by Richard Due
Nimlinn made a face that Lily didn’t understand.
“Step closer, and let me see the face of the coin.”
Lily hesitated. She could see no harm in allowing Nimlinn to look at the coin. As it was, the Rinn were so large and powerful that any one of them could have already taken the necklace if they’d wanted it. And they hadn’t shown any desire to take it so far, so what was there to lose? Lily strode forward and, without allowing it to leave her neck, raised the coin high.
Nimlinn’s nose wrinkled, and she gave the pendant a quick sniff. Lily watched herself in the twin reflections of Nimlinn’s huge amber eyes, whose tall pupils narrowed to slits as she focused on the coin.
“Why is Barreth undistinguished from her moons,” she said quietly, as though speaking to herself. “Lily, which of these designs brought you to our world?”
Lily blushed, feeling stupider, as if that were somehow possible. “I—I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Do you know the language of these markings?”
“No. I—”
“Then we have a problem. You see, I have often suspected that Ebbram’s moon coin required some fixed amount of time to replenish its power, as he would often need considerable time after arriving before he could vanish again. But he is a clever one, and so I have always assumed that, whenever possible, he would linger in hiding before making his presence known on Barreth. In this way, he could create an illusion of being able to come and go at will. However, on the occasion of his last visit, he had questions that could not wait. Likewise, after he got the answers, he had no time to stay. But stay he did. I could smell his haste. He wanted to run off and hide himself. I’m sure of it. Instead, he busied himself deep in the bowels of Fangdelve, where there are passageways too small for Rinn.”
“If the passageways are so small, how do you know when he left?” asked Lily.
“He didn’t go down alone. He took wyflings with him, and lanterns.”
“Did he find anything?”
“The wyflings didn’t think so. But there were times when they thought he appeared to be reading things . . . on the walls . . . things they could not see. He made many notes in his little notebooks. All told, he lingered for nearly a full day.”
Lily lowered the coin, a look of understanding spreading across her face.
“So, what you’re saying is that when the coin’s recharged—in a full day’s time—that I’ll be able to use it again. But unless it happens to be set on Barreth, I’ll be sent to whichever moon the coin’s pointer is currently set on, whether I want to go there or not.”
“That is what I am thinking, Lily. However, it is just a guess. There is no lack of mystery surrounding that little coin. For example, why are there ten bodies on it, when Barreth has only eight moons?”
“By the nine moons . . .” Lily whispered, repeating a phrase her uncle used to express surprise or wonder. Now Lily understood why all the Rinn thought she was a Dain Cub. They didn’t know about Earth, and apparently Lily resembled a child of Dain. So to Nimlinn, the moon coin had an extra moon—Earth. She must believe Uncle Ebb is from Dain, too, Lily thought.
Nimlinn began looking at Lily in a different way, as though sizing her up. Lily squirmed, certain the Rinn Queen thought her an idiot.
Nimlinn’s ears suddenly swept back, and Lily feared she was angry. But Nimlinn’s expression was merely one of alertness: a moment later, two Rinn appeared, descending the staircase behind the dais. The Rinn in front was black-furred, shot through with streaks of silver. Lily decided this must be Greydor. He was large, and his eyes were a bright emerald color, like Roan’s. The second Rinn was much thinner and walked upright on its rear legs. It wore a beautiful orange and black robe that began at its chin and flowed all the way to the floor. The robes were covered with delicate patterns that reminded Lily of smoke and light, and the huge buttons, which looked like polished stone, had deeply-cut runes on their faces. This was a lunamancer Rinn, who towered over everyone else in the room.
When Greydor reached the dais, he took his place beside Nimlinn, giving her a lick and nuzzle behind her ear before reposing sphinx-like beside her. At first, it was as though Lily were not even in the room.
“I have spoken with your father,” he said to Nimlinn, “and he has promised many Rinn. But he is concerned about the Blight Marsh, as well he should be. There is no telling what Rengtiscura has planned for us. As for your kin, we can expect the first of them in two days, maybe three. They will be using the old paths. We must last this night, and the next. Retaking Fangdelve will not be an option until we have their bows, and in great number.”
