The Valley of Ten Crescents Series (Box Set: Books 1-3)

by Tristan J. Tarwater

  Tavera cursed herself, pushing thoughts of taking the sacred cup aside, reminding herself of its role, of what might befall the temple and the worshipers if the consecrated item was missing. She really was a thief through and through, more than she was a worshiper of the goddess of the moon or a girl to take out for beers or someone to spend an evening with, or at least a few moments.

  Should she go out with that boy who watched the gates? The priestess lowered the chalice, beckoning the worshipers to come forward, the bodies shuffling out of the pews and queuing in the main aisle. Tavera bit her lip as she approached, keeping her head down and her eyes closed as she moved forward, trying to keep her mind focused on her prayers and the task to come. Should she go out with Lori?

  After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the alter and looked towards the priestess. The priestess’ face was calm to the point of seeming unnatural, her grey eyes emotionless, her face as steady as a bust of marble. Tavera kept her eyes locked with the priestess, the goddess’ avatar on earth, dipping her fingers into the chalice, bringing it to her forehead and then placing her wet fingers into the bowl that lay on the altar. She knew the goddess answered in riddles so she didn’t think of any questions as she placed the tips of her fingers in the bowl, the fingers that had stolen many things over the last few years. She instead laid to rest that which she wanted to strike from herself, as she was supposed to do.

  Her strange new emotions for Loren, she left in the bowl. Her contempt for the other members of the Cup who didn’t yet accept her as one of their own. And her wanton ways that made her father give her looks that distressed her…she lifted her fingers from the bowl, which was full of strange, grey sand, not bothering to wipe the odd powder from her fingers as she returned to her seat. The rest of the congregation filed through, performing the same ritual. When the last worshiper had performed the rite, the priestess spoke the words Tavera was glad to hear, raising the chalice above her head and tipping it, the liquid contents of the chalice streaming down in a silver ribbon, the contents of the bowl inundated with the libation. A bell rang from somewhere within the building and the priestess spoke, her voice low and even.

  “Now are our secrets hidden in the bosom of our goddess, swept up in her watery arm and brought close to her heart that we may be free of their burden. Go forth, knowing your secrets are safe, knowing you are free to change if that is what is in your destiny. Go in grace, unburdened by your troubles. Go with love, knowing the goddess delights in the workings of our hearts.” The bell rang again and the priestess bowed her head, signaling that the worshipers were now free to leave as they saw fit.

  Morning prayers were the best, Tavera thought as she exited the building. She always felt lighter after morning prayers and liked the crowd that typically showed up at the first worship. Vespers were full of the more devoted individuals who came to pay tribute to the goddess of the moon, the White Lady who opened the Valley for them all those generations ago, keeper of secrets, bringer of change, reveler in love. The mornings were full of those who came for penance, most of them coming to service before going to bed for the day, coming in from the street after a night of performing things that warranted covering up. The girl scanned the street for the boy she was considering having a drink with. Maybe it was for the best he was gone. Maybe she wouldn’t pass by the Sheep Gate during his watch but instead avoid him for the rest of their stint in this city. It was doable. But was it what she wanted? Did he only have freckles on his nose?

  Both hands were brought to her head and she ruffled her hair as she mumbled to herself, trying to push her thoughts on the farm boy away. Sleep would help. If her mind was fresh she could keep her thoughts from wandering. The bed above the inn sounded wonderful. But wasn’t the fortune teller on the way home? The noise of the street had grown to its early morning levels and she saw the teller’s booth in the distance. A quick stop there and then to home she would go, barring any unforeseen events. She’d ask just a few questions and those answered, she would go from there. It would work out in the end. Tavera plodded through the streets, her thick boots keeping her feet stable on the slick streets, hoping a glimpse of what was to come would help her decide what to do before it came.

