The Moon Rogue

by L M R Clarke

  She closed her eyes and listened. The forest around the encampment hummed and if she strained her ears, the sound of animals sharpened: hooting, shuffling, and snuffling in the dirt. She hadn’t seen trees quite so tall, nor had she encountered plants as fragrant as those on Althemer. As Merish waned and Vhaun waxed, flowers that had been an explosion of color began to dim. They spilled along the treeline, coiling in unkempt tendrils around the fences. The trees, tall and imposing, prepared to shed their canopies.

  For Emmy, an appreciation for the outside world was something new. The four walls of the apothecary had been her life. She’d been as much an object as the bottles, plants, and powders. She’d measured and poured and swept and cleaned and...

  It was all gone now.

  Her perfectly ordered, perfectly painful life had disappeared in a blast of flame. Krodge was dead—and Emmy couldn’t bring herself to be entirely unhappy about it.

  Days had turned to a week. Zecha was still unconscious. Charo hadn’t returned. Once more, Emmy found herself staring across the compound, wishing for at least a glimpse of Charo to prove... What? Emmy shook her head. To prove she was still alive and hadn’t been killed in training? That happened more often than Emmy ever expected.

  “There you are.”

  Emmy jumped at the intrusive voice. Rel stepped outside the healer’s building. She plucked up Emmy’s sleeve to inspect her healing brand, then laid her claws on Emmy’s arm. “Come,” she said. “I want a word with you.”

  Emmy nodded, her chest tightening, and followed in Rel’s footsteps. What could it be about? An explanation for the coldness? She stopped her laugh before it escaped. Hardly likely.

  Insects chirped and bristled. The sun had fallen further. A soldier on the back of a vaemar lit the tall lamps dotted around the camp.

  “Catch.”

  Rel threw something into Emmy’s hands. Emmy fumbled, and when she finally secured her grip, she stilled. It was a wooden baton.

  “You don’t need much help from me regarding medicine,” Rel said. She held a wooden weapon of her own. “It would seem whoever trained you before trained you well. However, I can teach you my other skill.” She raised an eyeridge. “I can teach you to fight.”

  “Fight?” Emmy asked. “I thought I was safe from the fighting.”

  The naivety of her words struck her even as they left her mouth. Emmy’s face burned in a flush.

  “You’re safe from the front of the army,” Rel said. She spun with the weapon, moving smoothly from one pose to another. Her muscles flexed under her skin and armor. “However, you’re not safe. Enemies can sneak in the darkness. They can pick out lonely, unskilled folk and—” She dragged a claw across her throat. “Masvams love to kill tsimi. You need to learn to protect yourself.”

  Emmy stared at the baton, not much more than a stick, and clenched her claws around it. “I don’t know how to fight,” she said. “Krodge paid a tax so I wouldn’t have to join the army.”

  “No matter,” Rel said. “I’ll teach you. There’s no need for you to become a warrior, but you should know how to protect yourself. Now, hold it—no, with just one hand. It’s not a club.”

  “And a stick isn’t a sword,” Emmy countered. “What am I going to do with a stick?”

  “It isn’t a stick,” Rel said. “It’s an ohza, a wooden baton. But that’s of little consequence. Ready yourself!”

  Face flushed, Emmy lifted her chin but did as she was told. Rel positioned herself to attack, and Emmy flinched. All that came her way were words.

  “Two warriors face off in the forest,” Rel said, bouncing a little on her feet. “The first is old, a female skilled with a sword but weakening. The second is young, headstrong, and only has an ohza to defend herself. Who wins?”

  Emmy snorted and tried to mimic Rel’s stance. “I suppose you’re going to tell me the young one with the stick does,” she said.

  Rel struck out and knocked the ohza from Emmy’s grip. Emmy’s gasp echoed into the darkening forest.

  “No,” Rel said, holding her own ohza to Emmy’s chin. “The skilled female runs her weapon through the other’s middle and kills her.”

  Emmy blinked. She tilted her head. “Why? Surely the younger is stronger.”

  Rel clicked her tongue.

  “She wins because of her skill,” Rel replied. “Youth is nothing compared to knowing what you’re doing. But to know what you’re doing begins with training. If the younger had a sword and the older still only an ohza, who would win then?”

