Fall From the Moon (A Bánalfar Novel Book 1)

by CS Hale

  “What happened?”

  I ground my teeth. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say it out loud and have somebody, anybody, think that it had been real. “They’re manipulating me.” I picked up the last fruit. “I’m just a pawn.”

  The fruit was soft in my hand, pliable. I brought my other hand up and cradled the plump yellow orb. Rage washed over me again, and I squeezed, watching as the pulp oozed between my fingers.

  “Astrid, what happened? I know you went to pray.”

  Pray. I hurled the remains at the wall. With its protective cover torn, the flesh fell in clumps, splattering along the floor. Juice dripped from my hands, pooling by my shoes, as I stared at the mess I’d created.

  Daria left the safety of the wall and placed the back of her hand on my forehead. “Just checking,” she said. “Southerners can get sunstroke here fairly easily.” My eyes wouldn’t meet hers.

  Daria retrieved a towel from the bathroom and began to wipe my hands. “I’m sorry,” I said, and took the towel from her. I knelt down and began to wipe the juice from the floor and wall.

  “That’s my job,” Daria said.

  “It would have been my job at home. You make a mess. You clean it up.”

  Daria got another towel and joined me. Together we scrubbed the wall and gathered up the sticky remains, working silently as I waded through the cocktail of emotions coursing through me and tried to find my footing.

  “Feeling lost?” Daria asked when I finally rocked back on my knees.

  “I’m just a pawn,” I said again, my arms as limp as the towel in my hand. “I have no power.”

  Daria scoffed. “Of course you have power. You’re the queen.”

  My eyes widened. I was the queen. Reina was the Queen Mother. I outranked her. I got to decide what my life looked like.

  “I’m going to take a bath,” I told Daria, as the calculations began to spin in my head. “And then I want you to show me the library.” This queen was going to study.

  Vanerife High was home to more than two thousand years of books and scrolls. The most recent and frequently consulted were housed on two floors in the southwest tower, the rest in three levels of basement rooms that were temperature and moisture controlled in a way I didn’t understand.

  I’d studied the basics with Padrid in Aedenfal — geography, climate, key products. I wanted to pick up where I’d left off and read the file, become an expert at this perilous world I now found myself in. The intrigue wasn’t going away. The time had arrived for me to learn to play my part, to truly become the queen, and I was now determined to do whatever it took to be prepared.

  Harrig, the librarian, nearly had heart failure when I gathered up Two Hundred Years of Cordair Intrusions, written at the end of Valemar’s grandfather’s reign, and The Art of Diplomacy by a R’Keshan prince and studied by every noble son along the Aelon Sea.

  “You’re taking them out of the library?” Spit flew from his mouth and his jowls wobbled.

  “They were mine to borrow in Aedenfal. Are you trying to tell me the queen isn’t allowed use of the books?” I arched my eyebrows and waited.

  “No, it’s just … they’re precious. There are so few copies.”

  I nearly laughed. The books cradled in my arm were far more hefty than fragile.

  “I see. So you have Valemar read here —” I gestured around. “— when he’s here.”

  Harrig drew himself up. “He is the King!”

  “Exactly. And I am his wife. I require these books and eventually many more, and I will read them where I like.”

  “Where you like!” He turned a startling shade of purple and his eyes bugged out of their sockets, almost as if he was choking.

  “Down at the beach in the morning, I think. I find the sound of the sea enables the mind to relax and focus.”

  I turned my back on him and strutted out, the books clasped to my chest, waiting for the sound of a body hitting the floor. It didn’t come, and I bit back a giggle. Once things settled down with Valemar, I’d have to see about getting Padrid installed up here. He, at least, didn’t fight me about my reading material.

  I actually did take the books to the beach in the morning. I had padded chairs with footstools set in the shade of the trees. Between them was a pitcher of fruited wine and a plate of pastries that wouldn’t sticky my fingers and, therefore, the pages. Daria brought with her a basket that held a bolster-like pillow studded with pins. Slim, wooden bobbins hung from one side and several inches of airy, shimmery lace draped from the other.

