The Moon Rogue

by L M R Clarke

  Soon enough, the first deep boom resounded beneath their chest-plates. The wine-loosened crowd cheered in anticipation. But there was no brightly colored eruption.

  Emmy sat up, listening. “What’s going—?”

  The rest of her sentence was lost under another deafening boom—then another. Emmy shared a sharp glance with Charo and Zecha before the three leapt to their feet and tore out to the street. Another explosion split their ears. The air sizzled.

  “What’s happening?” Zecha asked.

  Emmy’s throat was empty, her mouth dry. Faces appeared in windows, and coils of females churned in confusion. Then fast and heavy footfalls tore towards them. A burly female reached them, waving her arms.

  “In the name of the goddess,” she cried, breathless, “we’re being attacked!”

  With those words the bottom fell out of Emmy’s world.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Johrann Maa

  Johrann Maa, alone and resplendent in her blue and purple, kissed the floor in front of the Great Shrine. The black marble sparkled in the scant torchlight. Now is the time, she thought. The Lunar Awakening is upon us. We must do what must be done. With that thought, she prayed.

  “Great Goddess of the Dark, Unparalleled Dorai, please bestow upon me your grace and mercy as I humbly supplicate myself before your Divine Presence. Help me as I carry out your bidding and put your great plan into motion, so that we may destroy those who defame your magnificence.”

  Johrann kissed the floor again, then sat back on her bare heels. Her robe fanned out and her black fronds pooled around her as she leaned forward. Lighting another stick of incense, she placed it in a holder amongst the others. Her eyes slid upward to the glittering effigy of Dorai before her.

  Beneath the figure’s bare feet was the dead body of the False Goddess Nunako, elaborately finished with red jeweled blood that trickled into a pool at the foot of the statue.

  Dorai’s polished eyes stared, unwavering. Johrann held her powerful gaze. The goddess had always been her true companion, the only friend Johrann had through cycle upon cycle of degradation, of being cast out by others for being a Moon Rogue. She barked out a laugh. None of the heathens of the world knew what a Moon Rogue really was. They cast the term about in slander, throwing it onto anything they did not understand. To be a Moon Rogue was to be a True Believer in Dorai and her wonders. It was the purest vocation in the world.

  Johrann stood, her robes falling like tongues of flame, and pressed a kiss to the tips of her talons. She placed it at Dorai’s feet as a slow smile spread across her lips. The Lunar Awakening was upon them. Soon Bandim would fulfil Dorai’s truth, would bring the goddess back to the world, and all followers of Nunako and the so-called Light would supplicate themselves to the rule of the True God.

  They might steal Mantos’ body. They might free his mother. But they wouldn’t succeed in their folly. The word of Dorai, as written in the Book of Divine Tears, would be done. Johrann had erred once and would not err again. That was what was written.

  She slipped into her false Masvam colors and out of the high-ceilinged chamber, tall and imposing, into the depths of the underground temple. The disappearance of Mantos Tiboli’s body was unfortunate, but was of little consequence. She couldn’t feel his presence, as he was dead, and the dead couldn’t interfere in their affairs. As for his mother? Johrann chuckled aloud, the noise echoing through the cavernous and pillared corridor. Phen could do nothing. She was a waste, a fool.

  Johrann strode on silent feet through the empty corridors. The believers had been summoned and had dutifully assembled in the great underground amphitheater. The only light was a scant shimmer from a wall torch or candelabra, but Johrann needed none. I do not need light to obscure my vision, she thought. The Darkness is clear, if only your eyes are open to it. They are all blind to the truth. They cling to desperation. It’s folly.

  The polished gemstones of her horn jewelry cast colorful streaks along the smooth walls. She sped towards the sunken central hall. Two temple novices wrenched the door open, bowing as she passed into her realm. Johrann was met by her priestesses, all dressed in black. They were females who’d dedicated their lives to serving within the temple and worshipping Dorai. They formed a guard around her, silent and pious.