“Two days,” said Nimlinn, sounding alarmed. “Can we risk waiting that long?”
“I don’t see that we have a choice. Clearing the valley will occupy all of our time before then.”
“Greydor, if we leave them in Fangdelve . . . we may find ourselves with considerably more to take care of.”
Greydor shifted uncomfortably at this thought.
“I agree, Nimlinn. But to retake Fangdelve now, we would have to attack and defend at the same time, splitting our already thin forces. Without your kin to supply cover, we will not be able to open the gate.”
Nimlinn nodded, but Lily could tell she was still of two minds. With a swish of her tail, she changed the topic. “Any news of my brother?” she asked quickly.
“He is still missing. And there is still no sign of—”
Greydor’s great head turned to Lily, his emerald eyes focusing on her for the first time.
“This,” said Nimlinn, “is Lily Vervain of the clan Winter. She is the niece of Ebbram the Wanderer.”
“Indeed,” said Greydor, sounding intrigued.
Greydor’s strong gaze shone on Lily like a heat lamp. It felt as though he were somehow looking into her very thoughts and memories. She couldn’t return his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.
Nimlinn continued to explain, speaking quickly and precisely. “As you can see, she possesses the moon coin. But she is not its master. I fear that, due to her mishandling of the coin, she will be randomly sent to one of our moons, unless we can decipher the coin’s markings and set it back to Barreth.”
Greydor took no time to think.
“Mowra, come look at this coin. Tell me what you can make of these markings.”
The robed Rinn walked upright over to Lily and leaned down to look at the coin. Lily stood on her tippy-toes trying to hold it as high as she could.
“It is a very old script. I have seen it, but only rarely. Sadly, I have never had reason to further my understanding of it.” When she heard the lunamancer’s voice, Lily got the distinct impression that Mowra was female.
“Who might have knowledge of this language, Mowra?” asked Greydor.
Mowra drew herself up and brought a huge paw to her chin. She looked cautiously at Roan.
“You may speak freely before Roan—you know that.”
Mowra seemed dubious.
“Some of the larger birds on Taw may know. They are marvels of language. And their lines of communication are quick.”
“Who else?” asked Greydor.
Mowra stepped closer to Greydor and whispered, “Ember. I’m certain she has traveled to many of our moons, and she continues to share everything we have ever asked of her. Her eyes and ears are sharp—she forgets nothing.”
“Dain,” said Greydor, his voice dripping with distaste.
“Well then,” continued Mowra, “it would be reasonable to think that one of Rille’s scholars on Dik Dek could read it. Smugglers still use the Embaseas during crossovers, even if they are officially dormant. And you can be sure that they do so with Rille’s approval. As to others—”
“Mowra,” interrupted Nimlinn, “which moons will we cross over with next, and where
will the crossovers take place?”
“This cluster is strong. There will be three more crossovers within the next two days. First will be Taw, then Min Tar, then Dik Dek.”
“And where will this crossover with Taw take place?” said Nimlinn eagerly.
But before Mowra could answer, the sudden sound of thunderous wing-beats filled the air. Roan was the first to act. In a single bound, he placed himself between his king and queen and the sound coming through the arch. Lily wondered again at the grace of the enormous Rinn.
Roan leaned through the archway. To Lily’s eye, half his body disappeared into the darkness.
“It’s the Wornot,” he shouted. A second later, Lily screamed as a bat, easily twice the height of a grown man, emerged from the darkened archway, landing with a powerful thud on an enormous perch just inside the hall. Long, leathery wings folded tight to its glistening, hairy chest. Its head was like an enormous rat’s, and its gaping mouth gasped for air, exposing ancient, pointed teeth.
“Greydor!” it screeched to the ceiling, its huge lungs alternately raking in and heaving out great gouts of air.
