Dark Moon (29 page)

The figure rose from the bed and stood, naked, in the sunlight streaming through the window. He was thin and tall, his six-fingered hands long and delicate. His eyes were larger than human and semi-protruding, his nose small with the nostrils widely flared. ‘I stood in the forest on that last day,’ he said sadly, ‘and I watched my people die. I surrendered myself to the land. And I died too.’

‘Did you have no magic to use against the Daroth? Could you not fight?’ asked Tarantio.

‘We were not death dealers, my friend. We killed nothing. We were not a violent people, we had no understanding of its nature. We tried to befriend the Daroth, helping them through the Curtain, giving them land that was rich and green and full of magic. They dug into it for iron, tore at it for food, and drowned the magic with their hatred. When we closed the Curtain on them, preventing more from joining them, they turned on us with fire and sword. They devoured our young ones, and slew the old. In despair we tried to run, to open the Curtain on another world. But the magic was gone, and before we could find new, virgin land they were upon us. I was not the Oltor Prime then. I was a young Singer, wed to a beautiful maiden.’

‘What does this title mean? What is the Oltor Prime?’

‘It is a difficult concept to verbalize in a tongue that is new to me. He – sometimes she – is the spiritual leader of the Oltor, possessing great power. When he died in the forest he turned and pointed at me. I felt his power course through my veins. But I surrendered it and died. Or so I thought. Somehow the magicker who tried to heal Brune brought me back. The “how” is a mystery.’

‘You say you surrendered your life. Did the Daroth not kill you?’

‘Yes, they pierced my hearts with harsh swords, pinning me to the ground. Then they struck off my head.’

‘I believe I know the answer,’ said the voice of Duvodas, and Tarantio turned to see the Singer standing in the doorway. Dressed now in a tunic of green silk, his blond hair held in place by a gold circlet, Duvodas entered the room and bowed to the Oltor Prime. ‘Your blood soaked into the earth: the blood of the Oltor Prime. It lay in the stones. The Eldarin found them and took them back to Eldarisa, and they lay in the Oltor Temple for generations. Forty years ago one of the humans – allowed into the city for a special meeting – stole one red stone. It was for this reason that no human was ever allowed to enter again. I have spoken to some of the people cured by Ardlin, and they claim he held a block of red coral over their wounds. Used carefully, the magic would have no ill-effect on the patients. However, Tarantio told me of Brune’s healing. It seems that Ardlin lied – he told them he had a magic orb to replace the injured eye, but there was no orb. What he cast was a spell of disguise – of changing! In his haste he made an error – and released the essence that had remained in the stone for generations. He released you, Lord of the Oltors.’

The Oltor Prime sighed. ‘And here I stand – without purpose, or reason for being. Locked in my hearts are the histories of my people, each one of them. What am I to do?’

‘You could help us fight the Daroth,’ said Tarantio.

‘I cannot fight.’

‘Even after they destroyed all your people?’

‘Even so. I am a Healer. It is not what I do, Tarantio; it is what I
am
. If I saw a wounded Daroth, I would heal it without a moment’s hesitation. In that way I feed the land with magic. I create harmony.’

‘I call that the coward’s way,’ said Dace aloud. ‘Life is a struggle, from the agonies of birth to the railing against death. Devour or be devoured. The law of the wild.’

‘This land was not wild until the Daroth came,’ said the Oltor.

‘Did the lion not hunt the deer, leaping upon it, tearing out its throat?’

‘Yes, Dace, the lion did that, for that is the lion’s nature. But at no time did the deer develop fangs and claws and rend the lion.’

Dace was stunned by the use of his name. ‘You can see the difference in us? You can tell us apart?’

‘I can. You were born in that terrible moment when a child, Tarantio, saw his father hanging from a beam. He could not face the sight, and in his terror he created a brother who could – a brother who could survive all the terrors the world could hurl at a child. You saved him, Dace. Saved him from madness and despair. Now he saves you.’

‘I need no-one to save me. I am Dace. I am the best there is, the best there ever was. Hell’s teeth, I am the best there ever will be! I am not weak. When an enemy comes for me I slay him – human or Daroth, lion or wolf.’

‘And yet you wept when Sigellus was cut down. You tried to stop him duelling; he was drunk, his powers fading. You almost begged him to let you fight in his place. But he was proud. When he died, you felt as though a hot knife was being dragged across your soul.’

Dace’s hand flashed for the dagger at his belt. He staggered. ‘I did not know that,’ said Tarantio, his hand dropping to his side.

