Faith and Moonlight

by Mark Gelineau

  “From the stories, I thought they would be bigger,” the girl said, her voice colored in disappointment.

  Conbert looked at her, unable to stop shaking, unable to keep from staring as she handed him a water flask. She walked to the first corpse and began working away at the creature with the short blade from her belt. With quick, sure movements, she tore free the huge serrated jaws of the rendworm.

  The girl grinned ear to ear. “They have no eyes, but they can feel your vibrations when you move. You did incredibly well, sir.”

  Con could only nod dumbly. Finally, he found his tongue. “Conbert Eylnen,” he said, unsure of what else to say. “My name is Con.”

  The cadet nodded as she tore out the jaw of the second rendworm. “Elinor,” she said, handing him the bloody mandible. “That one’s yours, but I think we had better get on our way before we attract any more attention. Don’t you agree?”

  Con shook his head in disbelief. “After you,” he finally managed.

  Elinor smiled and started for the road.

  Con made sure to follow close behind.

  Prologue

  THE BOY FELT IT BEFORE he saw it.

  There was a chill feeling, different from the usual cold that filled the stone halls of the orphanage. That cold was familiar and simple. You felt it in your bones. You endured it by hovering closer to the kitchen fire before the matron caught you, or by sharing a blanket with your chosen brothers and sisters.

  But this was different. This was a sharp-edged cold. Like the glitter that came off the knife they used to kill the goats. Like the ice that sheathed the old tree outside and made the branches snap off. He did not feel this cold in his bones, but in his very soul. And it made him want to whimper with fear.

  He had tried to keep quiet. Already many of the other orphans were angry at him. The dancers and jugglers had them clapping and laughing, a rare treat for the forgotten children housed here.

  Until he had begun screaming and pointing at one of the performers.

  He had ruined the show, and the embarrassed matron sent the children off to their dormitories immediately. Their anger was palpable, a terrible thing he felt all around, and he could hear harsh whispers up and down the halls of the old fortress that served as the orphanage. “Crazy is at it again,” he heard. “The lunatic’s seeing monsters again.” He knew if not for his friends, he would have suffered that night.

  His friends Elinor, Alys, Roan, and Kay had not been angry, though. They believed him. They comforted him, drawing him away from the performers and out of the room without a look back at the ruined entertainment. Elinor wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they walked and Roan stared daggers at the other orphans, defying their anger at his friend. Together, they returned to the dormitory and prepared for bed.

  No, his friends had not been angry like the other children were. They never were. But he also knew they did not understand. Not truly. Even he began to doubt himself. Perhaps the cruel whispers from the other children were right, he thought.

  Until tonight. Until he had seen the blackheart just an arm’s length away from him and he screamed and screamed till his throat was raw. Where their hearts should have been, oily mud and black smoke oozed from their chests to cover their bodies. He had seen them three times before, but never up close like this.

  Even now, in the small hours of the night when everyone in the large room was asleep, the boy remained awake. The fear of the shadowed juggler would not leave him, and behind his closed eyes, he pictured the horrible darkness moving over the man. The feeling crept over him more and more. The cold feeling. Sharp. Dangerous.

  He finally could not stand it any longer. His eyes snapped open, and he looked across the darkened room, past the simple cots the orphans all slept on.

  And he saw it.

  The blackheart was in the room. The rolling, oily blackness spilled from its chest like blood from a wound, deeper even than the dark of the night. It stood across the room from him, looming over the foot of one girl’s bed. The boy felt his heart pounding, and he longed to reach out to touch his friends, either to wake them to see what he saw or to wake himself from what must be a nightmare. But he was too frightened to move.

  As he watched, the juggler’s shape sloughed off, dropping to the floor like a discarded garment. In its place was something more horrifying. The head became longer and had no eyes, only a round mouth from which the boy could see wicked teeth. It craned a long, serpent-like neck toward the sleeping child while reaching forward with ragged claws at the end of spindly arms. The thing bent down to feed, and the boy moaned with terror.

