In the Shadow of a Valiant Moon

by Stu Jones

  Watch me, Vedmak. Watch me.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  MILA

  Dawn lances across the endless horizon in a streak of red that seems to set the whole world aflame. It’s like I’m seeing something forbidden, something perfect and unspoiled. A visual treat reserved for the eyes of Yeos alone, not the likes of some selfish, faithless, coward. Long after the death of all things on this planet, the sun will still rise and set. Or will it? Will even the sun cease to exist after Vedmak’s apocalypse erases us?

  Something stirs in my chest—a nudge reminding me of some critical thing undone, forgotten in a dark corner of my heart. How long has it been, Mila? How long has it been since you called the creator’s name from down on your knees?

  From behind the window’s glass, the broadening blades of orange light expand into the fading purple of night. The image is one of victory, of the light pushing back eternal dark for one more day. But the darkness always returns. Light simply keeps it at arm’s length for a spell. Still, one last time, I’ll finish watching it.

  That’s what I tell myself at least.

  But every day for the last however many months I’ve risen in my stolen abode, five kilometers up on one of the last remaining lillipads, and I’ve watched the sun rise. Here above the orange-tinged tufts of clouds the world is a different place. Simple. Serene. Unlike a single spoiled human life; a thing that can be so ugly and used up it’s no longer recognizable to its owner.

  Who have you become?

  Damnation. I slap my own face a few times; the last one leaves a lingering sting. Life is pain and I am, somehow, still among the living. I watch as a spike of light, the topmost edge of a giant burning ball of gas millions of miles away, crests the horizon. I turn my gaze down until the light dims, muted by the automatic sun-shades.

  Moving without thought, my legs take me across the sterile Gracile chamber, all gleaming metal and glass and endless white. I stop at the counter and palm a silver bag of the squishy tasteless gel. Tearing the end open and squeezing the contents into my mouth, I swallow the glob. These carboprotein packs, as they are labeled, provide no satisfaction but they do keep hunger at bay. I run my fingers over the last box. Won’t last much longer.

  And then what? Starve to death up here alone? A coward’s way out. I’m not brave enough to end it. To be judged by Him. Not like the Graciles I’d found here on that terrible day when I first rode in the magnetic rail elevator from Vel up to this place. I’d found them, all of them, in the common area in the center of this lillipad. A huge group, all lying in a heap, their bodies cold and stiff. A mass suicide. When the rest of their kingdom fell from grace, they must have known their time was over and the clock was ticking. They could never go back to what existed before and instead of trying to survive in the arctic hell below, they took the easy way out. I have no idea how they did it. There wasn’t a scratch on their perfect bodies. Perhaps suicide is easier when you don’t fear eternal damnation.

  An exasperated huff whistles through my teeth. Do something. Anything.

  I make my way to the bank of monitors and flick them on one by one. The camera feeds wink to life, each providing a different visual on locations inside the walls of Vel. The Velians thought they were free, but they were caged animals just like the rest of us. Worse, their daily movements appear to have been strictly monitored to make sure they were producing according to the deal with their masters above.

  An active movement sensor is triggered and one of the monitors switches its feed. Rippers. I watch them move from one screen to the next, carrying a bundle of clothes and sewn garments, harvesting produce from one of the many orchards, tending to the ... children. I swallow several times in succession. The lump in my throat stays.

  These are people, Mila. You saw yourself as above them, the same way the Graciles treated you. No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, they are human and they want the same things all people want—safety, plenty, community. The Rippers were initially criminals, outcasts from the various enclaves. But now? What about those children? Are they criminals? Do they deserve to be treated like animals or exterminated because of their parents’ and grandparents’ failures?

  I rub sweaty palms against the cloth of my shirt. This is my atonement. To see their humanity, and my lack of it. Is the way of the Lightbringer lost to me, now only the distant memory of someone who could have been? Someone better than the miserable wretch I’ve become.

