The Dark of the Moon (Chronicles of Lunos Book 1)

by E. S. Bell

  “Ori!” Sebastian hissed. “Ori, wake up!” But the woman was still and it was impossible to tell if she were conscious as her empty eye sockets gave no hint.

  There came an eerie silence. Sebastian froze as the chilled air seemed to tighten. And then came the scream.

  He sucked in a ragged breath as the sound reverberated throughout the temple. A scream so full of pain—something beyond pain; a desperate, despairing agony that begged for mercy, that said death would be preferable to life after suffering such as this. Sebastian’s stomach clenched and his vision became blurred. His sister had made that sound ten years ago. Selena made it now.

  The scream tapered away and for a time there was nothing but eerie quiet. Sebastian struggled harder at his bonds until his shoulder screamed and his wrists were scraped raw. He spat mindless, vile oaths at the Bazira guards who looked unnerved.

  When another shudder shook the temple, one shook his head and said to the others, “Bloody Deeps, I’ll take my chances out there.”

  There was no argument; soon the chamber was empty but for Sebastian and Ori. The battle above resumed and Sebastian took a small measure of relief that someone was left alive to fight Bacchus. He hoped it was Selena but after a scream such as what he heard, he held little hope.

  Ilior, most like, he thought dully.

  The temple shook again and it seemed as if the island were groaning with the strain. The inevitability of being buried alive should have rattled him too, but he only leaned against the wall and waited.

  When Ori sat up like a corpse rising from the grave, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “Bloody bones and spit,” he breathed. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I am. I have outlived my usefulness to the Bazira. I’m a former Haru, a blind woman with no people,” she said, her voice weak and soft. But Sebastian heard a vein of steel running through her words. “And you are a reviled assassin, feared and hated and deserving of death.” She smiled thinly. “That is what the world will think of us, should we live.”

  The temple shuddered again with real violence and a large chunk of soil crashed to the ground on the side of the room. Dirt and grime rained down on them.

  “You’d better get out,” Sebastian said dully.

  “Yes,” she replied. “And you?”

  He shrugged, a gesture she couldn’t see.

  Ori was weak; whatever Bacchus had done to her had left her drained to the point of death. She murmured her prayer word and the glow of healing magic emanating from under her plain tunic and he saw some color return to her pallid face. She crawled to him, her hands outstretched until she found his knee.

  “You have a knife?”

  He nodded and then said, “Yes,” when she cocked her head. “Boot. The other one.”

  Ori retrieved the dagger and then felt her way to his bonds. The temple gave another shudder and more dirt rained down. A beam cracked right above them and Sebastian didn’t know what to worry for most: the collapse of the temple, or a blind woman cutting rope on his wrists.

  But he was free in moments and Ori handed the blade to him, hilt first.

  He took the dagger and returned it to his boot and the temple groaned, like a man on its deathbed; a final rattle that broke the beams that supported the roof. Sebastian coughed and shielded his eyes from the grit that swirled in tunnel. The beams creaked. Dirt poured down like water into the hold of a sinking ship.

  He wanted to go up to where Selena was, but he couldn’t find the way across the small chamber in the dark morass. Reluctantly, he turned toward the way he knew to get out—the tunnel in which they’d come in. Ori clung to his arm.

  A beam—a thick slant of shadow in the dimness—started to fall. He dragged Ori and thrust her ahead of him, into a murk of dark blue that he hoped was the end of the temple. Behind him, a great rumbling deafened him and he dove forward, diving out of the maw of a terrible beast. He hauled Ori through it and out into the night just as the room collapsed behind them.

  He landed heavily, Ori beside him. The dust settled. The temple was no more. The moon was obscured by thick clouds that pelted them with rain and tamped down the swirling dirt of the temple’s demise. But dawn was coming. By the faint light welling up from the east, Sebastian could make out a wide sunken patch of earth stuck with beams that jutted out like broken bones. The above-ground temple. He could see no movement amid either the wreckage or the forest beyond.

