Shiver the Moon

by Phillip M Locey

  This gift that he could scarcely believe was real confirmed that Criesha was worthy of his trust. Whatever doubt lingered before was erased by both his own benevolent healing, and the power she channeled through him on this night of the full moon. After tonight, he would be the goddess’s, completely.

  In the hours since Saffron left to rally the Order, Jaiden and those he healed within the castle started preparing the fortress to receive the potential oncoming throngs of infected citizens. They arranged furniture to create a natural path for the sick to approach and then move away, so an orderly line could be maintained. Debris, deposited and ignored since the sickness began taking its toll in earnest, was cleared away. With no shortage of work, Jaiden made a search of the castle to ensure no still-living person was forgotten.

  When he found a western-facing window, he looked for any sign of the approaching sick, but the shroud of the collapsing night sky was too thick to penetrate.

  Patience, he thought to himself, returning to the great hall – not one of the five corners of the Order. A good thing, too, since he was unsure he could ever learn to master it.

  A couple of hours after it had begun, the rain began to subside. It lightened until he could no longer hear it striking the roof. A hand upon Jaiden’s shoulder caused him to look up from his seat. The Duke of Rosegold stood beside him.

  “Perhaps it is a good sign no one has arrived. If the city was able to quarantine its sick before the disease spread too widely, maybe the illness was quelled.”

  Jaiden knew the Duke was only trying to reassure him, but didn’t think such a macabre thought constituted a ‘good sign.’ He had already seen how rapidly the pestilence spread through the villages consumed along the Dawn Way. With no messenger, Jaiden feared the Order of the Rising Moon had been ambushed by forces of the King-priest between Windhollow and Synirpa. He would not voice that worry, however, lest such words manifest into truth.

  “You have already secured our gratitude,” the Duke gestured to those occupying the hall whom Jaiden had saved, “and have done a great thing, even if no more can be accomplished tonight. Still, I will keep vigil with you until the moon sets.” He sat beside Jaiden, who nodded at the older man’s gesture.

  “Your Grace, a rider approaches,” the seneschal announced as he burst into the room. He immediately bolted back the way he came, no doubt to gather more substantial news. Both Jaiden and the Duke arose and followed, eager to see the visitor with their own eyes.

  Jaiden recognized Saffron even from afar, and though she rode swiftly, no sense of panic influenced her movements. She dismounted before the final, treacherous approach and lit a torch, leading her mare on foot to the portcullis, which rose with the Duke’s command. Only the slightest drizzle fell from the open sky.

  “Is everything well?” Jaiden asked as he took the torch from Saffron and handed it to one of the onlookers. The quartermaster, whom Jaiden healed only hours ago, took the reins from Saffron and led Sheen away to be cared for.

  “It is.” Spoken by any woman other than Saffron, Jaiden would not have believed those words, judging by her appearance. Her dark hair was wet and matted against her forehead, her outer cloak likewise soaked and flecked with mud thrown by her horse’s hooves. “But for all the labor this night has already seen, you have at least as much remaining.”

  “You succeeded, then?” Jaiden looked over her shoulder, expecting a line of the sick nearing the gate. “The ill are coming?”

  “They are,” Saffron answered, heading toward the inner keep. She saw the Duke and asked, “Might I trouble your kitchens for a hot beverage, your Grace? The rain has left me with a bit of a chill.”

  “Of course.” The Duke directed the few servants still around to start a fire in the kitchen-hearth, bring hot water, and prepare for more visitors.

  Saffron shed her riding cloak as they walked. “The diseased number in the many hundreds, and at least that number again alongside – not only their caretakers, but those who come solely to bear witness to the miracle. Sir Golddrake’s knights are providing escort.”

  Jaiden ceased moving at her words. He had not considered that Criesha’s gift might make him such a spectacle. “The night is no longer young,” he said, walking again. “How long before they start arriving?”

  Saffron shrugged. “Most of the distance was covered before I rode ahead to prepare you. The first should be here within the hour.”

