The Valley of Ten Crescents Series (Box Set: Books 1-3)

by Tristan J. Tarwater

  Off in the distance the bells rang, signaling fourth watch had ended and first was about to begin. Splashing water on his hair he grabbed his wooden sword, and as he wrapped his fingers around the hilt he remembered the day before, his father’s hilt stained with the blood of the farmer. Dershik gulped hard and slipped out of the room, tying the sword about his waist. He knew he was different in some way, he told himself. He would just have to find out how.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Point of a Dagger

  Dershik knocked on the door as loud as he dared, unable to keep the grin from pulling at his mouth. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed him, but the yard was dark. The sounds of the Coming of Spring party carried through the air, music and the occasional laugh making its way to his ears. He was supposed to be at the party but he didn’t care. Parties were boring and full of people who knew who he was and constantly reminded him, bowing, introducing themselves and saying where they were from even though he already knew. Even his step-mother looked bored during the greetings, excusing herself to make sure the new tapestries were hung correctly.

  Dershik wished he could make an equally ridiculous excuse. He hated the feel of everyone’s hand in his. Some were so dry they felt like autumn leaves, others so wet it took effort to not make a horrid face in response. Dershik knocked on the door again, louder, looking back before he called through it. “Cira!” he whispered as loud as he dared. “It’s me, Derry. Open up!”

  The door swung open. He thought his heart had beat quickly during the dance, but when his eyes fell upon the young priestess his heart thumped in his chest as he entered her room. She hadn’t been sleeping, he knew that. Her light grey eyes were bright though weary, a book open on her bed. Her dark, wavy hair was still plaited and fell over her shoulder. She must have been reading; the tail of her braid was wet from chewing on it, one of her habits. Getting to know one another was part of the acclimating process, although Dershik had been surprised when his father approved it. Still, he rarely entered the young priestess’ small room. He gazed about the simple trappings, the carved chest at the foot of her bed, the quilt her mother had made. “You left early,” he said.

  “I did. It wasn’t my party,” she accused, laughing. “And I’ve already changed. You look as if you should still be there.” Both Cira and Sister Kiyla had come to the celebration, dressed in their second finest robes. Dershik wore his best, brand new clothes decked in azure and gold. His father had even gifted him a new brooch carved with the maned bear. What was supposed to be an imperfection in the rich blue stone turned into a silver fish in the bear’s jaws. Ceric had whooped when they received their new clothes, yammering about the Spring Party held at the keep after Baron’s Day. Dershik tried not to stand up straighter and show off but he felt his spine tighten, his toes wiggle in his boots as he took a wide stance. He couldn’t help it. The way Cira smiled at him made him want to be taller, broader. Dershik reached into his cloak to bring out what he wanted to show her. “Maybe I’ll go back after but first, look at this!” He held out the dagger, his hands trembling as he held it, careful not to cut himself on its naked edge. The hilt was delicately carved, several stones glittering among the crescent pattern. When he turned, it caught the light of the lamp and the feel of the cold metal sent shivers down Dershik’s spine. Even Cira drew in her breath.

  “It’s beautiful, Dershik,” Cira said. She looked to him and her eyes met his. “Did your father give this to you?”

  His heart thumped again as he weighed the dagger in his hands. “No,” he said. “I…I took it.” He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled, not able to keep from being excited. “Do you remember the boy in the dark blue tunic, with the green trim?”

  Cira’s frown disappeared and she nodded. “I do. He didn’t seem very.…”

  “He’s an ass,” Dershik assured her. “He thinks he’s important because his father runs the eastern silver mine. Anyway,” Dershik continued, waving the formalities away with his hand. “All us sons had to sit together and he was going on and on about this dagger, how his father had given it to him after he had his Moon dream.” Dershik laughed, thinking about how ridiculous the boy’s story had been, how big he had pantomimed the Goddess’ Bosom when she visited him in the night and made a man of him. Dershik’s father promised him a sword if he would just admit the Goddess had visited him already. The Goddess had already visited him in the night but Dershik wouldn’t admit it, not yet.

