before, have faith in the Sister to guide us home. Keep watch for any of our lost canoes if they float up behind, and look ahead for that fallen tree. The current's been keeping it ahead of us, but it might get jammed against these tight walls.”

  Two of the Sun People began striking sparks from a firestone while others checked the wooden cases in which they carried smouldering embers. Someone managed to ignite a small bowl of tinder that soon glowed bright enough to light a torch. Resin-soaked wood burst to life, and the lights were passed from one canoe to the next until each vessel carried one.

  “We lost the poles, so use your spears,” Liliac said. “We're not likely to need them again anyway.”

  At his command every man bound hi
s torch to the end of a spear, then slotted it into the hole at the front end of his canoe. Now each vessel had a guiding light ahead of it, casting a wide orange glow over the surrounding water.

  “Where is this river taking us?” Kiren whispered anxiously.

  Adel looked up at the shadows dancing across the limestone cliffs. They were narrowing, blocking out more and more of the sky above them. Soon the tunnel would enclose them completely.

  “Into the mountain,” she said.

  —9—

  Netya and Kale

  Water splashed around Netya as she regained consciousness, her feet kicking desperately against ground that was not there. She'd been lost in an old nightmare, one of rushing water and blood and the white wolf that had once been her spirit guardian. The wolf had been running along the riverbank beside her, helpless to intervene, and she had kept drowning over and over until she awoke. When she did, she realised that the nightmare was real. Water tugged against her gown and dragged at her legs, and the only thing keeping her afloat was a tree branch wedged beneath her arms.

  “Shh, Netya, shh!” a male voice said, speaking the words of the Sun People. Hearing her native tongue soothed Netya a little, but she was still caught up in the twisting, surging panic of rushing water. A great mass of twigs and leaves blocked her view, and no matter how hard she kicked she could not find anything solid beneath her feet. Had the whole world drowned? Were the branches of the trees all that was left?

  She breathed deeply, trying to slow her panicked breaths. Where was she? What had happened? Clinging to the branches around her, she realised that she was in no danger of drowning so long as she held on tight. Treading water next to her, his hair soaked and plastered to his scalp, Kale pressed a finger to his lips and then pointed out in front of them. They were drifting backwards, Netya realised, and through the gaps in the leaves she could see the bank of a river.

  Flashes of the fight came back to her then, and she was suddenly afraid. Where were they? What had happened to her? Who was alive and who was dead?

  Before she managed to make sense of the jumbled memories she caught sight of what Kale had been pointing to through the canopy. In front of them—or behind, from the direction the river was flowing—a V-shaped flock of canoes swam across the surface of the water. They were perhaps five generous tree-lengths away, and the shadows of men stood in some of them.

  The rest of her memories came back to her then as she realised what had happened. She'd fallen into the river, though she could not remember how, and the current must have carried her along ahead of the Sun People.

  Trying to focus on anything besides her deep-rooted fear of the racing water, she reached for Kale's arm and clutched it tight.

  “What happened?” she whispered. “Did they win?”

  The other sun wolf shook his head. “They fled. One of them hit you with a stick and you fell in, so I went after you. The river swept us ahead at first, but they started catching up. I couldn't pull you out of the current, and you wouldn't wake up, so I took us to this floating tree and hid. I think the Sun People tore it loose from the bank when they started pulling on their ropes.” Kale sounded exhausted. Even the effort of speaking seemed to be taking more strength than he had left. “I hoped we'd drift ashore eventually, but the current pulls everything to the middle. I don't know if it'll ever stop.”

  Netya realised she must have been unconscious for some time, but she did not feel any of the nausea or pain she expected. Tilting her head from side to side, she felt the tug of a freshly healed wound on the back of her skull. There was the lingering ache of a bruise, but it felt distant. Instead of feeling pain and nausea, she realised that she was just hungry and thirsty.

  “How long has it been?” she asked.

  “Two days, or three?” Kale blinked hard a few times. “I've not slept. I had to make sure you didn't slip into the water. You kept breathing, so I knew you weren't dead.”

  They were fortunate it was the height of summer, Netya realised. Spending so long in the water at any other time of year would surely have frozen them to death by now. Her skin felt unpleasant and wrinkly beneath the surface, and her mouth was brackish with the taste of river water. She'd always been told not to drink straight from the river when she was a girl, but the Moon People seemed to shrug off water sickness as easily as they resisted any other malady.

