Thirteen (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 13)

by J. Naomi Ay

  I bisected Luka from head to toe, and horizontally too, just to make sure the dude was good and dead. He fell to the floor in a pile of ash, smoldering orange flakes, which my brother then kicked into the fire. Yet, strangely, Luka’s voice still echoed throughout the room.

  “Evil has made me stronger than you, Mika. Join me. It’s so much easier than being good.”

  “Yeah, but it sucks in the long run,” Rent shouted. “You just wait.”

  “You may think you’re stronger,” I yelled. “But, he’s got us, and Arsan, whoever he is.”

  The room grew silent. It was just us, our breathing, and the water dripping as it drained back out to the beach. Luka had vanished.

  “Is he gone?” Rent asked after a while.

  “I think so,” I mumbled, scanning the ceiling. “But if he is who I think he is, it won’t be forever.”

  Dad turned to us, his silver eyes illuminating Rent and me.

  “What the hell did you do?” he hissed. “You have destroyed everything!”

  Then, he waved his damaged hand, and sent Petya crashing to the floor.

  Epilogue

  Tuman de Kudisha was awoken by the guard.

  “You have a visitor, Karut,” he said, rattling the bars.

  Tuman blinked, and looked around, momentarily disoriented by the blank walls, the hard, thin bed, and the ache in his shoulders and back from all the heavy lifting he had been doing as of late.

  “You coming or not?” the guard snapped, getting impatient with Tuman’s confusion. “You’re not the only one here, you know.”

  “Yes, yes.” Tuman jumped to his feet.

  He was curious about who might have come to visit. His first thought immediately was drawn to Hannah. His child should have been born by now, and Tuman wondered how the babe fared. He felt guilty that he would not be able to raise the child, and that he wouldn’t be there to teach him the Karupta ways.

  “Hello,” Rekah said, when Tuman sat down in the seat across the window.

  Tuman was only mildly disappointed to see his father. His only communication with the elder, since the beginning of his incarceration, was a letter rightly blaming him for his brother, Lehot’s death. The letter also ranted about the disgrace that Tuman had brought to the noble family, and the Karupta people, something that Tuman was already acutely aware.

  Rekah had proclaimed that he would never set eyes on his oldest son again. Apparently, whatever news he brought was worthy of breaking that vow.

  “Father,” Tuman mumbled, unable to look in the old man’s eyes. With the formality of a greeting concluded, both men sat silently for a few moments.

  “How do you fare?” Rekah asked, although his face betrayed him. It was clear, he didn’t care. In fact, Tuman detected a note of vindication in his voice.

  “Well. And, you, Father?”

  “I’m still alive, and still here, as you can see. Things are terrible down below. Mishnah is in revolt, and I suspect there shall be many deaths. The outer planets are all fighting each other again as if the Empire had never been.”

  Tuman nodded, knowing full and well that this was not why his father had come. The news of the Empire, or Mishnah could easily be obtained on the vid. He didn’t respond, but instead, kept his eyes downcast, studying his own hands which were folded in his lap. They were calloused now, and disfigured by more than a few scars.

  “I have brought you something,” Rekah continued, getting to his point.

  He slipped a book beneath the rim of the small glass window. Tuman immediately recognized it as one of the handwritten tomes of the Great Father, Karukan. It was the sixth one, the one Tuman had misplaced, and never finished reading.

  “Why?” he asked, grasping the book, and holding it tightly in his hands.

  It smelled like leather, and ink, and fine parchment paper. It was warm from his father’s hands, and inside it would contain magical words, words that might transform him, words that could give him back his life.

  These words might free Tuman from this prison, but not the physical one of course. Rather, they might release him from the mental prison that made him doubt his intelligence, and his sanity. This book could give him back his mind.

  “Now, find the answer,” Rekah said, and left without so much as a by your leave.

  So, Tuman returned to his cell, his hard, thin cot, and in every spare moment, he laboriously poured over the ancient writings.

  This book, the sixth one was written poorly. Karukan’s pens, which he had carried from the Mother Planet, had all run out by then. The ink used in this volume had long since faded, and must have been made from char, or even, tea. In some cases, it might have been blood. It was smeared in places, and the letters were often poorly drawn. Karukan’s hand must have shaken then, as he had grown quite old.

  The language in the books was of a thousand years before. For Tuman, it was an arduous task to read, and interpret each letter’s meaning.

  Nevertheless, each night after working the quarries, Tuman read until his eyes grew so weary, he could no longer keep them open. He took notes. He had a blunt pencil, and some blank pages in a journal he had purchased with a few coins.

  Each morning, before he headed off to his laboring, he’d quickly read through his notes again.

  “Let the people of the earths beware of the false ones who shall come in the Champion’s stead.”

  Tuman recalled this from the last time he had picked up this book, only days before he had fallen from grace, and ended up here. At the time, he had been confused about whom these false ones might be. Now, his mind flitted back to Arsan, the strange boy from the forest.

  Tuman was certain his father, and the other elder villagers thought Arsan as this, a false one who appeared out of nowhere, and acted like the lost MaKennah.

  Tuman, on the other hand, had felt the boy was misunderstood. He wasn’t evil at all. In fact, Tuman had seen a goodness in him.

  The false ones must be the Rossorians, Tuman decided. Those strange, cloaked figures that he often watched on the news. They worshiped neither the Holy One, nor the Saint of the Mishnese people, but rather a deity called Rosso with an odd and restrictive set of rules.

  “The Champion shall return, and battle the pretenders, a war not easily won, nor swiftly concluded. The people have wandered far, and the Champion’s strength is weakened for the people have strayed from the Faith. For this, he shall call upon his brother, who shalt be borne as the body of his son. And for this, the Holy One’s Champion shall forfeit the heart of his companion who has hitherto been loyal and steadfast to his cause.”

  “Kari-fa!” Tuman gasped, as he realized the implication of these words.

  It was late, and he needed to rest before the morning. Yet, this revelation was so disturbing, Tuman knew with certainty he would never be able to sleep. He forced his eyes to return to the book, to the final words which were written therein.

  “This time shall begin the age of great darkness, a time when Evil shall know no bounds, and the Holy One’s Champion’s shall battle the demons which possess both the land, and his soul.

  So sayeth he to me, for the MaKennah, the Holy One’s Champion, Mika’el has spoken these words in my presence this day, and on this planet Rehnor whereupon my people now dwell.

  Inscribed by my hand,

  Karukan de Kudisha

  ****

  Anne Black is heading to Earth.

  The Imperial Court, what’s left of it, is moving to Rozari.

  Senya is once again back at the helm, but he’s lost more than just a finger.

  Life has become intolerable for not only the Family, but all of the retainers.

  Someone’s got to put an end to this horror, but who has the guts to do it?

  The Two Moons of Rehnor continues with Book 14,

  Betrayal

  Find it on Amazon.com

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00K4PX28S

  (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 13)