A Lament of Moonlight

by Travis Simmons

  Leona turned back in time to see it vanish, and nodded her head at Abagail. There wasn’t time to be thankful, because another darkling was on her sister, and before Abagail could do anything, pain lanced through her back.

  She stumbled and as she did, she turned to see the harpist behind her. In the fray she didn’t see the tiny woman stand, much less circle the group. Everyone was busy with their own fight now.

  The harpist’s mouth gapped open, blood streaming from between her teeth. Abagail assumed by the burning in her side that the blood was her own. The harpist snapped her hands down and long, angry black claws extended from each finger.

  She lunged at Abagail, and Abagail reacted. Her boot came up, catching the little woman in the mid-section, but instead of launching her backwards into the darkness, the harpist clung on to Abagail’s boot, throwing her off balance. Abagail tumbled to the side, drawing her short sword in the confusion.

  She landed on her back and felt the harpist climbing up her prostrate body, her wicked claws biting into Abagail’s flesh. Abagail shrieked as the fire of each wound lanced through her body. Her afflicted palm yearned for release, but Abagail tightened the blackened hand around her sword hilt. She lashed out at the harpist, taking her in the temple with the hilt of the short sword.

  The darkling tumbled backwards, but came up in a crouch. She hissed at Abagail and jumped for her face. Abagail rolled out of the way, bringing her sword up as she retreated. The blade cut an angry line across the harpist’s side. Blood spurted from the wound, lost in the darkness of the night.

  Abagail rolled to her feet in a crouch of her own.

  The harpist’s mouth morphed out of shape with a shriek. Through the slanting snow Abagail barely noticed the darkness of wyrd gathering around the harpist’s hands. But she felt it. In her very soul she felt the perverse gathering of the darkling wyrd. It was stronger than anything Abagail had felt weaving through her own mind.

  The harpist held up her hands, and as she was about to launch whatever attack she had planned, a blast of silver light came from out of the night and tumbled the harpist to the side. The bolt of black energy shivered up into the starless sky. There was a repercussion in the clouds, and a thunderous boom sounded across the land deafening Abagail.

  She didn’t want to consider what might have happened if that bolt had struck her. Abagail sidled away from her sister, hoping to divert the harpist’s attention. The darkling stood, her eyes darting between Abagail and Leona. Abagail lunged at her, taking the focus from Leona, but in the same time making it hard for Leona to attack without striking her sister.

  The darkling met each stroke of Abagail’s sword with her claws, and each strike was deflected. Abagail made note to be wary of the harpist’s claws.

  Must be hard to trim those things, she thought.

  She dodged out of the way as the harpist lunged at her. Abagail kicked to the side, knocking the diminutive woman into a snow bank. Moments after she landed a bolt of silver light sliced through the bank.

  Smoke rose from the snow where the harpist had fallen. Abagail waited, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but the harpist didn’t rise.

  “You killed her!” she heard the king scream from behind her.

  Abagail turned to see the man bearing down on her, darkness riding the night behind him like a mantle of shadows. The elle folk king lashed out with his cane, and the shadows converging in the snow behind him obeyed. The darkling wyrd he commanded reached toward Abagail with shadowy fingers, but as it was about to overtake her, it stopped.

  A wall of darkness roiled up before her, like a wave waiting to break. A cloud of malcontent waiting to dive into her and devour every bit of Abagail that remained human, that struggled against the plague inside of her. She took a hesitant step backwards, her breath hissing across her teeth in relief. But the relief was short lived, because the darkness changed direction and lashed out at Leona.

  Leona raised the scepter, and the weapon surrounded her in an orb of silver light. But it was weak. The scepter was losing power, and Leona couldn’t command it as well as the elves were able to.

  “No!” Abagail yelled, and dashed toward the king. She raised her sword, but the anger of the attack on her sister took over, and the darkling wyrd hummed through her hand like a throbbing heartbeat of malcontent.

