Blue Moon (30 page)

Sabin needed a place nearby to spy on her, but it would have to be convenient. He loved apples. She thought of the trees again. She needed to see the orchard, see if Sabin had left any clues to where he was going. He would not be able to resist even those small tart apples, and would have to pass through on his way to ... wherever.

I think I know where we're going.

There was a scratch at the door, and Alex let Dashiel in. Libby was still in the bathroom, humming some odd song, and he was trying to place it. Dashiel sniffed the air then looked at him.

"You seduced her?” There was a sad little whine in the words. “Why?"

Alex thought about playing semantics. She kissed him first, her leg had wrapped around his hip. But that was not what Dashiel was asking. The consequences were something he should have thought of but had disregarded.

"Because I love her,” Alex said. “Let's not talk about it, okay?"

"You don't belong here,” Dashiel said sadly. “I have listened to her read her books and stories aloud. She has written nine books where the hero sweeps the heroine up into his arms and they walk away into a wonderful life together. What makes you think she'd write a different ending for herself?"

Alex couldn't think of anything to say to that. Instead, he sat on the bed, waiting for her.

He thought of his past life, checking, as he'd done during his fitful sleep, to see if any vestiges of his past still clung to him. Did he miss the feel of flying, the command of air beneath his wings? Did he miss the blue-green satin scales of Arbetha, who would have been his mate if he had returned home from his quest?

He tried to interest himself in thinking of the hunt; he tried to remind himself how magic—constant, thick-in-the-air magic—had felt, running through his mind and soul. He thought of honor, and family pride.

But the memories of his home, of his friends, were just memories. He could picture himself flying, watching his shadow chase him along emerald fields, but he did not feel anything. It was almost like another person's story.

Save when he thought of his father. They were each, through strange and harsh circumstances, the only family the other had. Zorovin's first mate and son had both died; Alex's younger sister had run away to the south and could not be found. Alex's own mother had been unable to take the cold, and Zorovin could not leave his people for her.

Alex was, unless he proved himself completely unworthy, to take his father's place as king. It was not his only right but his duty to continue the line of his father, a line of kings unbroken back to the dawn of his kind. Kings passed knowledge on to their children no one else could know, knowledge that could save his people. His honor told him he should go home.

Tonight, when the moon was high, he would be reminded what it felt like to fly, because he would no longer be in human form. And when the Stone was boxed up again and put away safe, he would be drawn to that other world.

He sighed, looking down at the scratched veneer of the nightstand. He wasn't ready to go home yet. He had the sinking feeling he never would be. He glanced at Dashiel, but the dog refused to look at him.

The bathroom door opened, and Libby came out, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel.

"I've got it!” She grinned ecstatically. “I know where they're going to be."

Sometimes when Sabin slept, Jonathan Peterson woke up.

He did so this night, blinking at the strange ceiling as he had so many times before, the outside edge of his vision tainted with pictures that belonged in another person's head. If he focused on them he would see woods. When Sabin dreamt, he dreamt of the dark twilight woods of home.

Jonathan tried to focus, get a small idea of what was happening. He tried to move his head, knowing it was useless, but to his surprise, it did. His head was now sidewards, and he was looking at a wall. To him, this was an exciting development. He noticed a box with brightly lit numbers painted on it that said 4:05. When it became 4:06, he realized that it must be a clock, and that must be the time. Certainly, they did not have this in the twenties.

How many years have passed? he wondered. Were all the beautiful women he danced with, drank and laughed with gone? As he dwelled on it, he grew furious at the spirit that had captured him, that even now bound him so he could do no more then move his head. There had been so many things he'd wanted to do, and this thing, whatever it was, had taken it all away. He could just weep when he thought about Ginny, or April, or Elizabeth....

Elizabeth? Sabin thought, waking up.

But this time, Jonathan did not go back to sleep immediately. True, he was pushed to the back, no longer even in the slightest control, but he was still there, witnessing Sabin's thoughts.

