Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock)

by Krause, Marguerite

  “I know. Gleneven was a beautiful place. But the greatest tragedy of these past ninedays was losing Gavea.”

  “How can you say that? Dherrica in Palle’s hands, and we don’t even know how many people the Abstainers killed at Gleneven, how many children with their whole lives ahead of them. Gavea was over four hundred years old.”

  “Exactly. We’ll never know the potential of the Keepers killed at Gleneven. On the other hand, I’m painfully aware of how much experience, how much sheer wisdom Gavea brought us. She was our last living link with the time before the plague.”

  “It’s not as if we’ll forget those days. Any of the Dreamers can remember anything, no matter how long past.”

  “Any of the Dreamers? And how many are left? All of Morb’s time and attention is devoted to the realms of magic. Savyea takes things to the other extreme—thinks the answer to all our problems is for people to have more babies. As for Jenil, she’s only willing to act as a healer.” Sene emphatically tapped one finger on the table. “From Gavea, I could expect not only information, but interpretation as well, and advice on how I might best take action.”

  “You haven’t mentioned Aage. You’re not discounting him in his absence, I hope?”

  Sene hid his amusement at his daughter’s staunch defense of her best friend as servants arrived with their meal. Her face was all right, and her hands were neatly folded in her lap, but her brown eyes were doing their best to burn holes wherever her gaze came to rest, which was mostly in the center of her father, the king’s, forehead.

  When the servants had gone back inside, Sene rubbed his brow and said, “Aage does his best. Unfortunately, I can never be sure he’ll be here at a moment of crisis. The power bends him to its will, I sometimes think, more often than he bends it. With Gavea there was never any doubt of which was in control.”

  Jeyn passed him a bowl of cool fruit soup and a slice of sweet bread. “Aage says that everything’s connected. That all of the problems the Children of the Rock have struggled against since before the plague are only reflections of troubles in the magical places he and Morb visit.”

  “I imagine there is some correlation between the Outside monsters and our dragons and phantom cats.” He stirred his soup with his spoon. “You know, that’s a nasty thought. Magic working through any of us, against the benders of power.”

  Jeyn frowned. “I’m not sure that’s exactly what Aage meant.”

  The door behind them opened and Jeyn turned, the legs of her chair scraping harshly on the terrace’s stone floor. “Chasa!”

  Sene gave his children time to embrace one another. Jeyn stepped back from the hug first, wrinkling her nose and winning a grudging smile from her twin. The odor of horse sweat had drifted onto the terrace with Chasa, temporarily blotting out the scent of night-blooming flowers. His scarlet silk tunic stuck to his sweaty back, and his yellow hair hung limply around his square face.

  “I see I’m not too late.”

  “Of course not. Come, sit.” Jeyn gestured him toward a chair.

  Chasa glanced without interest at their interrupted meal. “I wasn’t talking about dinner. Dad, I came back as soon as I could.”

  “Sooner than I expected,” Sene assured his earnest son. “What happened? Eighteen is getting too old to be homesick. After all, it’s your third year of monster-hunting without me.”

  “Haven’t you heard about Dea?”

  “I heard.”

  “Pirse?”

  “Accused of murder.”

  “Gleneven?”

  “Attacked by Abstainers, its people driven off before any help could come up from Edian. Yes. All tragic events.”

  Chasa pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Well? What are we going to do?”

  “Finish supper.”

  “Dad!”

  Sene hitched his chair closer to the table and lifted his spoon, then regarded his open-mouthed children levelly. “It’s been a long day. Chasa, will you eat something now or would you prefer to wash up first?”

  “I’d prefer discussing what we’re going to do!”

  “Nothing. What would you have me do? Gather our troops of guards and march west? To do what? Help Palle in his hunt for Pirse? Defend Rhenlan’s villages from Rhenlan’s Abstainers?” Sene challenged first Chasa, then Jeyn. Both lowered their eyes. “Not that Hion wants our help, or could make use of it even if we offered. Have you considered that? What happened to Gleneven may not have been Hion’s fault. You know how isolated some of those coastal villages are.”

