[Firebringer 02] - Dark Moon (18 page)

“Himay,” he heard the
daïcha
calling. “Ushuk, himay!”
Stand still.

The dark unicorn recoiled in dismay. The limbs of
daya
must be fragile as deer’s! Ushuk staggered, blundering on three limbs back through the ranks of the green-plumes still holding off the
chon’s
purple-plumed guards. At a snarl from Dai’chon on the platform above, purple-plumes surrounded the injured stallion.

“Tash—‘omat!” the lady cried:
No—stop!

Ignoring her, the godking made a furious gesture. One of the
chon’s
minions lifted a thin slice of skystuff to the great vein of Ushuk’s throat and drew the blade across. The umber stallion collapsed with a shriek. He thrashed for a moment, blood spattering the bone-dry tinder. Then he lay still. The dark unicorn stared, stunned, unable to take it in. With a healer’s care, Ushuk’s limb might have mended! Shaken and sick, Tai-shan backed away.

Behind him, he heard Ryhenna scream. Whirling, he saw Dai’chon kneeling on the platform’s edge, Ryhenna’s tether grasped in one forepaw. Trembling, the coppery mare tugged and tried to back away—but she seemed almost paralyzed with fright. The godking spoke soothingly in its strange, hollow-sounding voice. It pulled her head closer. Eyes rolling, the coppery mare whinnied shrilly as, crooning, the godking placed the point of the long, sharp skewer to her throat.

“Tash! ‘Omat!” shouted Tai-shan, vaulting onto the high stone platform.

He lunged to catch the skewer’s length against his horn and bat it away. With a cry, Dai’chon fell back, releasing Ryhenna. The dark unicorn reared. Growling, the
da
–headed creature slashed at him. Tai-shan parried, sweeping his horn to once more knock aside the blade. The godking ducked, dodged. Tai-shan felt his horn strike a solid blow and leapt back astonished—for the other’s neck was hard as wood, with none of the give of mortal flesh. The sound of the blow rang hollowly, like a hoofstamp on a rotten log. Dai’chon staggered. The head upon the creature’s shoulders wobbled. A moment later, it fell. Tai-shan cried out. His blow had held neither aim nor force enough to have severed his opponent’s gorge—and yet Dai’chon’s strange, stiff head toppled with a hollow thump to the dried petals and wood shavings littering the dais. Dumbstruck, the dark unicorn stared at the creature before him. Though beheaded, it still possessed a head: a round, two-foot head upon a squat, two-foot neck. An ordinary firekeeper stood before him, one whose real head had been concealed beneath a hollow artifice of wood. The unmasked keeper glared at Tai-shan, black eyes furious, his own teeth bared as fiercely as the carved teeth of the wooden godhead had been. The dark curls of the other’s hair and beard were slick with sweat. An instant later, the dark unicorn recognized him.

“The
chon!
The
chon,
” Ryhenna below him cried. “No god at all!”

Similar screams came from the stampeding
daya.
Shrieks and wails rose from the scattering two-foots as well. Eyes wide with betrayal, faces drawn with shock, the commonfolk of the city scrambled to flee. Yet the two-foots of the palace reacted differently. The
daïcha’s
companions and her green-garbed followers, plumed guards of both colors as well as the
chon’s
purple-badged underlings, while clearly outraged at their ruler’s unmasking, did not seem the least surprised to discover their mortal leader impersonating a god. Even the
daïcha,
the dark unicorn realized in astonishment, had known all along.

A stinging welt across one shoulder brought Tai-shan sharply around. The
chon
had lunged at him again, slashing with the skewer and lashing with the flail. The dark unicorn dodged, back-stepping. Ryhenna’s cry came almost too late.

“My lord Moonbrow, the edge!”

Wheeling, Tai-shan sprang away barely in time. The
chon
had sought to drive him backward over the stone platform’s brink. Shouting, the two-foot ruler pursued him across the dais, cracking the stinging lash. As the dark unicorn ducked, the lash coiled itself about his horn. With a heave of neck and shoulders, Tai-shan jerked it from the two-foot’s grasp and slung it spinning off across the clifftop into the empty air beyond. It hung a moment against the gathering storm clouds, before vanishing. Growling with rage, the
chon
redoubled his attack with the blade.

“ ‘Ware the
chon’s
guard!” Ryhenna cried.

