Moonlight

by Ann Hunter

  She would need to solidify her position as queen, however. No one would follow her after Aodhagáin died, lest she give him an heir. They would cry out for Aowyn as their queen. She, the rightful heritor of the throne. Ciatlllait seethed. Sylas had said he would take care of the whelp. While it pleased Ciatlllait that Aowyn could no longer speak out against her, the girl still accused with her eyes. Bewitcher!

  This would not do. So many nights she had sat beside the princess, scheming. She had to be careful. People were watching. If anyone else saw in Aowyn what Ciatlllait saw, it would be the end of the usurper queen. Aowyn persisted as a thorn pricking at Ciatlllait’s ambition. She must be rid of the girl. Turning to her runes and bones and demons in the shadows, Ciatlllait asked, “How?”

  ***

  Xander wandered the woods. He had told his men he would return with food, but it was no secret what he really pursued. Those who stayed in his ranks enjoyed hearing the young man’s tale of the girl in the moonlight. They thought little of it, but it kept their hearts light despite the losses they had suffered. Signs of spring began to crop up. The snow became patchy. Ice in the streams and rivers receded. Smaller creatures grew bold, coming into their camps at night seeking food after months of hibernation. The worst of the winter had hit hard and fast. The Summer Isle never tarried gray and cold for long.

  Xander’s breath billowed on the air like great heads of cotton. The air smelled sweet with a distinct snap to it. It worked its way down Xander’s throat and stung his lungs. He welcomed it, however. It reminded him that he was alive and lucky to be so. The trees splintered the view of the moon in such a way that the glowing orb resembled pillars of light rather than a singular chattel of the heavens. Twigs snapped beneath his tattered boots. The cold enveloped his bare arms. He sniffed back the fluid sneaking from his nose. He stalked toward the moonlight, always towards the moonlight. He felt drawn to it as though the girl might be attached to it somehow. A strange fog loomed ahead. He set his jaw, determined to find his way through. He always got turned around at this point, but he had a good feeling about tonight. He had been leaving notches in the trees all the nights before. A few trees were unmarked. The girl in the moonlight had to be this way. He kept his hand on the trunk of the unmarked tree, making his way slowly to the next and the one after that. The fog grew thicker, determined to squelch him out. Xander sojourned. One foot in front of the other. Tonight he would find her and prove it had not been a dream. Droplets of water hung on to his tanned arms. He paused for a moment and listened. Water washed against banks ahead. He reached for the next tree but came up short and stumbled into a bush. The ground sloped steeply onto the shore of the misty pond.

  Xander crouched in the cover of the bush which was strangely green for this time of year. The grass grew tall around him as though the pond suspended itself in summer, but the water glazed over with ice. It shined as precious crystals in the moon.

  Xander leaned slightly around the bush, searching for the maiden. She descended upon the shore like a specter. Her form swayed under a white flowing gown. It hugged curves that were beginning to lose their girlishness. She padded barefoot into the water unflinchingly. Xander felt as though he witnessed a miracle as the maiden walked forward until she disappeared under the water. The water became still for a moment before rippling. The girl surged out of it with a gasp. Xander awed that she did not catch her death in the cold. The girl slowly turned to the moon and savored its light. Her head tilted backwards until she floated on her back. She allowed the light to pass over her and onto the surface of the pond. Her gown flowed out around her, becoming as much a part of the moon as the orb’s reflection in the water. She almost glowed. Xander wondered what might be flooding her mind and wanted nothing more than to make himself known to her. They gazed at the moon together, and Xander felt much closer to the girl than merely on the bank of the shore.

  For want of that closeness, Xander sidestepped to a tree. He was not careful enough and rustled the grass. The girl searched as a doe for the hunter. Not wanting to lose her again, Xander slowly moved into sight. He held his hands up in front of him to show that he came unarmed and meant no ill.

