The Dark of the Moon (Chronicles of Lunos Book 1)

by E. S. Bell

  “Bacchus,” Selena said, her voice low. “He was your charge.”

  “Yes,” Accora said, and infused her voice with strength again. “Once returned to his service—after Nanokar—I stopped searching for answers to silly mysteries, because it was all rendered so trivial in light of what I faced with him. Fables and translations…distractions, all. There’s no power in old history. There is only what you take for yourself in the here and now. The longer I served Bacchus, the less and less power I had. I realized that if I were to survive, I’d have to leave my faith that did nothing to stop him from damaging me. And that’s precisely what I did.”

  “Didn’t you just assure me you were still Bazira?” Selena asked. “I thought—”

  “I am Bazira, but no longer of them. There is a difference.”

  Selena nodded. “High Reverent Coronus told me that Bazira and Aluren are not merely the names we give to our magic, light or dark, Shadow or Shining. I am not called Aluren because I heal and call water and weave light. I do those things because I am Aluren. Being Aluren or Bazira is a mindset—or, more accurately—a choice that is made in your heart.”

  Accora sniffed. “Perhaps your Temple is not entirely peopled with fools.”

  “The High Reverent Coronus was returned to the sea before the war,” Selena said stiffly. “He is still mourned.”

  “A pity. The Aluren are desperately ignorant these days.” Accora waved off Selena’s affronted look. “Take no offense. The Bazira are no better. Worse, even. While the Aluren kill themselves to the point of extinction for all their good-deed-doing, the Bazira cannibalize their own.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Bazira mentality is very much like that of a ravenous beast. The hungrier and more powerful the beast becomes, the less it is able to distinguish—or cares to distinguish—enemy from ally. But don’t mistake my departure from the Bazira temple as a sign that I’ve seen the light or the error of my ways, or any other such foolish claptrap the Aluren pass off as wisdom—or worse—dogma. Words mean very little. Names mean less. I wield the icy magic because my soul was born to the dark side of the moon where there is very little warmth and nothing that is bright or shiny or silvery.” She peered at Selena with mock curiosity. “Feel better? I didn’t need the kafira ritual to glean that you had reservations about killing me in cold blood.”

  Selena was already adept at ignoring the old woman’s jibes, and instead thought of the larger implications. She is Bazira. There is no doubt.

  “But I doubted Skye,” Selena said aloud, “because she and my wound are forever linked. That is unfair. I see that now.”

  “Unfair?” Accora’s gaze turned to a large tray that hung on a wooden support beam. The tray displayed two dozen insects: beetles and boll weevils, moths and mantises, spiders and scorpions, each pinned to the board with nails or needles. The smallest of the specimens was bigger than her palm, the largest a kind of centipede that ran the entire length of the tray’s edge.

  “Have you seen this? Part of my collection.” Accora rose to her feet to admire the insects. “Saliz’s most deadly weapons. Each one of these lovelies has the ability to maim or kill or sicken with its poisonous bite.”

  Selena examined the tray. The pincers on one beetle looked sharp enough to take off a finger. Another, a black mantis, had a flat chitin-covered body and wickedly sharp mandibles beneath its bulbous eyes.

  “That one is called a stowaway mantis,” Accora said, “named so because, unlike its green and pious brethren, this creature is secretive about its meals. It clings to its prey and nibbles away at its flesh much like humans might gnaw a leg of mutton. The victim does not feel that he or she is being made a feast as the poison in the stowaway mantis’s saliva gland numbs the affected area. Unfortunately, that poison is highly toxic and the prey begins to become feverish, sickens, and dies long before the little bug can finish its meal.”

  Selena peered at the insect. “It is both beautiful and ugly.”

  “How so?”

  “Its form is somewhat beautiful: sleek and black. Almost elegant. The ugliness is in its purpose. To kill in such a horrible manner—secretive and covert—so that its victim doesn’t even know it is waging a battle for its life until it’s too late.”

