Nexus Moons: Book One of the Tales of Graal

by Ron Root

  I look like my mother! What else? Questions flooded her mind. “But where is she? Who is she? Why has she never contacted me? And what of my father, why does he ignore me? What is my crime to have been abandoned so?”

  “Fair questions all. I’ll try my best to answer them.” He chuckled. “Firstly, babes do not commit crimes. As far as I know, you’re innocent of any wrongdoing.” He raised his eyebrows. “If you know otherwise, confess as much to Prior Rigby, not me.”

  The friar pondered a bit before continuing. “I only knew your mother a short while, but long enough to gain respect and a certain fondness for her. Although I don’t know your father, I do know he’s very highly placed. He shrugged. “But I digress.” The friar flexed the chubby fingers of one hand against those of his other. “Your mother was foreign-born, for she spoke with an accent. At the time we met I was Prior of a small country parish not far from St. Pyre, a town of some size on the mainland.”

  St. Pyre—I must remember that name.

  “Your mother appeared at my doorstep one night, flush with fever. Clearly ill at ease, she kept peering over her shoulder. Although likely an unwise decision, I couldn’t turn away anyone so ill, no matter what the source of her dread.

  “My church was small, with only my room, a kitchen, the prayer room and a drawing room, which I proffered her. She wept at my offer.

  “The next morning, curious to know what sort of artifice I’d embraced, I asked who or what it was she was fleeing. After much coaxing, she confessed that, despite being the wife of a Lord, the Church had declared her foreign beliefs to be heretical. She was fleeing to avoid ruining your father’s name. I’ve seen what such allegations can do to the standing of noble families, as had your mother. Since you’re a noble’s daughter, it would have been a cardinal crime for her to take you with her.”

  I’m the daughter of a noble—one who cares nary a whit for his offspring.

  “Around midday she fell into fevered delirium, raving in some foreign tongue. It lasted for two days, after which she seemed weak, but more her true self.” Pausing, he placed his hand over Rayna’s. “I don’t feel I’m being overly bold in saying during this time each of us came to view the other as friend. I daresay I found myself rather smitten with her.”

  Riveted by the friar’s tale, Rayna listened in silence, envious of this man who had spent time with the mother she so longed to know.

  “On the day your mother departed she handed me two items, one a sealed missive, the other a list of names. ‘I have a daughter’ she said. ‘She’s but a babe in her father’s care. I’ve been forced to leave these two people I hold most dear, to return to my homeland. I’ll likely remain there, but I would have my child know something of her mother.’ She handed me her list. ‘The first of the names is that of my daughter. She’s celebrated but one winter. The second name is of an inn in St. Pyre. The last is my manservant and friend. His brother owns the inn. I know I ask much of you, but when she reaches her majority—long after news of me would ruin her good name, could you deliver this letter to the innkeeper and ask that he get it to my daughter?’

  “I accepted the request and stowed these…” He said, pulling a parchment from his pocket and handing it to her.

  It was her mother’s list. “St. Pyre, then? My father lives there?” She asked, looking up, sure she wouldn’t rest until she confronted him. “And this man…” her finger trailed to the third name, “…Jagger, he lives there too, near this King’s Inn?”

  Friar Luc nodded. “Yes, and he’s still in your father’s employ.”

  She shook her head, wondering at all she’d heard. “But how did you know how to find me?”

  He chuckled. “Little did I know at the time of my promise how daunting a task I’d undertaken. Realizing this was your year of majority, I set out for St. Pyre, some two moons back. I found the innkeeper and established that this Jagger was indeed his brother. I told him I bore an important message and asked if he would deliver it. A prudent man, he refused, but promised he’d speak with his brother. He asked that I return the following day.

  “When I arrived, Jagger was there. I asked him to deliver this to you.” The friar held up the missive. “He sat quiet for a long time. ‘I’m sorry, I cannot do that, but be here this evening and perhaps I can tell you where to deliver it.’

