The Crescents

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “So it is fresh…” Myranda narrowed her eyes.

  “Our progress has been somewhat slower for the last few hours,” Deacon observed. “Trails should be colder, not fresher.”

  “Then there is no doubt. We are being led astray,” Myranda seethed. “And that means they are near us. Something must be done.”

  She stabbed her staff’s tip into the sand and held her hands on either side of the crystal. A powerful glow pulsed within its heart.

  “Myranda act with care,” Deacon said.

  “We haven’t felt a glimmer of Ivy’s spirit since she disappeared, Deacon,” she uttered, eyes shut and mind focused. “Not a glimmer. I could find Ivy on the other side of the world if I needed to. The only time her spirit has remained so weak for so long was because the D’Karon were leaching her power. If we had a single thread to act upon, some means to be certain we are heading in the correct direction, then I could set aside the concerns and trust that we will find her. But for all we know, we’ve not taken a single step closer since we entered the desert. We may be playing into their whims, wasting precious time. And I am through with that. We know someone is near. I mean to find them.”

  Wind began to swirl, spreading out from the base of the staff.

  “Everyone, set your eyes upon the desert around us. Call out if you see anything out of the ordinary,” Myranda instructed.

  The wind churned faster, keeping low to the ground near them but rising up as it traced a circle around them. A wall of wind-blown sand rose. It retreated quickly, forming an ever-widening circle. The wind spared Myranda and the others, but relentlessly scoured an expanding ring of desert around them.

  “There!” called Grustim.

  Just past the crest of the nearest dune, an odd void in the swirling sand moved with uncanny speed. It wasn’t a visible figure, but rather the kind of disturbance in the sand one might leave behind. Myranda lashed out with her mind, focusing intently on the form, but it was slippery, evading attempts at direct spells. Rather than give up the one advantage they had, Myranda redoubled her efforts to stir the sand around the figure, to keep it visible.

  Grustim vaulted to Garr’s back, and the pair dashed toward the retreating form. Myn snaked her tail around Myranda and her staff, hauling them from the ground and depositing them on her back. Deacon and the fairies joined her. Now that she had her target, Myranda could focus the wind only upon the fleeing form. She turned the wind upon it ever more intensely. Turning her mind to any spells that might stop the retreating spy would mean relenting with the wind, and relenting with the wind would mean potentially losing her target. By now the improvised sandstorm should have coated the foe head to toe in sand, but it seemed whatever splashed against it and clung to its body or clothes eventually faded from visibility.

  “Whatever it is, it runs as fast as Myn! And its mystic defenses are every bit as developed as the D’Karon’s,” Deacon called.

  Garr was airborne, gaining on the half-seen form, but it moved in erratic, sudden motions, evading his sweeping claws with astounding nimbleness. Deacon’s crystal burned with a white glow. A bolt lanced forward, arcing over the fleeting figure. The ball of energy struck the sand, its glow spreading like quicksilver. Their quarry attempted to dodge and dive, but the widening moat of brilliant light kept pace. Finally, the Aluall bounded over the obstacle. It was a prodigious leap, but Deacon had anticipated it. As the sand-scoured form crested over the churning mass of magic, tendrils of animated sand coiled upward and wrapped about the soaring shape.

  No sooner did the tendrils touch the form than they started to erode. Deacon was ready for it, shifting the loose sand to solid stone. What had been a lashing tendril was now a rigid spire, and their invisible spy was locked at the top.

  “Grab it! I can feel its magic working against mine. The stone may not hold firm for long!”

  Grustim needn’t have been told. Garr released a savage roar and wrapped his claws about the still-unseen figure. As the grip tightened, crunching the stone to powder, a howl of pain gave them their first proof they’d not been chasing a phantom. It was a sharp, primal sound, with the barest hint of a male voice behind it.

  Garr slammed the thing to the ground. A flicker of violet light hinted at its true form, but only for an instant. Grustim hopped down and drew his blade. Myn skidded to a stop, and the others hopped from her back.

  All formed a circle around what looked to be little more than a hollow in the sand beneath Garr’s claw. A ragged, pained breath echoed as if it were far away.