  “Aye,” Accora said. She regarded Selena with hard eyes. “The stowaway mantis changes the color of its skin in order to blend in with its host. An ingenious deception, is it not?”

  Selena met the woman’s stare, wondering at her sudden intensity. “Is there a purpose to showing me this?”

  Accora held her gaze a moment more. “When Bacchus is dead you will understand.”

  An ugly, hollow feeling expanded in Selena’s stomach. “Understand what?”

  “Everything.” She released Selena from her penetrating stare and resumed her seat on the bench. “But first, death must be achieved, mine and his. Mine will be simple. Bacchus’s will not. I will show you what I’ve learned so that you may defeat him.”

  “Why?”

  “Why else? Revenge.” Accora leaned forward, her eyes now full of icy zeal that erased any lingering doubt as to which face of the god she had sworn allegiance. “I want to see it happen. I want to watch his rotted soul slip from his body like a vapor, dissipating until there’s nothing left but a carcass to burn.”

  The murderous hate in Accora’s eyes made Selena’s hand itch for her sword. “Revenge will not bring you peace,” she said quietly.

  “Your sword will.”

  The old woman went to a shelf upon which stood many glass vials, jars, vases, and bottles. She drew one small vial of yellowish-brown liquid and sat again. She indicated for Selena to do the same.

  “Have you heard of the darkpool?”

  “No,” Selena said. “Never.”

  Accora sighed. “The Aluren do not send spies into Bazira territory, no matter the advantages.”

  “We haven’t the Paladins to spare,” Selena admitted.

  “It matters little. The Aluren will learn of the darkpools soon enough, much to their detriment.”

  “What are they?”

  “None know precisely what they are, or why the waters in them are so tainted. But they form in places where great death, pain, and destruction were wrought, that is certain. That they are powerful weapons for the Bazira is also certain, as the various effects of the darkpool seem to be uniquely tailored to Bazira magic. It is as if the darkpools were meant to be used as tools to those who serve the Shadow face. And its uses are as are numerous as they are dangerous.”

  “How so?”

  “Drinking a tiny sip of darkpool water opens up the mind of the drinker to the Bazira. Thoughts and feelings, memories and dreams…the Bazira may steal them all, depending on the amount of water consumed.” She held the small vial between two fingers. “I stole this from Bacchus five years ago. And two nights ago, I poisoned you with a drop or two while you sat, enraptured, watching a pretty little flame dance in your lap.”

  Selena clenched her jaw. “Why? For what purpose?”

  “Information, of course.”

  Selena remembered the pirate captain, Jarabax, had told her that information was like currency, and Skye had been rich in it. She looked up from her thoughts to see Accora watching her with a dry twist on her lips.

  “I don’t see how prying into our thoughts can offer you any advantage.”

  “Do you not yet understand that my every action is done on your behalf? The advantages gleaned from that ritual were not mine, but yours. When used by Bacchus, the darkpool water has the capability to destroy you. I used it for your benefit. So that you may know if there are any among your crew who would stand in the way of your purpose.”

  “My companions stand with me,” Selena began, but Accora spoke as if she hadn’t heard.

  “Take Niven, for instance. Sweet Niven. He has his own secrets that he is trying so desperately to hide from all of you, from all of Lunos, for he feels exposure will mean his death.”


  “You should not tell me this.”

  “Do you know which of Captain Tergus’s mute crew is not quite so mute as you’ve been led to believe?”

  Selena started in surprise, but quickly shook her head. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

  “Or why your devoted Ilior has stood by your side for nearly a decade? Are you not a touch curious to know the lies he’s fed you? Lies that you’ve swallowed without question?”

  “Ilior…?” The doubts seeded when they discussed the Vai’Ensai translation bloomed, and the ache in her heart was swift and deep.

  Accora smirked. “You have already been betrayed by those you trust. Don’t you wish to know how?”

  I sometimes doubt his motivations for helping you.

  Selena hugged herself. “No. Not like this. This is wrong.”

  “No, this is truth! And no game, girl. The eradication of your wound is at stake. Nothing less than that.”