  As soon as Johrann crossed the threshold, the central hall grew silent. All eyes were on her behind their black masks. Every seat in the hall was taken, and poorer believers lined the back walls and the walkways. They leapt from Johrann’s path, not daring to touch the High Priestess.

  There were believers from all walks of life in the amphitheater. There were common weavers and potwashes. There were soldiers, military leaders, and all those loyal worshippers of the True Goddess who’d infiltrated the Masvam government, paving the way for Bandim and Dorai. There were those Johrann had known for many cycles, the earliest of her converts. There were also newer believers, still bright and flaming in the power of their conversion.

  All her life, Johrann had worked to build this world. Yes, it was for Dorai, and yes, it was to put Bandim in his rightful place on the Masvam throne as the goddess incarnate in this world. But more than that, it was to fill the gaping wound in Johrann’s heart.

  As a hatchling she had been abandoned. As a youngling she had been rejected. As her anger grew, a strange heat had invaded her, as if there was fire at her fingertips. It was a welcome power. Young Johrann could heal wounds with her hands, or tear gashes through flesh with no need of a knife. She could save, or she could condemn. But the folk feared her, no matter how hard she tried to do good.

  “That thing is tainted!” they said.

  “Evil!”

  “Moon Rogue! Kill it!”

  Johrann had fled their burning torches and their sharpened knives. She ran over high mountains, she crossed wide seas, she passed through burning deserts, but no one would show her compassion.

  On what she thought would be her last day, she lay face-down in the sand, slowly baking in the blistering heat. But something happened. A miracle.

  Dorai came to her.

  “Johrann Maa,” the goddess had said.

  Lips cracked and eyes encrusted with sand, Johrann couldn’t answer. But the voice didn’t leave her.

  “Johrann Maa,” it said again. “I am the One True Goddess, Dorai. You are a strange creature in this world, but you have untold power within you. You are rejected, but it does not need to be so. If you promise to obey me and bring me back into this world, I will save you. I will make all folk respect you. I will raise you above all others, and you shall be my Heart. Seek out the Book of Divine Tears in the Masvam Empire and worship me. Seek the underground, the One of Two, and worship me. Build a temple and a throne for me. And above all, worship me.”

  Johrann, just sixteen, had wrenched her head from the scorching sand and found her voice. “I will worship you,” she rasped.

  The Goddess’ voice stayed with her, soothing and protecting, until a caravan of travelers came upon her. She was saved, just like the goddess said.

  Thus, in her second cycle, Johrann went into the Masvam Empire and honed her power. She learned to change her colors, to manipulate minds, and to interfere with life and death. She read the Book of Divine Tears, learning the truth of Dorai.

  She erred in bringing Mantos Tiboli back from the dead. But that was written, and was before she realized how important Bandim was to Dorai’s cause. It was before she realized he was the vessel, the One of Two, in whom Dorai would live anew.

  Striding straight-backed down the rows of the amphitheater, Johrann raised her arms high above her head. It was time to show the worshippers of Dorai who she really was. It was time for them to see she wasn’t just the High Priestess, but the Heart of the goddess. Only Bandim had ever seen her true colors. Now it was time to show them all.

  As she walked she closed her eyes, kindling the great flame of power within her. Her skin burned, smoke rising, and she changed.

  Gasps echoed from the
circles of masked worshippers. No longer did she wear a false shroud of Masvam colors. Instead Johrann stood proud, showing her blue and purple to them all. This is who I am, she thought. I am not afraid.

  The believers rose from their seats, pounded their fists on their chests, and roared their approval. This was the start of what they’d worked for. This was the time of reckoning.

  “By the One True Goddess!”

  “Johrann Maa, praise be!”

  “Bring the goddess back to us! Please!”

  Johrann schooled her face with demure respect, willing the worshippers to calm. They were from all ranks of society, but all their eyes shone with fervor for the True God.

  With a queen’s poise, Johrann stood at their center. The round altar bore another statue of Dorai. Beside it was an elaborate throne, hewn from a solid block of black marble. Johrann didn’t sit. The throne wasn’t for her, nor was it really for Bandim. It was for the goddess when she walked among them, and that time was now. Johrann stood to the side of the throne, awaiting the herald.