  The fortune teller was easy to find. There were several of them in the town but the closest one happened to be the most trusted and was outside a store that sold lamp oil and lamps. The old woman sat directly under the sign bearing the image of an oil jar and a flame. The owner of the store was a thin man who supposedly owed part of his success to the woman and so she was allowed to keep her small operation located there, boasting an awning and an actual low table to display her fortune telling tools. The faded brown cloak that hid the old woman’s form was meant to add mystery but Tavera was old enough and had been around enough fortunetellers to know better. She wouldn’t fall for any act. However, it didn’t mean this woman couldn’t read signs pointing at what tomorrow held.

  Tavera set two blueies on the low table and sat down on the ground before the woman, smiling as broadly as she could manage while tucking her legs under her. The time at the temple had cleared most of her hangover away but there was still a cloud in her head that she was hoping the fortuneteller could dispel. “I’d like to have my fortune told,” she said simply.

  The old woman looked up from her tools. Tavera saw bright red blood in one of her eyes and she tried not to react to the strange sight, though she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Other than the strange eye, the woman was unremarkable. Her brown hair streaked with grey, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth telling Tavera she was not old but not young, either. The woman’s hands were steady as she gestured towards her tools, her eyes setting on her client. Tavera thought eventually the blood would pool in her eye and drip like a tear but it didn’t. It just clung, bright red in the woman’s grey-blue eyes. “What tools shall I use, what guide rings true for you, seeker?” the woman asked, her voice low but strong.

  “Cards, please,” Tavera said. The fortune teller removed the sticks, seedpods and stones from the table and picked the cards up in her long, skinny fingers. The cards looked to be new, shuffling crisply in her hands, the circles falling back into a pile. “And before you ask,” Tavera offered, “I don’t know what season I was born. I just want a reading for what lies ahead of me.” The woman shuffled the cards one more time in a rather business-like manner, with an air of understanding.

  Tavera knew some people had to be coaxed into believing with poems or little tricks, even after they had already paid. Some fortunetellers used such acts to hide the fact they had no skill in reading signs. But the girl knew sometimes the goddess could be reasoned with on the street corners more than in her own temples so she did business with the fortune tellers from time to time. This one was a profess-ional. It made Tavera anxious to see what the cards held.

  The cards shuffled, the fortune teller held them out towards Tavi and she gestured towards three, the woman pulling them out from the company of the others and setting them on the table. The woman then pulled out another three, setting them under the ones Tavi had picked before she pulled out one card to play the part of the goddess card, setting it over the others from where Tavera was sitting.

  “The seen thing is the people come and work together for gain,” the woman said, pointing to the cards. Each card did have at least one person on it, Tavera saw. Each deck of fortune cards was different from one another though the symbols were generally the same. All of the cards in the ‘seen’ row were waxing. Waxing had to do with gain, fruition and abundance. “However,” the woman continued, pointing to the cards she had drawn. “The unseen thing is this. The secret blade comes in the night to cut the cord of love.”

  Tavera frowned. Love. She hated when that word came up in fortunes. The focus of the love itself could have been many different things, according to many tellers but this woman seemed more straight-forward. Tavera looked at the goddess card, the holy one’s emotions regarding the reading
and saw the waxing half moon. Tavera knew the card.

  “Distress and hope,” the woman said, pointing to the goddess card. “There is a lot of waxing energy in this pull, you should be careful not to get swept up into anything. You are bound to get in over your head.” The fortune teller let Tavera look over the cards for a few breaths before she gathered them up again, shuffling them once before putting them back in their wooden box.

  “Is that what the cards say, or what you say?” Tavera chided, seeing a smile form behind the woman’s eyes. The woman pulled out her other tools and set them on the table for the next customer to choose from but not shooing Tavera away just yet.

  “From me, of course,” the fortune teller said, the bright red blood shining in her gaze. “I’ve been doing this a while. It’s my input as someone who had been reading cards for a long time. Been doing it since I was younger than you.” The woman looked her over and made a sound that was half a huff and half a laugh. “Though from the looks of you, you’re very confident. You’ll pull yourself up if you find yourself down, won’t you?”

