Moonlight and Ashes (17 page)

My story about the old man's change of heart went down perfectly well with the others.

‘It was all right to rip off strangers from the city as far as he was concerned; but forest folk – that's a different matter,' I said. ‘He felt ashamed of doing it and even insisted on giving us directions for our journey today. I was quite touched and that's why I gave him the compass. I hope you don't mind, Max.'

‘Not at all. Didn't really trust that thing any more,' said Max, cheerfully. ‘You did exactly the right thing, Selena.'

He smiled warmly at me, and I felt bad, because he might not trust the compass, but he did trust me and I'd told him a lie. I had to, because he could not know what I intended to do tonight.

Olga didn't seem to be suspicious either. Of course, she'd been out hunting when the old man had come so she could hardly say one way or the other what had occurred. Not that she had found anything worth having – the old
man had been right about game being scarce – so she was glad to see the dried meat and bread too, and didn't ask any questions.

We set off from an eerily quiet Smutny. No-one had come out to watch us go, though we still had the feeling of watching eyes behind twitching curtains, as we followed the track deeper into the forest. The path was reasonably clear and we made good headway, but the further we went in, the more I noticed how quiet – how unnaturally quiet – the forest was. No-one passed us. We passed no villages, though once or twice at the beginning we noticed tracks which most likely led to villages. It wasn't just humans who were missing in this place. There was no rustle of animals in the undergrowth. No birds sang. There wasn't even a ruffle of wind in the leaves or the flutter of a butterfly's wings. But it wasn't only the silence. A couple of times we went over what had clearly once been little streams but were now just dry beds of pebbles. And though the leaves of the trees had turned to the autumnal colours of the season, there were no brave reds or bright yellows amongst them, only browns. Worse still, the needles of the evergreen trees were scattered with sickly yellows and browns, and there was little of the strong piney smell you might have expected. It was hard to escape the memory of the old man's words. The forest was dying, from the inside.

We didn't talk much but hurried along; none of us liked being there, and Tomi was clearly very ill at ease, sticking to Max even more than usual. I wondered if, in his case, the general feeling of eeriness was combined with an instinctive revulsion against this kind of country that had
once been the redoubt of those the Mancers had destroyed and banned. This was my mother's country, the country of the moon-sisters, enemies of the state and a threat to everything the Mancers stood for. He probably knew only the barest details of these things because he was so young; but it would still speak in his blood.

The shadows of late afternoon were lengthening into twilight by the time we passed the overgrown and tangled path which led to Dremda. I'd been keeping an eye out all day but somehow it was still unexpected. The old man had been right. Two very tall silver birches had once stood at the entrance of the path. They didn't stand any more, but had half-fallen sideways across it, their roots showing, their topmost branches tangled with other trees. There was something sad and pitiful about them, as if they weren't merely dead trees but giant sentinels slaughtered in battle.

I couldn't dwell on it, not now. I had to turn my back on the path and keep going with the others to the border. But I did not want to go too far or I would never find my way back. So when we reached a small clearing about half an hour later, I suggested we stop for the night.

There was no argument; everyone was tired and hungry, and a little cold. We made a fire and toasted the leftover bread from lunch on sticks and chewed on the rest of the meat. Max and Olga talked while Tomi slept and I sat brooding, thinking of what I had to do that night. They talked about how much further it might be to the border, whether there'd be any village along the way where we might stop and buy some more supplies, and what we'd do once we did get to the border. Max noticed my preoccupation and asked me gently if I was all right. I
said I was just too tired to think straight and, if he didn't mind, I'd as soon go to sleep.

I was ashamed of how kind he was to me when I was lying to him. He put his coat over me as I lay curled up in front of the fire with my eyes closed, pretending to sleep. He sat there long after Olga went to sleep, feeding the fire, prodding and poking it for quite a long time, apparently deep in thought.

By the time I woke up sweating from a nightmare of ghostly, giant guards marching relentlessly towards us through the forest, I found he had at last dropped off to sleep. The new moon had long set and the night sky was filled with masses of cold, burning stars. They and the red embers of the dying fire were the only light in the black night.

As I got to my feet knowing it was now or never, for it must have been past midnight already, I felt terribly uneasy. What on earth was I doing? I was safe here, amongst friends, and on my way to freedom. The old man was most likely right – there was probably nothing for me at Dremda. But it wasn't just a question of my promise to the moon-sister, Mama would have wanted me to do this. I couldn't leave her country without understanding what I was –
who
I was. I quickly made myself a rudimentary torch with a strip of cloth torn from my sleeve and tied around a stick. I put the end of it in the fire to set it alight, slipped the coat off my shoulders and put it gently over Max. Oh Max, I thought, if only I could explain! But I couldn't. Yet I must tell him something, or he would come looking for me, if I wasn't back by morning. I took a piece of charcoal from the fire and I wrote these words on the greasy paper
that had been wrapped around our food:
Going to my mother's people. Don't wait for me. I'll catch you up.