Greydor, too, had now leapt from the dais.
“Wornot!” he said. “What have you seen?”
The great bat, still staring blankly at the ceiling, hideous mouth gaping, lungs heaving, managed to spit out its message. “My watchers . . . are loose . . . and the enemy is . . . everywhere. . . . They cover the . . . valley floor. . . . They cannot see . . . yet not . . . so helpless. Still deadly . . . digging in . . . laying traps. . . . Your Rinn are . . . foolhardy . . . easily tricked. . . . There is chaos!”
Greydor glanced at Roan, “Where are your Rinn?” He showed no hint of alarm.
Lily noticed that more Rinn, both robed and walking on all fours, were now filing into the Great Hall.
“I sent them to warn off any direct attack on Fangdelve,” said Roan. “Their orders are to gather what Rinn they can and bring them back to the foot of the switchbacks. They will not be easily taunted into any traps.”
“Excellent, Roan. Now, if we are to survive this night, then we must bring order to this chaos. If the bugs are digging in, we will need to bring the lunamancers directly to bear on their burrows.”
“Greydor,” interrupted Nimlinn, “what about Lily? She needs our help. We cannot risk her being lost to a dangerous moon!”
Greydor glanced briefly at Lily, then to Nimlinn. “You are right, of course—”
“Greydor!” shouted a lunamancer Rinn, who was looking through a darkened arch that faced the tower Clawforge. “Wyrrtwitch has raised the Rinnwalk! The lunamancers are crossing to the city.”
“Have them amass at the Ridgegate!” shouted Greydor. “Roan, recall the guards sent to Clawforge’s base. We will need every Rinn in the field tonight!”
Roan nodded, then leaned down to the small Rinn, Swatfur, who had been trying to hide within Roan’s shadow, unable to take his eyes off Greydor.
Greydor issued orders to the Wornot, who quickly turned and launched himself back into the false night.
“Swatfur,” said Roan, raising his voice calmly despite the growing confusion, “now is your time. Run to the Ridgegate and make sure they know the Rinnwalk has been raised. Tell them to send a runner to tell the lunamancers’ guard that they will not be needed at Clawforge’s base. They are to enter the field of battle, but must avoid Fangdelve.”
But Lily heard no more after another bat, half the size of the Wornot, entered through the same archway and began shouting frantically about a queen bug having been spotted within the valley. At this news, a great shout went up, and total chaos swept over the room.
Now, for the first and for what Lily would later remember as the only time, she saw something other than calm flash across Greydor’s face.
“Greydor!” exclaimed Nimlinn. “Greydor! We must help the Dain cub!”
Lily watched Greydor wrench his mind away from the commotion in the room in order to face Nimlinn, who was frankly alarmed.
“What if the coin is set to Darwyth!” hissed Nimlinn.
Greydor grimaced and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, Lily could tell that he had made his decision. As Rinn shouted for his attention, he faced Nimlinn and looked deep into her eyes.
“My love,” he sighed, “if there is even to be a tomorrow for the Rinn, then this must wait.”
Greydor broke his gaze from Nimlinn and begin raining orders like lightning-bolts in a thunderstorm. Runners streamed in and out of the room; lunamancers nodded. The moon coin, which had been able to amplify the speech of anyone Lily concentrated on, became overwhelmed with the task of translating so much shouting at once.
As the din became a roar, Lily felt herself cut loose, like a kite whose string had broken. Her fate had been cast to the winds. She was all on her own now, on a strange world that she knew only in bedtime tales and dreams.
Numbly, she watched new bats land, one after the other, through the darkened archways. Mowra shouted to Roan. Nimlinn yelled instructions to the small wyflings by her side. The wirtles ran about the room in confusion, snapping and biting at each other.
A Rinn’s leg bumped into Lily and nearly knocked her down. It was as thick as a tree and hard as stone. Lily looked around for an area where there was less commotion, but the best she could manage was weaving between one huge body and another, trying her best not to be stepped on.