  Tavera just smirked and brought her leg up, feeling the hard ground under her. She had another blueie in her pocket. What did she want to know about more? The group of people? The cord of love? The sword? Tavera pulled the coin out of her pocket and set it down on the table. “Could you tell me anything about this blade?” The blade was the most dangerous thing in the fortune and anything about it could identify the wielder. “Use whatever tool is best for that sort of thing.”

  Tavera watched as the woman pulled out a strip of cloth and a black stick, sketching the image of a sword onto it. She then pulled out a small vial of some liquid and dripped it onto the fabric, watching as the ink or chalk bled into the fabric. The fortune teller picked it up in her hands and squinted, the blood in her eye seeming to take up all the white as she did.

  “The blade is not the sword of the Baron’s seat. And it is an old blade. That is all I can tell.” There was a bit of confusion on the fortune teller’s face and the woman shrugged. Tavera was out of money anyway so she stood up and thanked the woman before she set off down the street back towards the inn. If anything started to keep her up at night, she would just have a go in the marketplace or try her hand at cards at the tavern and come back.

  Well, the blade didn’t belong to the sword and seat, that was good. It meant no one she knew would come under threat from the brown cloaks. And there hadn’t been any mention of blood or death. Some fortune tellers liked to default to ‘love’ when she asked, falsely assuming that because she was a young woman, she was there to find out about a future husband or a lover. Tavera had been interested in shedding a bit of light on her situation with Lori but ‘love’ was a bit too heavy for that part to be about him. She liked him and maybe wanted to get some information from him. He was handsome and sweet. That was all there was to that. As for the rest of it, while it hadn’t exactly cleared anything up it did give her a bit to look forward to. All the waxing cards meant growth and as for the secret blade, Tavera was good at finding out secrets. There was a chance she could find the unseen bit before its ominousness ruined anything. Her stomach growled and she remembered Derk’s insistence upon her having breakfast and she smirked, knowing he had at least been right about that. Cruel about everything else but kind about that. Tavera laughed realizing she had just spent all her money at the fortune teller’s, falling back upon the fact that she could just grab something on the way back towards their room.

  Tavera walked, almost bumping into a young woman who was too busy ordering some men around to notice the thief, too engrossed in the task of pointing with a stick at the various items on a large cart. Tavera heard the young woman shriek as a trunk fell off the cart and spilled open, yards of fabric spilling onto the dirty ground. The man at fault shouted in protest as she raised the stick to hit him and people started to crowd and push, trying to see what the commotion was about. Tavera used the diversion to pull a bun off of a tray and she turned the corner and pulled it apart to see what it was stuffed with. Just honey and nuts. No phantom weapons whatsoever. She took a bite and tucked the rest away to give to Derk when she inevitably went back to the room. He would be hungry.

  CHAPTER 9

  A Cord, Cut

  Tavera stopped dead in the street, suddenly remembering that she was in a different town and she was supposed to have turned left outside of the temple, gone down three streets before making a right and…she brought a hand to her head, rubbing her eye with the palm of her hand. Tired. She needed sleep. Now.

  Praying hadn’t helped her sort through the mess of action that had taken place within the last few days. Once again she ran through the chain of events leading up to her wandering the streets of yet another town…what was this one even called? A burp popped out of her mouth, remnants of last night’s celebration, one she had been glad to be a part of but whose joy hadn’t quite rubbed off on her. She found herself in front of the temple and ran over the directions once more before continuing on towards the inn.

  The Dowry Take had ended well though bumps along the way had made it more nerve wracking than she would have liked. The goods were got and loaded as she herself had dictated but someone dropped a crossbow which discharged itself into the leg of the other thief. He screamed which brought attention and that is where the plan could have fallen apart. Tavera kept her cool and covered for the others as they escaped but had been found by the guard on duty who demanded that she give herself up for arrest.

