by Richard Due
“So, Tavin got to the swords first?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did you end up with the moon sword?”
Dubb shook his head. “It was the damnedest thing. He picked up the moon sword, leaving the other on the ground, and then . . . he gave it to me—just handed it over. He had that insane grin he gets—”
“I know that grin,” said Ember, smiling.
“Then, as I watched, he simply reached down and picked up that wretched blade. It never occurred to me that he would keep it. Next thing I knew, he was unbuckling his old sword—his father’s sword—and casting it aside as if it were a piece of junk, buckling on the cursed one in its place. We acted like it was a joke. We laughed a long time over that—too long, what with all that had happened that day. It was two days before we realized the depths of his peril.
“Anyway, there was something else I found that day, something I’ve never shown to anyone. I thought there would come a time when it would be clear to me who was the greater lunamancer: you or Cora. But then Cora’s daughters came along . . .”
“Annora and Bree are uncontrollable. They take too many risks. I fear for their lives.”
Dubb smiled. “That’s exactly how I felt about you and Cora. When you were Annora and Bree’s age,” Dubb added quickly.
Ember’s gaze drifted to the cracked blade that had nearly killed her. “You’re too kind.”
Dubb upended the small bag. Four rings fell into Ember’s open hand.
“You’re going to have to choose which one is the best of you. I can’t be the one to decide. I broke them loose from a pair of mummified hands: two on the thumbs, two on the index fingers.”
Ember poked at the rings in her palm. “Peerin rings. A full set. Dubb, these must be passed down to work properly. There are things the wearer needs to know. It would be too dangerous to—”
“Look at the runes on them,” said Dubb. “There’s one on each.”
Ember held up one of the rings. “It’s not any form of Dainish I’m familiar with.”
“They look like trouble to me.”
“So why are you giving them to me now, after all these years?”
“Take out Balherk’s book.” Ember pulled the small volume from her robes. “Turn the spine toward the firelight. Do you see?”
Running down the blue leather spine was a series of small runes embossed in gold. Ember lined up the rings. They matched perfectly.
If it had been anyone but Dubb, Ember would have been amazed that he remembered such a small detail from so long ago.
“They’re Balherk’s peerin rings!”
“You’ll find an entire chapter on them in that book. He must have handed them down to someone, who handed them down to someone. Eventually, someone didn’t. Instead, they took them to their grave.”
Ember gave a weak smile. “I’ll show them to Cora. Maybe something in the book will help us make a decision.” Then she tilted her head to one side. “Dubb, whatever happened to Tavin’s old sword?”
“You mean his father’s?”
“Yes.”
Dubb grinned grimly. “I couldn’t get him to take it back. He meant no disrespect, of course. He just wasn’t acting himself. . . . I wasn’t sure what to do. So I took it to my father and asked for his thoughts on the matter.”
“But didn’t your father and Tavin’s father—”
“I know, but I didn’t know what else to do. He isn’t called The Glaive for nothing. And Tavin is, after all, the closest thing he has to a favorite.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Ember. “Tavin was terrified of him. You both were.”
“Were?”
“Your father loves you, Dubb. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”
Dubb unconsciously massaged the scars on the backs of his hands.
“He was far too brutal to the two of you,” she added.
Dubb’s eyes flashed. “He most certainly was not! We were foolishly talented.”
“Those are his words.”
“And damned accurate! He was—and remains to this day—the royal master-at-arms. He couldn’t have us running around like idiots, doing whatever we pleased.”
“He made you fear him.”
“Everyone fears him. It’s natural to fear The Glaive. He sees all weaknesses.”
Ember folded her arms. “Your Darce doesn’t fear him,” she said pointedly.
Dubb rolled his eyes. “By the moons, she should.”
“It’s he who fears her.”
Dubb smiled. “Fear would find no life in that man’s heart. Darce is still young. Perhaps what you’re seeing is respect . . . for what could be—nothing more.”
“I know fear when I see it. And I tell you, he fears her.”
Dubb looked down at his hands, as if just noticing the lacework of scars on their backs for the first time.
“I understand he won’t cross blades with her anymore,” continued Ember, “not even practice ones. He won’t even allow her to see his bouts. Why is that?”
“Because—” began Dubb, but he had no answer.
“Because he fears she will find his weakness,” said Ember.
Dubb’s eyes darted about. “The Glaive has no weaknesses,” he said as though by rote. “Only traps.”
“I tell you she’s found one—maybe more.”
Dubb snorted, shaking his head as though Ember had suggested something crazy.
“So, what did he say about the sword?” she asked.
“What? Oh, yes. You must understand, he is very traditional about these kinds of things.”
“You mean superstitious, don’t you?”
“Hm.” Dubb’s eyes clouded over with memories. “I’m not so sure anymore. The older I get—” Dubb glanced to the door, distractedly, then back to Ember. “He said . . . he said bad things happen when swords fall out of families.”
“Do you believe that?”
“All my life I have found it unwise to doubt his knowledge concerning any aspect of the blade. Lore or no.”
