Rise of the Darkwitch (The Dance of Dark and Light Book 1)

by Ziv Gray

  ‘You are no freak,’ Rel said. ‘You are Uloni.’

  The word twisted in her mind. Uloni. Emmy’s heart pumped. In spite of the fire, a cold sweat broke out on her brow.

  ‘There are others like me?’ she asked. ‘I’m…I’m not the only one like this?’ She sat forward, pressing her claws to her knees. ‘Tell me about them, Rel’ she said. ‘Please.’

  Rel stretched her hands to the flames.

  ‘When I went there with my friend, it was the middle of Vhaun, nearly two decates ago. Vhaun is cold enough in the lowlands, but in the mountains, it’s unbearable. The higher we climbed, the worse the snow became. I did not see the appeal, but my friend was determined to show me this strange place. More than that, she needed to go there.’ Rel gave a snort. ‘While I understand now, secrecy was not uncommon with my friend. I didn’t know then, but still, I went with her.’

  She paused, staring into the flames.

  ‘I had heard of a small colony of strange folk living in the mountains,’ she continued. ‘It was said they lived by an ancient religion. But words are merely words, and at times, I feared I had been dragged on some kind of wild nonsense. I thought I would follow my friend to a place that did not exist.’

  There was silence as the three companions hung on her every word. The only thing to break it was the crackle and snap of the camp fire.

  ‘When I eventually reached the place, I saw that it was real.’ Her voice fell, as if speaking in the presence of a priestess, or even a goddess. ‘In it, there was a beauty unrivalled anywhere else. Everything was white and sparkling. They carved such beautiful things from the ice—huge sculptures, perfect orbs that caught the sun’s meagre light and lit up the whole village. And the folk… The folk looked so different. Strange. They looked like…’ Rel ducked her head for a moment. ‘Well, if you’ll forgive my words, they looked like you.’

  A shiver rattled down Emmy’s spine.

  I’m not alone…

  ‘The community was tiny,’ Rel went on. ‘There could only have been a hundred of them, and they were devout. In the centre of the village was a temple, painted white, with a roof open at the top. Every Uloni, and every visitor, went there daily to praise their god. They worshipped an ancient goddess called Meia, whom they called The Grandmother.’

  Zecha frowned.

  ‘Not Nunako?’ he asked. ‘Not Ethay and Apago? Not even Dorai?’

  ‘No,’ Rel said. ‘It was something else. I had never heard of it, but my friend knew of this god. I thought, perhaps, it was because she had been with the Uloni before.’ A wry grin crossed her face. ‘It was more complicated than that.’ She sighed. ‘I loved that place. There was something special there. Something more than I had ever experienced before. When I went to their temple, it was like my mind’s eye was opened to the truth. I…’ She faltered. ‘I never wanted to leave.’

  ‘Then why did you?’ Emmy asked. ‘Why didn’t you stay?’

  For a moment, Rel said nothing. Beyond the play of shadows on her face, Emmy could see something more. There was something so closed about her expression that it made Emmy’s guts tighten.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  When Rel met her gaze, her eyes were wet.

  ‘You are good folk,’ she said, sounding weary, as if she’d been awake for a thousand cycles. ‘It has been a long time since I met good folk.’

  She tried to take another drink from the skin. The last few drops fell onto her long tongue. Emmy reached around the flames and grabbed her arm.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  Rel set the empty skin aside. She swallowed.

  ‘The prayer bell sounded for morning worship. My friend and I went to the temple. It was full, as everyone attended every service. We raised our arms to the roof, so our prayers could reach Meia. But…’ Rel paused, as if overwhelmed by memory. ‘I smelled smoke. That was odd, for they were careful not to bring flames into the temple. The smell grew stronger and stronger, and then I saw it start to rise. The temple was aflame.’

  Rel’s face pulled with pain.

  ‘Surely you escaped,’ Emmy said. ‘You’re here now.’

  Wincing, Rel nodded.

