The White Road of the Moon

by Rachel Neumeier

  Meridy was starting to really dislike her pretend aunt. The woman was getting more complicated all the time. No doubt Meridy was going to have to make up an uncle, too, and a couple of cousins, and a flourishing business of some sort. She had no idea what people even did in a city like Riam. “I’d like to travel,” she said. At least that was true. “I want to see some of the famous places from the classics. I don’t think I could have stayed in the village one more day.” It was more honesty than she had intended to offer.

  “Well, maybe you could be a priestess,” suggested Jaift. “You could travel all over the principalities, the way they do, seeking out folk who need the blessing of the God—”

  “A priestess! I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, well,” Jaift said peaceably, but this time didn’t seem as startled by Meridy’s tone. She said, “I suppose it only seems natural because of your eyes.” But then she gave Meridy a quick glance and changed the subject immediately: “You’ve read the classics? Which ones? I don’t know any girls who read anything but household accounts.”

  But when Meridy looked at her suspiciously, Jaift still didn’t seem scornful, merely curious. Of course, she’d said her uncle told stories. Maybe Jaift thought it was normal for a person with black eyes to know the classics. Or maybe an educated merchant’s daughter who had learned to do accounts actually thought a girl might simply like history and classics.

  Deliberately testing to see how the other girl would react, Meridy said, “ ‘Thaliaë-se na hiyän laiysënaè, usamèa temeshanan eis rehluè someriaè Diaël-aè eriëth na-en homithiän. Deira’ea meriy na’a rehesen. Teganei uänai-se chariësen, hiliën goho’il se iyrier homithiän….’ ” She trailed off, flushing at Jaift’s astonished stare and bracing herself for a scathing comment about unfeminine girls and village brats who got above themselves and pretended to be clever.

  “But that’s amazing!” Jaift exclaimed. “It’s Viënè, isn’t it? It sounds so pretty! I never managed to remember more than a few words of Viënè, though Father wanted us to learn it. What does that mean?”

  After a moment, Meridy answered, “It’s old. It’s from a cycle of poems by a woman named Loès Nehen. There are several different translations. I’m afraid none of them are as good as the original.” She fixed her eyes on her horse’s ears and recited, this time finishing the poem: “ ‘In the dim light of the coming dawn, I know we watch the night withdraw from opposite sides of the world. I pursue the shadows of my dreams. Memories tangle in moonbeams, soon forgotten in the waking world. I know you are watching these same skies, where sunlight, like a vision, comes slantwise across the face of the world and sets the city aglow.’ ” She added awkwardly, “She lived in Moran Diorr, the poet who wrote those words to the one she loved. Before the sea came in and drowned the city and separated them forever.”

  “It’s quite beautiful!” Jaift exclaimed. “And sad. Whose translation is that?”

  Meridy flushed again, more deeply this time.

  “Yours?” cried Jaift. “But that’s amazing! I couldn’t do that in a hundred years!”

  “The hard thing,” said Meridy hesitantly, “is to keep the rhythm and still approach the meaning. A lot of the words in Viënè don’t have equivalents today, not all the way down to nuance. And the grammar is quite different, of course.”

  “Well, it sounded good to me.”

  Oh, Jaift found a too-educated village girl impressive. But that was better than open scorn. Meridy shrugged, trying to look as though she were willing to be friends, but that it meant nothing much to her either way.

  A surprisingly comfortable silence fell. Iëhiy came back to pace at her side, sunlight glimmering over and through him. Occasionally a paw print appeared in the dust, but no one except Meridy noticed. Niniol rode by once, gave her an assessing look, and said, “You’re a quick study, miss. Your hands aren’t half bad. I wish all my students were so apt.” He noticed another guard signaling him from farther back in the train, gave a casual salute, and reined off again.

  “He’s nice, isn’t he?” commented Jaift. “He’s been with our house a long time. He taught me to ride when I got my first pony.”

  “I thought he was only a guard?”

  Jaift shrugged. “It’s true he heads the guards when my father’s on the road, but between trains, Niniol supervises the house guards at home. Heels down. He used to be a captain in some lord’s personal guard, but he got married to a woman from Tamar and she wanted to live near her family.” She laughed a little. “I had the most terrible passion for him when I was a little girl.”