  The urge was great. Sour words to allow Accora to tell her everything were on her lips, and she nearly spit them out. Then An-Lan’s prophecy came back to her.

  The dark will try to consume you. Make you something like itself.

  Selena inhaled deeply, mastered her emotions. “That is between he and I and no one else. He doesn’t deserve this base treatment. I will submit to your tutelage in order to kill Bacchus, Accora. To eradicate my wound. But I will not let you tempt me with Bazira deceptions in the meanwhile.”

  Accora sniffed. “Some would call that noble. I call it foolish.”

  “Some would say of all of the those in that kafira tent, your secrets would be the most useful to me,” Selena said.

  “Pity that you haven’t the Bazira magic to make use of the darkpool water in that manner,” was the reply, and Selena could see that her words had gotten under the old woman’s skin. “Shall I tell you what I saw of you, girl?” Accora sneered. “What I saw in your sweet, noble heart?”

  “If you must. It won’t change anything.” Selena said.

  “Won’t it?” Accora smiled snidely. “The Aluren are forbidden to fornicate with anyone who is not also Aluren, yes?”

  “Yes,” Selena said slowly. “That is true.”

  “And your wound…Besides the tortuous cold, it is an ugly thing. Hideous. Your Aluren brethren shun you for it. They’ve turned you into an outcast in your own Temple. But even so, even so…” Accora tapped a finger to her lip knowingly. “Even if there had been one brave Aluren knight in your dwindling ranks willing to try to overlook it, you would have rebuffed him because you know on singular truth above all else: that all good and decent people are repulsed by your wound.”

  Selena’s mouth went dry and her throat felt as if she’d swallowed a stone. “There is nothing awful you can say to me that I haven’t already felt a thousand times over.”

  “That may have been true…Until Julian Tergus.” Accora’s ugly triumphant smile widened. “Because of the darkpool water, I know that you sometimes dream of your captain’s arms around you, as if he could free you from the icy prison of your body with his touch alone.” Accora shook her head like a parent reprimanding a wayward child. “Foolish girl.”

  Selena felt her neck and ears flush red. “I fell into frigid water and he was forced to warm me,” she said. “That is all you saw and that’s all there is.”

  “Liar,” Accora said. “But more important is that he refused the water and so remains closed off to me. And that is dangerous. To both of us.”

  “I don’t wish to discuss this anymore. We waste time,” Selena said. “You’ve taught me nothing but that I have even less cause to trust you than I did before. And there wasn’t much to begin with.”

  “I don’t need your trust, girl,” Accora snapped, “I need your sword. Your magic. Your power. And you need me if your wound is to close. There is no trust, there is necessity. And my necessity required that I glean from you information that I might use for our protection and for your instruction.”

  “There will be no further instruction if you poison us with that water again,” Selena said. “The eradication of my wound is everything, that is true. But I won’t pay for it with the souls of my friends.”

  “Friends,” the old woman spat, but swallowed whatever else she had been about to say. She held Selena’s gaze a moment and Selena felt the silent truce between them. An accord based on mutual desperation and nothing more. The old woman was too proud or stubborn or Bazira to say it, but Selena saw that she’d earned the woman’s grudging respect.

  Selena lifted her chin. “Let us begin.”

  “Hmmph.” Accora gave her a final, imperious look and then held aloft the pallid, pus-colored vial. “The water gave you during the ritual the other night—this water— came from a darkpool that Bacchus now guards. After you kill him, you may destroy it, for what he is doing with it is far worse than the prying I did the other night.”

  “What does he use it for?”

  “Can’t you guess?”

  Selena’s gaze went to the vial in Accora’s hand. The liquid inside was a sickly yellow color. Like the pus that oozed from the dead mermaid’s eyes.

  “The merkind.”

  “Aye,” Accora said. “It is terrible enough to drink the water. Quite another horror to be submerged in it.”

  “Bacchus…he trawls for merkind, captures and then poisons them?”