  Sebastian crawled to his knees, shaking founts of dirt from his hair. The exertions brought new pain and sat heavily, cradling his aching head in his hands. Selena…

  He felt a gentle hand on his arm and a warm glow emanated from under Ori’s touch. The pain receded, and he caught and steadied her as she slumped in exhaustion.

  “Why heal me?”

  Her tunic was dark with dirt and in the dimness, the hollow pits of her eyes seemed gaping, but her voice was gentle when she spoke.

  “I am blind here,” she pointed to her empty eyes, “but not here.” She laid her hand on her heart. “Tonight, my eyes were opened. As a Haru, I followed the god without question. And when that path led me to pain, Accora showed me another. But to her, I was but a means to an end, and when I proved a failure, she made me her servant. Following her was no different than blinding myself for the god. There is only one truth and that is what we make for ourselves.”

  Sebastian pulled himself to standing and then helped Ori to her feet. She laid her hand on his arm.

  “Every life has more than one path, Sebastian Vaas. This I know.”

  The Raven

  Niven followed Cat on a western path around the island. They’d retreated to the beach and kept to the shore where bodies tumbled in the storm-tossed surf. Clumps of dried grass would act as cover should the Bazira pursue them, Cat had told him. He’d nodded, as if that would save them and she marched as if she knew where she was going, but Niven felt the hopelessness of it all soak him deep as surely as the rain had.

  The beach curved and the three Bazira barques became visible out to sea, anchored and bobbing on choppy swells. A small, makeshift dock was just visible some several hundred spans to the north. Half a dozen dinghies were tied there. The shrubbery and forest that made up most of the island’s interior left only a narrow strip of beach on this side and Niven saw shapes moving within the foliage.

  Cat held out her hand and crouched low behind a stand of grass. Niven followed suit and nearly sliced his thigh open with his borrowed sword.

  The two watched as a line of Bazira emerged from the forest, heading north, away from he and Cat. It looked as if they were marching up and out of the island. Niven saw a red-haired woman among them, but no sign of Ilior or Ori, nor Selena or Sebastian. He was about to ask Cat what they were supposed to do next—there were at least fifty Bazira among the crowd at the dock—when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Beside him, Cat rubbed her arms and they both looked around. She clutched Niven’s wounded arm but he hardly felt it.

  Niven’s heart clanged madly in his chest, as one hundred Zak’reth, with softly glowing blades and yellow pinprick eyes, silently chugged along the edge of the forest. The full moon was released from its cloud cover long enough for Niven to see the intricate detail on the warriors’ masks: snarling dragons, screaming sea hawks, and jagged rows of teeth in the gaping maws of sharks…all done in stark detail that made their phantom silence all the more disorienting.

  “Where did they come from? What are they?”

  Cat hushed him. After the last of the warriors had passed them she tugged his sleeve. “Come on.”

  Niven swallowed. “Wouldn’t it be safer to wait here?”

  “Aye,” Cat said. “But I want to see this.”

  They slunk along the shore and watched as the Zak’reth clashed with the Bazira some paces down the beach. Steel clashed with burning steel, and ice sizzled against the Zak’reth’s enchanted armor that was as hot to the touch as their blades. The Bazira were outnumbered by half,
and Niven watched as the red-haired woman, followed by a small contingent of Bazira, broke off fighting and headed for the docks.

  “There…” Niven pointed.

  “I see her. Let’s go.”

  The pair slipped past the battle that raged along the beach, keeping close to the water—but never touching it. Niven was sure one of the strange Zak’reth was going to turn its yellow eyes on them and that would be the end. He had gotten lucky against a Bazira who’d had his back turned; his death would be a foregone conclusion should he have to take arms against a Zak’reth. But the warriors were intent on the Bazira. If any noticed him and Cat creeping along in the pre-dawn darkness, they paid no mind. The Bazira left them alone as well; they had their hands full enough.

