Thirteen (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 13)

by J. Naomi Ay

  “There you go, lass,” Reggie said, pointing at the great belly of the furnace. “Put yer wood in there. That’ll keep us goin’ fer another day or two.”

  The few sticks I had picked up on my rounds would barely keep us warm for an hour, but Reggie was kind, and despite everything, always in a good mood. The night the murder happened, the boiler had shut down. The furnace was off, the radiators cold. I shivered in my bed, listening to the screams out on the street, followed by the sound of the copper’s speeders and their voices as they took the murderer away.

  “’e was a Karut,” Reggie told me the next morning when he invited me into his flat. His was one of the few that had a fireplace, and keeping that lit required much less wood than the building’s boiler. “Seems he murdered an old gal, but the lad didn’t run away. ‘e jus’ sat there with ‘er ‘olding the poor old un’s ‘and.”

  “Figures,” Jetro smirked, clutching tightly to a cup. He lived in a flat one floor beneath me, and had once been an attorney. Now, he helped Reggie, or spent his days looking for wood. Sometimes, he queued up at the mission where they gave away bread and soup.

  "Tea, lass?" Reggie offered, taking a pot from the fire. "Too cold for ye to work t'day. Too much snow on the ground."

  "How do you know he was a Karut?" I immediately thought of the man from the park. All week I had seen him on that bench during the day, and limping off to somewhere else as soon as night fell. I worried about him, even though I had no reason to care. For a moment, I was afraid the murderer might have been him. "What did he look like?"

  "Like any Karut," Jetro interrupted, while accepting another splash of tea. "Black hair, dark skin, they all look the same. Fucking heathens."

  "Not all," Reggie replied, filling my cup and returning the pot to the fire. "Senya was as pale as yerself or me."

  "As is this man at the park."

  Of course, this man couldn't have been the murderer. He could barely walk, let alone attack someone.

  "Nay, this fella was dark." Reggie disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a decorative, painted plate. He sat down upon the chair next to mine, and held out the dish, displaying for Jetro and me the Emperor's face. "Look 'ere. This was 'ow Senya looked when 'e was young. Course I knew him as a wee lad, and me aunt knew 'im younger still. Every year she bought a plate. Now, I've got enough to feed fifty people. Too bad I dun't 'ave any food to put upon them."

  "Lot a good your Senya did." Jetro leaned forward in his chair, his shoulders slumped, his face full of the despair that so many felt. "As far as I am concerned, your Senya was a crock. He's the reason we're all in such dire straits now. If he ever comes back, I hope the Guard takes him out and shoots him. I would like to see him strung up, and hanging from the Palace rafters, or his head stuck on a pike in front of the Palace gates."

  "’old yer tongue, lad," Reggie gasped and spat over his shoulder. "I’ll not ‘ave ye be speaking this way in my ‘ome. 'tis only since Senya's absence, we've fallen into such a state. Evil has taken o’er the land, and that be no fault of Senya, who only desired a little rest fer ‘imself."

  I didn’t want to hear them argue. I had listened to this same kind of talk before. My former colleagues, my current co-workers, the people on the streets, and in the stores, everyone was searching for someone to blame, and the absent Emperor was the one easiest to fault.

  Personally, I didn’t know who or what had caused all this. All I knew was I didn’t like it. I wanted my old life back. I wanted Rehnor as it had been in my youth, prosperous, growing, and happy.

  “The word of Rosso is the way,” Jetro retorted, as I handed Reggie my cup and headed back to my flat.

  Jetro's incessant refrain got on my nerves. More than a few times I had wondered how such a seemingly smart man could be so taken in by what amounted to nothing more than an odd and even, dangerous cult.

  “The Karut de Kudisha, and all the evil Kalilas before him, did nothing but line their own pockets on the spoils of our labor. Rosso believes in fairness for everyone, and his word is the true gospel. Rosso’s ways are toward the path of enlightenment. Rosso religion is the religion of peace. Rosso, Rosso, Rosso,” Jetro continued as I shut the door.