  “When I returned, he made good on his promise, telling me you were here attending this island’s Lady Academy. I had long since left my little parish to wander God’s country delivering His message to the people. Since I’d never visited your island, I decided I would undertake to earn the passage to get me here.”

  Rayna reached for her purse. “Oh, good friar, my father’s reckoner keeps my purse well fed. Please tell me your costs and I’ll make good on them.”

  He shook his head. “Nay lass, I did this out of respect for your mother. Consider it a labor of love. I found a merchant ship that booked occasional passengers,” he held out his hands, palms up, “and now I’m here.

  “Milady, such is the tale of how I got here, but not why. Here,” he handed her the epistle. “This is from your mother.” His smile was gentle. “Oh!” He pulled a golden key from his pocket. “I’m to give you this, too.”

  As he passed the key it fell from her trembling grip, clanging to the floor.

  “Allow me, milady.”

  Wheezing, he bent down and grabbed it with his pudgy paw. Wrapping her quivering hand in his, he folded her fingers over the key. “I shall leave you to your privacy, Lady. You’re as beautiful as your mother. I hope her message is one of love.”

  He stood. “I must leave for your port city, now. My captain was to dock for but a few days before returning to the mainland. I wish you the best.” He kissed her hand. “It has been an honor. Rest and compose yourself now. I shall see myself out.”

  Rayna remained sitting, limbs shaking, staring at the friar’s back as he left the room. Finally, drawing a deep breath, she slipped her finger between paper and wax, but couldn’t bring herself to break the seal. Would its tidings be ill or good? The reading of its contents could never be undone and might change her life forever. Did she truly want that? Deciding not knowing was the worst thing possible, she broke the seal.

  It held a letter and a leather map sketched in charcoal. The map listed two townships, Portsmouth and a place called A’ryth. Was this the Portsmouth she knew, or was that name given to many a port city? If so, this map could be of these very islands. The map included a drawing of a man with a key on his forehead, its shape matching the one the friar had given her.

  She opened the letter.

  My dearest daughter and love of my bosom, you don’t know me—or mayhap even of me, but I am your mother. Leaving you behind was grievously painful, but to stay would bring shame, or worse, to you and your father. Because I love you both, I have returned to my place of birth where my reputation cannot harm you.

  Tears blurred Rayna’s vision. Her mother had loved her. Wiping her eyes, she resumed.

  It is my hope that someday you’ll find a way to forgive the mother who abandoned you. It would grant my fondest dream to lay eyes upon you one more time. Your father’s people look unkindly upon mine, without tolerance or understanding. That is why my people stay hidden from Outlanders. Trust me in this and show no one this map. It will lead you to me should you choose to come.

  I love you. Your mother, —Akaisha.

  Akaisha. The friar hadn’t mentioned her name. Yes, very foreign sounding. She’d expected to someday find her father, but her mother? She’d spent her whole life knowing nothing of her parents and suddenly in a single conversation she’d learned where each lived. She wiped nose and eyes. “I’ll find you both.” They were accountable to her. Someday she’d look each in the eye and demand to know why they’d abandoned her so.

  Prior Rigby entered the room. “I understand the friar left us.”

  She glanced up, blinking away tears.

  He frow
ned. “Did he upset you, my dear?”

  She stood, smiling as she wiped her eyes. “No, not at all. This is as good as I’ve felt in many a moon. The friar and I had a most interesting discussion, but he had to leave. I should do the same.” She tucked the letter and map into her bag and walked over and kissed Prior Rigby’s cheek. “Thank you for sending for me.”

  He rubbed the spot she’d kissed, grinning. “I shall have to invite you here more often.”

  She hugged him. “Please do.”

  She departed, her dread of Robard’s pending arrival vanquished. She wouldn’t be here when he arrived; she’d be off pursuing her mother. Although she had no idea how she’d decipher her mother’s map, she also knew hell’s own demons couldn’t prevent her from trying. My mother wants to see me!

