The Dawn King (The Moon People, Book Five)

by Claudia King

Then there was Thakayn. Until he was certain of the man's fate, he would not be able to rest easy. News came in the middle of the night when Ryndel's distant voice echoed down the passageway to the conclave chamber. Jarek hurried out to meet the guardsman, who told him that he had scoured the temple for specks of blood before eventually following the trail out on to the hillside. Learning that Thakayn had fled was both a relief and a worry. He had not tried to gather support from anyone else inside the temple, but he had gone missing instead. Ryndel had seen his tracks on the hillside, but in the dark it had been too difficult to follow them. Jarek instructed the man to gather a search party and set out at first light. When Ryndel asked what was happening, Jarek relented and told him the truth of Thakayn's treachery. He would have to become accustomed to making weighty decisions, he told himself, and he trusted Ryndel enough to confide in him. As dire as the news was, Ryndel seemed relieved to hear that Jarek and Radeen-Na were now the ones in control of the temple. Jarek made him swear not to share the news with anyone else until morning, then sent him on his way and returned to the others.

  He began to feel better as he sat back down at the table. Perhaps better was the wrong word, but he'd become more certain of his purpose. He could not rely on others to choose for him any longer. Atalyn had passed on. Adel would be there to help him, but he was still the one who would have to proclaim his will to the people. He'd need to learn to speak with the authority of a leader.

  He felt Adel's leg touch him beneath the table. He looked sideways and saw that the thin, weary smile was still on her lips. There was still so much for them to do. It felt as if something momentous had come to an end that night in the conclave chamber, and something even larger was about to begin. The thought would have made him giddy if not for the sight of Adel's bruised, blistered face smiling at him. Nothing had ever broken her. Even now she sat tall, composed and determined despite everything Thakayn had subjected her to. With a woman like her at his side, how could any task be beyond Jarek's reach?

  * * *

  The agony was worse than any sickness Thakayn had ever experienced. His entrails were twisting within him, his skin flushed and sweating, and the deep wounds in his arm pulsed as if they were filled with venom.

  He did not know how it had happened. Adel must have shared her power with Jarek somehow. She'd gone to his bed and given him the very thing Thakayn had been trying to take from her. The thought filled him with so much rage that he was able to overcome his pain and keep on moving.

  Half staggering, half crawling, he had made his way out on to the hillside and along one of the paths Atalyn used to walk to the summit. Instead of going up Thakayn made his way down, carefully lowering himself through tufts of grass and thorn bushes toward the base of the hill. It was arduous going, made all the worse by the uselessness of his arm and the convulsions of pain that kept surging through his body. He could tell it was getting worse. He was losing a lot of blood, and some vile poison was racing through him. There were remedies he could have taken to try and ward off the sickness, or at the very least dull the pain, but in his panic he had fled before tending to himself. If he went back to the temple they might still be able to help him. If he begged for his life and renounced the Dawn King's name then Jarek and Radeen-Na might show mercy. The priests could tend him then. He'd seen the seeress cut off a man's arm to save his life. Would cutting off his own arm spare him from whatever sickness was spreading from the wound?

  When the pain was at its worst Thakayn considered turning back, but then he was struck with the thought of the shame he would face, the humiliation, and the ruination of being made an invalid if his arm was taken away from him. That fear was so strong that it allowed him to keep on going. He had to endure this curse, to overcome its agony, and take its power for his own. That was what the seeress had told him; the only way he could obtain the Moon People's power was to survive their bite. At the time he'd thought she was lying, but now he refused to believe anything else. It had to be the truth. It was his only hope. This was to be his reward for everything he had struggled with, everything he had lost. His high priests had turned against him, but what did that matter? If he had the Moon People's strength he would no longer need servants to bring him seers from across the world. He would be young and strong and beautiful forever, with the power to take the shape of an animal and live like a spirit given flesh.