  Aowyn’s glare drilled into the young man. It was him. The archer seemed different than she remembered: leaner, taller, more brooding. She clenched her teeth. Though the heat of anger swelled within her, the cold in the world suddenly crashed into her. She moved quickly from the water, but she felt heavy as stone. She flew to the arrow stuck in the tree. The bark had grown around it, but Aowyn was so enraged that she pulled it out effortlessly and brandished it at the young man. She did not care that he came in peace. He had wronged her family. She tried to crack the arrow’s shaft against the young man’s arm. The wood was supple and would snap like a whip. She wanted him to feel the pain he had caused her.

  The young man moved his arm over his head to protect himself at first. He yelped as the shaft caught him squarely in the shoulder and left a long red mark. Before Aowyn could get another good swing in on him, he had caught her wrist with one hand and the arrow with the other. Aowyn struggled against him. She ventured to wrench the arrow away so that he would understand the sting of his kill. When that didn’t work, she raised her knee to kick him in the belly. He held her barely far enough away that she missed. She twisted her arm to curl his wrist, but that only ended with her back to his front and the arrow before her. He drew her in, bracing her against him with the shaft of the arrow. Aowyn’s breath raced.

  Xander thought he had won. He trembled having her so close to him. He strove to keep his breath steady. Xander had only wanted to know her name, but she had not been very happy to see him. He tried not to think about the way her body fit so perfectly against his, like the missing piece of a puzzle. He tried not to think about how warm her skin felt even though she was dripping wet, or the way tiny crystals of frost formed on her hair. His mind scrambled for words.

  “My name is—”

  Xander fell against the ground as red hair smashed into his nose and teeth. He gawked at the sky, reeling. He reached for his nose and wiped away red ooze. The maiden loomed over him as he stared at his cupped hands. He rolled away when the arrow plunged toward his shoulder. The girl stumbled, and Xander swept his foot against her ankles. She fell beside him. Xander chuckled.

  Aowyn braced herself as she fell in a heap. The soft ground spread beneath a thin layer of fallen leaves and tender grass. The arrow snapped. Jagged splinters cut into her arm. Aowyn winced at the burning sensation and sucked in a breath. She turned onto her back, pressing her palms into the earth and looked at her arm. The broken arrow lay between her and the young man. He turned his head. His black hair flopped over to one side, and he flashed a boyish grin. Aowyn scowled. When the young man saw that she was bleeding, his smile faded, and he crawled over to her.

  “You’re hurt.”

  Aowyn clutched her arm and tilted away from him.

  The young man sat on his knees. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you. Here, let me—”

  Aowyn rammed her elbow into his forehead as he bent to help her.

  The young man fell back with a grunt. He shook his head and blinked. “Really?”

  Aowyn found her feet and began marching toward the castle.

  The young man followed her and grasped her wrist. “Please let me help you.”

  Aowyn sprang free of his hold and gave him a bold look; her teeth clenched, her chin jutted, and her eyes flashed.

  The young man let go of her, but not before placing his hand on his chest and bowing a little. “I’m Xander.”

  Aowyn’s eyes narrowed as she decided whether or not she cared.

  He continued. “My camp is not far from here. If you come with me, I can get you bandaged.”

  Aowyn chewed the inside corner of her mouth.

  Xander backed away slowly. “It’s up to you.”

  Aowyn watched him turn and walk up the bank and through the trees. She glanced down at her arm. A small stain of blood h
ad spread on to the sleeve of her gown. It didn’t strike her as bad now, but it could turn harmful if not treated. She blew a stray strand of hair away from her face. She would allow this boy to help her. If he had a camp, then he had a fire. Aowyn could get warm and dry. She felt grateful that she couldn’t say a word. It would make it easier to leave him. No formalities. No worrying about whether or not he would hold her hostage if he discovered her a princess. Just bandaged, get dry, and go.

  Aowyn tromped up the bank behind Xander.

  SHIELD MAIDEN

  Aowyn sat on a log beside a fire in the enemy’s camp. She rubbed her hands together over the flame as she watched the fire sway and dance. Xander had a physician in his ranks who mended Aowyn’s arm just as well as Maeb. Aowyn had bit into a scabbard as the physician dug out large splinters, and the pain had drained her. Her eyelids drooped. She sat up straighter when Xander plopped down beside her and offered her a tin cup.

  “I would give you mead, but we have little. So I give what I have.”

