Rise of the Darkwitch (The Dance of Dark and Light Book 1) Page 5

  The young female’s speech improved quickly—and it turned out she was a quick study in many ways. Charo was adept at many things, from trimming and mixing, to measuring and crushing. She was charming with the customers, even Mr Bose.

  At the end of another long day, Charo set to sweeping the floor without being asked. Emmy attended the glass cabinets, making sure the labels were straight and forward-facing. She was so absorbed in the task that she jumped when Charo called her name.

  ‘Emmy? Emmy?’

  There was a gentle tilt to Charo’s lips that made Emmy flush. She turned and tried to smile back.

  ‘Sorry,’ Emmy said. ‘What did you say?’

  Leaning on the broom handle, Charo tipped her head to one side.

  ‘I asked what Middlemerish is,’ she said. ‘It’s not something we have in the north, but I’ve heard lots of folk talk about. It’s happening soon, but I don’t know what it is.’

  Her mouth opening in an ‘o’ of realisation, Emmy folded her arms on the counter.

  ‘The Middlemerish Festival is when worshippers of Nunako celebrate the Goddess,’ she said. ‘It’s all about being thankful and celebrating the goodness of Nunako’s light. People come together to drink and feast and pray.’

  Charo nodded.

  ‘It sounds like the Haetharran Festival of Fee, the god of light and growth. They have lots of gods, up north—and lots of festival days.’

  Emmy smiled.

  ‘There’s only one Goddess here,’ she said. ‘Nunako, the Light. It’s customary at Middlemerish to write down your prayer for the rest of the cycle and tie it to one of the bows of the Great Tree in the Central Circle. It’s supposed to be the tallest in the whole of Metakala, so lots of people come to Bellim to celebrate Middlemerish. The higher the bow you tie your prayer to, the more likely it is to be granted by the Goddess.’ Emmy snorted. ‘The festival is good for the apothecary. Many folk believe their Middlemerish wish will be granted if they coat their offering in a ‘magical’ concoction—all the ingredients for which can be found in Krodge’s Apothecary.’ Emmy snorted. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if Krodge herself made up the practice. She’ll do anything for a bickle.’

  Charo’s eyes were round.

  ‘Do you believe prayers can be answered?’ she asked. Her voice was small.

  ‘I don’t believe in anything,’ Emmy said. ‘Sticking a piece of dead leaf or parchment to a bit of an old tree isn’t going to do anything. There’s no point in wishing for anything. All that there is in life is hard work. That’s it. And no magical spells or enchantments, or divine intervention, is going to change that.’

  Nodding, Charo straightened. She began to brush again, though the movement was lacklustre.

  ‘And what’s the Lunar Awakening?’ she asked. ‘I’ve heard a lot of folk talk about that, too. About how special it is, and how it only happens once in a thousand cycles.’

  ‘Don’t they know anything in the north?’ Emmy asked. At Charo’s scowl, she tamed her smile. ‘The Lunar Awakening is something that’s been mentioned in holy books and folklore for a long time,’ Emmy answered. ‘It’s said that the Goddess’s power comes from the moons. They’re known as her three faces: Dato, Rafa, and Akata. When they’re stacked on top of each other, the faces talk to one another, so the power is threefold.’ Emmy shrugged. Recklessness loosening her tongue, she went on. What can she do to me? ‘In truth, think it’s all nonsense,’ she said. ‘None of it is real.’

  Charo looked up. She blinked.

  ‘I feel the same way,’ she said at length. ‘I’ve been to lots of places, seen lots of temples to lots of gods, but…I’ve never believed in any of it.’

  For a moment, they looked at one another, simply existing in each other’s company, the realisation of commonality in the air between them.

  Then the quiet was shattered as Zecha burst through the door.

  ‘Hello, Emmy,’ he said, dancing across the floor and ending in an elaborate bow. ‘And hello, Charo,’ he added, inclining his head.

  Charo smiled back, fiddling with the brush.

  ‘Hello, Zecha,’ she said.

  The two held one another’s gaze for a few moments and Emmy shook her head. There was something about the way they looked at one another that Emmy couldn’t understand. She planted her hands on her hips.