  “Show yourself, coward,” Grustim spat.

  The buzzing of fairy wings filled the air as Myranda and Deacon knelt down, staff and gem at the ready.

  “Hold him,” Myranda said. “D’Karon magic can be just as potent when it ends as when it is in use.”

  She swept her mind over the enchantments laid out before her. It had been a mercifully long time since she’d had to deal with D’Karon magic cast with this level of precision. She’d forgotten how elusive it could be in the mind’s eye and the complex knots it tied.

  “Yes,” Deacon said. “I can sense traces of vicious spells that will be unleashed if this creature dies.”

  The weariness and lack of focus that had been creeping up on Myranda during the day was washing over her again, now that the intensity of the moment had all but gone. Every little sound and sensation bored at her mind. The burning of the sand, the sting of her wind-scoured eyes, and the buzzing of the wings. She cast her gaze upon Freet and Shah, huddled among Myn’s horns, watching with fascination. But the buzzing was coming from behind.

  Not a moment too soon, she raised a hasty shield spell. Something rebounded off it and darted aside with the will and speed of what could only be a fairy, but like their veiled spy, it was barely visible. All she could make out was the buzz of its wings and a faint violet streak of light.

  “He wasn’t alone. There is a fairy!” Myranda called out.

  The streak of light traced random zigs and zags between the assembled heroes. It was uncannily skilled at slipping from their vision, darting in from an unseen angle and pulling back to avoid a swat or spell.

  Myranda pulled her cloak from her shoulders. As the fairy buzzed toward Deacon, he raised a shield of his own. The creature struck it hard, causing a ripple, and rebounded back. Myranda heaved her cloak. The creature easily evaded it, but she infused the garment with a splash of magic and guided it after the tiny creature. The makeshift net looped over the frenzied fairy and pinned it to the ground.

  Myranda dove upon it and secured the cloak as the bulge of its prisoner shook and jolted about, buzzing like a whole hive of angry bees.

  “I have it,” she said. “Hand me my staff. This little creature must have some of the D’Karon enchantments as well. I can’t put it to sleep. I can’t even calm it.”

  “Wizards!” Grustim barked.

  Deacon and Myranda turned. In the madness caused by the fairy, their attention had been pulled from their original target. Now a violent crackle of energy was coiling its way around Garr’s claws and up his leg. The stoic dragon squeezed harder, but the searing tendrils of magic did not cease.

  “It is the thir stone,” Deacon said, approaching as near as he dared and holding out his gem. “It is leeching strength from Garr. Whatever spell he’s triggered, it is an order of magnitude greater than what we’ve seen thus far. Just hold him. I believe I can subdue it.”

  Myranda’s grip upon her staff was weakening. The fairy certainly had a thir stone as well, and it was drawing upon the strength that was already beginning to fail her. Something jabbed through the cloak, narrowly missing Myranda’s hand, and the fairy once again burst free. It traced an arrow-straight path, heading directly for Deacon before Myranda could shout a warning.

  For better or worse, Myn was ready. She lashed her tail. The swift attack struck the fairy hard. As its feather-light body thumped to the ground and rebounded in a twirling trajectory away from the group, her tail continue
d along its path and knocked Deacon to the ground.

  Without his dampening influence, the spell of their captive flashed and activated. Garr threw his head back in a roar of pain. His mighty claw was wrenched open as bands of black and streamers of violet coiled and tore at it. The magic burned with a staggering heat. The others shielded themselves and averted their eyes from a light that soon became blinding.

  Myranda raised her staff and threw together a hasty counterspell, pushing back the worst of the attack until its power was spent and it began to fade, but the spell had done its work. A smoldering set of footprints led a few dozen paces to the north, then faded away as the stealth enchantments were restored.

  Myn galloped off after the vanished spy, roaring in fury. Myranda helped Deacon to his feet, and they looked to their other allies.

  Grustim had been near the spell when it activated, but his reflexes were swift and his armor well-made. Though a patch of the green enamel was seared away to bare metal, he seemed otherwise unhurt. The same could not be said for Garr. His claw had taken the brunt of the attack. Thick blood fell in scattered drops, sizzling the sand where it landed. The flesh was raw and torn.

