The Moon Rogue

by L M R Clarke

  She held out a hand to Charo and pulled her onto the vaemar behind her. Emmy did the same for Zecha, and the four set off in a short arc across the compound. They stopped their vaemar in front of the guards.

  “We’re going to pick shrooms,” Rel said in a tone that asked no permission.

  The older of the two guards squinted up at her, shaking her head.

  “Is this really the time for that,” she asked, “considering the soldiers march in the morning?”

  Rel glared, keeping her chin high but her eyes downturned. “This is the perfect time,” she said. “And regardless of whether it is or not, I will not justify myself to you or anyone else who knows nothing of healing.”

  The guard held up her hands and backed away. “Whatever you want.”

  “Indeed,” Rel replied.

  She kept her chin held high and her back straight as she urged her vaemar into motion again. Trying to imbibe some of Rel’s courage, Emmy tilted up her chin and clicked her tongue to signal movement to Skitter. Her heart pounded so loud in her ears, she was sure the guards would hear it and sense her fear and guilt, but they didn’t. And together, the four padded away from the encampment.

  As they built up speed, Emmy’s heart continued to pound. This time it was with excitement. Only one thought rolled around in her head, keeping time with Skitter’s stride.

  We’re free. We’re free. We’re free!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Bandim

  Bandim Tiboli didn’t suffer from his nerves. He liked to give the impression he’d never been afraid in his life. Now, as he stood motionless on the pedestal in his chambers, the attendants of his closet wrapping him in silks, the emperor truly believed it.

  He had always hated state dress. Layer upon layer of fantastically patterned fabrics were draped over him, all encrusted with jewels and spun metal threads. Only on the occasions when his father had demanded it had Bandim relented and allowed himself to be dressed so. Before, it was frivolousness. Now, it was necessity.

  His attendants were quick and, within the hour, they put the final touches to his headdress. It was an ancient circlet of sparkling silver, with red and orange jewels dripping like globules of blood. His horn crest was draped with the finest chains, with horizontal bars running through the loops and letting more gems spill down the sides of his head.

  His face was painted, a symbol of his royalty. Only the highest of those in the ruling house were permitted to draw their sigils on their faces. Bandim closed his eyes. Soon the Tiboli lightning strikes would be no more. The palms of his hands warmed with power. I’m no longer just a Tiboli. I am Dorai.

  Bandim kept his temper long enough for the servants to finish. When they scurried off to the main chamber of his apartments, he stared at himself in the enormous polished looking-plate. Its frame was beautifully carved from the trunk of a giant blackblood tree. It had been a gift from the Selamans to House Tiboli hundreds of cycles before. Bandim ran his ornamented claws, thick with rings, along its smooth surface. He shook his head. His horn jewels tinkled quietly. Selama was gone now.

  Soon, they’ll all be gone.

  There was a quiet knock at the door and the emperor turned, smoothing the front of his robes.

  One of his attendants, a lower-order Tiboli, entered and bowed. As he spoke, he kept his head down. “Your Grace, the honored Johrann Maa requests an audience with you before your address.”

  “Send her in,” Bandim said.

  The door to the dressing room opened, and Johrann glided in. She smiled from ear to ear, dressed in finery that almost matched Bandim’s. Back in favor as his powers grew, she was once again ensconced in his mother’s old chambers, wearing his mother’s fine jewelry. If she continued to serve him well, he thought, she might even become the empress proper.

  “What do you think?” Bandim asked, lifting his arms to show the elaborate drape of his robes.

  Johrann supplicated herself. “You look like a god,” she said, “as is right.”

  Bandim shook his head and laughed. He raised Johrann up and embraced her. He could play the kind courtier when necessary, though the branded fingerprints on her neck were a constant reminder that she was never fully safe.

  “I had to see you,” Johrann said, resting in the curve of his arm. “I can’t bear to be parted from you for too long.”

  “I understand,” Bandim said, leaning to kiss her. “Now that the goddess lives within me, I can’t imagine being parted from her presence. It must be much the same for you with me.”

