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

by Tristan J. Tarwater

  “Maybe you can have a go with them later, Jez,” Derk said, pointing at at the archers with his chin. He knew Jezlen had brought a bow and a quiver full arrows with him. The Forester had taken down a few rabbits in the Freewild.

  “I could just run at the target with my sword and destroy it,” Jezlen said.

  “But where’s the competition?” Derk asked, turning and walking backwards. “Skill against skill? What about that?”

  “I could always run at one of the other targets,” Asa offered. “I bet I could take it out with two hits.”

  “I bet I could do it in one,” Jezlen said.

  “Neither one of you is going to do any such thing,” Devra said, laughing merrily at the both of them. “We’re not here to destroy their targets.”

  “We should have a contest once we get back to Portsmouth,” Asa offered.

  “That also sounds like a bad idea,” Devra said, cutting Jezlen off before he could say whatever contrary thing which had come to his mind.

  “What could you do to the target, Devra?” Derk asked, facing forward. Ahead he saw a stream and three large, wooden tanks with covers standing on one bank. A small bridge led over the stream, a building on the other side of the river looking like a workshop of some sort. Men were fishing by the side of the stream and a priest stood by the tanks.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe…set it on fire?” She sounded unsure, as if she was considering the possibilities. Derk, Asa and Jezlen all looked to each other with concern.

  “I am not going to enter a contest with you,” Jezlen said finally, walking slightly farther away from her. Derk and Asa laughed and Devra wiggled her gloved hands at him, grinning. Derk ran up ahead to the priest who stood by the tanks, looking around for the bathhouse.

  “We were looking for the bathhouse?” Derk asked. He looked up at the tanks, noticing the lids overhung by a few fingers width, the material seemingly transparent. It was glass.

  “Right there,” the old priest said with a toothy grin, pointing. Derk turned and looked. The bathhouse was a platform. Derk blinked and then hunched over to see what was under it. The wooden platform had been reinforced but cut with holes so water used would drain into a basin below. With both the wash area and the basin being so close to the fields, it wasn’t hard to imagine what the purpose of the wash area was for. The stream wasn’t so deep to stand a very harsh summer and Derk could see where it had licked away from the bank.

  Derk shrugged at his companions and then back to the old priest. “Do we just…?” The old man placed a bucket under the spigot and opened the faucet, the water filling the bucket quickly. He handed the bucket to Derk and got another one ready as Asa stepped forward. Derk walked up the steps to the top of the platform, the boards creaking under his feet. A railing was set up, probably to keep children from plummeting to their deaths, and in the center was a table with bottles of oil and scrubbing salts, as well as glasses for rinsing off. Baskets were stacked by the stairs, probably to store belongings and Derk started to undress, Asa trudging up the steps behind him. He had just placed his boots neatly by his basket when Devra came up the stairs, her lips pressed together so they almost disappeared on her face.

  “Everything all right?” Derk asked. Devra looked to Asa, her green eyes wide. Asa just shrugged, pulling his shirt over his head. He had more scars than Derk would have thought.

  “My gloves,” Devra said quietly. Asa stopped getting undressed and looked worried. Jezlen came up the stairs next, not seeming to notice the tension between the twins and setting his bucket on the floor.

  “I…I don’t know,” Asa said. “I thought the wash house would be indoors, like it is at home.”

  “What’s the problem?” Derk asked. He wanted to get washing, naked as he was. “You can put your gloves in the basket with the rest of your clothes.” He eyes Asa and then Devra, trying to figure out why they were so distraught. “Are you shy?”

  “No, it’s just…” Devra took a step closer to him, holding her bucket of water in her hands. “My hands. And my feet.”

  “Do you have a scar or something?” Derk said. He had wondered why Devra had insisted on wearing those gloves all the time, even in this heat. “I’ve seen worse, believe me.”

  “No,” Asa said. “She has marks on her hands. For the things she does.”

