Imperial Masquerade (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 11)

by J. Naomi Ay

  The Two Moons of Rehnor

  Book 11

  Imperial Masquerade

  by

  J. Naomi Ay

  Published by Ayzenberg, Inc.

  Copyright 2012-2016 Ayzenberg, Inc.

  All Rights Reserved

  240116

  Cover Design by Amy Jambor

  Cover Art: Wrennie@Canstockphoto.com

  Also by J. Naomi Ay

  The Two Moons of Rehnor series

  The Boy who Lit up the Sky (Book 1)

  My Enemy's Son (Book 2)

  Of Blood and Angels (Book 3)

  Firestone Rings (Book 4)

  The Days of the Golden Moons (Book 5)

  Golden's Quest (Book 6)

  Metamorphosis (Book 7)

  The Choice (Book 8)

  Treasure Hunt (Book 9)

  Space Chase (Book 10)

  Imperial Masquerade (Book 11)

  Rivalry (Book 12)

  Thirteen (Book 13)

  Betrayal (Book 14)

  Fairy Tales (Book 15)

  Gone for a Spin (Book 16)

  The Firesetter series

  A Thread of Time

  Amyr’s Command

  Three Kings

  Exceeding Expectations

  To Ann & Fanny

  Nessie & Nettie

  And all the women pioneers who came before.

  Chapter 1

  When Marik Korelesk was four years old, he began to learn the history of the Karupta people. He would sit around the great fire pit in the communal hall in the Village of Shrotru with all the other children, listening to the deep, musical voice of the village chief.

  “And then, the Angel came to the Great Father Karukan, and he spoke the words which the Great Father wrote into his books.

  ‘The Holy One’s champion shall again be born in the body of man and he shall be the son of my son and together, the son of my enemy’s son.’”

  Marik, at his young age, didn’t understand what this meant or to whom the Great Father had been referring, but he enjoyed the song which usually followed. This was a joyous and upbeat melody which had something to do with who married who and then, begat who, and was usually accompanied by several young men on guitars, bells, cymbals, and drums.

  Marik loved to stand up and dance along with the other children, flinging his arms out wildly and stomping his feet in time with the drumbeats. Marik didn't know all the words to the song but recalled some of the names and joined the others in shouting them out when the village chief asked such questions as, “Who was the Great Father’s Second Wife?"

  “Hannah,” Marik called, proud that his mother bore that very important and honorable name.

  “Who was Hannah’s son?”

  “Tuman!” The children cried, erupting into giggles while they pointed at another child who was called the same. Afterward, the children would collapse into joyful little puddles, worn out from the lateness of the evening, the intoxicating scent of the wood fire pit, and the abundance of sweets which were offered during the holiday occasion.

  Although Marik was only half Karupta, his other half being Mishnese like his late father, the first Marik Korelesk, the boy had been raised in Shrotru since birth. He didn't look anything like the other villagers, inheriting only the shape of his mother’s striking pale eyes, and a slightly golden tone to his skin which caused him to tan quickly during the first rays of summer sun.

  Like his ghost paternal parent, young Marik had a shock of bright orange hair, a body the size of a child easily twice his age, and a propensity to quickly lose his temper.

  This did not bode well for his mother who had initially shared her cousin’s home. After a tantrum by the then two-year old child, in which the cousin’s cat ended up smashed against an exterior wall, Hannah and her child were forcibly evicted. They wandered from house to house amongst the few streets of the central village, eventually taken in by an old woman who was nearly deaf and mostly incapacitated.

  Hannah, having been an Imperial SpaceNavy physician up until the advent of Marik’s creation, tended to the old woman in exchange for the board and rent. Minka, their landlord, was blissfully unaware of Marik’s tantrums as she was a bit of a social outcast in the village.

  Pleased to have a young woman cooking and looking after her needs, Minka anticipated the young child's laughter would fill up the empty, cold walls of her large and barren house.