  “You can’t believe he didn’t know of the danger—” Jeyn began.

  “I refuse to hold Hion blameless—” Chasa said at the same moment.

  Sene cut them both off. “I don’t believe anything. Yet. Let me finish. Say we hear of another threatened village and decide to send Sitrinian help. We’d have to cross much or all of Rhenlan to get there, but maybe Hion wouldn’t notice. Not such a good idea? We could go by sea. It would mean commandeering the fishing fleet and impoverishing all our coastal towns, but we might slip a few dozen guards ashore. Then all we’d have to do is engage a rampaging Abstainer band in battle before Hion—lawfully—sends his guards to fight the dangerous invaders. Us.”

  “Since when does Hion respect the law?” Chasa growled.

  “We respect it.” Sene tapped the handle of his spoon on the table for emphasis. “And because we respect it, we’ll find a way to use it. The answer to chaos isn’t more chaos. Remember that. You’re too impatient, son. Too used to instant gratification. Chasing sea monsters has spoiled you. Not every problem can be eliminated by a few thrusts of a javelin.”

  “What do we do, then?” Chasa asked.

  “Collect information,” Jeyn suggested. With a wry smile she quoted one of Sene’s favorite axioms. “Wait and watch, listen and learn.”

  “Exactly. Meanwhile, we do have our own kingdom to run.” Sene smiled. “Agreed?”

  Chasa sighed and pulled up a chair. “Pass the bread, please, Jeyn.”

  Chapter 8

  Sene’s bedroom, like his throne room, his council room, and his study, opened onto the long terrace that faced the gardens and the sea. A cool breeze stirred the curtains, which he had pulled back from his open doorway to admit Keyn’s mellow light. Sene could never live in a castle. His residence was a home, not a palace, and he made sure that it was easily accessible to his people, even though the other Shapers of his generation thought him eccentric because of his peculiar ideas. He admitted that Bronle needed its high walls and stone towers, a sensible precaution against dragons. The castle in Edian also had been built for defense, several generations of Dreamers ago when the horse people first made incursions far into Rhenlan. Besides, Hion’s family had always had a touch of pretension in its nature, a trait which wasn’t diminishing with the passage of time.

  It had never seemed to occur to Hion or Dea that he thought they were the eccentric ones. Other than coveting his orchards, he doubted that they thought of him at all. Maybe that was just as well. They would not appreciate the way he monitored their arguments and the movements of their border guards. He also knew the chief merchants of their cities, the prices of trade goods, and the state of the roads. He knew the size of village harvests and herds, listened to news of marriages and Rememberings, and took note of the number of children presented at spring and fall festivals.

  Sene added his map of Rhenlan to a pile of other scrolls and books stacked randomly on the bedside table, next to the tray that held what remained of his evening tea and a now-empty pastry plate. Then he rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to focus his thoughts on his own capital and the building projects underway there. He had intended to study the spidery drawings Daav had made for a new Mother house in Raisal, but of course he’d ended up reading another report from Edian instead.

  It had been a welcome change, after days of worrying about events outside his kingdom, to devote an afternoon in Raisal to Daav, Jeyn’s betrothed and Sitrine’s most re
spected builder. Sene had spent several hours discussing renovations to some of the older areas of Raisal with the taciturn young man. Daav wasn’t normally taciturn, but he and Jeyn had been fighting again.

  Sene sighed and glanced at his bed, the covers turned invitingly back. Still too restless to sleep, he got up and walked onto the terrace. He drank in the light of stars and moons, and filled his lungs with the strong scent of night-blooming flowers and ripe pears.

  Pears? The king sniffed again, then caught a glimpse of silver and deeper black amid the darkness between the terrace and the orchard. “Aage?”

  The slender wizard stepped out of the garden shadows, face and hair pale in the moons’ light.

  Sene took the silent Dreamer’s arm “We’ve missed you. Come inside.”

  Aage seated himself on the king’s bed and helped himself to some cool tea. “I’ve been busy.”

  “With Morb, in Dherrica. So you said before you left.”

