by A. R. Cook
The Secrets of the Moonstone Heir
Book One of The Scale Seekers
By A.R. Cook
Also from Author A.R. Cook
The Scholar and the Sphinx Series
The Scholar, the Sphinx and the Shades of Nyx
The Scholar, the Sphinx and the Fang of Fenrir
The Scholar, the Sphinx and the Threads of Fate
Short Stories
“The Lady in the Moon and her Lantern” from Willow Weep No More
“The Man Who Called Death’s Wind” from Shadows of the Oak
“The Saintly Stew” from The Kress Project
“Demons in the Pages” and “The Last Quest of the Drunken Wizard” from Chronicles of Mirstone
The Scale Seekers Series
The Secrets of the Moonstone Heir
The Legend of the Lightscale
Copyright © 2016 by A.R. Cook
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-9971143-1-2
ISBN-13: 978-0-9971143-1-7
Cover Artwork by Steven Howard
www.stevenhowardart.com
I dedicate this novel to all those who have put a little more magic in my life:
my husband David, my family, my friends, and the readers who
truly bring stories to life.
CHAPTER ONE
Fiasco at the Festival
The cloaked woman with the black veil peeked out from behind the screen at the audience. Oh my, I haven’t had a crowd this big in a long, long time, she thought.
The Banishing Festival filled the city of Ulomin with bursts of color and song that night. It was more radiant than in years before, and the music of the band was the cleanest and liveliest ever. Tables of freshly cooked food encompassed the plaza, protected from the sand-scattered wind by the cluttering of red, pink, orange and blue tents that families were camping in for the long night of fun. The streets were painted with vast and impressive murals, created from dyes mixed with light wine, and even the blood from insects which made white, green, and purple smudges.
Banishing dolls dangled all around the city’s main plaza, on poles, on ribbon garlands or on clothing lines, to create a menagerie of exotic goblin toys. They symbolized the people’s fears and misfortunes for the upcoming year, and once the Banishing Festival was over, all those fears would be laid to rest until the next year.
This was a tradition only celebrated in Ulomin, a unique city that had thrived despite being surrounded by the Gold Dragon Desert. It was built on a fertile spot where underground streams had been cultivated into an effective irrigation system. The streets were made of the finest copper stone, brought all the way over from the desert’s quarries. Most of the homes were modestly made of stone with cloth awnings, but there were also painted towers that rose to the sky, shining green, blue and red in the dominating sun. The Ulomin people lived simply, safe from the notions of danger, and they rarely received visitors from any of the other Noble cities.
On this night, however, there was an attraction out of the ordinary, as people congregated around a platform in the plaza. Upon the platform was a screen, ten feet across by six feet tall, made of fine reed-pressed paper and pulled tight by a light wooden frame. It blocked the audience from the performer behind it, who one might have mistaken for a monk from the city shrine. The performer was shrouded from head to foot in a mahogany-brown hooded cloak, and a gauzy veil hung over her face. Her feet were wrapped in strips of white fabric, and her hands hid inside the long sleeves of the cloak. Thankfully it was a cool night, for by day she would have been cooking in such garb. She took a deep breath and rubbed her hands together.
“Time for my shadows to dance,” Desert Rain said softly, but with an edge of eagerness. Despite never being one for the limelight, she always loved giving a good performance.
From behind the platform, she brought forth a lantern and a cloth pack. As she set her props about, a murmuring bubbled up from the audience. She could hear some of them question what all this was for - granted, the desert folk were not familiar with shadow theater, as it was more common in the eastern city of Cindrea where Desert Rain had first seen it, but the young ones whispered excitedly. They knew when something unusual was about to happen on stage, it had to be the work of the Charmer.
Desert Rain reached into the pack and drew out two flint stones, several flat paper shapes on long thin rods, and a Strimbo, a stringed instrument that could either be played standing upright, or laying it flat on its back. She placed the Stimbo tenderly on the floor before her, and then unwrapped the strips of fabric around her feet. She flexed her long, fingered toes, for they were prehensile, much like an elongated ape’s foot with human fingers and thumb.
