"I have never known of a palosti fox that could be tamed," Kalos said.
"I found him as a pup. I raised him."
"Even so..."
"You do not know everything, captain."
Adalginza could not help the curtness in her voice, brought on by the turbulence that was beginning to bubble inside her like a cauldron of boiling tea leaves.
She dropped her grasp on the captain's arm, and took several deep breaths to send the needed oxygen into her brain, encouraging it to stay vigilant.
Then, she stepped into the foyer. The fox made a wide, slinking circle around Kalos, and then followed her inside.
When she fully entered the room, Adalginza forgot all else but the rush of memories.
Could an abode that had once held so much life and love now be termed a coffin? Perhaps so. For Adalginza saw death everywhere she looked.
Nothing had been touched since that bright spring day when it had happened. No one had even bothered to clean the thick, dark red stains off the wooden slats of the floor.
She was aware of the captain's low, persistent voice, asking questions — forcing the memories to come forward, forcing her to relive the past.
She spoke her answers in a monotone, almost against her will.
Through it all, Adalginza remained aware enough to know she could not speak aloud everything that had happened here. She must still keep her secrets.
So parts of what she saw remained only in her mind, confined to her private hell.
Herol whined a few times as though sharing her pain. His blazing yellow eyes captured hers.
***
Herol had been there that day.
The rusted, heavy cooking pot still sat atop the scattered charcoal of the fireplace that, long ago, had been glowing with hot coals.
Adalginza was preparing an aromatic stew, topped off with a yeasty, doughy concoction that had absorbed the simmering juices to puff into a delectable crust.
Herol sat nearby, licking his lips happily, for as always he had managed to beg a few scraps before the meat was placed in the pot.
"The meal is almost ready, Mother!"
Adalginza could see the girl's youthful face, smooth and blemish-free, without the mask of cosmetics she now wore.
She had tasted the stew, feeling as she always did a small twinge of sorrow for the brush fowl that had sacrificed its life to give sustenance.
At that moment, Lady Donzala called out from a back room. Her voice in those days always sounded as though it were muffled, trapped in an acoustical cave along with what was left of her mind.
"Medosa is coming here. I saw him through the window just now. That horrible young man, Benfaaro, is with him."
Lady Donzala walked out of the back sleep room, her graying hair in a tangle that she never seemed able to smooth. But it was a pleasant sort of disarray that seemed to match the perpetual confusion of her expression.
The elder woman held a rag, and wiped bright red paint from her hands that had been stained from her current art project. At the sight, Adalginza felt a disturbing sense of foreboding.
"Benfaaro is a good man," she argued. "He has taught me many things."
"He takes far too much of an interest in you."
"He has his reasons."
"I'm sure he does."
"Not the reasons you think, Mother. He is mated to Bruna. He has a child. A little girl. Calasta. She visits here quite often. Remember?"
"Yes, yes. The girl. I suppose she is his daughter. Yes..." Lady Donzala's voice trailed away, as it often did, when she tried to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. "I remember now. I remember talking to him. About you. Was it just a few days ago? He wanted to take you away. Oh, dear saints. I don't want to remember that..."
Adalginza put both arms around Lady Donzala, and kissed her forehead. "Then you don't have to. Just remember to be happy. Can you do that for me?"
"I was so worried. I talked to Medosa about you..." Lady Donzala's tone contained, for that moment, an unusual chord of clarity that deeply alarmed Adalginza.
Again, she could not quell the feeling that something was about to change her life. Drastically. And forever.
Adalginza paused, holding the wooden spoon above the pot.
"You did not tell Medosa any secrets, did you, Mother? We talked about that before. You. Me. And Benfaaro. What was said was between the three of us. Remember? Remember how he explained the danger of saying too much?"
"I...forgot. I told Medosa everything."
"What?" Adalginza grasped her mother's shoulders, none too gently. "When?"
"Last night. I was...worried."