  He grit his teeth and lowered himself down through a cleft between the rocks. The hillside was dangerously steep, but if he was careful he would not fall. Scratches from brambles drew blood from his hands and tore the wool from his clothing. Compared to the writhing agony of Jarek's bite, he barely felt it. His breathing was ragged, his skin sticky with sweat. Near the foot of the hill he stumbled, losing his footing as a spasm of his stomach made him double over. With a cry he fell and began rolling, each jolt feeling like a kick from an aurochs as his weakened body bounced and tumbled into an uncontrollable fall. His head struck something hard, driving the sense from him for a moment. The next thing he knew he was lying in a tangle of grass at the foot of the hill, his body aching even more terribly than before.

  With immense effort he dragged himself into a kneeling position. A surge of dizziness struck him, so intense that he vomited into the dirt. The strength was leaving him. When he tried to stand he fell over, his knees collapsing like broken twigs beneath the weight of his body. Strands of dirty, sweat-soaked hair dangled around his face as he sucked in shuddering breaths. He had to fight through this. He had to keep going. On the horizon he could see the first colour of dawn washing away the night's blackness. If he did not get away then Jarek and Radeen-Na would send the temple warriors to find him. With a wail of agony he threw his arm in front of him and began crawling. One elbow at a time he dragged himself forward, leaving smears of red in the grass from the steady bleeding of his wound. It still hadn't stopped, and his skin was almost white.

  Strong and young and beautiful. He would stay that way forever. Once he got away, once the sickness passed, then his flesh would heal and he would stand tall once again. Perhaps he would leave the heartland plains and run somewhere far away. There were villages that had never heard the Dawn King's name. Villages that would never know about the things he had done.

  The thought had a strangely calming effect on Thakayn. All his life he had feared people learning the truth. As a child he'd feared being caught when he disobeyed his elders. Then he had killed that girl, and lived in terror that some day someone would find out. He feared growing old. He feared dying. He feared others looking upon him and seeing someone despicable beneath his beauty. If he could go somewhere away from his past, where he could be a different man, perhaps then he would not have to fear those things any longer.

  Tears began to roll down Thakayn's cheeks as he realised that he had stopped moving. His elbows were just scouring furrows into a patch of loose earth. He no longer had the strength to even crawl. A desperate weariness had taken hold, willing him to give up, to succumb to the pain and close his eyes.

  He realised, then, that he was not going to survive this sickness. He'd bled too much, and Adel had spoken the truth. The Moon People's bite would kill him. The spirits had not chosen him to be blessed.

  With a groan of despair he slumped forwards into the dirt. He would die here. The realisation should have angered him, terrified him, filled him with panic, but instead he began to weep. He was still thinking of that distant village he might have run away to, where no one knew his name or remembered his past. Atalyn had offered to send him away to a place like that moments before he killed him.

  He did not feel remorse for murdering his cousin, for that part of Thakayn had been lost and twisted out of recognition many years ago. Yet he did feel foolish. Despairingly foolish. All these years he had sought power, attempting to elevate himself beyond the fears and doubts of a mortal man, and in the end it had led him here, to a death alone in the dirt. Perhaps if he had not pursued his salvation so desperately he might have found peace
in something far simpler.

  Thakayn's last thought before his eyes closed was of Atalyn. An old fool, he'd called him. An old fool who had lived longer, and died better, than Thakayn had. Perhaps he had been the fool all along.

  Fear could blind even the cleverest of men, he supposed.

  —51—

  Ashes in the Wind

  They brought Thakayn's body back to the temple at sundown the following day. It was too late to build a pyre for him alongside the fires for Hasham, Mountain Sky, Sayla, and the three dead warriors. The celebration meant for the new Dawn King had instead become a day of mourning. Most of the laypeople had already gone back down into the village by the time Ryndel and the other scouts returned with Thakayn's body. When asked how he had died, the warriors answered that they did not know. He appeared to have bled from a blade wound and then fallen down the hillside. Only a few people remained to watch as Jarek ordered a small pyre built for Thakayn beside the path.