  Maybe Reggie was right, and the Rossorians were responsible for all the trouble. Their path toward enlightenment included stepping on anyone who wasn’t one of them. There was obviously more to the Book of Rosso than dietary rules and prayer rituals. Hidden between the pages, I suspected there was something insidious in their plans.

  That afternoon, when the snow had let up a little, I ventured outside just for a breath of fresh air. This is what I told myself as I walked toward the park, my gaze sweeping across the empty benches, and snow covered paths.

  The Karut wasn't there, and strangely, I grew anxious, even though I told myself I hadn't come to look for him. What was he to me? Nothing but a stranger who I had nodded to in passing. One of the thousands, if not millions of homeless who now roamed our streets. Yet, I felt a need, almost a compulsion to see him, to speak to him, to know that he was alright.

  Dusk came quickly as I strolled slowly past the empty benches, my old fur lined boots kicking up slush as I walked. What little warmth the afternoon had brought was now gone, and as the street lamps came on, a bitter frost returned to the air. I hugged my coat to my chest, clutching my gloved hands tightly in the pockets, and picked up my pace, now anxious to return to whatever warmth awaited me at home.

  Once outside the park's gates, I was surprised to encounter a large crowd of men who were hurrying up the street toward Palace Hill. They were clothed in the Rossorian gowns, and some carried torches. In the hands of others, I noticed guns. There were young boys among them, some holding knives or handcrafted spears.

  Women were at the end of the pack, covered head to toe in their version of the Rossorian dress. They were all shouting something, although at first, I couldn’t understand what it was they were saying.

  "The revolution has come," a homeless woman announced from behind me. "They're going to take over the Palace and kill anyone within."

  "The Palace Guard will turn them away," the man next to her replied.

  "There ain't no guard there anymore," still another man said. I recognized him from my rounds, one of the daily wanderers who roamed the park and nearby streets. “The guard has all left. There was no money to pay them. What people do you see stopping them now?”

  There had to be hundreds that passed us, maybe, even a thousand or more. As they stormed up the street, they chanted praises to Rosso.

  They called, 'Death to de Kudishas', and for the end of their tyrannical reign, as if our memories of the past were all flawed. They shouted it loudly, and repeated it often, such that it began to echo like a mantra in our heads. Even I began to question what I had thought was the truth. Could so many of my brethren be wrong?

  "It's the fault of the Karuts," the woman scoffed. "Things were much better back in the day when Mishnah belonged solely to the Mishnese. Now, we have Karuts everywhere. Only these Rossorians mean to do anything about it. We should throw all Karuts in the ocean, and be done with them."

  “We should nuke their continent like the Blessed Saint did back on Rozari,” another man added. “This time we’ll win as those Karuts don’t have a bomb.”

  "Aye, aye!" The people around me agreed.

  “At least someone is doing something,” a woman replied. “I’m with these Rossorians. It is time for a change.”

  I stood and watched as most among me followed the Rossorians lead, and joined their revolution, marching onward. I did nothing to stop them. I stood alone with empty hands, no gun or sword. My only weapon was my voice, which no one heard. I didn’t raised it. I didn’t question. What could a single woman do? I was at fault as much as them for the disaster that was to come for my silence was as dangerous as their shouts.

  As the crowd disappeared, I lowered my eyes and continued homeward. Thunder boomed in the sky overhead, and the snow
began to fall again, heavier than before. The wind swept through the streets, blowing the storm in all directions, into my eyes, and on my skin, freezing me with its touch. Lightening crackled overhead, illuminating the gloom as the street lamps flickered once, then twice before going silent from loss of power.

  It was then that I saw him, the Karut man from the park. He was standing in the middle of the street, as still as a statue, nearly covered in the snow as he leaned upon his cane. I knew it was him from his posture, from his height, and from the thin and worn jacket, which had long since soaked through. I knew it from the sudden racing of my heart, and the rush of emotion, which I had no cause to feel.

  “Mister,” I called politely. “You best go inside. You’ll freeze to death in this weather.”