  “Yes,” Accora said. “The darkpool water has a horrifying effect on the merkind that it does not have on humans. It alters them, as you’ve seen, and when they are mindless, half-dead hungry things, he releases them back into the seas to hunt and kill.”

  “Where is he?” Selena demanded, her hand clenched around her sword’s handle. “Which island?”

  “Information. Do you see its value? It’s quite obvious to me that Bacchus’s location is all I have to ensure that neither you, nor one of your loyal friends, end me before my time. And besides, you are not ready to face him. You would sail to Bacchus, march into his foul temple, hold up your pretty sword in a challenge salute, and then you would die the most excruciating, debased death his blackened mind could devise. He would force you to drink from the darkpool and watch you dwindle into insanity. You would fight foes of his creation—foes culled from your darkest imaginings—and as you fight these phantoms, he will kill you.”

  Selena shivered. “So much ugliness in this,” she whispered. “Celestine made it sound so easy.”

  She expected Accora to scoff at this and was surprised when the old woman laid her hand on Selena’s. “Your people are fools or assassins in their own right, sending you after the likes of us.”

  Selena pondered all of this for long moments.

  The horror of your wound is no small thing. Great evil wrought it. Destroying great evil is necessary to close it.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and raised her gaze to meet Accora’s.

  “What must I do?”

  “The key is your healing,” Accora said. “The dark nature of the Bazira enable us to use the darkpool for our purposes. Healing—the Aluren’s greatest power—is its corollary and its nemesis. You must use your healing to barricade yourself against Bacchus. From both the might of his blade and the insidious power of the darkpool.”

  “Barricade myself?” Selena asked. “How?”

  Accora rose from the bench. “Come. I will show you.”

  From Within

  The sun was high in the sky as Selena and Accora arrived at the small yard at the rear of the keep, a dirt-and-rock-strewn area behind the main hall in the inner bailey. Accora had sent Ori—the Haru always hovered nearby—to fetch one of the natives, and Selena waited with the old woman in the thickening heat of Saliz for her first lesson to begin. Across the yard, Ilior stood, his massive arms crossed over his chest, still as a statue, watching.

  “I demanded there be no distractions,” Accora said “I trust you will keep him away from Bacchus when the time comes. My old pupil will use your dragonman to destroy you and this endeavor wil
l have ended before it has even begun.”

  “I will convince him to stay behind.”

  The woman sniffed. “As if it will be that easy.”

  Selena’s gaze went to Ilior and An-Lan’s words came again.

  The Sacrifice. He will bleed for you. He will die for you.

  “I will order him to stay behind,” Selena said.

  A small smile twitched at Accora’s lips. “Aye, you will. But he has his own duty, doesn’t he?”

  Selena glanced sharply at her but Ori had returned to the yard with a hulking young native man in tow. The native carried an immense broadsword, old but clean, and he approached Selena and greeted her by nodding at her once, briefly, and then slicing that sword at her so that she felt the wind of it on her chin as she danced out of reach, scrabbling to draw her own Paladin’s blade.

  The first lesson began.

  Jorqui was as large as Svoz, as strong as Ilior, and unbelievably fleet. It took everything Selena had to keep his broadsword at bay. She parried a thrust that came at her thigh and swung her own sword up and out, trying to expose the big man’s flank. But she hadn’t the momentum needed and he was too strong. Instead, he pressed his weapon down, pinning hers to the ground and then released one hand to deliver a startling cross blow that exploded across Selena’s cheek. Stars filled her vision, as she tumbled and then rolled out of reach. She came out of the roll with her sword up to block the blow she knew was waiting. Steel scraped against steel as the combatants stood locked, swords pressed together, but it didn’t last. The native warrior was vastly stronger than Selena; he shoved her off his sword and gave her a punishing kick to her midsection. Selena sailed backwards and landed on the hard-packed dirt. Her lungs constricted but took in no air. Choking on nothing, she rolled to her right and dirt sprayed her cheek as the native pierced the ground where her head had been a moment before.