She felt a tapping on her shoulder. Lily spun around, suddenly nose to nose with one of the otter-faced wyflings. It spoke very fast in a clear voice.
“Greetings. It is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Snerliff.” Lily stared as he produced a well-manicured paw. After a moment, Snerliff gently took Lily’s right hand in his. She barely felt any claws at all, and his pads were quite cool. The fur between his fingers was velvety and supple. Lily continued to stare, shaking his paw.
Snerliff, unfazed by her odd behavior, smiled brightly, showing his many small white teeth.
“Nimlinn requires your presence,” he said, pressing on. Lily kept shaking his paw. Snerliff pressed his lips together, gave her an understanding look, and patted her hand. “Nimlinn is not one to be kept waiting. Twizbang and I will accompany you,” he said calmly. Snerliff made a graceful pivot, interlocking Lily’s elbow with his own, and guided her toward the stairwell behind the dais, where the other wyfling waited. The main steps were Rinn-sized, but along the far edge, hugging the wall, was a narrow set of wyfling-sized stairs.
As Lily stepped down them, she gazed back into the chaos of the Great Hall of the Rinn. Just before she descended below the level of the floor, she caught Roan’s piercing eyes briefly alighting on her own. Instantly, his eyes darted off to other parts of the room, in a decidedly frantic fashion.
Chapter Nine
The Tomb of the Fallen
Lily couldn’t recall if there’d been smaller wyfling steps carved alongside the ones she and Roan had taken to the Great Hall, and that bothered her. They had been moving quickly, but not so quickly that she would have missed a detail like that. Of course, without the smaller steps, how would the wyflings move anywhere within Sea Denn?
Lily counted six wyfling steps for every Rinn step. Maybe, she finally allowed, Roan had been moving too quickly for her to get a good look.
This stairwell was very different. It had walls on both sides. The craftsmanship of the carvings and tapestries was magnificent beyond anything she’d ever seen. Descending, they passed many open landings, beyond which Lily spied spacious, dimly lit rooms filled with more tapestries, gigantic paintings, and Rinn-sized furniture, touched with lustrous glints of gold and pearl. But they never paused, heading downward with no end in sight.
Snerliff and Twizbang talked quickly the entire time, their speeding words overlapping and interrupting their already complica
ted conversation. And still the stairs continued. Ten minutes? Twenty? Lily could not recall.
For Lily, the idea of being sent to a moon, especially a dead moon spewing scaramann, was becoming less imaginary with every passing minute. Why had she never wondered about the impossibly detailed nature of Uncle Ebb’s bedtime tales? He never had to think about what came next. Shouldn’t that have been a clue?
On the nights when Uncle Ebb visited, she and Jasper would beg him for new tales. And although he took great delight in telling his tales, their parents were very much against the activity. Now that should have been a clue. Why would their parents care about—come to think of it, the only times Lily had heard Uncle Ebb call them stories was when he talked to their mother.
Lily drifted back into memory, seeing Ebb through her child’s eyes—although no longer with a child’s perspective. The memory she settled on seemed ghostly now, unsettled, incomplete. She and her brother were very young. Had it been their birthday? Uncle was late.
“Are you going to tell us a story, Uncle?” Jasper had said, in the little boy voice she loved so dearly.
“No. Not tonight, I think,” Uncle had replied. Jasper had looked like he might begin to cry. “But if you think you’re up to keeping another secret . . . I might be willing to tell you a tale.”
Jasper had smiled then, happy in the knowledge that he and Lily would get their story, but completely unaware of the subtle distinction being made. But Lily didn’t miss it, no.
The memory flared, burning bright in her mind. She could feel the soft covers as he tucked them in, smell the dust of the travels in his clothes: smoky spices, cinnamon, the stuff of moon dust.
“A tale is an account of things in their due order, often divulged secretly, or as gossip,” he’d said. “You won’t find the tales I bear in any books. . . . My tales are from the Moon Realm.”