Tai-shan glimpsed a handful of purple-plumes breaking through the
daïcha’s
green-plumed defenders to rush the dais. Ryhenna dashed to the foot of the platform’s ramp, blocking their path. The purple-plumes fell back in confusion as the wild mare reared and struck at them. Tai-shan returned his attention to the
chon,
countering the other’s lunges and blows, parrying each feint and thrust. The nimbleness of this puny, upright creature astonished him. Though the
chon
possessed not nearly the strength of a full-grown unicorn, the sweep and agility of his forelimb gave him great range. Tai-shan had never fenced such a dexterous foe. The dark unicorn plunged, pivoted, ramped, and dodged.

His hooves grew hot. Churning and plunging through the dry stuff strewn about the platform, he felt his heels striking the flinty stone beneath. Flashes of white and amber light leapt from his hooves. More flashes showered down as his horn grated against the skewer of the
chon.
Sparks! Sparks of fire were falling from his horn as it struck against the skystuff—more springing up from his hooves as they skidded on the stone: sparks such as he had once seen leap from the tools of the two-foot firesmith. Now his own hooves and horn were doing the same! Astonished, the dark unicorn stared.

“Look! Look!” Ryhenna below him cried. Many of her fleeing companions had halted, gazing in open wonder at the bright rain falling from his hooves and horn. “Here standeth the true Dai’chon, full of the divine fire!”

Lighting upon the platform’s thick carpet of dry hay, withered flower petals, and aromatic wood shavings, the sparks began to smolder. Black storm clouds were fast sweeping in across the sea. A warm, wet wind picked up. Bits of burning chaff gusted from the dais to the open space below, catching in the dried stuff there. A thick pall of smoke rose, filling the air with cinders. Plumed two-foots of both colors tore off their outer falseskins and flailed at the spreading flames.

Choking, the
chon
covered his mouth and nose with one forepaw—yet still he fought. Tai-shan clashed and countered, gasping for breath, until in a furious assault, he drove the two-foot ruler to one knee and disarmed him with a parry that knocked the skewer from his grip and sent it, like the flail before it, spinning away into the emptiness beyond the cliff. The dark unicorn ramped before the defeated
chon,
whose bloodshot eyes glared back at him, full of hatred still.

“Tash! Tash so bei!” The
daïcha
rushed past Ryhenna up onto the platform to interpose herself between the dark unicorn and the
chon.
“Tash bei im chon!”

Tai-shan knew she must be saying,
No, don’t kill him. Don’t kill my king.

Fury burned in the dark unicorn. At that moment, he wanted nothing other than to skewer the treacherous two-foot ruler—but the
daïcha
stood suppliant before him, and he owed her his life. Forehooves touching the ground once more, Tai-shan shook himself. A kind of silence fell around him. With great difficulty, summoning all the agility of lips and teeth not made to frame such speech, he strove to pronounce clearly the words of the firekeepers’ tongue.

“Undan ptola, daïcha,” he told her.
As you wish.

The others eyes widened. She gazed at the dark unicorn as though unable to believe her ears. The purple-plumes below the dais stood halted in wonder. The green-plumes, too, had heard. They stood staring. Beyond them, the
daïcha’s
companions sank to the ground, two of them weeping. On the dais, ashen-faced, the
chon
shook his head.

“Tash,” he gasped. “Tash—ipsicat!”

Tai-shan did not recognize the second word, but he could guess its meaning:
No. No—impossible.
The
chon
made as if to rise.

“Tash! ‘Omat!” the dark unicorn ordered.
No. Stop.
“Himay.”
Keep still.

The
chon
choked out something else, too fast for Tai-shan to follow. What was he saying now, the dark unicorn wondered, that
daya
–even miraculously horned, outland
daya
–ought not be able to speak?

“Jima ‘pnor!”
That’s enough,
the dark unicorn commanded, cutting the
chon
off as he spoke.” Asolet.”
Silence.
Again the other made to rise, but the dark unicorn stopped him with a feint of his horn. “Tash bim!”

He did not know the phrase for
Come no nearer
and so had to settle for
Do not come.
Tai-shan stamped angrily, galled by his lack of words.

“Ipsicat!” the
chon
whispered again.
Impossible.
Then, gesturing with his forelimb, he shouted suddenly, “Punuskr!”

Tai-shan recognized the term:
demon.
A string of epithets followed, too rapid for the dark unicorn to decipher. From the other’s furious tone, however, it was clear they were dire threats. The
chon
motioned to his purple-plumes, shouting.

