The Crescents

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “How… how did you learn of the D’Karon? How did they… just how? How any of this?”

  “Like to Sorrel, it came to us in our time of greatest need. Some among us say that when Sorrel passed away and met with the powers that be, she demanded they provide for her people. In turn, they sent a messenger named Teht.”

  Ivy flinched at the name.

  “You know the sainted educator? The bringer of the D’Karon blessings?”

  “Please. Just… continue.”

  “Teht knew we were hunted and offered us the sacred knowledge. She gave us the first of the gems and the knowledge to make more. She gave us the writings, the wording of the prayers and spells. She gave them to us freely, asking only for our loyalty in return.”

  “You are loyal to the D’Karon. All of you.”

  “As I have said, from our first breath to our last. We pledge ourselves to them and offer our undying gratitude for the strength and safety they have granted us.”

  Ivy covered her face, unable to hide her despair any longer.

  “I do not understand your concern. This is the story of our people. It is the way we have thrived in the face of those who would end us.”

  She forced the feelings away and tried to will a look of curiosity to her face. “It is just that it is so much, so quickly. Tell me… do you have these writings you were given? Somewhere I can see them? I wish to know more.”

  “Of course you do. It is only right that a newcomer should wish to learn of the patrons of her kind. Come, follow me.”

  Nehri paced toward a hut a short distance from the shrine. Though it was not built of stone, it was visibly sturdier and better fortified than the villagers’ homes. It had no windows, and the roof was of wood rather than thatch. A malthrope of the desert tribe, barely larger than a child but bearing a hefty wooden sword, stood guard outside the door. Nehri exchanged some pleasant words with him. He smiled at both the priestess and Ivy, then fished a small thir stone from his pocket and pressed it to the door. Lines of mystic power pulsed brightly, then faded away. Nehri pushed the door open.

  “Second to the shrine, of course, this is our most secure building. We have little need to lock things away here, but if we feel that something must be protected, we place it inside this stronghold.”

  She stepped inside, Ivy close behind. The lack of windows meant that not even the dim glow of twilight found its way to the dark interior. Nehri reached toward a D’Karon crystal set beside the door, but before she could touch it, it smoldered to life, feasting hungrily on Ivy’s strength. Others, spaced regularly about the walls, did the same, soon casting every corner of the large room in light.

  “Look,” Nehri said happily. “How powerful you must be, to feed the crystals so.”

  Ivy edged away from the nearest crystal and tried to focus instead on what the light revealed. Anything that anyone might consider valuable seemed to be present in some way or another. Crude chests stuffed with gold lined the far wall. Tables arrayed with everything from carefully rendered works of art to curious artifacts stood in neat rows. A shelf of leather-bound books stood against one wall. Beside it stood a cabinet that even Ivy’s weak knowledge of magic told her had been potently warded against theft. Nehri walked to the book shelf.

  “Here we have copies of every D’Karon teaching. Part of my training as priestess involves copying them myself from the originals, such that we need never risk using those books penned by D’Karon hands. They are the most precious treasures we have. They must be kept safe, and so they are sealed in the cabinet, to be revealed only when the time comes to appoint a new priestess. But you are free to look upon all else, so long as you do so with care.”

  Ivy glanced about, her eyes swiftly coming to rest on a small satchel, the one she had been carrying when she was captured. She hurried to it.

  “Oh! Yes, my apologies. I had forgotten we had brought your things here for safekeeping. I hope you will understand that we have taken your weapons—you would have no need for them here, and our own people might need them to defend this place. We also cannot allow you to bring any mystic items with you. It is unwise to carry mystical items about when others may be carrying thir gems. Unexpected things can happen if the gems drink too deeply. As such, this book—which has the feel of magic—will need to be kept here. But the rest is, of course, yours to reclaim.”

  Ivy sifted through the pack. “There was a stylus… I can’t find it.”

  “That is all that we have of your things, I am afraid. If something is missing, it was lost before you arrived.”

  Ivy pulled her pad from within and opened its cover. Seeing her illustrations brought a rush of relief and calm, as though if these moments frozen in time were still intact, then the world couldn’t possibly be spinning out of control.

  Nehri smiled broadly at the images covering the page. “An artist? You are an artist? That is wonderful! So few of us have the time or skill for the arts.” She placed a hand on Ivy’s shoulder and squeezed it encouragingly. “You see? You were meant to come here. You are a missing piece to make our village whole. What is this place?”

  The image on the page was of the palace of New Kenvard, not in its current state of repair, but as it would be when finished.

  “This is part of my hometown.”

  “A grand place,” Nehri said, gazing with interest.

  She flipped a page, revealing a sketch crowded with people. “And this is my family…”

  The illustration showed Deacon, Myranda and her father, and Myn. They were gathered about a fire, laughing and talking. Ivy remembered the day well. It was the night they’d broken ground on a new hall, the first new building to be built in New Kenvard. Myranda insisted they celebrate the moment, as while there was so much more to be done to restore the rest of the broken city, this new hall was proof that the city was not just healing, it was growing.

  “Ivy, we are your family,” Nehri said.