  “What is this made from?” I asked her.

  “The beards of the fegog,” she said. “A creature that lives in the sea. It uses these long, fine fibers to snare its food.”

  I ran my finger along the nearly weightless lace. “They used to do something similar … on the moon,” I said, aware that voices carried along the water, even with the waves. “They called it ‘sea silk.’ Egyptian princesses would have gowns made of the soft, gold fabric. It was said that a pair of ladies’ gloves could fit into half a walnut shell.” I put my forefinger and thumb together as a reference. “This … this is beautiful.”

  Daria blushed. “We call it ‘sea foam.’ It was one of my first tasks as a girl. A child’s fingers are much more nimble. I was very good at weaving it and eventually came to live at the High. Richeza, Valemar’s grandmother, liked pretty things. She used to like to watch me weave and eventually had me help dress her.” Daria ran her fingers over the bobbins. “I like to weave when I get the chance. Especially here.”

  “Of course!” I said. “I’m going to be sitting here reading. And since I do want your company, I’m glad you have a task as well.”

  Two Hundred Years turned out to be the kind of book best read by the calming presence of the sea. It graphically accounted the harassment the Alfari endured along the western edges of the steppe. Fairfada itself had been a battleground of sorts. Shepherds trained in jaldun. They were warriors who watched over flocks of anapali. When the death toll rose, the Laocotan — the common army — would move into the western slopes of the Archjarn, slashing and burning everything, forcing the Cordair farther east, rather than create fortifications that would intrude on the precious grass. The descriptions were vivid, and I lost all interest in the food and drink beside me. I began to see Harrig’s hesitation in letting me leave with the book.

  After about fifty pages, I switched to Diplomacy instead. “Have you heard of Adzil Jaharan?” I asked Daria.

  “Isn’t he that R’Keshan prince?” she asked.

  I hoisted the book. “He wrote this.”

  “I think he’s the one who married the last Alfari princess. The R’Keshans are famous for their metal work, especially their swords. They’d need to be, wouldn’t they? Living so close to the Çölka,” she said. The desert people who worshiped Taluendi.

  I placed the book on my lap. “Tell me what you know about the countries along the Aelon Sea.”

  Daria’s hands moved the bobbins, weaving the lace while she thought. “Well, the Archjarn mountains run down until they meet the sea, and with them the Cordair, in the east. I’m not sure what’s beyond Cordair lands. R’Kesh is north, across the Aelon Sea. They’ve a neighbor to the east. West and north of them are the deserts of Siak Kamlar and the Çölka. You won’t find the Çölkans in town trading, even if their lands are rich with diamonds. We have the Lian Isles. To the west of Bánalfar is Capalnoc. Reina’s brother rules there. To their west is Zagré. South of Capalnoc is Tuljerd. To the south beyond the Scangorn mountains and Snow Reach are the Darland. Their lands are cold most of the year. They keep herds of renar and don’t travel or trade much beyond their own lands. Sometimes to Verlun, the Cordair’s southernmost city, for they have no metal of their own and the Cordair do like warm furs.”

  “Any politics I should know about before I dive in?” I asked.

  “The R’Keshans are peacemakers in that they want to get along with everybody. And when you have the best swords,
people tend to listen to you. You don’t need my opinion of the Cordair.” Daria’s eyes fell to the other book sitting on the table. “Enartin wrote about the treaty. It’s somewhere in the library. Not that it’s done much good,” she added under her breath before continuing.

  “Reina is truly Capali. You’d have no trouble spotting them down at the docks — proud, fearless. They are the best riders with the best darana. Muirbrook was Valemar’s king gift from his uncle. They’d back us in a fight, but only so far.” The look in her eyes told me she knew why I asked. “The Tuljerd remember Gladama before the Cordair came. They still consider the land tainted so they’ve never returned, even after Antilli drove the Cordair out. They keep to themselves.

