The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun) (12 page)

“The Day God hates our people, and our beautiful god,” Aderyn said solemnly. “To follow her is to be his enemy. He commanded his followers to destroy us. They were our oppressors for centuries, until the Night God sent her greatest follower to us. Her warrior.” She smiled. “The Master of Death, blessed by the Night God and given her power. He destroyed the Southerners in her name, and set Tara free.”

“Tara?”

“The North’s true name,” said Aderyn, sounding slightly annoyed at the interruption. “We were given this land by the Night God, and now we have it again, and the Shadow That Walks rules over us, as she commanded.”

The King,
Laela thought.

“Now,” Aderyn went on. “Come with me, and I will show ye the altar.”

They went to the middle of the floor, where a circle of upright stones had been arranged in a ring. Laela, looking at them, instantly realised what was going on—the Temple’s interior had been decorated to look like a forest, and here was the stone circle that would have been erected at its centre. They had built a new Temple to recreate the old.

In the middle of the stone circle was the altar, which was covered in spiral patterns and had a silver bowl set into its top.

“This altar is where the High Priestess, Saeddryn, comes every night to offer our prayers to the Night God,” Aderyn explained. “And on very special occasions, the King himself comes here. He came here only a few days ago, on the night of the Blood Moon, to make the offering of blood.”

“He told me the Night God needs blood to survive,” Laela volunteered.

Aderyn nodded. “True. Now, the King has commanded for ye to learn the ways of the Night God, but first I must ask ye some questions.”

“All right.”

The priestess gave her a slightly irritated look. “Ye are a half-breed,” she said bluntly.

“Yeah,” said Laela, trying to sound polite.

“How were ye conceived?” said Aderyn. “Who was yer mother, and who was yer father?”

Laela reddened. She almost snapped at the woman. “My father raped my mother,” she said stiffly. “My mother was a Southerner livin’ in the North, an’ my father was a darkman criminal.”

“What was his name?” said Aderyn, unmoved. “Do ye know?”

“No,” said Laela. “All I know is he got out of prison an’ died tryin’ to escape.”
An’ good riddance to him.

“What clan was he from?”

Laela looked blank. “What?”

“What clan was he from?” Aderyn repeated patiently. “Do ye know?”

“No,” said Laela. “What do yeh mean, clan?”

“There are four clans,” said Aderyn. “Once, there were others, but they were lost, and only four are left. Bear, Wolf, Crow, and Deer.”

“Oh, all right,” said Laela. “What does that have to do with anythin’?”

“The fact that yer father was a Northerner means that ye, too, are a Northerner,” said Aderyn. “Since ye were born out of wedlock, ye should be glad, half-breed. If it had been yer mother who was a Northerner, ye could not be initiated. Now, if ye knew what clan yer father was from, ye would become part of that clan when ye were initiated. But since ye don’t know . . .”

Laela wanted to hit her. “What does that mean?”

“It means ye’ll have to find out which clan ye should be part of. Tell me, do ye know what phase of the moon it was when ye were born?”

“No.”

Aderyn sighed. “That makes it even harder, then. Ye understand—we have a priestess for every one of the clans. If ye were a Bear, ye’d be taught by that priestess. If ye were a Deer, the Deer priestess would take care of ye. But since ye don’t know, ye’ll learn from me until we find out.”

“How do yeh find out?” said Laela.

“Our guiding phase always finds us,” Aderyn said primly. “We don’t find them. Now, move close to the altar.”

Laela did. “What do I do?”

“See the water in the bowl?” said Aderyn. “Look into it and don’t look away.”

Laela obeyed. The water was clear and silvery in the muted light.

As she stared, the priestess dipped a finger into the water and moved it in a circle. Once, twice, three times . . .

“Repeat the words,” said Aderyn.

Plentyn yn tyfu’n ddyn,

Gorffennol ddaw’n bresennol,

Rhaid i amser fynd rhagddo

Arglwydd tywyll y nos, gweddïaf

Cwyd len y nos, rho i mi ond trem

Yn y nen, tair lleuad lawn ar ddeg,

Pob un yn fywyd blwyddyn,

Llygad y nos, agor led y pen,

Dangos fy nhynged i mi.

