Echo from the Void (Lunar Lives Book 2), page 14
“Like what you’re seeing, lover?” she said with a wink. “Now’s not the time, I’m ’fraid. We got to ride hard up that path and lose the fanatical lady behind.”
Esrit chuckled to himself. Given the circumstances, it hadn’t been exactly what he had been thinking, but his Indulgent body always responded on some level, no matter the situation. He just nodded, concentrating on not falling off the mount as he bounced along.
They rode hard into the woods, up a drosera path he hadn’t noticed from where they had been in the prairie. He’d always been a keen drosera hunter, but his companion seemed to know every twist and turn in the forested foothills like a map in her mind. She took turns at reckless speeds, narrowly ducking limbs, making her mount hop over downed trees. He held onto his reins with his good arm, each leap and landing sending shooting pains from his shoulder up his neck and down his other arm. He pressed his internal lightning and got through the pain. He wondered about the mechanics of the mounts for the first time since he’d escaped Seevah and Jarval. How did she know how to make her mount jump? How did his mount instinctively know to do the same thing? Could anyone ride and control them, but only Holders had this ability to generate energy between rider and mount?
He felt the familiar humidity of the forest and became awash in relief as the damp droplets appeared on his fur. It felt like home. Despite his shoulder and his throat, he felt the best he had since going to meet his brother in the prairie, which seemed like an eternity ago, but was actually only a few days, if his experience in the Void held to standard definitions of time.
He ducked low under a hanging vine, narrowly escaping being clotheslined as Jarval had been. A pang of sadness wiggled into his consciousness as he clung to the reins of his wildly galloping mount. Jarval may have become a true believer, but Esrit didn’t think he started that way. Jarval had trusted him, and Esrit had betrayed that trust, however reasonable it had been to do so. He felt too old for righteous indignation, and he’d seen too much in his long first life and much longer lunar life to be able to sustain the intensity necessary to hate someone. But even if he could, he wouldn’t hate Jarval.
“I stay in here. Wha’s your name, by t’way?” she asked, hopping off her mount and bringing it to a halt.
“Esrit,” he croaked, thankful his mount was slowing.
“I’m Presade,” she said as she helped him off his mount. She pulled aside a carpet of moss jutting from a rock ledge nestled in the first rise upward into the mountain. Behind it stood a humble recess no more than two carriages deep with a soft-looking fur mat covered in a crumpled blanket and a small wooden table where a stack of parchments lay next to an extinguished candle in a pool of dried wax. She scratched a match against the stone wall and lit the candle.
“It ain’t much, lover, but they ain’t caught me yet.” She shook the match out and put it in a clay dish next to the candle.
“Who?” Esrit croaked.
“The Holders o’ course,” she said with an eye roll.
“Why?”
“They kilt my sister. I lost my conduit too, see?” She turned away and held up her wild mess of red curls. Esrit saw a small scar behind her ear right where the hairline started. “Hurt like a puckering son of a Forbearant when it came out!”
Esrit remembered the feeling and shivered. “What about the rest of your kindred?”
“Scattered to the puckering wind. Half ’em joined the Holders. Kilt their echoes and everyt’ing. We live in the valley, and the Holders started their preachin’ to us quick just ’cuz we live close, I suspect. Some went to inform Bexlan-Ansibe and n’er returned. Oh, there’s six or eight still living over thar,” she said, waving a claw northeast, “but worthless cowards, they are. ‘Gotta make sure we give our tribute to Bexlan-Ansibe or they’ll break up our colony and send us to live in other colonies,’ they say. As if we aren’t already broken. So I took leave of them and said to myself ‘Presade, if’n Bexlan-Ansibe gave a wet fart about you they’d have intervened against these fools by now. Instead they let your dear echo die ’cuz she wouldn’t join ’em even though her friends were and had started snooping around to find out what they were up to.’ So I spy on ’em now too, and, when I can, I sabotage ’em.”
Esrit thought it over. “Why haven’t we heard—” He stopped and coughed, his throat aching. “Anything about this in the cloud forest?”
