The Moon Coin (The Moon Realm Series)

by Richard Due

  “Six feet! How big are the fire-breathing ones?”

  “No living Rinn has seen one, but the large ones are said to measure over thirty feet; saddled, they could easily carry four scaramann. Between the bowshot and their breaths of fire, they would be formidable enemies.”

  “Wait—I saw them in the murals, in The Tomb of the Fallen.”

  Nimlinn scanned the skies. “That was the last time he controlled the tower of Fangdelve.”

  “But Nimlinn—” said Lily, trying to absorb all these new names and places, “aren’t we going to the Blight Marsh?”

  “Yes. But we are talking about events from our dimmest history. Allow me to tell you what I know. I will be brief and accurate. According to our scholars, at the dawn of the Second Age, the Age of Destruction, Rengtiscura attacked all of the Moon Realm within one cycle of crossovers. On Barreth, he attacked us from the Blight Marsh. On that day, he forever fouled what had been a place of great beauty. And even though it has healed much since that time, it is still tainted. He attacked Barreth first because he desired to capture Rinnjinn—”

  “Wait! I thought you said you didn’t believe in Rinnjinn?”

  “Well, I don’t . . . not exactly, anyway. You must take into account that almost everything from the time I’m telling you about has been pieced together. The beginning of the Second Age was six millennia ago, and precious little has survived. And while your uncle can spout stories and dates like a living encyclopedia, I cannot bring myself to believe that all he has to say is true. I’m sure there was a Rinn, or maybe a group of Rinn, who did some of the things Rinnjinn is said to have done. But for Rinnjinn to have achieved all he is credited for is simply not possible. These remaining stories of Rinnjinn are tavern tales, Lily, told so many times they have grown big. They are myths—mere bedtime stories!

  “But we are getting too far off point. Wherever Rengtiscura attacks, he likes to capture creatures to take back to Darwyth. There, his dwythbane warp them, changing them from their natural state into something he desires. The dwythbane breed them and train them to fight in Rengtiscura’s armies. In this way, so Wyrrtwitch believes, the fire-breathing dragonflies were created.”

  “Are the dwythbane like bad lunamancers?”

  “They wield magic, yes, but they are equally adept with weapons. I have never seen one, but I’m told they walk on two legs, just as you do. Furless, their skin peels like bark, and their paws are said to resemble clumps of roots.”

  Lily tried to let this sink in, but it was a lot of information, and she cursed the bits and pieces that she knew were getting by her. This wouldn’t happen to Uncle Ebb, Lily thought. And an image of Uncle Ebb surfaced in Lily’s mind. He was smiling, standing in the doorway of his home, flanked on either side by those tall bookcases, loading and unloading his coat pockets with handfuls of little books and newly-sharpened pencils. And then it hit her. Uncle Ebb could have been visiting the Moon Realm since before they were born, and those little books were full of the things he was learning there. The sneak! The smiling little sneak!

  Lily knew she’d have an easier time remembering all these facts if they were answers to questions she made up herself. Reconciling the bedtime tales—sorting out what was real from what was not—seemed a good way to start.

  “Nimlinn, wait, what happened between the Rinn and the Dain? Why do you hate each other? I thought you were friends.”

  “Now you are talking like your uncle. But it’s not just the Dain from whom we are estranged, Lily. We have no formal contact with any of the moons within our Realm except Taw.”

  “What about Dik Dek?”

  “Ah, very good. We have no official contact with them, but long have the seagoing Rinn traded there. Rille is as close as you will come to a leader of the merfolk on Dik Dek. I have only spoken to him through the birds, but Greydor has a way to contact him and can actually see him when they talk. There is a crossover—more than one, actually—where Barreth’s oceans meet our Embasea on Dik Dek.”

  “Have you ever been to an Embasea?” asked Lily.

  “I have never visited any of our moons, and I don’t expect I ever will. But I haven’t finished answering your question about Dain. The Rinn don’t talk with the Dain, if we ever did. First, you must understand that almost all the Rinn harbor a great hatred for the Dain. They believe the people of Dain once enslaved us and rode us as dumb beasts to labor under their will.”