“Say them. Keep your eyes on the water.”

Laela obeyed. The words felt clumsy, but she repeated them doggedly, watching the water closely and trying not to feel too embarrassed. What in the gods’ names was this supposed to do?

Aderyn continued to swirl her finger in the water, slowly and methodically, and Laela kept on repeating the Northern words and watching the water. Finally, Aderyn withdrew her hand. Laela was about to look up and ask her if she could stop now, but then . . .

But then she saw the shapes in the water.

Her eyes widened.

The visions were faint, but not so faint that she couldn’t recognise them.

Something moving, something . . . something . . . some animal . . . a griffin! A griffin, wings spread, rearing up on its hind legs. A man, reaching out to her. A great globe, flaming and terrible . . . the sun. And another globe, this one shrinking to nothing. The moon. And something else . . . it looked like a ring.

The visions faded as quickly as they had come and left Laela blinking in confusion.

When she looked up, it was into the eyes of Aderyn.

“Did ye see anything?” the priestess asked softly, but she sounded as if she already knew the answer.

“Yes!” said Laela. “I saw . . . saw things in the water. There was a—”

“Don’t tell me,” said Aderyn. “Don’t tell anyone. What ye saw was for ye. Not for anyone else. What ye do with it is yer own business.”

“
What
did I see?” said Laela. “What
were
them things?”

“Ye’ve seen yer future,” said Aderyn. “Every Northerner can see her future in the water, just once. Normally, ye would have to wait until the moon was shining on the water, but in the Temple, no.”

Laela’s heart was pounding. “I saw . . . I saw the
future
?
My
future?”

“Yes. With luck, ye’ll be able to understand what the vision meant.” Aderyn looked pleased. “But the fact that ye saw anything is very important.”

“Why?” said Laela.

“I told ye already,” said Aderyn. “Every
Northerner
can see their future. Ye saw it, and that means that ye are a Northerner. A darkwoman. One of us.”

“One of . . .”

“There’s no need to look so scared!” said Aderyn, and her voice had lost that distant, formal quality it had had before. “Ye are one of the Night God’s people by birth, Laela. And that’s something to be proud of!” She reached out and touched Laela’s hair, stroking it gently. “See this beautiful black hair ye have. These fine delicate fingers. See how tall and graceful ye are, see how pale yer skin is, see how sharp and clever yer face is. These are the Night God’s gifts to her daughter. She chose ye, Laela. She loves ye, like all her children.”

“But I ain’t . . .”

“I know what people have said about ye,” the priestess said, cutting across her. “In the South. Don’t look so surprised—I know ye came from the South, the King told me. People always called ye sly and deceptive. They said they could never tell what ye were thinking or what ye were going to do next. They did, didn’t they?”

Laela gaped at her.

Aderyn smiled knowingly. “Those are a darkwoman’s qualities, Laela. Ye’re one of us. Do ye see that now?”

Very slowly, Laela nodded. “In the South, they always called me a darkwoman.”

“And that’s because ye are,” said Aderyn. “If ye want to be an adult—if ye want to be one of us—ye must accept that, and so accept the Night God.”

Laela thought of Gryphus.
You offered up one true prayer. You prayed for protection, you prayed . . .

She nodded. “I see it.”

“Then ye want to give yerself to the Night God?”

“I want t’learn more about her,” Laela confessed.

“Then ye will. Listen, and learn.”

12

Rude Awakening

L
aela spent the rest of the day in the Temple, with Aderyn. The priestess told her a lot—about the Night God and about the Temple. She explained that there were twelve priestesses, and that Saeddryn, as High Priestess, made the thirteenth—one for each full moon of the year. The four who represented the four clans were more senior—only one step below Saeddryn in rank. Aderyn herself was only a minor priestess.

“But hoping to be more senior one day,” she confided. “I’ll teach ye to begin with, until ye find yer tribe.”