  Minka had never married. All eighty-three years of her life were spent in Karupatani waiting for a man that she could and would never have. By the time this became all too obvious to Minka, she was well past her prime and desired by no one. Her only companion was her like-wise maiden neighbor, Cinda, who also longed for a man gone sixty odd years. The two women kept company by shouting to each other from their respective porches or clutching one another's arm as they carried their small baskets into the village center on Market Day.

  Minka was relatively wealthy by Shrotru standards. Having inherited her father's house, a large and imposing structure on the main street, Minka had, at one point, operated it as a Bed & Breakfast establishment. There she hosted visitors from all over the continent and on occasion, Mishnese dignitaries.

  Although, Mishnah and Karupatani had been effectively combined during the early years of the MaKennah's reign, Minka was just old enough to recall the animosity between the two races who occupied the planet Rehnor. Despite this, she was happy to take the Mishak's money in exchange for a few nights in her home. However, Minka never quite liked any of them and was glad to see them depart.

  That was several years ago, as now Minka had no desire to cater to guests. Rather, she chose to live quietly alone until Hannah had arrived and begged for a room.

  The young mother and her son occupied the upper floor which was fine, as for the most part it kept them out of Minka's way. Also, in the event the young woman wanted to entertain any young men, they could arrive by the back staircase, whereupon Minka would neither notice, nor hear.

  Hannah, in her youth, Minka recalled, was both a beautiful and uninhibited girl, which by the permissive Karupta standards meant that she had slept with everyone capable of committing such an act. Both Cinda and Minka agreed that this was how Hannah had managed to initially snare the Imperial Prince Shika into marriage. Surely, from all of her vast experience, she knew tricks that left him senseless, for why else would he have so willingly wed the village whore?

  "Why would the MaKennah have permitted such a union?" Cinda mused in nearly every conversation, when the two women share a pot of tea and a plate of the honey biscuits. “Unless he knew it wouldn’t last very long in the first place.” Cinda always came to this conclusion although at this particular moment, she was interrupted by a knock upon the front parlor door.

  The women ignored it. After living with Minka for only a few weeks, Hannah had set up an office in the front room, wherein, she practiced a sort of natural medicine even though she was no longer licensed by the Imperial Regulatory Board.

  In Karupatani, the rules were loose and anyone claiming knowledge of medicinal herbs, chiropractic treatments, acupuncture, or any other healing arts could be considered a doctor.

  Hannah’s genuine experience, as well as university education, gave her a competitive advantage over those who danced in circles, while burning incense and reciting prayers. Minka and Cinda also enjoyed this proximity to a medical professional as their advanced ages ensured that they were never without an abundance of aches, pains, bunions, and other complaints.

  "The marriage resulted in nothing," Minka reminded Cinda while gnawing on a biscuit and reconsidering her neighbor's o
riginal question. As usual, she had come to the same conclusion. This time, however, the biscuit tasted slightly off, sidetracking Minka’s standard pronouncements about Senya and his clairvoyance. "It barely lasted a year, if that. Of course, Senya must have known that. I wonder if I didn't add enough honey?"

  "Or baking powder," Cinda remarked, tossing her own uneaten cookie aside. She glanced out the window into the yard where the amazingly large young Marik was hitting rocks with a stick. Periodically, he'd stop to splash in the puddles which lined what during the summer would be a grassy expanse, but now, on the cusp of winter was not much more than patches of straggly weeds and large pools of mud and rainwater. "Shouldn't he be in school?"

  "She takes him to kindergarten in the morning," Minka replied, turning her face in the same direction. "Already twice now, they have sent him home as unruly and uncooperative. If he doesn’t mend his ways, they shall prohibit him from returning."

  Cinda made a noise that might have been sympathetic, or alternatively, unsurprised. At first glance of the boy, she had known he would be trouble. She recalled the days when Hannah had pushed her pram down the street, this oversized and overly pale monster unhappily contained inside. Even then, as a newborn, he had rocked the basket to and fro, screaming his displeasure for the whole village to hear.