  Aowyn gazed down into the cup to see it full with clean, steaming water.

  Xander rested his arms on his knees and folded his hands. “My men are starving. We are lucky to have survived the winter between the battles we have fought and a strange coldness that keeps us bound here. If I did not know better, I would say our enemy has us under a dark spell.”

  Aowyn wished she could tell him, You have no idea.

  “It is as though we are locked in a cell and cannot advance. The food is scarce. My men go mad running after spirits in the woods. The only way forward is to go back.”

  Aowyn rolled the warm cup between her hands, staring into the swirling waters.

  Xander leaned closer to her. “You’re a quiet one for someone so full of fire.”

  Aowyn frowned.

  Xander leaned back. His eyebrows arched. He gazed into the fire, then at his boots, then back up again. “Can you speak?”

  Aowyn sighed. She missed it. The talking.

  “Why do you not?”

  Aowyn bit her lip. If I lost another brother….

  She thought of the nights she had been forced to spend with Ciatlllait and her vacant father at the table while the woman—for Aowyn would never call her a queen—taunted her. Cat got your tongue, Your Highness?

  Aowyn focused on the forest where Xander had said dark spirits roamed. The young man followed her gaze. His expression became strained as he glanced between Aowyn and the woods. The gears in his brain turned as he put them together.

  “Dark spells?”

  Aowyn gazed into her cup sadly. Something like that.

  Another soldier joined them by the fire. He was thick and bald. Aowyn thought if they were truly starving, it was because this one ate more than his ration.

  “Is this the elusive girl you’ve been ranting about all winter, Commander?”

  Xander smiled at Aowyn.

  The soldier bucked his head. “What’s your name?”

  Aowyn drank from her cup.

  Xander shook his head. “She cannot speak.”

  “Cannot speak? Did we cut out your tongue in one of our glorious pillages?” The soldier leaned toward Xander. “Please tell me we didn’t cut out her tongue.” He sat up straight again. “I’m sorry if we cut out your tongue.”

  Xander held up his hand. “We’ve had no glorious pillages, and no one cut out her tongue.”

  A breath of relief escaped the soldier. “She’s too pretty to cut a tongue from.”

  Aowyn’s nose wrinkled as she stuck out her tongue dubiously.

  Xander smiled.

  More soldiers joined them, and all begged for attention from their visitor. At one point Xander jokingly warned that they should be careful or the girl might literally beat them off with a stick, and quite capably. He showed them the red mark on his arm and brushed back his hair to reveal a smart bruise forming on his forehead. They agreed that such a spirited girl had been worth searching for.

  Aowyn could see their spirits lifting in her presence. Yet deep down she couldn’t help feel nagging resentment. These were the enemy. She had no reason to trust them. They had been trying to take her father’s kingdom away. The Summer Isle had not seen war for generations, save for civil bouts between Underlords. All Aowyn knew of war existed in history books and her own imagination: heroic men who gave their lives for king and country, not this ragtag bunch of blaggards. They were good men, even if they were led by a murderer.

  Aowyn knew she couldn’t think of Xander like that, though. She could see now that he had acted out of necessity. These men had so little. Xander had not seen Aowyn’s brother and shot him on sight— he had seen prey and acted accordingly. How unfortunate that the two, swan and brother, intertwined. Her heart still ached for her lost brothers, and for that she could not let go of the fact that Xander had indeed been cause of their demise. She knew if she wanted to avoid having it happen again, she would have to help them find food. That meant more than just pointing them in the right direction. It meant dealing with Ciatlllait.

  ***

  Ciatlllait prostrated herself before the Fomóraiġ and Sluagh shadows on the wall. Her fingers moved like spiders on the floor, hovering over the stone and dancing on fingertips. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her mouth opened. “A child.”

  She inhaled deeply and let out a hiss. “Give me a child.”

  The shadows gathered around a figure, pushing it forward. Ciatlllait raised her arms over her head then threw them behind her. Her chest heaved. Her body swayed.

  Sylas Mortas looked on from behind her. His teeth bore a pleasurable grin. “I will give you a child. One such the world has never seen. How terrible the creature!”