From down the hallway came the creaking of the door.
“Good, Tavin’s back,” she said. “I must be going now.”
Ember dropped the rings into a pouch at her waist. Quickly pocketing the book, she hastily folded up the rubbings and reached for her traveling cloak.
“You’re still too weak to travel alone. Let him take you as far as the rampart. You’ll be safe from there on.”
Ember looked doubtfully at Dubb. “Couldn’t you take me?” she asked.
“I think not.”
Tavin entered the room, limping slightly but in a much brighter mood. “I’ve arranged for the carts and wagons. They’ll be ready at sunrise.”
“Good work. Now take Ember to the ramparts.”
Tavin’s face fell. A second later, he noticed the moon sword lying on his bed. “What’s been going on? Where’s Lily?”
Ember brushed past him as she left the room.
“Lily’s gone,” said Dubb.
“Gone? Did she say when she’d be back?”
“No. In fact, she said someone else may come in her stead.” Dubb nudged Tavin out of the room. “Now go.”
Ember was just closing the door behind her, stepping out into the street. Tavin paused in the hallway. “Couldn’t you take her?” he asked, avoiding Dubb’s eyes.
“Tavin,” Dubb began, looking uneasily at the door, “she tried some kind of spell that didn’t work. She’s very weakened. You know how she is; she’s not about to—”
But Tavin had limped out into the street before Dubb could finish his sentence.
Ember was nowhere to be seen. She could have taken any number of routes to the ramparts through the warren of roa
ds and alleys in this quarter. Tavin would need to be lucky to guess which one. Sadly, it’s not the lot of the cursed to be lucky.
Tavin had long since grown accustomed to most things in his life going wrong. But he refused to give in. Nothing about his life was simple anymore. Used to failure, he had learned always to prepare a backup plan—a sound philosophy, be the task as deadly as a duel, or as harmless as picking the apple without the worm. Over the years, Tavin had come to think that, occasionally, briefly, he could still will his luck to the good, just as in the days before he met Curse, when his luck had always run high.
Guessing Ember’s route correctly, he arrived at her side within moments. Neither spoke a word during the long walk to the ramparts. At different times, though, each stole a lingering glance, though neither realized or would have guessed that the other did so, too.
It was well after midnight when Tavin tossed Dubb’s moon sword onto the dresser. Rarely had the friends been more exhausted. During Tavin’s walk with Ember, Dubb had decided it would be wise to watch over him this first night back, and had already appropriated half of Tavin’s sheets for the small cot in the front room. Once the fire was well stoked, both men settled into a restless slumber.
A clear cold wind descended from the mountaintops. It pushed away the fog and stink that so often hung over the fortress-city, revealing the white-misted moon of Rel’ Kah, silently receding. As the night wore on, Taw became the dominant moon, filling the night sky and halting just short of a crossover. Its forests hung dark, green, and lush over the rim of mountains that surrounded Bairne. In time, Taw swung aside, revealing a trailing Darwyth, which soon filled the night with its dead forests and empty seas.
Tavin opened his eyes first.
The fire had burned down to embers, transforming all the room’s furniture into dim red shapes, all save the dresser and the hearthstone before the fire. There, two bright shafts of Darwyth’s ghostly moonlight shone. The jewels on the moon sword’s scabbard cast thin beams onto the ceiling and walls.
And then Tavin heard it clearly: a noise from within the room. He leapt from his bed, dagger at the ready.
“Who goes there?” he shouted.
The noise, a steady metallic whine, grew louder, but he couldn’t pinpoint its source.
“Show yourself!” he commanded.
Dubb came flying into the room, his own dagger drawn.
“Is that Curse?” he croaked.
From the bedside chair, Tavin seized his scabbard, holding it to his ear.
“No,” he said, belting the sword on over his nightclothes.
The whine increased in volume and pitch.
Instinctively, they moved together, back to back, spinning first to one wall, then another.
Suddenly, beneath the whine, words became audible.
“Tavin, it must be your sword!” protested Dubb.
“No! That’s not Curse’s voice. Nor its language. I have never heard this tongue, I’m sure of it.”
Dubb cocked an ear, listening. “I have,” he said. “And just tonight.”
The voice rose louder, becoming painful to the ear, like metal being dragged over metal.
Dubb approached the scabbard on the dresser and carefully placed two fingers upon its surface. It was alive with a steady vibration.
He seized the grip in one hand and the scabbard in the other.
“Stand back!” he yelled.
With a yank, he withdrew the moon sword, knelt down, and laid it upon the hearthstones, where the light streaming in from above was its brightest. The moment the blade was free, the metallic whine rose to a tortured scream so painful they had to cover their ears with their hands. And yet they could clearly hear the words of the ancient poem.
Grimacing, both hands pressed tightly to his head, Dubb looked back over his shoulder and caught sight of Tavin staring down at the hearth.
“The blade!” Tavin yelled.
