by Richard Due
Nimlinn hissed.
“Fools!” she cried. “Greydor will have you all roasted on a spit!”
“Then I will bring the sauce,” replied Roan, his voice rising, as though tired of all this talk.
“You are not needed, Roan. I am far from defenseless.”
“Doubtless, but I will not willingly leave your side until you are safely back within Sea Denn.”
Nimlinn made a sound Lily suspected was a Rinn expression of disgust, tempered with resignation. “It is more complicated than that,” said Nimlinn, after a time. “I have a long way to travel. And during that time I will desire conversation with Lily—private conversation.”
“We will remain out of earshot, out of sight,” said Roan. “You need not worry—we will be discreet.”
“A Rinn can hear a long way,” said Nimlinn.
“Where are you going, and how fast do you intend to travel?” pressed Roan.
“It is not your place to question me!”
“Ah, then here we will wait.” And he sat down in a casual fashion that Lily feared would only further infuriate Nimlinn. “As I am banished,” he continued, letting out a small yawn, “I suddenly find myself in no particular hurry. This being, after all, my last chance to bask under the sheer cliffs of my beloved city.”
Nimlinn gave a frustrated roar. Lily felt an involuntary shock of fear, and her nerves jangled. Nimlinn glanced at each Rinn in turn. None returned her gaze.
She spoke in steely, measured tones, as though she might lose control any second. “I don’t want to see any of you.” Roan quickly stood, giving Nimlinn his full attention. “And when we reach our destination, you will leave us and return to the field of battle, where you are needed.”
“I will not,” interrupted Roan. “I will not leave your side. Not until you are safely returned to Sea Denn.”
Lily watched Nimlinn’s eyebrow whiskers twitch. She was thankful to be on Nimlinn’s back, rather than looking into her eyes.
“As I cannot stop you . . .” hissed Nimlinn, taking a deep breath, “we are headed for the pass at Armashen.”
“If speed is an issue, I will send my fastest runners to the gates of Armashen so they can make arrangements for food and supplies on your behalf,” said Roan.
Lily heard Nimlinn grinding her teeth. “That would be . . . helpful. Once through the mountains, we will take the ocean road along the northern border of Rihnwood. We will then enter the Blight Marsh by way of the great neck. There is a crossover coming with Taw. We have one day’s time to reach it.”
“Very well.” said Roan. “But I believe you will find that distance far too great, even for one such as you.” Then, addressing his clutter, he commanded, “Move out!”
Instantly, they vanished.
Leaving only Tanglemane.
To Lily’s eyes, he appeared overcome by slumber. He was nearly invisible. Slowly, silently, Nimlinn padded down the path, giving his rock a wide berth.
“You needn’t be so hard on him, Nimlinn,” yawned Tanglemane, his head still resting on his paws. Twizbang and Snerliff each let out a little yelp when he spoke.
Nimlinn halted, but did not turn to face him. Something in the way the moon coin translated Tanglemane’s voice told Lily that he was not so old as he looked.
“You never answered my question,” stated Nimlinn. “How do you know this place?”
Lily turned in the saddle, as did Snerliff and Twizbang. Tanglemane’s eyes were still closed. He looked exhausted, spent.
“You know, Nimlinn . . . he was absolutely frantic when I found him. He had recalled all of his clutter from the field and placed them around Sea Denn. He knew you were on the move with the Dain cub, but he had no idea how you intended to make your escape.”
“So, Greydor knows where I am as well—knows that I am on the move!”
“No,” said Tanglemane, dismissively. “Roan knows perfectly well that’s the last thing you would want. He has told no one.” Tanglemane yawned widely, showing an impressive array of teeth and his wide pink tongue. “You know full well that he would do anything you asked of him.”
“Except obey my orders!” snapped Nimlinn.
“Well . . . anything within reason,” snorted Tanglemane.
“I’m being unreasonable now, am I?” said Nimlinn, her long fur and mane rising.
“He is young, Nimlinn. . . . He has little faith in what he has not seen with his own eyes. He honors you.”
“Honors me? Is that what you call it?” asked Nimlinn.
