Ashes and the Moon (A Plague Tale)
Posted: Fri Apr 24, 2020 2:39 pm
Ashes and the Moon
She was singing.
Dusk’s light was turning the canopy golden, laying shadows from the trees across the shorn grass all the way to the river’s edge, tidy lines like a composer’s staff, awaiting the muse.
She sang.
This was her favourite time. The forest chorus was transposing, a new harmony arising to last the night. This was the magical time in between, when she could hear the echoes of the spirits of the wood return to her in her own voice, the diastole of her own beat, vowing peace and safety for all she loved.
Peace secured, she rocked gently on her porch swing, enjoying the cooling air on her skin, all tension fading with the sun, the declension of a day that had served well, and kept its word.
Kal pushed the door softly, stepping around both creaks in the porch boards to hand her the wine.
“Happy?”
She sipped and smiled, nodded once.
“You were right, Kal. About everything. I love it here.”
He’d told her for so long, of his dream. The cottage on the island, at the edge of the wood. Shelter, a life apart. Peace. Family. She would put off considering it, every time he mentioned it. There was always something in need of doing, in the city. It was never the right time. When matters are calm. Next moon. One more spell. But he was right. This was right.
“T’lerenden?”
She pointed to the left, at the stand of birch trembling in the river breeze, and the son Kal had insisted they name after her father. He had spent most of the afternoon cutting and shaping arrows to fill his quiver. Her tiny hunter. Blessed by Solonor Therandira, as her own father had been. Kal’s pride.
“He should clean up before Clarianna arrives. He’s likely covered in mud and full of splinters. Has he eaten?”
Sarenna sniffed and smiled.
“He’s well, Kal. It won’t matter to her anyway. She only wanted to share some news, she said, in her sending.”
She could feel Kal’s tension rising. Their bond had always been strained, the High Seeker and the honest thief. Both unsettled at thoughts of the other, without ever truly understanding what united them. Kal had chafed at her not coming to see them before now, and now he was restless at the thought.
Sarenna knew what had kept her sister from their door. Clarianna had always said this cottage was her dream too, as much as it was Kal’s. Not for herself, but for them. She wanted to believe it was possible. To survive, and escape into joy, off in the woods. Peace. A dream she needed to believe could be true.
It was easier to believe in something when reality didn’t get in the way. That’s why she hadn’t come, before now. Kal, the honest thief, for all his gifts, had never understood that. That a beautiful lie has a truth all its own.
She set her wine down, and pulled him to her swing. Rested her head on his shoulder, as she had done a thousand times. And gently, softly, sang. Sang to the night, to protect all she loved, with a voice as quiet and sure as Selune’s path across her sky.
T’lerenden was calling in the fading dusk light.
“Mama, your friend is coming. Come see!”
Sarenna kissed Kal’s cheek, squeezed his hand, and walked to where her son stood by the river.
“Is that her, mama?” he said, pointing across the river, in the darkening wood.
It wasn’t her.
No silver and blue, shining bright and striding with purpose and poise.
The figure was shuffling forward, low in the underbrush, hard to see clearly. Cloaked in a familiar red. The figure hobbled out of the shadows of the forest, and rose tall, standing on the opposite shore. The music of the wood vanished in an instant.
“T’lerenden. Get back to the house. Now.”
“Why, mama? I want to meet her. She dresses like you, mama.”
Sarenna could feel her insides tightening, her blood turning cold. She was shivering with rage and fear. She coughed, and felt her throat constricting as she did. The red crone on the opposite bank grinned horribly, her face covered in seeping boils. She cackled, a dread sound that cut across the deepening silence, stealing Sarenna’s air from her lungs.
The crone stepped into the river, and it turned to fire.
Sarenna, her voice gone, turned to push her son towards the cottage, but the cottage had vanished too. Her green island had turned to swamp. Two crocodiles snapped their jaws at each other. A circle of yuan-ti hunters appeared out of the air, standing around a body laying in the muck, his back full of arrows.
Sarenna staggered back as T’lerenden wrapped himself around her middle, grasping tight.
“Don’t leave me, mama. You can’t leave me.” T’lerenden looked up at her with pleading eyes. But not with the eyes of her son. His sockets black, what had been eyes were now two spots of demon flame.
The creature grasping her spoke, and it was Ryzz’ voice she heard. The voice of a demon. The voice of hell.
“You’ll never leave me, nor I you. We are one, Sarenna. What rots you from the inside binds us.”
T’lerenden’s features melted and became Ryzz the gnome, and then the gnome’s shell cracked and split, the demon Ryzz emerging, growing, and crushing ever tighter around Sarenna’s centre. She looked behind her. The red crone walked out of the fire onto the shore, dragging a greatsword, its blade still red with the heat. She looked up. Selune in her sky turned blood red, then golden, a great coin suspended, then ripped in two.
Sarenna, every part in agony, emptied her soul in a silent scream.
* * *
She woke, her mouth open, her body aching with fever. The fire in the Guild’s hearth had long been out, and nothing but ashes remained. In her sleep bile had been draining from the corner of her mouth, down her leathers and onto the loaf of bread Bjorn had given her, her clawed fingers dug into it, still pressed tightly to her stomach.
She threw it into the ash. Wiping the bile from her mouth, she crawled out of the chair and hobbled across the Guild hall, wrapping her cloak tight around her to fight the chill. Vana was elsewhere. She pushed through the door and out into the night.
A blanket of ashen grey cloud obscured Selune’s disc, but it was there, a hint of its glow still visible.