  Lily shifted uneasily in the saddle. She fingered the curving lines engraved in the design atop the saddle’s pommel, tracing what appeared to be a single letter in foreign script. And yet, it seemed familiar, like she’d seen it somewhere before.

  “Your uncle has worked tirelessly to refute the image of the Dain enslaving the Rinn. And to his credit, he has convinced a handful of powerful and important Rinn. But in general, among the populace”—she made the clicking sound with her tongue—“it would not be safe for a Dain to walk on Barreth without powerful protection.”

  Lily thought back to her meeting with Greydor. There had been a name . . . a name attached to a Dain.

  “Nimlinn . . . that lunamancer . . . Mow—Mow—”

  “Mowra,” Nimlinn finished.

  “Thank you. She talked about someone from Dain. It was as though Mowra had talked to her many times and thought she might know something about the necklace. Has this person been to Barreth? Can she walk here safely?”

  “You are speaking of Ember. It is true; she has been here on Barreth, but only very rarely. And on those occasions, she had to be secretly escorted and carefully hidden until delivered to Clawforge. There she has made a name for herself among the lunamancer Rinn. They have taken to her in a way that I would not have imagined possible. But on the streets of Sea Denn, or any other place on Barreth, she would most likely be torn limb from limb by the first group of Rinn to cross her path.”

  A chill passed through Lily. “So, when I’m not a cub,” she said mechanically, “I’ll be torn to pieces.”

  “Not as long as you are under the protection of those who know you,” answered Nimlinn immediately. “You would not be forcibly removed or attacked if you were with me, Greydor, Roan, or any of his clutter.”

  “What if I was with Swatfur, or Twizbang, or Snerliff?”

  “Swatfur?”

  “A Rinn cub.”

  Nimlinn’s silence was answer enough. Lily tried not to think about when the line between cub and whatever came after might begin to blur. Instead, she thought back to Tanglemane, lying sleepily on his rock. Was he dangerous? Nimlinn sure didn’t trust him.

  “What about Tanglemane, Nimlinn? Who is he?”

  “He is Qaz. They have no true clan. They wander wherever valley meets mountain. They are good Rinn, Lily, but I believe Tanglemane has some mountain Rinn in his blood, and that makes him very . . . unpredictable.”

  “Mountain Rinn?”

  “Feral beasts. They live deep in the mountains, near the high passes. They are very difficult to understand or deal with, though I understand the Qaz manage to coexist with them.”

  “Nimlinn, how many types of Rinn are there? And what did you mean by good Rinn? Are there bad Rinn?”

  “There are sea, mountain, valley, forest, and the Qaz. And as to bad Rinn, Lily, let us just hope we do not meet any of them tonight . . . or any night, for that matter.”

  Lily’s gaze swept across the brightly-lit landscape. Night, the real night, would come eventually. She wondered if that might somehow break Roan’s strange spell.

  “How long will Roan’s spell last, Nimlinn?”

  “I don’t know. No one has ever cast darkness that widely before.”

  “How did he do it?”

  Nimlinn laughed, tossing her head.

  “You tell me; you are the one who caused it!”

  Lily knew perfect
ly well that she had done nothing of the kind.

  “I cast no spells!” she protested.

  “No, I don’t doubt that, but you have something about you—something I have never felt before. I felt it when I cast the sight upon you so you could see through this darkness.”

  Lily absentmindedly patted her shirt, making sure the hard lump of the pendant was there beneath the fabric.

  “It wasn’t me, Nimlinn. It was Uncle Ebb’s necklace. It has strange powers, and I don’t really know how to use them.”

  Nimlinn harrumphed.

  “With this sight, will I be able to see in the real night, after Roan’s spell fades?”

  “No.”

  Lily looked off to the mountains, which were growing nearer with every stride of Nimlinn’s powerful legs.

  “For a spell called darkness, it sure isn’t very dark.”

  “It is an old spell, Lily. Nearly all the Rinn can call it down, even those not well versed in magic.”

  Lily looked down at her hand, sure she had never had such an easy time making out the lines in her palm, or bugs on the ground, or leaves on far away trees.

