Moon Dreams (The Jeremy Moon Trilogy Book 1)

by Brad Strickland

  “Weather begin to change: rain, not snow, then some sun. We buy provisions, fish, fish, fish.” Nul made a face. “Town stink of fish, nothing to eat but fish. Not want to eat fish again ever.”

  “But how long did you stay?”

  “Until three weeks ago. Then we start again. Climb mountains this time, come in from west. But Hag ready. We come down mountains, into valley. Mud very thick, hard to walk. Come to dryer ground after many days, rest, go forward. Start to see plants, bushes, then trees. All just growing, just coming to life, like spring here.

  “Then we find house. Little house in woods. Fire burning, smoke coming out, smell of cooking. Woman and man there. Say they live there many years, now bog surrounds them; they no get out. But little piece of ground good, they grow food there, fish still live in nearby lakes, they take them. Offer us food. Talk to us of Hag. Say they hate her for driving other folk out. Say it good if we kill her. Tell us way to her palace, deep in swamps. Talk until late at night. Kelada fall asleep.”

  Nul heaved a great sigh. “I sick of fish, not really eat. They think I sleep. I awake. They change. They under spell of illusion. Not man, not woman, but things, creatures like frogs, like toads. Kelada not wake up when I push, I pinch. They come to pick Kelada up, nasty flippery fingers all over her. I grab sword, attack. They fight back. Kelada finally open her eyes, try to stand. One grab Kelada, disappear—travel spell. Then two, three, more come. I wounded. They ready to kill me. I use travel spell. Now I here, Kelada lost.”

  “And the Hag knows where you went,” Tremien said. “She would be able to sense your destination if you used the travel spell within her domain, even as I sensed Kelada's being taken to her palace. Well, no harm in that; the storm has been brewing for some time, and better for us if it break early. Jeremy, I fear this means you must begin your quest before you have begun to be ready, but your quest it is, without doubt, and I will not stay you from it.”

  “I go with him,” Nul said.

  “Thanks, good pika,” Tremien said. “You have done far better than many others could have hoped, and your reward has been small. May you be better rewarded by a greater power than magi! Yes, I think you must be one of the number, to guide and advise.”

  Barach heaved a theatrical sigh. “I cannot allow my young charge to go off all unprotected. There is a story of Durelianus, the bridge maker. Whilst he stood on the bank of the great River Sengasan, north of the town of Hest, casting a spell of power which heaved great stones into place and held them there, a swarm of gnats galled him and his helpers. ‘Master,’ one of his assistants cried, ‘cannot you use some of your power to rid us of these pests?’ Durelianus is supposed to have replied, ‘Great magics are best not wasted where a slap of the hand suffices.’ True, such magic as Jeremy possesses would hardly disturb a gnat; still, I think while mine would serve, his is best saved for time of need. I shall make one of the party.”

  Melodia put her hand through the crook of Jeremy's elbow. “My life and my nature are not meant for adventure,” she said hesitantly. “Yet for my father's sake and my own, you did not punish me as you might have another who aided Sebastian. I will go, and such magic as is mine will serve our cause.”

  “No!” All eyes turned to Jeremy. “The quarrel is mine. I shouldn't bring my friends into danger. I'll go alone.”

  Tremien shook his head. “You have not been listening. The quarrel is not yours alone; it is all Thaumia's, whether folk realize it or not. Though none of us are wholly good, and none, I think—not even the Great Dark One—wholly evil, still this is a struggle between the dark and the light. I will not forbid these companions to go, for I feel their decision is right. Yet the four of you shall not travel alone, either. I will send some soldiers to do what they can and to go as far as they are able; and a part of my magic will go to ward you.”

  “But that will weaken the guard about Whitehorn,” Barach cautioned. “Already the Dark One probes and tests on the hillsides beyond the valley.”

  Tremien flexed his hands and clutched the arms of his chair. “He will not find me altogether ill-prepared, should he venture his forces into our valley. Though my years are a child's span compared to his, I have abided here long, and Whitehorn has received a deal of my power. Not the Dark One, or any foe who breathes the air beneath the sun, will find it easy to overthrow the mountain and the mage together.”

