Hunter's Moon

by D A Godwin

  Those words echoed in Tormjere’s mind—his brother had said the same thing the day before he had left to join the order. He pushed aside the memory and returned his attention to Hammett. “I appreciate the bread, but you still haven’t said why you think we need help.”

  “A tired-looking woodsman and an even more tired worshiper of the moon, walking towards trouble instead of away from it?”

  “Why would you think we are headed for trouble,” Kataria asked.

  Hammett cocked his head to the side. “I doubt that you use that hammer for carpentry.”

  Kataria blushed.

  “I could warn you of the conflict ahead, but you already know it’s there.”

  “Some paths cannot be avoided,” Tormjere said.

  “But there is always choice in how they are walked,” Hammett finished the proverb, clapping his hands. “I do enjoy meeting people familiar with The Way.”

  “Do you know anything about this war?” Kataria asked. “We are trying to find where the leaders are camped.”

  “Very little, apart from the mess it’s making. Bexville is currently host to an army or two, or perhaps three by now. Regardless, I believe what you seek would be found farther east. I’m not a military man, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s still helpful,” Tormjere said.

  “Being helpful leads to an interesting life. Let me tell you of the time I…”

  While Hammett knew little about military matters, he had an endless supply of stories, and the afternoon passed enjoyably for once.

  That evening, they camped off the road, tucked under a tree. There was such an absence of inns to be found that Tormjere considered building one here a solid business idea, if he ever managed to get the princess where she needed to go. Hammett was asleep almost as soon as he lay down, but Tormjere sat awake thinking, as he always did.

  Can you hear what I’m thinking now? he wondered.

  When there was no response, he stared at the back of her head and concentrated. Shalindra?

  Still nothing.

  He closed his eyes and tried harder. Shalindra!

  Do not yell—it hurts my head.

  Sorry. I was thinking…

  …the same thing I was. He knows so much about what we are doing. Could he be one of the ones chasing us?

  I doubt it. It’s not that hard to guess where we’re going.

  What have we become, doubting the intentions of those who walk with Toush?

  Cautious. We’ve become cautious, because we had to. He shifted to look at the sleeping monk.

  “Go to sleep,” Hammett said without opening his eyes. “I’m still not going to rob you.”

  Tormjere frowned at him and settled back against the tree.

  The next morning, they ate the last of Hammett’s bread and continued along the road. Hammett walked with them until almost noon, when he spied a family struggling to herd their sheep in the opposite direction and came to a stop.

  “I believe that your feet are now on the proper path, and I shall leave you. Come, look.” Hammett pointed in the distance. “You see that pointy hill there, and then the two rounded ones just to the left?”

  Tormjere nodded.

  “In the valley between those two hills is our monastery. If you go straight through the trees, it will take you a day; and if you stay on the road, it will take two.”

  “What of the town there?” Kataria asked, pointing to a collection of buildings not far down the road.

  “It has grown to be a messy place, and I would not recommend it. The inns are full, and thieves prey on those who’ve little left to lose. The monastery will be better for you.”

  “We will visit it then. Thank you for your advice.”

  “May your path be as clear as the sky after a storm,” Hammett said in parting.

  Kataria sighed. If only it was.

  Travelers in Need

  It was raining as they approached the monastery, just as Hammett had said it would be. Unlike the grand edifices of Amalthee’s churches or the marbled purity of Eluria’s temples, the complex was a simple, orderly affair containing perhaps half a dozen square and rectangular buildings distributed in a symmetrical pattern. Most were multiple stories, with each succeeding layer smaller than the one below it, and with roofs steep enough to shed snow easily. A wooden wall with a single gate marked the perimeter of the compound.

  A robed monk who seemed completely unperturbed about standing in the rain greeted them just inside.

  “He Who Walks All Paths welcomes you, travelers. Have you come seeking wisdom or rest?”

  “Either would be appreciated,” Tormjere answered.

  “The first building on my left can accommodate you.” The monk’s eyes swept over them both. “I must advise you that the use of any weapons is forbidden within our walls.”

  “A guest should never trouble their host,” Kataria agreed.

  It was only a few steps to the indicated building, which they entered through a door that slid to the side rather than swinging out on a hinge. Inside the entire first floor was given over to a single room with a raised ceiling. At one end, a bronze bust of Toush sat in contemplation, surrounded by candles of varying sizes. Woven mats had been placed atop gathered straw at regular intervals along the walls. At least half of them were occupied by a bedraggled assortment of refugees and beggars.

  Another monk greeted them just inside the door.

  “Welcome, and please come in,” he said with a bow. “You may have any spot you choose.”

  They found a pair of unoccupied mats along the back wall and hung their cloaks on nearby pegs. Kataria pulled off her boots, and noticed that someone had already wiped away the mud they had tracked in.

  She laid down on the mat, happy to enjoy even so small a comfort. Though they needed it, she felt a certain degree of shame for accepting the charity. She would need to repay that, someday.

