by Blake Rivers
“They’re coming. The others,” Jonus whispered. “They’ve seen us. Take me, or take your chances.”
“If I am so powerful in comparison, why should I fear them?”
“They can call Madam Romany in an instant. Wouldn’t be much of escape if you were caught.” His smile twisted the furrows in his face.
“Okay, tell me how,” she said.
“First, take my hand.” He held out his white, thin arm, his fingers spindly claws. The voices were closer now, and re-gripping her sword in one hand, she placed her other in his. The old man’s grasp was surprisingly strong and she felt a flutter of power within him. “Now,” he said, stepping into the circle with her, “push the power within you into the lunar, feel it gather and fill like wine into a goblet. See it ripen in your mind.”
Ami closed her eyes and envisioned his words, placing the tip of her sword at the centre of the circle. Power descended the blade and entered the floor, radiant behind her eyelids.
“That’s it,” he said. “Oh, how exciting to see another do it, to see your power fill it. Now, look out of the courtyard and think of where you mean to go.”
Ami thought of the parts of the town she’d passed through, but only one place stuck in her mind. She thought of the river and the bookshop, but it was no use. The destination was set.
“Once ready, thrust your power into the lunar and let it take you there.” Ami opened her eyes to calls of Jonus echoing toward them. The power gathered beneath her, the orb pulsing white and fast. “Yes! You’re almost ready!”
A moment later and they were rising up upon the surface of an emerging orb, the room filling with cries as the old wizards clambered into the room.
Ami thrust her blade down, piercing the lunar, and in a rush of light and power they were swallowed, all sound and sight sucked down with a final pop.
Everything vanished and merged, all the colours phasing into a single shade of white. The sensation was odd and Ami felt as if her whole body had been pinched. Air rushed by, a roar in her ears, the close presence of the other disconcerting. She was joined with Jonus and felt his malice and old sickness within his heart.
Then the world phased back in streaks of colour: sapphire, gold and emerald green shapes defining, becoming ordered.
Ami hit the ground, dizzy, trees spinning and turning with sky and earth, while Jonus landed beside her. He’d tried to stand but had fallen, disorientated and mumbling.
She was sick, cold, the wet grass against her skin her only respite and safe harbour as her head throbbed behind her eyes. She remained on the ground with little strength and listened to the echoing footfalls that stopped in front of her.
*
At first there was only the darkness and the familiar cold, damp stone, the crude steps shorn from the rock so many moons ago; then an unsettled grunt, a shift of scales across jagged rock so close. Romany felt him through the walls.
He’s hungry, oh so very hungry.
But she was interrupted.
Her armlet burned against her skin and lit a fiery golden light, the serpent tightening its grip. It was the call of The Order.
The girl.
She grabbed it and immediately flew into flame, up above the deep, forgotten cavern and now a shooting star, a devil’s tear burning across the sky over Darkscape.
Her fall blazed a trail of red as she descended upon the palace and flew across the courtyard, through the gallery and to the lunar, her body remade in crimson light, trapped once more within the confines of flesh. Such a limited form.
Around her were her servants, four of them at least, knelt as best as old men could, eyes averted. Two spheres remained empty.
“What is it?” she whispered, eyeing each in turn. Their eyes touched her, too rheumy, too old, too stupid. They were quite past their usefulness now, yet something had happened in her absence, and she’d been called. The girl. “Where is she?”
“Madam,” Franus started, “we came too late. Jonus, it was Jonus. We saw him with the girl.”
“By the time we arrived,” Trubus said, “she was gone.”
“Took him,” added Laous.
“Just took him?” Romany asked, her eyebrows raising. “Just took him? Tell me how she managed to escape not only the library, but the palace?” Her voice was low, a hiss they knew well. They cowered, always cowered; sad old men, flicking their beards in terror.
“Well, we don’t know for sure,” Sanus whispered.