  “No… Well, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe you are. But these people. They earned it. They chose it.” Her eyes lingered on the page before she shut the book. “May I have some time to look into these D’Karon books?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Nehri said. “I am afraid I cannot allow you to remove them from this place, but you are welcome to remain here and learn their teachings. I do not suppose you understand the D’Karon language. I have some matters to attend to now that the ceremony is done, but if you would like, I can begin to teach you personally beginning tomorrow.”

  “Maybe. But I’d really like to start looking over them now. Even just to see how much is there.”

  “Then by all means. I shall leave you to it.”

  Nehri paced out the door. Ivy looked around her. Every precious item they had, and they allowed her to remain inside without supervision. Even with a guard at the door, such implicit trust from her own kind was astonishing. It was not lost on her ailing conscience that to serve her friends and her mission, she would have to betray that trust. Ivy wasn’t entirely certain what she hoped to achieve in coming to where they kept the D’Karon writings. A part of her was hoping that she would discover some sort of misunderstanding, that the D’Karon they worshiped were not the same ones she and the other Chosen had fought. That hope was dashed upon looking over the very first page. Ivy felt the hot sting of unwanted knowledge, something she had mercifully been spared since shortly after her rescue. She could read the D’Karon writing. When she had been in their clutches, they had prepared her to be a warrior for their own purposes, and to that end they had forced knowledge into her unwilling mind. How to fight. How to act. How to follow their orders. Much of their “teachings” had fallen away, failing to take root. Much more had not. And now, the knowledge they had lodged in her mind made sense of the dark, twisted words on the page. They were genuine D’Karon writings. This was all-too real. She felt a flicker of anger, causing a rush of red around her and a pulse of intensity from the crystals. The thought crossed her mind that she should destroy these boo
ks. Destroy the originals. Do her best to cleanse this place of their tainted influence. But it would do no good. The people of this village were behind the assault on Dusand and Treadforge. They had plans. Somehow, Ivy needed to determine what those plans were, and she couldn’t do that if she roused their anger or suspicion.

  Everything of any value was locked in this place. If she were launching a dangerous campaign against an enemy, this is precisely the sort of place she would lock the things that might damage the mission if they were known. But what could those things be? And where would she find them? Ivy quietly wished Myranda or Deacon were here. They were so much better at this sort of thing. She wasn’t nearly as clever as they were… but she did have stronger senses. She shut her eyes and took a deep whiff of the air. The mustiness of the books dominated the room, but beneath it was the subtle scent of fresh ink. She followed the smell and found, to her disappointment, a small inkpot filled with gummy black ink.

  Too much to hope I would have found a list of freshly written marching orders, she thought to herself.

  Again she sampled the air, asking herself questions about what her senses told her, hoping they would lead her somewhere. What were the freshest scents? A few sacks of things likely brought from the raids on the elven cities. What sort of scents would she expect to find but hadn’t? This was perhaps the only place in the whole of the village that didn’t have the lively, wholesome smell of people living their lives. Aside from her own scent and that of Nehri, there was precious little evidence of any other malthropes in this place. Even the guard’s scent came only from the doorway. But as she sifted through the complex, layered aromas surrounding her, she detected the faintest remnant of someone else. It was mixed with the dry scent of the desert and even a lingering hint of the strange trees where the elves made their home.

  She followed the scent to a small leather bundle hung on a hook near the back of the strongroom. It was certainly one of the more recent acquisitions to this place. She carefully removed it and unrolled the bundle on a nearby table, checking the doorway every few moments to be sure she wasn’t being watched. Inside were some crude pages of paper. A careful but uncertain hand had covered both sides of the first sheet with writing, a mixture of the looping, complex writing of the elves and another language she didn’t recognize. The way the elven letters were formed, much like the ones in Dusand, she suspected they were copied by someone who didn’t know what they meant. Ivy wasn’t certain what they meant either, but she knew they were fresh, so they were the closest she was likely to come to finding a clue.

  Other pages in the bundle had similar writing, but in a different hand. This was beginning to look like the result of maybe a dozen different villagers being sent off to the elven lands…

  Ivy hastily snatched the ink she’d found and scrounged up a stylus from near where it had been kept. She flipped open her own book. With an artist’s speed and care, she transcribed the contents of the mysterious sheets. She desperately wanted to jot down what had happened to her, what she’d discovered here, but she couldn’t risk it. There was no telling how much she would be able to write before she was discovered. Worse, not knowing what the writing said meant that any bit of it could be something important, and if she left it unrecorded because she’d wasted time on other messages, it could mean disaster or failure. So she copied as swiftly as her fingers would allow, hoping that the magic of the book was strong enough to reach her friends.

  #

  Myranda and Deacon sat around a small fire, warming food and mulling over their next steps. Myn, perhaps exhausted by her fruitless rampage and brief battle, had been showing considerable fatigue. They’d made it as far as the oasis they’d spotted that morning, where freshwater and a scattering of flowers provided refreshment for human, dragon, and fairy alike. Though there was enough dry wood for the campfire, it came in the form of stubby bramble and other such plants that offered little in the way of shade. Luckily, the dragons thrived in the baking sun. Myn was more than willing to bask in it while the others sought relief in her shadow until the sun slipped from the sky. Unlike the Tresson desert, which could become terribly cold as soon as the sun set, here on North Crescent the heat seemed to linger into the night, just as the cold lasted longer into the morning.

