[Firebringer 02] - Dark Moon

by Meredith Ann Pierce

  Tek started, stared, heart suddenly pounding.

  “What are you saying?” she demanded. “Jan…Jan alive?”

  The Red Mare nodded. “Alive, but captive—many leagues from here. A race of two-footed sorcerers holds him in the city where I was born a hornless da so many years ago.”

  My daughter stared at me as we lay side to side in the luminous warmth of my ghostlit grotto. The tiers of mushrooms and lichens lining the walls glimmered faintly, casting a moving pattern of light across her rose and black markings. Wild hope and confusion and disbelief played similarly across her face. Her fatigue seemed, for the moment, held at bay by the prospect of learning of her lost mate. I had hoped as much.

  “Da?” my daughter murmured, frowning. “What is a da?”

  “The daya resemble unicorns,” I told her carefully, measuring her, “though they live much briefer lives. Most are dead by the time a unicorn beareth her second foal.”

  Memory of that long-past time and far-off place recalled once more to me the da dialect of my youth, and I slipped into it now as easily as blinking. Tek lay watching me intently, hungrily.

  “Daya have no horns, nor beards, nor tufted tassels upon their ears,” I continued, “nor fringe of fine feathery hair around their fetlocks. They are mostly dull brown in color. Their manes stand upright along their necks. Their tails are full and silky, their hooves great solid, single toes.”

  Still Tek gazed at me. “They sound like what legends in the Vale call renegades,” she began, “those creatures unicorns fear to become if we break the Ring of Law, becoming outcasts….”

  She choked to a halt. I nodded.

  “Aye, daughter, they sound very much like me, for though I now bear a horn upon my brow, I’ve no beard as thou hast, no eartip tassels, no fetlock feathers. My mane standeth along my neck, and my hooves are uncloven. Nonetheless, I am a unicorn of sorts. And I was a unicorn when I bore thee, though not when thou wert begot. Before, when I lived in that sorcerous City, I was a hornless da like all the rest, held captive by the keepers of fire.”

  “Firekeepers?” my daughter answered. “What are they?”

  “The enemies of all daya: two-footed creatures something like the pans in shape—” I saw Tek shudder at the mention of the goatlings inhabiting the vast woodlands not far from my cave. I hastened to add, “—though in sooth, pans are as different from firekeepers as daya are from unicorns. These keepers hold my former people prisoner, slaves to their treacherous god….”

  As succinctly as I could, I described to her the wretched lives of the city’s daya.

  “I was able to escape that accursed place,” I told her. “Drinking of the unicorns’ sacred moonspring far to the north, I was transformed. Had I never found my way to that miraculous well and drunk thereof, I should be a da still.”

  Tek’s face was drawn now with shock, her inner thoughts as plain to me as though she had shouted them: her dam, not born a unicorn? Her mother, transformed from some degenerate, hornless freak by the sacred wellspring that was the birthright of all unicorns—a birthright I did not share? She shuddered now to realize that the strange, garbled rumors she had heard all her life must hold some truth after all: Jah-lila the outcast, the “renegade”—not a true unicorn at all!

  “Who knows of this?” my daughter whispered.

  “Teki knoweth,” I told her. “To Jan once I gave the barest sketch, on his initiation day. Now thou, too, knowest. And Korr.”

  “Korr?” The pied mare looked up, astonished. I nodded.

  It was he who showed me to the moon’s sacred wellspring—though such was against all custom and his people’s Law.”

  Tek’s eyes grew rounder yet. Clearly she had never thought the black king capable of even contemplating any breach to the Ring of Law.

  “After fleeing the City,” I said, “I escaped inland. Upon the Plains, I encountered Korr, the young not-yet-prince of the unicorns, a single-horned stallion far more magnificent than any da. His father, Sa’s late mate, Khraa, was prince then, and Khraa’s mother the queen. Korr, then newly initiated, used to travel alone outside the Vale, on fire to see what lay beyond, burning to contemplate the world.

  ‘Though not strictly forbidden then as they are now, such expeditions were no less frowned upon in his day—but who dared gainsay the prince’s son, destined to become prince himself in time? When he stumbled across me during one such youthful sojourn, I was yet a hornless da, wild and desperate from my harrowing flight.