"Oh, Mother. No. You should have never involved Medosa in our personal lives."
Adalginza hesitated, wondering what to do now.
She never knew exactly what to say to Lady Donzala, who at times seemed to recognize that Adalginza had replaced her real daughter.
And yet there were other times when she had no memory at all of burying the baby girl whose grave could still be seen, if one knew where to look, in the thicket on the hill overlooking the abode.
It was a beautiful area, resplendent with yellow blossoms.
"That evil man, Benfaaro, came to me," Donzala muttered. "He said you had to go away. He said it would be on your birthday. Eighteen seasons. That was our agreement. I could have you as long as you were still a child. But when you became a woman, you had to go away."
"Mother. Please stop."
"He said you had a job to do. For him. Such wickedness..."
"It's not what you think. Please believe me."
Adalginza hesitated, wondering desperately if this was the time to tell Lady Donzala the whole truth. That Benfaaro was Adalginza's brother and could not possibly have the evil intentions Lady Donzala imagined.
But the demented lady of the House of the Fifth Crescent Moon had already proven that she could not be trusted with secrets.
What had she already told Medosa? And what else would she say if she knew her beloved adopted daughter had been spared death as an infant only so that she could later spy upon the Crescent Houses?
Eighteen seasons old.
On the next morn, her birthday, there was supposed to be a party lasting an entire day and night. All of their friends among the savages were invited, as was Medosa.
It was to be a ceremonial rite of passage. A celebration of Adalginza's womanhood. Yet, even then, Adalginza knew that there would be no celebration.
Instead, Medosa rang the bell hanging on a string outside the door to announce his presence. The low, vibrant tone sounded ominous.
When Adalginza opened the door, she looked first at Benfaaro standing behind and a little to one side. She knew her brother well. And she saw the dark anguish on his face, mixed with a kind of inescapable desperation.
Beyond the two men and partially concealed in the brambles beside the house was Bruna. She was holding back. Watching. And waiting.
"We were just about to take our meal," Adalginza said. "Could you come back a little later?"
Rude, yes. But what she needed most now was a diversion. Time to think.
Lady Donzala pushed beside her, already having forgotten the conversation of only moments ago.
"Nonsense, daughter. We have plenty of food. In fact, it was this nice young man, Benfaaro, who brought us the gauma hen for our dinner just this morning. We had such a nice chat. Although...."
Lady Donzala frowned. "I can't remember exactly what it was we talked about. And so nice to see you as well, Medosa. Do come in. We'll set extra places for both of you."
Medosa, who was a bit wide around the girth, did in fact seem tempted. But as he stepped through the door, he sadly held up his hand to decline.
"Alas, this is not a social visit. It's actually...well...a rather serious matter."
Benfaaro then walked into the room, and leaned against the wall. The door to the outside remained open, and Adalginza could see Bruna slowly walking toward the abode.
"Mother, you need to go out the back way and find us some bristleberries for dessert," Adalginza suggested. "Please. Go. Now."
"I don't think that's necessary right at this moment," Lady Donzala replied, sounding a little peeved. "And I don't think I like the tone of your voice, young one."
"Please," Adalginza whispered. "Please go."
As Bruna stepped inside the door, the palosti fox whimpered and slipped behind Adalginza's legs. Lady Donzala blinked at the woman in confusion.
"I believe your name is...yes, I remember. Bruna."
"She is Benfaaro's mate," Adalginza said.
"Oh. Certainly. Yes. Well, there's plenty of food here for all of us. And for the little girl, too. Now...What is her name?"
"Calasta is not here," Bruna interrupted nastily. She stared directly at her husband. "A hole has been dug. In the thicket on the hill. The body is gone."
"Body?" Lady Donzala asked, blinking stupidly.
"The baby. Your baby." Bruna seemed to relish the cruelty of the reminder. "It is gone from the grave."
She pointed an accusing, crooked finger at Medosa.