  The youth tossed the dagger in his hand, catching it by the hilt effortlessly. “But then he goes on about what he’s going to do with it. He said he threatened his little sister with the blade before he and his father left for the festivities, and said he’d use it on one of their servants if they didn’t watch themselves.” Dershik tossed it again and caught it, loving how it felt, the weight of the metal, the texture of the hilt. “What was that all about?”

  “So you stole it from him?” Cira asked. She asked him in her priestess way, not her friend way.

  “I took it from him,” he answered. He couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto his face as he remembered. “You should have seen his face when he realized it was missing.” Karic was the boy’s name. His expression when he realized it was gone, only noticing when someone asked to see it. Plates were overturned and a pitcher of beer broken when he ransacked everything on the table looking for it. Dershik’s father laughed at the boy’s reaction but Karic’s own father’s face was red. He grabbed the boy by the arm and escorted him out of the hall. Dershik took the opportunity to slip out to the priestess’ chambers.

  “Are you going to give it back?” she asked. Cira took the blade from him and held it, seeming interested in the dagger. Dershik wondered if she’d ever held anything this nice before, something which wasn’t a tool used in the temple. His guess was she hadn’t.

  Dershik looked back and forth from the dagger to the young priestess quickly. “Don’t you want to know how I got it?” he asked, dodging her question. When he said it he knew he had no intention of returning the dagger to its previous owner. What Karic had been given Dershik had won. Seeing Cira hold it only made his victory sweeter. When he had dreams of the Goddess visiting him, she usually looked like Cira. Of course he never told her this.

  “Are you offering to show off for me?” she asked, a taunting smile on her mouth. She held the dagger behind her back. Cira often accused him of being a show-off; for some reason it didn’t bother him. At least he had something to show off. He reached to grab it from her, reaching behind her but she turned and stepped back. Dershik smirked and lunged for it, still missing but meaning to do so. Cira let him stand very close to her, his arm brushing against hers as he reached for the dagger. “I’m starting to think maybe he just left it on the table and you took it,” she laughed.

  “Please, have some faith in me,” he said, backing off. “Besides, he wasn’t holding it like you are. Do you know ‘Ten Petals On Spring’s First Bloom’? The dance?” Cira shook her head and Dershik pressed his lips together, trying to think of the best way to explain the dance with only two people and in such tiny quarters. “Well, there’s a circle of people in the middle and then there are the petals, which are pairs of people, so there are actually three rings of people.”

  “You know, it is possible to dance with only two people involved,” she joked.

  “I didn’t make up the dance! I’m just telling you how it’s done!” Dershik couldn’t help but chuckle along. “Look, just come here. You pretend to be Karic, I’ll be myself, of course. You stand here,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and moving her slightly to the right. He took a step back and to the right. “Now, you would have a girl in front of you and I had a girl in front of me so we bow,” he said, bowing at the knees with his hand out toward his imaginary partner, Cira mimicking him a breath later. “Put your hand out and do a half turn, right?”

  By now they were both smiling, knowing they looked ridiculous, performing the dance to no mus
ic and no one else around. Dershik watched as she turned toward him, wisps of dark hair framing her pretty face. He wished she had stayed at the party. He wished he could have danced with Cira the way people did in the barns and in the dance halls, hands on waists and hand in hand. There was the Lovers Dance done at weddings but he wouldn’t be doing this for some years he hoped. When he would, it wouldn’t be with Cira.

  “I don’t think I need to know all the steps of the dance to know how you got it from him,” she said, tilting her head at him. “Just do the part where you relieved him of it.”

  “But you have to understand how well I planned it out, how I counted-”

  “I’m glad you can count, Dershik but I don’t have all night.” Cira folded her arms across her chest, holding the dagger in one hand.