  Fervor bubbled within Johrann and, for the briefest of moments, Bandim could feel her emotions. She brimmed with hope, though there was still a tinge of fear.

  “Today, the folk will finally see you for who you really are,” Johrann said. “With this proclamation, you will set us off on the path to righteousness and the banishment of blasphemy and false gods.” She touched his face, tracing the lightning bolts. “Show them your truth. Show them you are Dorai.”

  “I will show them the godly way,” Bandim said. “I will show them that House Tiboli, the Masvam Empire, and the once-hidden believers in the One True God are not fools to be trifled with.”

  Johrann’s eyes gleamed. “The more the folk believe, the stronger you will become. You’ll be able to reach through fire and spread your influence, perhaps even help your troops on the battlefield.”

  Bandim’s mouth spread in a grin, revealing his teeth.

  “The more those wretched worshippers of the false goddess see that the followers of the Dark are numerous, the better,” he said. “And the more of them who come to the side of Truth, the stronger I will become. Then I will be unstoppable. I will show the Truth of Dorai—the truth of me.”

  Bandim released Johrann and drew himself to his full height. With one final glance in the mirror, he swept from the chamber, passion for his mission burning bright in his heart.

  Servants and officials scurried before him like whirlwinds, all falling into their allotted places. Bandim drew a deep breath as he reached the doors to the balcony. It overlooked the speaker’s bowl, which was packed with his subjects, chattering and waiting to hear the emperor’s great proclamation. There were worshippers of the false god there, but for each of them, there were two of Bandim’s loyal subjects. Gradually, the worshippers of Dorai had emerged from society’s cracks, no longer driven underground by the falseness of the Light. There were new believers too, for each passing day of his reign brought more and more to swell the ranks of the followers of Dorai.

  Among them, too, were those who feared the noose and the blade. There were those who feared losing their high position in court, gone with a slip of the tongue. There were those who clung to whatever the emperor said was right, believing anything that gilded their lives in safety. Bandim knew this, but had no intention of raking them over coals to extract their truth as thin believers. This was the time for embracing their flimsy hopes and fears, curling them around his claws, shaping the world to his desires.

  The executions would come later.

  Bandim’s heart hammered as if he was racing into battle. Here he was, the emperor, standing near the spot where his brother had been murdered—at Bandim’s bidding. But he wasn’t afraid. Bandim Tiboli, Dorai, was never afraid.

  The high-pitched horn blast cut like a blade. The speaker’s bowl fell silent as the herald stepped up to speak.

  “His Imperial Majesty, Sole Ruler of the Masvam Empire, Protector of the Realm, Conqueror of Heathens, Scorcher of Souls, son of Braslen Tiboli, grandson of Maram Tiboli, Emperor Bandim Tiboli.”

  Two-thirds of the crowd erupted in an enormous peel of cheering and jubilation. The other third stood with mouths in thin lines, sharing worried gazes. Bandim could feel each one of them, full of sharp fear and burning anger, resentful of the rise of the Dark.

  Bandim strode to the balcony lip, his entourage sweeping behind. He imbibed the adoration of his followers and let the false believers simmer. He watched the flicker and s
nap of Tiboli banners in the wind. Eventually he raised a hand for silence. His loyal subjects immediately obeyed. The others were already silent.

  Every ear was tweaked to him. The acoustics in the bowl ensured Bandim’s voice would carry to every one of them.

  “My loyal friends,” he said, his voice clear and strong as steel, “it is with joy that I confirm the great power of the Masvam Empire is once more stretching beyond our borders. Today at last, we will begin our attack on the so-called Queendom of Althemer. Soon it will no longer be a heathen queendom, but rather shall be part of our glorious empire!”

  There was a surge of enthusiasm from the crowd, but Bandim quieted them again. He could feel Nunako’s fools stirring, curling their toes in their shoes in their disquiet.

  “We have many Althemerian and half-Althemerian folk living in our great empire, just as we have Selamans and half-Selamans, and most recently, our brethren from Metakala. Some of you will be before me now, and all of you will call at least one a neighbor or even a friend. I do not wish to persecute these folks who have long lived in our midst, or indeed, those who have recently come into our fold. The greatness of our empire comes from our breadth of experience and culture.