We will have to do something about Elizabeth.
When he rose to be king over the newly united world, he would have her over coals. He would cut her in thin slices and fry her, eat every last morsel unto the marrow and throw her bones to the wolves. Except her skull. He would leave her fine-boned skull on the mantle, and talk to it from time to time.

Like a bad copy of Hamlet, Jonathan whispered to himself.

Sabin did not hear. He got up, and went to look for his mother.

She sat on the stone cross-legged as the stars came out and the moon began to rise. She smiled at it, waved her arms at it and swayed, singing softly to herself. She did not draw a circle, she did not write in blood. She sat and swayed in place, whispering her songs to the dreams of the monster encased in the stone.

Aïs stood by the edge of the stone, looking into the gorge. Terisoth kept watch on the path. Their main concern was to avoid the park rangers, who they'd had a minor game of hide-and-seek with earlier. The rangers did not know she had killed one of them and taken over her body. Jilly—sweet, silly Jilly—lay near the river below, her body all used and burned up from the magic the Black Queen had drawn from her bones.

The mind she lived in now was more analytical. True, with a more scientific bent of mind came less magic-conducting ability, but she—Mary was her name—had enough magic naturally to do the trick. All humans did. To live was magic, to keep soul clinging to skin required a spark of it. All things that lived had just a tiny bit of magic inside themselves. The queen had become a master at exploiting it.

She stood up and danced, a slow, serpentine rotation. Her words became a seductive chant as she whispered things to the dreams of the beast, tempting it, seducing it with the thought that it could be free of its prison.

She felt for a fault in the rock and insinuated herself into it, splitting it open just enough. Beneath her feet, an eye opened, black as night.

Awake!

She tried to contact it, scry its thoughts. There were none. Its dreams and its thoughts were the same—hunger, desire, the taste of fresh blood on its tongue. It wanted to devour everything. She wondered, for the first time, what she had called. She shrugged, and worked to bind it to her will.

The beast pleased her. If she had met it a thousand years sooner, who knows what the outcome of her story would have been?

The rock shuddered. She heard Aïs run around the edge of it, heard the creaking of the wooden bridge under his weight. She smiled and petted the beast with her thoughts, showed it her complete willingness to give it all the blood in the world. She used her magic to chain it to her.

"Bronwyn..."

She thrust a hand out, sending whoever had touched her flying. The rock cracked open, shuddering and shifting. Stones showered unto the ground below.

"I call you Aerus,” she whispered. “Aerus ... Aerus, come to me..."

There was a roar; the plate of rock she stood on shifted sideways and forward, towards the gorge. It tipped up, and up, then stopped as if it had come up against something.

The Black Queen scrambled to save herself, clinging one-handed to a hole in the rock. She jammed the fingers of her other hand into another rain-smoothed hole. She watched as the fence tore away and tumbled into the trees and bushes below. She thought she could hear the stones and wood hit the water. It took a long time. Someone cried out Bronwyn's name, but she decided she did not care to answer.

She would fall a long time, she thought, as her grip finally gave way.

Claws snatched her out of the air. She was tossed up, caught again in a hand as large as the deck of a ship. The talons that tipped the six fingers were at least seven feet long, and wickedly sharp. Its body was a combination of snake and wasp, a segmented body with a long thick tail, the tail tipped with a large, hooked needle, huge black-faceted eyes in a snake-like face. Its mouth was filled with needle-teeth, too many for its mouth to shut properly.

It had wings like a bat, and floated above the remains of Cooper's Rock, barely moving them, twitching its tail and inspecting what it held in its hand. It threw her up on its shoulder, and she grabbed on, not caring that the scales were sharp. There was, behind its head, a ridge of bone over the point where the wings joined. She slid down and into it, got herself comfortable as it took off into the sky.

She thought of where she wanted to go, and filled her thoughts with the iron taste of blood, fresh and bright. It turned midair, and she knew it had taken her suggestion.

Terisoth fell when the rock ruptured, but he had not been on the top plate, thank God, when it gave way. He landed in a sort of nest of rock, much scratched and bruised, but alive. He waved to Aïs, who stood on the rock lip above.

