Rise of the Darkwitch (The Dance of Dark and Light Book 1) Page 14

  His mother cleared her throat and rose. Two friends, he corrected.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ Phen said. Her hands gripped Mantos’s shoulders, the pressure a comfort. ‘My son is not yet well. But, even as mere as I am, and as absent as I have been, I was still the Masvam empress for some time. Bandim behaves as his father behaved, and he will do as his father did. He seeks to overwhelm the north of your island. He will establish a foothold and push out from there. If that happens, you will be overrun. I have seen it happen many times.’

  ‘We cannot allow the Masvams to infringe on our sovereignty,’ Valaria said.

  The princess was spun from the same thread as her mother, her brown armour burnished, almost copper. Most striking of all were her eyes, for they were bright blue and ringed with black. Tall and built from iron, she was not to be trifled with. Though Bandim wanted to do more than trifle with her, Mantos thought. Had father’s marriage pact for him gone through, Valaria would have had no choice but to surrender her sovereignty.

  ‘We must push back,’ the princess continued. She jabbed a talon at Mantos. ‘And you must tell us his every move. You were the heir apparent, not him. You would have been at the centre of your father’s plans. We know how the Masvams work. We know their wretchedness trickles down like privy water. You must tell us everything.’

  Phen’s hands clenched tighter on his shoulders. Mantos’s mouth was dry.

  He knew it all. He knew the plans, the strategies, the weak points. He had lived it, breathed it, been it, for so long. He killed the Queen of Selama, slit her throat from ear to ear, all in the name of his father’s plans. Mantos dug his claws into the edge of the varnished table. All in the name of power and glory. All in the name of Tiboli.

  Queen Valentia lowered herself into seat at the head of the table. The jewels strung between her horns tinkled, but their cheerfulness shone out of place in the chamber. She sat back and laced her talons together

  ‘If you do not tell us what you know, the blood of Althemer will be on your hands.’ Her grey eyes pierced him. ‘There is little I can do for the slaughtered Selamans, and the overrun Metakalans, except offer shelter and provisions for their displaced. I have killed,’ she said, raising her arms, showing her many bracelets, ‘and in the eyes of Ethay and Apago, I am a sinner. You are also a sinner, Mantos Tiboli. But, as the gods teach us, good and selfless deeds wash away sin. Help us, and your soul may be cleansed.’

  Eyes stinging, Mantos turned to his mother, willing her to take away the pain. Her eyes swam, and she shook her head. She can do nothing, Mantos thought. She wasn’t there. It all comes down to me.

  ‘It is more than your own salvation, Mantos,’ said the healer of strange colours.

  Bomsoi stepped forward and waited. The queen gestured for her to speak. When she did, it was in a voice that commanded all attention. What is this creature? Mantos asked.

  ‘There are strange things happening in the spirit world,’ she said. ‘I expected it with the Lunar Awakening, but…’ She paused, her grey eyes flashing. ‘There is something more.’

  Spirit world? Mantos thought. Is she some kind of priestess? A…a Darkwitch?

  ‘As you know, Your Highness,’ Bomsoi continued, ‘I have spent many decates studying the holy books of many faiths. Not just The Book of the Twin Serpents, as you commanded, but The Gospel of Nunako, and many others. However, none are as dangerous as The Book of Divine Tears. That is the book of the followers of Dorai.’

  Fylica pressed a kiss to her clenched fist and set it on her heart. A sign to ward off bad spirits, Mantos thought. I have seen Fonbir do the same.

  ‘The followers of the Dark are fools,’ Valaria said. ‘Their false god means nothing.’

  ‘I am afraid, Your Highness,’ Bomsoi said, ‘it is not as simple as that. The Book speaks of a divine reckoning: “when the moons lie equal and the sun is at its closest, if the True Believers ask for my return, it will be granted.”’ Bomsoi paused, as if the words she was to speak pained her. ‘On the day of the Lunar Equality,’ she continued slowly, ‘I believe Bandim Tiboli tried to bring the goddess Dorai back into this world.’

  Mantos froze. The nightmares. Bandim.

  Dear brother, I will find you…

  ‘Bomsoi,’ the queen said, ‘does this mean what I think it means?’

  The broad female nodded.