“It was Jonus,” Franus said, stepping forward toward her. “He must had freed her from the library, brought her here, told her how to escape.”
“Silence,” Romany commanded, and the men fell quiet. “Mattus has betrayal in his heart and mind and must not be allowed within the circle. He is not important. Jonus though? I have seen deceit growing within him for a while now. His blindness was a punishment, but perhaps not punishment enough? He’s chosen to flee with the Assassin Princess.”
“The Assassin Princess, Madam?” Franus frowned.
“I have heard the name before,” Sanus said, “but it’s from a text that was banned, an old story from long ago written and—”
“She is the girl?” Trubus whispered, stroking his beard. “The text is true?”
Romany lifted her hand and Trubus was thrown to the floor, his head cracking on the stone. “There will be no talk of such things.”
Slowly, Romany allowed herself to leave her mind, her power searching the town, the land, the sea—but it wasn’t enough. She’d been careless, foolish, thinking her palace a fortress against a living legend. A legend that would end soon. She was the one, and she must have her.
“What will you do?” Franus asked, gently shaking Trubus, bringing him round. There was a cut on his head that was bleeding badly. It would heal.
“I shall have to hasten my plans,” she said, coming together once more.
She took hold of Franus.
He dared not move.
It was the look on his face that surprised Romany, the utter horror that he’d been too vain to expect. He screamed as his skin blistered and burst, his blood a torrent down his cheeks. The two men still standing made no move to help—very wise—and only watched as their brother fell to the floor beside Trubus.
Franus let out a single groan, but Romany had already left, tearing out of the room and into the hall beyond.
They were fools, old fools, their never-ending and everlasting faith a failing farce. Who were they to talk of such things to her? Had she not made her domination clear hundreds of years before? Trubus would rise, as would Franus, but they might remember now to watch their words, for as each moment passed, their usefulness became less. She no longer needed six, and Jonus and Mattus were no longer necessary; as fortune would have it, the prophecy of so long ago was to her advantage, and far from being her ending.
She entered the Solar Room and looked out over the courtyard. Mattus had somehow been with her, had seen it all. Questions, too many questions. She needed answers before the end, before he finally arose.
Raising her arms into the air she let out a scream and the sky darkened. A clap of thunder answered her call, heralding the gathering clouds that swirled dark over the town. A rain fell from on high, tears of a million years, a sadness that wept all the way to the sea; and there a gale lifted waves to wash the sores and soothe the hurts, to sweep away so much as it always had. Let the land cry for its lost world; let the ocean rise and fall. It was Romany, last of the Sentries, who now commanded the power and the fear of creation and destruction.
As if a lightning rod in the eye of the storm, Romany released her power onto the town. It rolled from her and flew through the sky.
The flares once more fell to the land, the streets, and fed the hungry one. Her people screamed as one. Her armlet flared, her body the shining torch of an angry goddess. She was hurt, despair and power.
The ground shook with his awakening.
With as much flourish as she’d landed, Romany flew into the ai
r and out of the gallery, soaring high and scoring the sky, leaving a fire-trail of sparks that fell from her essence, continuing to feed him as she shifted form into that of a burning phoenix to scour the hills, the land, the skies. She’d find the girl, and she’d take all she had; and then she’d kill her.
She flew low, chasing her ants, looking for her runaway princess.
*
Raven led the way, though he wasn’t entirely sure himself where they were going. The streets were now heaving, crowded with people swarming in every direction. Bearded and burly men in faded cloth and hardened leather staggered forward with axes and tankards; women with headscarves herded children this way and that. Dogs barked, and more than once he was sure he’d seen a pig or two scampering between legs. Everything looked different from when he’d first seen it, stalls and shops in full swing, buildings barely seen through a haze of steam and smoke as things were cooked, heated, made and unmade. To his left a blacksmith worked on an object that looked remarkably like a hat stand, while his apprentice—a small boy of no more than ten—heated a broadsword and readied his hammers. A butcher was next, hung meats covered in salts and spices, and then a baker, the inviting smells of hot bread, sugared buns and fruited cakes. In front and beyond lay the market square dense with stalls of fruit and vegetables, cheeses, corn, wheat, and other such grains. Other traders crammed for space, carpenters and wine sellers, tailors and even a few scribes, though those seemed smaller stalls, lonely outposts of the few and far between.
