Dark is the Moon

by Ian Irvine

  “Hold on,” Tallia said. She climbed around Malien on the ladder, careful of her shoulder, and seized her good arm. “Shand, can you push her up?”

  Shand put his head up between Malien’s legs, settled her weight on his shoulders, took one, two, three steps up the ladder, then they all tumbled to the floor of the gate chamber.

  The walls were beginning to come apart, the nine-leaved clover shape separating along the seams. The floor tilted even further, part of the ceiling fell, then with a roar one whole bay of the room fell out. Tallia heaved Malien over her shoulder, finding her very heavy for her size, then she and Shand staggered over the rubble, their steps ringing on the crumpled remains of the metal door.

  Just outside the door she stumbled over a woman’s body. It was the powerfully built engineer, Thel, crushed under a fallen block of stone. The air was so full of dust and smoke that Tallia could not see at all. The stairway was littered with rubble and more coming down all the time. Taking Tallia’s hand, Shand led her down, guiding his way by the wall. At the fourth level they could see in one side and out the other. The spiraling cables of stone were unraveling. But even as they watched the tower swayed back, the cracks closing up again.

  “Keep going,” Shand rasped. “Just a little way now!”

  Pieces of rubble were rolling and clattering down the stairs. One bounding fragment the size of a football struck Shand in the backside, knocking him over. To Tallia’s relief he got up again, sporting a bloody nose. He grimaced, holding his buttock.

  Just ahead was the western bridge that led out of the Great Tower into the fortress. They put on a final, hobbling burst as the tower tilted once again. A gap appeared between the end of the bridge and the landing. Rock was breaking all around them with snaps and roars.

  Tallia ran, her knees wobbly. With an effort that she felt was going to burst her heart, she sprang, soaring over the gap with Malien on her shoulders. She landed on the bridge and her knees collapsed, sending them both skidding across the stone.

  Malien shrieked in agony. Tallia lurched to her knees, knowing that she could carry her no further. Blood was dripping from her skinned knees. Shand was in a similar state. They began to crawl up the arching bridge, knowing that they were doomed, as the whole world began to shake itself to pieces above them.

  A block of stone smashed on the bridge, making it vibrate. Another knocked a piece out of the side. More thudded against the paving stones below. The road cracked under them. Tallia was about to lie down to die when Osseion and a group of Aachim appeared in front of them, the ones who had gone up the previous day. The three were picked up, head and feet, and raced across the bridge as the stonework began to shake free of the metal supporting it.

  The whole bridge began to crack apart into plates of stone that slid and shifted, opening crevasses that they had to leap over, then just as suddenly closing up again. The plates slid inward, a chaos that their bearers had to scramble over like goats. Tallia felt the surface drop beneath her, before Osseion flung them both onto the landing. Tallia looked up and saw a sight that would live with her all her life.

  The Great Tower leaned a little more. Puffs of dust issued forth from the middle to the top, then the cables separated and the whole tower began to unweave. For a moment it looked as if the nine strands would fall separately, right on top of them; then as the tower leaned further it began to come apart at the top, block by block, and the top half fell in a shattering roar to the right, onto the domes and minarets of Katazza fortress, bringing many of them down as well. Pieces of lapis scattered in all directions, one cutting Shand’s cheek. One of the great spring cables went wheeling across the sky, singing, to smash through the largest of the domes.

  Last of all the platinum dome fell, soaring through the air to land half on, half off the side of the fortress with an almighty clang. It hung there, suspended, in one buckled piece. The lower parts of the tower began to slide down as well, then boiling dust covered the whole scene.

  When all was still and the dust settled, they looked over what remained. Five of the nine stone cables were broken off down to the level of the bridges, while the other four stuck up in a jagged, tilted cluster circled by a ragged annulus of gold and lapis. Spring hawsers dangled out of two of them, still quivering. Behind them and to their left the fortress was undamaged, the towers and domes standing yet, but the other end was a ruin.