  ‘I am afraid it does, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Omidha,’ Fonbir whispered. ‘The Armageddon.’

  The moment of silence spoke volumes. The two princesses shared a glance, their faces lined with fear. Phen slumped into her seat, adrift on despair. The queen and Bomsoi were entirely still. Fonbir caught Mantos’s gaze, his white eyes willing strength across the table. It did nothing to heal the ball of numbness in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘It isn’t possible,’ Mantos said. ‘He… He couldn’t.’

  ‘Many things are possible with faith,’ Bomsoi said. ‘The followers of Dorai believe their god is the only true god. With such strength of belief, it is possible to argue that fire does not burn, and water is not wet.’ As Mantos scoffed, Bomsoi stepped towards him. ‘The gods are real, Mantos.’

  His head snapped up. He scowled.

  ‘There are many gods in many lands,’ Bomsoi continued, her voice unwavering, ‘and all folk believe their own god is the one god. It might not be true to you or I, but it is true to them, and that is where the power comes from. A statue in a temple or a coloured glass icon have no power in themselves. But when power is placed upon them by belief, anything can happen—for good, or for evil. And often, there is little difference between the two.’

  Mantos’s eyes slid from hers. He focused on the tabletop, counting the rings in the wood. Phen’s gaze scorched him. He could taste the princesses’ disdain. He longed for Fonbir’s embrace. By the goddess, he thought. Bandim, what have you done?

  Bomsoi stepped forward, the heavy folds of her black cloak cocooning her.

  ‘This is why I need you, Mantos,’ she said. ‘The solution to this is not as simple as taking back the crown. Your brother has delved into powers that will cause great destruction. You must help me stop him.’

  ‘And,’ Valentia added, ‘you can begin by saving my queendom. You can atone for your sins, and the great evil your people have spread across the world.’

  ‘Masvams are poison,’ Fylica snapped. She held her chin high. ‘A brother knows his brother’s ways better than anyone. If you do not help us, you are as evil as he.’

  That word, again. Evil. It echoed, but each time it resounded, it grew louder.

  Evil. Evil. Evil.

  Queen Valentia strode back over to the window. She stared into the fading evening for some time, leaving the others to stew in silence.

  Mantos’s breath quickened. He drew in shallow gasps until moons danced in his eyes. Unable to take more, he leapt to his feet and slammed the flats of his hands on the table.

  ‘Mantos!’

  Phen and Fonbir cried in unison.

  The princesses’ weapons were drawn in a heartbeat. The royal guard was upon him like a plague. The queen held a hand for calm. Mantos shrugged off their grips, though they lingered nearby.

  ‘What would you all have me do?’ he cried, chest heaving. ‘I am here, not there!’

  ‘We would have you do what is right,’ Valentia said. ‘We would have you tell us his plans, his schemes. Above all, we would have you kill him.’

  Phen choked a sob. Mantos’s eyes burned.

  ‘Weakness!’ Valaria cried. Fonbir shot his sister a vicious stare. But, with a temper to match Fylica’s, she wouldn’t back down. ‘Your brother will bring this world to its knees—you all will! Osos! You Masvams meddle with things you don’t understand. You worship false gods and idols, light or dark—it is folly! You think you know best, that you are better than the rest of us.’ She bared her teeth. ‘Now look at what you have done. If you need to kill every last Masvam to bring peace, Prince Mantos, you should not hesitate. You owe u
s nothing less.’

  ‘Valaria, stop.’

  The queen’s command silenced her.

  ‘I apologise, Your Highness,’ she said, though she sounded far from reproachful.

  The princess sat, her eyes never leaving Mantos’s.

  ‘Much is at stake,’ Queen Valentia said. ‘It is not just your brother’s life, or your soul, or my queendom. It is all our lives, our souls, and all the lands of the world. Your brother may bring destruction upon us. You have a duty to stop him.’ She rose. ‘You have one day to make your decision. Choose wisely.’

  She cast a fleeting glance at Phen, before she strode to the door. The guards snapped to attention, opening the door.

  Queen Valentia left, flanked by her fiery daughters. Fonbir lingered, half-reaching to Mantos.

  ‘Fonbir, come,’ Valaria snapped.

  The prince’s face grew pained. He stepped back. Mantos’s heart grew cold.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Fonbir whispered, slipping away.