  “Fine,” he huffed. “Hold the dagger behind your back but not too tightly. The hilt wasn’t tight. I know because I checked when Karic showed me earlier.” Dershik waited for her to comply then nodded again. “Now, turn toward me, an eighth turn. Reach your hand forward.” He reached forward and grabbed her by the forearm, pulling her toward him and around so they traded places. When they were back to back, he reached behind him with his free hand and took the dagger from her, the same place Karic had kept the knife.

  Dershik wore his cape to the dance so he had tucked the dagger into the back of his trousers quickly while facing Karic, hands behind his back as the song indicated. He tried not to grin as they looked at each other, knowing the boy had no idea what just happened. At the next count Dershik had traded spots with someone else and when the song was over, he retreated to await the commotion that ensued. “See?” he said, holding the dagger up, a grin on his face. “Easy as that. For me.”

  Cira looked like she was trying to frown but her mouth twisted into a smile. “Yes, you are clever, aren’t you?”

  “I’d say so,” he answered, looking the dagger over again. He could see his blue eyes in its shine and he grinned again. He didn’t have a sheath for it but he didn’t need one, not right now. Dershik knew where he could keep the blade hidden. The wooden box with a key his father had given him last spring would be the perfect spot.

  “How’re you going to get it back without him noticing?” Cira asked. There was a hint of judgment in her voice. Dershik furrowed his brow at her in response

  “I’m not giving it back,” he said simply. “I took it, it’s mine. Besides,” he said, walking past her and sitting down on her bed, “He’s just going to do something stupid with it. I told you what he said.” Dershik gazed at her, then looked to the book opened on her bed. “I’m doing everyone a favor.”

  “Except for Karic.” Her arms were crossed over her chest. Dershik stood up from her bed and put his hands on her shoulders, putting his forehead on hers.

  “Look, Cira,” he said. “Please, don’t tell. I just…I wanted to take it from him. I wanted to see if I could, and I did!” He was beseeching her now. “You have to understand, I did something I wanted to do, not something my father told me or something they expected from me. Please? I know you can keep a secret.”

  Cira broke away from him, leaving an empty space where she had stood. She sat on the edge of her bed, eyes on the book she had been reading. “Of course I can keep a secret,” she answered. It was part of her calling, to keep the matters of the hearts of others to herself. It was why Dershik could talk to her about this, about his unease at becoming the next Baron, about how much he hated reading the ledgers and records of past harvests and past censuses, the commissioning of mines to be further explored. It wasn’t just boredom. It was something else, a disjoint between what he wanted to be and what his father said he had to be. It didn’t excite him, the promise of being the Baron. Holding the stolen dagger in his hand did.

  “Then you have to keep this one,” he said, tucking the dagger away. “Please.” He walked over to her bed and felt bold, sitting beside her. Dershik reached out slowly and took her hands in his, his arm touching hers. Cira was the prettiest girl he knew and he wondered how she felt about him. She didn’t pull her hands away or shift away from him. “Please.”

  Cira held his hands in hers. She rubbed the palm of his hand with her thumb. “I will. Of course I will keep your secret. But please remember, sometimes you have to look for the joy in the things you do. Happiness rarely comes easily. For everyone, not just you.” Cira wasn’t moving away from him. Derk bit the inside of his lip, his mouth wanting to meet hers. Should he? What would she say? What would she do? Would she just become a priestess to him, no longer a friend? She could tell Kiyla or worse, his father. Dershik had no idea what his father would do if he knew of his feelings for the priestess. Cira was the only friend he had. He didn’t think he could risk losing her. Dershik let go of her hands, standing up from the bed before he did something stupid.

  “I know,” he said. This was her constant advice to him. But the reading and the surveying never yielded anything but disdain. Disdain for his father and the way the Barony was run. For telling people what to do and having them blindly obey. Cira tried to tell him he could earn their respect, govern differently from his father. He could make the seat what he wanted it to be. But Dershik would always feel like it had been handed to him. “I’m trying, Cira, I am.”

