Lost Moon Page 3

  Sorinieve sighed and pressed a gloved palm against her throbbing temple. Jakon had her performing mental exercises from sunup to midday meal, as though she were some idiot-headed novice. Lessons she still had to do to keep the scepter in her power. How could she hoist the lost moon in this condition? She gripped the scepter again.

  I cannot. I am not a true Noble. Ah yes, I remember. Her mind was slipping away just like her body. Others would bring magic back to this world and Sorinieve would not live to see that amazing feat. Jakon said something but she did not hear his words. Instead, she felt the familiar tingle of the scepter against her palm and ordered the jabber to its front knees, though the beast resisted at first because of the cold. Jakon did the same with his jabber, and helped her dismount, a measured task with the extra clothing they wore. He asked no questions about her magic. They were long past those days.

  She turned to the east, where the tingling grew strongest, raised the scepter and silently commanded to see what it wished to show her. The vision was cloudy, much like her eyes were becoming, and she sweated as she willed the magic to her. Finally, the vision became clear. Dark clouds roiled from the skies, a dam burst, and bodies floated among the flooded lowlands. This must be the flood the seer predicted. A young, fair-haired woman stood out among the floating bodies, a new orphan with a blue aura around her. This young woman clung to a tree. Second Noble.

  This disaster would happen soon but Sorinieve could do nothing now. She must locate the future First Noble, who was somewhere in this hideous cold, and send her to rescue her Second sister. Once Sorinieve had those two, they would bring the Third into this world, a task that could not wait much longer.

  Anger touched her for a moment as she watched the girl in the vision. Those villagers had plenty of warning about this flood from the true seer. He had relayed his messages through the royal soothsayers, a fact that Sorinieve dared any landlord house to challenge, yet some still refused to believe in true magic. They were only interested in folly, children’s games. Sorinieve was not afraid of becoming a royal slave, for her powers with the scepter were more than any had seen since original magic and centuries of training meant she could protect herself with it. Besides, royals did not know she existed as anything but an old woman. Sure, the occasional villager spread tales about a woman who could make doorways from nothing, but no one believed such fancies and the tales died out quickly. Jakon had made certain Sorinieve learned the powers of the scepter her first year of training and pushed her every day after that to keep those powers fresh. They stayed away from populated areas, only venturing close when they needed supplies, and Sorinieve always disguised them with her magic, magic that was now getting harder to hold onto. She needed to pass the scepter to its rightful owner.

  The world would bow before the Trine, but only if the women completed their task. She pulled back from that vision and turned south to call another vision. This one of battles that still came and went even after many had abandoned the area. These battles had been going on for so long no one could remember exactly why they were fighting. Even Sorinieve had forgotten. Afterwards, disgusted with the destruction the scepter showed her, she aimed it north.

  It took some time but she finally got the vision she seeked. The future First Noble was still in the same location, thankfully. Exhausted from the efforts, she released the magic and instructed Jakon to help her back onto her jabber. At his order, the protesting beast rocked side to side as it stood with the extra weight. The stupid animal did not know it would die here without Sorinieve’s magic. The spell she used on the jabbers’ hides did not work on a person, too thin-skinned, but close proximity to the animals meant the spell kept Jakon and her from freezing to death.

  Jakon mounted and they set off again as Sorinieve fought fatigue. Even with the magic archways removing some of the distance, it would take all night to reach First Noble. May the Moirai allow me to live long enough to deliver the Faytools.

  Chapter 3

  Rain pounded the roof and shutters as thunder shook the air. It is still raining? Larisa could not tell whether the sun was up or not, so she snuggled under the covers again and closed her eyes.

  “Larisa?” her mother said from the next room. “Get up, sweetness. It is getting late.”

  She groaned as she pulled from her warm bed to the frigid, dark room. Winters in Donigere were mild but the rain always brought cold, which prompted her to laze in bed on mornings like this. She brushed a sulfur stick across the rough night table, lit a fat candle, then shoved her feet into the slippers her mother had knitted as a gift for her recent birth celebration. I am twenty-five years old now. I really need to start my own life. She just did not know exactly what she wanted to do, other than leave Donigere.

  The washbasin beckoned her, so she padded to it, the cold water stinging her cheeks as she splashed her face. She dressed in her warmest skirts, bodice, and stockings. After unbraiding her long, blonde hair, she ran a comb through it and left it loose. A single puff from her lips blew out the candle.

  Her mother had a fire going, and bread, cheese, fruit and hot tea sat on the table when she emerged from behind the curtain that separated her room from the kitchen. I really should have gotten up earlier and helped her. Her mother did not seem to mind, so Larisa pushed the guilt away and waved a hand toward the nearest window. “Still raining, I see.”

  “Yes. You will need your oiled boots and cloak today.” Always mothering me, no matter how old I grow. “We have leftover honey bread from your celebration.” Her mother smiled. “I will pack you some.”

  Larisa smiled back. “I do love your honey bread.” She cranked the side window open enough to see the ground. Worry built at the sight of large puddles rising against the house and she closed the window against a particularly chilled breeze. “Maybe we should go to higher ground. The soothsayer warned of flooding.”