  The evening dimmed. The sun disappeared below the line of buildings on the horizon. Phen pressed her eyes to stem the flow of tears.

  ‘Oh, Mantos,’ she said. ‘We are destroyed. No matter what we do, we cannot win. If we help the Althemerians, Bandim will die. We betray our own. If we do not help them, Bandim may kill us all.’

  Fylica’s words came back.

  Masvams are poison.

  Gritting his teeth, Mantos shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know what is right and what is wrong,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Fylica was right. We are poison.’ He caught her gaze, willing the sting of his eyes to abate. ‘We are destroyed.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Campfire

  Althemerian Decos days were hot, but the same could not be said for the nights. Emmy held her hands to the licking flames of the campfire. She watched the dance of the orange and red as it rose from the blackened logs.

  It had become a tradition for the friends to gather as the day waned, sharing a drink in the light of the moons. It wasn’t just Charo and Zecha who she counted as friends, now. When she could, Rel joined them, too—as she had that evening. She was lying back against a gnarled log, her eyes shut. The gentle in and out of her breath told Emmy she was asleep.

  Emmy shifted and looked at the constellations. She traced the outline of the Rising Prago, a huge beast with its outstretched wings. Its head was the brightest, blinking in the darkness.

  ‘Who put the stars in the sky?’ Charo asked.

  She passed Emmy an aleskin.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ she said, taking a swig. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Nunako did,’ said Zecha. ‘She placed each star on her path across the heavens, so she would know her way.’

  His response was pitch-perfect, the kind of rehearsed words that were drummed into a youngling’s head. If they went to temple, Emmy thought. Krodge never let me.

  Mouth upturned with mischief, Charo scooted beside him and blinked.

  ‘And who put the moons in the heavens, oh wise one?’

  ‘Nunako did,’ Zecha replied. His smile was one of pleasure, though Emmy suspected it had more to do with Charo’s proximity than the moons. Zecha gestured to the yellow moon. ‘She put Dato closest. The smallest and slowest, it reminds us that in times of trouble, you don’t need to be the largest or strongest to survive. You just need to be brave. Dato isn’t as swift in the heavens as the others, but it never fails to rise and fall.

  ‘Rafa, the Middlemoon,’ he said, pointing low to the horizon, ‘is the heart. The heart is in the middle, because everything we do should come from love. It is fast, because sometimes we act on our hearts without consulting our heads.’ He adjusted his point. ‘So, the last moon is fastest of all. Akata is behind the others, because it is the seat of wisdom, and it is the fastest, because we need to be reminded to use our heads. It encircles everything, as all actions should be taken, not just with heart, but with knowledge.’

  When he finished his explanation, the only sound was that of the crackling flames. He flushed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Zecha,’ Charo said, ‘were you ever a priest?’

  Chuckling, Zecha shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think the holy life would suit me. And anyway,’ he added, ‘I wouldn’t have been allowed.’ He made a sweeping gesture at himself. ‘I’m just me, not what they want me to be.’

  ‘I think you’re perfect the way you are,’ Charo said. Her eyes shone gold in the flames.

  For a moment, they looked at one another as if falling under each other’s spell. At least, that was how it had been explained to Emmy. It’s like…the other person commands your attention, Zecha had told her countless times, trying desperately to explain attraction. It’s like looking at someone and feeling like they’ve been a missing part of you for your entire life. Shaking her head, Emmy sighed and passed the aleskin from hand to hand. I don’t understand it, and I don’t think I ever will. It’s not something I need to understand… Zecha’s words repeated in her mind. I’m just me, not what they want me to be…

  ‘Tell me something,’ Rel said. The sudden interjection jarred Emmy’s attention and released Charo and Zecha from each other. ‘Emmy, why do you say you are a Metakalan?’

  Emmy blinked, taking a moment to comprehend the words.

  ‘Because I am Metakalan,’ she said. ‘I lived in Bellim all my life—’ Unintended, her voice cracked. She swallowed. ‘At least, I used to.’

  ‘Did the Metakalans treat you badly?’ Rel asked. ‘For your difference?’

  Emmy barked a laugh. Memories of taunts and fearful glances flashed.

  ‘Badly?’ she asked. ‘Most folk treated me—and still treat me—as if I’m a demon. A ‘Darkwitch,’ that’s what they call me.’