  The island curved around and Niven saw the little dock was hardly more than a few broken planks and a post where the skiffs were lashed. The sky was lightening in the east; Niven saw the red-haired woman was beautiful but the storm had taken its toll and she resembled a water-logged cat. She and eight Bazira were hurriedly climbing into the boat. He felt a moment’s disgust break through the ever-present fear. The Bazira were outnumbered and dying in great wails of pain and singed flesh, and she was leaving them to save her own skin. If any saw her…

  Cat must have seen the same thing for she rose from her crouch and shouted to the Bazira. “Oi! Here! She leaves you to fight and die while she escapes!”

  Some Bazira turned to see and were killed immediately for their lapse in caution. Others were more careful and Niven saw their strained faces darken further. Some broke off and made a run for the skiffs. The red-haired woman’s eyes widened in fury.

  “Kill them!” the woman ordered her men, jabbing her finger at Niven and Cat as the skiff shoved off. “Or Bacchus will hear of your treachery!”

  A few of the dark clerics moved to obey at once, others hesitated.

  “Priest Bacchus will know of your treachery, Jude, if you run away in cowardice,” one said as her skiff pulled away from the shore.

  This seemed to give the woman pause but then a shudder wracked the beach. Niven thought it the storm had come back but when he looked eastward, he saw a small, rambling shack on a mound of dirt collapse to rubble. The island beneath it caved in and everyone at the dock watched as a cloud of dust rose and was quickly snuffed by the rain. The icy frost that Bacchus had laid over the island melted away in the meridian heat, warming the air, and seeming to relieve it of a heavy foulness.

  He’s dead, Niven thought. Selena did it. She killed him and now her wound will close. If she survived the collapse… Let the god be merciful to her, at long last.

  Jude watched the collapse and a flicker of relief passed over her features. It broadened into a smile as she took in the scene behind them.

  The battle had ended and the victorious Zak’reth silently marched towards them. Niven’s relief turned into numb fear—there was no telling if the warriors would discriminate between those left alive on the beach. The Bazira who remained slogged through the surf, pushing past the dead to try to get at the skiff. Cat hauled Niven away, to the far edge of the shore as the Zak’reth—all one hundred as not a man was lost—tromped past them.

  The Bazira called out, cried out, went down with burning blades in their back as Jude and her eight guards rowed away.

  “Someone must relay to the Vicar all that has happened tonight, and as I regretfully inform him of our Reverent Bacchus’s demise,” she called to them, a sanctimonious expression on her face as she stood tall among her men. “I will not omit your great sacrifice. You will not be forgotten.”

  Niven noticed Cat had readied a throwing knife and he was beset by a dark hope that she would wipe the smug smile off Jude’s face with it. But the sun broke the eastern horizon and the first strong rays of light colored the sky pink beneath fat gray clouds that would not move away. The little lights behind the Zak’reth helmets flickered and went out, and the warriors themselves disintegrated into nothing as the sunlight passed through them.

  Cat didn’t throw her knife—the skiff was too far out now—but took hold of Niven’s arm and dragged him behind her. Five Bazira remained, but they were all plunging through the surf in a vain effort to catch the skiff. The water around their legs was fouled and stank of rot, and Niven watched with pity as the men seemed to weaken quickly. They fell to their knees and some plunged face first into the sea, as if they’d fallen asleep. They did not rise again.

  The beach was empty. Silent. Dawn’s light—watery and gray—spilled over the gritty sand. Jude’s skiff reached the first Bazira brigantine, and Niven watched as its crew readied for sail.

  “Is it over?” he asked Cat.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go see.”

  She started to lead them to the interior of the island when two shapes emerged. She readied her cutlass again and Niven’s heart gave yet another shudder of fear. A phantom glided toward them, with black pits for eyes and a filmy white dress, stained and dirtied…

  “Ori,” Cat said with relief and then spat a curse. “And Sebastian Vaas.” She hefted her cutlass. “To answer your question, Niven, it’s not over.”

  The black-sailed ship was sailing away. It was too far to tell for sure, but Sebastian knew that woman, Jude, was on it.

  She will report to Zolin and I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and jumping at shadows.

  He turned back to the small assemblage on the beach. Niven had moved to stand near Ori, and regarded him warily. The adherent held a Bazira cutlass awkwardly in one hand, likely because no one yet told him he could put it down.