  Tavera hadn’t planned for it to be Lori, she really hadn’t. She knew his schedule and had chosen a day when she thought he would be off and miles away from the take. He must have switched watches. She didn’t want to be taken in and he was going to do just that so she fought back and she sunk the point of her shortsword into his shoulder, pushing him back till his mouth opened with pain and surprise. She hadn’t stuck around long enough to see if he would survive. All she remembered was running without sheathing her sword, getting to the wall and somehow getting over it. How she hadn’t fallen on her own blade was beyond her. The party rushed with the cart for what seemed like forever, no light to guide their way save the stars. When they stopped, she jumped over the side and vomited in the bushes. Later as they rode away, she wondered if that was what the fortuneteller had meant. The old woman had said a secret blade would come in the night and cut the cord of love. She didn’t love Lori. Did she?

  Upon their arrival in Southpoint they divvied up the contents of the chest and found more than they had prayed for, much to their delight. The girl’s dowry included many yards of beautiful fabric that could be sold quickly and fetch a good grip of money. There were spices and linens with easily removed monograms. Above the Inn they had divided the goods, Derk about to hand her her pile when he suddenly held back, a twinkle in his eye. He was smiling and the other men seemed pleased themselves as he spoke.

  “Do you forfeit your share of the take as payment into the Cup of Cream?” he asked, his voice trembling with pride. Tavera had been dumbstruck. She had laid out the details of the Dowry Take, talked to the right people just enough, watching the home and help to get an idea of their movements; when she had mentioned the job to Derk all he said was, “Plan it out and let me know if you need anything. I’ll see what I can do.” She planned the take for the better part of the season, biding her time and patiently awaiting the day. It was only a fitting reason to leave the town with a good score. It turned out to be a test of her skill.

  Her initiation took place in an abandoned building somewhere in town. Blindfolded and wet from the bath Derk gave her money for, she let them lead her to what sounded like a room underground. She was seated in a chair and given something unctuous and milky to drink, the warm liquid making her feel strangely alert. A torch was lit, the sound of it crackling crisp and clean and she heard people breathing around her in a circle.

  “Who stands as witness to the initiate’s worthiness to join our circle?” the voice said, its ne
arness startling her, making her jump in her seat. Her hands were bound and she was in her shift, the ropes starting to dig into her skin. Three voices rang out; one she recognized as Derk, one was Old Gam and the third may have been one of the fellows Derk rounded up for the take, possibly the one who had been shot. The rest of the circle was asked if anyone disputed her worth, to which no one replied. She was given another cup of something to drink, this one heavily spiced and sweet. Her blindfold was removed, her eyes adjusting quickly to the light, surprised at the number of people in the circle and even amused at some she found there, people she knew not to be thieves at all.

  The person who had spoken first was a tall elf with black hair, his grey eyes narrowing at her as he took her hands, placing them on a set of thieves’ tools, a pouch and a small painting of the moon goddess. Tavera swore to always practice the art of thievery, to carry herself as one who carried out the holy and ancient art form and to never betray her fellows, always watching for signs they were around her. She swore on the objects, one of the other attendees ringing a silver gong. Tavera was stripped of the name ‘Kiffer’ and given the name ‘Point,’ for her one intact ear and her blade that helped her fellows in what could have been a desperate situation.

  Derk and she performed a ritual where their wrists were bound with a gold colored ribbon that was then cut, symbolizing that her apprenticeship was now over and that she now must answer for herself and to her fellows in the Cup. They taught her a handshake repeated with everyone in the circle and a slew of riddles and their answers were recited, each meant to be a sign post to others of the order so they might recognize her as one of their own. Someone sang the song of how the goddess stole light from her brother the sun, sanctifying the act of taking what wasn’t rightfully your own. Then a communal cup was shared by the circle, this drink being sweet wine served from a decorated goblet, probably stolen before the order had been started.