Once she’d taught Laela about the hierarchy and shown her around the Temple, describing some of the more important rituals that happened in it, they sat down in a back room and shared a drink while Laela heard the first and most important tale of the Night God.

“Long ago,” Aderyn began, “when the world was young, the two gods ruled side by side. The Day God and the Night God. But the Day God became arrogant and believed that he alone should rule. The Night God, wishing to avoid an argument, suggested that they break time into two, and that each of them would have their own time to rule in. He agreed, and his time became Day while hers became Night. In those days, the moon was full every night, and the sun neither rose nor set. But Gryphus still wasn’t content. He began to steal the Night God’s light from her while she slept in the day, and he became brighter and brighter. And the night became dark. Knowing that the Night God would realise what he had done, Gryphus used his powers to create the griffins. He gave them the ability to draw on the magic that made up the world and use it however they pleased. They became his creatures. When the Night God saw what he had done, she realised that one day he would send the griffins to destroy her. She did not have the power to create, as Gryphus had done. So she turned to the humans who roamed the earth. She chose some of them—the cunning, the brave, the subtle, and the graceful. They turned away from the day and worshipped only her, and she blessed them with beautiful black hair and black eyes, to match the night sky. And she sent animal spirits, made from starlight, to teach them how to hunt and fight.”

Laela had heard this story before, or thought she had. But not like this.

“When Gryphus saw what the Night God had done,” Aderyn continued, “he knew she was preparing to fight him, and he was angry and jealous at the wonderful race she had blessed. And so he created his own race, and he gave them yellow hair like sunlight and blue eyes like the day-time sky. He made them arrogant and angry like himself and filled them with his burning belief that only he should rule. The Night God’s children saw them, and were frightened, and they turned to her and begged for her protection. She told them she would not make them fight the Sun People; she would fight for them, to protect them. So she crept up on Gryphus while he was asleep, and she took the sickle moon from the sky and stabbed it into his back. His blood made the sunrise, but he survived. They fought all that long day, and neither one was strong enough to win until Gryphus took his own sword and stabbed out the Night God’s eye. Her own blood made the sunset, and she fled back into the night. Then Gryphus summoned his griffins and commanded them to join with his people and attack the Night God’s people. And so they did.” Aderyn paused to take a long drink from her cup. “The Day God and the Night God never fought each other directly again. Instead, their people fought each other in their names. And until the Dark Lord came, we were suffering under Gryphus’ hatred. Now, we are free. And the Night God still watches over us.”

Laela stared into her empty cup.
That wasn’t how Dad told it. He always said the Night God attacked Gryphus out of jealousy an’ that she chose her people from the outcasts an’ murderers an’ liars.

“What are ye thinking, girl?” Aderyn interrupted.

Laela looked up. “They tell a different version of that story in the South.”

“Of course.” The priestess nodded. “Gryphus would never let his people think of him as a tyrant.”

“Well,” said Laela. “It’s just that I was wonderin’—there’s two versions of the same story. How do yeh know which one’s the right one?”

“When it comes to the gods, there are two truths,” Aderyn said firmly. “This truth is ours. Theirs is theirs.”

Laela scratched her chin. “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”

Aderyn chuckled. “It will one day. Now, we’ve probably done enough today. I’ll see ye here again tomorrow.”

Laela left the Temple deep in thought, with a guard as an escort and guide. She
had
enjoyed learning about the Night God and how her rituals and Temple worked . . . and seeing her future—if that was what it was—had thrilled her. And yet she couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt, deep down. A feeling that, in going into the Temple and listening to the priestess, she had betrayed someone or something.

Gryphus, perhaps? Had she betrayed
Gryphus
? Did he know what she was doing—did he know about her newfound curiosity in the night’s dark goddess?

Her foster father had taught her that people who betrayed Gryphus were always punished. And she was turning away from Gryphus now—turning away from her father.

No,
she told herself.
No. It doesn’t matter what I worship—I’ll never stop lovin’ him or rememberin’ him. Day God or Night God—it won’t change nothin’.