  Cat was there. Her hair was no longer orange but black, and though it was cropped short—hacked off, if one were being truthful—he had envision it long and silken, curling over the bodice of a fine dress.

  “Greetings, Lady Rathbone. Fancy seeing you here.”

  Cat moved in front of Niven and Ori, as if Sebastian were going to burst into a murderous rage at any moment and slaughter them all.

  “Where is Ilior?” Cat asked. “Where’s Selena?”

  “I don’t know. I never saw either of them.”

  The dubious stares that met him spoke volumes.

  Sebastian sighed. Here we go. “Where’s my ship?”

  “Here. Safe.” Cat said. “Though I don’t know if you could call it yours any longer.”

  Niven flinched. “Cat…”

  A white hot flash of anger suffused Sebastian. “You have a plan, do you? Let’s hear it, now that you can speak. A fine trick, that. What’d you use? A lamb’s tongue? And Helm and Cook died for your ruse? Never mind. I killed seven of yours, you took two of mine. Have I got it right?”

  Cat licked her lips and shifted her feet. “There is a bounty on your head. Thousands of gold.”

  “And you’re the bounty hunter, Eleanor,” Sebastian said. “Or is it Cat? No, neither. I know of you. Most call you the Raven. You’ve been dogging me for years, so say the rumors, but I never thought you were real.” His lips curled in a sneer. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “Now, wait just a moment,” Niven began but no one paid him any mind.

  Sebastian fought to keep his control and realized he had no weapon to speak of, should Cat pose a serious threat, and he was too injured to take her bare-handed. Then Ori moved around Cat to stand beside him.

  “This long, terrible night is over,” she said softly. “We must find our friends who live and bury any who do not.” She laid her hand on Sebastian’s arm. “He saved my life,” she told Cat. “Now is not the time for a reckoning. I will not permit it.”

  Cat narrowed her eyes as if considering this, and Sebastian clenched his teeth at the presumption that his fate was in her hands.

  “The Storm is mine,” he seethed. “Never doubt that. It’s also the only way you’re getting off this island. You can try to swim for it through dead merkind-infested waters, but the crew won’t take you anywhere without my say-so. Or you can come with me and try to find Selena. Up to
you.”

  He didn’t wait another second, but turned and strode along the beach, brushing dirt off his long black coat. The sun was starting to emerge in the east, bathing the sky in a faint pink light. Ori moved to walk with him. There was dirt in the sockets of her eyes. He concentrated on that particular little horror so as not to feel how her gesture touched him, and to cool the hot flush of anger that suffused him at the thought of Cat trying to take his ship.

  I’ll kill Cat first, so help me…

  Something bit him, deep and hard in the back of his upper arm. For half a heartbeat where he knew only a deep pressure, and then pain followed. He looked down and saw a throwing knife protruding from his flesh.

  “What in the bloody fuck…?”

  He turned. Cat was there, a cutlass in one hand and another throwing knife in the other. Niven stood beside her, his mouth hung open like a door with a broken hinge. His wide eyes looked between Sebastian and Cat.

  “I didn’t have to miss,” Cat said. “I want you alive.” She lifted the second throwing knife. “Come quietly, Sebastian Vaas. The time for reckoning is now.”

  Sebastian yanked the knife from his arm and smattering of blood stained the sand below. He’d been injured so often, he hardly felt the pain. But he pretended he did.

  The knife dangled from his fingers, and he dropped to one knee, his head bowed.

  “No,” Cat said, “I’ve fallen for that before. Not again. I—”

  Sebastian flipped the knife in his palm and hurled in one smooth motion. Cat flinched away and while she did, the assassin rolled forward, and snatched the cutlass out of Niven’s fingers. Cat recovered and threw her other knife, followed by a quick slash with her own sword. Sebastian blocked the thrown knife and then her strike, twisting his wrist down and around. Her sword was wrenched from her fingers and then Sebastian was on top of her, pinning her to the ground.

  He held her jaw in one hand, pressing down hard, while reaching back so that the point of his cutlass rested on her cheek. A drop of bright red blood welled from underneath.