  “He mistook me for a renegade at first: one of his own people who had either deserted or been banished from the herd. Of course, thou and a few others well know that such outcasts do not lose their horns, thus ceasing to be unicorns—but Korr believed and still believes the old legends, as many do. Thus he shunned me, but at length I convinced him I was no renegade, that I came from neither his Vale nor the Plain, but from a far and different place.

  “Learning of my flight from that imprisonment, he took pity on me at last, telling me of his own proud, free race and urging me to join them. He guided me to the sacred well, where I drank. And when, afterwards, I felt a horn sprouting upon my brow, I trusted that accompanying the princeling Korr upon his return to the Vale, I might find refuge there.

  “And yet my strangeness lingered, a strangeness which no newgrown horn could dispel. Our travails in reaching the sacred well in summer, when poisonous wyverns roved everywhere—had been terrible. Korr’s guilt at transgressing an age-old custom began to weigh upon him. He feared for his future as prince, I think, should it become known that he had consorted with a once-hornless ‘renegade,’ betraying his people’s secrets to her.

  In the end, he abandoned me, forbidding me to follow or try to find him. But I did follow, reaching his marvelous Vale. He pretended not to know me then. I called Teki my mate, for propriety’s sake, though we have never sojourned together by the Summer Sea, nor joined ourselves one to another as you and Jan have done by the pledging of eternal vows. Ours has been a partnership of colleagues and companions, not mates.

  “Teki taught me his healer’s art, the ways and history of the unicorns, and I shared with him as much of my own lore as I might: starcraft mostly—he is no magicker. Briefly, I shared his grotto, but quickly saw how greatly my nearness, even as the healer’s supposed mate, troubled Korr. Though the leaving of his strange, wild folk held much pain for me, I quit the Vale with the reluctant blessing of my ‘mate’ and settled here, in the hills, to raise thee.

  “How sorely was I tempted to keep thee selfishly at my side, for though this life in the wilderness hath its rewards, it is lonely, Tek. In the end, I could not wish such desolation upon thee. The hardest thing I have ever done was to lead thee back to the Vale when thou wert weaned. And until this autumn past, Korr hath always watched over thee, from a distance, hath he not? Even favoring thee highly, for memory of me—and for his guilt’s sake at abandoning me upon the Plain. My daughter, at least, hath lived welcome among unicorns, a Joy I fear I may never share.”

  I fell still at last after my torrent of words, and my daughter lay in stunned silence, as though not knowing what to say. A long time passed as we lay there, face to face beneath the warm, shifting glimmer of lichenlight. At last, my daughter found her voice.

  “If Teki who raised me is not my sire,” she said simply, “then who?” Her jewel-green eyes were watching me. Dared I tell her the truth? Dared I not? At last, I said: “A renegade—not a Plainsborn unicorn, but a true outcast, one who roved the Plain after quitting the Vale. A Ringbreaker, outside his people’s Law.”

  Her gaze fell. I could not tell now what emotion lit her eye. Could she herself yet tell? Perhaps not. I dared to hope only that in the end, she would not hate me. I glanced impatiently toward the egress of the cave, anxious for the arrival of the restorative herbs my child and her unborn so desperately required. Luckily, she remained alert for the time being—no sign yet of her slipping into dangerous sleep. Nothing to do but wait. Returning my gaze
to Tek, I found my daughter once more watching me.

  “But what of Jan?” she whispered. “You said he lives—a prisoner in that sorcerous place, that city where you were born.”

  I nodded, relieved to have skirted so nimbly such dangerous ground. Blame my daughter’s fatigue—and her overwhelming hunger for word of Jan above even her own history.

  “Why did you not bring word?” Tek asked, her voice deathly quiet still. “Why did you not come to the Vale with word Jan was alive?”

  I snorted. “And what good is my word in the Vale?”

  “Korr has always respected your word!” the pied mare exclaimed.

  “Feared it, rather, by my reck.”

  I saw my daughter’s eyes widen. Clearly she had never considered that Korr might be afraid of anything.

  I champed my teeth. “In his present state, I much doubt Korr would credit any news I uttered.”

  Tek fell silent a moment, mulling that. Her eyes flashed suddenly. “You might have come to me, at least,” she said savagely, “told me of your suspicions my mate yet lived!”