  The long neck whipped impossibly around, turning its eyeless face toward the boy. It dropped to all fours and charged across the room.

  For the second time that night the boy screamed himself raw.

  ***

  Ferran opened his eyes and tried to still his breathing. The room was warm. All around him were men and women, wearing the earthy colors favored by the Order of Talan. Many of them had their exposed skin heavily tattooed with strange symbols and designs. But all of them looked on him with understanding eyes.

  An old man stepped forward, leaning heavily on a cane. Dark stripes were inked onto his weathered and wrinkled face, contrasting with the bright white of his long beard. He stood before Ferran and watched as the young man drew deep breaths.

  “What did you see?” the old man asked.

  Ferran matched the old man’s gaze and steadied himself. “My past,” Ferran said.

  The old man studied him for a long moment and then nodded once. He stepped out of the way and made a gesture. Across the length of the chamber, a heavy iron door swung open, to reveal the creature from his memory. The monstrous head whipped around and the circular maw puckered at the air. Long talons scraped across the floor with a high-pitched keening as it drew away from the open door.

  “What do you see?” the old man asked from behind Ferran.

  In his left hand, Ferran felt the weight of a long length of silver chain, and he let one end fall to the floor with a clear, bright ring. His other hand tightened around the haft of a short spear, the blade held before him, catching the light of the torches carried by the members of the Order who looked on.

  “What do you see?” the old man asked once more.

  Ferran’s lips drew back into a savage smile. “My future,” he said and advanced on the monster.

  Act 1

  A Messy Little Murder

  The slow lapping of the Prion River mingled with the creaking wood symphony of the water wheel beside the dock. Moonlight tinted the heavy fog as the last hours of night became the first hours of morning. The heavy mist lay upon the woman’s corpse, fat drops of dew sitting on the blood and making it shine.

  Alys bent over the body, her hands on her hips as she studied the dead woman’s face. Young. Roughed up. She may have been pretty once, but it was impossible to tell now. Old bruises and new mixed with dried blood to create a mask over the girl’s features.

  Alys turned to the man standing against the wooden wall of the pier and shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

  The man finished speaking to a pair of city guards and waited until the two men clanked away in their armored breastplates and shiny helms. His light hair, always cropped close and crisply perfect, shone briefly in the glow from the torches the guards carried. Alys caught just a glimpse of those familiar blue eyes before the light from the torches faded away.

  He pulled his long coat closer about him against the chill of the morning. The black fabric and gray striping of a royal magistrate made him stand out.

  She corrected her thoughts. Stand out even more.

  “I want you to tell me what happened,” he said.

  She laughed, adjusting the large-bladed scythe that she carried across her back. “What happened? Someone killed her, Magistrate Inspector Daxton Ellis,” Alys said, punctuating every syllable of the man’s title with a clipped enunciation.

  He gave
her a long, hard stare. “Nothing is ever easy with you, is it, Alys?”

  “It’s part of my charm,” she said, moving over to the wall beside him. As she drew closer, she studied his face – the subtle play of muscles around his eyes, the set of his mouth. He was always easy to read. “You know who she is.” It was not a question.

  He hesitated at first, then said, “She’s Lydia Ashdown.”

  “Old name,” she said.

  “Old everything.”

  Alys shrugged. “Doesn’t mean much down here in Lowside. You’re sure it’s her?”

  The inspector gave her a slow nod. “She’s been missing for three months now. The parents held out hope that she had just had a rebellious jaunt out to the marches to visit friends or relatives.” He shook his head. “Still, the magistrates were given her description. We knew there was a chance we’d find her like this, but there was always hope. At least until tonight.”

  Alys flicked her tongue against her teeth in silent annoyance. “That doesn’t answer my question, Dax. How do you know this is her?”

  “When she was younger, she was playing and fell into the hearth,” he said. “It left her with a burn scar between her…” He cleared his throat. “Over her heart area.”