  “Well,” said Mendark, “that’s finished us. No chance of making a gate to get us home now. We’ll have to walk the Dry Sea in summer! That’s never been done before. Thank you, Yggur! You’ve turned what should have been a victory into certain defeat”

  “You should not have used the emerald against him,” Tensor whispered. “After Rulke had such a victory over Yggur with it, how could you hope to master him?”

  “You got us into this, Tensor, and refused to help,” Men-dark snarled. “Don’t bother to advise us now.”

  Yggur stared with sightless eyes over the ruin that was Katazza. “I was too afraid,” he said yet again. “Too afraid.”

  They took stock of themselves. Those who had been down over the rift at the end—Yggur, Shand, Mendark, Asper, Malien, Basitor and Xarah—were burned and blistered about the face and hands from that last explosion of emerald light. Malien’s shoulder wound had broken open in the fall on the bridge and urgently needed attention. Tensor was crippled, Yggur blind, and Xarah sat by herself, her eyes turned inward, not even weeping for her lost twin.

  “Is there no hope at all of remaking the gate?” asked Tallia. Crossing the Dry Sea in summer was a nightmare that none of them was in any state to face.

  As she spoke there was a mighty earth trembler and a fountain of molten rock and ash burst up from the rift on the other side of the fortress, twenty spans in the air.

  “That’s the fate of Katazza now,” Mendark said. “Would you go in there again?”

  There was no need to answer.

  The Aachim had earlier brought all their packs and stores outside. They checked their gear, heaved packs over their shoulders and with a last look at the wonder and the tragedy that was Katazza they set off for the cliffs that led down to the Dry Sea.

  “Shalah!” Xarah wept, her arms and legs thrashing; then they carried her away.

  They headed down the winding western road, Shand leading tall Yggur. Then came Mendark and Osseion, the latter’s huge frame dwarfed by his pack. Tallia walked by herself, dreading the thought of the Dry Sea, though she was better able to withstand it than most. The sixteen remaining Aachim followed her, nine walking in single file, then two carrying Malien. Two more at the rear bore Tensor on a stretcher, a bier for the living. The Histories had taught Tensor nothing.

  What had once been the long island of Katazza was now a mountain chain girt by a series of cliffs and slopes that plunged near two thousand spans to the floor of the Dry Sea. It took five days, with all their cripples and encumbrances, to reach the old shore of the island and climb down the cliffs to the sea bed. The further down they went the hotter, drier and saltier it became.

  At the base of the last cliff they climbed out of a shady cleft onto a scree slope crusted with salt. The air was so thick that it clotted in their throats; heavy and desiccating, and when the wind blew, which was most of the time, it carried salt dust that tormented eyes, ears and mouths. The heat was ghastly, like the inside of an oven, the afternoon sun a sledgehammer trying to pound them into scraps of bone and skin.

  “This is unendurable,” said Shand, holding his cloak over his head as he pushed back into the shade. The others followed. Minutes went by; no one moved, or even spoke. Tallia could see it in their eyes—the Dry Sea had defeated them already.

  Some handled the heat better than others. Mendark, huddling at the furthest extremity of the cave, dried out before their eyes. The very skin of his face shrank so that each fiber of his scanty beard stuck out like a hairy goose-pimple.

  Yggur was panting like a dog, sweat making rivers across his brow. He smea
red the damp across his face in a futile attempt to cool himself, but the air sucked the moisture off him like a sponge.

  “No one has ever walked the Dry Sea in summer,” Yggur said. Alone of them all he had not crossed it to get here. “It’s madness. I can’t do it.” He lapsed back into torpor.

  “Still seven days till summer,” said Shand. “It gets a lot hotter than this.”

  They sheltered in a cave all day and, come nightfall, had not the strength to begin their trek. The morning after, a debate raged for hours as to whether they could attempt the Dry Sea at all. Even the Aachim were for going back to Katazza until the end of autumn, hopeless and perilous as that seemed. Tallia fanned herself with her hat but did not add to the debate. She knew that they had no option.

  Cracks opened in their skin and crusted with bloody salt that the midges sucked at constantly. Shand was so red in the face that he looked ready to explode, while Selial seemed incapable of sweating at all: her pallid skin flaked off her face like dandruff.

