The Moon Rogue

by L M R Clarke

  Gradually, the pain passed. Reality swirled back, and those hands were replaced by hands that gave gentle caresses. Hands that stroked his forehead. Fonbir’s hands. Mantos was in his bed, comforted by the one he loved, cradled on his lap like a hatchling.

  But reality came with jagged edges, like shattered eggshell. There were memories of his shaking, and a pair of eyes that watched from the bedside.

  I am weak, Mantos thought. I cannot control my own mind. I cannot live with my guilt. But why do I feel such remorse for speaking out? Why do I feel as though I betrayed my brother, a brother who tried to kill me?

  A voice in his head clarified.

  Because you are a traitor.

  Mantos shifted under the furs and briefly pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He felt as gnarled as an ancient tree, as tied in knots as the most dreadful of tangles. Fonbir cooed and petted, while Bomsoi stayed at a respectful distance. Her armor glittered in the candlelight.

  As always, she was dressed in sober robes of black. There was no elegant trim, no jewels, nothing to suggest she was in any way important; yet she was. She’d brought Mantos back from the dead. Now she had dived into his head, a hero of old tales, a savior.

  Mantos raised his head, propping himself on one elbow. The shadow of pain made him bold.

  “What is your purpose, Bomsoi?” he asked. “My mother tells me you were there not long after I died. She tells me you were the one to save her, and you were the one who took my body. Fonbir tells me he worked with you. He tells me you knew I was going to die. How did you know all this? Why were you in the right place at the right time so many times?”

  Bomsoi stepped closer to the bedside. She inclined her head. “I am a stranger in this world, though I have lived in it for many cycles. I am one of you, and yet I am not. I know things.”

  Weariness threatened to weigh Mantos’ head back onto Fonbir’s lap. “Why must you talk in riddles?” he asked.

  He expected a remark that arced around the truth. But that was not what he received. Instead, he was favored with a knowing look—the sort a mother might give a wayward son.

  “I don’t think you would believe me if I told you,” Bomsoi said. Her eyes gleamed with mystery. “Why waste the words?”

  Mantos grunted. Fonbir rubbed small circles on his back.

  “I have a right to know,” he said. “You meddled with my life. You meddled with my death. And now, at every turn, I see you. I deserve to know what you are so I can understand what you’ve done to me.”

  There was an upturn at the corner of Bomsoi’s mouth, and something strange that glittered behind her eyes. She gave a shallow nod. “All right,” she said. “I will tell you.”

  Before she could speak another word, her entire body became still as stone. Her eyes shone blue and bright in the darkness.

  Mantos’ throat tightened.

  “Bomsoi?” he asked, bolting upright. At his side, Fonbir stiffened.

  There was no response. Mantos’ breathing quickened as he watched Bomsoi, immovable as a mountain, staring blankly with those ethereal eyes. It was as though she was encased in ice, or was a statue hewn from silvery rock.

  “What in the name of the Dark is this?” Mantos stared at the frozen curve of her mouth. “Look at her eyes! Fonbir, who is she?”

  Fonbir licked his lips, fighting for the words. “I don’t know, exactly.”

  Mantos smelled the lie. He grabbed Fonbir’s arm. “Please, Nabi,” he said. “Tell me what you know.”

  There was a trembling in Fonbir’s arm. He licked his lips again.

  “Bomsoi is a mystery,” he said. At Mantos’ derisive snort, he shook his head. “I know that sounds strange, but she is. She’s called the Stranger for good reason. She’s been an advisor to my mother for many cycles. She’s commanded battalions of the queen’s army, and it was she who trained Valaria in combat. She trains Fylica now. Before, she worked for the longest time in the encampments with her apprentice. And...” He stumbled, looked away, then looked back. He lifted his free arm and pointed at his eyes. His white eyes. “There’s something I’ve never told you, Mantos,” he said. His voice wavered, and he swallowed. His pupils were wide in the stark blankness of the round of his eyes. “There’s a reason Bomsoi is trusted by my mother. When I was young, not yet gendered, I caught eyepox. My eyes scabbed over and I lost my sight. Nothing the healers did made it better.