  “I imagine you’ll tell me it’s still the old female,” Emmy said, the ohza still stuck under her chin.

  “Yes,” Rel said. She withdrew the ohza. “Because it isn’t the weapon that wins. It’s the skill. And skill starts with the stick, so pick it up.”

  Emmy retrieved her weapon. Rel took up another fighting stance. “Stand like this, feet apart. Use your tail for balance. Good. Now try to strike me.”

  Feeling foolish, Emmy made a feeble attempt to land a blow on the older healer. Rel grunted, her arm struck out like a serpent, and she smacked Emmy’s ohza away. Emmy withdrew her hands as if she’d been burned.

  Rel nodded at the discarded ohza. “Pick it up,” she said. “Try again.”

  Reluctantly, Emmy crossed the packed dirt to retrieve her weapon. When she turned, Rel was bouncing on the balls of her feet again.

  “Hit me,” she said. “With passion this time.”

  Clenching the ohza in one hand, Emmy stepped forward and struck out again. There was more force behind her strike but once again, Rel parried and thrust the ohza from her hands.

  Rel shook her head and gestured to the ground once more. “Pick it up.”

  A surge of anger rolled through Emmy and she forced a hard breath through her nostrils. She snatched the ohza from the ground. Rel, seeing her face, smiled.

  “That’s better,” she said. “You’re no warrior, Emmy, but you can use what you have to protect yourself.”

  “What I have?” Emmy asked, the words sharp as daggers. “What do I have?”

  “Anger,” Rel replied. “You seethe with it. Soldiers are taught to control their anger, but you’re no soldier. You can’t hope to best someone in battle unless you have the element of surprise. They won’t expect you to fight back—less so, to fight back with passion. So come at me again, angry this time.”

  Emmy gritted her teeth and pressed her talons hard around the ohza. Anger? Oh, yes. Emmy was full of anger. Anger at Krodge and all her cruelty. Her lies.

  “Once I’m dead, there’ll be no one left to protect you!”

  You never protected me, old crone!

  She lunged out with force this time, swinging her ohza wildly. This time it took Rel two blows to disarm her. Emmy’s breath came in hard gasps and she crumpled her face in a grimace as her weapon clattered away. Rel’s grin grew wider, but that only made Emmy’s ire stronger.

  “Pick it up again!” Rel said. “More anger. More fury!”

  Grunting, Emmy wrenched the ohza from the ground once more and squeezed her eyes shut.

  She burrowed into her pits of anger. She thought of Krodge and her cruel strikes. She thought of Zecha, lying in a sea of mire, bleeding to death. She even thought of Bose’s nasty taunts—and his detached head.

  Emmy flew forward with her ohza raised. Rel’s face was gone. Instead, she landed blows on the Masvam who’d slipped up the apothecary stairs and killed Krodge.

  Then she was striking Pesmam, who so cruelly cut a hole in Zecha’s belly.

  Then she was fighting a faceless, blacked-out figure with the body of Charo at its feet. Charo’s mistress, the one who’d left her for dead.

  Emmy struck out wildly. She knew it was really Rel, yet she kept striking. Her hands grew cold as a seething power grew within her. She landed blow upon blow upon blow on all her enemies.

  Krodge.

  Bose.

  Pesmam.

  Charo’s mistress.

  Emmy screeched, her
arms flailing, the ohza striking air and Rel in good measure. Anger consumed her, coursed through her body, took away every thought.

  Coldness grew and grew within her, filling Emmy with more might than she’d ever felt before. She could do anything. She could kill—

  Without warning, Emmy was stunned.

  She was stilled, enveloped in a freezing wind. Rel’s face was thunderous, her arm outstretched. Her eyes were ablaze with blue flame. Emmy’s heart hammered, the blueness of Rel’s once-green eyes probing deep into the darkness of her heart.

  “Who—who are you?” Emmy choked.

  The wind abated as Rel withdrew her hand. Her power gone, Emmy collapsed, panting and clutching her head. What happened? she thought. What did Rel do? What did I do? And why were her eyes so blue? I don’t understand!

  Rel plucked the ohza from the ground, her eyes green once more. She didn’t look like someone who’d simply stopped another with the power of...whatever it was. Emmy knelt in the dirt, staring up at her.

  “Rel, what was that?”