  Nul stirred. “We must leave quickly.”

  “The day after tomorrow,” Tremien said. “You shall have a travel spell like none other; Walther has promised me that.” At Melodia's startled look Tremien added kindly, “Yes, my child, I have been in touch with him. Do not wonder, for in these times the wizards of power in our land must work together. He loves you very much, Melodia, and would forgive you were it not for pride. A foolish pride perhaps, but one stronger than any magic you could work. Yes, Walther has agreed to assist us, and for more than a month he has been planning a very special travel spell. Now go, prepare yourselves. Nul, Jeremy, I would speak with you.”

  Melodia looked into Jeremy's eyes, reached up quickly to kiss the corner of his mouth, and left with Barach. Tremien got up from his chair and went to the tall window. “A wet spring,” he said, looking out at ragged gray cloud and steady, light rain. “The wettest in my memory. I doubt not that the Great Dark One hurls storms at us. Well! He will not wash away Whitehorn, not even were he to live another lifetime as unnaturally long as this.”

  “Mage Tremien—Master,” Jeremy said, “do not allow Melodia to go.”

  Tremien turned slowly to face them, the gray light of the sodden dawn turning his bush of hair silver. “Allow? Some things, Jeremy, are foreordained. I cannot see the end of this venture, and I do not know what your destiny shall be, but trust an old wizard's feelings. She shall go, because she must. I do not know the why of it, and my heart misgives me for her safety, but it feels right. You must watch after her as best you can, but never mistrust her own strength, for it runs deeper than you think.”

  “But—she says she loves me.”

  “So she does.”

  Nul shook his head and went to warm himself before the fire. Jeremy lifted his hands. “If we succeed, we'll rescue Kelada and break the Hag's mirror. Then I must try to break Sebastian's, in my own world. And if I succeed in doing that, I'll never see Melodia again, or—”

  Tremien waited, but Jeremy had broken off. “Many things in our world, and in yours, I think, must be done. Few, perhaps, lead to happiness, and none to happiness that lasts forever, for the universes themselves do not last forever. Whether love is for a day or for a lifetime matters little, really. We take what happiness we find, for that is the nature of our beings, and it is our nature to love where we must, even when our love is not wise or prudent.”

  Jeremy smiled without warmth or mirth. “It doesn't take much to see the problems of two little people aren't worth a hill of beans in this crazy world.” When Tremien looked at him without comprehension, Jeremy added, “That's from what Barach might call a parable of my people.”

  “Yes. That's as it may be, but you must accept this: Melodia will go with you, and not only because she wants to go. In some sense she must go, for she has a part yet to play, as do you. If it were left to me, I would not send her, but some things are beyond my powers and beyond my decision.”

  “I'll talk to her,” Jeremy said.

  “Yes, by all means, but do not expect to persuade her.” Tremien opened a drawer of his desk, took out the round spectacles, and fitted them over his nose. “You have indeed changed, Jeremy,” he said, his brown eyes sharp behind the lenses. “I pray you, do not practice your magic again, save at utmost need. You have some defense left, I think, against magical attack. Nul, try.”

  The pika, beside the fireplace, grabbed an iron poker and with one quick overhand motion threw it at Jeremy's face. Before Jeremy could flinch away, the poker swerved three feet from him and tumbled through the air toward the window. It halted inches from the glass, quivered in m
idair, then swept back to the hearth, where it clattered back into its stand. “Sorry,” Nul grinned at Jeremy.

  “What was that about?” Jeremy demanded.

  “A test only. I enchanted the poker before you came in, specially enchanted it to strike a user of magic. Not my strongest spell, certainly, but a good one. Your power diverted it.”

  “And if it hadn't?”

  “I was ready with a counterspell. Still, you might have gotten a lump on the head. But the power should have been stopped, not just diverted, if your emanations were still as strong as when first you arrived. I wonder if the transportation spell will work. Shall we have a test?”

  “All right,” Jeremy said. “How do I do it?”

  “Nul,” Tremien said, “do you feel well enough to accompany Jeremy?”

  “Feel fine.”