  Myranda put her mind to work healing it. She let her thoughts and the strength of her spirit wrap about the injured limb, and wove her will deeply into his flesh, tugging torn hide together and feeding his own spirit and body with what it would need to repair itself. As she did, she felt a second will work its way in beside her own, moving in concert with her own treatment. It was Deacon, putting his mind to work unraveling the lingering mystic effects.

  “The Aluall shall pay,” rumbled Grustim as he watched them work. “I will not underestimate them again. Their magic is potent, and they fight without honor.”

  “No, Grustim. Not potent. Simply very complete,” Deacon said. “I can say with absolute certainty that this particular Aluall was barely a novice in the ways of magic. These are not spells conjured from the mind of a fleeing warrior desperate to evade capture. What we witnessed was an assortment of carefully prepared spells stored in thir stones. They weren’t a fraction of what might have been wielded by a true D’Karon mystic, but every modicum of magic was used with absolute precision. Whoever readied these spells put every syllable of incantation and every nuance of enchantment precisely where it needed to be. There is a blight attempting to wrap itself about Garr’s soul right now. Barely more than a single line were it written in a spellbook, but it was not forgotten or left out. If anyone but Myranda or I had been the one to treat Garr, he might have fallen to it in the days ahead.”

  Deacon drew his crystal back, and a thread of black energy followed. When it slipped free, it briefly writhed like a worm on a hot skillet before fading away. “But that is the last of it,” he said. “Do you need my help with the wound, Myranda?”

  “No. No I have it,” she breathed, knitting a broken bone and closing the last gash.

  Garr tested the motion of his injured paw, then cautiously put his weight on it. When he was satisfied, he turned in Myn’s direction. Grustim climbed to the dragon’s back, then to his head, and peered off to the north. Myn was utterly rampaging. She was thundering across the dunes, roaring in rage and belching flames. The path of churned-up sand traced out a meandering, aimless search. This wasn’t a predator closing in on her prey. This was an animal furious and frustrated.

  “She’s lost him,” Grustim said.

  “That he was alone means he wasn’t one of the ones carrying Ivy,” Myranda said. “And that he was leading us means we certainly weren’t heading in the right direction. Do you suppose we can backtrack and attempt to find where this Aluall split off from the others?”

  “A trail left to purposely lead us astray was nearly beyond our capacity to follow when it was fresh. I very much doubt a colder trail by more cautious travelers will do us any good,” Grustim said.

  “No turning back, then. We press forward,” Myranda said, brushing the sand from her cloak. “When Myn calms down, we must discuss what we’ve learned. We’ll gather what we know. If they haven’t left a trail for us to follow, then we have no choice but to follow what clues we have until we’ve worked out where they were heading in the first place.”

  #

  Ivy fought to control her churning spirit as she and Nehri approached the base of the monument at the heart of the village. These people, her people, did not seem to have a drop of malice in their hearts. Surely fate could not be so cruel as to allow them to become entangled with the D’Karon. There had to be some mistake, some other explanation. She had to see the truth for herself. After she’d had time to consider the terrible revelation, she’d asked to learn more of the D’Karon, feigning ignorance. Nehri assured her that with each sunrise and each sunset, there was a ceremony at the monument. It was the only time its doors were permitted to open, but she was welcome to observe it that evening.

  “Something troubles you, Ivy,” Nehri said as they finally reached the monument. “You have not spoken since you asked to see this place. Have you no more questions? No more curiosity?”

  “They can wait until after,” Ivy said quietly. “I just… I need to see this for myself.”

  “As you wish. The ceremony is brief. As the priestess, it is my honor and duty to oversee it. When it is through, I shall answer any questions you may have. I am afraid the ceremony is very precise and rigid. You shall not be permitted to join in it until you have learned the proper prayers, but I shall happily teach you if—”

  “No,” Ivy said, more sharply than she’d intended. “No, I just want to watch.”

  “Then I must request you remain outside the circle of stones.”