Each leaning structure seemed familiar, and with every wrong step and about turn, the three gained new looks and stares, attention they could’ve done without. An old man sitting outside a tavern gave them a growl over his tankard, while even the heather-women kept their distance. They could tell a stranger in the crowd, that was for sure, though Raven had no idea how. They weren’t dressed too dissimilar, with dirt covered robes and unshaven faces. Perhaps it was the lack of leather or iron rings on their belts? Either way, they managed to avoid hostilities, though a few drunkards had been up for a fight, spilling ale and rolling their fists—they’d given way to them, Hero whispering apologies for unknown offences.
For what seemed a simple town, there now seemed to be too many streets and turns. Alleys dark and dank led them to unexplored lanes, and those led to deserted areas where wooden huts rotted in the warm air. Eventually though, Raven led them right, onto the broad thoroughfare they’d started out on the day before. The battle for trade continued still, and it was sweet relief to finally leave the bustling bazaar behind, their feet striking the now familiar cobbles in the lesser crowded end of town. Raven averted his eyes when they passed the house that’d been the horror, and headed down the hill.
The bookshop was open, though there was no sign out front this morning, and no sign of life through the windows. Hero and Florence huddled behind him as he entered, the reek of dust, dried ink and old leather overwhelming.
“Hello?” he called out. “Britanus?” There was no answer, no noise, only the muffled far away sounds of the morning trade and a gentle creaking of old wood breathing.
Hero looked around and checked the shadows before pulling the small book out, laying it on the table beside a barely lit candle, the wavering flame dancing in a lake of wax. He flicked through the pages.
“Can you make it bigger?”
“I can try,” Florence said, taking the book in her hands. Raven watched her carefully, his skin tingling as her eyes flashed and grew a steady white. Deep within them he saw the flicker of tiny flames, and as her hands clasped the leather cover, a light pulsed through her fingers.
The book began to grow, and a moment later filled the table.
“There, all done,” she said, pushing her hair back behind her ear, a wry smile on her lips. “Now, what’s inside?”
Hero gazed around the shop before taking hold of the heavy volume and opening it to the first page.
Raven stopped him, his hand over Hero’s. “No, wait. Not on the first page. Try opening it randomly.”
“Why?”
“It seemed to work last time.”
Hero nodded, letting the cover fall back into position. He ran his fingers against the pages, stopping to gently tease them again. The book fell open on a double page of text and images. The first depicted a woman, dark of skin and gently curved, sketched in small lines of ink. She wore an armlet of a snake on her upper arm.
“Romany,” Hero read, scanning his finger across the heading, “the goddess of the moon.”
*
Mattus scampered and fell forward into a stack of crates, the smattered smells and rotten juices carrying with him as he was hauled up and pushed on. It’d been hard going to keep upright as he was shunted and shoved, a lone fish swimming against the flow of the river, fin flapping back and forth to no end. Somehow though, he’d managed to keep them in view, a glimpse of a cloak, the distinct grey wool in a sea of faded colours. The girl’s blonde hair alone was unusual enough to pick out and pursue. Limping, his face blown and leaking, he leaned against a wall, watching the strangers gather at a doorway. He knew the shop, though he’d never entered, the library within the palace holding all the knowledge he’d ever needed.
The stranger girl who’d changed from a mythical creature weighed heavy on his thoughts, the visions, the memories that weren’t his at all flickering through his mind. The girl with her long brown hair, her sword raised high, her eyes of colour; the blue light between black trunks, looking, searching, and the horses with horns, magic horns… Was he replaying things he’d witnessed? His mind was tortured.
