Dark Moon ft-2

by Meredith Ann Pierce

  The dark unicorn stared at the creature now turning to face the crowd. Garbed all in black, it carried in one forepaw a vinelike flail, in the other a sharpened skewer. A white crescent moon emblazoned its breast. Yet though its body was that of a two-foot, the head resting upon those square, wide shoulders resembled a da’s, all black, with fierce, staring eyes and flared red nostrils. Black mane bristled down the arched and oddly foreshortened neck.

  Before it, the great crowd of two-foots cowered. Across the open space from him, Tai-shan saw the coppery mare gazing at the dark figure in open terror. Yet despite its fierce appearance, the monster’s head seemed strangely stiff, the eyes shadowy hollows. The ears did not swivel. Its lips—pulled back to bare square, white teeth—appeared frozen. The dry, red tongue within the gaping mouth never moved. The neck remained rigid. To turn its head, the dark unicorn saw, the figure had to pivot its whole torso.

  At a peremptory gesture from the black-clad figure on the platform, the daïcha rose and approached. Tai-shan watched as she collapsed to her knees, folded her forelimbs across her breast, and bowed her head. The glowering godking brandished its skewer and cracked its vine. Lifting her forelimbs, the lady called out to the da–headed thing. The dark unicorn could decipher only a few phrases: “Emwe, Dai’chon,” hail, godking. “Undan ptola,” by your will. She seemed to be reciting both a greeting and a pledge.

  Dai’chon answered nothing, only nodded its stiff, ponderous head. With a low bow, the daïcha withdrew, gesturing to her green-garbed followers. One by one, they led the sacred daya before Dai’chon. Pulse hammering, the dark unicorn sidled. His breath came in restive snorts. He could not stand still. No opportunity for escape had yet presented itself: his only choices were plunging over cliff’s edge or trampling the kneeling crowd.

  The parade of daya before the godking went on and on. Most passed by without a pause, but every so often, Dai’chon snapped its flail, and the keeper then before the dais halted, allowing Dai’chon to scrutinize that particular mare or stallion more closely. The watching crowd seemed to hold its breath.

  Usually, the godking cracked its vine a second time; the da was returned to the daïcha, and the watchers heaved a heavy sigh. Sometimes, however, Dai’chon pointed toward the halted da with the skewer, and the kneeling throng murmured with delight as the daïcha’s minion then led his charge to the side of the stone platform nearest the cliff. The half dozen daya there pranced gaily, tossing their heads. Their keepers were hard-pressed to keep hold of the tethers. Tai-shan stared angrily, helplessly at the joyous daya: all blissfully unaware that they celebrated their own approaching death.

  Ryhenna was among the last to pass before Dai’chon. The dark unicorn tensed, heart between his teeth, as the godking cracked its flail, signaling the keeper who held the coppery mare’s tether to halt. Ryhenna stood wild-eyed before the platform, so plainly terrified that the dark unicorn half expected her to bolt. But Dai’chon snapped its vine at last and allowed her to pass. Able to breathe again, Tai-shan sighed deep with relief as the coppery mare rejoined the other, unchosen daya.

  The last of the sacred daya was led before Dai’chon. With a snort of surprise, Tai-shan recognized Ushuk, the former First Stallion, whom he had defeated upon their first encounter, months ago. The godking seemed barely to notice the umber stallion, remarking his passage without so much as a crack of the flail. Crestfallen, Ushuk faltered in his gait. The daïcha, too, seemed puzzled. Her companions glanced at one another.

  With halting step, the umber stallion allowed his escort to draw him on, but he gazed back uncomprehendingly at Dai’chon, plainly unable to believe the god would pass him by. The dark figure on the dais gave him not so much as a second glance. Instead, Dai’chon turned toward Tai-shan. Fixing its strange, shadowy eyes on the dark unicorn, the godking snapped its whip.

  The whole crowd started. The purple-badged keepers holding the twin tethers of the silver halter stood riveted, clearly astonished by the godking’s summons. Again, impatiently, Dai’chon cracked its vine. Tai-shan saw the daïcha’s look of puzzlement change to one of alarm as the chon’s minions began to tug him toward the stone platform. The lady took a step forward, as though to intervene, then caught herself. Champing and dancing, Tai-shan suffered himself to be led forward. What choice had he? There was nowhere to run.