  “Then I should make ready. It might be wise to break bread now, for there may be little time to rest ere morning.” Jaiden stopped again and took her hands in his. “Thank you, Saffron, for aiding me in this. I know these are not your people, but every one of them leaving cured tonight does so in part, due to your actions, and I wish I could make some proper payment.”

  Saffron cocked her head sideways and squinted, as if not recognizing the man speaking to her. “You are welcome, Jaiden Luminere, as are they. I do not need payment – no people should see such misery.”

  While Saffron sought out the warmth of the hearth and sipped her tea, Jaiden nearly inhaled half a loaf of freshly baked bread he’d found cooling in the kitchen. He then retreated to a secluded corner of the great hall, knelt, and bowed his head, gathering his thoughts. Was it a joke of the cosmos that he, who had only trained to kill, would likely now be known as a healer? “Criesha,” he started with uncertainty, having never prayed before, “I trust you will not abandon me. Please continue to share your grace, so that tonight I may pass it along to those in need.”

  Jaiden endured the remaining minutes in quiet solitude, until the seneschal announced the arrival of the sick. The Duke of Rosegold bade the remainder of his servants and household to admit the droves and treat them well, mindful they had been in like condition recently. The knights of the Rising Moon were received as honored guests as they arrived, though Jaiden noticed only a few actually entered the grounds.

  “Where are the rest of our men?” Jaiden asked as Saffron patiently led the first of the infected over to him. More trailed as far back as he could see.

  “Sir Golddrake has them patrolling alongside the column, no doubt. They have guarded the citizens since we left Synirpa.”

  “Is there danger?”

  “None found yet,” Saffron responded as she presented the hand of the first arrival, an elderly woman who could barely be recognized as such, after the ravages of the disease. “But Sir Kilborn especially is wary of an ambush, I think.”

  Jaiden nodded and placed his hand on the head of the afflicted woman. He cleared his mind of other concerns to focus on channeling the Goddess’s grace. “May the pure light of Criesha heal your body.”

  As wondrously as before, all signs of the pestilence vanished. She looked at her hands, wrinkled but free of sores and dead flesh, and Jaiden watched a smile stretch across her face. Her eyes wet with joyous tears, the woman embraced him tightly.

  “Blessings to you, sir,” she cried against the side of his face, her voice choking like the squawk of a waterfowl.

  Jaiden returned her hug awkwardly, eager to escape the situation. He was uncomfortable accepting thanks. “You are welcome, madam, but many more await.”

  She withdrew and looked at the line behind her, nodding in understanding. “I am healed!” she announced to the room, rousing murmurs even as Jaiden tended the next in line.

  He carried on, placing his hands on foreheads and reciting the words. Staring at each face, marred by the disease, then watching it transform back to something recognizably human, took his breath away on more than one occasion. So many had come. Jaiden healed for what seemed like hours, only to glance up and see the line still extending out the door of the Great Hall.

  His throat dried out and his voice started cracking. Before he bothered tracking down one of the Duke’s servants to ask them for water, Saffron appeared with a jug and cup. “I thought you might need this,” she said, pouring the clear liquid from one vessel to the other.

  “My thanks,” he replied, taking a moment
to swallow several gulps of the cool water. The next man in line eyed the cup and licked his lips, but waited without a word for Jaiden to finish. “It must be late,” Jaiden observed as he handed the drained chalice back to Saffron.

  “Early, I think,” she replied. “Dawn is not far off. Moonset will come soon after.”

  At mention of the time, Jaiden could not help but yawn. “You should get some rest, my lady.”

  Saffron shrugged, “I will wait up with you.” She refilled the cup and took a drink for herself. “If you only have until the moon sets, you will not have time for them all.” She walked away toward the kitchens, leaving him with that unpleasant thought.

  Jaiden’s stare lingered on her dark hair for several seconds, until the man in line issued a purposeful cough to reclaim his attention. He returned to his healing efforts, but stole a glance at the windows, unsure in his weariness if the meager light shining through them was cast by the sun or moon.