“He feels you have no chance of making it to the Blight Marsh, and yet he intends to aid you on this impossible journey.”
“Impossible? And do you share his thoughts?”
Tanglemane cracked his eyes to slits.
“My eyes, Nimlinn, see much that others do not.” Then he nuzzled his nose into the fur of his legs and closed his eyes for good.
“So, where are you off to next?” asked Nimlinn. “The field of battle? Or do you intend to honor me also?”
“I intend neither,” murmured Tanglemane, his voice muffled by the long fur of his paws. “I could sleep for a week.” Then he began to snore.
As curious as Nimlinn was, she knew this was neither the time nor place for a protracted argument, especially as her fellow debater was asleep. She clucked her tongue with distaste, then gathered herself. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Hold tight, Lily,” and sprang away.
The rocks that lined the narrow trail blurred, and the wind raked through Lily’s hair. Behind them the cliffs shrank, and eventually, the twisting path opened wider. The sky seemed pale and unnatural to Lily. The retreating dead moon, still large and fat, ascended like a deadly spider, back into its swirling web of clouds, moons, and faint stars.
The base of the tower Clawforge was planted squarely within the hill ringing Sea Denn. Far above, connecting the upper tower’s reaches and the city proper, Lily could see the thin shimmering line of the Rinnwalk. With her enhanced sight, Lily thought she could even make out a few small shapes moving along it toward the upper city of Sea Denn.
Nimlinn kept her pace quick, as fast as a horse at gallop. In very little time, they reached the stables, where Snerliff and Twizbang had no trouble finding and saddling two wirtles. After Nimlinn gave the hideous beasts—all leaping legs and snapping teeth—the power of sight, they barked with joy.
“Snerliff,” hissed Nimlinn. “The gate.”
Snerliff and Twizbang clicked their teeth, whirling their beasts around with expert precision. The wirtles shot away like water bugs jetting across a pond, Snerliff and Twizbang blurring upon their backs. Leaning forward, noses first, their bodies bounced like rag dolls while their heads remained remarkably level. No sooner had they left than they were back.
“The gate is open, and the way is clear!” cried Twizbang, and he rounded his wirtle with such speed that, for a moment, it appeared he would be torn from the saddle. But his twitchy reflexes saved him, and he remained firmly seated.
Nimlinn bounded after them, passing through the gate and down the old sea town road. From time to time, the wyflings would double back with reports of finding half-eaten scaramann, but not much else. Once clear of Clawforge, Nimlinn paid little attention to the wyflings’ reports. Lily felt Nimlinn’s cadence shift and suspected she was deep in thought. They traveled this way for more than an hour before Nimlinn spoke.
“Lily, the time has come. I promised to answer all that I could. Ask me what you would most like to know.”
Suddenly embarrassed, Lily felt her face flush. In all this time, she hadn’t worked out a single question for Nimlinn. Instead, she realized, she had been simply taking in her new surroundings, enjoying the beauty of the view. And yet, there were so many questions. She wanted to ask good ones. But where to start? What to say? And
what not to say?
On the one hand, Lily didn’t necessarily want to reveal how little she really knew—she didn’t want to appear stupid. On the other hand, Uncle Ebb had told an awful lot of bedtime tales, and Jasper and Lily had memorized them all. Additionally, they were very familiar with the paintings, which filled Ebb’s mansion and offered many clues to his unfinished tales. Complicating matters were a few paintings that Uncle Ebb never discussed, ones that seemed unrelated to the bedtime tales.
And then it struck her. Back at Ebb’s, on their stroll to the strange cloakroom—she had seen paintings in those rooms! She could picture the birdfish ducking around them, but she couldn’t remember their subject matter.
Faking her knowledge seemed like a bad idea. Wasn’t Nimlinn trying to help her? And hadn’t Lily confessed in the Great Hall of the Rinn that she’d never been to Barreth, or to any of the other moons in the Realm? That decided it. This was no time to be shy. But she knew she would still have to be careful, keeping track of all she revealed, and to whom.