  It was probably better this way, Adel thought. The temple village was in shock following the events of the previous night, and a proper ceremony for Thakayn would only have stirred anger and confusion. Better that he was forgotten quietly; a man not worth remembering.

  Despite her aching chest and stinging hands she went outside to watch as the flames consumed Thakayn's body. It gave her no pleasure to see his spirit leave the world, only a sense of relief that he was gone. The aching bruises on her face reminded her of the many times she'd watched her father's warriors burn upon pyres like this one. She'd often worn similar bruises in those days. Back then she'd been filled with such anger, such hurt, and she had longed for the day she could prove herself better than her father. It was the only hope of vindication she had been able to cling on to. Some of that pain would stay with her forever, but it was weak now. Seeing Thakayn's ashes scatter to the midnight wind reminded her of how little her father mattered to her any more. He was an old man now, somewhere far away, declining and forgotten, never having realised his dreams of glory. In the end he had defeated himself, just as Thakayn had. Perhaps it was the destiny of such men to be their own undoing.

  The dry grass crackled beside Adel, and she turned to see Netya standing there, her features illuminated dimly by the flickering light of Thakayn's pyre.

  “Did you need to see him gone too?” Adel asked.

  Netya shook her head faintly. The day of mourning had been especially difficult for her, for she had said goodbye to someone she had only just been reunited with.

  “Why do you think it happened this way?” Netya asked.

  Adel had considered what she might say to Netya about her sister. There was the comforting answer, and then there was the more likely truth. Netya deserved to hear both.

  “Perhaps she was simply a messenger. The spirits wished to tell you the fate of your village, and once Sayla's part was complete they took her away to join the others. Or it may simply be another unjust cruelty. Fate is as fickle a thing as ever.”

  Netya nodded slowly. She was dry-eyed, but Adel could sense the deep sadness within her.

  “I am glad I know the truth. It would have been worse had I gone back to my village hoping to find something there.”

  “Will you try to learn which pack attacked them?”

  “No. I would only make enemies.”

  Adel murmured her agreement. “Better to let go.

  She had not yet told Netya and Kiren about what she meant to do. It had come as a surprise even to her when she announced it in the conclave chamber the night before. Staying with Jarek was something she had told herself could never happen, but that was before everything changed. Now she was the one who could make a Dawn King of him, and him of her. Neither of them could have filled Atalyn's void on their own. Jarek had the charisma to win their hearts, but Adel had the wits of a born leader. Together they could become more than they had ever been when they were apart. Adel knew that staying here was her best hope of cultivating peace between the Sun and Moon People, but it was also a good decision for her. She'd become so set in her ways back in the valley. She had made mistakes and struggled to move on. Here in the temple village there was another world of knowledge for her to discover. Another people whose spirits and traditions she needed to learn from. She could learn the healing ways of the Sun People, and apply her own knowledge of the Moon People's magic to make discoveries that no shaman in this land would ever have considered. In helping them, they would help her. She could forget the bad of her past and reunite herself with the good.

  The hardest part would be saying goodbye to Netya. She had given it a great amount of thought, and she was still not sure how to say it. The girl had suffered so much already. Caspian and Fern were still missing, and there was little hope of them being reunited until Netya returned home. Adel would have to make sure that happened soon. It would not be long until the wet season, but a few wolves travelling light might still be able to make the journey across the mountains before the weather stopped them.

  “I suppose we will be leaving soon,” Netya said as the flames of Thakayn's pyre began to dim.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Once your wounds have healed, of course.”

  “Perhaps even before then.”

  Netya looked at her. “You won't be able to run with your hands like that.”

  Adel swallowed. “I don't mean to return to the valley with you.”

  Silence filled the space between them as the pyre crackled.

  “Because of Jarek?” Netya asked. Her tone was strangely flat.