  Squeezing Kale's arm in another attempt to assuage her fears, Netya disentangled herself from the tree's branches and tugged him toward the gap she'd been wedged into.

  “Thank you, Kale. You must rest. Let me keep watch for a time.”

  “They get closer in the day,” he replied, as if he hadn't heard her, “but at night they slow and fall behind. If they pass by maybe we can try to swim away. I don't know if they will.”

  “Try and rest. Let me worry about the Sun People.” Netya pushed him toward the tree trunk, encouraging him to clamber up somewhere that would support his weight. With great effort Kale managed to wedge himself between some of the thicker branches, most of which were surprisingly stable. It was a large tree, and the great mass of foliage being dragged along by the current barely reacted to his weight. Occasionally Netya would feel the current tug and twist violently beneath her feet, and her heart would drop out of her chest for a few beats, but aside from a little rustling and bobbing the tree remained stable. So long as they kept hold of it, it seemed, they would be safe from the river.

  Kale drifted into a fitful doze almost immediately. Netya kept one hand on his arm at all times to make sure he did not slip, but most of her attention was focused on the canoes behind them. They flitted in and out of view beyond the splayed web of the tree's roots, sometimes so close that Netya could hear their voices. It was hard to get a clear look at any of the figures through the nest of leafy branches surrounding her, but she thought she recognised the shaman in one of the lead canoes. His coat of insect-like armour was gone, but the distinctive braids of his red hair remained.

  Netya tried not to worry over what might have happened to her friends back at the riverbank. They had shot Adel, though it had seemed like they were trying to take her alive rather than kill her. Kiren, though...

  She closed her eyes and bit her lip, focusing on the unpleasant tug of the water to take her mind away from something even worse. One of the Sun People had struck Kiren with his spear, but had he used the blunt or the pointed end? She could not remember. She'd seen her apprentice floating in the water, called out her name, and then everything had gone black.

  In her heart she wanted to believe that Caspian was alive and unharmed. Calm and quick as he was, he must have found safety rather than running blindly into danger like she had. But what about Fern and Orec, and all the other warriors who had been in the path of those arrows? She remembered seeing old Koura fall and stifled a sob. Were the spirits punishing them for something? She feared for her pack now rather than herself and Kale. What if the Sun People sent more warriors to their lands to fight and kill them? They could fight back, but for how long, and at what cost? How would they survive without Adel?

  Keep your mind where it's needed, girl.

  She took a deep breath, trying to hear the voice of her mentor guiding her. She couldn't help the pack right now, but she could help herself and Kale. For a while she tried to kick against the current, hoping she might drag the tree closer to one of the riverbanks, but she might as well have been trying to blow a dandelion seed against the wind. Even without the weight of the tree, the current was so strong it would probably suck her back in no matter how hard she swam.

  The memories of the day she had lost her unborn child returned to her, and she curled her legs up instinctively beneath the water as she remembered how it had felt to drift under the surface and drown. She remembered how the current had torn off one of her moccasins back then, and realised that her feet were bare. Risking letting go of the tree for an instant, she reached up and felt for the string of beads she kept braided into her hair. It was a small
comfort to feel that they were still in place. But her headdress—no, that had fallen off back on the riverbank when Fern had pulled her out of the way of the arrows. All she had left to connect her to her spirit guide was a single blue feather at the end of her braid. She clutched it tight, praying to Heron that he would guide them safely down this river. He was a spirit of the water, after all. Perhaps that was why she had chosen him. Water had threatened to take her life many times, yet somehow she had always survived.

  One more time, Heron. Please.

  The tree did not drift ashore, nor did the Sun People overtake them. By the next day Netya was growing so hungry she feared she might not have the strength to swim ashore even if the current were to slacken. She and Kale dozed in turns, though it was hard to get any real sleep propped up between the branches of the bobbing tree. They managed to snatch a small fish out of the water and ate it raw, but catching a second required more luck and skill than either of them possessed. Time became a blur for Netya, a constant rhythm of bobbing and kicking and dozing. She began to feel sick when she imagined the relief of firm ground beneath her feet again.