by Claudia King
Radeen-Na gave her a shove, betraying for the briefest instant his own fear. He, much like her, could not truly believe that the Dawn King was dead. Adel crouched down and rested a hand over Atalyn's heart, then brought her ear to his lips. There was no point in feeling for the throb of life in his ruined neck. The gesture was for the high priest's benefit more than hers. It was like reaching out a hand to feel rain that her eyes could already see falling.
“He is dead. There is no healing that can bring him back.”
Radeen-Na stood there for a moment, then turned briskly and walked out of the room without saying a word. Jarek crouched beside Adel and reached out to touch Atalyn's beard. She tried not to look up at the expression on her former lover's face, but she could not help herself. There were tears in Jarek's eyes, and as she watched him her throat began to tighten with desperate anguish.
In a whisper she said a swift prayer of the Moon People and reached out to close Atalyn's eyes. She was grief-stricken. Not for Atalyn, but for Jarek, and for the death of the bright future she'd hoped to create with the old man. She felt her grief turn to anger at the spirits, questioning why they had allowed this to happen. Her arrival at the temple had seemed destined. If she had not been brought here to make peace with the Sun People, then why had any of this happened? A sickly feeling filled her stomach, recalling the memories of the many dead men she had seen lying before her when she was a girl. There had been no purpose in her father's slaughter either, just pointless brutality. Fate did not always have a plan.
Taking Jarek's arm, she tugged him away from the Dawn King's body. To her relief he came without resisting. His shock seemed to have dazed him, and now he did not know what to do. Once again she had to squeeze her feelings to the back of her throat. Jarek had never been a warrior. He was not used to violence. That was one of the reasons she had grown to love him.
“Jarek,” she whispered, speaking in the tongue of his birth pack. “They will kill Kale too if they find him here.” She yearned to speak words of comfort to him, to cup his cheek with her palm and stare into those dark, tearful eyes, showing him that she understood, that he could share his pain with her too. Yet even now she could not bring herself to do it. She'd told him that they would only ever speak to one another as Den Mother and High Priest from now on, and no matter what happened it had to remain that way.
Her words broke Jarek free of his daze. He wiped his eyes and nodded, then put an arm around her back and guided her away from the bloody scene. She did not have the heart to shrug him off.
Later that day, once the commotion had died down and everyone had been assembled in the feasting hall, Thakayn stood to address the Sun People. Adel found herself barely listening to his words as he led the assembly in a prayer, distracted by the sickly feeling of guilt that was writhing around inside her. She was sitting on a bench at the rear of the room with Netya, Kiren, and Jarek alongside her. Jarek had been quiet all day, numbed by what had happened, but he had undoubtedly saved Kale's life in the aftermath of Atalyn's death. Under the pretence of sending a messenger to the village to seek a healer, he'd made the guards at the entrance step aside and let the boy through. Adel wished Kiren had been there, then she might have been able to go with him. She didn't know what she was going to do now, but Kiren at least deserved to go home. Before Kale left Adel had taken him aside and told him to seek out Caspian and Fern if he could, but after that he was to leave. Whether he returned to his home village or went back to the Moon People was his choice. He'd already done more than enough for them, and she did not want anyone else to suffer unnecessarily.
They had learned, shortly after the initial turmoil, that Caspian and Fern had escaped. Thakayn had sent half the warriors in the temple out to pursue them, while those who were not watching the entrances searched inside for Kale. A priest named Forest Feather was also being questioned, though she did not know why. Adel wondered whether they would come for her next. Several warriors had been watching her intently ever since the murder, no doubt at Thakayn's instruction.
Kiren was doing her best to pretend she was not worried about Kale, but Netya was distraught. Adel had been holding her ever since they sat down, and she could feel her apprentice's tears on her shoulder. Being apart from Caspian had been difficult for her already, and realising that he had not only come to try and save her, but that he might well have died in the attempt, was breaking her heart. They'd overheard the guardsmen talking about how they'd wounded him when he tried to flee, and how they thought he would be easy to catch if he was not already dead.