  “Emperor Bandim Tiboli!”

  Cocooned by guards, the emperor strode forth. Resplendent in his orange and red state robes, Bandim descended. His subjects bowed as he passed. The mask on his face was darkest black, his red and white makeup shining bright underneath. The Tiboli lightning bolts were drawn upon his cheeks.

  Johrann fell to her knees as he approached. She bowed, her horns scraping the floor. “Your Grace,” she said. “We are humbled by your presence.”

  Bandim’s response echoed in the silence. “Rise,” he said. “You are the True Believer. You do not bow to me.”

  Johrann tilted her head upwards, but remained on her knees. “No, Your Grace,” she said. “You are the vessel. You are the Hand. I am merely the Heart.”

  Chuckling, Bandim held out an arm. His yellow eyes glinted. “And what is a Hand without a Heart to guide it?” he asked. “What is a Hand without a Heart to keep it alive?”

  Accepting the offered claws, Johrann rose, meeting him eye-to-eye. “You honor me,” she said. “I am but your humble servant.”

  “Humble you may be,” Bandim said, touching her cheek, “but you are most important to me.” He looked to the gathered crowd. “To all of us.”

  He released her and gestured to the rows upon rows of waiting faces.

  “Today is a great day in our empire—indeed, in our history,” he said. His voice carried easily in the amphitheater. “In spite of what the followers of the wretched Light have done, in spite of how far they degrade themselves in a false attempt to stir their cause by stealing my brother’s body, we will prevail.”

  The deep rumble of fists pounding chests sounded their approval. Bandim raised his hands for silence.

  “Today I will not be crowned with paltry gems and so-called precious metal. Today, High Priestess Johrann Maa will crown me with the greatest glory: the One True Goddess herself! You bear witness to a moment that will change our world forever. No longer will we be persecuted. No longer will we be vilified. Now we will show the fools of the Light what true power is!”

  The crowd erupted in cacophonous cheers, chanting for their emperor. The sound heralded the conclusion of Johrann’s life’s work. She bowed as Bandim sat on his throne in the shadow of Dorai, revelling in the elation.

  Then she turned to the congregation. She closed her eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. She waited for silence. When she opened her eyes again, she began, a player on her self-made stage.

  “My pious companions,” she called, “the time has come for us to excise the poison of the false goddess Nunako and all those who refuse to acknowledge the One True God, Dorai.” There was a rumble of agreement. “We are here for a great moment. For many cycles I have studied our scriptures, and watched the movements of the stars and moons as they cross the Arc of the Sky. The cursed moons nestle together, their voices distracted by each other. The power of the Light is diminished, and now is the time to act. Now is the time to end this madness and return the Great Goddess to us!”

  The room erupted with elation, ringing from all positions, front and rear. After a moment, Johrann held up her claws.

  “My brothers and sisters, I implore you for your help. We must ask our beloved Dorai for that which was promised to us. For does it not say in the holy scripture, ‘when the moons lie equal and the sun is at its closest, if the True Believer asks for my return, it will be granted’? We must ask the Great One to crown our emperor, the One of Two, with her true glory!”

  The jubilation of before was replaced by a roar of elation.

  Then it was cut short by one word.

  “Blasphemy!”

  Every set of eyes swung from Johrann to a gnarled figure. He stood near the front of the amphitheater, one talon pointing at Johrann. She didn’t know who he was, and that spoke volumes. She had hundreds of true worshippers, and she knew the devout by face and name. But those who didn’t come to the temple of Dorai as often as they should, those who lived on the periphery of belief, Johrann didn’t know them. There were always dissenters, she had found. There were always those who said they believed, but didn’t follow words with action. Finding them was like looking for a white pebble in a mountain of teeth, but now, this one had shown himself to her. It was time to excise the rot.

  Unfazed, Johrann walked towards him with deliberate slowness, pursing her lips. The old male’s arm trembled, but he kept his chin high.