  Staring down at her, Rel narrowed her eyes. Emmy huffed a sharp breath through her nostrils and struggled to her feet.

  “Tell me what just happened,” she said. Rel remained silent. Emmy’s temper snapped. “Tell me! Just...say something!”

  Turning away, Rel clutched the two ohza so hard the skin of her knuckles grew white. “That is enough for today.”

  Enraged, Emmy clamped a hand around Rel’s wrist. Fury made her bold in a way she’d never been before. There were too many questions left unanswered and for the first time in her life, Emmy demanded to be heard.

  “No!” she said. “It’s not enough. You need to tell me what’s going on. What did you mean back when we first met when you asked me about an attack and the Uloni? Why do I feel so cold when you touch me? How did you heal my brand with just a touch?” Her throat tightened, but she pressed on. “And how was I able to help Zecha on the boat just by touching him? I can feel the coldness, the power. You know about it and you need to tell me. Now!”

  There was silence. Rel’s eyes were fixed on Emmy’s hand, still clamped on her wrist. As the silence went on, Emmy’s fury turned to watery fear. She’s my superior. I can’t speak to her like that. She’ll have me punished, and—

  “All right,” Rel said. Her voice was as quiet as the now-gentle wind. “All right.”

  “A-all right?” Emmy stumbled on the word.

  Gently prying Emmy’s fingers from her arm, Rel nodded and patted the back of Emmy’s hand.

  “Go back inside,” Rel said. She handed Emmy the ohza. “Put these in my enclave and get my cloak, a cloak for yourself, and a basket. I’ll meet you in front of the building in a few moments.”

  Questions burning, Emmy wanted to ask why. But the balance of conversation was precarious, as if at one wrong word Rel would snatch away all possibility of telling the truth. So instead of asking, Emmy darted back inside the healers’ building and did as she was told.

  Medicine-Asri, on duty for the night, shot her a sharp stare when she disappeared into Rel’s curtained enclave. Emmy didn’t spare him a second glance. Instead she dropped the ohza on Rel’s bed, grabbed her cloak from the stand in the corner, and went to leave.

  Before she slipped through the curtain again, Emmy stopped. Curiosity overtook her, and she glanced around. Rel’s little corner of the building was unornamented. There was a bed, a plain chest that held clothing, and a long, flat box that was locked. The stubs of good wax candles that pooled on a barrel beside the bed spoke of her rank, but little else did; apart, perhaps, from the polished plate that stood behind the candles. It was a fine thing, so shiny that Emmy could see her full reflection in the bronzed surface. It was a sight she hadn’t seen in some time.

  Turning away, Emmy hugged the cloak to her chest and pushed the curtain aside again. Now wasn’t the time for preening and staring in plates. Now was the time for answers.

  She tugged the curtain closed once more, ignored Medicine-Asri as she grabbed a cloak for herself and a basket, and hurried outside once more.

  Rel was waiting, and had an enormous vaemar at her side.

  “This is Sharptooth,” she said as she stroked the creature’s strong, furred neck. “He’s a favorite of mine.”

  Accepting the offered cloak, Rel attached it around her shoulders by her cloakpins. Emmy did the same. Mounting the vaemar, Rel held out a hand to help Emmy up. “You’ve ridden vaemar before?”

  “Not for a long time,” Emmy replied. Not since Zesi, she thought, but she didn’t want to think much further down that line.

  Emmy accepted Rel’s help and, with the use of the stirrups, she leapt onto the back of the huge creature, just behind Rel. The vaemar’s fur was warm, and his skin undulated with each purring breath. Unable to help herself, Emmy stroked his coat, winding her talons into the softness.

  Rel whistled a command and Sharptooth took off at a trot. At the sudden movement, Emmy lurched, and her free arm immediately went to Rel’s waist. The healer said nothing as she guided them, astride the vaemar, to the main exit of the camp.

  Emmy half-hid as one of the guards approached, clutching the handle of the basket so hard it sliced into her soft palms.

  “Where are you going so late, Medicine-Rel?” the guard asked.

  Rel tipped her head back to Emmy. “My apprentice and I are going to pick nightshroom,” she said.

  Realizing her cue, Emmy lifted the empty basket.

  The guard stepped back and nodded. Two others moved into place, pulling back the wooden gates.