  “How far was it from here to the lakes?” asked Malien of Osseion.

  “Ten nights. But the nights were longer then.”

  “And cooler,” said Tallia, fanning herself languidly. “And we were fit and well. It could take twice as long this time.”

  Malien eased her arm in its sling. The shoulder, though healing, still gave her a lot of pain. “If we go back we’ll die there,” she said.

  “Or as good as,” agreed Mendark. “Give Rulke half a year to prepare and we’ll never stop him. I’m for going on, by myself if necessary.” There was a trace of the noble sacrifice in his tone.

  Osseion laughed disrespectfully. “By yourself, master? You do not command me?”

  Mendark flushed. “Just you and me and Tallia!”

  “All or none,” said Malien.

  They trudged through the night, the longest they’d ever suffered. Only one thing raised their spirits the whole time.

  “I can see!” Yggur roared at the rising sun. “I can see!”

  As it turned out he could not see very much; no more than the difference between light and darkness. However, it gave him hope that his sight would return. His bitterness eased somewhat.

  In the short nights they walked, as far as the weakest, Yggur and Selial, could go, and that was only for a few hours. But in the broken lava country the passage was unbearably slow, about half the pace of Mendark’s leisurely journey out, and even the Aachim found Tensor’s litter to be a burden, though not one that they ever remarked upon. All the long days they huddled, packed together, in their tents.

  Every day there were windstorms laden with salt dust or crystals, raging across the plains of the Dry Sea at speeds that it was impossible to walk against. Then they must camp in an instant, close all the entrances of their tents, praying that they would not blow away, block nose and mouth and breathe through a pad of cloth. So severely was the water rationed that they were always desperate for it. Their mouths always tasted of salt, and their food, and it got into everything but the waterbags.

  On the tenth morning since their departure from Katazza, Shand woke to realize that the air was still, the tent not even flapping. He went outside to enjoy the relative cool of the pre-dawn. Yggur was there too, waiting to see all that he could see—the rising sun. To Shand’s surprise he saw a beacon blazing in the blackness.

  “That’s strange!” he said to Yggur. “There’s a light on the mountain.”

  Yggur allowed Shand to turn him in that direction. He squinted until tears dripped from his eyes. “Rulke!” he said, overcome with helpless terror.

  11

  * * *

  CLAUSTROPHOBIA

  Karan came hurrying back, carrying a heavy hourglass-shaped bucket with water slopping over the side. She was amazed to see Rulke standing up, looking fully recovered. Karan felt a trickle of fear. A defeated, dying Rulke was one thing; a Rulke miraculously restored to full vigor quite another. She felt an overpowering urge to run away.

  But what were they doing? He and Llian stood side-by-side, their backs to her, facing the construct. Llian looked up at Rulke; it seemed a conspiratorial glance. The construct shivered in the air like a mirage. Even from behind she could read Llian’s eagerness, his fascination with what Rulke had been telling him. Oh, Llian, she thought, I know you’re not Rulke’s match, but couldn’t you even try to resist? Then Llian saw her and his eyes gave her away.

  “Karan,” said Rulke in a voice like liquid chocolate. “Come, join us.”

  The word “us” struck her through the heart. Had Llian been swayed in so short a time? She recalled Shand’s oftstated doubts about him. The Zain can never be trusted. They have proven that over and over. They are fatally curious.

  “Karan!” Llian cried. “We did it. The gate’s still open!”

  “And if you cooperate too,” Rulke said to her, “I may even send you back.”

  Too? What did he mean? Karan felt panicky. There was a pain in her chest. She was panting like a sprinter.

  Struggling to control herself, she glanced in the direction of the plate. It was still shimmering, a miracle that she had given up hoping for. She must get Llian to the gate. If only there was a way to link with him without Rulke’s knowing. But using her talent here would be doubly dangerous.

  “I brought some water,” she said in a monotone. Let Rulke think that she was still trying to help. “Would you like me to tend your burns?”