The blade howled like a soul in mortal pain. Shielding their ears did little to diminish the tumult; their heads felt foul and sick. When Dubb turned back to the hearth, he expected to see what he’d feared since the day the crack first surfaced: the blade finally being rent apart, breaking into shards and spilling from its hilt. But instead, he saw the dark crack sealing shut. And as its length shortened, the metallic scream worsened.
The two edges of the crack met. A brilliant flash ignited. A great thunderclap shook the room as though a giant had slammed a tree-sized mace against the outer wall of Tavin’s house. They both lost their footing and tumbled to the floor. Then all was silent.
The darkened shapes of the room slowly began to reveal themselves, and the fire, which had looked like ash under the moonlight, slowly regained its red glow. Only now, there was a new light within the room, shining upward from the hearth. Mechanically, both men rolled into squatting positions. Tavin removed a hand from his ear. The only sound in the room came from their breathing.
The new light was coming from the moon sword itself. The runes running the length of the blade shimmered, and an even brighter light shone from the moons on the hilt’s cross-guards.
Dubb closed his fingers around the sword’s grip and rammed it into its scabbard. The pale light coming from the moons on the hilt extinguished, like the snuffing out of twin candles. He pulled his sword free, just an inch, and the moons rekindled.
“Now, that’s new,” said Tavin.
Dubb took two quick paces away from the hearth, drawing the blade with a flourish. He quickly traced several complicated patterns in the air at terrific speed.
“It’s lighter, faster,” he announced.
“By the sound of it, I dare say sharper, too.” Tavin pushed a handful of dry twigs into the fireplace’s embers, followed by two small logs, then sat down on the edge of the bed. The twigs smoldered before bursting into flame and lighting up the room.
Dubb re-sheathed the sword and sat opposite his old friend.
“Let me guess,” said Tavin, “there’s some little story or other that goes along with all this that you somehow neglected to mention.”
Weary, hunched over, the two men stared at each other through the tops of their eyes.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“And you had no intention of filling me in?”
“None whatsoever,” Dubb confessed, shaking his head wearily.
Staring hard at each other, they slowly dissolved into helpless laughter.
Chapter Twenty
Back Home
Lofted into total darkness, buffeted by swift currents as thick as water but dry as air, Lily hurtled across distances she couldn’t begin to imagine. Not for the first time, she cursed herself for not having brought a flashlight.
This time, she landed bottom first, in her room, in her chair, at her desk, and with a force that rattled her teeth.
The fog in Lily’s head dispersed faster this time, but the darkness of the room confused her until, by degrees, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim moonlight streaming through her window.
Lily pressed her fingertips against the edge of her desk. Solid. She was back. It was nighttime. She let out a small sigh and flicked on the Christmas lights strung around the front of her bookcase. A rainbow of colors winked to life, illuminating a floor strewn with clothes, books, towels, homework papers, scrunchies, pencils, music CDs, mutilated cat toys, and ribbons. Home. The only bare bits of carpet were narrow paths connecting the more desirable areas: her door, her closet, her bed, her desk.
Her room appeared unchanged, except for the darkened desk lamp, which now rested on its side. Gingerly, she righted the lamp, turning its switch a few times. Nothing.
She drew in a deep breath, held it, and listened to the house’s sounds. A breeze stirred through the trees outside her window. The swaying limbs splayed a
lacework of shadows across the bedspread. She continued to hold her breath, trying to detect any vibration of activity. But she sensed nothing. If she really wanted to know who was up, she was going to have to investigate.
What if her parents were asleep? Should she wake them? Or wait until morning? They must be crazy with worry—but if they were asleep, wouldn’t it be better to wait until morning? She couldn’t decide. One thing was certain: she ought to hide as much evidence from her journey as possible before seeing them. At least they hadn’t been waiting in her room when she returned. Lily stood up, still a bit wobbly, and unfastened her riding cloak.
And then she thought about the door. Once they discovered she was gone, her parents would have used their master key and left the room unlocked—meaning her mother or father could walk in at any moment. She had no idea what story she would eventually come up with, but she knew, from years of experience, that details were best left vague, scant, or missing . . . it just turned out better all round. Just the clothes alone would entail far more explaining than she wanted to do.
In a nervous motion that was becoming a habit, Lily’s hand went to the pendant. It felt cool. Had it been this cool when she’d arrived on Barreth or Dain? Eyeing it warily in her palm, she double-checked that the fob was properly clasped.
Suddenly, she thought of the drawing on the desk. It was still there! Why hadn’t Jasper hidden it? She knew she would have. This meant her parents knew she had Ebb’s necklace. Lily wondered how much, if anything, her parents knew about the pendant. How had everything gone so bad so quickly?
Lily fought to bring some order to her thoughts. Could she get away with saying that she’d lost the necklace? Not if they knew she’d used it to get back. She had found it in Uncle Ebb’s house; wouldn’t that mean he was somewhere on Earth? But why had he left it on the dress mannequin? Had he somehow sent it back while he stayed in the Moon Realm? Why would he do such a thing?
Once again Lily remembered the door—the unlocked door. She dashed over to it, but the locking mechanism wouldn’t turn. Had her parents broken it trying to get in?