  Alys laughed. “So you tore open this poor girl’s bodice for your salacious gaze? Why Dax, you cad!”

  “The mark is distinctive. It looks like a sparrow.”

  “A sparrow?” Alys said in disbelief, kneeling down and opening up the corpse’s shirt. Underneath the clothing, on the stiff, waxy flesh was a brownish red mark. It sat between her breasts, just over her heart. To Alys’s surprise, it actually did look quite a bit like a sparrow in flight. “Amazing. Highside even has prettier scars than we do.”

  “This is hardly a laughing matter, Alys. The Ashdowns are true blooded. They have a direct line to the First Ascended. And their daughter is dead. In Lowside.”

  “Ah,” Alys said. “And there it is. I was wondering what had prompted the chief magistrate to assign you here, dear Dax. Now, I know. You true bloods stick together, right? They brought you in to tidy things up and make sure the Ashdown family is confident that a person of the correct breeding and background is investigating the death of their poor child.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I thought we weren’t making this personal?” he remarked, an edge in his voice. “Wasn’t that one of the rules?” He paused and shook his head. “I’m not here to tidy anything up. I am here for justice. To find who is responsible. It does not matter to me in the slightest how true hers or anyone’s blood may be. You should know that most of all.” He looked at her and in his eyes was that familiar look of resolution, but also a bit of challenge as well.

  That was new.

  Silently, she cursed him. As ever, he knew all the right buttons to push. And he was right. Those were the rules. Keep it business. Alys presented a charming smile to him. “A noble endeavor, Dax. And one I would be glad to assist you with, but you know that nothing is free, Magistrate Inspector. Especially down here in Lowside.”

  “The city will pay for your assistance. Discretely, of course.”

  “I don’t need coin. I can steal whatever coin I want.” He remained quiet at that, and she chuckled. “Oh come now, Daxton. Surely it hasn’t been so long you can’t remember what a girl really wants?”

  “I can’t do it. You know I can’t.” But even as he spoke, Alys saw his eyes move back to the body before them.

  The way his attention kept returning to the corpse, the way his breath came a little faster as she was about to move away. This was a serious case. A Highside victim, old family nobility, found in Prionside. Dax was out of his element here and he knew it.

  “What do you want to know?” he said at last.

  Alys moved in closer and whispered in his ear. “The appointment for Justicar of the Second District is coming. I want to know who’s going to get the nod for that post and what leverage the appointers have on them.”

  Dax spun away. “You’re out of your damned mind.”

  “Oh, unclench. You know I will be discreet, Dax. I always am.”

  “It hasn’t been fully decided yet,” Dax said through tight lips.

  Alys waggled a finger in front of him. “Stop trying to avoid it. This is no small endeavor you are asking me to join you on. And knowing who’s getting tapped should just about cover it. The Second District Justicar is the law in Lowside.” She paused and smiled at him. “Well, the king’s law, anyway.”

  He did not smile back. If anything, his frown seemed to intensify. “It’s not you that I don’t trust, Alys. It’s who you’ll sell the information to.”

  “Believe me, Dax. They know the rules too,” she said. “This is their world. One that they carved out for themselves and built with sweat and blood. They’re not going to shit on all that.”

  Alys met his gaze with her own dark eyes. She saw him break first, unable to keep from looking at the corpse. Inside, she smiled.

  “Fine. I will find out what you want, but I will want results first.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  She pressed her hand against her heart and then held it out to him. He did the same and they clasped forearms, sealing the deal.

  “The Ashdowns will want someone to answer for this,” Dax said. “They will look to the top and think that Blacktide Harry himself is involved,” he said.

  “No chance it’s Harry,” she said.

  “He’s still boss in Prionside District, right? The Stevedore Rats still answer to him?”

  “Why Magistrate Inspector! It seems you have been keeping an ear to the ground in regards to the goings on of the shade folk.”

