Nexus Moons: Book One of the Tales of Graal

by Ron Root

  Hagley looked stunned. “I can’t go back.”

  “What?”

  “You heard what that pirate said he’d do to me. No way I’m staying. I’m going with you.”

  Gresham could hardly believe his ears. “You can’t; how will Sully get home?”

  “I ain’t going back neither,” Sully protested, crossing his arms. “I’m going adventuring with you guys.”

  The other three exchanged glances. Sully had rescued them, surely angering the brigands. More importantly, he’d killed one of them. If they were to catch him, they’d likely do worse to him than what they’d threatened to do to Hagley.

  Sully’s lip quivered. “Please take me. Hagley be my only friend.” He looked at Rayna, “’cept for you and Lady Rayna. I want to stay with you.”

  The orphan’s impassioned plea struck a chord with Gresham. Rayna’s wan smile likely meant she understood, too. Sully looked at Hagley. “You promised me Hagley. You always said someday we’d go adventuring.”

  Hagley looked at Gresham. “I did say that. Is where we’re heading dangerous?”

  Rayna answered. “I doubt my mother would have given me a map to get there if it was.” She gave Gresham a pleading look. “We can’t leave a boy alone in Portsmouth, it’s way too dangerous. How would he get home?”

  Gresham doubted he ever be able to say no to her. Sighing, he pointed at their knapsacks. “Everyone find warm clothing then. I plan to row this bay in the dark. It’s the only way I can think of to get us away safe.” He picked up the oars. “Search for my compass while you’re looking—and Rayna’s map. I want to get our bearings while there’s still light. We can figure out how to get you two back to Stalwart in the morning.” He looked at the young magus. “Ever row a boat, Hagley?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry, you seem a smart fellow, you’ll work it out in no time. Our biggest problem will be keeping on course. Once that sun sets, I won’t be able to read my compass.”

  “You forget who you’re with.” Hagley shut his eyes, mumbling. Suddenly a ball of light floated above them. He smiled. “The light globe is the first spell most magi learn. Just let me know when you need it.” He snapped his fingers and the globe vanished.

  Gresham shook his head. “Now that’s useful. I wish I could do that.”

  Hagley slapped Gresham’s knee. “I’ll teach you tomorrow.”

  Hagley’s offer shocked him, but why? After all, the prism had shown he was Gifted. It was time to change his thinking. “Have I learned enough?”

  Hagley grinned. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  He rowed them out to sea, thinking how dramatically his life had changed. He was gifted. Did that mean he might become a magus? A magus! Who’d have guessed? He broke out laughing. Sully had the right of it. This isn’t just a trip, it’s an adventure.

  The shoreline gradually faded from view, as did the sun. They never spotted the wharf pirates. He labored onward well after the others had fallen asleep, wondering all the while what lay in store for him next; what awaited them all.

  Arms aching, Gresham shipped the oars and looked around. The glowing skyline announced dawn’s imminence. A gust of salty air lifted his collar, its chilling effect a reminder of the foolishness of rowing at night. But the wharf pirates had given them little choice.

  His companions were wrapped in blankets, grabbing what sleep they could. Hagley had earned it. The two of them had traded off rowing duties over the course of the night. Sully had tried, but neither he nor Rayna proved strong enough.

  He scoured ahead. Even in this dim light, Tanner Point was visible, the long row across the bay was near its end. Rejuvenated, he resumed rowing with a renewed vigor.

  The boat rolled up a swell, splashing Hagley, waking him. He wiped his face and looked around. “Where are we?”

  “We’re almost there,” Gresham said, pointing at the approaching quay.

  Hagley looked. “You need to row seaward; we’re getting too far inland.”

  “Would that I could,” Gresham said, reefing on the oars. “This cursed tide keeps pushing us inland. I fear by the time we make shore it’ll be a goodly tramp back to the quay.”

  Despite his efforts, the sea was unrelenting. Before long it had pushed them so far inland, they could no longer see Tanner Point. “Watch out!” Hagley yelled, pointing over Gresham’s shoulder.