  Emmy swallowed hard as, for the first time since she had been processed, she left the Althemerian camp. Her thousandfold questions kept swirling in her mind, bumping against once another like flotsam in a turbulent sea.

  What would Rel tell her? What would happen next?

  There were dark questions, too. What if Rel wasn’t to be trusted? After all, Emmy barely knew her. What if she was taking her out to dispose of her?

  No. Emmy shook her head. She didn’t know Rel well, but she’d seen enough of her work as a healer to know she wasn’t a killer.

  She hoped.

  Together astride Sharptooth, they slipped towards the dark forest, under the light of the waning moons.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Emmy

  They reached a clearing in the forest not far from the encampment. Emmy’s eyes had long adjusted to the gloom. To her surprise, a thick ring of nightshroom glimmered in the middle of the clearing. I guess we are picking them, she thought.

  Rel pulled Sharptooth to the side. The great beast’s breath was a soft burr. No sounds of animals or insects crept from the forest. Instead, the clearing was silent.

  Motioning for Emmy to slip from the saddle, Rel slid down beside her. She clicked her tongue, and Sharptooth shook himself before padding off and curling into a ball at the edge of the clearing.

  Emmy gripped the handle of her basket. She hardly dared to breathe, as if that simple act would disrupt the mystery of this excursion. What was all this? Rel had agreed to tell her what she knew, but here they were, just picking shrooms in the moonlight. Emmy bit her lip as uncertainty churned in her stomach.

  Rel walked to the ring of nightshroom and knelt at its side. She bent low to sniff the fungi, then beckoned Emmy over.

  “These will do,” she said. “Kneel.” She gave Emmy a thin smile. “Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten what I said.”

  Reluctantly, Emmy knelt on the grass. It was cool and crinkled beneath her. She watched as Rel plucked the first nightshroom from the ring, then deposited it in her basket.

  “Pick,” Rel said.

  Obedient, Emmy complied. But her mind still whirled with curiosity. What would Rel tell her?

  Instead of an answer, she received a question.

  “Tell me something, Emmy,” Rel said, plucking another shroom. “Why do you say you are a Metakalan?”

  Emmy blinked, taking a moment to comprehend the word
s. Her hand stilled over the basket, a nightshroom ready to drop. “Because I am Metakalan,” she replied. “I live in Bellim—” Unintended, her voice cracked. She swallowed. “At least, I used to.”

  Another shroom surrendered to Rel’s grasp. “Did the Metakalans treat you badly?” she asked. “For your difference?”

  Emmy barked a laugh. The sound was obnoxious in the silent glade, but she wasn’t sorry for it. Memories of taunts and fearful glances flashed in her mind.

  “Badly?” she asked. “Most folk treated me—and still treat me—like I’m a demon. A Moon Rogue, that’s what they say.”

  Rel chuckled. At the sound of mirth, Emmy’s temper flared. The shroom she held disintegrated in her grip. Apologetic, Rel schooled her laughter. “I don’t mean to insult you,” she said. “It’s just that... We have common ground on that front.”

  Shroom picking abandoned, Emmy’s full attention was on Rel. “Who called you that?” she asked. “And why?”

  “Oh,” Rel said, giving a vague wave, “only...everyone.”

  Emmy drew her brows low and shook her head. “Everyone?” she asked. “Why?”

  Rel grunted. “What do you know about the Belfoni?”

  Emmy tilted her head to the side. “Not much,” she said. “I’ve never met one before, apart from you.”

  Rel sat back on her haunches, she too abandoning the picking.

  “In Belfoni, the males rule,” she said. “It’s like the Masvam Empire. Females stay at home and sew clothing and boil roots and look after the males. That’s why you don’t see many of them outside of the homeland. Their values are...different.” She gestured to herself. “Can you see me sewing clothes and boiling roots?”

  Shaking her head, Emmy answered. “No, I don’t think I can.”

  Rel chuckled again.

  “I never wanted any of that. I wanted to fight, but in Belfoni only the males fight. No one understood. Even my own parents called me wicked and unnatural. Tainted. Evil, even. They called me ingufu, like your word ‘Moon Rogue.’ No one would give me a chance. So what did I do?” Rel spread her talons, as if revealing a great secret. After a pause, she continued. “Only a youngling, I took nothing but a dagger and I left.”