  ‘Soup, Zecha?’ she asked.

  Without waiting for a response, she padded to the kitchen.

  Charo and Zecha laughed about something as they followed, staying close to one another’s sides. Emmy prepared a tray for Krodge and set three bowls on the table. There was a large pot of soup bubbling over the fire and Charo went to attend to it, still chattering with Zecha. As well as being a fast learner in the apothecary, the female was a talented cook.

  Emmy caught a glance of Charo’s limbs in the glow of the fire and she winced. The scars on Charo’s arms, legs, and face were thrown into stark relief as the light of the flames illuminated her. Emmy shook her head. It’s taken a lot of abuse to become so good at household chores, she thought. Shaking off her musing, she shifted her attention to Zecha.

  ‘How’s business?’ he asked, straddling one of the long wooden benches.

  ‘Busy,’ Emmy said. ‘Middlemerish is soon, after all.’

  ‘True,’ he replied. Then he turned his attention to Charo. ‘How are you finding working in such an illustrious apothecary?’

  Emmy rolled her eyes. Charo chuckled.

  ‘I’m enjoying it,’ she said, the skin of her face reddened by the fire. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  You’ll learn a lot from Emmy,’ Zecha said. ‘She’s talented.’

  Emmy rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  ‘Zecha, hush,’ she said.

  Nonplussed, Zecha shrugged one shoulder.

  ‘I’m only telling the truth,’ he said.

  Charo flushed and turned away. She lifted the pot from the fire. As her muscles stretched and flexed, Zecha was at her side to take the weight.

  Emmy watched as Charo stepped back, her brows drawn together. She managed to chuckle.

  ‘I’m so used to being the one who does all the fetching and carrying and making,’ Charo said as Zecha brought the pot to the table. ‘It doesn’t feel right to have someone else do it for me, especially—’

  Charo’s mouth snapped shut, trapping the words. But Zecha knew.

  ‘Especially by a male?’ he asked. He shook his head, his expression still amiable. ‘Don’t worry. I understand. I’m used to it. And you’ll learn to accept help, I’d think,’ Zecha said. ‘I can’t imagine that it’s easy to adjust to a free life. You are free here, aren’t you?’ he asked with one eyeridge raised, his gaze flicking to Emmy.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Charo said. ‘I’m free. I could walk out any day I wanted. I just…’ She looked at Emmy. ‘I don’t want to go. It’s nice here. I get shelter and a bed, and a little money. Money!’ she said, her face beaming with delight. ‘I’ve never had money in my life. Emmy even bought me these new clothes and sandals,’ she said, turning to show off her garments. ‘They’re new. I’ve never had anything new before.’

  As the two prattled about their lives and Charo ladled soup into bowls, Emmy stood back and watched. Perhaps this is why folk have younglings, she thought. Perhaps this is why folk make friends. As she watched them, a warmth permeated her abdomen. It seemed to loosen the ever-present knot in her stomach.

  Then she looked back at the tray. Krodge’s tray. Her heart grew cold. Perhaps one day, I’ll be free, she thought. She glanced at Charo, her plucked head now covered in the harsh spikes of newly growing fronds. Perhaps…

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Escape

  54

  53

  50

  She’d been in the tower for eight days. On each of those days, Midsummer’s Eve and the moons drew ever-closer. And on each of those days, her son’s threats came closer to fruition.

  Once more, pieces of Phen were scattered across the floor.
Bandim loomed over her like a king. Like the emperor he was.

  ‘Bandim, please!’ Phen cried, her talons scrabbling on the stone, thought it was useless to plead. They danced this same dance every night. ‘Who has put these thoughts in your head? I am your mother! You were a good youngling. You should not have turned out like this.’

  ‘Perhaps I would not have, if my mother had been with me!’ Bandim roared, stalking towards her. ‘Perhaps I would have been filled with the joys and wonders of the Light if you had been there to show me. But you weren’t!’ Backing her into a corner, Bandim brought a hand up to strike. ‘You made a deal with the Dark, Mother!’ He slapped her. ‘And this is what you have received in return. You tried to circumvent the natural way, and you have been punished for it. Now, the path of fate is unfurling at my feet once more. Two empresses have thrown themselves from the topmost window of this tower,’ he said. Then he paused, his mouth twisting. ‘Why not another?’