  Cinda was about to share this memory with Minka when a sound as loud and disruptive as a gunshot rang out, followed by the horrific cracking of glass newly shattered. The boy in the wet yard made a victorious noise before realizing that breaking one of Cinda's windows might actually have gotten him into trouble. The old women abruptly rose from their seats, moving at a speed that could be considered rapid for octogenarians while the youngster shot off into the adjacent forest, intent on hiding until the nature of his crime and subsequent punishment was determined.

  As young Marik was bereft of a paternal figure, having neither father, uncle, nor elder brother to administer justice on Cinda's behalf, the Village Chief, a man of Hannah's age and long ago acquaintance, duly provided the hand that soundly slapped the boy three times upon his buttocks.

  Afterward, Chief Behrat returned the squalling child to Hannah's arms while at the same time suggesting that he visit her home that evening to administer a similar justice to her own backside.

  Hannah, at that moment, was in no mood for games with a Village Chief or anyone else as Marik continued to scream so loudly she feared a minor loss of her own hearing. She struggled to place him on the floor, and bid him walk upon his own two feet, at which point the young lad threw himself down and let his muscles go completely limp. Hannah attempted first to scold him, cajole him, coerce him, and finally drag him from the Village Hall, at which point Chief Behrat again snatched up the lad, tossed him over his broad shoulder, and ferried him home.

  The next morning, Hannah watched Behrat depart down the back stair and then dragged herself to her feet in order to feed her amazingly large son. The boy was in a vile mood, having been barred from his mother’s bed, displaced by the larger more formidable body of the Village Chief.

  “I’m going to be Village Chief someday,” young Marik swore into his breakfast bowl of cereal with goat’s milk. “I’m going to kill Behrat by cutting off his head. I’m going to put it on a stick and carry it around like a sword while I burn the rest of his body in the fire pit.”

  Hannah smiled and cleaned up the breakfast table only mildly concerned about her son’s violent response. Bravado and boldness were encouraged in Karupatani men, although many decades had passed since Karupta warriors had gone to battle. However, if Marik had any hope of reclaiming his father’s Mishnese duchy, he would need copious amounts of both bravery and guile.

  Hannah was certain that her son was meant for something even greater than the ducal estate. Marik, being half Karupta, half Mishnese, and directly descended from the Mishnese Saint, albeit from an illegitimate line, was in Hannah's opinion the best suited for ruling the entire planet. After all, her own line traced back to the once Duke of Shrotru, the highest ranking prince in the ancient Rozarian Kingdom of Karupatani. No one outside of the de Kudisha family, who were directly descended from the Great Father Karukan, bore more noble blood in their veins. This was undoubtedly something which had crossed the mind of the elder Marik as his brief but passionate affair with Hannah was obviously based on something other than love.

  That morning, upon returning to the house after dropping the child at the village nursery school, Hannah opened the front door of her tiny clinic. For the next four hours, she would examine the villagers of Shrotru, listening to their never-ending list of complaints, which may or may not have been related to the original reason for their visit.

  Overall, the people of Karupatani were a healthy sort, as they were active and lived primarily outdoors in a pristine and pollution free environment. Most of the food was grown locally in their own farm land or in that of the neighboring villages. Their maladies consisted primarily of the normal aches and pains of their age, too much physical activity, or accidents that undoubtedly happened.

  While Hannah poked and prodded, ran scans with a handheld unit she had purchased with one of her last SpaceNavy paychecks, and prescribed regimes of medicinal herbs, occasional pharmaceuticals, and lots of bed rest, she was rewarded with copious amounts of village gossip as well as an occasional gold coin or two. She saved these coins in a silk purse which she had found on a back shelf in Minka’s closet. Hannah was certain the old woman had long ago forgotten about it, as well as the fur hat, the three silver spoons, and the pearl necklace. Putting everything on her own shelf in the upstairs room, Hannah planned for it all to go to Marik’s future university tuition. It galled her to no end that the current Duke, Petya of Korelesk refused to recognize young Marik, or provide any means of support from the vast riches he had inherited.