She laughed and slapped his good shoulder, which still managed to hurt his bad shoulder. He winced. “You guys up in the clouds listen to us valley dwellers much? You look down your long snouts at us. We sent a messenger up thar for warning, and all he got was laughed at and name-called for his troubles. I can’t say what the Forbearant communities are dealing with but if what my sister said was true, and I’m givin’ ta believing her, they’re dealing with the same thing as us.”
“Why? Why would anyone . . . join? My brother, even?”
She leaned back against the stone wall, arms crossed under the giant shelf of her bosom, tapping her elbows with her index claws while she thought. “Eternity is long, Esrit. Maybe they were just bored?”
Esrit couldn’t accept that as an excuse to join a murderous cult that rides mutilated people like animals, but it actually struck a little closer to home than he wanted to admit. Hadn’t the last several millennia of his life been a listless sprawl interrupted only by brief moments of excitement in hunting, or ecstasy, or music, or any other momentary distraction? If he’d come upon the Holders before his brother . . . would he have been enticed by their excitement and mystery? He pushed the thought away, exhaustion suddenly weighing on him like a boulder now that the lightning effect had started to wear off. He sagged against the wall.
“Ah! Lover, I’m sorry. We gotta get you ta rest now. You been tumbled like wash in the river! Come ’ere!” She pulled him gently to her and laid him on the fur mat. The fur felt exquisitely soft on his back, and even his shoulder pain seemed to let up a little.
“S’only one bed, but I promise ta leave you alone. For now at least,” she said as she pulled the blanket over him.
He tried to ask another question, but it swam against the tide of impending sleep and the current took it away.
#
Lina watched Sprel tuck behind the tangled trees of the Pollen Forest. The sky exploded in vibrant colors rivaled only by the colors of the flowering vines it hid behind. The beautiful sight juxtaposed against the ugliness of the situation in a way that made her heart ache.
Wana’s dead body lay where it had fallen in the dusty ground next to the toxic Burping Sinkhole. She lay dead by Lina’s hand, the plumbata still jutting from a spot just above her eyebrow. She hadn’t transmuted—obviously something happened to those who died after being elucidated that kept them bound to Chancel in some way. Or maybe it took away their lunar life altogether and Lina had inflicted true death. She shivered. The thought of inflicting true death on her friend hung at the edge of her mind like a giant, hovering storm cloud she couldn’t allow into her consciousness without it wrecking the structures of her self-concept. So she diverted her attention, knowing the existential torrent hung close, but instead focused on her situation. It wasn’t much better than the storm cloud, honestly.
She lay on her side in the rough, prickly grass just outside of the sinkhole’s poisonous reach, her arms and legs hogtied behind her. Tomf, who the Compeers thought too big and strong for a simple hogtie, was tied to a tree with multiple ropes at the edge of the Pollen Forest. He clutched his hand against his body, his two finger stumps wrapped in torn strips of his shirt. Dried blood colored his shirt and pants in large maroon spots. He’d stopped crying but his big, stubbly pale cheeks were flushed red and looked damp. He’d managed to get the blood all over his forehead and in his hair, dyeing the front of his blond locks red. He had such a blank, hopeless look on his face that Lina closed her eyes, trying not to feel as defeated as he looked.
A group of six Compeers had come upon them right after she’d killed Wana. A brawny Topswinite man had seized her, and she’d had no chance of resisting. The other five had come out of the trees and seized Tomf, who had been in no position to fight; he’d been trying to tear his shirt with his one good hand to bind his fingers. As they tied him, he’d only clutched his mangled hand and wept.
The beauty of Sprel’s Repose and its vivid colors had always been a source of joy to her for as long as she could remember. Even when she lived at Mima’s place, without a possession to her name and only a single friend able to communicate with her, every evening the sunset had brought her simple, childish delight. In a life with little consistency, routine, or predictability, it had been the one constant: each evening the sun would set and it would be beautiful. Now, she could hardly find the emotional energy to even observe her most prized experience.
