The Forgetting Moon

by Brian Lee Durfee

  Tala winced at the name of the grand vicar. “Jondralyn had nothing to do with this.” She stood, her mind spinning. This beastly game the Bloodwood was playing had far-reaching tentacles. She had come to Jovan’s chambers today for one purpose, her mind on the note from the Bloodwood: Find out what keeps your brother, the king of Gul Kana, so beholden to the grand vicar. But this conversation had taken a turn that she hadn’t expected.

  Jovan continued, “Watching Squireck die today will be good for you, Tala. It will steel your heart for the much more difficult things to come.”

  “Jon only dislikes you because you treat her so poorly,” Tala said, her mind a jumble. “If you were nicer to her, perhaps—what I mean to say is that you wouldn’t harbor such suspicion if you only tried to get along with her. She loves you . . . though she may not show it. But in truth, you don’t show it either. If you two would be nicer to each other, then we could all live happily as a family—”

  “Such girlish optimism.” Jovan caressed her hand in his. But there was a wintry smile on his lips. “The world isn’t a frilly present wrapped up in a bow for us to look upon gleefully. Our parents are dead. Our family is fractured. And others such as Roguemoore and Hawkwood have since weaseled their way into our home and infected those that I love with treasonous thoughts.”

  “But you’ve belittled Jon and treated her with nothing but scorn since childhood,” Tala said heatedly. “She means you no ill will.”

  “I like seeing that fire in you. It is a good thing that you defend your kin. I would expect no less of you. You have always been pure of heart. I wish there was a way for us all to be happy. And I confess I have knowingly treated Jondralyn badly. I don’t know why it happens, yet it does. But here we are. I must trust Denarius. He sees things that mere mortals cannot. He is Laijon’s prophet—”

  “He is fat and lecherous!”

  “Do not speak of the holy vicar in such ways,” Jovan snapped.

  “I saw him praying over Lawri.” Her voice trembled.

  Something like hurt crawled into Jovan’s eyes. It reminded her of the look on Lindholf’s face after she had kissed him on the balcony. It was a pleading look. That such a look could be found in Jovan’s normally cold eyes confused her.

  “Proper steps must be strictly adhered to for the healing blessings of Laijon to work.” Impatience was growing in his voice. “The consecrated oils are to be administered in certain steps. It is the way some holy things are done. The complexities of the priesthood will be made clear to you as you grow older. Not everything written in The Way and Truth of Laijon is to be understood by silly court girls who have not yet seen their Ember Gathering.”

  “Silly court girls. Is that what you think of me?”

  “Hardly,” he sneered. “As of late, you have taken to dressing like your sister. Shirt. Pants. Do you carry a dagger, too? A sword? Do you, too, wish to be a warrior?” Something like fear crept into his eyes. “I have seen war. No kin of mine should have to witness the horrors I have. You should attend court like the other girls your age.”

  “A court girl, is that all you want for me?”

  Jovan slumped in the bed, holding his chest. Agony was stitched in every line of his face. Tala wanted to reach out and comfort him. He rolled onto his side, long hair hanging over his feverish eyes, now peering through those dark locks at her sideways. “The grand vicar is the holiest of men. He communes with the spirit of Laijon daily in the temple. He is Laijon’s one and only prophet. Denarius is Laijon’s mouthpiece. His actions are Laijon’s actions—in whatever he says or does. And Laijon, in all his righteousness, will never allow the grand vicar to lead us astray. There is no disputing that. The Way and Truth of Laijon cannot be more clear—the Acts of the Second Warrior Angel read, and I quote, ‘Having the grand vicar in your midst is as having Laijon in your midst.’ Do you not recall your studies of the holy book, Tala? Do you not have a belief in the truthfulness of The Way and Truth of Laijon? Are you falling away from the truth as Jondralyn has done?”

  “This has nothing to do with my belief in Laijon.”

  “It has everything to do with it.” Jovan’s voice was warm now—reverent yet impatient still, and laced with authority. “To bring into question any act of Denarius is to bring into question the very existence of Laijon.”

