The Fire-Moon

by Isabel Pelech

  “Oh, my gods,” Teshar whispered. “He keeps them here. Doesn’t he?” Aeret’s grim silence was answer enough. “When he isn’t sending them out to kill for him, when he can’t think of anything nasty to make them do, he locks them up in those. In little dark boxes where they can barely move. Doesn’t he?!”

  If she had to ignite something now, Teshar thought, she could burn a city. She had more than enough power to do what had to be done.

  “Teshar!”

  She didn’t even hear him. My brothers. My brothers first. Then all the other children. And then him, in little writhing rotting pieces, do something awful to him, so he understands what it’s like— She knelt by a sarcophagus of a young boy, small enough to be one of her brothers. The mask was stylized; Utsepekt had been more interested in depicting his closed eyes and crying mouth than making the face look like anyone in particular. I will end him. I will end him forever. She found the latches on the side of the sarcophagus, checked them carefully to make sure that no spell-writing was on them, and undid them. Sutekh, Sephret, all the red gods, be with me in this, because this suffering must be destroyed! Now!

  Teshar pushed back the lid.

  A dead hand, scorpion-fast, shot out of the depths and grabbed her by the throat. She closed her eyes and fought panic. Just one moment of light—

  —No. No spells, little sixth.—

  It was different from Inoheni’s spirit-voice, or Aeret’s. It was hard to even listen to without whimpering, or shuddering, or doing any of the things a person does when something unknown and slimy brushes by them in a pond. But it was also razor-edged, and full of thorns, and a hundred other things that no voice could be, and it wrapped glasslike around Teshar’s mind. No spells.

  She wasn’t even sure how she had cast the other spells. Or if she truly had. A helpless thing like her—a helpless, choking thing . . .

  From the corner of the room, she heard Aeret say casually, “I thought it might be you.”

  The pressure at her neck eased enough for Teshar to draw in air. From the sarcophagus, a golden faceless mask looked up at her, with what Teshar imagined was an expression of worry. —Sorry. Sorry, Star. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .—

  The spirit-speech was a sort of a spell, Teshar thought. She couldn’t even comfort Resheku. Her youngest brother. Well, I was right about one thing today. But not right enough.

  She twisted her head—she was evidently not paralyzed this time—to see what was going on.

  Casually, with no consideration for the person inside it, Aeret was seated on the edge of a coffin. His light was wide open, spilling orange-sanguine light across the entire room. Across the advancing figure of Utsepekt.

  He didn’t seem at all concerned.

  —You.—

  Aeret smiled nastily. “Now, you know how I dislike stupidity, Sutayasekhar. Let’s just take it as written that you’re you, and I’m me, and get on to the really important things, such as what we want.”

  Sutayasekhar? Isn’t that someone important? Someone . . .

  —He’s a prince,— Resheku whispered. —He makes us all call him Emperor, because he was the son of the Empress and should have had Khemtesh.— Even softer, —But he’s not and he shouldn’t and I want to go home . . .—

  Utsepekt whirled. —I heard that.— Resheku cringed. —You are disrespectful and disobedient, slave. You know what happens to such creatures, don’t you?—

  Apparently the dead didn’t tremble, because Teshar felt the terrified shivering in her mind rather than the hand on her neck. Resheku released her slowly and lay back down in his sarcophagus. He pulled the lid back over himself, and the latches fell into place.

  “I assume the fun of such an arrangement is that they never know when you’re going to let them back out. If ever.” Aeret traced around a jeweled tear with a fingernail. “Still the same old Sek. Give you a knife and the time to use it artistically, and you’re happy as a pig in mud.”

  —And you are the same rude beast you always have been. Cease breathing.—

  Even though the command was not aimed at her, Teshar gasped for air. Aeret clutched his throat, rasped, “When I went to all the trouble—” and waved his free hand at Teshar as he ran out of air.

  No. Not fair. This isn’t happening.

  But it made sense. Far more sense than a scorned, dirty peasant girl somehow learning magic.