  Allegations

  Gresham walked into the garrison on his way to Marshal Booker’s offices, hoping he’d know his uncle’s whereabouts. He was still reeling, struggling to comprehend that strange sense that had come over him in his duel with Quinn. The Captain had called him a witch’s get. Was the Captain right? Was he possessed?

  An aide greeted him as he entered the office. It was a waiting area with two chairs and the aide’s desk. Behind it was an office, its door open.

  “Yes?” the clerk asked.

  “Cadet Gresham here to speak with the Marshal.”

  “Did he order you here?”

  “No, sir.”

  The aide laughed, shaking his head. “Cadets do not simply march into an officer’s command post and demand to see him. Come back when the Marshal has requested it.”

  “Please. This has to do with my uncle—he and the Marshal are acquaintances. It’s important.”

  “Important to you, or him? In my duties I hear many such requests. Unfortunately, inquiring about uncles does not rank high among them. I’m sorry Cadet, but I cannot grant your request.”

  He’d feared as much, but it was nonetheless disappointing. “Gramercy,” he said, turning to leave.

  “Stay!” came a command from the doorway. It was the Marshal. “I was about to summon you. I’ve a matter of my own I want to discuss with you—perhaps they’re even one-and-the-same. Join me in my office.”

  The Marshal motioned for Gresham to sit. He leaned back in his chair, looking grim. “I gather you’re here to inquire about your uncle?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Later. I have other news to discuss first—bad news.”

  Bad news? What sort of troubles heckled him now? He waited, fearing the worst.

  “Captain Dyson and his son are disputing your tourney win.”

  “What?!” This was the last thing Gresham expected to hear. “On what grounds?”

  “They claim you used witchcraft.”

  “I can’t believe this, not even of Quinn.”

  “Blame the father, not the son.” The Marshal leaned forward. “More importantly, is there any basis for their charge?”

  “I…” What could he say—what should he say? Would the Marshal even believe him? “I’m not sure.”

  The Marshal leaned back. “Tell me.”

  He listened as Gresham recounted the tale of his duel and his strange behavior, leaving nothing out.

  “It sounds as if you fell into a berserker’s rage.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m not familiar with the word. Does it mean I truly did use witchery, or that I’m mad?”

  “Mad?” He laughed. “No, nor is it witchery. It’s a form of battle rage triggered by events around you. Although rare, we have berserkers in the army. They are warriors without peer while in these rage-triggered frenzies. In the Nosarian War I saw a berserker engage seven foes and singlehandedly kill them all. He later explained that while in such a rage, there was no such emotion as fear, only the desire to destroy his enemies.”

  Gresham sat stunned. “That’s exactly how I felt. Had Cadet Quinn’s plea to spare him not brought me back to my senses, I fear I’d have done him serious harm.”

  The Marshal nodded. “So it was with this man.”

  “What became of him? Did he rise within the ranks?”

  The Marshal pursed his lips. “His squad was ambushed. Seeing his comrades die triggered his rage. Although all his assailants died in the ensuing skirmish, so did he.” The Marshal met his eye, “Take heed, Gresham, berserkers rarely die of old age.”

  Gresham sat silent, absorbing what he’d heard, pondering how best to control his newfound aspect. He met the Marshal’s gaze. “How should I respond to the Captain’s charges, Sir?”

  The Marshal leaned his elbows on the desktop. “My first instinct would be to contest it.” He sat back. “However, the Chevaliers’ Grand Inquisitor is here in Stalwart. If he gets wind of witchery charges, and who your mother was, I fear he’ll pursue the matter, something I’m sure the good Captain is aware of. As unfair as it sounds, my advice is to surrender your title, and perhaps revisit the charges once the Inquisitor is gone. Meanwhile, leave Stalwart; and soon. As long as the Inquisitor is here, you’re at risk.”

  “I’ll leave forthwith, but I’d like to speak of my uncle first. Do you know his whereabouts?”

  The Marshal paused, eying him. “It is an important aspect of my duties to have eyes and ears everywhere. One such source informed me your uncle left on a mission on behalf of the university magi. What and where, I know not. I suggest you ask them.” Picking up paper and quill, he scribbled a note and handed it to Gresham, “The highways are dangerous; if you’re leaving, you’ll need protection. This is a requisition for whatever supplies and weapons you need. May the gods smile on your efforts to find your uncle.”