  Aage ran the back of his hand across his high forehead. “Where we go, yes, I suppose it is in Dherrica. The power is stronger there than anywhere, except at the Cave of the Rock. Stronger and weaker at once. A place where monsters and evil comes into our world. It’s in need of constant defense, Majesty.”

  “So you keep reminding me.”

  Aage gave a tired shrug. “Dherrica has fewer Shapers than any other kingdom, and it needs them more. Perhaps it’s the closeness to the edge of the world.” He shook his head. “I know, you think it’s a fool’s theory. It probably is.”

  Aage had long suspected that beings from the worlds beyond their own sought to influence the thoughts and actions of the Children of the Rock. He’d even suggested that the plague was sent by would-be invaders from beyond the Dreamer-defended walls of power.

  “I won’t judge something I can’t comprehend,” Sene replied. “I do know it’s good to have you back.”

  “What have you heard from Dherrica?”

  “Dea dead. Pirse hunted like an Abstainer.”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  “I never thought he did.” Sene heaved a great sigh. “Still, it’s good to hear you say so. Is the boy all right?”

  “He is now.”

  Sene folded his arms and listened silently as Aage related what he had learned from Pirse, then described his own efforts on behalf of the Dherrican prince. When he finished, Sene said, “According to Palle’s official proclamation, Dea was killed by a dragon sword. Does Palle own a dragon sword?”

  “To my knowledge, no.”

  “Then Palle is in error, or lying.”

  “Easy to say. Less easy to prove.”

  “You’re not much help, wizard.”

  Aage smiled. “You don’t need much help, king.”

  “Go to your bed, Aage. I’d like mine back.” Aage tossed the empty cup to him. Sene snaked it out of mid-air as the wizard got to his feet. “And don’t go off in a puff of smoke. My grandmother always said you had no trouble finding the door when she was young and pretty and this room was hers.”

  “Ah, what a woman,” Aage agreed, a fond glint in his eyes. “She was right. I do know how to walk out.”

  “Then do so. Good night.”

  * * *

  “Juniper Ridge,” Tob announced as they approached the cluster of buildings that straddled the road. Even if Pirse had been sleeping, and he had slept a great deal during his days of travel with the carter and his son, he would already have been roused by the unmistakable sounds of a blacksmith’s hammer, the cluck of chickens, and children’s voices that rose to meet them as they drew near to the village. However, there was no need to spoil the boy’s enthusiasm.

  “I’ve heard of it,” Pirse answered simply, and leaned sideways in the wagon to peer around the curve of the steep mountain road. Jordy walked ahead, guiding the horse close to the inner side of the track. Juniper Ridge was of typical Dherrican design, its buildings scattered up the hillside in no particular order except for that dictated by the terrain. A swift, narrow stream defined the northern edge of the village. Beyond the houses, higher up the slope, several flocks of sheep and goats were visible in a rocky meadow.

  “Tob,” Jordy called. “Take Stockings. I’m going ahead to find Doron.”

  As soon as Tob reached the horse’s head, the carter lengthened his stride and quickly outdistanced the horse and wagon to disappear around the next bend.

  “It’s a nice village,” Tob said. “I like the air here.”

  “High summer in the mountains,” Pirse answered absently. The air did smell especially sweet, thanks no doubt to a nearby cluster of the trees from which the village took its name.

  “It’s not as nice as home,” Tob went on.

  “Home’s always best.”

  “Dad says that, too.”

  “He would.” Jordy struck Pirse as a hearth-loving man. How he’d chosen his profession was a complete mystery.

  “Have you traveled a lot?” Tob asked over his shoulder.

  “Mostly in Dherrica. Why?”

  “Do you know what’s beyond the mountains?”

  “I haven’t gone that far west. No one has, not for generations of Dreamers. But I know a story of someone who traveled there.”

  Tob turned to walk sideways besides the plodding horse, eyes bright with anticipation. During their journey south, Tob had been an attentive, helpful companion, and Pirse had paid him with the only coin he had: his knowledge.