The one thing Lily most wanted to know was why so much here differed from the Moon Realm of the bedtime tales. In those tales, magic was everywhere. And there was no dead moon, no wyflings, no scaramann, not even wirtles. However she started, she didn’t wish to sound the total fool. So she decided to start with one of her favorite, and one of the most powerful, characters from the bedtime tales. Surely, she thought, meeting him would be a good place to start.
“Nimlinn, where is Rinnjinn?”
“Rinnjinn?” said Nimlinn, sounding surprised.
“Yes, I would like to see him. I’m sure he could help us.”
“Help us?” Nimlinn chuckled. “Lily, Rinnjinn cannot help us.”
Lily’s spirits dampened. “Why? What has happened? He can’t be dead. He is much too powerful. He built Fangdelve! He raised Sea Denn!”
“Lily . . . Rinnjinn is . . . well . . . I suppose he is as alive as he ever was—”
“Then we must go see him!”
“You don’t understand. He is alive, but only in story.”
“They’re not stories!” Lily blurted. “They’re tales. There’s a difference,” she added softly. Then Lily’s vexation returned with full force. “He slew the serpent of Naamian! He fought beside Meloric and saved Castle Relinngold! He saved them, Nimlinn—he saved them all!”
“I have heard the one about the serpent of Naamian. In fact, there is a lovely fountain in Sea Denn devoted to that story. I’ll be happy to show it to you sometime. But this Meloric, I have never heard of her.”
“Him! Meloric is a he! A giant, in fact—twenty feet tall! And he’s real, too.”
“The Rinnjinn stories I know, I heard when I was no more than a cub. I tell them the same way to my cubs. They’re just bedtime stories, Lily.”
Lily’s new reality was blurring at the edges. Just bedtime stories. That hit too close to home. The possibility that some of Uncle Ebb’s tales might not be real—here—had never occurred to Lily. So what was real?
For her next question, Lily asked one she was certain Nimlinn could answer.
“When did you last see my Uncle Ebb?”
Nimlinn thought for a time before answering.
“It’s been a little over a year, but he was up to something. I suspect he’s been on Barreth since I last saw him, though I have no solid proof.”
“A year! Where has he been?”
“That is not mine to say, but I would tell you if I knew.”
Lily felt a wave of hopelessness sweep over her. Nothing made any sense.
Lily stared off into the sky, and the dead moon gradually captured her attention. “Why are the scaramann attacking your moon?” she asked.
“Moon? Moon! Lily, this is no moon! This is the one true world of the Moon Realm. These here”—Nimlinn’s paw swept the sky—“are moons! Moons of Barreth.”
“Um, I didn’t mean offense.”
“As to the scaramann, they are attacking us because they have been ordered to do so.”
“Ordered? By whom?”
Nimlinn’s pace slowed, becoming erratic just before stuttering to a halt. With a great turn of her head, she locked eyes with Lily.
Lily felt her pulse quicken. Nimlinn was sizing her up again, eyes boring into her. This was just the kind of thing she had wished to avoid. Lily tried hard to meet Nimlinn’s gaze with strength, but as the seconds ticked off, the task became more and more difficult.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
Lily tried to speak, but no intelligible words would come out.
Nimlinn turned away from Lily and set off again.
“He has many names, Lily,” began Nimlinn, in a faraway voice. “I know only a few. On Taw they call him Werfryht, on Dik Dek . . . Wergmyrk. On Dain he is known as Wrengfoul. But here on Barreth, he is named Rengtiscura.” When Nimlinn pronounced this last name, she rolled the first R and hissed the S.
“His dominion is the dead moon of Darwyth. I am told he resides there within a vast fortress of towers, surrounded by dead forests, perched on the rim of an empty, long-dead sea. If you were to take a single step on Darwyth, Lily, it would be your last. It is a place of death and despair. And as to these other moons, there are precious few that I would recommend. Here, of course, on Barreth, you will be safe . . . at least while you are a cub. No Rinn has ever killed another’s cub. When you are older, you will need to be with one of us who knows you.
