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

by Tristan J. Tarwater

  “You’ve freed me,” he managed to mumble, his lips sticking together. His eyes looked dazed, but free from the weight of the stocks, a bit of energy seemed to seep into him. Tavera rubbed his shoulders quickly, trying to work the pain out of his muscles with her hands.

  “I said I would,” she said. She looked to Kella again, gesturing toward the body with a nod of the chin. “Get his robes off, and any weapons he has.” Worry played on her nerves as she looked over him. “And I’ve done it. Like I said I would.”

  “I…don’t really know you that well, do I?” he asked. Tavera smirked and put a hand on the side of his face.

  “Not at all,” she said. “You alright with that?”

  “For now,” Tender said. He took her hand in his and kissed the inside of her palm. “Thank you.” He blinked a few times, the freedom from the stock seeming to invigorate his body and mind. With a grunt and a shudder he stood up from his seat, dipping his hand into what was left of the pitcher of water and running it over his face. Tavera looked to the stool he had been sitting on. With a few tugs, she managed to pull off one of the legs, handing it to Tender unceremoniously, but smiling.

  “I am glad to see you’re well, Sister Kella,” he said, finally able to turn his attention to the woman. He bowed his head to the priestess, veering forward slightly as if he might fall but catching himself. He set his eyes on Tavera as he stretched his hand out, taking the robes from her and donning them. She offered him the sickle the man had had on him, but he held his hand up in refusal.

  “We can still manage this.” His voice sounded hoarse and his face looked like death but his eyes were bright and shining with a determination Tavera was glad to see. He looked toward the door and then back to the thief. “What is the plan?”

  “A change in the plan is the plan.” Tavera looked to the priestess and then to Tender, licking her lips before speaking, the sharp taste of blood on her tongue. “The priestess says there is another girl here, and that the cultists will probably kill her if we do not do anything.”

  “They will kill her, as they were going to kill me, Tender.” There was an urgency in Sister Kella’s voice. She held her hands together beseechingly as she stepped toward Tender. “We have to stop them, not just tonight--”

  “I will try to put an end to this if I can, though the measure of it is daunting.” He swayed slightly on his feet and Tavera rushed up to steady him, his full weight on her for a breath before he steadied himself. A slight smile tweaked at the corners of his mouth as he looked at Tavera for a moment, then nodded to the priestess. “I’m guessing this man came to get me for the ritual, to attend it as a part of my indoctrination. We have to assume Little and Gaela are close by, waiting to come to our aid. If we’re to signal them in time to help us stop the ritual, we must go.”

  “Just pretend you’re bringing us as your prisoners,” Tavera said. “We’ll try to find some chains on the way. I can make them appear tight but we’ll be able to slip out of them.” She looked to the priestess, seeing the troubled look on the older woman’s face. “Do you know where we can get some chains, Sister?”

  “I don’t want to be tied up,” the priestess half hissed, placing her hands on her face again, shaking her head as she spoke. “I don’t want to go into the temple.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be safe. I promise, I’ll get you out.” Tender’s voice was strained but his intonation was strong, his hand gripping the table leg as he spoke. “The community needs you. I won’t let you die at the hands of those who would take advantage of you, Mistress.” He stepped toward the door and took a deep breath as he wrapped his hand around the ring. “Stay behind me.”

  “Can you manage?” Tavera asked, not masking the concern she felt. Tender had only been freed a few moments ago. If the cultists had put him in the stocks as soon as they had arrived, it meant he had been in them for almost a day. She knew he was not the most skilled fighter, just the most zealous one. She wasn’t sure if determination alone was going to carry him through this.

  “I can,” he said. He stood up straighter, the sound of spine bones cracking in the quiet cell. He looked over his shoulder and cast a wolfish smile at Tavera before pulling his hood up. “Can you manage to tie your bodice a bit tighter?”