  —You claim to bring me my sixth deliberately?— Utsepekt glided toward her. —Do you comprehend what she could unlock, what she could make me capable of? You may,— he added over his shoulder, —breathe.—

  Aeret pulled himself back up onto the sarcophagus. To Teshar’s eye, he was only simulating calm, but his voice came out as casual as before, and only a little hoarser. “A courteous guest always brings a gift for his host—and as for your question, I’m beginning to wonder. You do seem a little bit—less human. Less petty, also, of course . . .”

  Teshar shuddered uncontrollably as Utsepekt’s hiss of anger echoed in her mind. —You spit insults without a shred of comprehension. I need only the sixth part to call them up from the River of Night, to weave them into my blood and bones. And then you will pay for your crimes against me. My brother will suffer for his betrayal of myself and Khemtesh, and the she-jackal our sister will bend her head meekly to the collar she deserves.—

  Aeret shot Teshar a look, a hard look, with that deep sorcerer-gaze, but then turned away before she could figure out what he meant to convey. “Yes, all very impressive, I’m sure. Sek, I know you were never a great scholar, but you do realize that many of the things along the River of Night are demons, don’t you? The shadow-selves that the gods abandoned, or just basic unpleasantness with entirely too many teeth . . . do you really want to share blood and bone with Lamash? Or Nairgahl, or Laymia? Even if they’d help you finally get your way with your sister the Empress?”

  Don’t be stupid. He’s not trying to tell you anything. He brought you here to him. Think about it. Have you ever cast a spell when Aeret wasn’t close by? The whirlwind? The True Gate? The spirit-voice?

  Utsepekt—the prince—reached out a gold-encased finger and tilted Teshar’s chin up with it.

  The spirit-voice. Resheku heard my spirit-voice.

  Despite the his eyeless mask, Utsepekt seemed to see the change in her eyes. —Do you still hope for rescue, little sixth?— he murmured, for her mind alone. —Perhaps I should ask you to step into one of my boxes for a few days. Or weeks. You could share one with your dear brother.— He turned around and addressed Aeret. —Again, you have a fragment of knowledge, but no understanding. The shadows of gods, you say, but what, besides the fickle luck of ancient battles, prevents them from being gods in their own right? I am their doorway back into the sunlit world. Emperors have become gods, and gods become Emperor, before this.—

  “And, of course, becoming a god would give you the power to return yourself to life. Indeed. A neat trick, if you could pull it off. And naturally, you’re such a mighty sorcerer that you couldn’t possibly find your free will subsumed, your mind eaten from the inside, and all the usual pesky problems of dealing with demons. Right?”

  If Resheku heard my spirit-voice, then it’s real. And more than that—if Resheku heard my spirit-voice, then maybe Utsepekt’s spell has a weak point . . .

  —You grow tiresome, insolent one.—

  “I’ve always been good at that.” Utsepekt turned back toward Teshar. Behind him, Aeret cleared his throat, and for a split second, Teshar could see the desperation in his eyes. “Just out of curiosity, do you actually need the fire-moon to finish the ceremony? Or is the sacrifice enough?”

  Under Utsepekt's power, Teshar couldn’t cast spells deliberately, with her rational mind.

  Sephret hadn’t chosen her for her rational mind.

  Still focused on Teshar, Utsepekt went still with realization. —You’re playing for time, aren’t you?—

  “Who, me?” said Aeret unconvincingly.

  Seph
ret, Sutekh, all the red gods, be with me now! Teshar closed her eyes. Please please please . . .

  And something else within her said, Burn.

  Teshar’s eyes snapped back open and she yelled aloud, although she wasn’t sure if it were a cry of fear, or joy, or a battle scream. There was an explosion, a hot wind blowing through her, and she was dizzy and exalted and nauseous and enraged all at the same instant. In the air before her, a long strand of Utsepekt’s strange spell-writing became visible and burnt to nothingness within a breath. As if it followed a wick, the white fire of her magic followed the dark letters of his back to his body—and out again, racing in a hundred different directions, along the chains that bound him to the coffins. To the dead children.

  Utsepekt shrieked and grabbed after them. Teshar slid to the floor and thought dizzily, ooh . . . I broke the mind control spells! She giggled aloud. I’m good at breaking things!