  Phen screeched and Bandim raised his hand again. Before he could arc it down to his mother’s face, there was a cough. Bandim spun around. Phen stared at the doorway. A guard of indeterminate age stood in the arch, bearing a long pike. He bowed.

  ‘Your Grace,’ the guard said. ‘I am sorry to intrude, but I have news.’ His eyes flicked to the huddled figure on the ground, then back to Bandim. ‘News that’s best discussed in private.’

  Bandim kicked the sole of her bare foot and gave a sharp laugh.

  ‘There are no secrets in my family,’ he said. ‘Not anymore.’ He turned and strode towards the guard. ‘What is it?’

  The guard paled under his burnished helmet. He tried to speak, but no words came forth. Growing impatient as the silence stretched on, Bandim snarled.

  ‘Your emperor has commanded you to speak!’

  The guard swallowed and nodded.

  ‘Your Grace,’ he said. ‘It’s the city. There’s a disturbance outside the palace walls. There are rioters. They’re threatening violence, saying that…’ He swallowed. ‘That you will lead us to the Dark.’

  Bandim’s every sinew tensed with rage

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. There’ll be violence if we don’t act soon. They’ve already got torches at the ready. They’re threatening to set the city alight.’

  With his eyes twitching in frenzy, Bandim stalked past the guard. He was through the door and at the top of the stairs before he looked back, stopping on the top step.

  ‘Make sure she doesn’t leave,’ he said. ‘If she does, I’ll have you gutted.’

  The guard gulped and nodded.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  With that, Bandim swept off, cloaked in fury.

  The weight of her son’s absence weighed so heavily on Phen that she couldn’t stand. Instead, she lay where Bandim had left her. She stared at the guard. He stared back.

  Before she could reprimand him, the male cast aside his long pike. Phen winced as it clattered to the floor.

  He hurried towards her.

  ‘Your Grace,’ the guard said, taking her hand.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Phen asked as he pulled her upright. ‘Are the citizens about to revolt? And who are you?’

  ‘A friend,’ the guard said, his tallow eyes sparkling with a mix of youth and age and intelligence that made him impossible to place. ‘That’s all you need to know for now.’ He took the cloak from his shoulders and draped it over Phen’s bony form. ‘And no, the citizens aren’t about to revolt, but they will if your son comes to rule this empire. And I intend to stop that from happening.’

  ‘How?’ Phen asked, drawing back from the stranger’s touch. ‘How can you do that? My husband and my other son are dead. Bandim is the rightful heir.’

  ‘Right or wrong,’ the male said, ‘he’ll bring destruction. Now, I need you to come with me.’

  In a flurry of confusion, questions rattling inside her head, Phen was spirited from the Widow’s Tower. At the threshold, she couldn’t help but stop. She stared at the window. The moons hung low in the window, neatly stacked. It was the window from which two empresses had thrown themselves. The same window her sole surviving son had threatened to throw her from, to a gruesome death on the cobbles below.

  ‘I don’t understand any of this!’ she said, hot tears welling in her eyes.

  The guard took her arm, pulling her through the open door.

  ‘You don’t need to understand right now,’ the guard said. ‘Just trust me when I say that to save this land—all lands—I need your help. I need you to come with me to the temple.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Phen, stopping again. She planted her feet like stubborn roots. ‘I will not go with you until you tell me what I want to know!’

  Stopping abruptly, the guard swung around.

  ‘There are things that have happened over the course of the last thousand cycles that you cannot understand,’ he snapped. His face seemed to flicker in his rage. ‘Folk have meddled with powers they have no knowledge of—such as yourself.’ He spat the last word, then reined his ire in. ‘There are others who…’ His voice softened and he looked away. ‘There are others who have not done as they should. The world has rotted from the inside out. And if Bandim comes to the throne, the world will be destroyed in fire. I need to bring Mantos back.’

  ‘But he is dead,’ Phen said, feeling her red-raw eyes fill again. ‘He cannot come back.’