  “I’m sorry.” The words mumble from my lips. My knees shake. I lower to the ground. “I’m sorry for who I’ve become, Yeos.” I gasp a pitiful sob, my face burning with shame. “Momma, Papa, Zev, I’m sorry.” I raise a trembling hand to my mouth, and the dam breaks, my shoulders slumping as I lie to weep on the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  FARUQ

  “They’ll never surrender.” I heave a sigh loaded with the pressure that has continued to build after six long months of vicious deadlock. At every turn, the insurgents embedded in the enclave of Alya under the rule of Abd Al Jabbar defy me.

  “We will be victorious, Sheikh,” Captain Kahleit says from over my shoulder. “But it will take some time to root out this madness.”

  My fingers tent before my face. “Of course, Captain. And how is everything else? Baqir? Our people?”

  He clasps his hands behind his back. “The people are well. Their faith in you has grown. They now know you have their best interests at heart, Sheikh. Life is still difficult for them, food is in short supply, but spirits seem to be up. There is an air of relief since you arrived to liberate the people from oppression.”

  “Good,” I say. “That’s good, Captain.” I pause, looking over my weathered confidant. I have watched my attendants, captains, and fighting men be murdered over the long cruel months. Kahleit is one of the few who has remained since the beginning. A stalwart, black-bearded man with thick shoulders and air of earned confidence. He is now the closest thing I have to a friend.

  Who’s fault is that, Faruq? Who denied his friends and his blood when they came to rescue him?

  The crack in my resolve widens, thoughts drifting back to the snow-covered encampment littered with the bodies of Musul men. The look of terror on Kapka’s face when he knew his death was at hand. The sound of Mila and Husniya’s strained voices as they trembled, crying out for me to return to them. A pit of blackness grows inside. A place without light or sound or touch. It is here I must store these things. They cannot be allowed to injure me any longer. My people need me. That is my only purpose, now.

  Captain Kahleit waits, his face questioning.

  “And you, Captain? How are you holding up?” I ask.

  “I believe that is a question I should ask you, Sheikh,” he replies. “Are you sure you are content here?” He gazes around the small clay-walled room adorned with simple wares, silks, and a few hand-woven rugs from the community marketplace. In the corner a small fire glows, heating the space and casting comfortable shadows.

  “The ornaments of the palace are not for me. You know that. This was my mother’s home. It was good enough for her.”

  “Of course, Sheikh.”

  The room hums with memories of my mother and sister. We lived here in this house on the back side of the palace for a time. I hated it—being anywhere close to the man who’d had my father murdered. Even worse when he claimed my mother as one of his wives—but what was she to do? Deny the tyrant of Baqir? No, she’d done what she had to so Husniya and I remained safe. But when mother had slipped into the black sleep and eventually away to Ilah, Kapka had my sister and me thrown from this place and into the frozen streets, forced to live like animals. It was then I knew we had to stick together. Husniya was the only thing left that mattered.

  And how much do you care for her wellbeing now, Sheikh Faruq? I rub my forehead, trying to press the poisonous thoughts from my mind.

  “Are you all right?” Kahleit asks.

  “Yes, just a passing headache,” I lie. />
  “May I fetch you some water?” He moves to the nearby clay basin, dips a cup and hands it to me.

  “Thank you, Captain.” I toast him with my mug. “Your presence is a comfort to me.”

  He gives a slight bow.

  I raise the cup to my lips.

  “Captain.” A young, slim framed man knocks on the wooden door, peering, but afraid to stick his head in.

  “What is it?” Kahleit says.

  “There is a group outside the gate. They say they are here to see the Sheikh.”

  “They asked to see the Sheikh in person?” Kahleit asks.

  “Yes—no, not exactly.” The man appears nervous. “They asked to see him, but they used the name Faruq.”

  Kahleit looks to me. “It could be another attempt on your life.”

  I stand and meet the young man’s eyes. “What does this group look like?”

  “Very strange, Sheikh. An old man, a Zopatian, a Kahangan ...” He licks his chapped lips.

  “And?” Kahleit says, the mounting irritation evident in his voice.

  “They say they have news of your sister, Sheikh.”

  A sudden vigor fills my body.