  Gresham went to the soldier’s hall and started packing, grateful for the Marshal’s requisition. His knapsack would hold very little. What to take, and what to leave? He set aside two pair of breeches, a tunic, coat and shirt. He stuffed his parents’ rings into his purse—he’d not leave those behind. He’d also take his father’s hammer and belt; nothing more.

  The morning was waning, and it was almost time for his promised meeting with Rayna. He’d have to let her know he wouldn’t be around for her rose-pinning ceremony. Assuming she’d even be willing to see him after his strange behavior at the tourney. He left in search of her.

  He found her waiting on the academy porch. “Good day, Lady.”

  She flashed one of those radiant smiles. “Good day to you, Cadet.” She brought a hand to her mouth. “Now that you’re no longer a cadet would it be overly bold to simply call you Gresham?”

  He smiled. “Not at all, Lady.”

  “Then addressing me as Lady must cease too. Please call me Rayna.”

  He gave a mock bow. “As you please. So how goes your day …Rayna?”

  Her smile faded. “I have something to discuss.”

  It was as he feared; she couldn’t abide his behavior after seeing his duel. With him having to leave, it was probably best. “As do I.” Perhaps hearing her out first would prolong their time together a bit. “How about we make our confessions as we head to the market, and get to know one another better as promised?”

  Her face lit up. “Absolutely!” He couldn’t decide if she smiled more with her eyes or her mouth.

  They started down toward town. She agreed to tell why she fabricated her tale of him having asked to present her rose, but only if he’d share something equally personal about himself.

  She related her tale. Learning she’d said what she had to keep Quinn from hurting her friend was comforting.

  “I’d not seen you before yesterday. Are you newly here?” he asked after she’d finished her tale.

  “Yes. My father moves me someplace new each year. Always being a stranger makes acquiring friends difficult, so I lead a secluded life.”

  “Perhaps that explains it. Yours is a face I wouldn’t forget.” His neck flushed. He was making a fool of himself. “I fear I’m not as practiced at little talk as you highborns.”
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br />   Her eyes twinkled. “Had you not told me I’d be completely fooled.” She cocked her head. “Your turn. Tell me about Gresham Smithy.”

  He related growing up as an orphan here in Stalwart. By the time he was done, they’d reached town, and were weaving their way through throngs of people. Barkers’ cries echoed along Market Street, extolling their wares. “Stop Sir! See this one! This will please her—buy it for your lady!”

  Odd aromas wafted the area too. Food smells mixed with body odors, their collective reek powerful enough to water the eyes.

  “So, ‘no-longer-a-cadet Gresham,’ what is it you wanted to discuss with me?”

  The moment he dreaded was upon him. Stopping, her faced her. “I know it’s tradition to have your rose pinned by a cadet, and that I promised I’d do it, but fate is forcing me to leave Stalwart, and before your ceremony. That means I can’t be that cadet.”

  She broke out laughing. Did she think him a fool? “The gods are toying with us—I’m leaving too, and with luck, before my rose-pinning ceremony. So, what are these events beyond your control?”

  “Suffice it to say it has to do with Chevaliers,” he said, looking around.

  “Oh.” Her brow furrowed. “Tell me, did your soldiering include map reading?”

  “It’s a vital part of our survival training.”

  She studied the ground as they walked. “You asked of my plans.” She looked up. “Please do not repeat what I’m about to tell you.” She looked around, as if searching for someone. “I’ve been apart from my mother since I was a babe and have no memory of her. A man who once knew her has given me a map to where she abides. The map lists a town called Portsmouth. I’m wondering if it’s the one here in these islands.” She stopped. “If I were to show it to you, could you tell me if that’s true?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, but I suspect as much. Do you have it with you?”

  “No, it’s back in my room.”

  “Perhaps you can show it to me when we return.”