  “In a way. If he is to become the next Dawn King then he will need someone to help him. I can ensure there is peace between our peoples if I remain here.”

  “But we need you,” Netya said, her voice breaking.

  Adel shook her head. “No, you don't. You needed me when the pack was new. Now that it is prospering I will only cause you trouble, like I did with Vaya. My days as a den mother may be over.”

  “Then I will stay here too.”

  Adel turned to face her. “You've abandoned enough homes in your life, Netya. Stay with the people who love you.” Her expression softened. “You don't need me watching over your shoulder any more.”

  Netya's lips tightened. The edges of her eyes creased with distress. Now had not been the right time to tell her. She was still reeling from the previous night, and this was one blow too many. Adel would have embraced her had it not been for her injuries.

  “I understand,” Netya said at last.

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, but... I know what Jarek means to you. I just— I wish he could come with us instead.”

  “The Sun People need him, and he needs me.”

  “But you will come back to us eventually, won't you?”

  Adel sighed. That was a question she would spend many a long night pondering herself. “Perhaps I will some day. I would like to show Jarek our valley.”

  Netya tried to look hopeful, but the poor girl could not conceal the sadness on her face. Adel could hardly blame her. This would not be goodbye forever, she promised herself that much. No matter what happened she would strive to meet with the Moon People as often as she could. One day, she hoped, there might be a gathering at this temple to which all of the great alphas were invited.

  “We will see each other again,” she promised Netya.

  “But you will no longer be my mentor.”

  Adel opened her mouth, but she was not sure what to say. She wanted to tell Netya that she did not need a mentor any more; that she had become as fine of a seer as any mentor could hope for. She would learn more now by seeking her own path than by following in Adel's footsteps. Yet she knew that Netya was in no mood to take such words to heart. She was too brittle from the loss of her sister, too unsettled by the recent upheavals she had faced. When Netya turned and walked back toward the temple Adel did not go after her. The den mother swallowed a painful stiffness in her throat. For the first time since the previous night she doubted herself.
Could she really leave her pack behind? She was not just a leader to her clan, she was a mother, a teacher, and a guardian.

  Her ribs were aching badly again, but she stood and watched until Thakayn's pyre had burned down to embers. This outcome was no blessing upon her. The spirits had not defeated her enemies and gifted her with everything she had ever wanted. Instead she was merely sacrificing one part of her life in place of another. She'd expected to leave Jarek behind and return home to her pack, and now she was doing the opposite. It was going to hurt just as much, she realised. Instead of losing her love she would be losing Netya, the woman who had become something akin to a sister and a daughter. And along with her she would lose all the other children of her pack. She would not be able to see Netya grow into the wise, confident mentor she was destined to become. She would never again sit with Kiren and the other apprentices teaching them how to catch ants. She would not be able to watch Meadow painting on the walls of her cave, or Fern bringing home fresh meat from the hunt. And Orec. Poor Orec, who had offered her companionship when she was alone. She felt awfully guilty for the way she had rebuffed him the year prior. If only there was some way she could be everywhere, and with everyone.

  Adel took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and turned away from the pyre. She still had that trace of a child's whimsy in her, no matter how hard she tried to subdue it. A tender weakness that longed for things that could never be. But perhaps it was not a weakness. She did not think of it that way any more. Only a dreamer would ever hope to believe in peace between the Sun and Moon People, someone like Uriel, or like Netya. There was a naivety to it, but a purity also.

  As much as it hurt Adel to say goodbye, perhaps it was time for her to believe that somehow, some day, she would be able to return to her pack again.

  —52—

  The Feast of the Sun

  Two days later the high priests agreed to an audience with a village chieftain named Rodan. He had been insisting on the meeting ever since the day of mourning, but the high priests were still deciding on how best to proceed with the necessary rituals and celebrations that would confirm Jarek as the next Dawn King. There was no objection to his succession from anyone within the temple, but the temple was only one small part of the Dawn King's great family.