  “Sheikh, maybe I should screen them first—” Kahleit begins.

  “No, I will see them without delay.” I pat the gold-plated big-bore revolver tucked in my waistband.

  “Very well, Sheikh.” Captain Kahleit steps to the side, motioning for the nervous messenger to do the same. He knows I will not be swayed.

  Crossing the compound with lengthening strides, I whistle to two squads of guards who appear to be betting on a game of carved dice. At the sound of my call, they snap to attention and fall in line marching in my wake, not even bothering to pick up the dice spinning on the icy cobblestones. Though I’ve never harmed or threatened a single one of them since the day I rose to power, they still call me the tyrant killer. I don’t know if they follow me out of loyalty to my cause or a residual fear from Kapka’s reign of terror. I may never know.

  With my hands thrust into the deep pockets of my heavy coat, I slow my gait as we approach the eastward-facing gate in the enclave wall. Controlled breaths exhale in plumes of steam. I give one last glance over my shoulder at Captain Kahleit and the men who trail behind me.

  With a jerk of Kahleit’s finger, the men fan out on either side with their pikes in hand and flank the strange visitors who stand between the heavy double doors to the enclave.

  I knew in my heart who these visitors were but now, suspicions confirmed, my throat tightens. They look old, haggard, and aged by the cruel machinations of fate. For a spell, we just stand there, my gaze roving from one to the next. There is no joy in my chest at this reunion. Only regret and sadness, the spoiled memories of a broken family.

  “Where is Husniya?” I rasp.

  “She’s not with us,” Bilgi replies.

  “What have you done to my sister, you cowards?”

  Mos hangs his head, his stare to the ground, but he remains silent. Are those tears? Ghofaun, the monk, holds my gaze, his narrow eyes full of pain and loss. I turn my attention past the giant Creed with mismatched arms that must have been repurposed to the old man who stands at their center, his hands clasped together. Bilgi.

  “Answer me, old man. What. Have. You. Done?”

  Bilgi opens his hands with a helpless shrug, his demeanor contrite. “Faruq— “

  “He is Sheikh,” Kahleit calls from behind me. “You will address him by his title, foreigner.”

  I hold up my hand to Kahleit.

  Bilgi gives a slow bow. “Sheikh, she is gravely injured. She fought because she wanted it, because she believed in her friends and in the cause of freedom, as you once did, when you walked alongside us.”

  “She was brainwashed to believe in your cause. Just as these men—” I motion to my guards “—were brainwashed to believe that killing in the name of Ilah was just. You are no different from Kapka. You are sly, and your methods are more concealed, but you are not different. Sending young people to die for your cause. You don’t care for them.”

  “That’s not fair, Faruq,” Bilgi replies.

  Captain Kahleit bristles at the lack of title and takes a step forward.

  “If you cared so much, why did you leave me to rot? Answer me that.” My face burns, the old hate welling up.

  “We couldn’t find you. We tried—” Bilgi starts.

  “No, you know what? I don’t care anymore. Just bring me my sister,” I say, my words edged like a well-sharpened blade.

  “She was impaled on a spear. She barely made it. We were forced to hide her. Even Logos and Fiori are no longer safe. She has received treatment for nearly half a year, but I fear she may not live much longer.”

  “Who did this?” I pull the revolver from my waistband. “Tell me who must die for this.”

  Mos meets my gaze for the first time. “It was Demitri, Faruq. Demitri did this. Or, at least, the demon that has claimed him did. Demitri called it Vedmak. Others call it the Vardøger.”

  “You should come with us, Faruq. See your sister before it’s too late. Then fight with us—”

  I shake my head. “We are finished. Do you understand?”

  “And Husniya?” the old man asks.

  “Do not use my sister as leverage, old man. She ... she chose you. Brainwashed or not.” I almost choke on the words. “My people, the enclave of Baqir will not be party to your warmongering. Leave us in peace.”

  “There will be no peace, not with Vedmak on the loose,” Bilgi says.