"Get your ass up here,” Aïs said. “That thing could come back at any time."

"It was imprisoned here,” Terisoth said. He overturned a rock and whistled. He picked up a gemstone as big as his head and held it up for Aïs to see. Facets of deep red reflected even the dim light. “Look at this! Even if it's just semi-precious, a stone like this would be worth a lot."

"I don't care. Get up here!"

Terisoth grinned and set it aside. If he could take it up, he'd give it to his former lit teacher when he got back home. She'd love something like that.

He looked around, digging for a clue or two. He found another stone, also red, he thought, and a necklace of hematite. He put the necklace in his pocket. While he continued his search, he found a skeleton, and he touched his pocket, frowning. He was about to take the necklace out and return it to the body when he realized something.

The woman—and he assumed it was a woman—for her pelvis had the shape his bio teachers had all insisted was female, had sacrificed herself to draw the creature in. There were no scraps of clothes, but the leather thong on the necklace he'd picked up was still supple. He shuddered at the vision of a woman, naked and beautiful, leading the monster he'd just seen into the cavern, allowing it to do ... whatever it did ... to her while her people sealed them together inside. He bowed and whispered the elven prayer of honor for her.

"Will. You. Hurry. It. Up?” Aïs yelled. “Come on, already!"

The bones shifted and the hand rolled out, bony palm up. There was a ring, with a huge black pearl on it.

"I thank you,” Terisoth said quietly, and took it. “Brave warrior, I swear to you that I will use these things to imprison the beast once more."

He sat there, the ring burning in his hand. The wind whispered to him.

'No, you're quite right,” he answered. “I shall use these things to kill it."

He took off his coat and wrapped some of the stones inside it, threading his belt through the armholes to attach it around his arm. The bundle under his arm, he kept an eye on it as he worked his way up, clinging to stones that wanted to slip out from beneath his feet and rough, jagged rock.

Aïs grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Terisoth pulled away and handed him the bundle.

"Be careful. We'll need those two stones,” he warned him.

"Nice ring,” Aïs said as he took the stones and set them aside.

Terisoth made the rest of the way in one large scramble, getting his legs underneath and pulling himself up. Sitting on the edge, he looked at his hand in surprise. He didn't remember putting the ring on, and although it had been made to be worn by a girl smaller and thinner than himself, it fit perfectly.

He stood up and brushed himself off. “Come on, cousin,” he said. “We've got to go save the world from our dear friend Bronwyn."

Nimue, Morganna and Melnue were sitting in a mall food court when the beast was freed. Melnue shivered as her blood chilled. Nimue dropped the soda she'd just taken a sip of, and the paper cup rocked twice. Morganna stood and looked up through the palm fronds, and through the skylight. Melnue could see it, suddenly, clear as day, could feel herself riding it and laughing like a madwoman. She covered her eyes and screamed, but since it was a vision, it didn't help.

"Oh, groovy. We're being stared at now,” Morganna said.

"Shush.” Nimue put her arms around Melnue and hugged her tightly. “What is it? What do you see?"

She opened her eyes and told them.

Morganna grabbed her hands, hissing softly. “There's a link between you and she who stole your face. We can exploit it, perhaps."

She closed her eyes. Melnue felt something inside her head, like fingers attempting to untangle threads, follow one to its source.

"I can't believe she awoke it. After all these centuries asleep,” Nimue said softly.

"It's useless,” Morganna said. “We didn't catch it in time. Next time, I hope we'll be able to follow the link and get back your life."

Nimue was paler than usual. She slowly walked to her chair and sat.

"What was it?” Melnue asked.

"The Emorroris-seps,” she said faintly.

Morganna, who had felt the same things as Nimue, shook her head. “I know why you think that, but the Emorroris-seps has been wrapped in its stone grave for centuries. Nothing could possibly live without food for this long. You must be mistaken."

Melnue looked at her. Calming herself, she said, “I know only what things I've seen these past days. I told you what I saw. I've nothing in my head to cloud my judgment, no like experiences I could mix this up with. I described what I saw without any kind of psychological embellishment."