  The people of the village formed orderly rings around the tower. None spoke. The jovial atmosphere of the village had shifted to the solemn, reverent tone of a church service. For a few minutes, all waited silently, eyes turned to the west. The trees between the village and the sea had been trimmed, providing a clear view of the sun. It slid slowly toward the horizon. The moment it touched, Nehri rang a bell beside the door. As one, the villagers dropped to their knees and lowered their heads.

  Nehri began a recitation. From the first syllable, the words chilled Ivy. They were D’Karon words, twisted and unnatural. She wanted to cover her ears and shut her eyes. Someone who seemed so kind speaking words of such raw evil and darkness was something out of a nightmare. And yet, somehow Nehri’s sincerity and grace made them seem almost pleasant. At the end of each line, the villagers repeated her final words back to her. The phrase made the air crackle around the monument, and a purple light smoldered within, visible between the cracks and pulsing brighter as the prayer progressed.

  Nehri completed the recitation just as the last of the sun slipped away. Ivy looked about to see that no lamps, fires, or lanterns burned. The only light in the village was the dim glow of the evening sky and the eerie pulse of the monument. Two villagers stepped forward and, at Nehri’s direction, unbraced and opened the doors.

  Ivy squinted as nearly blinding violet light spilled from within. By the time her eyes adjusted, two of the villagers, each dressed in garb that suggested theirs was a specialized and honored position, had already stepped inside. She couldn’t make out what the monument contained, but from the light and the awful, gnawing influence she felt on her very soul when then doors were opened, it was certainly filled with thir crystals. The same thir crystals that fueled all of the D’Karon creations. The specially dressed villagers emerged from within. They supported a slumped form between them. It was a fellow resident of Den.

  She put her hand to her mouth, aghast at the sight of it. If the malthrope the others were carrying had truly been inside the monument for half a day, surrounded by those spirit-hungry stones, it was a wonder he was alive at all.

  When the weakened villager was seen to, Nehri called out a name and a new villager stood. This time it was a vixen. She stepped forward, spoke a few more words of prayer, and walked freely into the monument.

  I
vy almost called out to stop her. Having felt the searing thirst of the gems firsthand, she couldn’t bear the thought of someone willingly offering herself to it. But she needed to learn more, to know how deeply rooted in their society the D’Karon were. So she watched in agony as the doors were shut.

  With the deed done, the others chanted a final mantra and stood. Just like that, as though some spell had been broken, the life and personality returned to the village. Smiles returned to their faces. Conversations picked up as though they’d never been interrupted. There was no sign that there was anything unusual or upsetting about offering one of their own willingly to feed the workings of beings who had meant to conquer or destroy their world.

  Nehri paused to call over a male and one of his children, then led them to Ivy. The priestess crouched to address the child. “Go ahead,” she said with a broad smile. “Now’s your chance.”

  The little boy looked to Ivy. “Hell-o, Ivy. Wel-come from… your new… home,” he said.

  “Hello there,” Ivy said, briefly shrugging off the curdling sensation in her stomach to offer a smile in return.

  The boy scurried off as though he would die of embarrassment if he had to speak another word. His father laughed, uttered a friendly word to Ivy, and hurried after him.

  “The boy is Roma,” Nehri said. “He is also of Sorrel’s line, and the youngest of our people to begin learning any of her languages. When he learned you spoke only one of those languages, he had to test his knowledge.”

  “He did a good job.”

  “Did you learn what you wished to from the ceremony?” Nehri asked.

  “I learned enough,” Ivy said. “That woman who stepped inside… and the man who was pulled out. They… fuel those gems.”

  “Yes!” Nehri said. “So you do know something about the D’Karon. We each spend our time in the monument. Our village has grown such that many need only spend a single day or night in the whole of a year. Naturally, the very young and very old are not permitted to offer themselves. Those who begin too young do not grow to be as strong. Those who are too old may not survive until the doors are opened. In exchange for our strength, their magic keeps our village and warriors hidden. We are protected from our enemies. If our hand is forced, their magic gives us the means to vanquish our foes.”