  After what seemed another hour or two at the least, with his right elbow throbbing and stiff, Jaiden saw the line displace, making way for someone. As the cause drew nearer, he recognized Sir Golddrake by his limp. Sir Kilborn trailed the Master, carrying an unconscious child in his arms.

  “Jaiden,” Sir Golddrake nodded in greeting, his blonde locks falling across his eyes. He leaned on a polished, wooden cane Jaiden did not remember seeing before.

  “Sir Golddrake,” he nodded in return, too weary to bother standing.

  “I have seen many leaving the courtyard, already cured – absolutely wondrous. Is it true what Lady Saffron told us; you only possess this healing power while the full moon hangs in the sky?”

  Jaiden nodded. “That is my understanding of Criesha’s gift.”

  “Then there is no time to lose, Jaiden.”

  Sir Kilborn set the child on the floor at his feet before speaking. “Dawn has broken, and the setting of the moons is nigh upon us.”

  Sir Golddrake grasped Jaiden’s forearm. “The Order has been exposed to the disease while gathering the townsfolk. We need to make sure none of us develop the sickness or carry it further.”

  “But what about the rest already in line?” Jaiden spewed before he could help himself.

  Sir Golddrake looked back at the afflicted and sighed. “It is regrettable, but our duty is to the Order first.”

  “But is not the purpose of the Order to protect people just like these?” Jaiden’s fatigue betrayed his exasperation.

  “Save all you can,” Sir Golddrake answered, “though I do not suppose time remains to save them all. We must hurry. You may begin with Sir Kilborn and myself, then this child.” He looked down on the young girl Sir Kilborn had been carrying, before continuing. “We will summon the rest of your brethren with haste.”

  “I do not—”

  “Every wasted word is a death sentence.” Sir Kilborn spoke firmly, cutting off any debate.

  Sir Golddrake patted Jaiden’s shoulder. “There is a good lad.” He bowed his head to receive Criesha’s blessing, just as the rest.

  Jaiden felt conflicted, but realized the truth of Sir Kilborn’s words. Taking the time to argue did no one any good. What would he say, besides? He did not want any of the Order to die of a disease they would have only contracted in service of the sick. Still, he could barely stomach choosing who among the innocent perished, and felt nauseous as he spoke the words, “May the pure light of Criesha heal your body.”

  They could only assume it worked, with no symptoms to judge. No warmth coursed through Jaiden, though, making him dubious that preventative blessings were beneficial. If only Criesha would tell him for certain, he thought. He decided to lean on obedience, as the Order mandated, and offered no further argument. Still, he could not shake the impression he was only using a new kind of crutch.

  As Jaiden laid hands upon each member of the Order, some of the healthy citizens of Synirpa spoke up for their own who had not yet received healing. A vocal minority claimed the remaining population had been waiting fairly, and should not be abused. They demanded the knights wait their turn, but the Duke appeared and gave permission for the Order to remove them from the castle if they did not settle. They quieted at the sight of armed, disciplined men staring them down. Jaiden was thankful the agitators apparently had no idea of his time constraints, or they may have resisted more vehemently.

  He continued chanting through the disturbance, and tended each member of the Rising Moon, in addition to Baron Rogan and Lady Saffron. A short while afterward, perhaps a dozen plague victims in, the charm ceased working.

  A man bowed patiently in front of Jaiden as he rested a palm on his head and spoke the words, but nothing happened. Glancing at the narrow windows, he noticed the full morning light breaking through them. He coughed to clear his dry throat and spoke again, making sure the failure was not due to lazy inflection. Still, nothing. The blackened face rose to meet his gaze, and Jaiden saw sad eyes reading his own. He was too tired to keep from weeping. The euphoria of working miracles, sustaining him for the last dozen hours, had vanished, leaving him drained. His shoulders shook as a single sob crested his weary soul, too sudden to catch. Though he had saved so many, this man would not be one of them, and he could not help feeling guilty for that.