She sat and positioned her legs so that her toes could comfortably reach the strings of the Strimbo, and she began to play a soft, swaying ballad. At the same time, she used the flint stones to strike a spark into the lantern, and a flame burst to warm, orange life. It cast its sunset glow onto the screen before her, and as she selected her first rod puppets from her collection and the audience’s murmurs subsided into silence, she began her story.
“The Hij-Urawran came from the Otherlands, across the wide, wide sea,” Desert Rain began, as she lifted a rod puppet of a serpentine shape, puppeteering it so its shadow danced
across the screen.
Gradually, she introduced more puppets, some with wings, some swirling through the air like coiled ribbons, flying across the expanse of linen sky before her. The murmuring of the audience had faded, and she could sense their rapt attention. She let the puppets dance a few moments, in rhythm to the plucking of the Strimbo’s strings. Her singing voice was not classically trained, but it was comforting and honest, the warmth of the desert at dusk.
The Sages Great, with scales glistening
To the earth and sky, they were listening
They tamed the feral magic thriving there.
Bound to our soil, the trees, the sands
They formed our beautiful, noble lands
From fire, water, earth, ice, wind and air.
Once we were creatures, primal and afraid
Then we took shape, and we were made
As one with the dragons fair and wise.
But lest their sacred wisdom be forgot
Spirits are eternal, but their bodies were not
And one day they’d no longer grace the skies.
So to twelve Noblekind, they bestowed
Their living essences from centuries old
So they would carry on their legacies.
Through the twelve Hijn, they live on
So love, strength and truth is never gone
As we all live on through stories and memories.
Between her puppeteering, the singing and playing the Strimbo, Desert Rain became absorbed into the full composition of her act, and as her song concluded, was caught off guard by the applause that came both from the other side of the screen and the few listeners behind her. More often than not, she played music or performed for herself, so the rare times she had audiences took her by surprise. She re-wrapped her feet and started to pack up her things, when a voice spoke, startlingly close behind her.
“That-ttk was some show,” the male voice said.
Desert Rain looked up into the face of a freckled-faced man, with a mop of clay-red hair and a bright smile that could blind if stared at for too long. He was paler than the Ulomin people, and dressed in clothing rather heavy for the local heat. Worn leather breeches and vest, with a bright green tunic, and a waist wrap of crimson denoted the apparel of a merchant, alt
hough Desert Rain couldn’t quite place the region of the style.
“You did all that-ttk by yourself, the playin’ and the singin’ and the puppets-ss? That’s mighty talented. I’m Mac, by the by. Macapailius Zarr, but Mac’ll do. I get the feelin’ you’re not native to here, are you?”
Desert Rain grimaced, not sure where this strange man was going with all of this. She collapsed her paper screen and its frame in an accordion fold, and received one more round of applause from the audience still seated there. She demurely gave a quick nod to them, and then tucked her screen under her arm and walked off stage. Any hopes she had of Mac not following her were immediately dashed.
“You’re that-ttk Charmer I’ve heard about-ttk, aren’t you?” he asked as he walked beside her.
Desert Rain halted for a moment, but continued walking without reply.
“I’ve been in Ulomin about a week, and I keep hearin’ all these locals talkin’ about the Charmer who lives out somewhere in the dunes. Heard she bewitches animals, sometimes people. Some kind of shaman, they say. Now don’t you worry none, I’m not lookin’ for any hoo-doo or the like. But I consider myself an
entrepreneur, inventor and investor. Part of me’s always wanted to get into the manager business. You ever think about takin’ your act-ttk on the road? I know people, have some good connections. Think of it, your name on a huge marquee…‘Luuva Gros’s Newest Sensation, Miss…’?”
His extended pause caught Desert Rain’s attention. “Oh. Desert Rain,” she replied softly.