  His keepers halted before the dais. The lowering face of the godking glared down at him. Cavaling, the dark unicorn laid back his ears. Slowly and deliberately, Dai’chon held out the skewer. The crowd gasped in dismay. A single, bitten-off cry rose from the daïcha. Tai-shan saw her standing as though stunned, one hand to her lips. Her companions behind her murmured wide-eyed, some shaking their heads.

  Suddenly, the daïcha was striding forward. She looked both angry and afraid. Halting before the dais, she cried out to the godking in exhortation and appeal. She seemed to be pleading with the figure above, very vehement. Tai-shan backed and sidled, pulling the chon’s purple-badged minions with him. The godking, still clutching its skewer and flail, stood with forepaws upon its hips. Slowly, silently, it shook its head at the daïcha and gestured once more with the skewer toward the dark unicorn.

  Obediently, the pair of keepers tried to guide their cavaling charge toward the half-dozen chosen daya waiting on the far side of the dais. Snorting, Tai-shan braced himself, set his heels. The daïcha cried out again, desperately. She looked as though she might rush up the stone ramp flanking one side of the platform to confront the godking face to face.

  Angrily, Dai’chon gestured toward a knot of purple-plumes, who started forward as though to pull the lady back from the dais. Drawing their weapons, her own green-plumed followers hastened to intercept them. With a shout, the daïcha threw up one forelimb to halt her followers, shaking her head. Both parties milled uneasily, the purple-plumes clearly reluctant to lay hands upon the lady, even at the order of Dai’chon, the green-plumes seemingly unwilling to clash unless their leader were more explicitly threatened. The godking turned once more toward Tai-shan.

  “Flee, my lord Moonbrow!” Across the yard from him, Tai-shan saw Ryhenna rear up suddenly among her fellows. “Flee now–ere the god ordereth his chon’s guard to drive thee over the cliff!”

  All around her, daya shied in confusion. Startled two-foots scattered. Their cries amid the sudden commotion halted Dai’chon, his skewer and flail half-raised. Ramping and flailing, the coppery mare plunged through the sacred herd. In the same instant, Tai-shan wrenched free of his keepers’ grasp and wheeled to face the sacrificial daya.

  “Run! Run, all of you!” he shouted. “Only death lies beyond the drop. Flee for your lives!”

  Between the platform and cliffs edge, the sacrificial daya danced anxiously, tossing their heads violently and rolling their eyes. They seemed more afraid of him than of their own captors, the dark unicorn realized in dismay. Two-foot keepers stroked and soothed their skittish charges. At an impatient gesture from Dai’chon, Tai-shan saw his own pair of keepers starting toward him. With a peal of rage, the dark unicorn flew at them. Shouting, they scrambled away through the scattered hay and wood shavings. Behind, the sacrificial daya shied. Keepers grasped halter leads in both forepaws, struggling to hold them.

  On the stone platform before them, Dai’chon cried out. Tai-shan spun around, startled to hear the godking’s voice for the first time. It was low-pitched and strangely muffled, like a cry from deep underhill. The godking gestured with its skewer, and several of the purple-plumes cast aside their staves, rushing Tai-shan with forelimbs outstretched to catch his tethers. The dark unicorn charged them, lashing with his forehooves. The purple-plumes dodged, crying out in fear. Across from him, many of the daya around Ryhenna had already bolted. Others now fought their tethers, screaming to break free.

  Tai-shan saw the daïcha’s green-garbed followers striving desperately to hold and calm what daya they could. Their lady stood poised, as though uncertain. Then all at once, she rushed to snatch a tether from her minion�
��s grasp. Shouting, she struck the frightened mare across the flank, sending her careening away after the others that had broken free. Calling sharply to the rest of her followers, the daïcha dashed among the remaining daya, waving her forelimbs and hying the last of the skittish beasts to bolt. The throng about the palace surged to their feet and erupted in chaos as stampeding daya hurtled through their midst.

  Tai-shan circled, making to herd the sacrificial daya away from cliff’s edge. Dai’chon’s muffled shouts and angry gestures continued. More of the chon’s purple-plumes responded, some turning to chase fleeing daya, others coming on toward Tai-shan. At a shout from the daïcha, her own green-plumed guards hastened to form a line before the advancing purple-plumes to prevent their reaching the dark unicorn. Ushuk thundered past just as the green-plumes closed ranks.

  “Blasphemer!” the umber stallion shouted, storming toward Tai-shan. “How darest thou defy the will of the god?”

  The dark unicorn ducked and fell back, too surprised at first to defend himself.