  “But Mother had heard stories, from one of the camps, of a healer that performed miracles. Desperate, Mother had her soldiers bring the Stranger to me. She touched my eyes and chanted words I didn’t know. Then the scabs lifted and I could see again, though I was marked by her magic—her strangeness. My eyes turned white.”

  Mantos pulled away, lips tightening in a frown.

  “You told me your white eyes came from your father,” he said. “Why did you lie, to me of all folk?”

  Fonbir’s eyes filled, but he blinked the wetness away. “I didn’t want you to reject me,” he said. “Touched by sorcery, I would carry a taint if anyone knew. I couldn’t bear your rejection. Only Mother, Valaria, and I know the truth. Even Fylica thinks Father’s eyes were white, because she doesn’t remember him.”

  Reeling, Mantos rose from the bed. He gestured at Bomsoi’s gleaming eyes. “What is this creature?”

  Fonbir opened his mouth, but he didn’t get the chance to speak. Instead, Bomsoi answered.

  “I am the Daughter of Gods,” she said. “I am the Joiner of Hands.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Emmy

  Sweet perfume floated on a gentle breeze. Freezing air licked every inch of her skin, yet she wasn’t cold. Emmy opened her eyes, squinting against the streams of light that poured through thick treetops. Blue sky peered through the white canopy, the bare branches shifting like blinking eyes.

  She sat up, her hands sinking into the soft bower of snow and curling roots that cradled her. Snowflakes coated her, and her long black fronds swept down her sides, pooling in gentle waves.

  The air was silver with euphoria. The sides of the tall grey trees blurred and sharpened in a beating pulse. Soft voices whispered on the wind. Emmy strained to hear their secrets.

  She stood, fronds falling around her like a robe. Her feet, now bare, her boots gone, curled into the soft snow underfoot. She tried to run, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. She waded through the thick snow, through the trees, still listening to the words on the breeze.

  Where are the voices coming from?

  Everywhere at once and yet nowhere at all, growing louder with every forward step.

  “Rel?” Emmy called. “Where are you?”

  She got no response except the voices.

  As she walked, a single voice rang louder than the rest. It was different. It was singing. The melody was painful, so mournful Emmy felt her heart would shatter.

  “Rel? Where are you?”

  Echoes of her words were her only response.

  “Who are you?”

  Still nothing.

  As the snow thinned, she reached a clearing. The sun’s rays skated and bounced off sheer ice cliffs, blinding her. Emmy tried to wrench her head away, but her neck wouldn’t obey. She wanted to shield her eyes with her hands, but they wouldn’t rise. As she adjusted to the light, the source of the singing became clear.

  A female sat among high snow drifts. Her skin was blue, her armor purple. Uloni! Emmy thought. She’s one of my kind!

  The Uloni’s mouth remained closed, yet she poured forth beautiful music, harmonious and discordant all at once. The words were strange. Emmy shouldn’t have understood them, yet she could comprehend. What was this place? Who was she?

  She tried to look away, to close her eyes and ears and run, but her senses were sharpened and her feet were rooted in the snow. Against her bidding, she walked forward. Her footsteps made no sound on the crisp snow. Mid-note, the female opened her eyes. The music fell silent.

  “You have arrived.”

  As when she sa
ng, when the female spoke, her mouth didn’t open. Her voice echoed deep in Emmy’s mind. She stood and walked, her sparkling robe sweeping behind her. Though she was imposing, when she walked, she left no impression on the snow.

  Emmy couldn’t look away. Her body trembled, and she drank in every detail of the stranger. Her skin was smooth, as if she were still a youngling, but her grey eyes flickered with ancient knowledge, echoes of the past. She was perfection—all except for her first horn, which was cracked.

  The great female reached for her, placing her palm on Emmy’s face. Her touch was cold, colder than any snow. Emmy tried to speak, but her throat was frozen. Ice travelled through her, stilling her entire body.

  “Emena,” the Uloni said, locking Emmy’s eyes in her gaze. “Emmy.”

  Emmy tried to pull away, but couldn’t.

  “I have sought you for many cycles,” the Uloni went on. “I’m glad I have finally found you.”