  “Do you not know the dangers of summoning the goddess?” he asked, his voice wavering. “Do you not know that conjuring the Great Spirit in her true and pure form is impossible? It has been tried, and it has never worked. It will only bring great pain. You seek to kill us all!”

  Johrann stopped before him and stared with level eyes. She let the silence that followed his words draw on. She looked to Bandim. He nodded.

  Thrusting an arm out like a whiplash, Johrann seized the male’s throat. The room stayed silent as stone as she clamped her hand tight, dragging him to the circular altar and its statue of Dorai. The male clawed at his neck. Johrann tightened her grip. Bandim, seated on his throne, watched it all.

  “Oh, my dear,” Johrann purred, “how foolish you are.” She thrust the male to the floor and bore down on him until their flat faces nearly touched. The silence was broken, filled with harried whispers. Johrann’s nose slits flared as she spoke through gritted teeth.

  “How dare you speak to me of blasphemy? Me? I have spoken to Dorai herself! How dare you have such little respect!”

  Johrann pulled back. Then, with no warning, she stamped her heel onto the male’s throat. He squeaked and spluttered and clawed at his neck, his face growing purple. Saliva burst from his lips. Johrann didn’t relent.

  His dark eyes rolled back. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. Johrann lifted her foot and jammed her toes under his shoulder, sending the body thudding down the stone steps. It landed in a mangled heap. Once it was still, Johrann tilted her chin and glowered at the gathering of masked faces. “Does anyone else wish to cry blasphemy?”

  Silence reigned. Johrann smiled. “Good. Let that fool’s impudence be a lesson to you all.”

  She looked to Bandim, who nodded his blessing, caressing the arm of the elaborate throne. Johrann continued to the congregation.

  “Blasphemy?” she asked. “How is it blasphemy to fulfil the duty that has been handed down by the word of the goddess? The only blasphemy that has been spoken in this chamber has been the words of this traitor.” She motioned to the crumpled body at the foot of the altar. “My words come directly from Dorai and must not be questioned. Anyone who thinks that is blasphemy will share his fate.”

  Washing herself of the stink of death, Johrann turned her attention to the altar and the effigy of Dorai. “Brothers and sisters, it is time to bring about our destiny.”

  Every set of eyes focused on the five-armed statue that loomed tall among them. It was a chilling tableau of triumph over the false believers, and every jewel glimm
ered in the darkness. Johrann’s body tingled as power flowed through her. The unwavering obedience of the followers of the Dark made her heart sing. It was all she deserved.

  She had always known she was bound for greatness. Cast aside, unwanted, she found solace in the Dark love of Dorai. Now, everyone who mocked me and tormented me will regret the day they were hatched!

  Johrann once more bowed low to Bandim. “Your Grace,” she said, “I am honored that you have come to be with us on this blessed day, even as your armies decimate the Metakalans.”

  “It is I who am honored,” Bandim said. As he spoke, he stood. Then, sending ripples of shock through the congregation, he bowed to Johrann. “My armies march against the bodies, but your actions today will be the final blow against the heathens and will guarantee victory for our empire.”

  All around her, the followers bowed like a great unfurling flower. Johrann tried to suppress the smile that bloomed on her face. The burn of self-justification burst with renewed brightness.

  As the emperor sat, Johrann climbed atop the altar. Pacing on its shimmering surface, she raised her hands.

  “My friends,” she said, “the most glorious day has finally arrived. Today we welcome our beloved goddess Dorai back to us. Today marks the reckoning for the blasphemous followers of Nunako and their Light.”

  The room pulsed with anticipation. Johrann’s words echoed against the walls and in their hearts. She grinned. It was so easy.

  “Already our beloved emperor sends righteous soldiers to cleanse the heathens so that the vanquishing may begin. Here, today, we will bring our hearts together to strike a blow against those who deny our truth. We will return the glory of Dorai to our world and annihilate the unbelievers forever!”

  The gathered crowd burst into a frenzy, jumping in elation. Arms and tails swung with fervor. Johrann pumped her fist aloft, leading the shrieks.