  “Tell me more about Dik Dek, Nimlinn?”

  Nimlinn veered to the right, briefly jogging on three legs, and pointed her enormous paw toward a huge moon hanging low in the sky.

  “That blue one there, that is Dik Dek. It is virtually all water. The only exception being the—”

  “Embaseas,” Lily interrupted.

  “How much do you know of the Embaseas?”

  “I’ve seen paintings of them—living coral castles that soar out of the sea. Along their walls and around their spires swim enchanted airborne fish, the brightest colors you can imagine. And on darkward nights, when no moon’s light can reach their shell-and-anemone-covered walls, the whole Embasea glows in deep hues of phosphorescent purple, green, and sapphire, streaked with fiery reds and firefly sparks of yellow and gold.” Lily felt a wash of emotion overtake her, and her eyes welled up as she recalled the bedtime tales she so desperately wanted to be true. “And in their pearled halls, where the merfolk surface from the pools and fountains with feasts harvested from their gardens, they sing songs, and tell bewitching tales, and drink until all the nighttime hours have evaporated. Finally, at dawn, they depart for the open sea through the labyrinth of passages that flow from all the lower courtyards and halls.”

  The road canted upward, and the mountains were getting closer. Lily could sense Nimlinn exerting herself more to keep up her pace.

  “You sound like you’ve been there,” said Nimlinn.

  Now it was Lily’s turn to harrumph.

  “I’ve heard lots of tales, Nimlinn. And I mean lots of tales. When Uncle Ebb thought we were old enough to keep quiet, he’d tell us new ones. But if we slipped up in front of Mom or Dad, they got very angry with him.”

  The angle of the saddle pitched back. Lily instinctively grabbed the pommel with both hands, and glanced about her, surprised to see that they were now moving through rumpled hills and scrubby trees at a much faster rate than before.

  Nimlinn bounded into the air, and Lily caught her breath as they soared over a hillock, then landed gracefully, still maintaining a full gallop.

  “Lily, I am now certain that this saddle is even more magical than I had hoped. I advise you to watch what you think—and do—very carefully when sitting in it, as we do not know the extent of its powers. And not knowing the powers of a magical object, even a good one, can be very dangerous.”

  “What kind of powers are you talking about, Nimlinn?”

  “Look ahead. In that gap in the mountains, directly before us, lies Armashen. It is a small, well-fortified city. It is meant to provide safe passage to Rihnwood. I’m sure, even with your eyes, that you can see the bridge arching across the river, to the right of the falls.”

  Lily squinted, “Yes, Nimlinn, I see it.”

  “Those falls mark the headwaters of the river Barradil, which cuts through a great canyon that runs along the mountain’s edge to the sea. Roan is waiting for us on that bridge. I have now borne you nearly one hundred miles, and yet I feel as though I have barely begun. More importantly, I have felt no need for food. And that, I can tell you, is very unusual for a Rinn. But there is another thing I feel. . . .”

  Nimlinn’s course shifted slightly eastward then, down and away from the pass, away from the bridge. Lily followed the rest of the run to its terminus, where it rose abruptly and ended on a cliff high above the river.

  “Lily, on your saddle, there should be straps for your legs.”

  “Yes,” said Lily, suddenly listening intently. “Twizbang showed me how to hitch them.”

  “And you have them on now?”

  “Yes,” said Lily, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

  “Are they tight, Lily?” shouted Nimlinn, over the sound of rising wind. “Really tight?”

  Lily nervously made a rapid check of the straps buckled around her legs, tightening them as much as she dared.

  “I’m good, Nimlinn,” she shouted back, her stomach now feeling uncomfortable.

  “Good, Lily! Good!” Nimlinn made a sound that Lily feared was laughter.

  She felt Nimlinn’s body lower as she increased her pace, her paws raking in the earth below them, swallowing greater and greater distances with each stride.

  Lily leaned forward in the saddle and found two great loops she had originally thought were for a rider’s weapons, but the loops fit her hands so perfectly that she now thought she might have discovered their true purpose. As to where they were headed, Lily no longer needed her newly enhanced sight.