Adel cursed fate again, wishing she could think of something to say or do. Everyone who had come here in search of her had been hurt. Now Atalyn was dead, and she did not know what that meant for the future of the Sun People or her position among them. Half of her wanted to remain and try to begin her efforts anew, while the other half wanted to take Netya and Kiren and flee that very night.
Her heart drifted back and forth, yearning for some sign from the spirits. If they left they could track down Caspian and Fern. If the pair were wounded they could help them, then together they would be able to make the journey home before the wet season arrived. Yet that would mean leaving Jarek alone in his sorrow. She looked at him again, and her arm tightened around Netya, providing her with the comfort that she could not give to him. Despite the distance she had put between them, she knew he would be heartbroken if she left now. It would be too much for him to lose all at once.
Making up her mind, she resolved that she would find a way to have Netya and Kiren leave the temple on their own. If there was no way to make peace with the Sun People then she would follow after them later. By then she hoped that Jarek would be ready to say goodbye.
Adel's reverie was broken as Thakayn brought the chorus of prayer to an end and began to address the temple. He was standing upon a table in full view, his words thick and distorted as he spoke around the stitches in his lip. Despite having been cleaned and tended by his healers, tiny beads of blood still ran from the cut on his face. Sun People healed slowly.
“I know what you all wish to ask,” he said, speaking firmly despite his impediment. “How could this have befallen us? Atalyn, our beloved Dawn King, is dead, slain by one of the Sister's own acolytes. Liliac was possessed by a beast's madness,” he gestured to his wound, “and he would have killed me also if not for the bravery of our warriors.”
The high priests Mountain Sky and Radeen-Na were flanking Thakayn, and, as if they had discussed this speech ahead of time, Mountain Sky asked, “Why did this madness take him, High Priest?”
“Have we not all heard the rumours?” Thakayn answered in a tone of sadness. “Liliac's pilgrims brought a foul curse upon themselves. The Moon People's curse. He came into this temple in the company of two of the demons themselves. By my eyes, Rak-Na's, and Yaon-Ra's,” he pointed to the two warriors who had chased after Caspian and Fern, “we saw one of them take the shape of a monstrous wolf and tear down the temple walls to escape.”
A troubled chorus of fearful murmuring ran through the crowd. The assembly's eyes were drawn to the entranceway and the windows, as if expecting the terrible beasts to return. The warriors gripped the handles of their sheathed blades.
“We must look to the spirits for their guidance now,” Thakayn continued. “Tomorrow will be a day of sacrifice and mourning. Atalyn may have left us, but the Dawn King's eyes will always watch over these lands. Join me now in prayer, that our leader's spirit may find its place among the ancestors, and our warriors' blades the throats of those who slew him.”
As a rhythmic chant rose around them Adel leaned over and whispered a translation of Thakayn's speech to Kiren.
“He's lying,” she hissed. “Caspian and Fern didn't come here to kill the Dawn King.”
“They may not have, but Liliac might,” Jarek murmured in response. He still sounded distant, as though he was not quite aware of what he was saying. “Cursed or not, he was an ambitious man. People say he was drinki
ng himself into a rage down in the village.”
Yet Adel struggled to believe that. Kale had told her of their plan to disgrace Thakayn in exchange for passage into the temple. From what she'd learned of him on their journey, Liliac had seemed a treacherous sort, one whose self-interest came before any sense of right and wrong, but he was also cunning and pragmatic. She recalled the way he'd stood alone before her on the riverbank, keeping his nerve despite being faced with a pack of Moon People. Was that really the kind of man who could fly into a murderous rage?