  ‘We tried to get out, but the doors were barred. Someone had found the village. They locked us in, and intended to burn us alive.’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘You could taste the panic. The smoke was so acrid, I could scarce breathe. The flames licked over the edge of the roof, ringing us in flames. There was so much screaming...’ Shuddering, Rel squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Many cycles ago it may have been, but I can still feel the terrible heat…

  ‘The walls collapsed. I was pinned beneath a beam, sure that I was dead. I started to pray. I swore I would do anything if Meia would let me live. There was a terrible shudder when I uttered those words… Then there was silence, just silence, and everything around me fell away.’

  The pause that followed was heavy. Only Zecha was brave enough to break it.

  ‘And then?’

  Rel looked away. Then she turned back. She had eyes only for Emmy.

  ‘They were all dead,’ she breathed. ‘All of them. I… I only survived because my friend saved me. She managed to free us. But…’ Her voice broke, and she turned away again. ‘There were bodies everywhere. Burned and charred. Every last Uloni, gone.’ She gripped so hard, the ring bit into Emmy’s skin. ‘And the pillagers, they took everything. All that was left was the smoking corpses of folk I had come to know as friends…’ She turned back to Emmy and sat forward, taking the other female’s arms in her hands. ‘That was why I snatched you up when you arrived. That was why I brought you to me, not just because you were an apothecary. You were there. You must have been there. You would have been a youngling, not long hatched. But how?’

  Emmy’s arms froze under Rel’s touch, and the more she stared, the more Rel’s eyes began to shine. What began as a pale green, almost invisible in the darkness, grew to a fierce and icy glow. Fear rising like bile, Emmy tried to pull away. But she couldn’t.

  ‘Who are you?’ Rel asked. ‘Who are you?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Prisoner and the Unlocked Door

  The palace flooded with bad news. Flocks of leathery gargons swooped from all directions. None brought glad tidings. Mantos sat on the window seat, stuck his chamber in a dusty tower, watching the creatures arrive and depart. I wonder what the letters say, he thought. Information about my brother and his schemes, no doubt. Queen Valentia asks me to take back my throne, to help save the world from some evil, but…how? How can I do it?

  He and his mother had been spirited to the tower after the meeting with the queen, hidden again from prying eyes. As the day waned, the time for his decision drew closer. One day, he thought. How is that enough time to decide whether to betray everything you love, everything you have ever known?

  Instead of pondering his decision, he had perched on the window seat, tail curled, counting the stones in the courtyard below and listening to the idle splash of the grand fountain in its middle.

  Outside the palace walls, Kubodinnu emptied as the Masvam shadow rolled over the land. It was only a matter of time before they came for the capital. Mantos sensed the pounding of troops as they stomped across the grasslands, marching ever-closer to battle. All the while, the city grew barren. I wish I could go with them, he thought. I wish I could hide, or even flee.

  The Masvams were poised on the periphery, waiting like demons, ready to strike. This was the way of war, and a way Mantos knew well. But this time, there was something different. This time, Mantos wasn’t fighting for his father and his empire. I am a prisoner with an unlocked door, he thought. I could escape, but where would I go? What could I do? I cannot go anywhere…

  The door opened. A set of light feet entered, but Mantos didn’t turn.

  ‘The Masvams are heading for Athomur,’ Phen said. ‘It’s the Althemerian slave port, though they wouldn’t call it that.’

  Mantos still didn’t turn a
t the sound of his mother’s voice. He still didn’t look as she closed the door. Instead, he focused on the specs on the window.

  ‘I know,’ Mantos said eventually. His breath fogged the thin glass. ‘Many will die.’

  Phen’s footfalls were soft. She lingered at his shoulder.

  ‘Many will perish at your brother’s hand,’ she said. ‘Many innocents. Many ill-equipped soldier-slaves.’

  Mantos gave a cold grunt and glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘I cannot believe the Althemerians still hold life-debts,’ he said. ‘I know it is only my rank that keeps Queen Valentia from clapping those irons around my wrists, too.’

  ‘I know,’ Phen said. It was almost a coo. ‘But that is the Althemerian way, and they are our only allies now. We must tolerate their culture, as repugnant as we may find it.’

  ‘Allies?’ Mantos asked. His voice was cold and sharp as steel. ‘They are not our allies. They are our captors.’

