Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Green, Simon R.

Fisher leaned in close beside Hawk. “That blond hair remark was a bit pointed. Do you think he—”

  “If he did, he’d have said so. He loves showing off his knowledge.”

  Fisher frowned uncertainly. “Is it me, or did his eyes used to be gray, not blue?”

  “God, I’m glad you said that. I thought so, but … Hold everything. Look at that.”

  They both looked at the Magus’ feet, which were hovering a good two inches above the floor.

  “Oh, don’t mind that,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet. “He has a lot on his mind just now, and sometimes he forgets things. Like gravity.”

  “What exactly are you looking for, sir Magus?” said Hawk, after the sorcerer had spent some time staring out the window in silence.

  “My cloak,” said the Magus absently. “It’s off hunting somewhere, and I do worry about it when it’s out on its own. There are dangerous things abroad in the Forest these days. It used to be the cloak was one of them, but—ah, here it comes.”

  He stepped back, smiling fondly as his cloak came flapping in through the open window like a great black bat. It swooped around the Magus twice, as though greeting him, and then flapped off to settle in a corner. It stood upright, trembling slightly, and then made a series of loud and quite disgusting digestive noises. The Magus shut the window.

  “What exactly does your cloak hunt?” asked Hawk.

  “Oh, anything that can’t run away fast enough, basically,” said the Magus, coming back to join them. His feet were back on the floor again.

  “Including people?” asked Fisher, looking dubiously at the cloak.

  “Oh, no,” said the Magus. “Not anymore.”

  He sat down again and looked sternly at Hawk and Fisher. “We must talk. There are things I have to tell you. Some of them you may already know, but that’s destiny for you. First, the Rift that links north and south. I created it. The last great spell of Wild Magic in the world of men. There will never be another to match it. Magic is going out of the world, and is flexing its muscles in a few desperate last shows of might. But as man thrives, and spreads across this world, making it his own, magic will whither away, replaced by the more useful science, which is more suited to man’s nature. Science always works. Its principles are logical. Man is at heart a rational creature, and wants a rational world, where rules are always followed and everything makes sense. The Wild Magic was slowly replaced by High Magic, a more structured form that some men could tame to their use, but even that is fading now. Most people’s minds just aren’t flexible enough to deal with magic.”

  “What about this new Chaos Magic that’s based on mathematics?” Fisher asked. “Supposedly that’s the way of the future.”

  “Rubbish!” snapped the Magus. “Chaos Magic is just a pathetic halfway attempt to produce a magic that works like science. Neither one thing nor the other. It’s based on a few good ideas, but it will soon be swept away by science that everyone can understand and be taught. No, within the next dozen generations or so magic will be gone, and the world will be a safer, duller place. All the myth and wonder of the world will be replaced by gadgets and mechanisms. Clever, but essentially soulless. No dragons, no unicorns …”

  “No demons, no Demon Prince?” asked Hawk.

  The Magus looked at him sharply. “Good. Yes. You grasp the point. As man learns to control his world through science, so the greater threats to his existence will be banished. You banished the Demon Prince through the Wild Magic of the Rainbow, but he can still return. He is a Transient Being, one of the never-born, the soulless, the stalkers on the edge of reality, a living personification of an abstract idea. As such, he can never be destroyed, as long as magic exists. Ideas are immortal. But replace magic with science and he cannot return, because this whole plane of existence would be closed to him and his kind. He could no longer exist here; the scientific laws of the universe would not permit it.”

  “The Transient Beings?” asked Fisher. “You mean there are more beings like the Demon Prince?”

  “Of course,” said the Magus. “For every abstract concept, idea, or myth, some magical being exists to personify it. That’s part of the present magical nature of reality. Which brings me, naturally, to the Blue Moon.”

  “It does?” Hawk asked. “Slow this down, Magus, I’m having trouble hanging on.”

  “Right,” said Fisher.

  “The Blue Moon,” said the Magus patiently. “You never did think very much about its nature and its purpose, did you? What it was, what it was for?”