My eyes pricked with tears. I wanted to write, ‘I love you, Max,' but was afraid that if I did, I wouldn't be strong enough to leave. Instead, I took the heart-shaped locket from my pocket and left it on the paper, hoping he would understand and forgive me. In the light of the burning torch, I took one last look at him, Olga and little Tomi. Then I left the camp swiftly, without another glance behind me.

Everything looked different at night. The forest that had seemed merely sad and eerie in the day seemed much more sinister: the silence that hung over it was no longer of a dead place, but of an alien one. Like our departure from Smutny, it felt as though unseen eyes were watching me, eyes just beyond the small pool of light cast by my torch – eyes that bore me no goodwill. As I hurried down the track towards the path to Dremda, I tried to tell myself it was all fancy and that I had nothing to be afraid of in this empty place. Besides, I might be a stranger but I had moon-sister blood; the dying woman in the wagon had told me I must go to Dremda and she wouldn't have sent me there if it was dangerous. But still the sense of danger nagged at me, and every shadow seemed menacing as I hurried along with my heart in my mouth and the sweat pouring cold out of me.

I reached the silver birches. In the starlight they gleamed with an unearthly glow, which made them look
just like the ghostly beings in my nightmare, only they weren't marching anywhere but lying quietly in the very same places I'd seen them in that day.

Telling myself to stop being a baby, I took a deep breath and plunged under their tangled branches. Almost immediately, my torch went out. I threw it aside and fought my way past some brambles and clinging vines to the overgrown path that lay beyond. On and on I went round more brambles, through long grass and tangled bushes. While all the time, unerringly, there was the faint path gleaming in the starlight, and somehow, as I kept on, the going seemed easier, the bush less dense and the brambles less cruel. Then I heard the sound of water faintly in the distance and my heart leapt, though I did not yet know why.

I hurried along, the path changing as the bush melted away and the brambles disappeared until, after a time, I found I was walking on a broad track. And though it was the darkest time of night, I knew it was not far to dawn. The sound of water was getting louder and then – I heard my mother's voice, mingled with the sound of water, and I ran. I ran as fast as I could, round one corner, then another and another until I suddenly stopped and stared.

For there was the place in my dream – the place where I'd seen my mother and the moon-sister from the wagon. There was the waterfall, falling over rocks into a pool surrounded by trees. Only – only it had changed. Oh, so much! The trees were bare, skeletal. There was only a trickle of sluggish water going over dull, black rocks. The pool was practically empty, with only a few puddles of muddy water . . .

With a cry, I ran towards it and knelt by the pool. I closed my eyes, waiting for the tap on the shoulder, for my mother, or the moon-sister, to speak to me. But nobody spoke, nothing happened. I opened my eyes and looked at the muddy water. I cupped some in my palm, like I had done in my dream, and lifted it to my lips – and saw that it was squirming with things. Insects, frog-spawn and God knows what else. With a cry of disgust, I flung it from me, and got to my feet.

‘See Thalia,' the moon-sister had said. But where was she? There was no-one here and no sign that anyone had been here for a very long time. I was suddenly beside myself with disappointment and a wild unfocussed anger.

I shouted, ‘Why have I been brought here? What do you want with me? If you are here, show yourself, Thalia!'

My voice rang and echoed in that dismal place, bouncing off the rocks. But nothing and nobody answered. I shouted my challenge again, quieter this time, but still defiant. This time, as the echoes died away, even the trickling water grew silent as if my shouts had frightened it into stillness. In the next moment, the black rocks cracked wide open, and something like a huge bat came flying out, straight for me.

I didn't even have time to scream, let alone run, before the thing was on me, knocking me backwards. And then it came to land quietly by me, and to my utter astonishment I saw clearly what it was. Not a giant bat, not a bird or an animal – or a monster of any sort. No, nothing like that.
But a large book loosely bound in black cloth.

Whatever I'd expected, this certainly wasn't it. Sitting up, I stared at the book half-expecting it would turn into something else, or start talking to me, or – I don't know what! But it stayed mute and still, just within reach. Gingerly, I put out a hand to touch its cover. As I did so, words suddenly appeared on it as though by an unseen hand, words written in a hurried scrawl of spidery silver script:
The Book of Thalia
,
Oracles of the Moon.