And she was a darkwoman. She knew that now. She’d come to the North, she’d chosen to live there, and now she had performed a ritual to the Night God and been shown her future. She’d never even been into one of Gryphus’ temples. She’d never been a part of any of his rituals.

But there had been the dream . . .

Dream’s a dream,
she thought, almost sternly.
An’ that’s what it was. The gods don’t talk t’people like that. Everyone knows it.

She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if the Night God came to her. What would
she
be like? How would she react to a half-breed living in her land? Would she welcome her as one of her followers, or would she be angry?

Laela sighed.
Gah, what’s the point? Think about somethin’ else.

Her empty stomach provided a helpful distraction, and she turned to thinking about dinner, which was waiting for her when she returned to the Eyrie. Tonight there was roasted goat, flavoured with wonderfully tart cymran juice.

Now
that
was something she could love about her new life. Cymran fruit was horribly expensive—only the rich could afford the stuff, and here she was, eating cymran-juice sauce with her dinner, as if she were a griffiner!

That cheered her up enormously—the very good wine they’d given her helped—and she went back to her room afterward feeling thoroughly happy.

When she opened the door, the first thing she saw was that the lamp was already lit. That surprised her.

When she saw that it was lit because there was someone in there waiting for her, she forgot about the lamp very quickly.

“Yorath!” She shut the door and strode toward him. “What are yeh doin’ here?”

Her tutor stood up. He was dressed much more finely than usual, and his tunic hung partly open, revealing the elaborate spirals tattooed over his chest.

“Laela.”

She relaxed slightly. “Good gods, yeh gave me a fright. What’s up?”

Yorath looked nervous, but confident as well. “I wanted to see ye. Is this a bad time?”

“Oh . . . uh, not really. I’ve just come back from dinner.”

He smiled. “I just wanted to tell ye somethin’, that’s all.”

“What is it?”

“Well . . .” He scuffed at the floor with his boot. “I just wanted t’say . . . I like ye.”

She felt as if a floodgate had opened inside her chest. “Yorath!”

He shrugged. “I just do, that’s all. An’ I wanted to tell ye.”

“Yeh picked an odd time t’do it,” said Laela, her mind racing.

“I know,” Yorath confessed. “I just felt like I
had
to do it tonight. But I’ll go now, if ye want . . .”

He didn’t move.

“Yorath, I like you, too,” said Laela. “I’ve liked yeh since the day we met.”

His eyes lit up. “Ye do?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “No-one here seems t’like me much . . . It’s nice t’know at least one of yeh looks forward t’seein’ me an’ smiles when he does.”

Yorath came closer—so close they were almost touching. “Ye’re lonely here, ain’t ye?”

“Yeah, I am, I guess,” Laela mumbled. “I never really thought about it. I ain’t really had no-one to talk to since Dad died.”

“I know it must be hard for ye,” he said softly. “My dad used to tell me about how it was here before the King came. We weren’t allowed t’have weapons, we couldn’t worship our own god—we couldn’t even speak our own language. That’s why we all know Cymrian—once, that was all we could speak. The King tried t’pass a law sayin’ we couldn’t speak
Cymrian
after he was crowned, but most of the common people can’t remember the dark tongue at all. So he passed a law that all children have t’learn it. The Southerners knocked down the stone circles an’ buried them, an’ we couldn’t tell the old legends or wear the manhood tattoos. We were forgettin’ our own ways. They made us second-class in our own land—anyone who fought back or broke any of their laws was killed, or sold as a slave. It was a crime just to be born dark.”

He said it with so much sincerity, and with such quiet sadness, that it made Laela’s heart ache. “Gods, I’m so selfish,” she muttered. “Always moanin’ about
my
lot in life, when I know what happened to yeh. To a whole
people
.”

Yorath smiled slightly. “Ye walk down the street, tryin’ to hide yer face. Ye pretend not to hear, but ye do. Ye always hear it. Hear ’em shout after ye. ‘Blackrobe, moon lover, darkman, heathen scum.’ All ye can do is keep quiet an’ hope they’ll leave ye alone. Because if they decide t’come after ye, ye’re dead, an’ no-one’s going to help ye.”