  Everything Jovan said was true, of course, strictly speaking. At least it was true according to what was written in The Way and Truth of Laijon. But Tala harbored no illusions that Denarius was infallible and not in some way capable of falling into sin, as all men were. The holy book did claim that any man called to be grand vicar was rendered perfect in the eyes of Laijon. But could The Way and Truth of Laijon be taken literally concerning human flesh and frailty? That question had weighed heavy on her heart since she had witnessed Denarius with Lawri. Tala had learned in her short life that the idealized things written in The Way and Truth of Laijon so long ago were not often compatible with the realities of life here and now.

  The fact was, her brother’s rigid words were sowing fresh terror into her already pounding heart. It seemed more than ever, in all matters, Jovan deferred to what the holy book said. It was true. The Bloodwood was right. Jovan was beholden to Denarius, more so than her mother and father had been. And it’s my task to find out why. Or Lawri would continue to slowly die. Tala knew that there was no priesthood prayer or healing oil of the grand vicar that could save her. Only I can save Lawri. But after listening to Jovan, it was now dawning on her that, like Lawri, the kingdom of Gul Kana itself might be endangered by this game the Bloodwood played.

  “Let me tell you of when I first met Denarius.” Jovan’s eyes were boring into hers. “It is deeply personal to me, something I have not related to anyone. Before you were born, Father took the family to Rivermeade to stay a few summer moons with the Chaparrals. Leif Chaparral and I, both eight years old at the time, became fast friends. There is a bond between us, Tala, a brotherhood, even. Leif was with me on the battlefield when Sør Sevier first attacked Wyn Darrè. He was with me when Father was killed at the Battle of Oksana. Nothing brings men together more than battle, except for maybe things that bond them together in youth. You see, toward the end of our family trip to Rivermeade, there was a boar hunt. All the young boys were invited to participate. Our first hunt. It was quite a thing. And Leif and I anticipated this event, practiced for it, trained with spear and sword. Even at eight years old, we had already fancied ourselves brothers in arms. We were brimming with excitement over this hunt. But guess what happened?”

  Leif Chaparral had had a noticeable limp since Tala could remember. Glade had once hinted that his older brother’s leg injury had happened on a hunt of some sort when Leif was younger. That Jovan had also been there when the injury occurred was news to her. Still, Tala wondered at the point of this story. “Leif was hurt,” she answered.

  “Yes, Leif was hurt.” Jovan shifted his weight in the bed. “But I was hurt too. Near to death, in fact. You see, armed with naught but small spears meant for eight-year-olds to use as play toys, Leif and I foolishly set out on our own, and we became separated from the rest of the hunting party. We had it in our minds that we were chasing piglets about, I suppose. But the boar we had the misfortune of finding was no piglet. Seven hundred pounds if it was ten, the size of a full-grown cow, tusks as long as a grown man’s arm jutting from its snout. When it charged, Leif jumped into the beast’s path in an attempt to save me, taking the point of one of those tusks in his thigh. The boar, with a flick of its head, flung him into the brush and aimed itself at me next. Its heavy, gore-covered tusks crushed into my chest and forced me to the ground. The beast trampled me then, goring me over and over as I tried to squirm. I squealed like a small girl and then blacked out. I found out later that Leif, a ragged hole in his leg, had crawled near two miles, yelling for help all the way, nearly dying of blood loss. When he led our father and the other men to me, the boar stood on top of my body still, upon my head and neck. When they attemp
ted to kill it, it trampled me more in its death throes, its body dropping on me as it died from a dozen spears. They say it took ten grown men to push the beast away.

  “When I finally awoke, weeks later, the first image I saw was that of Bishop Denarius. He was kneeling over my bed, blessing my body with healing oils, praying for my recovery. Leif, also recovering from his wounds, lay in a separate bed at my side. Denarius was just the humble bishop of Rivermeade back then. He had not yet been called to be grand vicar in Amadon. But Father told me that he had fasted and prayed at our bedsides, forgoing food and drink and sleep for two weeks straight. By the grace of Laijon and the faith within that great man, I, to this day, suffer no ill effects of that boar attack. None. But as you know, Leif was not so fortunate. He suffers from a limp to this day. Yet he will always be a hero and a brother to me. As will Denarius.”