  Golden wyrd burst from her hand, shooting the sword forward like a dart. The force of the wyrd blasted her backwards, but not before Abagail saw the sword strike home, burying deep in the king’s skull.

  Abagail landed in a puff of snow. She felt the darkling wyrd the king summoned vanish.

  She clawed her way out of the bank, looking for Leona.

  Her sister lay on the ground as if asleep. The scepter lay beside her, dark and cold, devoid of all light.

  Abagail stood to run to her sister, but the realization of what had just happened hit her like a fist. She stumbled and fell to forward, barely catching herself. She crawled toward where Skye crouched over Leona; Celeste tending to Mari.

  “It’s okay—” Skye began, but a scream from behind Abagail cut him short.

  Fire lanced through her back and Abagail was being heaved to the side. She landed hard, the air crushed from her lungs a cloud of snow rising up around her. When the snow cleared, Abagail was looking up into the wild eyes of the elle folk harpist.

  Why won’t she die? Abagail wondered. She was without her sword. It had landed somewhere in the snow, and as the harpist brought her claws down, Abagail realized how futile her arm was in blocking the attack.

  The claws bit through to her bone, and the harpist just kept on attacking.

  Blood rained down on her and Abagail screamed out in pain, bucking wildly to be free of the beast, but the darkling wouldn’t be unseated.

  And then the attack stopped. The weight of the harpist slumped down on to her, and Abagail rolled out from under the dead body.

  The back of the harpist’s skull was missing, as if it had never been there. A few feet away Celeste stood, her scepter aimed at the scene. It was still glowing from the attack.

  The elf didn’t say a word, only went back to tending Mari.

  “I’m not as good at this,” Skye said, crawling toward Abagail. “But Mari taught me some things. Hold still.”

  He raised his scepter and began mumbling something. This time when the power leaked from the stave, it wasn’t because of his fingers drumming across the surface. Instead it was in response to the words he uttered.

  Abagail had a hard time tearing her eyes from the gentle bow of his lips as they formed the strange elvish words. The pain in her arm was only second by the unsettling swirl of butterflies in her stomach. She was aware of how close Skye was, and of the intense amount of heat coming from his body next to hers.

  Heat flushed her cheeks and Abagail cleared her throat, pulling herself away from her mental undressing of the elf. Instead she tried focusing on what he was doing while willing her raging heart to calm before she went into another fit like had to be contained the other night.

  And this time no darkling would be to blame, only my raging hormones.

  The light was like a cooling balm against the raging inferno of the wounds. Abagail felt the tattered flesh and muscles reforming, knitting together with a stinging sensation much like bees prickling across her arm. But she didn’t feel pain, just relief because at least the stinging was different than the burning that had been before. At least when the stinging stopped she felt whole once more.

  Skye finished his chanting and the light faded. When it was gone Abagail inspected her left arm. Despite the shredded shirtsleeve, the arm beneath was healed.

  “There,” Skye said, touching her arm. He smiled at her.

  Abagail felt like she was battling darkling wyrd all over again trying to battle her desire to look up at Skye, but she refused to be drawn in. She blushed furiously and he chuckled at her.

  “Where’s Rorick?” Leona asked, coming to herself with a shake of her head. />
  “What happened to her?” Abagail asked.

  “She will be fine, she just did much more wyrding than she should have so soon,” Skye said. “That was one awesome attack, but all wyrdings take a toll on the body. She will be better with some rest.” He turned to Leona, a smile set on his face. “Don’t try that again though, we don’t want you burning yourself out.”

  Leona bobbed her head in a nod that seemed more like her neck had just momentarily lost the strength to hold her head up.

  “Is that possible?” Abagail asked.

  “More than possible,” Celeste said. “We will have to rest here for now anyway. Mari is still with us, but she needs to wake up on her own. Skye, can you tend to Daphne? She’s in that bank.” Celeste motioned behind her to a small drift of snow.