“Bei so! Bei so ahin!”

The dark unicorn needed no translation to tell him the
chon
was shouting,
Kill him. Kill him now!
But the purple-plumes at the foot of the dais stood motionless, eyes wide with awe. Several fell to their knees, gasping, “Dai’chon!”

The cry was taken up among the green-plumes, a ragged chant.

“Dai’chon! Dai’chon!”

Upon the dais, the
daïcha
sank to her knees as well, bowing her head and crossing her forelimbs over her breast. Below, her green-plumes did the same.

“Emwe,” she murmured. “Emwe, Dai’chon!”

Below them, the whole clifftop seethed in confusion. Wildfire leapt and crackled. Stormwind had picked up, fanning the flames. Screaming
daya
dashed madly about. Frightened two-foots cowered or tried frantically to flee, but the passageways beside the palace had become so crowded as to be impassable. The palace itself was on fire now. Heaped about the base of the dais, offerings kindled and burned.

A scream from Ryhenna caused Tai-shan to wheel. Fire from the burning offerings had set her mane alight. With shrills of terror, the coppery mare bolted. The dark unicorn sprang after her, vaulting down from the dais through a veil of fire and smoke. He sprinted behind her, crying her name.

“Ryhenna, stop!” he shouted. “Turn—you’ll run over the edge!”

The smoke and cinders grew so thick, he could not see her. Then he caught a glimpse of coppery flank. The smoke parted suddenly—just as the earth vanished beneath his heels. Ryhenna hung in the air before him. He glimpsed realization in her eye, felt horror clutch like a many-toed suckerfish at his own breast.

He tried to wheel, to regain solid ground: far too late. His legs flailed only empty air. Ryhenna plunged helplessly beside him. The roiling white sea dashed upward toward them. A great crack of thunder sounded, accompanied by a bitter odor and a blue-white flash. Lightning had struck the clifftop behind—above them now. They were falling.

So, too, did I fall,
a voice whispered to him,
not so long ago. It seemed to take forever—though I fell toward frozen earth, not foaming sea.

The dark unicorn twisted, astonished, still capable of astonishment even now. The quiet voice was infinitely familiar to him—surely the same that had spoken half a year before to him standing nameless upon the strand.

“Who are you?“ he cried out.

Your own granddam, of course,
the whisper replied.
Who else would I be?

Memory stirred in him, hazy and distant still. “Sa? My father’s dam?”

The hurtling wind whistled past his ears.
Once I was Sa. I am part of Alma now.

“You told me to find the fire. But the fire was within me,” the dark unicorn gasped. “It was within me all along!”

The sky around him seemed to nod in affirmation.
Ever since your initiation pilgrimage, two years past, when I touched your hooves with fire in the Pan Woods, and then your horn in the wyvern’s den.
He remembered suddenly, clearly, standing upon the banked coals of a goatling campfire and later bathing his horn in the firebowl of a wyvern sorceress. The air sighed.
I have been waiting such a long time for you to discover that spark within.

Falling, he answered bitterly, “I’ve set the clifftop alight with that spark. They’re all trapped. Now two-foots and
daya
alike will perish—”

No one will perish,
the voice murmured.
Any moment, my Red Mare’s conjured rain will douse that blaze. The fire you have kindled in their minds, however, will burn a long time after this day. Your spark will transform the city. The power of the
chon
lies in ruins now. The
daïcha
will lead the firekeepers from this hour forward, and Dai’chon come to be worshiped in a new and gentler way. It will take time, to be sure, but it will come—because of you, my Firebringer. Did you think it your destiny to dance fire solely among the unicorns?

Beside him in the air, Ryhenna screamed and flailed. Droplets pelted them. He thought at first they were spray from the frothing waves below. Then he realized they came from overhead: rain—a driving rain hard enough to damp the wildfire raging across the clifftop above. In that, at least, the goddess spoke true: those trapped on the cliff would live, though he and the coppery mare perished.

“Take my life,” he besought Alma, “but spare Ryhenna.” The goddess laughed, very gently, as he and his companion plunged. The storm-tossed sea surged up to meet them.
But I already hold your life, Aljan, son of my son, Dark Moon.

Warm, dry hay had been heaped around her. Sismoomnat, the elder of her foster sisters, crouched nearby, stroking her neck and crooning in the oddly musical, half-grunted language of pans. The goatling held a clump of dried seed grass near the pied mare’s nose, offering it to her. Tek managed to turn her head away. She had no desire as yet for food.