  “Good. Jeremy, I don't know how much you've been told about the transportation spell. It works across any distance, and to those not affected by the spell, the time of transportation is instantaneous. For those who are traveling, the time seems always to be exactly seven hundred and ninety-six simi—a little more than one and one-half hona. I shall send you to your quarters, together with Nul. I think now that you have used magic, now that your aura has altered, the spell will work; if not, Nul will vanish and you will be left behind. If that does happen, we must seek some remedy, for overland travel between here and the Meres is difficult at best and now dangerous. Are you ready?”

  Nul stepped to Jeremy's side. “We ready.”

  “Yes, I guess so,” Jeremy said. “What do we do?”

  “Simply wait.” Tremien pronounced a sharp syllable—

  And then was gone. Jeremy reeled, for he stood on nothing; Nul caught his arm. “Easy. Cannot fall.”

  They stood in a dimly lighted, ill-defined swirl of light and color. Jeremy was reminded of the dream-whorls, but this was of a different intensity and coloring, amber, red, cream: it was as if they were inside a soft, moving balloon. “I guess it worked,” Jeremy said, his voice shaky.

  “Worked,” Nul agreed. “Ask question?”

  “What?”

  “You love Melodia?”

  Jeremy was silent a long while. “I don't know, Nul. I—I feel something for her. And for Kelada too.”

  Nul nodded. “Too bad. Pika-man have many wives. Too bad you human.”

  “But I can't take any wives! I have to get home!”

  For a long time Nul was silent. Then he said, “When I first lose my family and tribe, my heart hurt. I think my heart hurt again when you go.”

  Jeremy looked down. The great beachball of a head had drooped forward, the fur on it sleek and smooth as a mole's. “I'll miss you too, Nul.”

  “Well, well.” Nul's high-pitched voice had grown a little gruff. “We do what we must.”

  For some moments they stood together in silence. Then Jeremy cleared his throat. “I think,” he said, “I'd better know more about the Hag if we're going to face her. And about the Great Dark One.”

  Nul heaved a great breath. “We have lots of time. Might as well tell you.” And there, in the luminous nothing of the travel spell, he began to speak of dark and deadly things.

  The Hidden Hag of Illsmere was an old evil—not as old as the Great Dark One by many hundreds of years, but ancient nonetheless, well-known and well-feared by the folk in the northwest. None knew where and how she lived exactly, for common folk had not dwelled in her domain in living memory, and she herself had turned away from her fellow wizards to pursue her own hidden paths. These had led her into the valley of a meandering river, once called the Serpent River after the manner of its course, but now known by all as the Meres River.

  In the broad valley were many pools, still, deep, cold, and mysterious. From the beginning the land was too marshy for farming, and fishermen who had toiled to the pools found to their disappointment that the fish who lived in them were small and of little account; so the valley had never been a haunt of humans, even before the coming of the Hag.

  She fled there, pursued by the anger of those she had harmed, generations ago. At that time she was young in villainy and weak in the full light of day. Those she had wronged tracked her until the pools became a miry swamp; then, concluding that the Hag must have been sucked down by the quicksand and muck, they retreated.

  But she lived, though injured, and in the depths of the swamp she made her abode. At first this was probably a rude hut she pulled together out of brush and mud, in the days before her evil magic grew strong enough to create works of wonder. How she lived no one knew. Perhaps she fished the Meres and ate the bony, shriveled fish she caught; perhaps she found water-loving plants that were good to eat and subsisted on them. Nothing was heard of her for many years, at any rate.

  Then the farmers on the southern slopes of the hills below the swamps began to be troubled in the night. This was the country where sheaf, a hardy grain, grew in great abundance, and root crops were raised on large farms. Those who lived here were resigned to the ways and weather of the land; long springs and autumns, short hot summers, and bitterly cold, dark winters with howling storms sweeping in from the west. They were not people easily frightened.

  But the night raiders disturbed them. Animals secured in stalls would be killed and partially butchered between dusk and dawn, with no sound or warning. Guard dogs would disappear without having sent up an alarm, or they would be found dead where they usually slept, their necks broken, and in the barns half the family cattle would be lying stiff and cold. This happened at farm after farm, in widely scattered fashion, for some time, perhaps for a whole year together. Never was there any noise or disturbance, and never did the dogs find a trail to follow after the carnage had been done.