Either way, Romany would ask him back and would put his body back together, he was sure, for a prize such as this…
The three entered through the doorway and Mattus wondered if he could peer through the window. He moved forward, but was shaken quite suddenly and violently to the ground as a thunderous quake began. His cry of pain was lost beneath the screams of a whole town as Romany’s power fell from the sky once more. Everything darkened, and with ruined lips stretched in what should have been a smile, he whispered a chant as the rain poured down.
“It is she. It is she.” He leaned to one side and found the shop through the rising ground mist, a single dying candle hosting a huddle of shadowed figures.
Mattus crawled toward the door as a phoenix cried out above the din.
*
“Look outside,” Florence said, her eyes having strayed to the window and the darkening sky beyond. The scant remnants of blue were rapidly turning a bruised purple-grey to black. “It’s changing so fast.”
Beneath them, the ground gave another tremor, and Florence grabbed hold of Raven as Hero held to the table. Around them books fell and juddered from their places, pages fluttering to the floor, whilst outside the sky gave a terrifying rip, followed by a sudden torrent of rainfall and star-shots.
“What’s happening out there?” Raven asked.
“The stars are falling again,” Florence whispered.
“I think I may have something,” Hero said, bringing their attention back to the table. “Listen.” The others gathered round as he drew the candle near and brought it up to the opened page. “Here is an account of the Moon Goddess, Romany, starting with the night the sky fell.” He looked to Raven and Florence both, before returning to the page. “I am but a man, a man who has borne witness to the coming of the creature known as Romany, the Moon Goddess. Our village was peaceful and simple, and though we cared little for the history of our beginnings, we cared much for the future of our kin; we were happy. We worshipped the Well and gave thanks to it, knowing we were connected to the afterlife through it.
“Unbeknownst to us, on a night now long ago, a creature who looked a beautiful woman found us. We woke to an almighty scream and a furious fire that filled the night sky and fell down upon the land. Many of our homes burned. Luckily we were few enough that most of us escaped the fall; and so, frightened and confused, we headed to the Well to appease the gods who
would have us destroyed.”
Hero scanned the page with his finger as Raven and Florence listened.
“The woman was the source, the cause. She was angry, and many of our men fell defending our people. She threw us to the ground and ripped us apart with little effort. It was a red field upon the cliff, our blood dripping to the sea. Only few survived. I was one who did.
“I threw myself to my home and burrowed deep underground, working tirelessly for hours to dig an earthen shelter to hide in. All too soon my hut above ground was destroyed, and yet I remained hidden and untouched beneath with my works and my writings.”
Hero shifted the book closer. “It continues…”
“When I awoke it was to a day unlike any other, where rainbows of the most vivid colours arced across the skies, and the dead of our village were piled high at the cliff’s edge beyond the Well. I crawled up from my hole to witness the beauty and blood, and wept. Wept with every step.
“The woman was there pronouncing herself a goddess of the moon to all alive who’d gathered, and from that moment we were in her power. Miracles she showed us then as she created trees, fruit and water, causing a spring to rise from the very earth; and without a single touch, the body pile slipped and fell to the sea.
“What were we to do? Most of the survivors took her at her word and worshipped her, and when she claimed the Well as her own, they worshipped her with an ever growing fever. Work began immediately to build a temple of wood and stone around the Well. It had only one entrance, and it faced the open sea.
“I was there at the beginning, and I witnessed the six gather, and how they clung to her simple robes, how they reached to touch her skin, only to be kicked to the ground, their faces pushed to the dirt. They grovelled for her love and power. Something sheened in them, shined in their eyes, and a gift of magic was given for worship.
“Nevertheless, a new day had dawned, and every day after has been in service to the goddess. Many die, many live, many serve and worship, and a few, like me, keep their own council. I know her as a monster, a creature. She is not one of us.”