"This man, who claims to be a voice of the gods and goodness, took it. I saw him do it last night, in the cover of darkness."
Medosa hung his head, looking genuinely ashamed. Then he looked up again, almost in a pleading way, as he addressed Lady Donzala.
"I know you don't remember the visit you had with me last night. I know you don't remember the things you told me. But when you talked about the baby, I remembered when I delivered it that it didn't seem very healthy. And then, a few days later, when I saw Adalginza again — and saw how much better she looked. I thought then that it was a miracle."
"It was a miracle," Lady Donzala said, regarding Medosa blankly.
He looked pained. "But you have forgotten. You told me last night that these people had given you another baby, and that you had buried the real Adalginza in the thicket."
"So based on what you heard, you decided to interfere." Bruna eyed Medosa like a giant snake might regard a baby rodent.
"I had to see for myself."
"For what purpose?" Benfaaro asked the question in a deceptively mild tone of voice.
It was time for Medosa to lie. If only he had lied. But Adalginza knew that telling the truth was part of the gnostic's sworn creed.
"I always thought it odd that you spent so much time with this young girl, trying to influence her ways." Medosa addressed Benfaaro directly. "But with her indigo eyes, I see now that she could be of great use to you in your war against the Crescent Houses."
"I do not know what you speak of," Benfaaro said, not sounding very convincing.
"I know that you are the dominant chief of the savages, Benfaaro. You tried to hide this truth from me, that you are Of The Blood, even when you were a small boy."
"You know us well," Benfaaro said. "Maybe too well."
"I know you and I love you," Medosa said simply. "I understand your cause."
Adalginza felt a growing relief. She also saw her brother visibly relax. Benfaaro, in fact, almost smiled.
"You are an unusual man, holy one. Most people of the Crescent Houses see our people as either slaves or vermin to be exterminated."
"I know that," Medosa said. "And I am ashamed. This is not the sentiment of all who live on the Prime Continent. It originates with those coming to the frontier to justify and satisfy their land lust."
"So you will help us?"
"I have been helping you for many seasons."
"But will you help us fight the Crescent Houses? Will you help us survive?"
"I can never serve as an instrument of death."
Lady Donzala stepped forward then. For the moment, the veil of confusion had lifted from her face. She took Medosa's arm.
"You said you wouldn't let them take Adalginza away from me."
Medosa patted the woman's arm, and his eyes filled with tears.
"Lady Donzala. This young woman is not your daughter."
"Not by blood perhaps," Lady Donzala answered hoarsely. "But she is my daughter. I raised her as my own child. And I will not let her go."
"She is not Adalginza, the baby who was born to you."
Lady Donzala took a deep breath, filled with racking sobs.
"You say she is not Adalginza. But has she ever known another name?"
"Oh, by the moon gods. I know not what to do." Medosa bit his lip, and stared at Adalginza for a moment. "Who are you, child?"
Bruna stepped forward, grabbed Adalginza's arm roughly and forced her to move next to Benfaaro. "Any fool can see she is this man's sister."
"She is Of The Blood, too?" Medosa asked incredulously. "But the indigo eyes..."
"Belong to the man who ravaged her mother. Her mother, and Benfaaro's mother." Bruna regarded Lady Donzala coolly. "So the lady of the Fifth House has no blood claim to this young woman. And, as of tomorrow, Adalginza is no longer a child. She makes her own choices."
"I see," Medosa said thoughtfully. "I see that you used the heart of this poor bereaved woman, who had just lost her baby. You used her confusion. You used her madness, to learn the ways of the Crescent Houses to serve your own purposes."
"Medosa," Adalginza whispered. "Please stop."
But he continued his accusations.
"And you used this child, preventing her from having a will of her own. No. Do not argue. For today, she is still a child. And let me just ask the both of you. How dare you do this to a child?"
Benfaaro no longer leaned against the wall. His hand hovered near the scabbard where Adalginza knew he kept the short blade of a dagger.