  She let go of Emmy’s face, and Emmy found her body within her control again. She stumbled backwards, clutching her head. “What’s going on?” she asked. The words echoed against the smooth ice walls that surrounded them. “This isn’t possible.”

  “I assure you, it is,” said the Uloni. “Many things are possible with faith. Emmy, you are here to help rid the world of a terrible mistake.”

  Emmy shook her head, fear consuming her. No. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t any good to anyone, just like Krodge had always said.

  “I don’t understand,” she cried. “None of this is real! Rel said... Rel said she would let me see her friend, the one she’s been talking about. But this... This can’t be real!”

  The female chuckled. The sound was deep and warmed Emmy to her core. “Oh, this is real,” she said. “I know Rel, and have known her for countless cycles. Rel is my friend and I am hers. I am Bomsoi. And now, Emmy, you are my friend, too.”

  In her terror, Emmy shook her head so hard she saw stars. “Rel!” she screeched. “What have you done to me?”

  Rel wasn’t there to respond. Instead, the Uloni—Bomsoi—reached for her.

  “What is made cannot be unmade,” she said, “but what is made can be destroyed. You are my youngling. You are my blood. And you will help me do what is right.”

  “How?” Emmy drew her brows low. “None of this makes sense.”

  Krodge’s image flashed across Emmy’s mind. She winced, guilt cutting her. She’d never intended to save her. It was Emmy’s fault she had burned.

  Another image: Bellim, consumed by flames. Leeve and Kain, truly dead. Another: the attack on the Masvam slave ship. Zecha, stabbed...

  “What is this?” Emmy asked, pressing her claws to her temples. “Why are these thoughts coming back to me?”

  “These are all evils,” Bomsoi said. This time, remorse tainted her words. “You have done nothing wrong, but you must help to put right the wrongs of others.”

  Emmy went to speak, but words failed her. Without warning, the female placed her hands upon Emmy’s chest, her eyes shining like blue diamonds.

  “You will come to me, and you will be the Heart of Nunako. Live now so that you may live in me.”

  With those words, Emmy felt a jolt of air slice through her lungs. Her blood froze, cold surging through her body. Her heart exploded with a beat. She stumbled back.

  Bomsoi raised her hands to the sky. Emmy wavered. Blood roared in her ears. Her mind darkened as if pitch consumed her. Her consciousness drained away, and the last thing she saw were the three moons, stacked on one another.

  And they were talking.

  EMMY WOKE WITH A JOLT. Rel reached to steady her. The healer’s eyes were round with compassion. She still wore her half-Uloni colors.

  “Rel, what was that?” Emmy asked through shuddering breaths. She clutched at her chest. “You did something to me. Your eyes, they were blue—just like the Uloni’s, like your friend’s. And she was there—wherever that was—and I was there, and—what?”

  Her breath still coming in rolling waves, Emmy looked around. She was on Rel’s cot. Jumping upward, her gaze darted to every corner, looking for the Uloni and her light.

  “That was my friend,” Rel said. “Bomsoi. I told you she could see things and do things that I cannot understand.”

  Calming, Emmy exhaled, emptying her chest of all air. Flashes of what had happened kept returning. “It’s all real,” she said. “The vision, Bomsoi. You. It’s all real.”

  As she spoke, her words hit hard. This wasn’t an illusion. Until now, part of her had still clung on to the idea it was all a lie. That Rel was an elaborate trickster. That Bomsoi didn’t exist. But now, how could she believe that?

  “It is real, Emmy,” Rel said. “When the village was burned so many cycles ago, we feared there were no Uloni left. We’ve searched all over these lands, trying to find someone of pure Uloni blood.” She shook her head. “And to think, all it took was a war to find you.”

  Emmy shook her head. “I’m not at war,” she said. “This isn’t my fight.”

  Rel’s expression sharpened and she shook her head. One hand went to pat Haelo. “The Metakalans have fallen,” she said, “and the Masvams are coming for the Althemerians. Rest assured, young one. You are at war and this is your fight.”

  Emmy sat back, rolling the new information around in her head She rubbed her palms over the smoothness of her surcoat, right where Bomsoi had pushed her. “Bomsoi, she said I would live in her. That I would be a heart.”

  “Not a heart, but the Heart,” Rel said. “The Heart of Nunako.”