The Reproacher and the Compeers stood several carriages away, murmuring plans to each other. They didn’t realize her incredible lip-reading ability from years of necessity, nor her excellent hearing. Like most people, they probably assumed she was deaf simply because she was mute, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. She focused on them, trying to get more information about her situation, even if it felt like a futile effort.
A male, former Niliite Compeer stood beside the Reproacher, sewing the giant gash Tomf had inflicted on their clavicle. The plumbata wound had already been sewn up, though it still seeped small amounts of ink blood, which disappeared into the air. The Topswinite spoke to the Reproacher in animated agitation.
“Reproacher, we must kill these two!” he said. His features may have been distorted behind the veil, but she felt his outrage in the tone of his voice. “They tried to kill you! And they killed Claven!”
The Reproacher stood next to him, their female face toward him, the male faced pointed toward the sinkhole. Where she was lying, Lina could see all of the female face and the edge of the male. Neither reacted to the Niliite Compeer forcing a needle through their skin. Between the battle and the stitching, she knew for certain the Reproacher couldn’t feel pain.
“We can’t, Compeer, you know that. We don’t kill because it sends spies to the moons of the old gods. We want them to know as little as possible about our mission.”
“Then we must void them! Or elucidate them immediately!” the man said.
The Reproacher’s head moved slightly as the Niliite yanked the string through the hole he’d made. “The big one spilled too much of my blood for me to refill your quills. And the veils must dry before we can elucidate again. Don’t worry, Compeer. In a few days’ time, my void-ink will have regenerated enough to void them both. For now, I don’t think they will be going anywhere,” they said with a wolfish smile.
Lina puzzled over the Reproacher’s facial expressions. As she had more time to observe, they almost always responded correctly with their expressions to the situation, but something about it felt . . . forced. Or inauthentic. Each expression seemed to be a fraction of a wave behind a person’s natural responses.
“Did you encounter team three while you were combing the mainland?” the Reproacher asked.
“No, but I think they probably didn’t have any better luck than we did finding the messiah’s daughter. They have hidden her well. And I don’t know if that anticipator contact is trustworthy. They are supposed to return here by Full Repose anyway to report, so we shall see.”
The Reproacher looked blank for a fraction of a wave and then snapped to life. “If they didn’t find the child, we will rest here tonight and then set out for the Impotent Slum at the far northwest end of Miraculous Depths. We’ve not recruited there before, and by then I’ll have replenished my void-ink and the veils will have completed their processing.” They gestured to an ornate wood box where they had placed each of the veils gently on one of the levels of criss-crossed strings that allowed them to dry within the box.
Shouting came from behind Lina’s head. She tried to wiggle her body to where she could see the source of the commotion.
A large Luntite Compeer ran into the edge of her view and flashed the Compeer greeting: two fists side-by-side, thumbs intertwined. The Reproacher returned the sign.
“Reproacher, we have the girl!”
The Reproacher calculated for a fraction of a wave and then snapped to life. “Good work, Compeer Slayton. This will change our plans. We will set out tomorrow morning for Topswin City, which is the only Unmoored City docked this time of cycle.”
“Reproacher, we lost three of our Compeers—”
“They are martyrs for the cause.”
“Indeed they are, Reproacher. But we also had to void the false messiah’s concubine and her consort.”
The Reproacher stood, motionless, their expression blank for almost an entire wave while the Niliite Compeer continued to sew. Just as Slayton looked about to say something else, the Reproacher responded, “That is acceptable. We would have had to eventually deal with them anyway. The important thing is the girl. The people of the old gods think she possesses some divinity. It would have been nice to have elucidated all three, but the only one required is the girl.”
Lina’s mind worked rapidly. They couldn’t possibly be talking about Marjaa, the daughter of Rin’za the messiah? It just wasn’t possible anyone could have voided Ladrin and Hailsound—even in her broken, abandoned city where Mima gave a ramshackle education at best, everyone knew the holy couple was . . . untouchable. They’d traveled to Scab and back!