‘He lies!’ shouted Dace.

‘There was never a need for lies in a culture that knew no violence, no anger, no despair,’ said the Oltor. ‘That is why the Daroth fooled us. They are telepaths, and they presented a mental wall through which we did not pass. It would have been discourteous to try.’

‘We are now facing the Daroth,’ said Tarantio. ‘Your help would be appreciated.’

‘I will heal your wounded, but more than that I cannot offer. I will rest now. Perhaps you would like to speak with Brune?’ The Oltor closed his eyes. Brune opened them. ‘He is very sad,’ said Brune. ‘He wants to die.’

Moving to his clothes, Brune dressed himself. His leggings were too short now, and his clothes hung upon his slender frame. He sat down by the window. ‘Can you do nothing for him?’ he asked Tarantio.

‘What can I do? He is the last of a dead race.’

‘But he’s so sad,’ said Brune. ‘And he’s my friend.’

‘Yesterday you were frightened,’ said Tarantio, ‘and rightly so. Can you not see that he is taking over your body?’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Brune. ‘All my life I’ve been frightened. Never knowing what to do, what to say. So many things I couldn’t understand. People. Wars. I couldn’t remember things. Places. I used to get lost. I’m not lost now. He teaches me things, he looks after me.’

Tarantio smiled, and patted Brune’s shoulder. ‘We all look after you, my friend. That is why we are concerned.’

‘I’ll be all right, honestly I will. You won’t let no-one hurt him, will you? He’s not like us. He won’t fight.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ Tarantio promised.

‘He has knowledge that could end disease and famine,’ said Brune. ‘The Oltor may be gone, but we humans could learn so much from him.’

‘If we survive the Daroth,’ said Tarantio.

Shira was nervous as she lay upon the bed, the golden creature sitting beside her. ‘Do not fear me, child,’ he said.

‘I have no fear of you, sir. It is just that it pains me to have anyone … view my deformity.’

‘I do understand, Shira. If you do not wish me to continue, I will understand that also. It may be that I can do little, for I have never encountered humans before.’

She smiled at him, then looked to Duvo. ‘Do you think I should?’ she asked him. He nodded and Shira closed her eyes. ‘Very well, then,’ she said. Duvo moved to the bedside, his harp in hand.

‘There will be no need of actual music,’ said the Oltor. ‘The song I sing cannot be heard by you.’ The scent of roses filled the room. He laid his slender, golden hand on Shira’s brow and her breathing deepened instantly. ‘She sleeps,’ he said, drawing back the sheet. Shira was dressed in a simple cotton shift, which the Oltor raised to her hips. The deformed leg was ugly and twisted, the muscles knotted and misshapen like rocks under the skin.

The Oltor Prime placed his hand on her thigh. Astonished, Duvo watched as the hand began to glow, becoming at first translucent and then transparent. Slowly it sank beneath the surface of Shira’s skin. ‘The bones of the thigh and shin were broken badly,’ whispered the Oltor, ‘and they have been set awkwardly and suffered severe calcification. The muscles around them are badly fibrotic, no longer wet tissue, and the tendons are now too short.’

Duvodas tried to mask his disappointment. ‘It was kind of you to examine her,’ he said.

‘Be patient, my friend, we have just begun.’ Shira’s thigh was glowing now, and Duvo could see the Oltor’s hand moving below the surface of the skin. There was a sudden crack, the noise like a whiplash in the quiet of the room. Duvo jerked at the sound.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Breaking the thigh-bone and re-setting it straight. It is difficult; it is taking longer than I had thought to heal and stretch the muscles.’ Slowly the knots and lumps of Shira’s thigh began to shrink. After an hour the Oltor removed his hand, and began again below the knee.

As dusk approached, the room grew gloomy and Duvodas lit a lantern. ‘How long now?’ he asked.

‘Not long. Help me to turn her over.’ Gently they rolled the sleeping woman to her stomach.

‘The leg looks perfect,’ said Duvo.

‘It is, but the muscles of the lower back are also misshapen, as is the spine. This is natural after years of limping. I must be careful now, for your son must not be touched by the magic.’ His hands moved over Shira’s lower back, the long fingers gently kneading the flesh. At last he stood, and covered her with a sheet. ‘You may wake her now,’ he said.

Duvo sat on the bed and took Shira’s hand, kissing it. ‘Wake up, my love,’ he told her. Shira moaned softly, and yawned. Her eyes opened. ‘Time to get up,’ said Duvo.