  “Where’s Rorick?” Leona asked.

  “Here,” Rorick said, stumbling his way to the group.

  “What happened to you?” Abagail asked, pushing to her feet. Rorick was limping, and his hand was held tight to his left side. Abagail helped him to sit and knelt beside him. “You aren’t bleeding. Are you okay?”

  “The king, he broke something,” he said. His voice was cold.

  “Alright, something like what?” Abagail asked.

  “What do I look like, a healer?” he turned angry eyes up to her.

  Abagail sighed and sat back on her heels. “What did I do this time, Rorick?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, averting his eyes as if ashamed.

  “Why are you mad now? It seems lately you’re pissed at me more than you’re civil.”

  “You need to learn to control it!” Rorick turned on Abagail, his face red, his lips thinned into a hard line.

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?!?” She retorted, her hands clenched at her side. “You don’t know what this is like. You don’t know what I’m going through! I have no mind for this wyrd shit, and here I am trying to control a force that relies on my emotions!”

  “Try harder,” Rorick told her, nostrils flared.

  “To the otherworld with you, Rorick Kueper,” Abagail said, stalking off into the night.

  She hugged her arms to herself, her face hot with rage. What pissed her off the most was how much his accusation mirrored her own self-blame. She didn’t feel like she was trying hard enough, and that was what really angered her. No, that wasn’t completely true. Rorick was getting on her last nerve lately thinking she was his own sparring post or something.

  What does he know about it anyway? She wondered. “Control it!” everyone says, but how do they expect me to control something I can’t even see or touch?!? I might as well be trying to change—

  From out of the sky two shadows winged toward her, alighting on the snow several feet in front of her. Abagail stopped short and surveyed the ravens. Her mouth dropped open as she recognized them from her dream and from the day she woke from her bewyrded sleep.

  “You’re the ravens—”

  Huginn, one said.

  And Muninn, the other one said.

  “Thought and Memory.” Abagail’s breath caught in her throat. The heat of her previous fight with Rorick melted from her face leaving her white as a ghost.

  The harbingers of light are on their way.

  But be wary, so are the frost giants.

  “And they told you that the giants are on their way?” Skye asked her.

  Abagail nodded. She wrapped her arms around her chest to stave off the cold that had nothing to do with the winter night around them. The snow was falling harder now, slanting down like rain. It wasn’t a pretty snow any longer. It was balling up in her short hair and making her cloak stiff.

  “It’s decided then, we can’t stay here,” Celeste said from where she stood over Mari’s prostrate body. “We will continue the path we’ve been following and hope we meet up with the harbingers of light before the frost giants.”

  “Don’t forget your scepter is open now,” Skye said. “That will melt the giants.”

  Celeste nodded, a frown ridging the delicate golden eyebrows. “It doesn’t look like there will be much sun today,” she commented.

  Rorick and Leona looked up at the sky, but Skye and Abagail looked at Celeste’s scepter. It was only glowing about half as bright as it had been before. She wouldn’t be able to do as much against the giants as she would like.

  “Alright,” Celeste sighed. “Skye, get her moving. Let’s head out.”

  Celeste took the lead, her scepter carried in her hand like a walking stick illuminating the way. On her shoulder Daphne rested, her wings folded behind her back and her purple glow colder than it had been before, almost hollow.

  I hope there’s nothing seriously wrong with her, Abagail thought.

  Leona brought up the rear with Skye. She didn’t speak, just walked beside the elf.

  “Listen,” Rorick said, limping up beside Abagail. “I’m sorry—”

  “What happened to you out there?” Abagail asked, not bothering to make eye contact with Rorick. Just his presence heated her blood. She didn’t want to make eye contact with him because she knew that all of the frustration and pain that she was feeling would come boiling out.

  “What do you mean?” Rorick asked.

  “With the elle folk king,” Abagail said. “What did he do to you?”