  I sighed. “I dared not. Korr had turned on thee so swiftly, so thoroughly, I feared my presence would only madden him further. And what better pretext to quarrel with thee—even do thee harm—than consorting with an outcast, self exiled, a magicker, dream-walker, foreigner: your own dam?”

  Tek fell silent again, considering.

  “If my mate remains a prisoner,” she said at length, “then no matter the distance, with or without Korr’s help, I must go to him, rescue him!”

  Her eyes were on fire suddenly. Vehemently, I shook my head. “Even were this the mildest of winters, daughter, thou couldst never hope to complete such a trek.”

  I sensed outrage welling in my daughter’s breast. Her thoughts once more showed plain upon her face: was she not a warrior, as fleet as any, and with more stamina than most?

  As gently as I could, I said, “Starved as thou art and exhausted by flight from the Vale, thou must needs spend the balance of thy time at rest, recovering thy strength if thou art ever to bring safely to term what lieth unborn within.”

  To my midwife’s eye, her pregnancy was now so obviously precarious that the least misstep might precipitate a miscarriage. Relief flooded me to see her reluctantly admitting the prudence of my words: she must do nothing further to endanger her as-yet-unborn filly or foal. Clearly her unborn’s peril was very great. Yet dismay remained on her features for only a moment. Abruptly, my pied child’s expression hardened.

  “You must go, then, if I cannot.” Once more she looked me in the eye. “You know how to reach this city of fire and where within the settlement its sorcerers are holding Jan—”

  “I’ll not leave thee,” I answered sharply, surprised at my own vehemence. My daughter’s dire condition had unsettled me more than a little. “Come spring, Korr will send searchers. He cannot but suspect where thou hast fled.”

  Across from me, Tek shook her head stubbornly. Alarmed, I risked greater candor.

  “Daughter, without the herbs I mean to give thee in the coming months, thou wilt surely miscarry—or die in travail. Either may still occur. I must attend thee. I dare not go.” Gratefully, I watched her sober. “Be easy,” I hastened to add. “All shall be well. It is within my power to aid thine unborn mightily, making up for time and nourishment lost.“

  Tek lay clearly in a quandary now, her thoughts evident. “What is to be done?” she exclaimed. “Jan must be freed and returned to us—before his mad father destroys us all.”

  “Jan is safe enough where he is for the present. He’s no hope of surviving outside the City till spring thaw, in any case. I am already at work to aid his escape. Once the grass is sprung, we must see which way the wind blows—but enough of this, daughter!”

  I stopped myself suddenly, pricking my ears to sounds from without the cave. My pied companion’s poor battered frame had begun to droop. It seemed she could keep her eyes open no longer.

  “We will talk more of Jan soon,” I assured her. “We have all winter to plan. Presently I will let thee sleep. But first, healing. Look: the herbs for which I had sent have now arrived.”

  Lifting her sagging head and dragging open heavy eyes, Tek heard movement in the grotto’s entryway. All at once, an unmistakable odor filled her nostrils: salty and goaty. The verges of the Pan Woods lay not far off. Panicked, the pied mare was just gathering her limbs to scramble up with a warning cry of “Pans! Pans!” when her dam snorted, whickering.

  “Peace, daughter. These goatlings are come at my request.”

  From around the curve which hid the entryway, two young pans appeared, both females, huddled beneath shaggy drapes: one bearskin, by the smell of it; the other, boar. Tek’s nose rankled. She stared at the loathsome, spindly creatures as both dropped their cloaks by the entrance. Catching sight of the pied mare, they grimaced, baring their square little teeth—or was such the pan way of smile? The elder goatling grunted and twittered at Jah-lila, gesturing with hairless forelimbs as she spoke. The Red Mare replied with similar twittering, incomprehensible to Tek.

  “What,” she gasped, “what do such creatures purpose here?”

  “They dwell here,” her mother calmly replied, slipping back into the unicorn way of speech, “under my care.” Smiling now, the Red Mare glanced warmly at the young pans. “I found these starving at wood’s edge one day, years past. Their dam had been killed by a cat and their people fled. I have sheltered and raised them, suckling them like fillies. The elder already spoke enough of their odd, guttural speech for me to follow. It is not so unlike that of the two-footed firekeepers. And I have learned more in conversing with other goatlings in the wood.”