“Desert-ttk Rain, how lovely. Sounds refreshing.” Mac managed to maneuver through the crowds in the streets as artfully as Desert Rain, which provided no opportunity for her to lose him. “Now I know a big wig in Syphurius with a theater, always looking for new acts. I bet if we could flesh out your act to a good two hours--”
“I’m really quite tired, Mr. Mac. I would like to go home now.” Desert Rain picked up her pace slightly.
Mac was not one to be deterred. Or, as is common with a salesman, he did not understand the meaning of “no sale.” He picked up his pace as well, getting in front of Desert Rain and facing her, walking backwards in stride with her. “But the festival’s-ss just started. Don’t you have to put a banishing doll in the big bonfire and all that-tkk, burn up all your bad luck for the new year…oh, do you still need one? I have a few left, best get one before I sell out!” He opened one side of his vest to reveal several hand-sized banishing dolls of various colors and painted patterns displayed in his many, many pockets. They were too small to be official dolls, and were hastily sewn.
Desert Rain felt the burn of irritation in her cheeks and temples. She knew what this Mac really wanted - what anyone really wanted if they suspected she was the Charmer. Experience proved that once they got what they wanted, they slunk away in disgust or disappointment, depending on whatever their imaginations had built up. She set down her screen on the ground, and turned to face him. She lowered her veil to show him her face, staring him dead in the eyes. In a poor light, one might not notice anything too bizarre at first, other than her skin was tinted with the gold of the desert sands, and a wisp of dark hair fell around the curvature of her face. It was her eyes, or an eye, that spurred people to recoil. The right one was a commonplace brown, but the left an unnatural shade of green, like absinthe ablaze with faery fire.
“This is what you wanted to see, right?” she accused Mac. “Wonder if I’ll curse you with the evil eye? If you’re quite satisfied, would you be so kind as to leave me alone?”
Mac’s reaction was a bit more than she expected - his eyes went wide, and his frown indicated him being mortified. “I...I am so sorry, madam!”
Desert Rain put her veil back in place. “I don’t need your pity--”
“No, I mean I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. If it’s one thing Mac does his best to avoid, it’s arouse the ire of a maiden. If I’ve done anything to insult-ttk you, I sincerely apologize.”
Desert Rain sighed, shaking her head. “No, you didn’t. It’s…unusual anyone wants to talk to me for any other reason than…to know what’s under the veil, you know?”
Mac’s expression brightened again. “Well, it’s their loss to not get to know you better. I’m no stranger to the whole ‘puttin’ on a show so they don’t know’ business myself.”
“I would suppose so. But don’t worry, I have nothing against lizard folk.”
Mac’s smile flattened into a straight line, but he recovered quickly with a crooked grin. “What? Lizards? What’s all this talk of lizard folk? Wouldn’t trust-tkk one of ‘em farther than I could throw a…” He paused, and his cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment. “I suppose that special eye of yours sees through everybody, doesn’t it?”
“No, Mac. But you’ve got a trace of a Bayou dialect, and…ahem, your tail…” Desert Rain pointed toward Mac’s waist wrap, where the tip end of a bright red reptilian tail was peeking out from the cloth.
He looked around to make sure no one was watching before he adjusted his waist wrap, tucking his exposed tail under it. “Would you be a dear and not tell anybody ‘round here? If folks knew I’m Lejenous, I wouldn’t-ttk be able to sell a button!”
Desert Rain smiled, somewhat relieved to have found someone who could empathize with her need to hide her true self. She lowered her voice. “Your secret’s safe with me. Can all lizard folk do what you do? Look human, I mean?”
“Special one-of- a-kind talent-ttk of mine, as far as I know.” He winked at her. “May I ask you something? I have a good reason to hide myself, but why do you feel a need to hide
your pretty face?”
Desert Rain’s enjoyment of the conversation came to a grinding halt. She knew Mac couldn’t see her glare under the veil, but her face was turning about as red as his tail. Was that a joke, or did he not understand how cruel he was?