  Tavera snorted, shaking her head as she tightened the laces of the garment in question. Tender pulled the door open. Tavera raised a brow in surprise. He stepped out as if he was supposed to be leaving the cell, looking around before he disappeared, waving a hand as he did for them to follow. The thief supposed he was okay. His brush with danger had apparently sharpened his senses and though he move stiffly, he seemed alert. Having Tender back brought something like a smile to her face. Tavera tried to keep her head down, eyes to the ground in the event another cultist came upon them.

  “There should be chains at the end of the hallway,” Sister Kella said. She sounded irritated.

  “We won’t be chained for long,” Tavera murmured, trying to reassure her again. The original plan had been to strike from behind. Though she hated that Tender hadn’t listened to her and had endangered himself, as they picked their way through the menacingly quiet corridors, she had to admit she was glad to have him fighting at her side.

  They crept through the corridors quietly, the eerie silence suggesting the ritual had already started. There were no windows, just halls of stone and brick. The temple was built into a cave, all the cells and storage areas carved into the tunnels lying beyond its sanctuary. Tavera looked around as they walked, trying to get a sense of direction, but just felt stone around her and something above her, something she wasn’t sure they were ready for.

  The cloying scent of incense wafted through the air, strong in some places. Just when Tavera thought they would get through the corridors undetected, the sound of a door opening set her teeth on edge and spun her around. A robed figure stepped into the hallway without locking the door. The figure froze when its hood faced them and the voice of an older woman escaped from within the robes.

  “Where are you taking them?” the woman asked. Her low, shaky voice was laced more with curiosity more than suspicion. Tavera looked at Kella. The priestess’ face was blank, eyes heavy-lidded, face void of emotion. The thief tried to duplicate the expression on her face, hoping she could pass for being unresponsive. Tender coughed, clearing his throat, trying to hide the table leg he carried behind him.

  “I am taking them to see the ritual. I thought it only fitting.” Tavera was impressed with how even he kept the tone of his voice. He must be frightened, hoping to avoid conflict and racking his brain for information that would make anything he said more believable. His overall confidence must have helped; the woman turned her head to the side, pulling back her hood to reveal her long, peppery hair and a wretched scar at her brow, her face creased to suggest she was older than Kella. She squinted at at them, pressing her lips together.

  “He was glad to have you back, Mistress,” she said to the priestess, her voice quaking slightly. She began to walk toward them and Tavera felt her own heart beat faster in her chest. Tender leaned back slightly as she approached, the woman standing before Kella. The old woman placed her hands on Kella’s face, a tenderness in the gesture Tavera hadn’t been expecting. The woman shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “It is too bad he did not live long enough to see the avatar.”

  Tavera swallowed hard, the woman’s news making her ears feel hot. She was the cause of Cy’s death and this woman probably knew it. If she recognized Tavera as the killer of Cy, the woman didn’t show it. What Tavera noticed was the look on Kella’s face. It had gone from deliberate indifference to surprise, her mouth opening slightly. The old woman stroked her hair before pulling her to her chest, the way a mother might console her child.

  “I know it has come as a shock, Kella. I have not told the others yet, and it is right that you are the first to know.” Tavera noticed the look on Kella’s face had changed to something darker and more sinister. Tavera could n
ot bring herself to warn the old woman as she continued. “You are his first wife, the first bearer of the avatar. When they took you from us he was grief-stricken. We all were. And we vowed revenge on the church. Now, the new avatar will be here. She will prepare our bodies for the task of purging the land of fear and greed and hate--”

  Sister Kella pushed back the older woman savagely. A loud growl hissed from her lips. There was a loud thump as the woman’s head bounced on the stone floor. Before Tavera and Tender could see if she was alright, Kella leapt on top of her, her hands wrapped around the woman’s throat. The priestess knocked the other woman’s head against the floor, shrieking loudly. Alarmed, Tavera shot toward Sister Kella, reaching to grab her. A fist flew out at her, sending her back as pain shot across her face. Tender ducked in, placing a hand over Sister Kella’s mouth and setting the table leg against her throat. He yanked her off of the other woman as she flailed and kicked, her muffled screams sounding too loud in the hall.