  He turned his face to me, and for a moment, I thought that I might swoon. My head grew hot, my mind went blank, as if suddenly, I had become enveloped in a fog. Then, it cleared, and he coughed a horrid, wet sound from deep within his chest, and I could see feverish beads of sweat running down the side of his face.

  “You need to leave,” I told him, gazing up at the dark glasses. “When they return, it won’t be safe on the streets for Karuts.”

  He turned away, and looked down, embarrassed or ashamed.

  “Then, come with me,” I insisted. “It’s not charity, if that’s what you’re thinking. There’s no honor in dying from the cold, or being killed by a mob. My landlord will take you in. I’m sure he’ll have hot tea or soup to spare.”

  How did I know Reggie would welcome this Karut? Perhaps, when we got there, my landlord would turn him back out on the street. Reggie, despite his blustering, had a kind heart.

  “Or, I can take you to the hospital,” I offered. “SdK is still open. I saw the lights when I walked over here.”

  Now, he shook his head violently.

  “Nay,” he whispered softly, before erupting into a series of coughs which wracked my own bones in sympathy.

  “Come!” I decided, no longer giving him a choice. “We’ll go to my flat. It’s not far, three blocks, then left and down another two.”

  He didn’t protest. In fact, he held tightly to my shoulder as I made to clear the path in front of him. What would normally have taken about five minutes to walk, took us nearly a full hour in the snow. He moved slowly despite the cane, and despite the weight which he pressed on me. Fortunately, during our travels, the thunder and lightning had briefly stopped.

  “Wait here,” I ordered when we came to the stoop of my building. He was far too weak, and I too slight to help him mount the slippery steps. “I’m going to run in and get Reggie. He’s old, but he’s as strong as an ox. Just give me a minute, and between us, we’ll have you inside.”

  Then, I ran as fast as I could and pounded on Reggie’s door. “Reggie,” I called. “Reggie, please help me with this man.”

  “Who, lass?” Reggie opened his door, already pulling on his boots.

  “Him!” I pointed at the Karut out on the street. The man had fallen over, and was slumped upon the steps, his bad leg splayed out awkwardly, his body shaking with fever. He coughed violently, spilling bright red blood from between his lips, speckling the snow before him.

  “Blessed Saint!” Reggie gasped. “I can’t believe me eyes!” Hurrying past me, Reggie embraced the Karut in his arms. “Blessed Saint, mate, wha’ the fecking ‘ell ye doin ‘ere, and ‘ow did ye get yerself ‘alf dead?”

  Chapter 10

  Ber

  I was completely frozen stiff standing there in the bus shelter, waiting for a bus that was running about four hours late. Kie was asleep in a wheel chair, covered in blankets. He seemed comfortable enough, his eyes closed, and his breathing steady. Each time he exhaled, a cloud of steam rose up around him. I watched it, just as I had listened to his heart monitor before. Each time I saw the cloud, I knew Kie was still here.

  "I hope he doesn't catch pneumonia," I told Loran, who was dancing around and stamping his feet. Like a dragon, he blew out his own clouds, although Loran's were filled with cigarette smoke.

  "The bus will be along any minute, my man," Loran replied. "And, don't you worry, fresh air is good for the dude. Too much hospital air can kill you, you know. There's all sorts of germs, and stuff like that in it."

  "I'm still amazed we got out of there without any of the nurses stopping us."

  I started to stomp my feet, and hug myself with my arms. As cold and miserable as it was, I was marveling at what I could do, at each sensation that passed through my new body. One moment I was shivering, and the next, I was warm, as I copied Loran, jogging in place or running in circles.

  "Yeah, well, it helped to have the power go out at just the opportune time," Loran replied. "And look! The bus arrives. Our carriage has come. We shall get to the Palace just in time for the ball.”

  A bus did arrive, but it was completely full of strange people dressed in strange clothes. The door opened, but no one got out.

  “Sorry, boys,” the driver called. “I don’t have any space. You’ll have to wait for the next one.”

  “When is the next one to Palace Hill?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. In this weather, we’re all off schedule. There’s also a protest, or something going on in the Old City. Rossorians from all of Mishnah are heading there to stand in the streets.” He inclined his head in the direction of the Rossorians filling his passenger compartment.