She turned to leave and bumped hard into a passerby, dropping her pack. She was about to apologize profusely for her clumsiness, but Desert Rain paused at the sight of the passerby’s attire. The woman was dressed in a lovely embroidered coat, crème colored with green and pink flowers. A peridot-colored head wrap covered all her hair, and a matching veil concealed the nose and mouth of her face.
This was not like any of the fashion styles of Ulomin. This lady was possibly from out of town, someone who was willing to make such a long trip. The woman made a surprised gasp when she was bumped, but she halted as she laid eyes on Desert Rain. She pulled down the bit of fabric covering her face to reveal her shining smile. The face was youthful and pretty, with sea-foam green skin, a slender nose, and glimmering eyes of tender lavender. A few strands of jade hair trickled down onto the forehead that had tiny emerald beauty marks lining the top of each eyebrow. Swirls of dark moss traveled across her skin, the distinguishing mark of one who came from an Ahshi Elf bloodline.
“Who is that under there?” the woman said in gentle, cheerful voice. “Is that you, V’Tanna? No, it couldn’t be. But it must be someone I know, anyone but Dezzy. If that were Dez under there, I would be so happy she finally decided to leave that lonely old burrow and come out to have some fun, I would die of the giggles!”
“Clova!” Desert Rain was aghast to see the Forest Hijn, whose home lied in the distant east of Luuva Gros. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think, hon? Enjoying the sights and sounds of Ulomin’s finest soiree. It’s been a few years since I attended. Normally the journey’s a bit rough, but last month the Merchants Fair came through Ashuido, and the nomads were selling those gorgeous pearl stallions, so I bought one of the horses and tagged along with them. I think the merchants thought I was some jewelry trader, the way I’m all dolled up. Say, would you like to ride back with me to stay a couple weeks at my place? You must be dying to get out of this place, Sweetie, being cooped up here all by yourself. It’s not good for the soul.”
Desert Rain made a half-smile. Clova Flor always tended to ramble a bit, but her heart was in the
right place. She was the epitome of gregariousness, and she was the one Hijn that Desert Rain trusted like a sister—being with Clova was like walking among a flowerbed in full bloom. It might be nice to spend some time with her for a while, help her out with one of her many gardens, and get her fingers into some cool soil. Clova always argued about Desert Rain doing chores, insisting that guests do not do such things. Desert Rain liked to garden, however, since real flowers were more fun than the ones she painted on her tunnel walls. She often imagined what it would have been like to grow up in the forests, and become a Forest Hijn.
“Such sweet humans here,” Clova sighed with a romantic sigh. “I love all these dolls. I’d get one, but I don’t have any problems that need banishing. How about you? Did you get a doll?”
Desert Rain dropped her eyes. “No, of course not. What problems would I have?” Her ears noticeably twitched twice beneath her hood.
“Oh, you’re hiding something,” Clova squeaked with a grin. “I know, because you twitched your ears.”
“Ah, is that so?” Mac said.
Both ladies turned to see him still standing behind them, a showmanship grin on his face. Desert Rain had completely forgotten he was still there.
“She plays music, she sings, she twitches her ears, what can’t Miss Desert Rain do?” Mac asked, nudging Desert Rain in the arm. “Forgive me for eavesdroppin’, but I couldn’t help but overhear this fine lady inquirin’ about banishin’ dolls. I have the best ones in the whole city. I have a nice feathered one that I know you’d like-crk, Madam,” he said to Clova, winking at her.
“Clova, this is Mac. Mac, this is Clova Flor,” Desert Rain said. “I’m sure you two will find yourselves conversationally compatible.”
Clova politely offered her hand, to which Mac accepted and kissed the top of it lightly. He then paused, taking a good look at the emerald markings on her face. His eyes lit up in both fascination and reverence. “My word, those are dragon marks, aren’t they? You’re…a true in-the-flesh Hijn!”