  He pulled the door open slightly, making sure there was no one on the grounds before he looked to her one last time. Cira sat on the bed, hands in her lap. As beautiful as always, her round face framed by her dark hair, light eyes sparkling above a freckled nose. Dershik sighed. “See you in the morning.” He checked one more time before he slipped through the door.

  Dershik still heard the clamor of the party. The windows to the hall were open and he saw the lights within, people dancing and talking. He crept up to the window, crouching down so he wouldn’t be seen by the revelers in the large hall. His step-mother was back and leading a dance, graceful as always. His father watched her dance with something like pleasure on his face, flanked by two men Dershik knew to be important magistrates.

  It took him a while to find Ceric but eventually he did. He sat in a corner of the room with a girl, Jerila. They both looked flushed. Right when Dershik was about to duck and leave he saw Ceric lean in and kiss Jerila on the mouth, quickly. Dershik stood up and ran, ran away from the party. He passed the first tower and came to the second, flinging open the door and ignoring the guard yet again, racing up the stairs. Everyone was at the party so he didn’t bother trying to sneak to his room. The door creaked open and closed as he slipped in. In a few short moments he pulled both the box and key from their respective hiding places, opening the lid and pulling the dagger out of his belt.

  Dershik stared at the dagger. The full moon shone through the window, lighting the room like lamplight. The blade glinted in the white glow and he caught his reflection in its shine once more. Maybe he could run away. Take the dagger, his grubbier clothes, steal a horse from the stable. It wouldn’t be too hard. He could try to sell some of his nicer clothes since all his jewelry was stamped with the Cartaskin seal. But he’d take his good boots. The party would last till well into the evening. No one would notice he was gone. All the guard shifts were running light as the extra help was needed in the kitchen and the hall itself, as well as allowing the guards a chance to join in the festivities.

  Footsteps approached and Dershik slammed the dagger into the box and locked it, sliding it under his bed. The key he dropped in his pocket. He’d put it on a chain later and keep it close from now on. He gulped as the door was pushed open and the shape of his father filled the frame.

  “What’re you doing in here?” his father asked. He sounded tired and Dershik wondered if he’d been looking for him.

  “I…I was tired and thought I’d go to bed,” Dershik lied.

  His father stepped into the room, his boots loud against the floor. “A boy of fourteen years, too tired to attend a party.” His father walked up to his bed and sat on the edge of his bed, his back toward him. “Very curious.
”

  “I don’t like the parties,” Dershik said. “They’re boring and everyone is just pretending to like us. They just want things from us.”

  “Good,” his father said, turning to him. “If they want things, we can provide them. Keep them in our service. Make them support our house in our endeavors.” His father sighed and turned to him. “Dershik, I know you’re too young to remember, but it was our house who organized and provided for the people when we were dealing with Freemen attacks. Your grandfather trained his soldiers himself, and trained me.”

  “But the Freeman haven’t attacked since I was a baby,” Dershik interrupted. “So there’s no need for an army anymore.” Dershik knew the number of soldiers had been reduced drastically in the last ten years, most of the trained soldiers relegated to guards in the cities and towns. The magistrates hadn’t requested more than their quotas, content with the numbers his father provided.

  “Peace is the time for progress, not passivity,” his father said, quoting one of the journals of Dershik’s great-grandfather, who had built the keep as it stood today. “I have spent time trying to make you into the leader the people will need and leave you with a legacy people will talk about for generations to come. I know you don’t see it in yourself, but I see a young man who can stay calm under trying circumstances. Who is well-liked by those around him, even if they don’t know him. Who thinks about things differently. A natural leader. You will make a great Baron, Dershik.”

  “I don’t want to be the Baron,” Dershik blurted out. As soon as he said the words he wished he could shove them back into his mouth. His father turned his head slowly toward him, his lack of reaction filling Dershik with dread.

  “What did you say?” his father asked. His voice was too quiet. Dershik took a step back and when he did his father rose from the bed, facing him. Dershik noticed his father wasn’t much taller than him now, but he was definitely bigger, stronger. His father’s eyes shone as they looked over his face, waiting for the answer Dershik didn’t want to give.