  “I don’t really know. It was some kind of wyrded attack. A force of some kind struck me and tossed me high in the air. When I landed it messed up my side.”

  “Did Skye look you over?” Abagail asked, cutting a glance at his left side that he was still holding.

  Rorick scoffed and Abagail barely saw him roll his eyes as he looked away.

  “No.” His reply was just loud enough for Abagail to hear. “Anyway, I said I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Abagail set her shoulders and looked away from him. She gripped the cloak tight around her afflicted hand. Without the glove now, she had to make certain she kept it out of accidental contact with her group.

  “Well, maybe I do,” he said.

  “And you’re used to always getting your way,” Abagail told him. “The truth is, you don’t know what’s going on inside of me or how I struggle with this. Who are you to make such demands on me, as if I’m not trying hard enough? As if I want to be taken over by this plague and become some darkling that kills everything good and warm about a world?”

  Rorick winced.

  “Rorick, I had though so highly of you, and now—”

  “Now what?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

  “Since we’ve come here it just seems like I’m letting you down. I’m not living up to some standard you’ve set for me. Before we were best friends, and now you treat me like an unwilling sparring partner.”

  “Is that how it feels?” he asked.

  “Yea, pretty much. You snap at me all the time and act like I’m not good enough,” Abagail told him. “I don’t have to live up to some unrealistic standard you’ve set.”

  “It’s just because I don’t want to have to do what I told you I’d do.”

  “Great, you don’t want to have to kill me. Believe me, Rorick, that’s not high on my to-do list either. But we just learned that controlling this plague works through my emotions, and what do you do? You bitch me out for not trying hard enough. What kind of emotion do you think that brings on?” Abagail stared at her friend, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about this.” She picked up the pace and he didn’t bother trying to keep up.

  It didn’t take long before she was walking beside Celeste.

  The elf glanced over at her, a wan smile on her face. “It’s hard being different from those around you.”

  “Yes,” Abagail said.

  “He will come around,” Celeste told her.

  “And what if he doesn’t?” Abagail asked, unsure if he would.

  “Then he probably wasn’t worth having around to begin with.”

  Aba
gail’s breath hitched in her throat and she blinked several times, trying to get her mind around what Celeste was telling her. How could Rorick not be worth having around?

  “No, it’s only because of what he’s gone through,” Abagail said. “His parents were killed by darklings. He doesn’t want to see me become a monster.”

  “Do you think that’s it?” Celeste asked.

  “What else could it be?” Abagail wondered, looking over at the elf. Her stomach swirled in a mix of emotions. Celeste wasn’t the type to have conversations like this. It seemed too much like Daniken. Is it too much like Daniken, or do I just not want to admit that she might be right?

  Celeste didn’t meet her gaze, but kept her eyes rooted on the way before them. Abagail didn’t know what the elf was looking at. Everywhere Abagail looked there was nothing but snow. Leagues of snow. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine that they were the only people in a frozen otherworld.

  “Have you ever wondered if he’s taking out his anger at darklings on you? Maybe he blames you for catching the plague,” Celeste said.

  “But how could he blame me? It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t kill his parents,” Abagail argued.

  “I’m not saying this is how he feels, but it seems to me that he’s taking out his hurt on you because you are part darkling now.”

  Abagail looked away from the elf, her gaze rooted in the distance as if she found something interesting there.

  “I would just talk to him,” Celeste told her. “Nothing good has ever come from trying to figure out what is going on in another person’s mind.”

  Abagail nodded.

  “I just worry about what side he will fall on.” Celeste glanced at Abagail as if to see how her words affected her.

  “What do you mean? What side?” Abagail raised an eyebrow at Celeste.

  “When you get to the harbingers of light, Leona and Rorick won’t be with you all the time. They won’t even be with me all the time. I’m rarely in New Landanten, so I won’t be able to watch them closely.” Celeste sighed. “There are other forces at work with the elves. One arguing not to open the scepters, and the other to open them.”