  “Adzil will tell you how the R’Keshans think. I know it’s required reading. I remember when Valemar read it. But every prince, every king filters it through the values of their own land.”

  “You certainly are more than you seem,” I said.

  “I … I don’t understand.”

  “You appear to be a servant, but you are very knowledgeable and very wise. I’d have hired you to assist me, had we met elsewhere. Though you could have eventually run your own company.”

  Daria frowned. “How is that different from what I do now? Though I don’t think I’d want to command people.”

  I smiled. “Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just my perception clouded by my history. We have no moon children where I’m from.”

  “I think I’d find it very strange where you come from,” Daria said.

  “You would,” I agreed. “You’d find it very strange indeed.”

  “Has Harrig recovered from my trip to the library?” I asked Reina at dinner.

  She smirked. “I don’t think anyone’s stood up to him before.”

  “He’d grown quite purple before I turned my back on him. I thought I’d hear him drop dead from a heart attack before I left the room.”

  Reina’s eyes danced with admiration. “So, my daughter, what are you doing with Jaharan and Two Hundred Years?”

  “What I would have done before — study the file.”

  Reina bit into a fruit, using the time it took to suck the juice and chew to watch and consider me. “And what have you learned?” she asked when she’d swallowed.

  “That this deadly dance with the Cordair has gone on for two thousand years. That Enartin’s plan has not worked, though I’d like to read the treatise he wrote on it.”

  “That can be arranged.” She hadn’t flinched when I’d mentioned Valemar’s father, so maybe she agreed with me. “What else?”

  “That the Hormani do not know the history. They don’t care, usually. They only care about profit. They prefer to work with the ‘disenfranchised’ as it were, for those groups are usually less concerned with right and wrong, feeling wronged themselves.”

  “But?”

  “But I think the Hormani have bitten off more than they can chew this time. The Awrakian armor has emboldened the Cordair. They will wheedle the Hormani right along the knife’s edge until the Hormani do more than they should. With otherworldly weapons and armor, the Cordair will march west and take back everything they can.”

  “Explain ‘more than they should.’”

  “At some point, someone is going to check in … here,” I said, changing the word at the last moment, remembering there was the possibility I could be overheard. We were not in Reina’s presence room. There was usually someone listening for the next part of the meal to be needed. “A few suits of armor won’t leave a trace —”

  “But an army would,” Reina finished.

  “An army that suddenly begins to overpower everyone it encounters will draw attention. Then the armor will get noticed.”

  “And then your friends will know.”

  I ground my teeth. “They’re not my friends.”

  “But the enforcers would know?” Reina asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And they’d make contact. Centuries before your … world is ready.”

  “What would they do about the Cordair?”

  “Arrest their progress.”

  Reina’s face hardened. “Not undo?”

  I shook my head. “No. They’d leave it as is.”

  “And the Hormani technology?”

  “That would depend. They would take back a few suits of armor, but they might leave an entire army’s worth alone. They’d want to create as small a footprint as possible.” It would take an army of their own to line up the Cordair and confiscate scores of suits.

  Reina ran her thumbnail along her lower lip. “So, we’d need to stop them before too long.” She looked at me, and I knew what was in her eyes. But she didn’t say it out loud. She just let Protocol Specialist Carr continue.

  “You’re going to need help,” I said.

  Reina snorted. “And what do I tell them? The truth?”

  “No.” She couldn’t tell them about the Hormani. “But you could say that Raislos yearns to make another attempt to reclaim the lost lands. That is the truth. Word of the armor will eventually get out. Bánalfar’s lands are vast, but you do have neighbors. They remember the tales of why Antilli rode down from Vanerife. Do they want to risk the poison spreading?”

  “Only if Gladama falls.”

  “Would they really wait so long?”

  “War taps a country’s resources. What happens in Bánalfar doesn’t affect them and sending help could leave their back door open, make them vulnerable to others.” Reina tapped her thumb on her mouth. “You really know nothing that works against that armor?”