  Gresham jerked his head around. A giant rock lay directly in their path. Reefing hard, he avoided it, albeit barely.

  Hagley pointed again. “There’s another!”

  His shouts roused the others. Rayna sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re in a shoal. Rocks are everywhere. Everyone scout for hazards!”

  While picking his way through the treacherous waters, Gresham spotted a lagoon off in the distance. Its waters looked calm. Partially blocking its entrance was a long expanse of boulders that ran all the way to shore. Unfortunately, the current kept driving him toward it. No matter how hard he rowed, Gresham couldn’t alter their course. Closer and closer the boulders came. The incessant current pushing, thrusting, driving their boat toward inevitable disaster.

  “Brace yourselves!” he hollered, “We’re going to hit!”

  The next swell slammed their boat hard against the seawall. Their craft high-centered atop a jutting boulder, accompanied by the horrific sound of splintering wood. Everyone held on as water inundated the boat, then washed back out to sea with such force they were nearly dragged with it. “The boat’s destroyed!” he yelled, “Grab your gear and jump ashore!”

  They’d barely scrambled onto the rocks when the next wave rolled in. What was left of their boat disintegrated right before their eyes. “My pack!” Rayna screeched, watching her carefully selected purchases wash away—along with what little remained of their skiff. “It has all my belongings!”

  The four of them stood watching in stunned disbelief as the raging seawaters ripped apart their boat turning it into tiny pieces of flotsam, marooning them.

  Guardian

  Goodricke struggled to his knees, a difficult task with one’s arms pinned. He ducked as hooves thundered past him, blanketing him in dust. The woman leaped from her limb, onto the horse’s back, and looped her end of the lasso around her steed’s neck.

  Spitting grime, Goodricke stood, but quickly dropped to his knees when he heard the whoosh of her spinning weapon. He forced a smile, hoping a friendly demeanor would keep her from firing it. “Are strangers in this land always treated so? Am I to suffer the same fate as those beasts?”

  Frowning, she stopped spinning her weapon. Her horse stepped backwards, pulling the rope taut, tumbling him face-first to the ground. Undaunted, he struggled back to his knees.

  She glared. “Remove your weapons,” she said, speaking Common. Her accent was heavy, unlike any he’d heard. He took off his belt. “Toss it far.” He obeyed. “Does the Crone now get her henchmen from the Outland, or do her newest abominations simply resemble them?”

  What was she asking? “You speak in riddles. I know nothing of crones or henchmen or outlands or abominations. I’m Goodricke Loddvar of Fort Stalwart. I have a companion nearby who is sick with fever. We mean you no harm, we simply seek something called a Nexus in order to save a friend.” Impassive, she simply stared, saying nothing. “Perhaps if we could talk, we’d reach an understanding.”

  She pondered his words. “Your terms are strange; perhaps you truly are an Outlander. Answer my questions, but be warned, your answers determine your fate.”

  He spread his arms, palms up, daring to feel hope. “Ask.”

  “What is this Nexus, and why do you seek it?”

  He cursed himself for having divulged so much in his moment of panic, but if he wanted to live, he had no choice but to offer more. “It has to do with the arts. I know little of them, so I can offer no better explanation. My companion and I seek a place called A’ryth, in order to sav
e a friend.”

  The woman’s eyes flared briefly. “If you seek such a place, why are you here in the swamps?”

  Did that mean she knew of A’ryth? “The lurker destroyed our boat, stranding us here. Look,” he pulled up his pant leg, “part of it still clings to me.”

  The woman leaned forward. “That is from a beithíoch. Heat will release it.” She met his gaze. “You used other words. What are arts?”

  “Arts are what the magi practice. Some call it magic, or sorcery.”

  She nodded, apparently understanding. It relaxed her enough to dare a smile. “You may call me Caitlyn, Goodricke Loddvar from Fort Stalwart.” Her eyes twinkled as she collapsed her lasso and stowed it on her belt.

  He sensed he was making progress. “Do you know of this place called A’ryth?” Her eyes flared again. She knows. “Will you lead us there?”

  “Maybe I will leave you here for the abominations. Persuade me why this should not be so.”