  “You would say that.” I motion to the pitiful group. “Rally your fighters and storm the gates. I’m sure you and ...” Her name has to be forced from my lips. “... and Mila will find a way to kill and betray those who remain faithful to your cause.”

  “You would speak of Mila this way?” Bilgi cocks his head.

  “What of it? She couldn’t be bothered to come here today herself, I see.”

  “Mila is gone,” Ghofaun says flatly.

  “And what should that mean to me?” I ask.

  Bilgi sighs. “We are divided. Giahi has taken over the Opor headquarters and exiled us on threat of death if we ever return. Mila never returned from the mission where Husniya was wounded. She could be dead for all we know. And as we lay broken and scattered, Vedmak is raising an army of deranged Graciles that he means to use to murder and enslave the rest of us. When they reach their full potential, nothing will stop them. You and your people will not be spared the onslaught, Faruq. Death will come for us all.”

  “Let him come. The Musul nation will not go quietly,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “Vedmak’s arrogance will kill us all before we ever have a chance to raise a blade,” the monk says. “To build his army, he’s opening a gate to another place full with demons like him. If the rift is too wide it will engulf us all.”

  So, he will open the way to an-Nar? Unleashing the seven levels of Hell upon the Earth?

  “That’s why we need your help,” Bilgi interrupts. “We have to do something. We can’t stand by and wait for oblivion.”

  A mirthless laugh bubbles up from inside. “You fooled me with that line once, Bilgi.”

  Bilgi’s eyes search mine. “Please.”

  “No,” I say, holding his gaze.

  “The Faruq I knew was a noble man. He was the best of us.” Bilgi rubs at his sunken face, eyes tired and rimmed with red. “That man still lives inside you. I know he does.”

  “You’re wrong. That man was murdered by your betrayal. Now, if you value your lives leave my enclave.”

  “You doom us all, Sheikh Faruq. Every last remaining vestige of humanity,” Bilgi says.

  “So be it. You all shall go to your graves with innocent blood on your hands, but I will not.” I motion to my guards to force them out.

  The men with pikes advance. Bilgi does not raise his arms this time.

  “You will. Your inaction drenches your hands in blood, Sheikh, the blood of Etyom. B
ut nonetheless, we will stand against this evil in your stead.” Bilgi turns alongside those I once called friends and brothers and passes through the heavy wooden enclave doors.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  MILA

  The rail elevator jolts and I instinctively reach out to the slick shiny metal panels of the wall. A whooshing sound accompanies my descent. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I have clean clothes, hair tied back out of my face, and fresh skin after taking a turn in one of the Gracile bathing chambers.

  Leaving the lillipad is foolish, but I’m out of options. The Graciles’ stash of bland carboprotein packs in their little eight-ounce square packages have run out. I could hold my position, tucked safely away in my tower in the sky, watching the sun rise on each new day until my body fails me and I waste away. But death is too easy. A gift I do not deserve.

  After a few minutes, a chime sounds and the single door slides back. I stand there flat footed, peering out, waiting for a spear to hit me in the chest. Nothing. It’s significantly colder than I remember. I shrug into my heavy leather jacket and raise my head to peer at the blasted hole in the ceiling, dark clouds churning above. That would be the reason. I take a cautious step from the concrete loading platform onto the turf. The grass makes a crinkling sound beneath my feet. The little green blades are turning brown. Paradise is dying.

  The closest orchard isn’t far.

  Ripened red fruits I don’t recognize hang from the branches in clumps. I pull one from a bunch and pinch it, the juices and seeds squirting from the busted skin. Saliva pools beneath my tongue. I pop one into my waiting mouth. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.

  Plucking several bunches of the little red fruits, I place them in my satchel and move to the next row. One of the hard, yellow fruits comes free from its branch with a snap. Looking it over, I raise it to take a bite when a tickle at the back of my neck makes every muscle freeze. My heart skips a beat at the sight of a Ripper child. She can’t be more than four or five years old. We stand there staring at each other. The moment feels heavy, bloated with expectation. Any second now she’s going to run screaming and I’ll be as good as dead.