  There was a brief, underground-silent pause, and then the scrape of a sarcophagus lid.

  Utsepekt screamed again, and Teshar covered her ears uselessly. All around her was the rasp of stone, of metal, and the silent growling of a dozen spirit-voices. Two dozen. More. Now and again she caught part of a phrase, —you made me . . . took me . . . hurt me . . . now I’m going to— but for the most part, the dead did not even bother to speak. A shape whispered over Teshar’s head, and another, and she thought, they fly? How come I never knew they could fly? but mostly she just held her head and ducked down out of the way.

  And then the first of the children reached Utsepekt, and there was the real-world sound of shredding cloth.

  A pair of hands, warm living ones, covered Teshar’s own. “Teshar. Encircle the Mind. Remember? A magic circle, nothing can get in or out unless you let it.”

  Teshar was certain that she didn’t have the energy left for such an exercise, but anger burnt out a tiny clear space for her to breathe in. “If you say, ‘What took you so long?’ or anything stupid like that,” she promised Aeret, “I will kill you a lot! You scared me!”

  Aeret put his arms around her, and Teshar could feel his own mind-circle close around them both, cool as stone, and as strong. “How about, ‘You did well, Tesh?’ Would that count as anything stupid?” He stroked her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I scared you. I just—I faced him once before, you know, and I couldn’t take him with magic alone, even then. Even when he was just a mortal man. I had to trick him.”

  Beyond the barrier, seeming to come from far, far away, Utsepekt was trying to yell commands at the children. The sound of tearing cloth had given way to uniquely unpleasant crunch noises, and Teshar decided that she really didn’t want to know what was going on so long as the children were winning. “Teshar?” Aeret said. “True Gate. We need to send them home.”

  She shook her head against his shoulder. “I don’t think I have enough . . .”

  “I meant together. I’ll help you.”

  Teshar nodded, and straightened up.

  Everyone’s True Gate was different, she discovered. Her own was golden, with hints of bronze and purple and all the richness of the dawn, and it streamed from behind her like sunlight. Aeret’s Gate was darkness, a deep, painless darkness like sleep for the truly weary—with perhaps a hint of soft, darker-than-black fur. And gentle green eyes.

  And the light and darkness of them shone upward, and slid downward, to fill all the rooms in all the passages of the pyramid.

  Chapter Five

  Sunlight

  Three days after they came back, Teshar and her mother were leaving Hasmahi.

  Teshar’s family and the villagers showed her a different kind of dislike now. They wouldn’t say a word against her, and in fact gave her anything she might request—but they jumped if she moved too quickly, and watched her as if they expected her to turn into something horrible and avenge her ill-treatment. Later, Teshar thought, she would cry for her family, for the father she once believed in and the women who watched her play. Perhaps after that, she would be able to untangle her feelings, to decide whether she loved, sorrowed, hated, forgave, or any mixture thereof. Now, as their cart drew away from Teshar’s old home, stirring dust into the afternoon air with every turn of its wheels, she was just glad to be leaving the staring behind. And uncomfortably aware that even her mother looked at her sideways now and again, as if expecting another windstorm.

  Teshar avoided a strike from their goose and made certain the cage was not about to tumble from the cart. Her mother had claimed a share of the family wealth, as was her right, and a lot of it came in livestock. The two donkeys pulled the cart, seeming happy enough to be away from their monotonous rounds at their wheel. Kamorn walked beside them and a little ahead, with a lead-rope, and Teshar strolled behind the wagon to make sure nothing fell off. Even if they had wanted to ride on such a rough road, the cart was so full that Teshar was surprised its sides didn’t bulge.

  They would stop in Hasmahi proper to pick up some supplies, and there Teshar hoped to find the one person who didn’t look at her as if she had stepped out of a legend. She still wasn’t certain what she would say to him. Teshar hadn’t seen Aeret since the trip back from the pyramid, when she fell asleep leaning against him. He had carried her into her house, issued instructions, and left, apparently to do something with the village temple.