  Her dismissal irked him. “Persuade you?” He threw up his hands. “I’ve crossed this accursed marsh just to find this city to aid one in dire circumstance. Do you realize what an undertaking that was?”

  Her face hardened. “Be careful with your tone Outlander, it is you, not me, who bargains for help.” She looked away, staring, before responding further. “I will lead you from the marsh, Goodricke Loddvar, and assist your friend. That is all I promise.”

  He bowed his head. “Thank you, Lady.”

  “We should leave now, I have duties to attend,” she said, dismounting. He was surprised at how tiny she was. As he approached, she stepped backwards, looking wary. He stopped, studying her diminutive form. She wore the leather armor and leggings of a warrior. Her red hair was tucked under a rawhide helmet. Despite her mannish attire, he found her quite comely, and marveled that one so slight could be so skilled in weaponry. “Please take no offense, but are all your warriors so small?”

  She gave an impish smile. “I am the smallest—but not by so much. Are all Outlanders so large as you?”

  “Nay, I’m tall in any land.” He winked. “But not by so much.”

  Then, without transition, she switched subjects. “We should see to your friend.” She stepped toward her horse, but stopped. Frowning, she scanned the area.

  Were more abominations coming? “What’s wrong?

  “I perceive power.” Caitlyn looked at him. “You brought that sense with you; it is what warned me you were here.” She walked to nearby bushes and picked up his weapon belt. “It comes from this.”

  “Of course! Turpin’s sword!”

  She examined the sheath. “It is not yours?”

  “Yes, it was a gift.”

  She studied it. “This is Lore Master’s doing. Such a gift deserves better care.” She brought it to him. “Take it Goodricke Loddvar, you may have need of it.”

  “In A’ryth?”

  She looked up at him. “I do not take you to A’ryth; I lead you from the marsh.” She mounted her horse. “Now where is your friend?”

  “I fear I’m too lost to say, but if you take me to where you killed those two creatures, or abominations as you call them, I can find my way from there.”

  He sat behind her, riding double, heading back to the killing field. Her head came only halfway up his chest. The scent of her wet hair made him realize how long it had been since he’d made little talk with a woman. He decided to rectify that. “You speak Common with great skill. I would not have guessed it’s not your first language.”

  She grinned back at him. “Thank you, but you do not lie so well, Goodricke Loddvar. Many words you say I do not understand. And you speak very fast.”

  “Apologies Lady, I shall try to speak more slowly.” He gripped her waist as her mount leaped a fallen log. “We have many languages in the Outland, so people learn what we call Common so that when we speak, all can understand. Is it the same in your homeland?”

  “Not so much, only Seekers learn your Common. Most there would not understand your words.”

  “Are you one of these Seekers? Is that why you speak my tongue?”

  She looked back at him as if he were mad. “What a thing to say. I speak with my own tongue, Goodricke Loddvar, not yours.” She explained that Seekers went to the Outland to study their ways, to understand what threat they pose. “Your people have given us cause not to trust them.”

  Once they found the abominations, he had his bearings and led her to his camp where he found Master Verity reading Malg’s journal. Hearing their approach, Jarek turned, looking alarmed. His jaw opened when he saw who it was. “Goodricke?”

  He dismounted, delighting in his companion’s confounded expression. “You’re looking much better, milord.” He gestured toward his newfound guide. “Meet Caitlyn.”

  Caitlyn’s steely countenance had returned, but she remained cordial, even insisting on examining Jarek’s wound. “An ialtóg has bitten you.” She fished herbs from a pouch on her belt and rubbed salve on the wound. “This will fight its poison.” She made him swallow other herbs.

  After tending Jarek, she started a small fire, heated a stick, and pressed the hot poker against the tentacle stuck to Goodricke’s leg. The singed tissue peeled away.

  She asked to see their boat. They escorted her to the beach. Flotsam was still floating near the shore. She wandered to the water and examined the area. “The beithíoch was very close, you are fortunate to have survived.”

  Goodricke interpreted. “That’s the lurker’s true name. She spoke as if they are many.”