  Her mother clicked her tongue and quelled her with a hard gaze. “What have I told you about such foolishness? You are no child, Larisa. No more idiotic talk about that soothsayer. She is a slave, nothing more, ordered to make predictions for entertainment.”

  Rumors that the real seer had sent the predictions swirled on the tongues of some villagers. “But the seer—”

  “The seer.” Her mother blew out a noisy breath. “You really think the great seer has time for our tiny village? You think he has nothing better to do?”

  A sigh left Larisa’s lips. Normally, she did not believe the predictions, but anyone with eyes could see outside. It had been pouring for two days so perhaps the prediction was just common sense. If it did not stop soon, rivers could overflow their banks, streets and houses would flood.

  “What were you doing last night? Roloph came by to see you but I could not find you?”

  Larisa turned to gaze at her aging mother. She smiled at the various stains on the woman’s apron, the Herb Mistress of Donigere’s familiar badge. “I had personal errands.”

  “So late? And in this rain?” She prepared for one of her mother’s speeches about catching her death but the woman just shook her head. When Larisa sat at the table and poured tea for them both, her mother sat and eyed her. “Why did you refused Roloph’s wreath again? Your father is still upset you broke the betrothal.”

  Larisa groaned. Not this tired old argument again. “Mother, that betrothal was made before I could even walk. I have every right to decline the marriage.” And I should not have had to decline him twice. He should have sought out another wife. But she did not say that to her mother.

  “I know, sweetness, but you are twenty-five now. You should be settled into your work and have a babe on your hip by now. Roloph’s a fine lad, a baker’s son. And he loves you.”

  “I do not want to be a baker’s wife. And as much as it upsets you and Father, I do not want to be the next Herb Mistress of Donigere, either. Besides, I do not love Roloph.”

  “You will if you give the marriage time. He is such a nice young man.”

  A bowl of
fresh camen fruit called to her and she bit into a sweet, golden one, causing juice to drip down her chin. If eating stalled this conversation for a few moments, that was a bonus. She wiped the dribble with a rough towel then swallowed. “I know he is nice, Mother, but if I were meant to fall in love with Roloph, that would have already happened.”

  Her mother sighed, a signal that she would not push the issue. For now, anyway. “Will you at least console your father? He is in the shop.”

  “Already?” She took another bite of the fruit and glanced at the mechanical, key-wound clock that stood on the mantle. Half-past seven.

  Like most merchants in Donigere, her father’s woodsmithy shop was in the front part of the home. He did not open the shop until after nine in winter, which involved simply pushing back the shutters and lighting a fire. He did most of the chopping during the tepid months, leaving stacks of pre-cut wood in his shop for days like this.

  A loud crack of thunder made Larisa jump. It was raining harder now than the past two days and she waved an absent hand toward a window. “Why does he bother to work today? Who is going to go out in that mess to shop? And we have not seen a single traveler in over a week.”

  The graying woman shrugged. “You know your father. He likes to keep busy.”

  “He wanted a son. That’s why he likes Roloph so much.”

  “He loves you, Larisa.”

  She swallowed another bite of fruit. “Yes, but a son would take over his shop.”

  “Never mind that. I need you to go to Cicily’s place. We are out of ginger and anise and I have orders to fill. People are ill and this incessant rain does not help.”

  Glad her mother changed the subject, Larisa finished her fruit, downed a cheese slice, some tea, and put her dishes in the washbasin. She exchanged her slippers for oiled boots and fastened her cloak about her shoulders. Before she left the kitchen, she stuffed a roll in her pocket. She tugged on her gloves before scooping up the burlap sack and hooded lantern that sat near the door. With a long breath of courage, she stepped into the woodsmithy’s shop.

  Her father was putting final touches on a cabinet. She could see quite clearly with several lanterns and a fire blazing. “Morning, Papa.”

  “Morning, dear. Tell me what you think of this.” He pulled a lantern close and stepped aside so Larisa could look.

  The scroll details and the tiny carved roses amazed her, as usual. Her father had tried to teach her woodcarving as a child but she did not have the patience for it, or the talent. “It’s beautiful, Papa.”

  “Thank you.”

  She fidgeted with the hooded lantern in her hand as her father bent over his work again. “I do not love Roloph.”

  He stopped what he was doing and turned to face her. Blue eyes, the color of her own but much older, studied her.

  Telling him this was harder with his gaze on her but she continued. “I know you have always been fond of him, and I know you hoped I would have accepted him by now. I am sorry, Papa, but I just cannot marry a man unless I love him. Please do not be angry with me.”

  A wistful smile tugged at his mouth. “My little Lari-pie, I’m not angry with you. I do not expect you to marry Roloph if you do not love him.” He opened his arms. She put down her lantern and sack and went to him for an embrace, the pet name sending her thoughts back to childhood for an instant. After a moment, her father pulled away and kissed her forehead, as he had done many times when she was little. “You had better get to Cicily’s. Megan’s child is due for birthing soon and you know how your mother gets when there’s a new babe on the way. This rain does not soothe her temper, either. She will have a fit if you are late with deliveries. And I for one intend to have a peaceful night.” He chuckled.