  Tavera rushed over to where the old woman lay on the floor. Blood pooled behind her head. Her breathing was shallow, rasping. Claw marks raked red across her wrinkled skin where Sister Kella had dug in her nails. Without hesitating, Tavera wrapped her arms around the injured woman and pulled her down the hall toward the room she had exited from.

  Inside, the wall was plastered with a large image of the corrupted aspect of the Goddess yet again, her calm face looking out toward the room giving it an eerie air. There was a large but simple bed in the room. Lying in the bed was the stiff figure of what used to be Cyric. His face looked waxy and his reddish hair seemed to have lost its luster. His eyes were closed. The white sheets were stained with red and brown, the bandages they had used to try and staunch the bleeding useless.

  The smell of herbs was heavy in the room, a bowl of something green sitting on the chest that lay at the foot of the bed. A pitcher sat there as well; Tavera dropped the woman to the ground and rushed to it, hoping the head of the cult wasn’t in need of the mind-altering brew they gave to would-be initiates.

  It was water, fresh and cold. She splashed a bit into her hand, smelling it, letting the clear liquid run through her fingers. Tavera tipped it back toward her mouth. The taste of blood and dirt washed away and she gulped carefully, so as not to spill any of the precious liquid. As she drank she noticed the chest had no lock. Neither did the small box sitting at the altar built in front of the picture. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before she set the pitcher down, too curious and her thievery too ingrained to not inspect the dead man’s things.

  The trunk had several robes in it and tunics, as well as a pack. The clothing was quickly stuffed into the pack as she threw one of the robes around her shoulders. A set of manacles lay at the bottom of the trunk. The keys were with them. Tavera wondered what they were for, her eyes straying up toward the bed briefly as her stomach fluttered, her mind blocking out the possibilities before stuffing these into the bag as well.

  She quickly turned her attention to the altar, finding several candles there. In the small drawer, a set of small knives and other implements for cutting lay neatly arranged. A vial of some dreadful-smelling liquid lay next to them, probably meant to keep them free from sickness. These were also taken. The door opened behind her. Tavera glanced back, not surprised to see Tender and Sister Kella entering the room.

  “Point!” Tender hissed. The sound of someone climbing into the bed drew Tavera’s attention away from the altar. Sister Kella had thrown herself over the body of Cy, as a wife might be expected to do of her husband. But the priestess’ visage was hard, a mixture of emotions pulling at her face. Tavera stood up, fixing her new cloak as Tender eyed her, shaking his head.

  “How could you take his things?” he asked. His eyes drifted toward the dead man. There was still a hint of fear on his face, as if he expected him to sit up in bed. Tavera shrugged, throwing the pack on and pulling the cloak on over it so that it looked as if her back was hunched.

  “He’s dead. He can’t use them anymore. Ain’t it the custom, to divide the goods of the dead? I’m just…keeping custom.” Tavera picked the pitcher of water off the floor and held it out toward Tender. “He ain’t using this either. You want it?” Tender peered in, his eyes growing wide as he realized what was there, relief washing over his face as he guzzled the cool water. He set the pitcher on the closed chest, looking to the priestess. She hadn’t moved but her eyes were closed. Tender placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. Sister Kella jumped, startled.

  “Mistress, we should go.” Tender’s voice was low and sympathetic, and the priestess allowed him to help her off the bed. Her robes were stained now with red blood. Cy’s blood and the dirt of the prison. Sister Kella looked down at her robes a wry smile forming on her face. Tender looked toward the closed door. “We have to go if we are going to save the girl.”

  “If Hira is still in the compound, the girl is still whole.” Kella’s voice was void of emotion, her face still shadowed as she kept her gaze on the floor. “She is their ‘healer.’” She spat the words, her sarcasm thick as she looked at the unconscious old woman on the floor. Blood had pooled under her head here as well. “She oversees the ritual. She performs the physical part while the priest performs the spiritual. And the others look on, praying and chanting. Their blood pouring to join hers.” Sister Kella looked down at her garments, soiled with blood. She shook her head and removed them, stripping down to the simple grey-and -reen dress she wore underneath. “They are all probably waiting for her in the temple, waiting for her to come with her knives and her herbs and her lack of pity.” She looked up at them both, the hatred on her face dark. “If it had gotten close, they would have come for her.”