  “Centuries of centuries ago,” Pirse began, “there lived a Greenmother named Larkspur. Her special skill as a Dreamer was weather magic. Her home was the village of Hhehar, which is now part of Sitrine. Hhehar was a very nice place except for three problems. It was near the edge of the desert, and it attracted both phantom cats and wind demons.”

  “Big problems.”

  “Not in those days. The Shaper families of the village were very good about controlling the phantom cats. At the proper times of the year, Larkspur would bend her power and produce sufficient rain for the crops. And she was so watchful that no wind demon came within twenty miles of the village. Still, Larkspur wasn’t satisfied. She wanted a way to eliminate the wind demons—destroy them utterly—just as Shapers destroy phantom cats and dragons.

  “A new generation of Dreamers was born and came of age, and one skilled in weather magic came to live in Hhehar. Larkspur left her village in the new wizard’s care and transported herself to the Cave of the Rock. There she vowed before the Firstmother that she would find a way to rid the world of wind demons once and for all.

  “She traveled all over the world in search of a way to keep her vow. For a Dreamer, it’s only a single step from the port of Raisal to the heights of the Dherrican mountains, or from the shores of Lake Hari to the horse peoples’ steppes. None of the Children of the Rock, the Keepers with their wisdom or the Shapers with their plans or the Dreamers with their gifts, knew of a way to eliminate the wind demons. Therefore, Larkspur sought an answer in lands unvisited by the Children.

  “She went into the northeast, beyond Sitrine, and followed the desert all the way to the sea. In the southeast, she traveled beyond the steppes of the horse people, where she found rolling hills and tumbled mountains, some covered with snow, some full of smoke and fiery rocks, covered with forest on their eastern flanks and dropping almost immediately into the sea. Then she went into the hills south of Rhenlan. She found lakes and forests and a river valley running from the hills toward the west. Beyond the river the land was dry and cold. In the far south, winter covered the sea with ice.

  “Larkspur traveled west beyond Dherrica. In the southwest she found only cold, rocky shores. In the northwest, the forests continued after the mountains had flattened out and became jungles, where the winter never comes.”

  Tob shot Pirse a skeptical look. “Never?”

  “Never. The sun is always high in the sky, and the days hardly vary in length from one festival to the next. Food grows all year round, and strange animals and insects more numerous than I
can name abound. Larkspur found villages of Keepers and Shapers on a few of the beaches where the fishing was especially good. They were familiar with dragons and sea serpents, but they couldn’t advise Larkspur about wind demons.

  “She bent the power to cross the ocean, and found the breeding grounds of the sea serpents. In the northern half of the world she found mountains and steppes and marshes and forests, animals and birds, but no Children of the Rock—and no inspiration.

  “Once each year, at the time of the Fall Festival, she transported herself back to Hhehar to tell what she had seen. And the wind demons continued to dance around the village as they’d always done.”

  Pirse paused. Ahead of them, Jordy turned into a gated yard and entered the wide door of the house. Tob guided Stockings and the wagon around a hole, then looked back at Pirse. “Go on.”

  “Things went on in that fashion for eighty-six years. At the eighty-seventh Fall Festival—” He spread his hands. “No Larkspur. She was never seen again.”

  When Pirse fell silent, Tob protested, “That can’t be the end of the story!”

  “I’m afraid it is. Hhehar was abandoned during the plague. When a village dies, its stories often die with it.”

  “Where did you learn it, then?”

  “I used to study the maps at the king’s estate in Sitrine, when I was a boy learning about dragon slaying from Gavea. I asked her just what you asked me: What lies beyond the mountains? Her answer was that story.”

  “Lands with no winter, and mountains of fiery rock.”

  Pirse grinned at the skepticism in the boy’s voice. “Sorry you asked?”

  Tob looked back at him and grudgingly returned his smile. “I guess not.”

  * * *

  Doron sang quietly to herself as she worked, one of her husband’s favorite melodies. Her dead husband’s favorite melodies. The familiar tightness filled her throat. Gods, how she missed him. They had been married only six years, but every hour of the day and night, every village path and building, contained memories of their life together.