Yet the guards had seen him with the knife in his hand, and Thakayn had the wounds to show for it. Perhaps the plan to disgrace Thakayn had failed somehow, and in desperation Liliac had lashed out. The opposite could also be true, that the plan had worked, and rather than face the consequences Thakayn had killed his cousin in anger. She wanted to believe that the high priest was the one responsible, but hasty judgements had led her astray in the past. Both of the men in that chamber could have had reason to kill Atalyn. They were certainly ruthless enough for it.
She kept the thoughts to herself for the time being, not wanting to upset Netya or Jarek any further, nor to make Kiren angry without reason. The idea that Thakayn might have been responsible chilled her. He'd been cruel and quick to anger the night he hurt Netya, but that anger had been controlled like a firebrand. Without Atalyn's protection to safeguard them, where might his anger be directed next?
—35—
Phantom Pain
Jarek felt like he had been wandering through a dream after Atalyn's death. In truth there had been something ethereal about his existence ever since the night he kissed Adel, but this had been the hammer blow that finally shook him loose from his tethers to the waking world. He barely remembered the ritual of mourning. Atalyn's body had been burned on a pyre between the six pillars outside the temple, with so many people gathered to watch that they'd had to straddle the cooking pits and stand in the refuse pile. The crowd that came up from the village had sprawled down the path until the hillside obscured them from view.
Jarek had not shed any tears that day. He'd felt nothing but a nauseous weight in his stomach. It was a feeling he'd experienced before, in the days following his flight from the Moon People's lands. Only when Atalyn, wise and patient and curious, had begun teaching him the Sun People's language did that feeling start to fade. He'd felt that he could trust someone again, and that feeling had deepened into a respect and a love that had endured for many years.
Jarek was not a rock like Adel, he was a feather blowing in the wind. He needed someone who gave him surety and purpose, and Atalyn had been that person for most of his adult life. Without him, he did not know what he was going to do. No one else knew his secret. No one understood and valued his temperament the same way Atalyn had. After the day of mourning he remembered, as if recalling something from a dream once again, how he'd considered leaving with Adel the previous night. He'd wanted to tell her he loved her, that there was nothing binding him here now, and that they could once again skip stones and laugh together and...
In the end, of course, he'd fallen into a furtive sleep with that desire unfulfilled. His heart yearned for the closeness Adel could give him, but his mind, even in its haze, understood that he would never be truly happy if he abandoned the Sun People to be with her. There would always be guilt, and shame, and it would eat him up until even Adel could not provide refuge from it any longer. He knew it because the same guilt had followed him for years after he left his family. He'd often wondered whether he was a coward for doing what he did. Did his father have to fetch water in the winter when his back ached now that his son was not there to do it for him? What did his mother do with the last of the five baked fish she'd always saved for him when she cooked? Had his brother found the kind of mate he'd always talked about when they were boys?
Those thoughts could have driven him mad if he'd let them. Atalyn's friendship had been a path out of that madness once, but it was not something he could face again. He was a child no longer; his life was already shaped and ordered. Uprooting himself for a second time was more than he feared he could bear. The people needed him. The temple needed him. Atalyn's spirit would be watching on in death, urging him to stay, to ensure that his legacy never became corrupted by the men who succeeded him.
Such thoughts followed Jarek into the meeting chamber as the temple conclave convened the day after Atalyn's body had been burned. He had not wanted to go, for he had no stomach to deal with men like Thakayn and Radeen-Na at a time like this, but he knew it was his duty. Atalyn would want him to make his voice heard. When Jarek took his place at the great stone table he tried not to stare at the Dawn King's empty seat at the far end.
In the absence of anyone else to lead the meeting, Thakayn took charge. The priest of the Sister had earned great respect among the temple for his handling of things in the wake of Atalyn's death. He was seen by many as a hero, facing down the murderous Liliac and then fighting on through the pain of his wounds to take charge of the temple in its time of need.
Jarek did not share that sentiment. Instead he wondered whether Thakayn had been the one who killed Atalyn. There was nowhere for him to put those feelings, not yet, but they drifted about his thoughts like a dark cloud all the same. No one else seemed to suspect Thakayn, or if they did they were afraid to say anything about it.