  “Really?” Meridy was slightly shocked the Gehliys’ daughter would admit something like that. Surely a wealthy merchant’s daughter was expected to look much higher than a mere guard captain, especially one so dark complexioned, obviously with a strong trace of Southern blood. Of course the guard captain was good-looking and plainly competent, but Niniol was not only part Southern but obviously older, and undoubtedly common born as well.

  “Oh, yes. He never laughed, either, just let it wear off naturally. If you ask me, Jihiy is the one with the passion these days. She follows him around disgracefully when we’re at home, but of course she can’t while we’re on the road. I mean, I expect she’d like to, but she couldn’t possibly keep up.”

  Having seen the constant movements of the guard leader about his duties, Meridy could believe it. She asked curiously, “Have you ever been attacked on the road?”

  Jaift shrugged. “Not me personally, but yes, we’ve had our trains attacked occasionally.”

  Meridy shivered involuntarily.

  “Not often,” Jaift said quickly. “And not caravans as big as this one. We’re too well armed, and there are too many of us for outlaws to be much of a threat. And when we have been attacked, the guards have always turned the brigands back without any trouble. But it’s true we have to be careful—everyone has to be careful, especially here, between the Yellow River and Riam. You know the prince of Harann doesn’t seriously claim any lands west of Sann, and the prince of Cora Tal isn’t much interested in anything southeast of Riam, so there’s sometimes trouble in between, especially these days when all the princes are arguing about where exactly the borders ought to be and no one’s troops will deal with someone else’s brigands. But Niniol’s completely trustworthy, and he always hires good men.”

  Meridy nodded. She knew, probably better than Jaift, how Tai-Enchar’s long-ago betrayal of the High King had shattered the High Kingdom and led to the emergence of a whole flurry of petty kingdoms, some hardly encompassing more than a single city. She knew how those little kingdoms had warred and feuded and quarreled until finally the five modern principalities had emerged. The largest three were Cora Tal, Moran Tal, and Elan Tal, which had allied and broken apart and redrawn their boundaries fifty times and even today owned among them the best land of the old High Kingdom. And then there were the two lesser principalities: Tian Sur, at the far end of the world, and of course Harann, to which Tikiy belonged, more or less, though as far as she could tell no one in the mountain villages actually knew or cared where the boundaries might lie. But she didn’t know much about the current political situation. She remembered that the prince of Harann was one of the Luviodes, Sethan Luviode, she thought; and that the prince of Cora Tal was named Diöllonuor, a wonderful old-fashioned name that rolled off the tongue like poetry. But she hadn’t known anything about the current tension between the two princes, or what that rivalry might mean to ordinary people. By this time, she was almost not surprised by Jaift’s tact in explaining.

  “You’re lucky you met us. I can’t imagine traveling alone. Heels down, Mery.”

  Meridy twitched slightly at Jaift’s casual use of that little-name, unsure whether she meant to be friendly or condescending. But Jaift’s manner was so open that after a moment she just tried to sink her weight more into her heels and admitted, “I wasn’t really happy about the idea either.”

  “Was your village s
uch a terrible place to live?”

  Meridy glanced at her and away. “I don’t suppose it would be so bad for someone with family there. I don’t expect any place is especially nice if you don’t have family or friends there.” She added, “I guess lack of family isn’t a problem for you.”

  “You couldn’t be more right,” agreed Jaift emphatically. “Not with all this lot, and all of them younger than me.” She sighed gloomily, then brightened. “At least getting married will get me some privacy. My own bedroom! Think of that!” Then Jaift, glancing over, asked in surprise, “What is it, Mery? Are you…” Her voice changed, taking on a tension very different from her earlier manner. “Are you all right?”

  Meridy, fixedly watching a bright sparkle in the air next to Iëhiy, said, “I’m fine.”

  Just as she spoke, the ghost boy from Tikiy flickered into being. This time he didn’t offer Meridy any ethereal roses, but he patted Iëhiy, who, tail waving wildly, seemed delighted to see him. Meridy glared at him, fiercely jealous.

  “Do you—” Jaift began, then stopped, looking rather blankly from Meridy to the ghost boy.