  A whisper cracked from his dry throat, “I am sorry.” Jaiden wiped his eyes and looked across the great hall at the remaining line, trying to gauge how many suffered beyond help. Still backing out of the room, he thought he could make out the end a few dozen deep. He had no words big enough for the moment. The next person in line pushed forward, eager to receive his blessing, but Jaiden drew his hands back, suddenly aware it may be unsafe to touch the infected.

  “What are you doing?” the man scolded, not far enough gone to be severely weakened. “It’s my turn, why won’t you heal me?” A murmur spread through the room. Jaiden stood, hands still drawn back. The man’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders, shaking him, moving inward toward his neck. “My turn,” he croaked. Jaiden stumbled backward, his knees buckling as they hit the bench behind him.

  “That is quite enough!” Saffron appeared beside him, startling the aggressor with her sudden assertion.

  Jaiden heard swords being drawn, followed by Sir Kilborn’s voice. “Clear the room!”

  Shrieks of alarm spoiled the air, and eruptions of protest followed as chaos spilled forth. Saffron grabbed Jaiden by the arm and yanked him toward the kitchens, out of harm’s way. He followed, peering over his shoulder to see the rest of the sick being herded from the room at the tips of weapons.

  Saffron led him through the kitchen and out another door, up some stairs, then down a hallway. Fatigue prevented him from keeping track of their route. His life seemed surreal. He no longer felt his feet as they took steps, and all he wanted was to sleep. At last, she opened a door and took him through.

  The room beyond was small, but comfortable, with a soft-looking bed and other, well-made furniture. He sat on the mattress, only resisting several seconds before lying back. Jaiden’s lids closed, though he was vaguely aware of Saffron prying off his boots.

  “You rest,” he heard her say, though he was already burrowing deeper into the blankets. “I will make sure we are safe.”

  That sounded like a good idea. Behind closed lids, Jaiden’s mind continued to spin. Too tired to think clearly, visions and broken bits of conversation continued to harry him. Dream, he willed himself. Dream of her. A moment later he was fast asleep, on his way to the realm of the night sky.

  Chapter 23

  Growing the Banner

  J aiden was allowed a few hours rest, but all too soon a page showed up to rouse him. He woke to a new identity. Everyone knew his name, and every stranger he passed while navigating toward the great hall greeted him with a smile and a kind word. The castle at Windhollow Rock buzzed with energy. The population had swelled since the previous day, and bent its efforts toward restoring the citadel to its proper state, after the Chelpian siege and plague-induced disrepai
r.

  “There you are,” Sir Kilborn blared as Jaiden stepped into the late-morning sunlight, much too loudly for only being a few steps across the courtyard. “Sir Golddrake sent me to find you. Grab something to eat quickly; we ride as soon as the horses are tacked.”

  “Where are we going?” A rising suspicion he’d missed out on some crucial information while sleeping overtook Jaiden.

  “Synirpa. You are a popular man after last night’s performance. We are taking advantage. New recruits are being mustered at the city gates, and the Master requires your presence.”

  Jaiden looked around the courtyard, his lack of sleep leaving lingering confusion. He had no recollection of where his belongings were stored, nor where his horse was stabled.

  “A good knight does not spend his days in idleness,” Sir Kilborn said as he returned to his duties.

  “Am I a knight now?” he called after, but his superior failed to acknowledge. Jaiden’s stomach grumbled and he decided to heed Sir Kilborn’s suggestion to find food. What he wanted even more was a few additional hours in that comfortable bed – a few more hours with her.

  Shoveling a few spoonfuls of porridge down his gullet from a cauldron in the kitchen was as close as Jaiden came to a meal before another soldier dropped in and yanked him away by the arm. Sir Kilborn’s sense of punctuality was beyond questioning. Inferno was saddled and waiting in the courtyard; he stomped and snorted as Jaiden took hold of the reins.