The Moon Coin (The Moon Realm Series)

by Richard Due

  “All right,” he croaked. “Have it your way.” He struggled to his feet, grumbling, and shuffled down the hall toward Tavin’s door, towing a blanket behind him and complaining about how hard the floor was going to be.

  Keegan turned to Lily. “He does sleep, yes?”

  “He must,” said Lily, with false certainty, “but I have yet to see it with my own eyes.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keegan’s Ground

  Once outside, every step Keegan took conjured a ghostly light in front of them while extinguishing one behind. The trails between the buildings were narrow, and everywhere nestled sleeping animals, noses tucked under each other. Every outbuilding appeared to be made for housing or tending animals. Lily kept a wary eye for Pippa, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Keegan, why don’t any of the fences have gates? How do you keep the animals from wandering off?”

  Keegan gave Lily a cautious, sideward glance.

  “My problem is quite the opposite. I must turn back animals every day. And those ready to go I must push out. It is the way of the land now. One of Wrengfoul’s many gifts.”

  “How long has it been this way?”

  Keegan pursed his lips. “It was this way once before, well before my time. But this most recent period began after Wrengfoul last attacked us.”

  “And that was when Perianth was flooded, and Castle Fendragon abandoned?”

  “Precisely, but the fall of Perianth was just the beginning. After that, he spread his forces over the land and destroyed or poisoned as much as he could, leveling towns and crippling once-powerful cities.”

  “But he’s gone now, right?” Lily pointed out. “So can’t you rebuild the locks? Can’t you drain the fens again?”

  They crossed a small creek via a wooden bridge no more than five or six feet in span.

  Keegan smiled. “Well, Lily, we’re working towards it, of course. But it isn’t something that can be changed quickly. At least, not by any means I can imagine. You see, the locks and the windmills were great works, and their original construction must have required thousands of people working diligently over decades. We’re far fewer now, and the act of survival occupies most of our time. Many things need to be accomplished before the fens will ever be dry again. It will take the work of many generations to restore the windmills to their former glory, I can assure you.”

  “So, the windmills and locks are completely destroyed? They were so beautiful.”

  “You talk as if you’ve seen them.”

  “Only in a painting. But a very good one. It’s looking down the shoreline. There must be twenty of the mills in view, their stone arches soaring into the air—tall as cathedrals! The sunlight is bright in the foreground, but everywhere else is dark because a storm is moving in. The sea is roiling against the seawalls, and you can just make out the crews in the closest windmills, reducing the amounts of canvas on the blades. It’s a large painting, but even up close the people look like ants.”

  “I saw them once . . . as a boy. That was a sight, I can tell you. They bore the Tinker’s mark. Can you imagine?” asked Keegan, his eyes twinkling. “Tinkers! Working on Dain! You can be sure no one from Dain ever saw those plans! For that matter, I doubt any one Tinker was privy to all of it—they’re such a secretive bunch. And the Dain who stayed on to run them were a strange, secret lot themselves. So much that you would have thought they’d been infected with the Tinkers’ arcanum.”

  “What’s that?”

  Keegan thought for a minute. “In your uncle’s tales, the Tinkers are a taciturn but still productive race. They choose to communicate sparingly, but understand the benefits of trade with others in the Moon Realm. In times of need, they could even be described as . . . helpful.”

  Ebb’s words came back to Lily. “‘Given the proper tools and materials, a Tinker can build anything. They have no word for impossible.’”

  “That I wouldn’t know. You see, the Tinkers I know about are secretive to a fault, unable or unwilling to communicate, and incapable of sharing so much as their name. They all suffer from the same malady: the Tinkers’ arcanum.”

  “Sounds like more of Wrengfoul’s work.”

  “A distinct possibility.”

  On Jasper’s seventh birthday, Uncle Ebb had given him three Tinker figurines. Jasper had named them Think, Thank, and Thunk. In the stories she and her brother invented, Think, Thank, and Thunk would have been appalled by the behavior Keegan described. In their stories, the three Tinkers would often save the day, using one of their wonderful devices to get the other figurines out of some troublesome spot at the last second.

  “So . . . all the windmills are gone?” asked Lily.

  “I haven’t been since they were destroyed, but my understanding is that only the stone foundations—the arches and piers—still exist. The wooden structures on top, and all the works they concealed, were burned, toppled, and dragged into the sea. The gates to the locks were completely destroyed.”

  “What happened to the people?”

  “They moved east to the costal city of Warsh. They carved out their own place there and keep very much to themselves, even after all this time.”

  “Why didn’t they ever come back?”

  “Allegedly, the serpents responsible for destroying the windmills still survive. And in numbers great enough to attack again should anyone attempt to rebuild.” Keegan stopped and pointed at a stand of tall trees. “These will do,” he said, before cupping his hands and making a loud noise that sounded like a summoning. The moon coin failed to translate it.

  After a long silence, Lily heard the approach of wingbeats. A dark shape entered one of the trees, rustling the limbs.

  “Greetings, Keegan,” spoke a deep voice. “What can I do for you this night?”

  “Greetings, my friend.” Keegan spread his arms wide. “I have a very important message for the Lady Ember of Bairne. Can you help?”