"She is my sister! And I have blood right to command her!"
"Medosa!" Adalginza called out. "Say no more. Just go. And take Mother with you. Please..."
The last plea was aimed at her brother, Benfaaro, who could not meet her gaze.
"And where do you think Medosa will go, Adalginza?" Bruna asked mockingly. "Back to a Crescent House settlement? To tell tales? And where will Lady Donzala go, after you are gone? Back to her people? To also tell of what she knows?"
"I am not going anywhere without Adalginza," Lady Donzala announced firmly.
"Mother, please go with Medosa," Adalginza begged. "Go now. Benfaaro is a good man. He will allow it. Especially if you both promise never to tell what you know about us."
Then she turned to her brother. "Please. Let them go."
"Why should I go anywhere?" Lady Donzala asked, sounding confused again. "This is my home. This was the home of my father and mother before me."
"Eighteen seasons," Bruna's chilly voice cut in. "We have waited eighteen seasons for this moment. Hesitate no longer, my husband. You know these people of the Crescent Houses cannot be trusted. Medosa is sworn to tell the truth, so he cannot give us his word. And Lady Donzala, no matter what she promises, will babble all she knows in a fit of madness."
Adalginza saw the blow before it came, previewed in Benfaaro's eyes. They were so full of pity. And misery.
He had never struck her before, not even in play.
His fist smashed across her jaw, which exploded in so much pain that a curtain of darkness was drawn over her eyes.
In his own hideous way, her brother was trying to be kind.
Her next memory was of awakening in pain, to discover she was covered in her own blood.
Lady Donzala and Medosa were outstretched beside her, their eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. Congealed blood covered the slits in their throats.
Benfaaro cradled her in his arms, and quietly explained how he had carefully administered her wound so that it would appear she, too, was a victim.
Otherwise, there would be too many suspicions.
Bruna then hurriedly treated her with a healing potion that eased the pain — at least, the physical pain.
Adalginza did not find
it odd that both Bruna and Benfaaro fled so quickly after that, leaving her wounded and all alone to deal with the carnage.
She had seen the terror shining in their eyes. In tribal culture, the guilty had much to fear from spirits of the murdered dead who might linger for a reckoning.
In a state of numbing shock, Adalginza somehow summoned the strength to stumble to her feet. She staggered to her sleep room, and found an old dress. She shredded it for cloth, which she wrapped around her wound.
Herol watched her every move, his eyes reflecting the grief that now threatened to consume her.
She returned to the living area, where she bent to take her mother's arms. She began dragging the heavy weight through the front door.
She must bury the dead. It was her duty. She knew her mother wanted to be laid to rest beside her husband's remains.
Adalginza continued with her burden, with each pull causing her more agony. Blood oozed through her bandages. Her muscles burned with the strain.
The uphill part was the hardest, managed only through sheer strength of will.
Finally, Adalginza stumbled down the hill and back to the abode, where she repeated the process with Medosa's much heavier body.
It took her all night to dig the graves with only a sharp rock and bare hands that eventually were raw, bleeding, and swollen.
Sometimes she collapsed with faintness from her own loss of blood. Once she remembered being revived with the cool feel of Herol's rough tongue on her face, licking her as he whined anxiously.
But, finally, it was over.
She buried her loved ones deep, packing the dirt and rocks firmly so that predators could not dig them back up.
It was only then that she saw the fresh dirt of another tiny grave.
Bruna must have reburied the remains of the baby that Medosa dug up to prove to himself that a story told by a mad woman was true.
It was no charitable act on Bruna's part.
Adalginza knew Bruna wanted only to hide the evidence. And she had no fear of the spirit of a newborn infant, which had not yet taken form.
In the end, Lady Donzala was laid side by side with her real child — the baby named Adalginza whose identity had been stolen.
Ten Crescent Moons (Moonquest) Page 10