  “We were too busy trying to stay alive!” snapped Fisher. “The only one who really knew anything about the Blue Moon was the High Warlock. And he was usually too off his face or just plain crazy to be able to explain much.”

  “Ah, yes, the High Warlock,” said the Magus. “Such a pity I never got a chance to meet him. A remarkable mind, by all accounts.”

  Hawk looked at him sharply. “Chance told us you claimed to be the High Warlock’s chosen successor when you first came to Court.”

  “Oh, that,” said the Magus easily. “I lied. I do that sometimes. And I’m sure the High Warlock would have chosen me as his successor, if we’d ever met. Now, the Blue Moon …”

  “It unleashed the Wild Magic,” said Hawk. “It spread the Darkwood across the Forest Land.”

  “You see? You haven’t thought this through at all.” The Magus suddenly looked tired. He settled back in his chair, like an old man who’d suddenly felt how cold the room was getting. Lightfoot Moonfleet moved in close beside him, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The Magus laced his fingers together across his chest and stared at them. “The Blue Moon. A moon orbits a world. Yes? But since the Blue Moon is not our moon, what world does it orbit? A moon reflects light from the sun. But what sun does the Blue Moon orbit that it reflects such a terrible light? Our moon and the Blue Moon exist in different planes of reality, but at certain irregular intervals their travels bring them into the same basic point in space, though separated by dimensional barriers. When the orbits coincide, and the two moons occupy the same space, certain events or people can bring the Blue Moon to this world, and then all the locks on all the doors are broken, and Wild Magic is loosed to run free in the world of men.”

  “We’ve been told the Blue Moon is coming back,” said Fisher. “Is that possible? After only twelve years?”

  “Of course. Times moves differently there. Once in a Blue Moon …”

  “But what’s bringing it back this time?” asked Hawk. “The Demon Prince is still banished, the Darkwood has returned to its old boundaries, and the damned fools who summoned the Demon Prince in the first place are no longer with us.”

  The Magus looked at him almost sadly. “The Inverted Cathedral is back. And its very existence is enough to summon back the Blue Moon. Which is why you and Captain Fisher have to go into the Inverted Cathedral, and put an end to its threat. If you can.”

  “Hold everything,” said Fisher immediately. “We don’t have to do anything. We’re just here to solve a murder.”

  “The murder doesn’t matter. You must enter the Inverted Cathedral. It is your destiny.”

  “What do you know about destiny?” Hawk asked sharply.

  “More than you think.”

  “You can’t make us do anything we don’t want to,” said Fisher stubbornly. “You try and pressure us, and—”

  “You want answers,” the Magus broke in. “And you’ll only find them inside the Inverted Cathedral.”

  “What kind of answers?” asked Hawk.

  “To everything,” said the Magus.

  “Including who killed Harald?”

  The Magus sighed. “You will do what you have to do. Your nature will not permit anything else. Go now. I’m tired.”

  “We’re not going anywhere till you’ve answered some straight questions,” said Hawk. “Let’s start with the obvious one. Where were you when King Harald was murdered?”

  “Right here,” said the Magus, as thou
gh indulging a persistent child. “I’m always here, except when I have to be somewhere else.”

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “Lightfoot Moonfleet was with me.”

  Hawk looked at the faerie, who turned the full force of her smile on him. Her eyes were sultry and heavy-lidded. “We were both here, together, Captain. Would you like to interrogate me next? I’d just love to be interrogated by you. We could go somewhere private. I’ve got these lovely new handcuffs I’ve been dying to try out. I’m sure you could persuade me to tell you absolutely anything.”

  “Back off, right now,” said Fisher coldly. “Your estrogen is showing. And, Hawk, if you take even one step in her direction, I will break both your legs.”

  Hawk looked apologetically at Lightfoot. “The trouble is, she means it.”