An Ev’ramite anticipator dumped a girl a few cycles younger than her a carriage away. Her bound arms rested in front of her. She had dark curly hair, high cheekbones, and brown skin with a hint of a reddish undertone. Though younger, she looked a little stronger than Lina felt she herself looked. She had a little bit of muscle for a kid, like someone who had trained at some physical task or lived off the land. Her tear-stained face pointed downward at her lap. She didn’t notice Lina next to her. Lina had seen paintings of the messiah’s daughter as a much younger girl that could possibly have grown to be this girl, but she wasn’t sure.
Lina felt the familiar anxiety and shame as she readied her voice. The brain damage from her childhood seizure made speaking incredibly difficult, but other people’s frustration, discomfort, and impatience made it almost impossible. Old learning was hard to overcome. “Ahh . . . you . . . Mar . . . aa?”
The girl started and looked around, perplexed.
Lina blew a strand of hair out of her mouth and tried to smile.
Marjaa looked at her with frightened eyes.
“Ee . . . will . . .” Lina tried to tell her they would escape, but felt such a pang of guilt. She didn’t want to lie to the girl. She knew she had no plan for escape and had to face that. “Will . . . try . . . ’cape.” She believed in her heart they would try to escape. That much was true and came out well. Maybe not well, but at least as well as she could articulate things.
The little girl nodded, shaking but trying to put on a brave front. Lina saw so much of herself in this girl, who had lost her parents and was now struggling to anchor to something in the disorientation of loss and abduction. The ladies at Mima’s place had spoken a lot of comfort into Lina. They certainly hadn’t been able to make any promises on good outcomes for an orphan in a chaotic, abandoned city, but they could commit to trying their damnedest, which they did. It felt honest to tell the girl she would try. Honest with the girl and honest with herself.
“Ah . . . you . . . err?” Lina repeated.
She nodded sadly.
A thrill went through Lina. Despite the circumstances, she couldn’t believe the messiah’s daughter sat a few wheels from her. Maybe she had the power to stop the Sacrosanct.
Marjaa pulled at a blade of grass and peeled it between her fingers, nervously fidgeting like any young girl would in this situation. Lina’s hopefulness flickered a little. She was really no different than Lina herself. If she’d had some miraculous power, wouldn’t she have used it to escape by now anyway? Or to save her parents? Lina still couldn’t believe the legendary Ladrin and Hailsound had been voided. She committed to just thinking of the girl as a normal kid for now—better to plan that way than to hope for something that might not exist.
“We need to separate these three for tonight,” the Reproacher said, gesturing to Lina, Marjaa, and Tomf. Tomorrow we will set out for Topswin City and we will establish an autonomous zone there to launch the revolution en masse. Having this girl means they won’t dare move on us, and we’ll be attracting attention for our cause. Sympathizers will assist us, and some may even join us without needing to be elucidated. We will demonstrate our power by elucidating the false messiah’s daughter to show she is one of us. We can then void these two—it will be another deterrent against the authorities breaching our barrier.”
Slayton clasped his hands together. “Yes, Reproacher. It is the eve of our revolution!”
The Reproacher nodded. “Indeed it is, Compeer. This girl is the spark that will light the fuse.”
Chapter 8
Esrit snapped awake, a sharp pain in his shoulder pulling him from sleep. His eyes opened to a beautiful mane of red hair framing the face of an Indulgent he couldn’t quite place. Had he fallen asleep in the sanctum? He felt totally disoriented.
“Sorry to wake ya, lover. Yer girlfriend passed on a mount due west of here, picking through the trees like she’s never been in a puckering forest despite the fact that she’s obviously an Indulgent. Maybe that cult made her forget the most basic hunting skill o’ stealth. Anyway, I didn’t get a close look at her, but got enough to know she weren’t finding my place, no way! If she were to have saw our mounts behind the cave, I’da made her my dartboard.” She gestured to the mechanism on her arm. “But I didn’t want to have that fight yet, you being tore up and all. She followed a drosera path, thinking it was us, and went the other way. Luckily for her, we are going the opposite direction—I got a path we can take all the way through the forest and only have to pop out into the savannah at the tail end.”