  “Nimlinn?” Lily shouted to the wind. “Nimlinn! There’s no bridge here!”

  In the span of an instant, Nimlinn’s great frame bounded up the last of the long rocky slope. Her front claws just kissed the cliff’s edge, but with such force that they cut into the rock, shearing off slivers and blasting heated sparks. Her back coiled like a spring, pitching her body forward and giving Lily a brief and all too clear view of the chasm below, before her rear claws hammered into place alongside her front paws. And the great coil that was Nimlinn unwound with the force of a thousand bows, hurtling the two of them into nothingness.

  Lily screamed.

  Nimlinn must have miscalculated. The other side of the gorge was too far away. At least, Lily was thinking this before she realized that they were still ascending, as though momentarily on wings. As Nimlinn soared, she kept her paws fully extended. Lily had an instant to think we might just make it before they smashed into the ground on the other side. She had braced herself, fully expecting to be flattened against the saddle on impact, but the shock was nothing near as great as she’d expected, and Nimlinn made resuming a full run look like cub’s play. With a quick glance, Lily looked back and saw they had cleared the gorge’s edge by over thirty feet. Now, in the mountains, Nimlinn’s pace refused to slow, and she leapt just as often to a boulder as to a bit of path.

  “You’ve been through here before?” yelled Lily, over the ringing sounds of Nimlinn’s claws as they struck and ripped out paw-sized gouges of rock.

  “No—” Nimlinn grunted, executing a particularly harrowing leap that caused Lily’s stomach to drop away for a time before bouncing back, “but it does feel as though I can see the way. Or . . . as if it is being shown to me.”

  “Another power of the saddle?”

  “That would be . . . my . . . guess.”

  Nimlinn raced across a narrowing sliver of rock before leaping at the very last second and just reaching an overhang. Her claws drove into the rocks like steel into ice. Lily marveled at Nimlinn’s climbing ability. It quickly became obvious that all she needed was the purchase of a single paw to pull up her entire body, rider and all, to whatever ledge or rock awaited.

&nb
sp; When Nimlinn explained, during a brief moment on what looked like the hint of a trail, that their conversation would have to wait until they were out of the mountains, Lily didn’t argue.

  Hours passed as Nimlinn hauled them up the mountainside, never slowing, never missing a step, always ready and able to make the next leap. It wasn’t until they reached the final pinnacle that Nimlinn, breathing hard, paused to survey her achievement. It was like being at the top of the world. The valley was behind them, the great Rihnwood forest before, and always, the ocean to the right.

  “There, Lily,” she said, pointing leftward to a green canopy that started at the root of the mountain and stretched to the horizon’s edge. “The great forest Rihnwood, home of the BroadPaw.”

  But before Lily could get out a word, Nimlinn dove down the other side of the mountain. In seconds they reached terrifying speeds. On the way up there had been gaps, ledges, and long stretches on narrow spines of rock, but going down was more like a barely controlled fall. Just when it seemed Nimlinn couldn’t descend any faster, she dug in her heels and sent them plummeting with such force that Lily was sure there was no hope for them.

  After enduring constant vertical descents, they entered the final stretch. A thin spine of mountain gradually gave way to a long arm that slowly curved around until it met the beach and the pounding surf. Nimlinn was now running so fast that Lily had difficulty making out her legs. They met a narrow road that Lily assumed was the way back to Armashen or onward to the Blight Marsh. Once on the road, Nimlinn slowed a bit. On their left rose the great forest of Rihnwood, and on their right crashed the sea. The roar of the waves created a strange, slow rhythm. And for the first time in a long time, Lily discovered she wasn’t terrified.

  Slowly, she relaxed the stiff muscles in her arms and shoulders. Lily wondered what time it must be on Earth. The last time she had seen her clock it had been a little past ten. How many hours had she spent on Barreth? How many since she left Sea Denn? In the mountains, down the mountains. Surely it must be morning on Earth. She’d missed a whole night’s sleep. Her parents would be waking up soon. What would they think when she wasn’t in her bed?