  Rulke stared at her, devouring her with his eyes and his smile. His gaze hurt. She looked away, sure that she knew what he was thinking. He was judging her by the tattered clothes and tangled hair, by her smallness, her youth, the lack of guile in her green eyes. Surely he would see her as nothing to be concerned about; her wounding him back in Katazza just a lucky accident.

  His words utterly dashed that hope. “I see that I will never sway you, my diminutive enemy. I won’t underestimate you again. Not someone who so resembles my nemesis, Elienor. Not someone who has more courage than all the mighty in Katazza. You are deadly but I will have you anyway. I have need of your other talent; the one you scarcely know you have. Indeed, so often have I touched your mind while you slept I know you better than you know yourself.”

  Smiling a predatory smile, he stepped toward her. Karan felt his presence picking at her mind. It reminded her of the nightmares on the road from Fiz Gorgo. That awful night above Name, that had been him too. And it had been her link, at least her weakness in using it, that had enabled him to wake the Ghâshâd. Without her, Shazmak would still stand!

  Karan recoiled violently and the bucket clattered on the floor, spreading its contents wide. She bent to pick it up but the water was already glazing the floor with ice. The panic was becoming uncontrollable. If she didn’t act now, both she and Llian were finished. She fought it down but it sprang up stronger than ever. Then the glimmering of a plan came to her.

  “Touched,” she said. “Influenced in some small way perhaps. But use my talent? Never!” She spat on his black boot.

  Rulke clenched his fist. His arm trembled, and when he stepped toward her one knee wobbled. He could barely stand up now. He shook open his hand, watching her carefully. “I can see into your heart. Give yourself up and I will let Llian go free. Refuse…”

  “The Great Betrayer!” she said. “Do you take comfort that all hate and despise you?”

  “Only because of the lies of the chroniclers.” He smiled menacingly.

  “That’s what I’d expect the Great Betrayer to say,” she sneered.

  “Don’t speak to me about treachery!” Rulke ground out. “I had a partner once. Ask your friends Mendark and Yggur and Tensor what they did to her!”

  Karan was taken aback. He seemed to be genuinely angry. But then, he was known for his trickery. She kept taunting him, trying to drive him into making a mistake.

  “I can read you like a chart on the wall, Rulke. And as for Llian, whom you seek to corrupt with your flattery and your offers, he is nothing but a common
harlot—he would sell himself to anyone in exchange for a few scraps of the Histories.”

  Forgive me, Llian, she thought, seeing the hurt she was doing him. I do not judge you. I will not! But if we don’t get away he will drive me mad again. I can feel it already. Whatever it takes I will do it, and make it up to you later.

  She backed away and Rulke moved slowly after her, just like their dance in Katazza. He put up his hand. “Don’t try to anger me. I have borne a thousand insults, a thousand names.”

  “A thousand years have passed and only one remains,” she taunted, trying to draw him away from Llian toward the place where the spilled water had frozen on the floor. “Great Betrayer! Nothing more do people remember of you, treacherous one. There is nothing more.”

  “Every tale has two sides!” he said furiously. “Maybe I need a teller to tell mine.” He gave Llian a significant glance. “Perhaps I already have one.”

  “Your lies will still be lies even if the greatest teller on Santhenar tells them!” she retorted.

  Rulke’s face grew dark. His outstretched arm shook. Karan was of no account, her words less than nothing, but he was drained to the dregs and the words stung.

  “You anger me, little one,” he said hoarsely. He began to exert his mind against her.

  The pressure started to build up again, undermining her. Karan began to feel, lurking in the back of her mind, the madness that she had been driven to on the road to Thurkad. It rose up and down like a cork bobbing on waves, still a long way away, but Rulke was a storm that could swamp her effortlessly. She would not go through that again. Blind terror overwhelmed her. Never more!

  “Llian,” she shouted. How could she tell him to get to the gate without Rulke knowing too? “Remember our plan! Get away from him.”

  “Think about my offer, Llian,” Rulke said, gripping him by the shirt. “There is much profit in it for you. And for you too, Karan. I can give you your heart’s desire, and all you need do for me is one little favor.”