So it wasn't a person I was meant to see, but a book! And oracle meant a kind of fortune-telling, didn't it? Was that what the moon-sister had meant by ‘speaking with Thalia'? Cautiously, I picked up the book. It was nowhere near as heavy as I'd thought it would be.

I settled it on my lap and, with my heart beating fast, opened it. The first page was blank but as soon as I touched it, words appeared in the same spidery script.

What is the question you wish to ask?

‘What?' I said, dismayed. ‘I can have only one?'

Yes
.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask. So many things I wanted to know – about my mother, my family, what it really meant to be a moon-sister, my happiness, my fate . . . And yet the first thing that came unbidden to my lips was none of these things.

‘Why am I here?' I whispered.

The silvery script blinked a few times, like a signal-lamp going on and off, then went out and the page was blank again. I turned it. On the next page words winked into sight.

Because this is the time.

I wanted to say, ‘Time for what?' But I remembered I could only ask one question. I thought a moment, and said, ‘I don't understand.'

As I'd hoped, more words appeared.

You are the last. The last child of the blood. The last, come at last.

I thought of what the old man in Smutny had told me. And of what the dying moon-sister had said: ‘There are so few of us left, little sister, and you the only young one I have met in such a long time.'

‘That's why the forest lands are dying,' I said, aloud. ‘Why they say there is a curse on this land – because the moon-sisters are dying out. And worse still, the forest people have forgotten the moon-sisters even existed, so they don't even know why it's happening.'

Yes,
said the book, and I could almost hear the sad sigh in the simple word
.

‘But what can I . . .' I began, then remembering the protocol, went on, hastily, ‘I have heard a curse can be broken, if the right way is found.'

I turned the page. Instead of a blank page, there was a shimmering surface as clear as a pool of pure water. And in it I saw not my face, but a scene reflected as if in a mirror. I looked into a huge, grand room of golden pillars and marble floors and crystal chandeliers. It was crowded with people in fine clothes, but I could see above the heads of the crowd to a raised platform at one end, with three thrones on it: a big one in the middle, and a smaller one on either side. There was a person sitting on each of the thrones and I recognised them at once to be the Emperor, the Empress and Crown Prince Leopold.

‘I don't see why you are showing me this,' I mumbled.

Something appeared on the shimmering surface like a patch of foggy breath on a mirror, and then a single word appeared, written in a shaky hand:
Watch.

I did as I was told and looked at the imperial family's faces. I thought that the Emperor looked old and weary, and the Empress was still beautiful, though her eyes were a little sad. But Leopold looked just the same as when I'd first seen him dancing in his sky-blue uniform at the ball: dashing, handsome and entirely, arrogantly sure of himself. I watched as courtiers, ambassadors, advisers and even a Mancer or two swirled around the imperial family, bowing and fawning over them. At one point, I caught a glimpse of someone else I recognised: Count Otto, talking with some other courtiers. With a pang, I saw that he looked both drawn and anxious. Perhaps I'd been too cynical in
assuming all fathers were like mine, perhaps he really was missing Max and didn't believe the lies they'd told him.

‘I want to . . .' I began, and then stopped. The hair prickled coldly on my neck, for I had suddenly seen someone else I knew. Someone I knew very well indeed. For that someone was myself . . . yet changed.

I hadn't seen my mirror-self because I – she – it? – had been hidden by a pillar. Now my mirror-twin had stepped out of hiding and revealed herself in a magnificent dress of silver and white brocade. On her glossy head was a silver tiara that shone like the new moon and in her hand she carried a silver fan. It wasn't those things that I found so alien, so changed, but the fact that she had a look of serene calm such as I had never worn – a look of perfect understanding, as if she knew precisely the purpose of her existence. Suddenly, as if I was there in her mind, I 
knew
. I knew what deadly weapon the silver fan concealed, in its hollow stem. I knew what mission she was on – a mission of death. She had come to kill the Prince!

The scene vanished and words appeared. Sharp, hard words that bore into my mind.

The shadow will only be lifted if the last daughter of Serafina spills the blood of the last son of Karl.

A picture then appeared. Not a scene, but an old portrait of a woman. Though she was not in the first flush of youth, she was still beautiful, with large, dark eyes and lips slightly open in an enigmatic smile. Her raven hair had a strange silver streak in it. Her dress was of the fashion of a hundred years ago, on top of which she wore a pearl-grey cloak with a hood.

Karl had this painted as a gift
, said the book.
A gift for his beloved Serafina before he betrayed her by delivering her to her enemies.

So this was what it was all about! Revenge for Serafina the moon-sister whose rebellion against Karl the Great a century ago had brought disaster to the moon-sisters and put all magic in the hands of the Mancers. Instinctively, I'd never believed that the story of Serafina, the Grey Widow, was quite as imperial propaganda had told us. But was the rest of it, too, a lie? ‘I want to know if what they say is true – if she did mount a rebellion against him.'