  “You need only ask.”

  “Good. Tell her she is needed at Tavin’s home by midnight tomorrow. It is of the utmost importance that she be there. Tell her Dubb sends for her.”

  “Easily done. Anything else?”

  “Yes, but not for you. Go.”

  The branch of the tree dipped low, and the sound of flapping wings faded into the night.

  Now the healer called again, and another messenger arrived. Keegan sent word to a Lady Mairwen of the Royal House duBair, explaining where and when Lord Nalren would arrive and that provisions were needed for stabling two very fine horses. Keegan leaned more heavily on Lily’s arm. “Let’s get back to the house, shall we?”

  In the kitchen, Keegan poured two cups of tea, pulled out two chairs, and sat down heavily in one of them.

  “Who’s Lord Nalren?” asked Lily, taking the other seat.

  “In time. First, I want to hear about Tavin. What spooked you and Dubb so?”

  Lily stared down at her tea. A sudden suspicion arose in her: Nima was looking into Tavin’s mind in the next room . . . using tea.

  Keegan seemed to sense this, saying, “Sometimes, Lily, tea is just tea.” He smiled politely.

  Lily took a sip from her mug.

  “He tried to kill me.”

  Keegan laughed at that, but as he looked into Lily’s face, his mien slowly changed from indulgence to disbelief.

  “Forgive me. I don’t mean to laugh at you, but what you say makes no sense. I’ve known Tavin since he was—oh, much younger than you. He couldn’t have tried to kill you. If he had, then you would most certainly be dead. Trust me.”

  Lily took another sip and stared at Keegan.

  “I see no sword at your belt,” continued Keegan. “You seem rather young to be a master swordswoman . . . and even if you were, you would not be Tavin’s master with th
e blade—”

  “He tried to kill me . . . with a spell.”

  Keegan’s face registered his disbelief. He sat up a little straighter. “No, Lily, you must be mistaken. Tavin is—”

  “Dragondain, yes, I know—whatever that means.” Lily explained exactly what had occurred when Tavin escaped. Keegan looked more and more puzzled as she described Tavin’s actions as he worked on Arric’s ward. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, only to close it wordlessly a moment later. When Lily finished, the two sat in silence, sipping their tea.

  “Curses don’t throw spells, Lily. . . . People throw spells,” murmured Keegan.

  “I agree: it was Tavin.” Keegan winced. “Who’s Lord Nalren?” Lily asked again.

  Keegan smiled. “You know him as Dubb.”

  “He’s a lord?”

  “Of the Royal House duBair. A venerable family.”

  “And the Lady Mairwen?”

  “His wife. They have two children: Darce, who is perhaps a year older than you, and Teague, who must be, oh, entering his eleventh year, or so.”

  “Does he . . . own a castle or something?”

  “Or something, but his lands, as with all the lords, are now in the wastes, making it more of a title than anything. Oh, they get to live in the upper reaches of Bairne, and they are technically part of the court, but not the part currently in favor. Mind you, his time spent with his old friends from the Dragondain would be frowned upon, hence the alias Dubb.”

  “So it’s a secret? That he was in the Dragondain?”

  “Oh! By the moons, no. Lord Nalren’s captaincy is renowned. It’s the current company he keeps that is secret.”

  “You mean Tavin and the rest.”

  “Mostly just Tavin. But don’t think less of Dubb for it. Publicly distancing yourself from a cursed person is a very wise decision.”

  “I’ll say,” Lily agreed.

  “So,” Keegan began, “Dubb tells me you’re a relation of Lord Autumn? Is this true?”

  “He’s my uncle.”

  “You do bear a strong family resemblance.”

  “So you know my uncle?”

  Keegan nodded. “Yes, all my life.”

  Lily narrowed her eyes at Keegan. “How—”

  “My father and mother knew him very well.” Keegan glanced up to the ceiling in a moment of thought. “My mother met him through her aunt’s father-in-law, now that would have been . . .”

  Lily shook her head. “You must have the wrong person, Keegan. My uncle is, like, forty-something.”

  “And how old are you, Lily?” asked Keegan, as he examined a nail that he had been chewing a moment before.

  “I’m thirteen.”

  Keegan wedged his fingernail between his teeth again, lost in thought.

  “Hmmm,” he said, after a time. “Interesting . . . so are you the younger one, or the older one?”

  Having a brother so close in age, Lily was not unaccustomed to this question. But considering she’d made no mention of Jasper to anyone on Dain, it struck her as out of place.

  She had a thought. “Uncle Ebb has talked about us?” she asked, nodding encouragingly.

  Keegan’s eyes remained on his nails.

  “Terrible habit,” he began, “biting one’s fingernails.” He made a weak smile.

  “Keegan . . .”

  Keegan cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, and then stood, using his cane.

  “Time for bed, I think.”

  Lily stood, too. “He has talked about us, right? That’s how you know I have a brother?”

  “A brother? Very nice.” Keegan motioned for Lily to follow. “I have a nice room for you down this hall, one I use for guests.”

  “My brother is twelve months older than I am,” said Lily flatly.