  There was something about the guard’s look that made Phen recoil. It was like the look that the strange priestess had given her many cycles before, on the day she brought Mantos back from the dead. It was a look that spoke through centuries, that said more than words ever could.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘Please, trust me, and come with me. We need to flee, now. The story of unrest will not give us much time.’

  Taking one last look through the ragged arch of the window, Phen gulped and nodded. There was no doubt that she had to leave. Whether this guard was honest or not, she was going to die by her son’s hand.

  And so, they fled.

  Phen’s heart thundered as they slipped through the courtyard, miraculously unseen. She scurried along, swaddled in the cloak of the unknown guard. She hadn’t gathered the courage to ask who he was. Perhaps later. Perhaps when she was out of the long reach of her son’s stranglehold.

  It did occur to her, as her feet struck the cobbles again and again, that this could be a trap. It could be some kind of trick, a way for Bandim to prove she was not worthy of her place as his mother, an excuse to kill her, perhaps even publicly. Regardless, Phen followed in the wake of the guard, driven by desperation.

  Shards of pain stabbed her as they turned a corner, away from the palace proper. They wound through the warren of paths and buildings that made up the servants’ quarters and the guards’ barracks. Phen flinched at every shadow. How could Bandim do this to me? she thought, her breath hitching. I loved him. I love him. I would have done the same for him, had it been he that tumbled from his nest. They are my sons.

  That thought stopped her cold. The guard kept running, but Phen couldn’t will her withered legs to move. There were my sons, she corrected herself. Now I have lost them both...

  The guard turned and jerked to a stop as he realised his charge was not following. He sped back and took up Phen’s arm, gentle enough for a commoner, but not gentle enough for the mother empress. In spite of the situation, Phen wrenched herself free.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ she snapped.

  The guard’s eyes widened and he grabbed her again, this time with no fringe of delicacy.

  ‘We do not have time to stand on ceremony,’ he said. In his anger, his voice shifted. It sounded...different. ‘We need to leave. We need to get to the temple before sunfall.’

  Phen tried to pull herself free again. This time, the guard clamped his claws tight. Phen’s stubborn nature reared its horned head.

  ‘Why should I trust you?’ she asked, too loud for someone escaping certain death.

 
The guard pushed his face close to hers.

  ‘Because I can save your son,’ he said, that hint of strangeness entering his voice again. His face seemed to morph. ‘I might even be able to save both your sons. But to do that, we need to get to the temple—now.’

  Up close, Phen was able to see the fine details of the guard’s face. He looked different from before. Now he had thin planes, wide lips... She recoiled.

  ‘You are female!’

  ‘Yes.’ This time, the stranger’s voice had transformed. She cast her guard’s helm aside. There was no longer a pretence of masculinity. She spoke with a clear voice, tinged with an accent Phen had never heard before, and her skin and armour were strange—blue and purple. ‘I am no palace guard,’ the female said, ‘but I can save your sons, or at least, I can try. To do it, I need you.’ Grunting in frustration as the light failed even more, the female pulled Phen forward. ‘We need to get to the temple of Nunako.’

  The temple. Where Mantos was. Phen’s lips started to form a question, but the female raised one sharp-clawed talon.

  ‘Questions later,’ she said. ‘For now, we run.’

  Thus, they did.

  They escaped the compound of the palace over a high wall. Her body weakened from decates of atrophy and already exhausted from their run, Phen despaired at the idea of scaling the sheer brick. However, she needn’t have worried. The unknown female had both rope and grapple, and scaled the wall with Phen on her back as easily as taking an evening stroll. Who are you? Phen thought. Why are you doing this? She dared not voice her questions as they fled.

  Sticking to back alleys, they hopped over stinking puddles of sewage and the bodies of paupers, lying in the filth. It took all of Phen’s strength not to stop and give them comfort. Why are there so many who suffer on the streets? she thought. The care of her subjects was her focus. It always had been. The sight of the suffering burned her but, worse than that, the knowledge that in her absence, her husband had done nothing, made her blister all the more. Would they not have suffered if I had let Mantos die?