The young pan vanished from beside her, to reappear holding forepaws cupped before her. Tek’s response to the smell of water surprised even herself: slurping the delicious contents of her foster sister’s palms in a single sup. Twittering with pan laughter, Sismoomnat brought her another drink, another, and another yet. Dozens of swallows at last assuaged the pied mare’s thirst.

The muffled sound of her mother’s voice reached her then, muttering low and urgently. A strange aroma pervaded the cave: a faint, slightly bitter savor, as of chewed roots or bark. Tek tried weakly to raise her head, and Sismoomnat helped, lifting the pied mare’s cheek to rest on her shaggy flank. Their dam stood across the grotto, in the shadows where few of the faintly glowing lichens grew. The Red Mare swayed, lock-kneed in trance, chanting softly: “Brothers-in-ocean, sisters-in-the-waves: swift-coursers, far-rovers, aid us! Two of our kind are in gravest peril. Dreams speak to me of this.”

Tek had no notion what her mother might be doing—petitioning some unseen listener? The Red Mare’s chanting continued, endless, monotonous. Tek’s perceptions grew foggy. Even the slight effort of resting her head on Sismoomnat’s flank exhausted her. She felt herself drifting into sleep.

Something nipped at her, rustling the hay. The pied mare jerked awake, struggling feebly. Her limbs did little more than twitch. Sismoomnat stroked her neck and murmured soothingly, then gently turned the pied mare’s head, holding it so that Tek could view her own side and flank. Her belly, relieved now of its months-long burden, seemed oddly flattened to her eye, grown accustomed to the huge swell of her pregnant side. The younger pan, Pitipak, crouched near the pied mare’s hindquarters, stroking something which nestled against Tek’s belly.

“Seek them for me, my sisters-in-ocean!” Her mother’s soft, urgent chanting continued. “Already you are coasting the Summer shore, traveling to the sacred shoals off the Gryphon Mountains to calve. My fellows are struggling not far from you. Aid them, my brothers-in-the-waves.”

Tek paid scant attention, gazing instead at the young pan beside her, who sang and murmured while she herself stared blearily, trying to focus her eyes. A warm tide of relief flowed through the pied mare suddenly as she spotted the tiny, newborn unicorn lying suckling beside her. She felt exhausted and euphoric and utterly light. The little creature struggled, shifting the hay. Tek felt its toothless gums again, nipping insistently at the teat. Deeply, she sighed.

Not ill-omened,
she told herself.
Miraculous. Full of mystery and joy.

But was it filly or foal? She could not tell. The heaped straw and crouching form of Pitipak obscured her view. Her nursling seemed to shift and blur. The pied mare blinked. At times her doubled vision saw twin images: one dark, one light, so that she could not be certain of her young’s true color.

“Hear me, comrades-of-the-deep,” the Red Mare murmured. “My fellows are weary and in need of rescue. Do not let them perish, I beseech you. Buoy them up against the waters that would claim them.”

The words continued, urgent, ceaseless—just at the threshold of Tek’s hearing. She ignored them, too spent to listen, to puzzle them out.

I must think of a name,
she thought languidly.
A truename for my child.

As dam, she alone could fashion her offspring’s secret name and whisper this first and most closely guarded gift into that newborn ear alone, never to be repeated to another unless the greatest of trust lay between them. Jan had told her his own truename—Aljan, Dark Moon—on his pilgrimage of initiation, two years gone.

And that was when I knew,
she thought,
knew beyond all doubts and shadows that this young firebrand was the one for me, even if I had to wait years for him. And he was worth the wait. As this moment has been worth the wait, to feel our young suckling at my flank.

“Unicorns-of-the-sea! Unicorns-of-the-sea!” her mother chanted softly, tirelessly. “Fierce, fearless single-horns—you who are also the beloved of Alma and who, like us, also call yourselves children-of-the-moon. Bear my fellows safe to land!”

Tek drifted, as on gentle swells. Sleep was dragging at her. She could not remain afloat a moment more.
Return to me soon, O my love, my Dark Moon,
she found herself thinking, as though her mate somehow floated beside her, able to hear her thoughts.
Return and share my joy in the birth of your heir.
Sleep rose like a wave and overwhelmed her. Unresisting, she let herself slip down, down into the darkest depths, devoid of light and sound and dreams.