  With everything all right again, Larisa put a flame to her lantern and headed out into the wet, gray morning. She nodded to the locals as she passed, most of whom she had known her entire life. Many stood in doorways or on porches to watch the skies and shake their heads.

  She sighed as she approached the bakery and saw Roloph peek out the door. He gave a sad smile and she nodded politely. She had not wanted to hurt him. He was a nice man, handsome and kind, but she could not see herself living in Donigere the remainder of her days, much less with a man she did not love. She wanted more. Adventure. Travel. Exotic places she had heard about from traveling bards tugged at her heart more than any man. There had to be more than just a simple village life for her.

  There just has to be. She hummed as she stepped over and around growing puddles on the way to her day’s work.

  ****

  Cicily had the herbs ready when Larisa arrived so her deliveries took just under an hour. She made it home just before an even heavier downpour erupted. Good thing I left when I did, because the streets are impassable on foot now. As she turned away from the window, she got a feeling in the pit of her stomach that something terrible was about to happen.

  “We should leave for higher ground, Papa.” She watched her father fill another lamp with oil.

  The man lifted his graying head. “We will be safe here. This house is solid with plenty of room beneath for water to pass. The rains will let up soon.”

  Larisa shook her head. “I’m not so sure.”

  Her mother smacked her arm with a dishtowel. “Do not argue with your father. Go make yourself useful and put more kindling on the fire.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Larisa obeyed as she tried to push down the feelings of dread.

  She had retrieved an armful of kindling from one of her father’s well-made trunks when a roaring filled the air. The sound was so terrible she dropped her burdens and ran through the shop to the front door, where her parents gathered just a heartbeat ahead of her.

  “What is it, Papa?” She had to yell above the noise to be heard. He did not answer. “Papa?”

  Terrified eyes turned to her and he pushed her and her mother onto the porch. “Run! North! Go north!”

  Without hesitation, Larisa grabbed her mother’s hand and stepped into the flooded street. Others filled the streets, some screaming, some cursing.

  Someone cried, “The southern dam has burst!”

  Larisa turned to see if her father followed behind when a wall of water crashed into her, separating her mother’s hand from hers. She managed to suck air into her lungs just before she went under but she struggled to get back to the surface. She could not tell which way was up, the water moved so fast. Her hands snagged on something that left hot cuts in her palms but she ignored the pain and kicked as hard as she could for what she thought was the surface, trying desperately to shove down terror. She kicked harder, pushing against the current. Her lungs burned and her heart threatened to burst.

  Just when she thought she might drown, her head surfaced above the water and she gulped in air. She could not see her parents in the deluge. She could not see much of anything. The current plunged her under again and she fought the paralyzing panic that threatened to drown her. Again, she surfaced only to get sucked under. And again. Debris slammed into her, leaving bruises that she barely felt through the cold now. Plunged and smacked. Plunged and smacked. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air each time she broke the surface. The cycle went on until her limbs were so frigid and fatigued she could no longer swim.

  Larisa was about to give herself to the current when she slammed into something large, knocking her breath away. Instinct took over and she clung to it. A tree. She clawed her way higher until one arm got wedged between two branches and she was too weak to free it. She could not see clearly. She tried to call out to her parents but the water strangled her. As much as it hurt, she tilted her throbbing head upward to keep her nose above the water.

  There, she bobbed like a broken doll, one arm trapped, blood leaking from her to swirl away with the current. She only hoped it would not take too long to die.

  Chapter 4

  The cloak hanging over the cave opening flew back and two figures appeared, making them no more than silhouettes against t
he bright daylight outside. One tall and the other short. Kepriah cursed that anyone could have sneaked up on her and she reached for her sword.

  “No, Kepriah of Landerbury.” It sounded like an old woman’s voice. “Leave the sword.”

  She decided to leave her sword. A knife would be better, the one hidden beneath her own cloak that she used as a bed. In one smooth move, and despite her blackened toes, Kepriah grabbed the knife, rocked to her knees, and knocked the staff from the woman’s grip. She then yanked the woman down, got one arm around her middle, and held the blade to her throat. Right now, she was extremely thankful for her intense training.

  Her eyes took in the large, hooded figure in the cave opening, male from the size of him, but he did not make a move to stop her. Instead, he let the cloak fall into place behind him. A large hood covered his head and Kepriah still could not make out his features. Maybe he was a servant. From the jewels that adorned the woman’s staff, which now lay on the ground, she had to be rich. Perhaps she was a royal and the man a bounty hunter.

  “You must not kill me, Kepriah,” a shaky voice said through the scarf that covered the woman’s face. The cloak hood still covered her head but Kepriah saw wisps of white hair. “You need me.”

  “Tell me who you are and how you found me. How do you know my name?” A shaky, gloved hand reached up and Kepriah tightened her grip.

  “If you let me, I will remove my scarf so you may see me better.”

  “Very well, but do not try anything.” Kepriah loosened her grip on the old woman and kept her knife pointed at the hooded man.