  They returned to camp. Their belongings lay stacked in two piles. “I will call capall for you to ride, but you have much to carry. They may not be willing.” She stared at their gear. “Do you need so much?”

  Goodricke was sure he’d heard her wrong. “You can beckon the capall?” he asked, ignoring her question

  She frowned. “Of course; how else would they know you wish to ride?”

  Jarek answered her earlier question. “Our journey is long, Lady. I fear we need all the gear we’ve salvaged. As it is, we lost much with our boat.”

  She looked concerned. “I will call them now. But do not be too hopeful.”

  She pulled a carved reed from her belt and blew into it. Although Goodricke heard nothing, Caitlyn’s horse reared. She rushed over, soothing it in low tones. Once it calmed, she returned. “When they arrive, you must ask to ride. Say these words, ‘Cara na foraoise, is féidir liom turas tú?’ Remember them,” she said, repeating it.

  “What happens when we speak these words?” Jarek asked.

  “If the capall accepts, it will lower its head.”

  While they waited, Goodricke stowed most of what they’d brought into knapsacks, but left some behind to appease Caitlyn. Packed, they sat and waited.

  Although the wait was considerable, it did little to diminish the startling effect of seeing ten white horses thunder through the trees and halt just outside their camp. Save for their color, sinew and elegance, they looked like ordinary horses, but to find such stunning creatures in this dismal setting was nonetheless startling.

  “Fáilte róimh a capall,” Caitlyn hailed as they danced in place, eying the humans. She turned to Jarek. “Ask.”

  He nodded. “Certainly, Lady.” He faced the horses. “Cara na foraoise, is féidir liom turas tú?

  The horses snorted and pranced. Finally, one reared and trotted over to Jarek. Stretching one leg forward, it bent its other one. Goodricke could swear it was bowing.

  Caitlyn nodded. “That is good, Lore Master; it accepts. You may ride now.”

  Goodricke grabbed Jarek’s gear. “Climb aboard, milord. Once you’re astride, I’ll hand this up.”

  Jarek gripped the animal’s mane and tried to swing a leg over its back. He slid too far and fell off the other side. The next try he managed to stay astride. Goodricke placed the gear on the horse’s buttocks and fastened its binding around Jarek’s waist. “Th
at should hold.”

  Caitlyn tugged on Goodricke’s sleeve. “Now you, Goodricke Loddvar.”

  Goodricke faced the steeds. “Kara ne forouse, liam tarris?”

  Jarek winced. “Goodricke, if that’s your ear for sound, you’d have made a poor magus.”

  “Try again, Goodricke Loddvar,” she coaxed.

  He did, again and again. The animals stared, unmoving. After his fifth try she stepped in front of him, choking back a grin. Judging from the shaking of Jarek’s shoulders, he was enjoying Goodricke’s chagrin as much as she was. She said something in her strange language, and a capall came forward and made the ritual offering. Although grateful, the fact he needed her help was embarrassing. He hoisted his pack to his shoulders and swung onto the animal’s back, his long legs making it a simple matter.

  The remaining horses trotted away. Caitlyn mounted. “Which way is this place you seek? We should leave the marsh in that direction.”

  Goodricke checked his drawing. “This map is crude, but I believe it’s that way,” he said, pointing.

  She trotted over. “May I see your mapiscrude?”

  “Of course.” He handed it to her. “This mark is where Master Verity says the Nexus will occur, and we are here.” He looked at her. “And apologies, I mean no criticism of your command of Common, but it is simply called a map. Crude means that the map is not a very good one.”

  She examined the drawing. “What is this writing by your mark?”

  “It is how A’ryth is written in Common.”

  She was silent for a moment. “They are in much the same place.”

  “Our mark is only a surmise,” Jarek explained, “but we suspect they may be the same place. Tonight, if the skies are clear, I’ll use an instrument to not be so crude.”

  She handed back the map back to Goodricke. “Perhaps this is not so crude as you think.”

  She led them out of camp. Goodricke hadn’t ridden bareback since boyhood, but quickly adapted. The same couldn’t be said for Jarek, who nearly fell off his mount every time it lurched, jumped, or made any quick motion.