  “However,” Bandim continued, strengthening the steel in his tone, “now that I am on the throne, it is time to purge a great evil. It is time that we purify ourselves, and do what is right.”

  The atmosphere changed, as if the air was singed. Bandim grinned. He raised his hands, allowing his fiery power to pool in his upturned palms. As he spoke, the balls of flame grew.

  “From this day forward, every citizen of the Masvam Empire must pledge the new Oath of Fealty. All who pledge this oath forego all practice and supplication to any other false god, and embrace only me, the All-Powerful, All-Wise, and All-Beautiful Bandim-Dorai!”

  Believers and nonbelievers alike swelled with fear and sharp astonishment as the fire in his hands grew. For the first time, Bandim could finally reveal his truth to them all. The elation of his followers flamed bright as he continued, “All temples, shrines, talismans, and artefacts dedicated to anything other than me shall be destroyed.”

  The heretical third glanced over their shoulders at the temple of Nunako in the distance, glorious in white stone and swirling spires, where the beloved Braslen Tiboli was so recently burned. The temple that took generations to build, where their children were blessed on their gendering-days.

  “I am your goddess, your lawmaker, your emperor,” he said, sending columns of fire upwards from his palms. The crowd pulsed with fear and amazement, every tongue stunned into silence. “Henceforth, any of you who refuse to swear their loyalty to me will be executed. Not only that, but I will have your younglings sold into slavery and your land and property seized! Worship me, or pay a high price for your heresy.”

  There was no sound among the crowd, except for the snapping of the Tiboli banners in the wind. Bandim softened his excitement and briefly closed his eyes, pulling down a mask of compassion.

  “There is no need for anyone to lose their life,” he said. He cupped one hand over the other, extinguishing the flames. “It is not my desire as your emperor and goddess to persecute those who have lived as our brothers and sisters for so many cycles. It is not your fault you have been blinded by the False God and the promise of the Light. I wish for us to come together under one banner, to cease the endless to and fro of land and life, all in the shadow of a false promise.”

  He closed his eyes as he let hunger build.

  “The so-called Light, the goddess Nunako—these things are folly.” He snapped his eyes open. “We will tear down the temples of the heathens. We will root out every notion of false hope and false gods from our lives and embrace my truth and purity—the glory of Dorai! It is not darkness. It is truth, truth, truth!”

  A sudden cheer swelled from his loyal followers, their greater numbers outweighing the numb silence of the false believers. Bandim jabbed a talon to the sky, sending up a blast of flame.

  “From today, I declare war on those who stand against me. The Masvams will be the catalyst for glory, striking hard against the heathens, starting with the Althemerians and their heretical worship of the false gods Ethay and Apago. They will tremble before the might of Dorai!”

  To prove his point, Bandim reached out his powers to the many braziers and torches that lined the edges of the speaker’s bowl and willed them to ignite. At the same time, every Tiboli banner suddenly changed, hidden sigils unleashed to cover the old. Instead of the Tiboli orange and red and the lightning strike, the flame of Dorai was bright on a field of black. The crowd’s fear and fervor burned as hot as Bandim’s flames.

  “Those who are loyal will be declared true citizens,” Bandim continued. “The Dark will grant you land, riches, and the bounty of all kingdoms. You will be saved from the eternal punishment of the Light. You will not burn, but will take your place as righteous stars in my Dark Sky. You will flourish! And those who do not?”

  Bandim paused, dimming the many fires he had lit. He waited for a moment to ensure every ear hung on his words. His new banners flickered. Then, with a sweep of his hand, he made the braziers and torches flare once more.

  “They will suffer death!”

  There were screeches from below, and Bandim could taste the salty fear of the heretics. However, they were fewer than his followers. A fervent voice below began to chant and soon, cheers and chanting drowned the despair.

  “Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!”

  “All-Powerful, All-Wise, All-Beautiful!”