  I thought back to the group in the throne room, closed my eyes so I could better focus on the memory. Body armor. Five had worn Awrakian body armor. Including that smug son of a bitch trader.

  But no helmets.

  “A direct blow to the head. Or arrow. Fire won’t harm the suits —” Reina groaned. “— or their wearer, but they didn’t have the helmets, so you could burn the heads. You don’t have fire-breathing dragons on this planet, do you?” I couldn’t resist throwing in the joke, even though Reina goggled at me. “Sorry, creatures of legend … on the moon. Flying beasts that —”

  “Breathe fire,” Reina finished, not amused. “Just the sort of creature the Cordair would love.” She gave me a sharp look. “They are legend? Not something that could be imported?”

  I pushed my plate aside and leaned across the table. Reina’s eyes widened. “The beasts — no,” I whispered, so low my words were barely even air. “But do you want the truth?”

  Reina’s eyes widened even farther. Her head slowly shook from side to side, as if the motion could push my words away. One hand rose to cover her mouth. “They wouldn’t?” she said from behind it.

  I gave my head a shake. “No, for if the Shororato found out, there would be no more Hormani traders anywhere.” The color drained from Reina’s face. “No star would be safe for them.”

  Slowly, she lowered her hand, her eyes as round as saucers. “Just who are you, Astrid?”

  I laid my hand on the table before her, palm up. “Exactly who I told you I was.”

  Reina gripped my fingers, tears in her eyes. This strong, proud woman had finally realized how much danger her world was in, and it killed me to know that I’d been the one to forever change her.

  I walked down to the beach after dinner, lifted the hem of my dress and let the surf swirl around my ankles. Sunset was not far off. The water was already coming alive with the gleam of phosphorescent creatures. Teridun Six winked in the east, the evening star already rising. I missed my moon and its soft glow. A lamp that lit the night with magic.

  The waning blood-red moon of Crenfor was rising somewhere behind me. Dark. Like so much of my life was dark now.

  I turned my head at the sound of footsteps on the sand. Daria.

  “I could hold your dress if you want to go swimming,” she said.

  I shook my head. “No. I just wanted the sea to wash away my tho
ughts.”

  “Is it working?” she asked. I shrugged. There wasn’t much that could wash away what was going on. The Shororato, if the Hormani hadn’t blocked our distress calls as I suspected they had.

  I stumbled and dropped the edge of my dress, nearly bowled over as what the Hormani had truly done sank in.

  “Astrid!” Daria grabbed for me as I blindly scrambled for my footing in the shifting waters, my mind still reeling. “What is it?” she asked, taking my arms.

  “They let them die.” My words were little more than gasps. “They blocked our transmissions and let them die.”

  “Who?”

  “The —” My knees gave out and I landed butt-first in the surf. A tiny part of my brain worried about the state of my dress; the rest whirled as my trip in the escape pod played again and again in my head. “They tried to kill me,” I croaked. Things were fine. The panel beeped. The thud. My desperate praying.

  The Hormani had fired on my pod. They had tried to blow me out of the sky but I’d survived. I’d survived and the Alfari had found me. Not the Hormani. Not the Cordair. The Alfari.

  All because of the Mödatal.

  “Oh, dear Lord.”

  Daria’s arms went around me. “What is it?”

  “I think I may be the Moon Princess.”

  I SAT IN the surf, Daria’s arms around me, while day slipped into night. Light flickered behind us as the guards lit torches. And still I sat.

  It’s not an easy thing to realize you’re the answer to a centuries-old prayer. Especially when you have no clue what you’re supposed to do. At least God had talked to Moses and Jesus and Paul. I only had the Mödatal, and I knew she wasn’t God.

  Daria asked, “What are you going to do?” and fell silent after receiving my vacant head shake.

  What was there could I do? I had found some basic instructions and had stripped the pod of everything but the guidance system before I’d left. At the time, I hadn’t wanted any technology falling into alien hands. There was no way I could contact the Shororato.