  To herself, Teshar had to admit that she knew why he was avoiding her. Aeret was a sorcerer-priest, and a very important one if he had been involved in the affairs of royalty. He had duties, places to go. And he was not a man of extensive patience; he might well wish to skip hysterical farewells, or pleas of take me with you, teach me magic, there’s so much I want to see and do and know . . .

  No. Give it up. Be dignified, and adult, and . . .

  “I understand you’re bound for Shedeth.”

  Kamorn yelped and jumped, making the donkey lay its ears back at her.

  Teshar grinned without even meaning to and abandoned her post at the back of the wagon. “Aeret?”

  Aeret stood up from where he had been, a spot beside the trace that was half-hidden by a berry bush, and gave her one of his dry looks. Teshar could fill in the implied words herself—I know my name, thank you—but all he said was, “How have you been doing?”

  “I’m fine now. I slept for a whole day and night and then I ate like an ox when I got up.”

  “You exerted yourself quite a bit, you know. That’s normal.”

  Teshar nodded. “Where are you going now? I mean—you’re finished in Hasmahi, I guess . . .”

  “You guess correctly. Back to Abajahn, eventually; I have to make a full report on this. My road lies through Shedeth and Chmon.” He looked past Teshar to Kamorn. “I wouldn’t stop in Shedeth, if I were you. It’s a cutthroat place for the unwary. I’d recommend Hensai, if you want a large city.”

  “We’re . . . not sure where we’ll go after Shedeth,” Kamorn admitted.

  Aeret fell into step beside the wagon. He cleared his throat, waited a moment, and then said, “As a matter of fact, I had something of a proposal for you.”

  Teshar stared at him. If he wasn’t avoiding me because he didn’t want to talk to me . . . Aeret’s bearing, his arrogant manners, and his occasional moments of raw dangerous power had blinded her to the obvious. So that’s what a man looks like, when he desperately doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s shy.

  “Proposal . . .” Does he mean what I think he . . .

  “What kind of proposal?” Kamorn said warily.

  Aeret took a deep breath. “I would like to take Siotesharet as my apprentice.”

  Teshar abandoned dignified and adult and let out a whoop of joy. “Mother, can I?”

  “Teshar!” Kamorn gave Aeret an apologetic look. “Teshar, this is serious business.”

  “I know, but I want to learn magic, Mother, I really do. I’m good at it, Aeret says so, but I need practice, I need to understand how it all works. I need to learn something besides breaking things, because sometimes things need t
o be broken but even I know that isn’t the only way to solve a problem and . . .”

  “Teshar!” Kamorn took a deep breath. “I need to know exactly what is involved. What term of service, for example?.”

  “Seven years is standard for sorcerers,” Aeret said.

  “What would she learn? And what sort of duties does it involve?”

  “Indeed. An apprentice sorceress learns magic, philosophy, history, medicine, mathematics, and the three major kinds of writing. I’d also recommend a bit of alchemy and natural philosophy—it truly helps, from time to time, to know how closely stone and sand are related. Duties—once she’s fluent in common script, the apprentice usually acts as her master’s secretary. Assistance with ceremonial magic, errands . . . if you agree, we can find a magistrate to write an exact contract in Shedeth.”

  Kamorn nodded. “I still need more details.” She ignored Teshar’s incredulous, Mother! “Housing, for example. Food, and stipend.”

  Aeret nodded. “Not as generous as you might find with another priest, I’m afraid. But then, many of my colleagues have strong feelings about what they’re entitled to. I travel extensively, so . . .” As he spoke, he caught Teshar’s eye, and said silently, —Sold.—

  What?

  —Ancient B’dou wisdom. When they start haggling over room and board, you’ve already made a sale. If you want me, that is.— Aeret twitched an eyebrow, even as he explained inter-temple obligation to Kamorn. —I’m a difficult person to work with. And I've never tried to be a teacher.—

  Teshar smiled to herself as the adults negotiated solemnly over her head. The sky was blue around the edges and pure heat in the middle, insects rasped in the field, and far away she could hear someone taking a sickle to the first ripe barley of the season. Even though her only home was piled on a donkey cart, she felt, for a brief instant, the world was running perfectly. I can’t think of anything I want more, she thought back.

  ####

  Thank you for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider leaving a review at your favorite retailer.