  More and more voices joined in from around the bowl. His two-thirds of righteous followers filled the air with loyalty. Others joined in, those whose faith was thin, those who sought to protect their younglings at all costs, or those whose throats burned with the promise of a blade.

  “Long live Bandim-Dorai!”

  Bandim let it wash over him, their allegiance cleansing him. He sent fireballs arcing across the heads of the crowd, coloring their faces and reaching hands. His heart brimmed with elation as they screamed their support for their emperor, their goddess, all among the flapping, victorious sigils of Dorai.

  “Go forth from here and tell others what you have seen,” Bandim said, braiding twirls of flame above his head. “Tell them my truth and tell them my terms. And never forget,” he continued, sending blasts of fire singing through the air, “the time of Dorai is here!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Emmy

  The further they travelled from the camp, the lighter Emmy’s heart became. Despite the potential for danger from Masvams, she grinned. They were free, and there was no going back. All they had to do was travel across the Althemerian countryside to get to the city, and they would be safe.

  Emmy nudged Skitter’s flanks with her boots to encourage him to ride side by side with the other vaemar. “How far is it to Kubodinnu?”

  “The journey will take two nights,” Rel replied. “That is, as long as we encounter no obstacles. I say nights because it’s safer to travel by moons’ light. We’re less likely to be stumbled upon and questioned by Althemerian soldiers.”

  Emmy’s heart grew heavier at that. She hadn’t considered that danger, only the Masvam threat.

  “What will we do if we’re discovered?” Charo asked.

  Her hands were tightly wound into Rel’s cloak, as if afraid of something more than the Masvams.

  “We’ll hope that Skitter and Jawbone here,” Rel replied, patting her vaemar’s neck, “are light enough of foot to let us flee. Once we get to Kubodinnu and Bomsoi, we will be safe in her protection—and the protection of the queen.”

  Behind Emmy, Zecha squeaked. “The queen?”

  Rel, undulating on the vaemar’s back, nodded. “Yes, the queen of Althemer. Bomsoi is one of her closest aides. Queen Valentia will protect us once she knows we’re with my friend.” Her face grew grim. “Until then, we must avoid Masvams and Althemerians in equal measure.”

&n
bsp; Zecha pulled close to Emmy’s back, his arms around her waist squeezing tighter. “We’re going to meet a queen,” he whispered. “Amazing.”

  As long as we make it there alive, Emmy thought, but she kept that to herself. Instead of replying, she concentrated on keeping Skitter up to Jawbone’s pace.

  The night stretched on with their journey. The moons rose ever-higher, lighting the darkness. They kept to the edges of forests, eventually crossing into the shadows of high cliffs. At night the roads were almost dead, but the three moons cast enough light to make stealth difficult. Rel guided them down to the coastal path that ran beneath the dark edge of a precipice. It curled around a sharp outcrop, the thin road winding through a narrow gap in a row of jagged rocks. They went one-by-one, Rel leading. But as soon as she rounded the corner, she yanked Jawbone to an abrupt stop. “Whoa!”

  Emmy grasped Skitter’s reins and pulled him aside, just preventing a collision with Jawbone’s rear. The two vaemar grunted and huffed heavy breaths. Emmy urged Skitter through the gap to come to Jawbone’s side again. She drew her brows low and looked at Rel and Charo. Even the former’s eyes were wide with fear.

  “What?” Emmy asked.

  Charo raised one arm to point towards the horizon. Emmy followed its direction.

  Her stomach went to stone. There were ships silhouetted against the horizon, and they weren’t Althemerian.

  They were Masvam.

  The shapes brought back fiery memories of Bellim and the attack there. Once more, Emmy watched as the tall-masted vessels crept along, dark against the deep blue of the night sky.

  “Where are they going?” Zecha asked. His breath was warm on Emmy’s neck.

  “They can’t be going for the capital or Athomur if they’re heading in the opposite direction to us,” Emmy replied. “We marched south from Athomur.”

  Rel’s face was still as stone, pale as a spirit in the moons’ light.

  “There’s only one place of value in this direction,” she said. She never took her eyes from the ships. “That is Hutukeshu Encampment.”