  He heard Phen step back. He felt the absence of her warmth near his skin.

  ‘Is that what you would say to Fonbir?’ his mother asked. ‘Would you call him a captor?’

  Turning and letting one booted foot fall to the floor, Mantos narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Fonbir has no power here,’ he said. ‘The princesses are next in line for the throne, despite his greater age. Males do not reign here. It is not he who is the captor. It is his mother.’

  Phen nodded. She took a step forward again. This time, she laid her claws on her son’s shoulders.

  ‘Mantos, you must do your duty,’ she said. ‘You must take back the crown. If you cannot do it for your homeland, or for your mother, at least do it for him. If you don’t, all will be lost. We truly will be destroyed.’

  Had she not been his mother, Mantos would have struck her. Instead, he shrugged off her claws and stood.

  ‘What you ask is madness,’ he said, stalking across the room, ‘you and Queen Valentia. You tell me I must hand over Masvam secrets, and take back my crown, my empire… But it was never mine!’ He balled his claws into fists. ‘Father was dead less than a day when I died,’ he spat. ‘I did not rule. I was not the emperor. I was never crowned.’

  Phen walked towards him, her eyes impossibly soft with compassion.

  ‘That doesn’t matter, my son,’ she said. ‘You were born to rule. It is in your blood.’

  ‘I was not born to rule,’ Mantos said. ‘I received the throne by accident, by virtue of hatching a few minutes before my brother. I should not have lived past my first hatching day. It was only for you that I did.’ He spun on his heel and tore his claws through his fronds. ‘Everyone acts as though Bandim is a usurper, as if he doesn’t deserve the throne.’ Mantos threw Phen a hard stare. ‘But he does deserve it. He was supposed to reign. Fate has finally dealt him that which he was entitled to long ago.’

  Phen’s expression twisted. She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. Mantos’s flesh tingled with a sudden coldness.

  ‘Mother?’ he asked, his ire fading. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Mantos, I…’ Phen looked away. She walked to the window. ‘Bomsoi… She told me something. Something about why she was able to bring you back from the dead. Something that concerns your brother.’

  She stared into the solemn afternoon. It was Mantos’s turn to hover at her shoulders.

  ‘Mother, what is it?’ he asked. ‘I don’t understand what happened to me. I don’t know why I died, or why I was brought back, or what in the name of the Dark is going on. Tell me what you know!’

  The last words were a command. Phen heaved a sigh, then turned. Mantos stepped back at the tears in her eyes.

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘Your brother,’ Phen said, her voice thick. ‘He… He was the one who killed you. Or at least, it was his goddess. His…darkness.’

  Stomach rolling, Mantos’s knees weakened.

  ‘Bomsoi told me there was sorcery in your death,’ Phen continued. ‘That was why she could bring you back, but not your father. And with all of this, with this magic, with the talk of the Lunar Awakening and summoning the False God…’ Phen gulped a breath, beating back tears. ‘Bomsoi said it was Bandim who wanted you dead. It was on his orders. That a Darkwitch cast a spell and…’ Phen broke off. She wrapped her arms around her thin torso. ‘It’s all too much,’ she said. ‘To think that my two sons are now at war, and there is nothing I can do about it…’

  Reeling, Mantos stumbled back so far he hit the bed. He leaned against the post, chest heaving. Why am I so surprised? he thought. Of course Bandim would do this. He hated me. He resented me for what Mother did. He saw me as a threat. Of course he wanted me dead. In spite of this logic, the pain of unanswered questions burned in his mind.

  ‘How does Bomsoi know this?’ he asked.

  Phen perched on the window seat.

  ‘Queen Valentia says Bomsoi can do things and see things that others can’t,’ she said. ‘And after seeing her bring you back from the dead, I believe it. I don’t know how she knows, but I trust that it is the truth.’

  ‘It all seems so convenient,’ Mantos said, his legs struggling to straighten. ‘How did she know? And how did she know you were stuck in the tower? How did she know?’

  Wilting under the weariness of their situation, Phen looked desperately thin once again.