  Jovan paused, his lips quivering of their own accord. Tala could see her brother desperately trying to hold back the emotion as he continued, “The injuries and ailments of the flesh must be exposed to Laijon’s healing powers. There is no other way.”

  “Why does he not pray at your side now?” The question spilled from Tala before she could rein it in. “Why is Denarius not here healing your injuries and ailments of the flesh?”

  Jovan’s emotion-racked face hardened. His eyes locked onto hers. “Have you not listened to a thing I’ve said?”

  “Lawri threw the gladiator’s head at Denarius,” Tala said. “Don’t you see?”

  Jovan pushed her aside and climbed out of bed. It took him a great deal of effort; his face was a mask of pain. Tala rose and backed away from him, worried. They stood there, brother and sister, face-to-face, Jovan in naught but a robe and bandages, his dark eyes piercing her. “That you accuse the grand vicar of foul deeds bothers me greatly. Perhaps it is our cousin, Lawri, who tries to seduce the holy vicar?”

  Tala was so flabbergasted by the statement, it rendered her speechless. At first, she had been warmed by his sharing of the boar story. It had seemed so heartfelt. But now she was angry. Anytime she tried to get close to Jovan, she was always met by not only rejection but cold, brutal indifference—and now ignorance to the point of mockery.

  Yet she found that she longed for his love and acceptance even more because of it. Perhaps that was what also attracted her to Glade. Much of what was in Jovan could be found in Glade. This thought made her angrier still, and she cursed herself. Why do I continually grope for the attention and understanding of males who are clearly uninterested in anything I have to say? “I love you, brother. I love you so much. And ever since Father died, I have prayed for our family daily.”

  “I believe you have. You are so idealistic.”

  “And you are so blind.” Her tongue, before she could rein it back into her mouth and lock it up, spewed forth more. “But how can anyone so blind rule a kingdom?”

  His face was nothing but a cold mask now, and his hard finger was now pointing in the center of her chest. “Do not make it a habit of asking such treasonous questions of your king.” His index finger was hitting her with enough force on her breastbone that she stumbled back a few steps. “Pray that I do not change my mind about your involvement in the attempt on my life. Sterling Prentiss mocks my leniency concerning you. If it were up to him, you would all hang—you, Glade, Lindholf. What you may not know is that our dull-faced cousin, Lindholf, confessed much to Sterling. He admitted to climbing the Laijon statue to retrieve notes you exchange with that Sør Sevier traitor, Hawkwood. He admitted to helping you sneak through the secret parts of the castle and escorting you to dockside saloons on errands for Hawkwood.”

  Tala’s heart was racing now. And I thought I was so clever. Was everything out in the open? She should never have involved Lindholf. He was so soft and pliable. It was no surprise that Sterling had worked the information out of him. It was all a ruin! For a moment, she thought of telling Jovan the real reason why Lindholf had climbed the Laijon statue. She thought of telling him everything about the Bloodwood dagger and Lawri’s poisoning, too. But she did not.

  There was sadness creeping into Jovan’s eyes. “Because of Lindholf’s confession, Sterling believes it was Hawkwood who tried to kill me. And I am not so sure I disagree. I know that Roguemoore and Jon wish me gone. The dwarf most of all. But he hasn’t the balls to kill me with his own hands. He would send Hawkwood, though.”

  Tala’s mind was a flurry of anxiety, anger, and dread.

  Gingerly, her brother sat back down on the bed, eyes downcast. “Does everyone in my family hate me so much? Am I so bad a brother? Am I so poor a king? I wish Father were here. It is so hard without him.” He lay back on the bed now, his head settling into the pillow. His eyes found Tala again. “Do you hate me, Tala?”

  Tala didn’t answer. She trembled. Her mind spun wildly. Why is Jovan so beholden to the grand vicar? The Bloodwood’s question had been at the forefront of her mind ever since entering Jovan’s chambers. She now knew the answer.

  “Well,” Jovan said, closing his eyes. “Do you hate me?”

  “I cannot remember the last time I saw you laugh, or the last time I saw joy in your eyes,” she said. “I do not hate you. But you make me sad.”

  But Jovan did not hear her answer. He was asleep.