  “It’s his domain,” he said. “And he’s got the reputation for violence.”

  “Oh Harry’s as black-hearted a bastard as you’ll ever meet, but he has no temper. Everything he does is cold. But even more, this,” she said, pointing to the body of the young woman, “is bad for business. It’s public. It shines a light on Prionside. The Blacktide would never do anything to disrupt business on the docks. Never.”

  “Well, then if he is so innocent, he shouldn’t mind the inconvenience of a few questions, should he?” He fixed her with a look that slowly evolved into a smile. “You can arrange a meeting, can’t you?”

  “You’re wasting time,” Alys said, reaching back and adjusting the large scythe in its harness, and checking the daggers at her belt. “But I suppose, if you are set on it, it wouldn’t hurt to pay him a visit anyway. If you really want to follow this, we’ll need the Blacktide’s blessing if we’re going to be poking around Prionside.”

  With that, she offered him her arm. “Come along, Magistrate Inspector. It’s late at night, and the streets can be so very dangerous,” she said, batting her eyes at him. “An escort is ever so important.”

  Dax frowned again, but behind his eyes, Alys caught just the barest hint of amusement. “Then I suppose it is good that I have one,” he said.

  Echoes of the Ascended

  by Gelineau and King

  Elinor 1: A Reaper of Stone

  A Lady is dead. Her noble line ended. And the King’s Reaper has come to reclaim her land and her home. In the marches of Aedaron, only one thing is for certain. All keeps of the old world must fall.

  Elinor struggles to find her place in the new world. She once dreamed of great things. Of becoming a hero in the ways of the old world. But now she is a Reaper. And her duty is clear. Destroy the old. Herald the new.

  Ferran 1: Rend the Dark

  The great Ruins are gone. The titans. The behemoths. All banished to the Dark and nearly forgotten. But the cunning ones, the patient ones remain. They hide not in the cracks of the earth or in the shadows of the world. But inside us. Wearing our skin. Waiting. Watching.

  Once haunted by visions of the world beyond, Ferran now wields that power to hunt the very monsters that he once feared. He is not alone. Others bear the same terrible burden. But Hunter or hunted, it makes no d
ifference. Eventually, everything returns to the Dark.

  Alys 1: Best Left in the Shadows

  A Highside girl. Beaten. Murdered. Her body found on a Lowside dock. A magistrate comes looking for answers. For justice.

  Alys trades and sells secrets among the gangs and factions of Lowside. She is a daughter of the underworld. Bold. Cunning. Free. When an old lover asks for help, she agrees. For a price.

  Together, they travel into the dark heart of the underworld in search of a killer.

  Roan & Kay 1: Faith and Moonlight

  Roan and Kay are orphans.

  A fire destroys their old life, but they have one chance to enter the School of Faith.

  They are given one month to pass the entry trials, but as Roan excels and Kay fails, their devotion to each other is put to the test.

  They swore they would face everything together, but when the stakes are losing the life they’ve always dreamed of, what will they do to stay together?

  What won’t they do?

  Praise for A Reaper of Stone

  “Gelineau and King have done a great job in this novella. They at times remind me of Ken Follett and a family friendly George R.R. Martin. I would recommend this instant classic to young adults and seasoned fantasy lovers alike.”

  – Patrick McQueen, President, CWC South Bay Writers

  “A classic fantasy tale with a strong, admirable heroine and a nice emotional punch. Great start to an enjoyable new series!”

  – RL King, author of The Alastair Stone Chronicles

  “I don’t know if you can call a book lovely, but A Reaper of Stone as a fantasy has a lovely quality to it. It has a strong, kickass female protagonist – always a good thing to have, in my opinion – and a setting/environment that gives it that true classic or epic fantasy feel.”

  – White Sky Project

  “I really enjoyed the world building here, the myths and legends are tangible and the world’s history lingers just beneath the surface of the storyline. I loved the resolution.”