Tomas, she thought. It was time. Mustering what remained of her strength, she crossed the Square to Steven’s cart.
She was singing.
Dusk’s light was turning the canopy golden, laying shadows from the trees across the shorn grass all the way to the river’s edge, tidy lines like a composer’s staff, awaiting the muse.
She sang.
This was her favourite time. The forest chorus was transposing, a new harmony arising to last the night. This was the magical time in between, when she could hear the echoes of the spirits of the wood return to her in her own voice, the diastole of her own beat, vowing peace and safety for all she loved.
Peace secured, she rocked gently on her porch swing, enjoying the cooling air on her skin, all tension fading with the sun, the declension of a day that had served well, and kept its word.
Kal pushed the door softly, stepping around both creaks in the porch boards to hand her the wine.
“Happy?”
She sipped and smiled, nodded once.
“You were right, Kal. About everything. I love it here.”
He’d told her for so long, of his dream. The cottage on the island, at the edge of the wood. Shelter, a life apart. Peace. Family. She would put off considering it, every time he mentioned it. There was always something in need of doing, in the city. It was never the right time. When matters are calm. Next moon. One more spell. But he was right. This was right.
“T’lerenden?”
She pointed to the left, at the stand of birch trembling in the river breeze, and the son Kal had insisted they name after her father. He had spent most of the afternoon cutting and shaping arrows to fill his quiver. Her tiny hunter. Blessed by Solonor Therandira, as her own father had been. Kal’s pride.
“He should clean up before Clarianna arrives. He’s likely covered in mud and full of splinters. Has he eaten?”
Sarenna sniffed and smiled.
“He’s well, Kal. It won’t matter to her anyway. She only wanted to share some news, she said, in her sending.”
She could feel Kal’s tension rising. Their bond had always been strained, the High Seeker and the honest thief. Both unsettled at thoughts of the other, without ever truly understanding what united them. Kal had chafed at her not coming to see them before now, and now he was restless at the thought.
Sarenna knew what had kept her sister from their door. Clarianna had always said this cottage was her dream too, as much as it was Kal’s. Not for herself, but for them. She wanted to believe it was possible. To survive, and escape into joy, off in the woods. Peace. A dream she needed to believe could be true.
It was easier to believe in something when reality didn’t get in the way. That’s why she hadn’t come, before now. Kal, the honest thief, for all his gifts, had never understood that. That a beautiful lie has a truth all its own.
She set her wine down, and pulled him to her swing. Rested her head on his shoulder, as she had done a thousand times. And gently, softly, sang. Sang to the night, to protect all she loved, with a voice as quiet and sure as Selune’s path across her sky.
T’lerenden was calling in the fading dusk light.
“Mama, your friend is coming. Come see!”
Sarenna kissed Kal’s cheek, squeezed his hand, and walked to where her son stood by the river.
“Is that her, mama?” he said, pointing across the river, in the darkening wood.
It wasn’t her.
No silver and blue, shining bright and striding with purpose and poise.
The figure was shuffling forward, low in the underbrush, hard to see clearly. Cloaked in a familiar red. The figure hobbled out of the shadows of the forest, and rose tall, standing on the opposite shore. The music of the wood vanished in an instant.
“T’lerenden. Get back to the house. Now.”
“Why, mama? I want to meet her. She dresses like you, mama.”
Sarenna could feel her insides tightening, her blood turning cold. She was shivering with rage and fear. She coughed, and felt her throat constricting as she did. The red crone on the opposite bank grinned horribly, her face covered in seeping boils. She cackled, a dread sound that cut across the deepening silence, stealing Sarenna’s air from her lungs.
The crone stepped into the river, and it turned to fire.
Sarenna, her voice gone, turned to push her son towards the cottage, but the cottage had vanished too. Her green island had turned to swamp. Two crocodiles snapped their jaws at each other. A circle of yuan-ti hunters appeared out of the air, standing around a body laying in the muck, his back full of arrows.
Sarenna staggered back as T’lerenden wrapped himself around her middle, grasping tight.
“Don’t leave me, mama. You can’t leave me.” T’lerenden looked up at her with pleading eyes. But not with the eyes of her son. His sockets black, what had been eyes were now two spots of demon flame.
The creature grasping her spoke, and it was Ryzz’ voice she heard. The voice of a demon. The voice of hell.
“You’ll never leave me, nor I you. We are one, Sarenna. What rots you from the inside binds us.”
T’lerenden’s features melted and became Ryzz the gnome, and then the gnome’s shell cracked and split, the demon Ryzz emerging, growing, and crushing ever tighter around Sarenna’s centre. She looked behind her. The red crone walked out of the fire onto the shore, dragging a greatsword, its blade still red with the heat. She looked up. Selune in her sky turned blood red, then golden, a great coin suspended, then ripped in two.
Sarenna, every part in agony, emptied her soul in a silent scream.
* * *
She woke, her mouth open, her body aching with fever. The fire in the Guild’s hearth had long been out, and nothing but ashes remained. In her sleep bile had been draining from the corner of her mouth, down her leathers and onto the loaf of bread Bjorn had given her, her clawed fingers dug into it, still pressed tightly to her stomach.
She threw it into the ash. Wiping the bile from her mouth, she crawled out of the chair and hobbled across the Guild hall, wrapping her cloak tight around her to fight the chill. Vana was elsewhere. She pushed through the door and out into the night.
A blanket of ashen grey cloud obscured Selune’s disc, but it was there, a hint of its glow still visible.
Tomas, she thought. It was time. Mustering what remained of her strength, she crossed the Square to Steven’s cart.