  Tormjere had lapsed into a thoughtful silence, which was completely fine because she didn’t feel like talking.

  Her eyelids grew heavy and she dozed off, but if she had any dreams, she remembered nothing of them. It was some time later when she awoke and saw him still seated on the mat beside her.

  “Are you meditating?” she asked.

  “No, though this would be a good place for that.”

  “You should have slept.”

  “I think I did,” he said, stretching.

  It was near supper time, and before long the youngest monks walked through the room with bread and steaming bowls of boiled vegetables that they distributed to those sheltered there.

  The food was plain but nourishing, and they both felt better for eating it. As they were finishing the meal, one of the monks approached and bowed to Kataria.

  “Forgive this one’s intrusion, but Master Cheta requests you to join him.”

  “Have we done something wrong?” Kataria asked, fearing for the hundredth time she had somehow been discovered.

  “Who can say but Toush? Right and wrong are simply different destinations along the same path. But for tonight, Master Cheta is simply curious. We have few visitors from the other holy orders, and even fewer who come seeking wisdom.”

  “It would be our pleasure to meet him,” Kataria responded.

  The monk led them out into the cool evening. The rain had stopped, leaving broken clouds to drift across the sky. A soft breeze gave voice to the deep tones of windchimes that sang their calming melody.

  They walked up a short flight of stairs to the largest building in the compound, directly across from the gate they had entered. Once inside, they were led down a wide hallway covered in comfortable rugs. The monk stopped and bowed, indicating an open doorway.

  The room they entered was calm and austere, as they might have expected. The few furnishings it contained were placed exactly where they should be, though they followed no pattern he could discern. A man who could only be Master Cheta sat cross-legged on a mat, slightly off center of the room.

  �
��We are honored that your path has brought you here,” Cheta welcomed them, his round face crinkling into a smile. “Please, be seated.”

  Tormjere and Kataria bowed properly, then took seats on two mats across from him.

  Another orange-robed monk who was much too old to be a simple servant served them tea. Tormjere accepted it with both hands and found himself recalling what Eljorn had taught him about the correct way to drink it. Was it a quarter turn to the right and then a half turn left? It was silly, but he found himself doing it anyway. Cheta did the same, so he must have been correct.

  “Have you enjoyed your accommodations?” the head of the monastery asked as the other monk assumed a seat off to the side.

  “They are a welcome change, thank you,” Kataria answered.

  “With all the refugees on the roads, I would have expected you to be full,” Tormjere said.

  “Those on the proper path find their way here,” Cheta said, “and which path they follow is always curious. Some are desperate, many are poor. Often, they find us by chance, but there are always those who arrive for a reason.”

  “Hammett sent us here to get out of the rain.”

  Cheta nodded as if he’d expected that answer. “Hammett makes his path by helping others walk their own. He often knows their next steps better than the person walking them.”

  “By foretelling the future?” Tormjere asked.

  “Occasionally. The Walker of Paths has seen many different ways and may share his knowledge of what lies ahead.”

  “Can you see into my future?” Kataria asked.

  “Would you want me to if I could?”

  She pondered that. “I believe it rare for a Sister of Eluria to be granted knowledge of her own future, but I can see no harm in it.”

  “And if the future you see cannot be changed?”

  “If your path is already set, why bother walking it?” Tormjere asked.

  The monk to his right shifted, though by the time Tormjere glanced over, his expression was again settled.

  “There are many paths, and each must walk their own, but they are always in motion.”

  “Do you know anything of this war?” Kataria asked. It was possible that the monks could know something of where her uncle was.

  “Though we are ever mindful of the path beneath our feet, we watch the skies and listen to the world. Hidden forces more powerful than steel may reveal themselves when armies move.”

  “You speak of wizards of the Conclave?” Tormjere asked.

  The barest twitch of his eyebrows was the only hint of Cheta’s surprise. He seemed to consider his next words carefully. “Both they, and those they control.”

  Cheta took a sip of tea, then seemed to contemplate the steaming liquid. When he looked back at Kataria, his expression remained placid but his words were serious.

  “I think the path you walk is dark and not entirely of your own choosing. I cannot tell you what will become of your search, but I believe that haste is in order.”

  “I am looking for someone,” Kataria said. “Lord Brouchard, Marshal of the King’s armies.”

  “Our concern with the present conflict is far removed from those of individuals. But I will leave you with this: do you seek him where he is or where you wish him to be?”

  The orange-robed monk stood, signaling an end to the meeting.

  Kataria untangled her legs and got to her feet. Tormjere shifted his weight above his crossed ankles and rose in a single motion without using his hands. It was another skill he’d helped his brother practice, though Eljorn had been annoyed at him for figuring out how to do it first.

  Master Cheta repeated the motion, though his movements were so fluid he almost seemed to float up from the ground.

  “It has been most enjoyable speaking with you,” Cheta said, bowing. “Should your path bring you here again, you will always be welcome.”

  They returned his bow, then followed the other monk from the building.