  Rel chuckled. At the sound of mirth, Emmy’s temper flared hotter than the campfire flames. However, Rel raised a hand.

  ‘I don’t mean to insult you,’ she said. ‘It’s just that… We have common ground on that front.’

  Emmy declined the skin when it came to her again. Rel reached for it instead.

  ‘Who called you that?’ Emmy asked. ‘And why?’

  ‘Oh,’ Rel said, giving a vague wave, ‘only everyone.’

  ‘Everyone?’ Emmy asked. ‘Why?’

  Rel grunted.

  ‘What you know about the Belfoni?’ she asked.

  Emmy tilted her head to the side.

  ‘Not much,’ she said. ‘I’ve never met one before.’

  Rel emptied the aleskin, then set it aside.

  ‘In Belfoni, the males rule,’ she said. ‘It’s like the Masvam Empire. Females stay at home, and sew clothing, and boil roots, and look after the males. That’s why you don’t see many of them outside of the homeland. Their values are…different.’

  She snorted. Zecha sat up straighter.

  ‘That’s the opposite of how it is back home,’ he said, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. ‘I wish it was different...’ He paused, his throat bobbing. ‘I never fitted in.’

  Rel nodded.

  ‘Can you see me sewing clothes and boiling roots?’ she asked, gesturing to herself.

  Emmy couldn’t stop her chuckle. Rel and the others laughed, too.

  ‘I never wanted to do any of that,’ Rel said. ‘I wanted to fight, but in Belfoni, only the males fight. No-one understood. Even my own parents called me wicked and unnatural. Evil, even. They called me emdatu, like your word Darkwitch. No-one would give me a chance. So, what did I do?’

  Zecha leaned forward, caught on her every word.

  ‘What did you do?’ he repeated, his voice hitching.

  Rel spread her talons, as if revealing a great secret.

  ‘I left. Only a youngling, I took nothing but a dagger, and I left.’

  Zecha’s smile was wide. His eyes willed Rel to go on.

  ‘Then I did many things,’ she continued. ‘I travelled to many places. I found myself a good friend.’ She lifted a hand,
showing off the cracked stone. ‘She gave me this ring. We went south to the Great Forests, and then out to the coasts, smelling the salt air of the Easterlies and Westerlies. We went north to the Kingdom of Khin, and lived with the Khinish in their mountains for a time. They are not as unwelcoming as is said of them,’ she added. ‘But our feet always wanted to move, so we never stayed in one place. We even passed through Great Northern Range.’ She paused. Her eyes unfocused, like she was peering into her own memory. ‘Have you seen Great Northern Range?’ she asked.

  Zecha and Emmy shook their heads, but Charo nodded.

  ‘I’ve seen it,’ she said. ‘I lived in a place on the foothills of the Range.’

  Rel smiled.

  ‘I walked through those mountains. My friend and I climbed sheer ice faces, and jumped into freezing pools, and we lived.’ She closed her eyes and breathed as if she could still smell the clear mountain air instead of the smoke from the little fire. ‘It was wonderful,’ she said. Then she opened her eyes again and turned to Emmy. ‘The only thing that was better was day we were welcomed by the Uloni.’

  Eyeridges pulling, Emmy tilted her head to the side.

  ‘Uloni?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know that word.’

  Rel fell silent, staring at Emmy through the flames. Emmy shifted. It was as if Rel was looking beyond her flesh, right to her bones.

  ‘There aren’t many Uloni left,’ Rel said, twisting her ring round and round. ‘Few come down from their mountains. Most folk don’t know they exist.’ She paused again, and straightened. ‘Emmy, your parents were Uloni,’ Rel continued, gesturing at Emmy’s skin and armour. ‘Your colours are only found in them.’

  Emmy slumped back, hands pressing into the crisp grass.

  ‘My… My parents?’ she asked. ‘I never knew my parents. I lived with my mistress, the one I told you about. Madame Krodge.’

  ‘I see,’ Rel said, plucking the aleskin from Emmy’s lax grip. ‘So, you’ve never been to Uloni?’

  ‘No,’ Emmy said. ‘I hadn’t even heard that word before you said it. I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t think anyone looked like me. I thought…’ She broke off. ‘I thought I was a freak.’