  “Everything is perfectly fine,” Meridy snapped, and then stared at Jaift, wondering if the other girl could possibly have actually looked at the ghost boy. Jaift, with her blue eyes! It was impossible, and Meridy knew it was impossible—a girl Jaift’s age could not conceivably be a sorceress—she must be looking at something else. Yes, now she was staring away at her twin brothers, who were trying to get their horses to rear, something that surely wasn’t allowed, which must be why Jaift looked tense and upset.

  The ghost boy, kneeling with his arm around Iëhiy, looked up and contradicted Meridy with the arrogance Meridy remembered from their last meeting. “You’re nothing like fine. You’d better look sharp, girl. There’s an ambush that’s going to be sprung on you in only a few minutes.”

  Meridy, her grip tightening on the reins involuntarily, stopped her horse without thinking.

  Jaift had also drawn up her mare. “Meridy?” she asked tensely.

  The ghost boy said rapidly, “There’s more than forty men. They’re hiding there”—he pointed—“and there, and some over there, and you’re already past some of them. A lot of them have bows. But their master is a greater peril to you than any brigand! You must not fall under his sway.”

  Well, that was certainly helpful. Meridy resisted the urge to shout at the ghost, and instead said forcefully to Jaift, “Can you get Niniol over here right now. Quietly.”

  Jaift didn’t hesitate for even a second. Turning her mare, she called in a clear, cheerful tone, “Niniol!”

  Hardly a minute later, the guard captain cantered up. “Is there a problem, young miss?” The look he cast toward Meridy was faintly suspicious.

  The ghost boy had come up to stand beside Meridy’s horse. He looked at her steadily. Meridy took a deep breath and said to Niniol, “There’s soon going to be an ambush. More than forty men, a lot with bows.” She nodded discreetly toward the places the boy had pointed out.

  To Meridy’s surprise, Jaift added at once, “I’m sure she’s right! I’m sure she’s telling the truth!”

  Niniol stared back and forth between them. Then he laughed as though the girls had said something funny, but he said grimly through his broad smile, “Get to cover under the wagons.” He rode casually back among his men. Meridy saw him clap one of them on the shoulder and speak briefly. They separated, and the men started to sort themselves unobtrusively into fighting order.

  Meridy and Jaift rode toward the wagons.

  The ghost boy flicked into visibility directly in front of Meridy. “Duck!”

  Meridy bent low over her gelding’s neck—and beside her, so did Jaift, tucking down to her horse’s neck. A short little crossbow quarrel hissed wickedly over their heads and skittered through the dust.

  Jaift swung down from her mare, caught Meridy’s hand, and dragged her down, pulling her toward the nearest wagon. Another quarrel hissed past them and thunked into the side of the wagon just as Jaift scrambled under it. Meridy ducked after her, immediately squirming around to see what was happening.

  There were suddenly quarrels everywhere. Guards galloped past, crouched in their saddles; others ran behind the wagons for cover, reaching for their own crossbows. Meridy saw a guard hauling one of the twins, she didn’t know which one, toward a wagon. The man took a quarrel in the back as he reached it, and he pitched forward, falling hard. The boy turned and tried to drag the man under the wagon with him, but the guard shook his head, pushing the twin toward the relative safety of the wagon, and another quarrel struck him in the neck. He collapsed, limp and boneless, and a second later Meridy saw his ghost pull free and vanish in a blaze of invisible light, gone down the White Road into the hand of the God.

  Meridy scanned the wagons, looking for Maraift and the other children. She saw Derren Gehliy, a knife in his hand, standing over Jihiy, who had a quarrel in her leg. One of the attackers rode at them, but a guard intercepted him and knocked him out of the saddle before he could reach them. Derren picked his daughter up and made a dash for the wagons. He made it, throwing the little girl under a wagon before turning to face another of the brigands. Niniol came out of nowhere and gutted the attacker with a quick, vicious stroke of his sword, immediately disappearing again into the melee. The merchant scrambled for the wagon where Maraift sheltered with the baby.

  “Oh, may the God preserve us!” Jaift cried suddenly. She pointed to where Little Derren, not far away, was crawling out from under a dead man. The boy stood up and turned in a circle, screaming. Meridy caught her breath.