  The farmers did not move then, for they had dealt with marauders from foxes to wolves before, and at first this did not seem like a problem so very different. Some took to laying ingenious traps, enhanced with a bit of magic; others kept watches going all night to catch the raiders in the act. Neither worked. The animals died and the traps remained set; nothing happened where men stood guard all night. Finally some of the farmers, angry at their losses, pooled together to hire a magician to investigate. He came and cast his spells, felt strong, deep, magic there, and something else that he could not name; but for a price he sold the farmers spells to lay about their houses and barns.

  All went quietly for some months. Then one morning a neighbor discovered one magically protected farmhouse wrecked, pulled to pieces, as if smashed by an enraged giant, and all the family within it dead. Not an animal was left alive in the barns, nor were any whole. That was the beginning of the true terror.

  Before it was over, before the last farmers had abandoned their lands and fled southward, it was rumored that the animals were not the only things butchered for meat by the night raiders; the magician himself, recalled in desperation, had fought something one midnight, something that in the end killed him. Still, it was said that he did not perish without striking a blow, for left in the yard with his corpse was a hand, scaly, with long, webbed fingers, like nothing any human had seen before, torn off at the wrist and still oozing blood.

  They sent that hand to a great mage, but the farmers lived on the very fringes of settled lands, far out of thought and mind of most to the south, and the magi at the time were engaged in a struggle with other evils. Soon the farmers were moving to safer fields, and the countryside became wholly deserted of men. The last farmers had migrated forty years or more ago, and now the fields had become blasted and bare, gashed by deep gullies where the winter snows and spring rains had washed away the soil. Now the land that once was rich farmland was dust and hard-caked mud in the summers, sucking, sour ooze in the springs and winters. The Hag's hand had reached far.

  No one really knew about her, but the rumors were that she had built her palace deep in the swamps and had fenced it about with magical spells and wards to keep her secure. Rumor also said that she had learned necromancy and called the spi
rits of the dead to be her servants and her army, but that, Nul believed, was no talent of her own but the doings of the Great Dark One.

  That was hard to prove, even for the magi. From his stronghold, the great, enigmatic southern continent of Relas, the Great Dark One stirred and strove to interfere with the rest of Thaumia. Already he had won the fifty kingdoms of Relas, and already what happened there had fallen out of the knowledge of the rest of the world. Indeed, it was said that some peoples of the other two continents, the tropical Hadoriben and Finarr of the northeastern quadrant, paid tribute to the Great Dark One. Some, mostly islanders whose homes were in the southeastern part of the world close to Relas, were even whispered to worship him. But the dark mage knew that his main foes were here, in the northwestern part of the world, in the continent of Cronbrach, and it was toward here that he most turned his will and his anger.

  Once, long ago, the Great Dark One had tried to take Cronbrach-en-hof by force of arms. On a misty morning great ships had materialized from the sea fog, and from them armies had come, soldiers armed with cruel magic and marching under the protection of black banners. They had caught the magi of Cronbrach unawares, and only after a desperate struggle, led chiefly by a younger Tremien, was the Great Dark One's power broken and with it the spirit of his warriors. The war went on for many months, but without the support of the Great Dark One, the soldiers lacked direction and were pushed back into the sea or hemmed up into pockets of resistance. Not one was taken prisoner. All fought to the death or, if captured, simply died. Tremien said they were less the Dark One's men than his property, and the evil magician refused to allow others to possess what once he had called his own.

  It was a terrible struggle, and part of it was the battle in which Nul's people had utterly vanished. For long years the lands of Cronbrach showed the scars of war. Even now there were blasted places where little grew, where piles of rubble and charred wood marked places where once towns had been: Jalot, Tereskas, Barhalam, all dead places now. Tremien himself had suffered, for he had pitted his will and his power against the Dark One's, and such warfare demanded much even of a great and learned wizard. Since then the Dark One had not attacked, at least not openly, and as the land healed itself, so the children of Cronbrach's armies had come to regard the battles as something remote and not their concern.