“Dik Dek may suit you, but be careful which Embaseas you visit. I recommend Dik Dek’s own: The Palace Embasea. It’s the largest and safest. I suppose the Embasea of Taw would be safe. In fact, the moon of Taw is probably the safest place you can be. Remember, Lily, that the forests of Taw are always safe! All but one, that is, but the birds would never let you venture there. They will take good care of you.”
Lily found herself wanting to talk more of Taw and the Embaseas of Dik Dek—a beautiful painting of the Palace Embasea hung at the foot of the stairwell in Ebb’s great hallway—but she didn’t want to get off the subject of this many-named evil, Rengtiscura.
“Has he attacked before?” she asked.
“Not in recent times—not with this kind of strength. But I have begun to believe—with the counsel of your uncle—that once, very long ago, Barreth and our moons attacked him as one force, united. It was that battle and those that followed which nearly destroyed us all, including Rengtiscura himself. . . . But to my knowledge, he has forever been with us.”
Werfryht, Wergmyrk, Wrengfoul, Rengtiscura. Lily was frustrated that she didn’t know any of these names. Did he have another five names? One for each moon? Did she know one of those names from the bedtime tales? Lily itched for a pad of paper and pencil, and not for the last time, either. There was just too much to keep straight. She didn’t want the facts to blur with the fantasy. She wanted the facts to remain clear and separate, and that would take a journal.
Ebb had told Lily and Jasper hundreds of bedtime tales. And yet, if all those tales were of this place, how could their uncle have missed such a central character? He has forever been with us, Nimlinn had said. But how could that be?
Which parts of Ebb’s bedtime tales were real? Which were made up? In the Great Hall of the Rinn, someone had talked of scholars on Dik Dek and mentioned a name—what was the name? She had already forgotten. Was he a merman, or she a mermaid? Did the giants of Min Tar exist, or had Ebb made them up too? The dragons of Dain? She had seen some of the great birds of Taw, hadn’t she? Wasn’t the big green bird that had helped her a bird from Taw? Lily felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t even asked its name.
Nimlinn went on. “Rengtiscura meant to deliver to us today a battle of such force as to match that he dealt Dain.”
“But wouldn’t the dragons have just eaten them?”
“Be
ing the Queen of the Rinn, Lily, I know a little more of Dain than most, but, mind you, my knowledge is woefully incomplete. The dragons of which you speak are monstrous eating machines, that is true, but they are wild and thoughtless, attacking anything they meet. They are senseless—unorganized. They would be useless in battle, for they would just as soon attack friend as foe.”
Lily didn’t like the sound of this. The dragons in Uncle Ebb’s tales were intelligent, thoughtful, wise, and, for the most part, friendly.
“When did he attack Dain?”
“Let me think. It was . . . seventeen years ago. It was dreadful to behold. During our times of crossover with Dain, when we were so close we could hear their screams, we watched Rengtiscura’s ever-expanding swath of desolation. For our own defense, we massed our armies during these crossovers, for fear that we might be next. We watched. We waited. We did nothing as Dain fell before our eyes to his dark armies. He has destroyed their moon, Lily. They are now a mere shadow of their former glory. Their largest cities lie in ruin. They cower in a few fortified areas, packed like vermin, barely able to feed themselves.
“I fear Barreth is not safe from this same fate, Lily. Greydor has much work to do. If my kin are late, it will be all the more difficult to re-take Fangdelve. And we will be desperate for their bows should any of the fire-breathing dragonflies return.” Nimlinn’s tone changed, became softer, “Greydor is a good king, Lily. And he would have cared more about your plight if not for all of Barreth being at stake today—”
“Fire . . . breathing . . . dragonflies?”
“Yes. And they are much larger than you might think. Wyrrtwitch believes—”
“Wait—who is Wyrrtwitch?”
“Forgive me, I’ll explain. Wyrrtwitch is a lunamancer. She’s in charge of the tower Clawforge, where the rest of the lunamancer Rinn live and study. She believes that these fire-breathing dragonflies were once much smaller, and that the original stock was taken from the place we now call the Blight Marsh. That is not really so hard to believe, as it is not uncommon for dragonflies there to be six or more feet in—”