  A mounted attacker rode at the little boy, aiming a sword cut at him, and since this time there was no smoke, Meridy desperately grabbed up a handful of the fine dust from the road and threw it over Iëhiy, letting the dust help define him. It worked even better than she’d hoped. Every mote caught the sunlight, and she used the hinted visibility to reinforce her own sight so she could pull him into the real. Then she pointed urgently at Little Derren, and the dog went that way with a snarl that was almost audible. Iëhiy knocked the rider out of the saddle and crushed his throat with one fast chomp of his jaws. He flickered in and out of the real as Meridy’s concentration wavered, invisible and visible as he leaped through swirls of dust. A guard snatched up Little Derren from horseback, parried a stroke from an outlaw, and retreated. Iëhiy snapped at another attacker’s horse, driving it back, and the guard reached Meridy’s wagon. Beside her, Jaift reached out to take Little Derren as the guard handed him down. The guard reined away again. Iëhiy had vanished into the fighting—Meridy couldn’t see him anywhere and thought that he might have gone ethereal again.

  Dead men were everywhere, both guards and brigands. Ghost after ghost pulled free of their bodies. Some trembled into nothingness immediately. Others tried to keep fighting with ethereal weapons, not realizing they were dead. Some horse ghosts were also climbing dazedly to their feet and galloping away, before flickering out of sight, gone onto the White Road and to the God’s realm.

  The ghost boy wavered into existence at Meridy’s side, unexpected enough that she jumped and hit her head on the floorboards of the wagon. He said, breathless and quick, “He’s sent one of his servitors. These brigands are being driven back, but the servitor will hold them and rally them and use them, living men and dead alike—”

  “What do you mean?” Meridy demanded.

  But the ghost boy only said imperatively, “You must kill the witch-king’s servitor! The brigands aren’t the true threat—they’re merely a tool; you must disembody Tai-Enchar! Then you may be rid of his influence for at least a day or two.” He shredded back into the air before Meridy could yell at him that she didn’t understand any of that.

  “Whose servitor?” began Jaift, but then she pointed to where an outlaw had come into view, one of the twins across his saddle in front of him.

  Meridy caught her breath as the other boy ran out from his hiding place, sn
atched up a fallen sword, and ran at the outlaw. Niniol, shouting, rode after him. The outlaw knocked the sword out of the boy’s hand and struck him on the temple with the hilt of his own blade. Niniol, lifting his sword to attack the man, took a quarrel in the face and dropped limply off his horse, dead before he hit the ground. The outlaw laughed and started to drag the twin up onto his horse on top of his brother.

  Niniol’s ghost pulled away from his body and got shakily to his feet. He took a step toward the outlaw, slashing at him with an ethereal sword. It passed through the oblivious attacker without resistance. Niniol staggered and fell to his knees, crying out in despair and rage. His cry was the thin, voiceless cry of a ghost.

  Then, beyond Niniol, something peculiar began to happen to the air. There was a soundless concussion, and another, and a patch of air simultaneously seemed to gain substance and lose reality. The air in that area wavered and rippled, like water or some strange kind of sheer, transparent cloth, and the light and air and dust folded away and folded back again, and a man stepped through that area of distorted space into the middle of the road, glancing around with cool appraisal. This man wasn’t a brigand, not just a brigand. He wasn’t any ordinary man. He looked as though all this death and violence meant nothing to him, but it wasn’t only that indifference that made him frightening. Even from this distance, Meridy could see that the man had black eyes and, stranger still, that he had one shadow that lay out like a shadow should, against the position of the sun, but also another shadow that wavered away toward the north, as though in response to a quite different and paler sun way down in the sky in the wrong direction.

  The man spared a cold glance for Niniol. Then he beckoned, and Niniol flinched and got to his feet and took a step toward him, though his face set hard with resistance.

  Meridy might not know about servitors, but she knew every cruel tale ever told about the witch-king, and she could see, now, how a handful of other ghosts crowded behind the black-eyed man. She knew he must be binding the ghosts of the men who had fallen here, that he must be binding them for his own purposes, preventing them from taking the White Road. He was going to bind Niniol, too. Maybe he already had.