  All of the late Marik Korelesk’s personal wealth had been distributed to his wife, Queen Elana of Cyganus and his daughter, the Crown Princess Angelica. Anything else that might have been considered part of the duchy was transferred into Petya’s name, and that of his own heir and teenage son, Loran.

  Shortly before noon, with a queue of five or six villagers seated and waiting for her attention, Hannah was called to the window by a noisy ruckus outside. Immediately, she recognized Marik's gruff voice, for the child, even at that young age could broadcast with surprising volume and depth.

  "Kari-fa, I'll kill you!" He was screaming, his target Chief Behrat, who held him tightly about the waist, the boy's thick orange hair wet from the rain and covering a long weeping red gash upon his cheek.

  When the boy was dropped unceremoniously upon Hannah's doorstep, he immediately righted himself and launched a slipper clad foot into the Chief's delicate parts. This action caught Behrat by surprise and caused a considerable amount of pain whereupon he hastily took his exit, after advising Hannah that her son was on his last and final chance.

  "Oh Marik!" Hannah exclaimed, and went to gather the child in her arms, gasping as she discovered the source of the blood trickling down his cheek. "Come on," she urged him into the examination room where she tidied up the cut and left the boy to stare at it in the mirror while she ran to fetch her tube of skin sealant.

  "I don't want it sealed," Marik declared. "I want a scar that makes me look vicious."

  "Come now," Hannah insisted. "A scar will ruin your lovely face."

  "No!" Marik shouted, slamming his fist against the wash basin which sent water erupting upon the table and spilling onto the floor. "I won't! I want a scar, and I mean to have one!" His fist pummeled at his mother's chest until she could do nothing more than back away.

  "Fine. You'll have your scar, but I shall need to stitch the wound closed anyway. Now, sit down and behave yourself while I run for a needle and thread."

  This proved to be a great source of entertainment for the town folk who were, at that moment, waiting their turn in the adjacent parlor.

  "He's got the best of you already," an old wom
an said as Hannah reached into her cupboard of surgical supplies.

  "You'll never control him," another agreed. "Best to sign him up early for the SpaceNavy even if you must lie about his age."

  "In the old days, he'd be sent to fight off Mishaks," an elderly man added. "Perhaps, with the way things are going, he will be needed to do that again."

  "That child is a Mishak if I ever saw one." Now Minka arrived to usher the patients from the clinic. "Come back tomorrow when Hannah has more time for you."

  "But I'm ill," the old man declared.

  "You're not dying," Minka snapped. "Hannah will see you in the morning. She must deal with her own son now." Minka soundly shut the door, turning the Open sign to Closed and crossing her arms in front of her chest, she watched Hannah tending to the boy in what had once been, her formal dining room. "He's a bad one," she murmured.

  "I'll thank you not to say that in front of my son," Hannah snapped.

  Minka shook her head and sighed heavily as the boy glared with his pale eyes. A shiver crept down her spine and for a moment, she felt as if the boy was inside her head.

  "I'm going to take a nap," she announced and hastily retreated to her quiet room.

  Once there, Minka knelt upon the floor, her old knees creaking louder than the ancient wooden boards. She lowered her head and mumbled the Holy words calling out to He who controls the universe.

  "Send the MaKennah back to us," Minka whispered in her own language, her mind recalling the face of the man she had loved. Although, not once was her passion ever returned, she did not cease to carry his image etched upon her brain. "I fear there is evil arising. Send Your Blessed Champion back to us to quell it before the violence overcomes us all."

  Minka waited and listened, the sound of her own breathing and the tapping of the rain upon the window pane were the only response. No. There was another sound, a screeching call which echoed through the adjacent forest, seemingly all the way to the Blue Mountains.