Laela touched his arm. “Yorath . . . I’m sorry. I should’ve known it from the start.”

“Oh, it never happened to
me
,” said Yorath. “But it happened to a lot of people. I’ve heard it from some of them face-to-face. It happened to the King, too, once, most likely. But he never talks about his past.”

“That used to happen t’me,” said Laela. “I never went out into the village on me own, but even when I went with Dad, I’d hear it. The other kids never wanted anythin’ t’do with me once they got old enough t’see I was different.”

“It shouldn’t’ve been like that for ye,” Yorath said fiercely. “It
shouldn’t
. Ye never asked for it, an’ ye don’t deserve it, either. Ye’re a beautiful woman, Laela. Beautiful an’ clever an’ wonderful, an’ . . . an’ yer eyes . . .”

She squeezed them shut. “I know . . . these blue eyes of mine . . .”

“They’re beautiful eyes,” said Yorath. “So don’t hide them away like that. Let me see them.”

She obeyed. “Dad always said I got them from me mother.”

“Well then, she must’ve been a beautiful woman, Southerner or no,” said Yorath. “Laela—”

“Yeah?” she murmured, almost pressing herself against his chest by now.

“Are ye . . . are ye really sure the King doesn’t want to bed ye?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Laela. “An’ even if he did, I’d say no. I’m his guest, that’s all. I got no interest in sharin’ his bed.”

He looked her in the face. “Who
would
ye bed, then?”

“Bold, aren’t yeh?” Laela couldn’t hide a grin.

“Dad always said I got that from him,” said Yorath, unbothered. “I always reckoned I just don’t know when to shut my mouth.”

Laela giggled, which was most unlike her. “Yeah, I’d bed yeh,” she said archly.

Now it was his turn to be taken aback. “What?”

“C’mon, that’s what yeh really wanted t’know,” said Laela. “Why, ain’t yeh interested?”

“Oh, I am,” he mumbled. “I just wasn’t . . .”

“Well, like Dad always said, say what yeh mean an’ mean what yeh say. I like yeh, Yorath. An’ I would’ve said so before, only . . . well. Lots of reasons, really.”

He grinned. “Can ye keep a secret?”

“Yeah, I can keep a secret just fine.”

“A
big
secret?”

“Little secret, big secret . . . they’re all the same. I can keep ’em all. Why, what did yeh have in mind?”

“This,” he said, and kissed her on the mouth.

She stiffened and drew back at first, but he came after her, and she shook off her surprise and her nervousness and pressed herself against him. She’d never kissed anyone before, but she did it now—clumsily, but eagerly. His lips felt wonderful.

When he pulled her toward the bed, she let him do it. She didn’t care if it would hurt, or if she was ready, or . . . or anything. She wanted him.

•   •   •

A
fterward, Laela snuggled in Yorath’s arms. His skin was deliciously warm.

“Gods, I had no idea,” she murmured.

“Was I any good?” he asked. He almost sounded anxious.

Laela laughed softly. “I’m a virgin . . .
was
a virgin, Yorath. What’d I know? But it was amazin’.”

“I didn’t hurt ye?”

“No. Well, maybe a bit. But I don’t care.” She yawned. “I love yeh, Yorath.”

“An’ I love ye, Laela.”

She yawned again. “I saw me future today, y’know. In the water, at the Temple. Aderyn showed me how—the priestess what took me there. Have you ever done that?”

“No. What did ye see?”

“A griffin,” she said sleepily. “Saw a griffin. An’ I saw somethin’ looked like a ring. Aderyn said I might be able t’figure out what it meant. I got no idea, though.”

Yorath chuckled. “A griffin, eh? That’s somethin’ special t’see. Wonder what it could mean?”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Maybe it means ye’ll be a griffiner,” he teased. “Eh?”

She nudged him. “Stop that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

A moment later, she fell asleep.

She didn’t dream of Gryphus that night. In fact, she didn’t dream at all.

•   •   •

S
he jerked back into the waking world abruptly, and terrifyingly.