Jarek listened in stoic silence as the most pressing matters were discussed first. The two Moon People who had accompanied Liliac had still not been found, nor had Kale. Radeen-Na argued that they would be long gone by now, for it was known that Moon People could run with the speed and stamina of a horse. Yet Thakayn was furiously insistent that more scouts be sent out, and Radeen-Na did not object for long. The temple warriors were restless, and they needed something to do.
After that they discussed the importance of allowing fewer laypeople into the temple from now on. Visitors would have guards with them at all times, and anyone who came in would be checked for weapons. Jarek said his piece on every issue, but he got the sense that the others were not listening to him. It had been Atalyn who always valued his opinion, not the high priests. It was difficult for the conclave to agree on anything without the Dawn King there to have the final say, which inevitably led to the question Jarek had known was coming.
“One man must always hold power over the rest of us,” Thakayn said, eyeing each of the others in turn. “Soon we must begin deciding. Which one of us shall become the next Dawn King?”
One by one, the high priests who wished to take up the mantle of Dawn King raised their hands: Thakayn, Hasham, and Radeen-Na. Jarek, Eral, and Mountain Sky abstained.
“We must all be in agreement,” Hasham said, his usual jovial tone absent for once. “Which of us would support Thakayn in becoming Dawn King?”
Mountain Sky raised his hand. Everyone knew the priest of the Mother had only been given his title as a means of bringing the villages he and his sons led into the fold, and as such he was likely to support whoever he believed would provide the greatest aid to his family. Thakayn must have promised him something ahead of time. Still, it pleased Jarek to see that no one else pledged their support to the priest of the Sister.
“Very well,” Hasham continued. “Who supports Radeen-Na?”
This time no hands went up. Radeen-Na would make a strong leader, of that Jarek was sure, but he was a warrior first and a priest second. He would understand neither the spiritual nor the compassionate needs of the people, and most of his problems would likely be solved through bloodshed. That was not a future Atalyn would have wanted. The priest of the Brother grimaced at his lack of support, but he accepted defeat graciously. Perhaps he had known deep down that he was not a suitable successor.
“Now for me,” Hasham said.
The priest of the Father was a man of indolent passions, but he was one of the few who had won his position through talent rather than status. Despite his jocular bluster, he had a good head for delegation and provisioni
ng. He'd been responsible for turning many a barren farmstead prosperous over the years, and all of the traders sought his advice in matters of exchange. Perhaps most importantly, Hasham understood people. He prioritised the good of the heartlands over everything else, and while his decisions often served himself as much as they served the layfolk, he was an undeniably appealing choice. Of all of them, Jarek thought, Hasham would be able to follow most closely in Atalyn's footsteps. He raised his hand in favour.
Hasham smiled at him warmly, then turned a frown upon Eral and Radeen-Na. “And you two? You must pledge your support for one of us.”
Radeen-Na looked from Hasham to Thakayn, then shook his head in annoyance. He did not like either of them. Thakayn was a distasteful, dishonourable man in the priest of the Brother's eyes, and Hasham a fat fool who had never touched a weapon in his life.
“I'll pledge nothing today,” Radeen-Na growled. “You'd ask me to choose between thrusting my cock into a fire or a thorn bush.”
Hasham looked annoyed, but he knew it was pointless arguing with Radeen-Na when he was in a stubborn mood. “Eral, then,” he said. “Who do you choose, my boy?”
The priest of the Daughter glanced between his elders nervously. He had taken Atalyn's death almost as poorly as Jarek, and he was clearly in no mood to decide. Eral liked Hasham, Jarek knew, but he was also scared of going against Thakayn. If both of the undecided priests gave their support to the same person then a clear successor would emerge, but if their choices differed then the conclave would be at a stalemate, with two pledges for Hasham and Thakayn each.