  “Homat! Ushuk, stop!” Tai-shan heard Ryhenna crying. She, too, had broken through the daïcha’s line of green-plumes. “Did thy first encounter with black Moonbrow teach thee nothing? Thou’rt overmatched!”

  The umber stallion responded with a growl. “Cursed mare, to join this punuskr–this demon—in defiance of Dai’chon. Thou shalt share his fate!”

  Again he flew at the dark unicorn. Once more Tai-shan dodged and fell back, sidestepping the abandoned conveyance resting on the ground before the godking’s dais, its bearers long since fled.

  “I served the godking joyfully all my days,” the umber stallion cried, his eyes wide and bloodshot, the snorted spray from his nostrils flecked with blood. “In the end I proved unworthy, and he cast me aside. Yet still I worship and adore him. Dai’chon undan ptola–the godking’s will be done!”

  Ushuk lunged, flailing recklessly at Tai-shan. Unwilling to use his horn against a flatbrowed adversary, the dark unicorn reared and threw one shoulder against the other. Ushuk’s hind hooves skidded on the soft, slippery carpet of wood shavings. One pole of the chon’s raft caught his legs. Thrashing, the umber stallion toppled. Tai-shan heard the daïcha’s horrified cry as, squealing in pain, Ushuk struggled up from the chaff and tinder, one foreleg shattered.

  “Himay,” he heard the daïcha calling. “Ushuk, himay!” Stand still.

  The dark unicorn recoiled in dismay. The limbs of daya must be fragile as deer’s! Ushuk staggered, blundering on three limbs back through the ranks of the green-plumes still holding off the chon’s purple-plumed guards. At a snarl from Dai’chon on the platform above, purple-plumes surrounded the injured stallion.

  “Tash—‘omat!” the lady cried: No—stop!

  Ignoring her, the godking made a furious gesture. One of the chon’s minions lifted a thin slice of skystuff to the great vein of Ushuk’s throat and drew the blade across. The umber stallion collapsed with a shriek. He thrashed for a moment, blood spattering the bone-dry tinder. Then he lay still. The dark unicorn stared, stunned, unable to take it in. With a healer’s care, Ushuk’s limb might have mended! Shaken and sick, Tai-shan backed away.

  Behind him, he heard Ryhenna scream. Whirling, he saw Dai’chon kneeling on the platform’s edge, Ryhenna’s tether grasped in one forepaw. Trembling, the coppery mare tugged and tried to back away—but she seemed almost paralyzed with fright. The godking spoke soothingly in its strange, hollow-sounding voice. It pulled her head closer. Eyes rolling, the coppery mare whinnied shrilly as, crooning, the godking placed the point of the long, sharp skewer to her throat.

  “Tash! ‘Omat!” shouted Tai-shan, vaulting onto the high stone platform.

  He lunged to catch the skewer’s length against his horn and bat it away. With a cry, Dai’chon fell back, releasing Ryhenna. The dark unicorn reared. Growling, the da–headed creature slashed at him. Tai-shan parried, sweeping his horn to once more knock aside the blade. The godking ducked, dodged. Tai-shan felt his horn strike a solid blow and leapt back astonished—for the other’s neck was hard as wood, with none of the give of mortal flesh. The sound of the blow rang hollowly, like a hoofstamp on a rotten log. Dai’chon staggered. The head upon the creature’s shoulders wobbled. A moment later, it fell. Tai-shan cried out. His blow had held neither aim nor force enough to have severed his opponent’s gorge—and yet Dai’chon’s strange, stiff head toppled with a hollow thump to the dried petals and wood shavings littering the dais. Dumbstruck, the dark unicorn stared at the creature before him. Though beheaded, it still possessed a head: a round, two-foot head upon a squat, two-foot neck. An ordinary firekeeper stood before him, one whose real head had been concealed beneath a hollow artifice of wood. The unmasked keeper glared at Tai-shan, black eyes furious, his own teeth bared as fiercely as the carved teeth of the wooden godhead had been. The dark curls of the other’s hair and beard were slick with sweat. An instant later, the dark unicorn recognized him.

  “The chon! The chon,” Ryhenna below him cried. “No god at all!”

  Similar screams came from the stampeding daya. Shrieks and wails rose from the scattering two-foots as well. Eyes wide with betrayal, faces drawn with shock, the commonfolk of the city scrambled to flee. Yet the two-foots of the palace reacted differently. The daïcha’s companions and her green-garbed followers, plumed guards of both colors as well as the chon’s purple-badged underlings, while clearly outraged at their ruler’s unmasking, did not seem the least surprised to discover their mortal leader impersonating a god. Even the daïcha, the dark unicorn realized in astonishment, had known all along.