  Tek shivered at the thought. Pensively, her mother sighed.

  “But since many quirks of the face and forelimb also hold meaning—and most of these I can at best only approximate—I fear I still speak Pan but poorly. It has been far easier for these two to learn Unicorn. They call me ‘ama’ now, which means ‘mother’ in their tongue. They are my acolytes: herbalists and midwives. It is they who gathered our grotto’s winter provisions. The taller is Sismoomnat, the younger Pitipak. They have been eager to meet you and gladly scoured their home woods this day for the rare and perishable herbs you must take before you sleep.”

  Eyeing the ugly, upright goatlings, Tek felt her skin tremor. Despite her dam’s reassuring tone, the pied mare could scarcely restrain her urge to bolt. Only overwhelming fatigue kept her reclining as the pair of pans approached, laying before her a great clump of ferny, withered fronds. They crouched then, openly curious. The younger one, nearest to Jah-lila, laid one slender forepaw on the Red Mare’s neck and stroked her companionably. Jah-lila nuzzled the young goatling easily as one might a filly. All at once, Tek felt her revulsion beginning to fade. She could scarcely catch her breath for wonder.

  “Greet-ings, Tek, Jah-ama’s daughter,” the elder, Sismoomnat, pronounced carefully, her birdlike inflection strangely melodious. “Wel-come to our home. We have brought you ama’s herbs. Ama has told us you would find your way to us before the win-ter was out. We are so glad that you have come, and that at last we may behold you. Wel-come, foster sister. Wel-come home.”

  19.

  Sweetmeal

  Awakening, the dark unicorn felt sluggish, strangely fatigued, though he was aware he must have slept long and deep. His mouth felt gummy, dry. It was morning now. He remembered vaguely leaving the palace grounds and wandering the city. How long ago? He stirred, trying to gather his clumsy limbs. With great effort, he heaved himself up and stumbled to the water trough, drank—but his head did not clear. All he longed for was to drift. He sensed movement and turned—very slowly. Ryhenna stood in the stall opposite his, her look one of apprehension. Her sisters occupied other stalls.

  “How dost thou fare, my lord?” she asked. “Thou didst sleep so late, I had begun to fear….”

  The dark unicorn blinked, tongue fumbling over the words. “Tired,�
�� he told her. “Very tired.”

  A hazy memory came to him of green-clad two-foots leading the mares into the warm enclosure. His head nodded, thoughts slipping away. Time passed. A sound at the end of the aisle roused him. The dark unicorn swung himself slowly around to see the chon’s purple-badged minion coming down the aisle, carrying a steaming wooden hollow. It bore the delicious fragrance of sweetmeal. Tai-shan moved forward eagerly as the two-foot emptied the steaming meal into his trough.

  Followers of the daïcha accompanied the male two-foot, but the hollows they carried contained only dry grain, which they poured into the troughs of the other stalls. As Ryhenna and her sisters dipped their noses to the feed, it occurred to Tai-shan to wonder why the mares should receive fare different from his own. He struggled to speak, but the same dulling sense of drowsiness he had suffered the previous evening was stealing over him again. He lay down heavily, numb.

  Across from him, the coppery mare lifted her head from her trough. A worried expression furrowed her brow as she gazed at the dark unicorn. Tai-shan’s vision blurred. Sleep dragged at him. He would speak with Ryhenna later, ask her about the feed, about what troubled her. Soon. Just as soon as he had rested and his mind grew clear.

  Time drifted by. He could not say how long. Weeks perhaps. His injured throat seemed to heal in moments. The dark unicorn was only dimly aware of winter passing, waning. It would be spring again soon. Ryhenna and her sisters remained stabled with him within the warm enclosure, but Tai-shan never mustered energy enough to ask the coppery mare what plainly continued to disturb her. If only he were not so sleepy all the time! Sweetmeal was all the two-foots fed him now.

  The daïcha returned at intervals to gaze at him, talk to him, stroke his neck. She seemed unbearably sad somehow. Messengers from the chon often called her away. The chon himself never appeared, though the ruler’s purple-plumed minions stood constant watch outside the warm enclosure’s egress. They no longer allowed the lady to lead Tai-shan to the yard for exercise along with the mares. The dark unicorn raised no protest. His strange, all-pervasive lassitude made any effort impossible.