  “I need to speak to my Mistress,” Kataria said. “Would you know a quiet place where I may stand in Her light?”

  “Tonight is the time of the new moon,” the monk said, “yet even in Her absence you may find your path not far outside our walls, through the gate in the corner.” He indicated a series of small stones that led to the rear of the monastery, then gave Tormjere an enigmatic glance. “You will know where.”

  With a bow, he left them.

  She gave Tormjere a questioning look and followed him down the path. They passed through a well-tended garden before arriving at a small gate in the wall. The woods beyond were dark but tranquil. There was no trail to be seen, but trickling water could be heard. He led them towards it. Forest spirits followed them curiously, faint shimmers of color the only mark of their presence as they danced through the trees. After a short distance, they came to a rocky stream bubbling cheerfully down the hill.

  Kataria gazed up at the stars through a break in the trees. “This is perfect,” she said. Taking Eluria’s symbol in her hands, she knelt in the grass and bowed her head.

  Tormjere chose the rock in the middle of the stream, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest as he waited.

  When she was finished with her devotions, Kataria felt renewed, but as they made their way back to the monastery, he seemed more troubled than ever.

  “How is it that you know so much about Toush?” Kataria asked curiously, to take his mind off whatever was bothering him.

  “My brother joined their order, not long before I met you the first time. I had to listen to him talk about it for years.”

  “You do not believe what Cheta said about our paths, do you?”

  “I think they guess at the future like everyone else; they’re just better at it.”

  “What could he have meant by ‘those they control?’”

  “The Imaretii control people with their schemes and manipulations, but they also are said to command demons.”

  “Demons are creatures from stories told to frighten children, but I can tell you disagree.”

  “I think it no fantasy, given those who’ve told me about them.”

  She shuddered. “If it is not, I can only pray that they are far less ominous than such stories make them out to be.”

  “Regardless of what lies ahead, we won’t find any of it here,” Tormjere replied. “We’ll leave after the first meal. Those clouds won’t wait for us, and neither will your uncle.”

  “This is the most peaceful place I have ever been. I do not really want to leave,” Kataria said, “though I know we must.”

  “At least we will sleep in peace for one night.”

  An Old Friend

  It was raining again as they neared Bexville. Kataria pulled her hood lower, but it hardly mattered. The cloak was soaked through already. After leaving the monastery, they had travelled north along an easy-to-miss path that had taken them across the river by means of a bridge made of rope and wood slats before finally placing them back on the road from Sandenmill.

  A vague sense of unease settled on them both as soon as they set foot on the road, and they followed it only a short distance before returning to the woods to parallel its path. The decision calmed Kataria’s fears but did nothing to speed their journey up and down the steep, wooded hills.

  Now they stood atop a low hill, looking over well-manicured houses and into the town. A motte-and-bailey castle was perched between two small rivers that joined before flowing south, eventually to meet the Yarrowonli. She didn’t remember it being so busy.

  “Seems like they’ve gained a lot of people recently,” Tormjere answered.

  She frowned at how easily he knew her thoughts but said nothing. Things like that were becoming more common, and she had caught herself doing the same to him more than once. It was unnerving.

  He was right, though. Dozens of temporary shelters now sprawled around the more permanent buildings. To the east, across the river, thousands of soldiers under multiple banners occupied the fields.
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br />   Tormjere eyed one of the gardens. “Think they would object to us borrowing a few carrots? They have enough to spare.”

  “It would be best if we were not arrested for common thievery. We already stick out like a sore thumb here. Let us check in the town.”

  Tormjere looked longingly at the garden but followed her down the hill. They crossed a bridge, and the cobblestone road they had been following turned to a trampled, muddy mess. Refugees and soldiers packed the streets, despite the poor weather that should have kept them inside.

  She led the way as they circled the outer wall of the bailey, then crossed the eastern river to get a good view of the encamped army.

  Tormjere could see any number of banners, but he was still a novice at heraldry and didn’t know what they were looking for.

  “A blue dragon on a white field,” she answered.

  He gave her an amused glance that she tried to ignore.

  Horns sounded, and hundreds of cavalry rode slowly along the road south, followed by a long column of foot soldiers.

  “They must be headed for Halisford,” he said.

  Kataria nodded but said nothing, still looking for any sign of her uncle’s banner.

  “I don’t think he’s here,” he said.

  “No, but we are getting closer.”

  “We may have to take our chances with the keep.”

  “I would still prefer not to,” she replied, suddenly uncomfortable. “Bexville is not the most loyal of fiefdoms, and there are many here who would take advantage of our situation if they knew.”

  “The nobility sounds less noble every time you speak of it.”

  “Every lord in the kingdom has sworn to the king, but each is still responsible for their own domain. The Actondel kings have convinced, coerced, and, at times, forced lesser families to obey their rule. Despite any claims of unity, at times we are more an alliance than a kingdom.”

  “Well, there’re enough soldiers here that one of them has to have some idea of where your uncle is. If we can’t ask any of them, we need to find a gatehouse.”