  “Even still, we must leave,” Tender managed to say after a silence which had gone too long. He put an arm around the priestess’ shoulder, leading her out of the room, Tavera following behind. Sister Kella pulled away from his arm suddenly, facing them both, her face pale, making her eyes shine more brightly in the low lamplight.

  “Which one of you did it?” she asked, her voice quavering as she brought her hand to her mouth. Her eyes darted back and forth between them, searching their faces and lingering too long on them both. Tender started to say something but Tavera spat the words out before he lied.

  “I did.” The priestess stared at her. Tavera held her breath, expecting the woman to fly at her. But Kella only nodded, pressing her lips together before she turned around and opened the door.

  “He was responsible for Wing’s death,” she said as they stepped out into the hallway, her voice low and steady as she measured her words. “He didn’t slit her throat, but he made Wing…do what she did.” Tavera thought back to the illustration in the journal, of the body on the floor. It must have been Wing. A smear of red at her throat, a shard of something in her hand. “He and Hira and the others who were there then,” Sister Kella said, her voice less shaky than Tavera thought it would be.

  As they walked down the corridor, Tavera heard the door to the dead man’s cell close. The priestess’ shoulders rose slightly at the definitive sound. “He was responsible for killing the only person I loved freely,” she continued, her voice threatening to break. Sister Kella remained firm as she made the admission, leading them down the hall toward the temple. “And though I was bound to him, and loved him as I was made to love him, I hated him more. I wish I could have killed him. He took my life from me and gave me only pain in return.”

  A pang of guilt hit Tavera as the priestess spoke, the woman’s hands clenched in anguish. In a way she had stolen something from Sister Kella with a simple push of her blade. But hadn’t Tavera taken much more than that, when she ended Cyric’s life? Tavera felt worse about taking Kella’s revenge, but knew killing him had been the right choice. Tender looked as if he was about to say something but he bowed his head and held his tongue. There was no appropriate response, except to follow behind her and hope that Little and Gaela would be there when they needed them.
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  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bloody Work

  Tavera had seen many things over the course of her life. She had seen the effects of diseases on the body. Once or twice she had seen people beaten to death. Heard the sounds of bones breaking and blood spurting. She had encountered people driven mad from facing death, left with no choice but to wither away within their own heads and wander through life like a ghost. What Tavera saw in the sanctuary of the Temple of the Red Moon Rising was not as horrific, but the bizarreness of the scene was to stay with her for many phases to come.

  Half-naked cultists moved throughout the open room, hot, red blood gleaming on their sweaty bodies. Though there weren’’t more than two dozen individuals, the sound of their prayers and shrieking reverberated through the incense-laden air. It made the hair on the back of Tavera’s neck stand up. Arms and legs flailed, blood splattering around as their eyes rolled back in their heads, the torchlight glinting off the sticky crimson liquid. No music played in the temple but the praying had a melodic, yet off key quality to it, like a familiar song played too quickly and out of tune.

  Tavera’s eyes trailed over the ghastly scene. The wall behind the altar was painted with a mural of the bloody Goddess. Smears of blood dripped on the wall, crimson hand prints and long trails strangely reminiscent of scarlet flowers with long stems, the hand-prints fanning out beneath the terrible Goddess like a war-torn field. The wretched plate which had been the start of all this trouble sat on top of a white stone altar.

  Sitting on a throne behind the altar was a very dazed, pregnant young woman. Her large belly protruded from her abdomen, the skin smooth and taut with the child resting within her. Her head rested on her own shoulder as if her neck had no strength. Her chest heaved, her eyes unfocused on the scene in front of her. Tavera’s eyes went wide, looking to Kella from within her hood. Kella nodded and then looked up, her eyes pointing toward the skylight in the ceiling. The moon would tell them when the ceremony began.