Yes,
said the book, as the page turned.
That part is true. But our people were suffering. She did what she thought was right.

Big deal, I thought. How could she have possibly expected that the Emperor would take it well? She must have known her ill-judged revolt was likely to bring disaster not just on herself but on the thousands of others she'd rallied to her standard. She'd brought a dreadful punishment not just on herself but on all her people. Why would I want to avenge someone like that? Even more, why would I want to avenge someone I'd never met, someone from long ago?

Yes, it was true that ever since her defeat the empire had maintained the cruel laws that made my kind fugitives and outcasts; and yes, I had no love whatsoever for the imperial family, but I did not want to kill any of them, not even creepy, arrogant Leopold. I was not some nemesis, nor some ruthless figure of ancient justice. I was just an ordinary girl.

I said, sharply, ‘This has nothing to do with me. I am not Serafina's daughter, I am
Jana's
. And my mother, though a moon-sister, did not carry old hatreds. Never. She was beautiful, loving and kind. All she ever wanted was my happiness.' I turned the page. ‘No, I will not do it.'

It is your destiny
, came the reply.

‘I don't believe in destiny,' I said harshly.

Only you can save them and there is so little time.

‘I'm sorry,' I snapped. ‘I'm sorry for all the people of the forest, but they are strangers to me and I to them and . . .'

I broke off, for a scene had suddenly flickered into view on the page. It was of a small room. The curtains were drawn, the room dark, but I could just about make out overturned chairs and a table, and what looked like a bundle of rags on the floor. Then my breath caught in my throat for the door opened to reveal Prince Leopold. Carrying a lamp, he headed straight for the bundle of rags. And as the light from his lamp shone on the scene I saw that it wasn't a bundle of rags he was standing over but
someone
–
Max! – lying dead or dying on the floor.

Max's face was still and grey as waxwork. There was blood coming out of his mouth and his eyes were fixed and glassy. My heart shrank and withered at the sight and a dreadful, dreadful cold invaded every cell in my body.

And then Leopold turned and looked straight at me, smiling the most horrible smile I had ever seen. I could not look away. I saw his lips move and realised that, of course, he wasn't looking at me but at someone else coming into the room.

I could only see the newcomer from behind as he approached the Prince. Wrapped in a long overcoat, he wore a hat that shadowed his face and carried himself in a way that was oddly familiar. The shadows in the corner of the room moved and a figure in a black cloak emerged. As it approached the other two men, I knew, with a stunning shock, just why I had that odd sense of familiarity.
The two cloaked figures were the men I'd seen secretly meeting in the cemetery in Ashberg
.

Suddenly, the scene vanished only to be replaced by a string of words piling hectically onto the page.

He is in terrible danger. Unless you do what you must, he will most surely die. His enemies will never rest till he is dead, for only then can they feel truly safe.

I couldn't bear it. Forgetting the rules, I screamed, ‘Why,
why
does Leopold hate Max so? What secret does he know that is so dangerous? And those other men – his accomplices –
who
are they? How have they made the Emperor believe Max is a traitor?'

The page went blank and the book began to close.

I tried to calm myself and stammered, ‘Please, I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. I will do it. Please help me.'

The book flew open again.
The last reserves of power in this place will be given for your task. But if that is so then you must promise not to falter, no matter what happens, no matter what you learn. You must not tell anyone, or he will die, there is nothing more certain.

‘I promise,' I said, hastily. ‘But I do not know how I can get into the palace to –'

The power of Dremda will help you, but only to a point – you will have to use only your wits to get into the palace itself.

Well, thanks very much, I thought, sourly. ‘Please tell me what I must do next.'

Break a twig from the hazel tree closest to the water and put it in your pocket. Drink one scoop of water from the pool. Take Thalia and climb to the top of the black rocks and tap your foot three times.

I was about to ask why but thought better of it. Instead, I put the book down and went to the hazel tree closest to the water – a rather twisted and withered-looking thing – broke off a twig, and put it in my pocket. Then I knelt down beside the pool and, grimacing, scooped up some muddy water and drank it, trying not to gag as I felt slimy things go down my throat. I picked up
The Book of Thalia
– now closed – put it under my arm and began to climb up the black rocks. It was quite a scramble, especially as I was handicapped by the book, but I managed it and reached the top quickly enough.

I took a deep breath. Then I tapped my foot once, twice, three times. At once my ears filled with a horrific shrieking till my head felt as though it might explode. The book flew out of my hands. The rocks collapsed under me as if made of sand and I fell headlong into complete darkness.