  “Bummer, dude,” Loran muttered, as the door slammed shut and the bus lifted off, washing us in exhaust, and a warm burst of air.

  “Any chance you can call a car?” I was now shivering so much my teeth were banging together. It occurred to me I could kill my new body by staying out here like this. “I bet if we call Grandma Luci, she’ll be happy to send one.”

  “That is a thought.” Loran stroked his goatee with a finger. “On the other hand, the radical gran will insist we return to the warmth of the family bosom, at the hearth in Korelesk.”

  “A warm bosom, I mean, hearth, sounds fine to me,” I chattered.

  “Take me to my leader,” Kie ordered from beneath his blankets. “My leader awaits. The battle is drawing near.”

  “The dude speaks,” Loran exclaimed. “And, he says prophetic words.”

  I didn’t think Kie was being prophetic. I figured something went wrong when we took him off his meds.

  “Maybe, we should take him back to the hospital instead? Maybe, this was a really bad idea, Loran. Our new bodies might not be able to handle this yet.”

  “No, bro,” Loran declared, stepping out into the snow covered street, and holding out his thumb. “To the Palace we go. We must fulfill this noble knight’s request.”

  I watched him standing there, white flakes clustering on his shoulders and bare head.

  “I summon thee, oh chariot of the heavens. Come hither and take us forth on our quest.” He raised his arms to the sky and spun around, snow covering his upturned face. “Oh angels of the heavens hear my beseeching cry…”

  “Are you stoned, Loran?” I interrupted, even though I already knew the answer. “Or, are you just insane?”

  Loran lowered his hands and glared at me. “Dude, do you want to be rescued or not?”

  “Let’s go home to Grandma Luci.”

  “Take me to my leader,” Kie repeated.

  “You’re on your own, dude,” Loran said. “Good luck.”

  I considered taking the next bus west, or sticking out my thumb to hitch a ride, but I would be leaving Kie entirely in Loran’s care, such as it was. Never, in my six years, had we been more than a shoulder's width apart. Indecisively, I paced the shelter, running the options around in my brain.

  Loran, in the meantime, was once again dancing in the road with his thumb out, which just so happened to alert an old hippie van passing by. It pulled to a halt right in front of him, and a strange dude stuck out his head.

  “Were are you headed?” The driver was dressed in the same odd robes as everyone had been
on that bus.

  “The Imperial Palace, oh great saving rescuer of us cold and frostbitten dudes.”

  “Climb aboard,” the guy offered. “That’s where we’re headed anyway.”

  “Take me to my leader!” Kie’s shrouded head bellowed.

  “Right on, oh single-headed bro,” Loran replied, jumping behind the chair to push Kie to the door. “Have you got room for my enfeebled nephew who must ride in this rollered sleigh?”

  “Sure, bring him along.” Loran and Kie quickly disappeared inside. “You coming?” The driver looked at me.

  I stood there. Decision time. I was freezing my new butt off and no other transportation was in sight. Still, in the back of my brain, I felt a niggling of apprehension. I knew it was wrong. I knew the better choice was Korelesk, but I couldn’t let Kie go off with just Loran.

  “Awesome, dude,” Loran proclaimed when I joined him in the back of the van.

  Upfront sat the driver, a guy who introduced himself as Kell, and another person, covered completely by the cloak.

  “What’s happening in the Old City?” I asked, as we took off into the snow and clouds. “Why are there so many people wearing those hooded robes?”

  “The revolution is happening,” the covered person responded. It sounded like a woman, but her voice was muffled by the fabric so it was hard to tell. “Our Lord Rosso has commanded us to go forth and capture the castle.”

  “Palace, wife,” Kell responded. “He wants us to capture the Palace. A castle has turrets and a moat.”

  “And then what will you do?”

  “We will proclaim Duke Korelesk as our new king,” Kell replied. “And, I’ll probably get to be a duke, or at least an earl.”

  “Radical,” Loran declared. “That ought to make me the Crown Prince in waiting, since I am said duke’s only, yet very worthy son.”