  ‘I have no idea, Mantos,’ she said. ‘But what I do know is that we cannot let Bandim destroy this world. And that is what he will do if he is emperor of the Masvams and a meddler in dark spirits. Bomsoi said she could bring you back to me, and she did. She said she might be able to save Bandim, too.’ Phen took a shuddering breath. ‘There are so many things about this situation that I do not understand. What I do understand is that we are not safe here. And, greater than that, we need peace in these lands. We cannot let your brother lead us into the Dark. And Valentia is right. It is our responsibility to bring Bandim to task. We need to restore the peace.’

  Finally straightening, Mantos swallowed. His mother’s words cut deep. Peace was what Mantos of House Tiboli lusted after, more than anything else. Not war, not combat, not the hunt like his brother and father before him. All he wanted was peace. And in search of this peace, he thought, must I send my brother to his death? The memory of his nightmares returned. Being split in two, cut to ribbons with knives…

  And then the grinning figure of his brother. And the strangeness of his voice.

  ‘Mantos, Mantos… Dear brother, I will find you…’

  A knock at the door heralded a messenger. Mantos turned away. Phen accepted the scroll, unfurling the note.

  ‘It’s from the queen,’ she said. ‘We are to go to her council again. She says that your time is up, and she hopes you have made the right decision.’

  ‘So do I, Mother,’ Mantos whispered. ‘So do I.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Betrayal

  Once more, Mantos sat in the council chamber. The queen drummed her claws on the lacquered table. This time, the seats were filled not with only with her offspring, but her High Council as well. They are many heads together with little idea of what is to come, Mantos thought. And that is why I am here. They want me to spill our military secrets. What choice do I have?

  The assembled council sat reverently, waiting for the queen to speak. Only Bomsoi stood, clad in black, lingering on the margin. While the council showed Valentia unwavering respect, they sent Mantos scathing glares in equal measure. It was no secret that Mantos was a Masvam, though he suspected they didn’t know his significance. And all the better it stays that way, he thought, for if they knew, they would tear me limb from limb. This time, not even Fonbir’s presence was a comfort. The prince sought Mantos’s gaze, Mantos would not return it.

  ‘We find ourselves in troubling times,’ Valentia said at length. ‘Have we had any official communication from the Masvams?’ she asked. ‘Have they at least had the decency to give us a formal declaration of war?’

  ‘No, Your Majesty,’ said
Raiken Vnarr. She was an older female, gnarled by many cycles of battle, who had risen to the rank of Master of Armies. ‘Their cowardice knows no limits.’

  ‘They are without any honour,’ Fylica said.

  She and Vnarr shot Mantos fierce looks. Valaria regarded him with unveiled disdain. Mantos gripped the edge of the table. I will not disgrace myself, he thought, though temptation to loose his tongue was strong. These princesses need to learn some respect.

  ‘We will give them no similar courtesy,’ Valentia continued. ‘We will fortify our borders as best we can. For now, we outnumber the Masvam host two to one on land, though their ships are faster, and have superior weapons.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Vnarr. ‘With a foothold in the north, the Masvams can play a longer game. They can ship their troops in and amass an army without fear of having their numbers decimated in open combat.’

  ‘Our ships are sinking as many of theirs as they can, or damaging them so much that they must turn back,’ Valaria said. ‘If we clip Bandim’s tail, he might think twice before trying to take us again.’

  Do not count on it, Mantos thought. Bandim will not be so easily beaten back. My brother acts without thought, without logic. He will send more and more troops. Bandim’s style, just like Braslen’s and Maram’s before him, would be the use of overwhelming force.

  ‘Have we heard from the Linvarrans or the Valtat?’ Valentia asked. ‘Do we know if they will send us aid?’

  Vnarr shifted again and shook her head. This time, it was the queen’s cousin Daltec, the Master of Messages, who spoke.

  ‘We have had no official communication from them either,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t count on any help from the slavers.’ She snorted. ‘Their interests are only in profit, not in defending their neighbours.’

  Valentia nodded and clenched one fist.

  ‘Send a gargon to King Deon of Linvarra,’ she said. ‘We respectfully request that he sends ships west to fortify us. Tell him we will give the troops whatever they need. We will need to use the grain reserves, but as I understand it, we can afford it—at least for now.’