  Ciatlllait licked her lips. “Give me its name.”

  “Donestre.”

  “He shall have the heart of a lion.”

  Sylas slipped his yellow nails through Ciatlllait’s hair and pulled her head back. He brought his mouth to her ear. “Magic comes with a price, my love.”

  Ciatlllait writhed to the beat of the drums only she could hear.

  The form in the Fomóraiġ and Sluagh shadows took shape. It grew as tall as a man with a shaggy, square head. A lion’s roar filled the room. The form slashed through the demons, slicing off shadow heads, gobbling up shadow bodies, and weeping all the while.

  “He shall be our prince,” Sylas whispered.

  Ciatlllait began to moan and thrust her hips

  The Donestre form charged toward her. A shadow streaked between the wall and Ciatlllait until it overcame her. Ciatlllait moved beneath it as it slowly shrank away toward her belly.

  Sylas slithered over her and bit into her neck. “Loathe the spirit, consume the flesh.”

  ***

  Aowyn stood in horror before Ciatlllait in the throne room. Ciatlllait held Aodhagáin’s withering hand on their thrones. The fire king’s mouth hung slightly ajar. Little life filled his once-golden eyes. Two streaks of white zipped through his beard like crests of foam on a sea of orange. His red hair had dulled tawny, tempered with white streaks. That’s not what had Aowyn so upset. Ciatlllait sat beside Aodhagáin smugly with the beginnings of a quickened belly.

  “I am with child,” Ciatlllait announced. “I bear your king a new prince.”

  Aowyn bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. No!

  There could be no way it could be Aodhagáin’s, Aowyn convinced herself. Save for a spell that preyed upon a man’s basest instinct. Aowyn would not put it past Ciatlllait to do such a thing, but how could the gods allow it?

  Ciatlllait rose slowly for all of the servants to see her transformed figure. “It was such a tragedy when the princes mysteriously went missing. A travesty when we searched for them and they could not be found. So we must take great joy in welcoming our new prince. What we have lost we can regain.”

  The servants clapped politely.

  Aowyn wanted to vomit. She bit her fist and dashed from the room.

  How could she not have noti
ced such a thing? Had she been avoiding Ciatlllait so completely that a widening belly could be kept secret? Aowyn marched through the woods beyond An Cuan Áille toward Xander’s camp. Ciatlllait could not be allowed to bring forth the child. Sylas had said he would return Aowyn’s brothers to their former state. Crown Prince Choróin would claim the throne upon his father’s passing, as was his birthright. Aowyn only needed to keep her mouth shut for another eight-hundred moons, and this would all be over.

  When Aowyn broke from the trees onto the field of Xander’s camp, she stopped to survey the men working and practicing battle skills and tactics. As she watched them, a small seed grew in her mind. Here endured an army. Aowyn and Xander’s men both needed Ciatlllait eliminated. Aowyn wondered how difficult it would be to persuade Xander’s men to aid her for their mutual benefit.

  Aowyn observed Xander exercising swordplay with another soldier and making suggestions for improvement. He stayed firm with the man but encouraging. The training welcomed another soldier, and Xander instructed them both on handling more than one opponent at a time. Always be aware of your enemy. Eliminate the enemy closest to you first, or use them as a shield, and allow the other person to do the dirty work for you.

  The ground was muddy. Aowyn strode toward the men. She fixed her sights on Xander. The first soldier slipped in the mud. Xander whacked the flat side of a rebated sword across the man’s back to let him know that he was done. The other soldier advanced, and Xander disarmed him, then used both swords to mock-eliminate him. He offered his hand down to the fallen soldier to help him up and sent both men away. Aowyn picked up a waster sword one of the soldiers had left behind and took up a fighting stance. Xander’s back faced her. Aowyn turned the sword, ready to strike. Several men gathered round and began catcalling, letting their commander know he had company. Xander turned and jumped as he faced the pointy end of the weapon. He placed one hand on top of the steel and the other below it, sandwiching the blade, and lowered it. When he let go, Aowyn returned to her former position and struck Xander in the chest with the flat side of the blade. She bucked her head and swayed to show him she wanted to train.