  “Like brands?” Derk narrowed his eyes. Branding was for criminals and hadn’t been practiced for some years by order of the Church. It didn’t mean the people in the village knew the practice had stopped. Maybe Devra was worried they would think she was a criminal.

  “More delicate than brands,” Devra said. “Still, I’m worried. What if someone comes up while we’re here?”

  “Just blast them?” Derk offered. Devra tried not to laugh through her nervousness but she did, smacking him on the arm. Derk looked toward the stairs and then to the table. “Look, just get undressed. Asa, Jez and I will all stand around you and wash up, so no one sees you. It’ll just look like you’re shy.” Derk raised his brows at her and then Asa, waiting for their response. “Besides, they moved here to escape persecution from the Holy Family. I don’t think they’ll stoke the fires if they find out you’re a Wielder.” Derk waited for Asa and Devra to get undressed. Devra pulled off her boots, socks and gloves last and Derk saw the marks there, thin, black lines on the front and backs of her hands, as if they had been burned through her skin. She folded her hands and Asa carried her bucket for her.

  “Circle round Devra,” Derk told Jezlen. The elf cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Excuse me?” he said, looking to Devra. Derk could tell he was trying not to look further but instead the Forester looked to the floor and then to Asa’s arm.

  “She doesn’t want to be seen,” Derk said, gesturing toward her. “Asa, you’re the biggest, you get in front. We’ll take the sides.”

  “This sounds really awkward, from where I’m standing,” Devra said, laughing.

  “Stop laughing and wash up. You can giggle while you scrub,” Derk shot back. He looked over the bowls of scrubbing clay and grabbed one, mixing it with water in his hand and then rubbing it over his skin. The water in the bucket was surprisingly warm, almost hot, and he wondered how they heated the water without fire. They all scrubbed away the grime of summer travel, the water feeling good as it cooled on his skin. Derk couldn’t help but look at Devra’s feet, noticing how intricate the design was. Two circles, one within the other and letters and marks written as well. He noticed the marks on her feet were different from one another, different letters and symbols written in black ink on her skin.

  No one else came up while they bathed, everyone too busy preparing for the evening meal to take time out for a wash at the moment. Derk dumped the remains of the water over himself and shook his head, spraying water everywhere. The scars on Jezlen’s dark skin made Derk wonder what he had done to merit so many and he wondered if they were evidence of a lack of skill or recklessness. He guessed it was probably the latter.

  Everyone seemed happier in fresh clothes, Devra wearing even brighter garments than before. “I’ll see about getting these washed,” Derk offered, sliding his boots on. Everyone dropped their laundry into one basket before leaving down the stairs, giving their thanks as Derk tried to arrange it so it wouldn’t fall out. Derk walked carefully down the stairs and found his way back to the old priest manning the water tanks. “Excuse me,” he said. “Where can I take these to get washed?”

  “The clothes are washed downstream,” the old man cackled. “Just give ‘em to the women down there, they’ll get ‘em done for you.” Derk thanked the man and walked by the side of the stream, listening to the sounds of the village. Sounds of metal carried over from the workshop on the other side of the stream. They had their own tank adjacent to the shop and he saw men in aprons, their faces covered with handkerchiefs. Large sunflowers grew on both sides of the stream, their yellow faces pointed toward the sun. Derk spotted a group of women down by the stream, laughing and was
hing garments while children played. A pair of boys were practicing with bows and arrows and a baby lay in a carved cradle hanging from a tree, its small hands grabbing at the air. Derk waved to the women as he approached.

  “I was wondering if one of you could be troubled to wash these for us? If you’re not too busy with your own items, that is,” Derk said, smiling to them.

  “I’ll take on your wash,” a younger woman said. Her hair was red and she looked like one of the youngest in the bunch. “I ain’t got any babes to wash after, adding some more’s no thing.”

  “Dayin needs to give you a reason to wash more,” one of the women joked, her braids tucked within a pretty handkerchief. “Get him out of the range and in the bed, girl!” The other women laughed, scrubbing and smacking linens and garments against the rocks, rubbing soap onto them.