  Keegan turned and regarded her as she approached him. “Your uncle, in personal matters, is famously tight-lipped.” Lily took Keegan’s arm to steady him better. “Although quite the opposite in everything else, and never more so than in all things to do with tale telling.” Keegan’s face softened.

  “You call them tales? Not stories?” asked Lily.

  “Oh, yes,” said Keegan, a mercurial glint in his eyes. “There’s a difference, you know.”

  “Yes, I do. So, are you saying you believe they’re true?”

  “Every one. My favorite is one I heard secondhand—well, overheard, really.” Keegan leaned forward. “It was the one about . . . The Mermaid and the Sea Jewels.”

  “The Mermaid—” began Lily, suddenly very excited. “And the Sea Jewels. I’ve never heard that one!”

  Keegan’s face fell. “Pity. I was rather hoping you could tell it to me.”

  “I don’t understand. Didn’t you say you knew it?”

  He tipped his head back in thought. “We were celebrating a rare, lunar alignment. There were many people here, of all ages. It was late, and I’d had a bit much to drink. I had just sat back to rest before the fire when I heard a familiar voice in the next room, a woman’s voice. She was telling the tale to some children, I suppose. I—I just couldn’t place the voice, but I remember very clearly, at the time, thinking it was one of the grandest tales I’d ever heard. Unfortunately, by the morning, I couldn’t have told you half of it. I have never attempted to repeat it—retelling one of your Uncle’s tales badly is nothing short of criminal. Sometimes, I wonder if I just slipped into the twilight of sleep. Could I have simply imagined it? Is that why no one else knows the tale?”

  “If you could narrow down who was—”

  “I know, I know. I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought, questioned the likely suspects the next morning, even talked to the children. But alas, some things in this life are just meant for the moment.

  “At any rate, as regards your personal matters, I think you would do well to remain as tight-lipped as your uncle. At least, until you know whom you can trust, and just as importantly, whom you can’t.”

  “I trust Dubb,” said Lily.

  “Ah! Yes, Dubb would be a good choice . . . if not for Tavin.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dubb has known Tavin all his life, trusted Tavin all his life. They are like brothers. And there’s the rub. If I’m not mistaken, all that has changed now, or is going to very soon. Even Dubb will have a difficult time reckoning it, Lily. They trust each other with their very lives, all of that bunch do. Oh, this is going to be bad, very bad. Dubb will need to find a balance.”

  “And the Lady Ember? Can I trust her?”

  “Ember—” Keegan grimaced. “I’m afraid Ember has not trusted Tavin in a very long time. But she trusts Dubb . . . who . . . trusts Tavin.” Keegan shrugged his shoulders. “Which makes this all very complicated. You will need to keep your wits about you.”

  Keegan opened the door to a small room not unlike the one Tavin and Nima were occupying. “This will be a good place for you to sleep until morning. Good night.”

  Leaning in, he added, “And Lily, I don’t recall Lord Autumn ever mentioning any kin. I can only conclude that he never intended you to be here. Or possibly,” he mused, “he didn’t intend for you to be here now.” And he closed the door.

  Lily reached up and slid home the heavy iron bolt on her side of the door. She used the wash basin in the corner of the room, and dried her face with a coarse towel. She placed Ebb’s necklace under her pillow and quickly undressed. Sliding into the sheets, she was happy to find they were not nearly as scratchy as they looked, but they were cold and took a long while to warm up. Shivering, Lily reviewed the day’s events. Her biggest questions kept leading back home.

  Where is Ebb? What do Mom and Dad know? Is Ebb really our uncle?

  Lily’s thoughts wandered back to Ebb’s bedtime tales. The Mermaid
and the Sea Jewels. He’d told tales to other children that he hadn’t told to her or Jasper? Lily fought down a pang of jealousy. She willed herself back to her younger days, back to their shared room, back to where it all began. They would huddle together in one bed and hang on every word: pulling the covers over their heads during the scary parts, bounding about on their knees acting out scenes during the exciting parts. Lily concentrated hard, trying to imagine all the tales. She could see Ebb, sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing his coat of many pockets. For some tales, he produced the most amazing little props from those pockets—props that had, at the time, seemed like magic.

  Of course, when they were older, after Ebb had told his tales and left for the night, they argued about the sleights of hand necessary to make Ebb’s props work. Jasper wasn’t always able to explain them away logically, and Lily clung to the possibility of magic. It wasn’t until they were older still that they both admitted there was no such thing as magic—just sleight of hand.

  But why, wondered Lily, were so many of the tales wrong? Why weren’t the Rinn and the people of Dain friends? Why were the dragons crazed, bloodthirsty beasts? Where was their intellect? Why were there only land dragons? Where were all the winged ones? Who was this Wrengfoul? And what of Darwyth? Never had Ebb spoken of it as a dead world—quite the opposite.

  These were the questions Lily thought about as she drifted off to sleep, but if her subconscious mind had any answers for her, it did not reveal them in her dreams.

  She woke to a soft knocking at her door. The room was even colder now.

  She leapt out of bed, stiff-limbed, and pulled her cold clothes on, making sure to tuck the necklace under her shirt before approaching the door, to which she briefly placed her ear.