  Deacon gazed at the night sky. Garr was circling overhead, riding the rising air currents to search the area with Grustim on his back.

  “Should we await his return before we discuss what is to be done?” Deacon asked.

  “I cannot imagine he’ll return having learned anything we don’t already know,” Myranda replied, sipping at a simple tea she’d prepared over the fire.

  The heat of the day was such that Shah and Freet had abandoned their cozy little roost among Myn’s horns once they’d arrived at the oasis. For a while they’d been swimming in cool, clear water. When Shah had had enough, she climbed to the shore, flicked most of the water from her wings, and buzzed over to join Myranda and Deacon. She drifted above the steaming cup and peered in curiously, accidentally spritzing Myranda with drops of water as she flitted about.

  “You are drinking hot water?” Shah said.

  “Hot tea,” Myranda said.

  “But it is so hot here. Wouldn’t cool water be better?”

  “The elves gave this to me to settle my stomach when we were at sea. It helped a bit.”

  “You still aren’t feeling well?” Deacon said.

  “I feel well enough. We have greater concerns right now than my constitution.” She turned to Shah. “Have you detected any hint of that fairy that attacked us?”

  “No. She had magic to hide her, the same as the larger creature.”

  “Such was my concern,” Deacon said. “A fairy is a bright bit of magic in the mind’s eye, but the D’Karon magic could easily snuff it out.”

  Freet darted from the water and joined them.

  “I am certain she is not about. Even with that magic, she would still have to stir the air, and we would feel it.”

  “Yes,” Shah agreed. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about the fairy?” Myranda asked.

  “She was young. Very young. Not a child, but close,” Shah said.

  “A forest fairy,” Freet said. “Certainly a forest fairy.”

  Shah nodded. “Yes. Not from the desert.”

  “How can you tell?” Myranda said, shading her eyes as Myn shifted positions and her shadow moved.

  Shah shrugged. “You just can! We… bring our wind with us. That wasn’t a desert wind. That was a wind through the—”

  “Shah!” Freet snapped.

  She shrank away from him. “Right… I’m sorry.”

  “What’s wrong?” Deacon asked.

  Shah looked sheepishly between Deacon and Freet.

  “You do not reveal another fairy’s home to a dangerous creature,” Freet explained. “You have treated us well, but they do not want to be found, and that isn’t our choice to make.”

  “Shah, Freet—our friend has been taken. She may be with these other fairies.”

  “The malthropes are friends of the fairies, Freet,” Shah said quietly. “The stories. We should help find her in any way we can.”

  Freet was unmoved. “No. There are more bad people than good. I would not want these fairies to lead bad people to our grove. I will not lead others to their grove. But… if you find the grove on your own… I cannot stop you. And I would be sure to visit with the fairies there. That is only proper, when passing through their groves.”

  “When Grustim and Garr return, they shall tell us which forest is nearest,” Deacon commented. “A group of fairies, even a large one, is not likely to be easy to find if they are in some way associated with the Aluall.”

  Myranda squinted skyward. “We mustn’t wait. Every moment is a moment wasted, and we’ve yet to feel a glimmer of Ivy’s strength. Myn, quickly.”

  She turned to her friend. Something was wrong. Myn’s eyes were half-l
idded and unfocused. Her head sagged; her wings drooped.

  “Myn,” Myranda said, taking the dragon’s chin in her hands and trying to raise her head to look her in the eye.

  The dragon’s eyes darted vaguely, but she did not focus on Myranda.

  “Deacon!” Myranda said.

  He already had his crystal raised and his eyes shut. “She is not well,” he said, his mind scouring her body and soul. “From the looks of her, she’s been fighting this for some time and not letting it show.”

  “No! Not the dragon too!” Shah squealed, covering her mouth. “Can we do something? Can we help her?” The tiny creature darted about fretting aloud.

  Myranda fetched her staff and focused her mind, sweeping it over her friend. “Her spirit is strong. It isn’t magic. Certainly not D’Karon magic,” she said.

  Deacon nodded. “Indeed. This feels like poison.”

  “Yes. Like cutleaf, but faster…”

  Myranda had been working her way slowly along Myn’s powerful slumped body, waving her brightly glowing gem. She did her best to be dispassionate, detached as she tried to help her friend. It would do Myn no good if Myranda allowed her emotions to distract her, or to rob her of the nuance necessary to catch a potentially crucial detail. But it was difficult. Far more difficult than it had been when she’d last been tasked with healing someone in dire straits.

  “Here!” she cried.

  Her thorough search had gone from snout to tail, but it wasn’t until her mind had pored over her friend’s entire body that she finally found something out of place. She dropped to her knees and leaned low. There, between two scales near the end of the tail, was a tiny shard of something. It was little more than a splinter, snapped off almost flush with her hide. Myranda wrapped her will around it and eased it out. Myn stirred weakly. When the foreign object finally slipped free, it was as long as Myranda’s finger and came to a cruel point.