  “I should have felt my protective wards being broken,” the Magus said slowly, ignoring everything else. “But I felt nothing. Alarms should have gone off in my mind if the wards had merely been tested. But I felt nothing. When I was informed of the murder, I hurried to the King’s private quarters immediately, but my wards were still intact when I got there. Which is, technically speaking, impossible. The wards were set up to keep out everyone but the King’s immediate family. And the Queen was nowhere near him at the time. I put a lot of work into those wards, and I would have sworn on a pile of grimoires that there wasn’t a sorcerer in or out of the Land strong enough to break them. Let alone pass through them without setting off my alarms. It really is most disquieting.”

  “Can you think of anyone who could have done it?” Fisher asked.

  “The High Warlock.”

  “But he’s dead,” said Hawk.

  “That doesn’t necessarily exclude him,” said the Magus.

  “Would you care to explain that?” asked Fisher.

  “Not really, no,” said the Magus. “I examined the murder scene very carefully, using every magic at my disposal, but I was unable to discover any clue or any magical residue from the site. Which again is, technically speaking, impossible. No one currently present in Forest Castle should be able to cleanse a scene that thoroughly.”

  “Except you,” said Hawk.

  “Well, yes,” said the Magus. “But if I may be blunt for a moment, if I was going to kill someone, I’d have enough sense to do it in a way that wouldn’t point straight in my direction. Besides, Harald was my King. I swore fealty to him and his Throne, and I do not give my word lightly.”

  Hawk looked at Fisher. “Can you think of anything we’ve missed? Then we might as well go. We’ve got a lot of people to see today. Thank you for your time, sir Magus, Lightfoot Moonfleet. We may be back again, if we have any more questions.”

  “Beware the truth,” said the Magus quietly, not looking at him. “It won’t make you happy and it won’t set you free. Some things are hidden for a reason. Discovering the murderer won’t necessarily bring the matter to a close. And justice never comes cheap.”

  “Am I supposed to understand any of that?” asked Hawk.

  “No. But you will.”

  The Magus leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, making it clear he had nothing more to say. Lightfoot Moonfleet waggled her fingers prettily in a good-bye. Hawk and Fisher left, closing the door quietly behind them. In its corner, the cloak dropped a handful of bones onto the floor. Some of the bones were quite large, with bits of meat and gristle still clinging to them. The Magus addressed Lightfoot Moonfleet without opening his eyes.

  “Follow Hawk and Fisher. Go where they go, see who they see, listen to what is said, and then return. Don’t be seen. And don’t get caught.”

  The faerie grinned widely, then shrank down to barely an inch in height. Her multicolored wings burst out of her back as she shrank, and within seconds she was fluttering after Hawk and Fisher, flitting easily through the large keyhole in the closed door. The Magus sighed heavily. The Blue Moon would be here soon, darkness was already gathering in the Castle, and all the plans he had so carefully set in motion with his opening of the Rift no longer seemed as certain or as comforting as they once had.

  * * *

  Not for the first time Queen Felicity had woken up late, feeling terrible, and was now taking it out on all those unfortunate enough to be compelled to attend her. She strode about her receiving chamber wearing nothing but a silk wraparound robe, pursued by a small army of retainers and courtiers, all of them vying desperately for her attention. Even first thing in the morning there were papers to be signed, decisions to be made, plans to approve and assign; and as always everything had to be done right now. Nothing could wait. To hear the courtiers and retainers talk, as they pursued the Queen back and forth while she fortified herself with coffee and cigarettes, the whole fate of the Forest Kingdoms depended on the Queen paying attention to them first and everyone else second. In the past a few of the more determined souls had tried to follow her into the jakes, but that stopped after she stubbed out a cigarette on one of them. The retainers and courtiers now kept a mostly respectful distance, but that only meant that everyone raised their voices that much higher.

  Queen Felicity stalked about her receiving room studying the various gowns her servants held out for her approval, and signed papers and announced decisions apparently at random. Felicity liked to make it clear who was in charge. It kept people on their toes. Sometimes literally. Eventually they ran out of important things to bother her with, and Felicity drove them all out with threats and curses and the occasional fast-moving object. The Queen’s servants had learned to make sure there were always a number of useful items handy for her to throw. Otherwise she threw the expensive stuff. Felicity chose one gown and waved away the others, and then signaled for the servant hovering nearby with a coffee pot to come forward and freshen her cup. She drank deeply and sighed happily. Nothing like a good jolt of caffeine to get your heart started first thing in the morning. She waved all the servants away, and they left quickly before she thought of something else for them to do.