  “There’s more to life than slidin’ out babes, am I right?” the young woman asked, her eyes glinting merrily at Derk. She took her basket from him, her arms strong and the hair on her arms bleached by the sun. “D’you have any babes?”

  “No,” Derk said with a shake of his head, feeling slightly out of place with the washer women. Deril didn’t count, not really. He had treated Deril like his son in public and helped Jerila with the boy when he could but the baby wasn’t his.

  “You should try harder!” one of the women shouted, all of them laughing raucously. The young woman just laughed while Derk felt his face grow hot.

  “I’ll bring ‘em by the dormitory later,” the young woman said, smiling at him. She had a gap between her front teeth; it made her appear younger than she probably was. As Derk walked away from the women, he heard them laughing and joking. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to look back to see if they were pointing at him.

  Movement on the other side of the riverbank caught his eye. A pair of horsemen rode in from the north, galloping toward the workshop. Quivers of arrows sprouted from the horse’s tack and the men wore bows slung over their shoulders, leather bracers glinting in the fading light. A tree lent a handy spot to hide and Derk ducked behind it, making sure no one was watching.

  The high priest came out of the workshop. He was still wearing his clerical garments so there was no mistaking him. Riyin was with him as well. The two horsemen slid from their mounts and said something to the high priest. The high priest looked down to the ground, obviously upset with their news. Riyin said something as well, moving his hands wildly, obviously agitated. One of the horsemen argued back and the two priests fell silent and looked to each other. The high priest looked toward the village as the horsemen grabbed the reins of their mounts, walking them toward the bridge.

  Derk turned and strode back to the village before he could be spotted, trying to look nonchalant as he headed back toward the homes. When he looked over his shoulder the two archers were putting their horses into the barn, a woman running up to one of them and throwing her arms around his neck. Derk thought for a moment and headed to the temple.

  The temple was not like the ones back home. Temples to the Goddess always had multiple entrances and exits. It meant they had to be guarded in order to keep out intruders, but it also meant people could escape if one of the entrances was attacked. It was a convention left over from the old days, when the people of the Valley were of Holy Haran and burned out of their temples by other factions. The Temple of the Ever Burning Sun had one entrance and it was the one he had seen with the two braziers outside the door. Derk walked through the front door, not sure what to expect.

  It was sparser than he had imagined. It had pews within much like the temples for the Goddess, but whereas most temples had round windows opened to the air, this temple had colored glass in fiery colors. Candles burned, not lamps, and the altar was lit with many of them placed in glass holders. Derk wondered where they got the material to make all this glass and wondered if they couldn’t sell some of it in the Valley for a good price.

  What was really striking about the altar was it bore no depiction of their god. Instead, a large, golden ball hung in the air, suspended by thin chains from the ceiling. Carved depictions of the earth, clouds and the moon all had their place on the altar but the bright sun caught the light of the candles and gleamed like a thing alive. Derk marveled at the beautifully crafted arrows springing from the sun, its golden rays. Their shafts were coated in what appeared to be gold but their heads were made of glass. The altar table was made of glass as well, a huge thing remarkable to behold. Derk walked through the temple quietly, admiring the strange but beautiful craftsmanship the worshipers had used in reverence to their god.

  A robed figure emerged from within the temple, jumping as he realized he wasn’t alone. “Uh,” he stammered, his eyes looking for an escape. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m one of the Valleymen here for the chalice. I was just wondering if I could see it?” Derk took his hands out of his pocket and rocked back and forth on his heels.

  The priest’s mouth fell open and then he shook his head. “I’ve been instructed to not show it to anyone. The High Priest wants to be the one to reveal it himself. I’ve been ordered-”

  “I understand,” Derk said, waving him away and turning to leave. “Orders.” Derk turned and left. He couldn’t help but listen as the priest’s steps quickened till he was running away, the sound disappearing within the temple.