  “But—”

  Emmy’s protest was stopped by a thundering in the distance. They both stilled.

  “Those are drums,” Rel said. “The Masvams have come.”

  “Charo and Zecha—” Emmy began.

  Her words were silenced by a high-pitched horn blast.

  “Charo has been trained by Althemerians,” Rel said. “Soldier-slaves may be arrow fodder, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t been taught to fight. And Zecha will find his way back here, I’m sure. They will survive, as will we.”

  She patted Haelo’s sheath and stood, then held a hand to Emmy. As Emmy accepted the grasp, Rel’s eyes sparkled, blue speckles piercing the grey orbs. Her appearance changed, and she wore her Belfoni mask once more. She held Emmy’s hand tight.

  “If the unthinkable happens and I don’t return,” she said, “head to Kubodinnu, the Althemerian capital. Bomsoi is there.”

  There was a lump like a great stone in Emmy’s throat, but she nodded. “Kubodinnu,” she repeated.

  Rel finally released her and shifted Haelo on her belt.

  Understanding dawned at what Rel had just said, and Emmy shook her head. “Wait, you’re leaving?” she asked, her voice tight. “Why aren’t you staying with the rest of the healers?”

  “I told you I was Rel Bonebreaker before I was Hurthealer,” Rel said. “I could stay here, but I’m better suited to battle than to waiting.”

  Fear bubbled anew in Emmy’s stomach. “But...”

  “If you need me,” Rel said, cupping the side of Emmy’s face, “call for me. Concentrate hard, and I will hear you.”

  Emmy brought up a hand to rest atop Rel’s. “How?”

  Rel gave her a one-sided smile as she withdrew her touch. “Once we know each other,” she said, “Uloni can talk in each other’s minds.” Her smile turned into a mischievous grin. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard me.”

  Flashes of words Emmy had thought were imagined returned to her. “That was you?”

  “Some of the time, yes,” Rel replied.

  There was a sharp horn blast in the distance. It broke their companionship. Rel drew back, a hand on Haelo in her sheath. She turned. Her bracelets jangled as she slipped towards the curtain.

  She stopped and half-turned. Her expression grew solemn.

  “Today will not bring our deaths, Emmy,” she said. “Remember: call for me.”

  Then she was gone.

&nbs
p; Emmy lowered herself onto the cot again. Despite her absence, she still felt Rel was with her. The feeling was new. It was...comforting.

  Then the memory of her vision returned, of the beautiful Uloni with the cracked first horn.

  Closing her eyes, Emmy let the thoughts wash over her. Her mind then went to memories of Charo and Zecha and their Middlemerish celebration. It was a time, though brief, when life was tolerable.

  And though she was alone, Emmy didn’t feel lonely.

  Bomsoi’s last words returned, bolstering her courage. Emmy stood as the strange Uloni’s voice sounded clear in her mind.

  Live now, so that you may live in me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Mantos

  Without warning, Bomsoi snapped from her trance like a loosed arrow. She brushed her front down, nonchalant as if she’d been caught in a sudden gust of wind. Fonbir gaped. Mantos did the same.

  “What in the name of the Dark just happened?” he asked.

  “I had business elsewhere, Your Highness,” Bomsoi replied, as if what had happened was perfectly normal. “For the longest time, I’ve searched for those who will rid the world of darkness. At last, just as I have found you, I have found another.”

  Confusion ran rampant in Mantos’ mind. “Who are you really?” he asked. “None of this makes sense.”

  Bomsoi gave a shallow bow. “I am the Daughter of Gods,” she said again. “I am the Joiner of Hands.”

  Mantos’ jaw hung loose as the Stranger grinned at him, as if what she said was as mundane as a comment on the weather. “You’re what?” he asked.

  Bomsoi bent once more at the waist. She opened her hands, showing her palms. “I am the Daughter of Gods,” she repeated. “I am the Joiner of Hands. You asked me who I was, and I have told you.”

  Mantos pressed his hands to his temples. “You cannot claim to be descended from gods and expect me to believe it,” he said. He dropped his hands and tilted his chin up. “You are a Moon Rogue,” he said. “You are evil.”