  Felicity looked over at her young son, King-to-be Stephen, almost two years old now. He currently sat in a corner, absorbed in a pile of brightly colored alphabet bricks, watched over by his nanny/nurse/bodyguard, Cally, a large and muscular warrior woman the Queen had brought with her from Hillsdown. Cally had come to Hillsdown some years back as a mercenary sword-for-hire, and had been appointed bodyguard to the teenaged Princess Felicity. After a certain amount of necessary sparring, the two had become firm friends, and it was only Cally’s running interference that allowed Felicity to have as much fun as she did. There was no one else Felicity would have trusted her child with. Cally adored the young boy, and would have given her life for the child without a second thought.

  Tall, sturdy, and more than generously proportioned, Cally could intimidate people just by entering the room. She made a striking figure at Court. Felicity brought her along now and again when she had a courtier she felt could use a good scare. Cally’s round face was disarmingly pleasant under a military-styled haircut, but it fooled no one. She once had to kill a rather objectable person at Court, and did it with a thoroughness that impressed everyone. Especially those who got some of the blood on their clothes.

  The Queen hovered over her son, briskly affectionate, but he ignored her, lost in his own little world. Felicity snorted loudly and moved away.

  “Just like his father. What he wants first, and everyone else second. How long have we got before I have to go to Court, Cally?”

  The bodyguard put down the metal spring she’d been squeezing to build up the muscles in her hand, and leafed through the Queen’s appointment book.

  “About three quarters of an hour, Your Majesty. Time for a bath, if you’re quick about it, and don’t bother with the bubbles. Did you finish all your breakfast this morning?”

  “Don’t boss me, Cally. I’ll have a little something about eleven, when my stomach’s woken up. Anything I need to know?”

  Part of Cally’s job was keeping a disc
reet ear to the informal Castle gossip grapevine. Every faction in the Castle, and a few outside, had their own paid informants on hand, but Cally’s sources were second to none, mainly because they were composed almost entirely of servants. It was amazing how often high-placed and fairly intelligent people took servants for granted, almost like part of the furniture, and would say things in front of them that they wouldn’t have dreamed of telling their own family. And all the servants reported to Cally. A bodyguard to both the Regent and the Royal heir, Cally considered the best response to any threat was knowing in advance which direction it was coming from. And it helped the Queen’s image at Court no end to seem to be all-knowing. Especially on matters she wasn’t supposed to know even existed.

  “Nothing much of interest yet,” said Cally, putting down the appointment book to study her own private notebook. “The Shaman’s making a nuisance of himself again, preaching social reform and revolution in the main courtyard. Just the usual fire and damnation stuff, but the peasants are eating it up with spoons. Your father’s still sulking in his quarters, after being faced down by Hawk and Fisher. Who when last seen were on their way to question the Magus.”

  Felicity snorted again. “And the best of luck to them. Getting straight answers out of the Magus is harder than pulling your own teeth, and about as much fun.”

  “True,” said Cally. “I’ve got more useful noises out of the mouths of corpses after treading on their stomachs.”

  Felicity looked at her. “You didn’t …”

  “Everyone’s entitled to a hobby.”

  “You’re disgusting, Cally, you know that? I’d send you on another charm course if we hadn’t run out of tutors.”

  “I quite fancied the last one.”

  “I know. He’s still shaking.”

  Felicity dropped onto a hard chair in front of her dressing table, and studied her face dispassionately in the mirror. She hadn’t an ounce of makeup on, her defiantly blond hair was curled up tightly in metal rollers, and a cigarette protruded from one corner of her mouth. “Jesus,” she said tiredly. “Looking presentable gets harder every day. I’d use a shape-change spell, but you can bet one of those Academy bitches would be sure to spot it. Has that new face cream arrived from the south yet?”