  CHAPTER 9

  Misplaced Trust

  Derk found Sindra in the room, brushing her long hair loose after having it plaited for their travels. She smiled when he walked in, stopping mid-stroke. “Where’ve you been?” she asked. She set the brush down on the bed and stood up, looking toward the door before she put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth. Derk kissed her back, glad to finally have some time alone with her. Still, Derk couldn’t make use of the newly found time for what he really wanted. He had to find out something.

  “When do we get to see the chalice?” he asked. Sindra pushed his hair out of his face and put her hand on his cheek.

  “Tomorrow, Father Solin said,” Sindra replied. “They’re going to give it at first light, as the moon and sun will be there to witness it both.” Her brows furrowed as she looked into his eyes. “Why?”

  “I’m just curious,” Derk said, shrugging under the weight of her arms. “We came all this way for it, I wanted to know when we’ll be able to see it.”

  “I’m excited to see it as well,” Sindra confessed, her eyes sparkling. “To have such an article of faith back in the Church’s hands would be wonderful indeed. The legends behind it!”

  “Right,” Derk said. “The Healing of the Acolyte. And made by the Goddess herself! I’m sure many people will come to see it, to touch it. It’ll inspire people throughout the Valley.” Derk felt himself grow excited, thinking about the chalice. It was said to heal the Acolyte who drank water from it generations ago. She had been beaten and left to die on the side of the road. The Goddess had given it to the Acolyte and when she drank from it, she was healed of her wounds. Another version of the story said the Acolyte gave her attackers a drink from the chalice and it killed them, while yet another ending had the violent men beg her for forgiveness, giving up their lives of crime and devoting themselves to introspection. Regardless of the ending, it was supposed to have been made by the Goddess herself. The two horsemen and the exchange between the high priest and the man concerned Derk though.

  “I think something is wrong,” Derk huffed. He had to tell someone and Sindra seemed like the one to tell.

  Sindra narrowed her eyes at him, her lips pressing together with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Derk shrugged, trying to think of a way of telling her what he saw and thought without having it seem like he was starting at shadows. “I saw some horsemen come galloping from the north, with weapons. They spoke with the High Priest and Brother Riyin. They all looked upset.”

  “If they came from the north, they came from the Freewild. It would be unwise of them to go unarmed,�
� Sindra said. “Maybe they went looking for something mundane. A water source, a lost animal perhaps.”

  “That’s not it,” Derk admitted. “I went into the temple and…I saw one of the brothers there. I asked if I could see the chalice and he said the High Priest instructed him to not allow anyone to see it. Everyone looked nervous when we first arrived, Sindra.”

  “Because we’re outsiders, Derk,” Sindra laughed. It was a nervous laugh. She dropped her hands from him and stepped away, looking out the window. Her shoulders drooped. Derk felt terrible. He didn’t want to be right.

  “Well, you’ve seen it, right? When you went to get everything from the cart into the temple? The priest has shown it to you?” Sindra didn’t turn around and Derk brought his hands to his head, blowing out his cheeks.

  “Come with me. To the temple.” She pushed past him and Derk couldn’t do anything but comply, not sure what she was going to do. Sindra walked out of the dormitories, Derk chasing after her, her grey robes fluttering behind her as she made a line for the temple. Asa, Jezlen and Devra called to them and Derk just spun around and waved his hands frantically before he chased after Sindra again. Sindra entered the temple, doing nothing to dampen her footsteps.

  “May I help you?” a different priest asked. He was older, wearing a white stole whereas the priest Derk had spoken with had worn an orange one.

  “Yes, actually. I was hoping to speak with Father Solin,” Sindra said.

  “I’m afraid he is busy at the moment but perhaps I can help you. What do you need?” The old priest looked up as the sound of footsteps echoed in the temple. Asa and Devra entered and stood beside Derk.

  “I have finally settled in and I was hoping I could perhaps view the chalice,” Sindra said. Her voice was strong but low, and Derk watched the priest’s face to see his reaction to her request.

  “I’m afraid I’m unable to meet your request,” the priest said, bowing his head. “The Father is the only one with the key to its case.”