  A stinging welt across one shoulder brought Tai-shan sharply around. The chon had lunged at him again, slashing with the skewer and lashing with the flail. The dark unicorn dodged, back-stepping. Ryhenna’s cry came almost too late.

  “My lord Moonbrow, the edge!”

  Wheeling, Tai-shan sprang away barely in time. The chon had sought to drive him backward over the stone platform’s brink. Shouting, the two-foot ruler pursued him across the dais, cracking the stinging lash. As the dark unicorn ducked, the lash coiled itself about his horn. With a heave of neck and shoulders, Tai-shan jerked it from the two-foot’s grasp and slung it spinning off across the clifftop into the empty air beyond. It hung a moment against the gathering storm clouds, before vanishing. Growling with rage, the chon redoubled his attack with the blade.

  “ ‘Ware the chon’s guard!” Ryhenna cried.

  Tai-shan glimpsed a handful of purple-plumes breaking through the daïcha’s green-plumed defenders to rush the dais. Ryhenna dashed to the foot of the platform’s ramp, blocking their path. The purple-plumes fell back in confusion as the wild mare reared and struck at them. Tai-shan returned his attention to the chon, countering the other’s lunges and blows, parrying each feint and thrust. The nimbleness of this puny, upright creature astonished him. Though the chon possessed not nearly the strength of a full-grown unicorn, the sweep and agility of his forelimb gave him great range. Tai-shan had never fenced such a dexterous foe. The dark unicorn plunged, pivoted, ramped, and dodged.

  His hooves grew hot. Churning and plunging through the dry stuff strewn about the platform, he felt his heels striking the flinty stone beneath. Flashes of white and amber light leapt from his hooves. More flashes showered down as his horn grated against the skewer of the chon. Sparks! Sparks of fire were falling from his horn as it struck against the skystuff—more springing up from his hooves as they skidded on the stone: sparks such as he had once seen leap from the tools of the two-foot firesmith. Now his own hooves and horn were doing the same! Astonished, the dark unicorn stared.

  “Look! Look!” Ryhenna below him cried. Many of her fleeing companions had halted, gazing in open wonder at the bright rain falling from his hooves and horn. “Here standeth the true Dai’chon, full of the divine fire!”

  Lighting upon the platform’s thick carpet of dry hay, withered flower petals, and aromatic wood shavings, the sparks began to smolder. Blac
k storm clouds were fast sweeping in across the sea. A warm, wet wind picked up. Bits of burning chaff gusted from the dais to the open space below, catching in the dried stuff there. A thick pall of smoke rose, filling the air with cinders. Plumed two-foots of both colors tore off their outer falseskins and flailed at the spreading flames.

  Choking, the chon covered his mouth and nose with one forepaw—yet still he fought. Tai-shan clashed and countered, gasping for breath, until in a furious assault, he drove the two-foot ruler to one knee and disarmed him with a parry that knocked the skewer from his grip and sent it, like the flail before it, spinning away into the emptiness beyond the cliff. The dark unicorn ramped before the defeated chon, whose bloodshot eyes glared back at him, full of hatred still.

  “Tash! Tash so bei!” The daïcha rushed past Ryhenna up onto the platform to interpose herself between the dark unicorn and the chon. “Tash bei im chon!”

  Tai-shan knew she must be saying, No, don’t kill him. Don’t kill my king.

  Fury burned in the dark unicorn. At that moment, he wanted nothing other than to skewer the treacherous two-foot ruler—but the daïcha stood suppliant before him, and he owed her his life. Forehooves touching the ground once more, Tai-shan shook himself. A kind of silence fell around him. With great difficulty, summoning all the agility of lips and teeth not made to frame such speech, he strove to pronounce clearly the words of the firekeepers’ tongue.

  “Undan ptola, daïcha,” he told her. As you wish.

  The others eyes widened. She gazed at the dark unicorn as though unable to believe her ears. The purple-plumes below the dais stood halted in wonder. The green-plumes, too, had heard. They stood staring. Beyond them, the daïcha’s companions sank to the ground, two of them weeping. On the dais, ashen-faced, the chon shook his head.

  “Tash,” he gasped. “Tash—ipsicat!”

  Tai-shan did not recognize the second word, but he could guess its meaning: No. No—impossible. The chon made as if to rise.