Sleepily Shira pulled back the sheet and allowed Duvo to help her to stand. There was no surprise as she straightened. ‘This is a lovely dream,’ she said.

‘It is no dream. You are healed, Shira.’ The girl stood for a moment, then took several tentative steps. Ignoring both men, she sat back down on the bed and drew up her cotton shift, staring down at the now perfectly formed leg. She stood once more, then spun on her heel in a graceful pirouette.

‘She still believes it is a dream,’ said the Oltor.

‘Perhaps you should pinch yourself, Shira,’ suggested Duvo.

‘I don’t want to wake up from this,’ she said, tears in her eyes.

‘I can promise you that you will not,’ Duvo assured her. Shira hesitated, then dug her nails into the palm of her hand.

‘It hurts,’ she said. ‘I am awake! Oh, Duvo!’ She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

He kissed her, and held her close. ‘You are thanking the wrong person,’ he said at last, and Shira turned to the Oltor Prime.

‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ she said. ‘I cannot believe it! How can I thank you?’

‘Your joy is enough, Shira,’ the Oltor replied. ‘I think the journey to Loretheli will be a little easier now. How soon will you be leaving?’

‘As soon as the weather begins to break,’ Duvo told him. ‘There are more than eight thousand people preparing for the journey. You should come with us.’

‘I think not,’ said the Oltor. Looking down at Shira, he smiled. ‘Your baby is strong and healthy, lacking nothing. His development shows he will be a lusty infant.’

‘A boy, then,’ she said, taking Duvo by the hand. ‘A son for you, my love!’

Duvo sat down upon the bed, holding her hand in both of his. ‘A son for
us
,’ he corrected her. Releasing her hand, he stroked her raven hair. ‘I cannot tell you how happy you have made me. And I cannot believe how I could think that love would destroy my music. Every day with you makes the power swell within me.’

‘I think you are embarrassing our guest,’ chided Shira.

‘Not so, Shira,’ said the Oltor. ‘But I think I will leave you. Tell me, Duvodas, is there a place within this city where land magic still flourishes?’

‘Not with any strength,’ said Duvo.

‘I feared not. You humans are similar to the Daroth, in that you draw magic from the land without replacing it. You carpet the ground with dead stone. It is not healthy.’

‘What is it that you need?’ asked Duvo.

‘I need to touch the stars. There are truths I must find, and riddles which must be answered.’

‘There is a park close by,’ said Duvo. ‘Whenever I need to feel the magic, I go there. As I said, it is not strong, but then you are far more powerful than I.’

‘Will you take me there?’

‘I will. In summer it is a haunt of evil men – robbers and thieves. It is too cold for them now. We should be safe.’

Hooded and cloaked, the Oltor Prime walked through the winding streets alongside Duvodas, coming into Gallows Square just as the moon emerged from behind a screen of clouds. The Oltor paused and gazed at the line of corpses hanging there. ‘You find it so easy to kill,’ he said sadly.

‘I have never killed,’ Duvodas told him.

‘I apologize to you, Duvodas. But you cannot know how much pain such sights cause me. Come, we must move on swiftly. This place is like a Daroth city. It is not just that the magic has gone, but there is force here, like a whirlpool that devours. I can feel the power being leached from me.’ They hurried on, through the park gates and up the ice-covered slope to the small group of hills at the centre of the park. The Oltor Prime turned to look back at the glistening city. ‘What will you humans do when you have drawn all magic from the land? What will you become?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps we will also find a way to put it back,’ said Duvodas.

The Oltor Prime nodded. ‘That is a good thought. Hold to it.’

‘You say that without conviction,’ Duvodas pointed out. ‘Do you believe we are incapable of finding a way?’

The Oltor Prime shook his head. ‘No, not incapable. Just different. If all the Oltor were struck blind, save for one man, then the rest would look to him for leadership. They would seek a way for all to see. You humans would not react in this way. The blind would be jealous of the man with sight, and seek to put out his eyes also. I learned much from Brune. There was a woman in his village when he was young. She had power; she was a Healer. But they burned her in a great fire, and rejoiced when they had done so. However, let us not dwell on such matters. Do not be concerned with what you are about to see,’ he said. ‘No human in the city below will observe it.’ The Oltor walked to the highest point of the hill and knelt down in the snow. Within moments it had melted away and Duvo felt the warmth of a summer day radiating from the golden figure before him. The Oltor began to sing in a low, sweet voice, creating music more perfect than any Duvodas had heard. He sat down, lost in the wonder of the moment.