  Tala’s note to the Bloodwood read,

  Jovan nearly died during a boar-hunting accident when he was a child. Denarius fasted and prayed over his injuries for two weeks. Jovan believes the grand vicar saved his life. That is why my brother is so beholden to Denarius.

  Tala folded the parchment carefully, slipping it under a thick vine that draped over the stone balustrade. She rearranged some leaves of ivy over the note, obscuring it, then wrapped her shawl about her shoulders. The morning air was cold. The view of Memory Bay below was crystal clear—both sea and sky a brilliant blue. But Tala hated all things pretty at the moment. The beauty of the bay was an insult to the dreariness in her soul. She had no worries that the Bloodwood would find her note. After all, this was where she’d been instructed to leave it. She was only doing as she was told. But it infuriated her that this game was dragging on whilst her cousin’s illness worsened.

  She turned from the view, gaze traveling down the stairway into Sunbird Hall. Glade and Lindholf sat at the end of one of the long tables. She stepped down the stairs toward them, dreading the conversation she knew was to come.

  “Jovan told me that you confessed everything to Sterling Prentiss,” she said to Lindholf as she sat at their table. Lindholf looked stunned.

  “You scuttle-brained corncob,” Glade said, his gaze slicing into Lindholf’s. “What did you go and do such a thing for? You’ve implicated us all.”

  “It’s not as bad as it seems, Glade,” Tala said.

  “It’s a wonder Prentiss hasn’t come to collect our necks yet.”

  “He hasn’t come for us because Jovan ordered him not to.” She turned to Lindholf. “What you told Sterling did more harm to Hawkwood than us. Jovan now thinks Hawkwood, Roguemoore, and my sister are behind the assassination attempt. He thinks I’m too naive to conjure up an assassination plot against him. He thinks I’m merely a pawn in some grander scheme cooked up by Hawkwood and Roguemoore.”

  “Are you?” Glade asked. “After all, you’ve been less than forthright with us. Having Lindholf climb the Laijon statue? Who’s to say it wasn’t you who invited that barmaid to the party? Or Hawkwood? Or Roguemoore? I fear we made a great mistake, Lindholf, worshipping Hawkwood so.”

  Tala wanted so desperately to tell them both everything. But she could not bear it. She feared that if she did, the Bloodwood would follow through with the promise to hasten Lawri’s death.

  “Well.” Glade stood up, clearly irritated. “I must excuse myself, Tala. I’m done following you around. It has only managed to put me plumb in the middle of an assassination attempt on my king. I can only imagine what my father will think. I can only imagine what Leif will think. He loves Jovan like a brother.”
>
  Glade turned a condescending eye on Lindholf. “And Sterling Prentiss, how could you cave to that fat fool?”

  “I can see what you all think of me.” Lindholf’s face was mottled red with a combination of embarrassment and anger. “I was only trying to help Tala.” Tears glistened in his eyes as he stood and fled the hall.

  “Lindholf!” Tala called after him, her mind in torment. “Don’t go,” she whispered with panic, but he was gone. The entire situation was unraveling. “Don’t treat him like that.” She turned to Glade, angry. “Don’t you ever treat my cousin so poorly in front of me again.”

  Glade stood across from her, leaning over the table now, brow furrowed. “I probably should not have been so harsh with Lindholf. He’s been a friend to us both.”

  Moments like these, when Glade showed genuine contrition and concern for those around him, melted Tala’s heart. It was this side of him she wanted to see more of.

  “I feel badly for my treatment of your cousin.” Glade sat back heavily in his chair.

  She looked down at the table, unable to meet his eyes. She didn’t really harbor any ill will toward him for putting down Lindholf so. After all, she was guilty of the same.

  “You do owe me an explanation,” he continued. “I have a feeling the note Lindholf pulled from the Laijon statue had nothing to do with Hawkwood. May the wraiths take you, Tala, but was it from Roguemoore? Or was the note from a lover? You seem awfully close to Lindholf lately.”

  Tala’s eyes shot to his. Was there jealousy in those dark orbs? Could this be what truly bothered him? It made sense, in a way. Glade had seen her kiss Lindholf. If their roles were reversed, might she conclude the same?