Moon & Earth

Chapter 1 FOR TWO DAYS, the group of eagles and their riders followed the western coastline north. During that time, perched on the back of his bird, Isandor became reacquainted with a lot of muscles he’d forgotten he had. He usually flew in the middle of the group, free from the buffeting wind and the biting cold. The Knights were unhappy to have him in the lead, but even if he knew that they sheltered and protected him, he enjoyed finally doing something. He enjoyed being out of the palace and away from Jevaithi’s tantrums. He wished that he could let Tamerane know that he was coming for her. With all his heart, he longed for Tamerane, taken to Arania by her parents from the old nobility of the City of Glass, who were too tied up with Arania to even allow their daughter to marry the king. If Isandor was honest with himself, he knew that he and the Knight Council had ignored the unhappiness of the nobles of the City of Glass for too long. They had called them quaint and old-fashioned. They had laughed about the haughty speeches given at dinner parties, where all the nobles came together and which informants for the Knight Council sometimes attended. They had watched how the nobles tried—and mostly failed—to prop up their family wealth with businesses. They had viewed the struggles of the nobles as not their problem, because it was the nobles’ own choice to refuse to work with the Knight Council, right? They had pretended the problem might go away. And go away, it had: the nobles had sold themselves and their businesses to Arania. Even if the mission to retrieve Tamerane from the northern Aranian town of Curack was risky and ill-advised, the Knight Council could no longer watch Arania steal people, money and knowledge from the City of Glass. And, oh, Isandor knew that the small army of the Eagle Knights was no match for the full force of the Aranian army, which consisted of people wanting to die for the sake of glory, and so these tiny spearhead missions was all they could manage against that overwhelming force. One didn’t need a giant net and bear-like strength to kill a bear. One needed a strong arm, a keen eye and a sharp spear. A tiny insect could kill a bear, if its poison was strong enough. That was the thinking, at least. Whether the Knights were well-trained enough and their actions poisonous enough to do any damage remained to be seen. So far, the Aranians had cast the first stones. They had captured a patrol and when another patrol went after them, they had captured that group as well. They had coerced many nobles to move to Arania. They had forced the Knights’ actions. Once he returned, the Council would have to sit down and make a plan. A war plan. The coastline that passed underneath them was near-deserted, almost free of ice these days. They spotted the occasional ship out to sea on its way to Arania, or little fishing boats closer to the shore, but little else. A few flocks of sheep went running at the sight of the group of eagles, but they saw no people. This coastline was perfect ground for illegal activities, for smuggling, for amassing armies, and the Knights had no manpower to patrol it. If Arania wanted, they could just occupy this land and Peria could do nothing to stop it. There was too much land and too few people. The thought was depressing. For two nights in a row, they stopped at a rocky outcrop and set up camp using their saddles and saddle blankets for shelter and the birds’ big feathery bodies for warmth. There were no trees, so the first task at the campsite was to press firebricks from grass and heather. The vegetation was damp from the mist, so the resulting fire produced more smoke than flames. This was wild, majestic country, with sweeping views, rolling highlands, rocky headlands and pristine beaches and, in the distance, the craggy and snow-covered outlines of the mountains. Because of the time of year, the sun was low during the day and hit the coastline side-on from over the ocean, where only the occasional island interrupted the eternal cloudbanks that hung offshore. The memory of Tamerane explaining her theories shot through him painfully. He hoped with all his heart that they wouldn’t come too late. He’d heard terrible things from other men about what high-class Aranian men did to women who came to their houses. No Aranian man would take Tamerane into his house for her ideas and intelligence. Because in Arania, women were not meant to be intelligent. They were mothers. Occasionally, they passed little fishing villages, nestled on the shoreline. Those were recent settlements, since all of this land used to be covered in sea ice, and no one was quite sure who lived in these lawless places. They were technically on Perian land, but no one in the City of Glass had the resources to monitor the western coastline. That was a matter to be addressed in the future, as were so many other things. To avoid being spotted by Aranian spies, the scout, the rider at the front of the group, would steer inland, where a group of eagles at high altitude wouldn’t attract any attention. Mostly, those fishing settlements consisted of shacks and tents, but towards the end of the second day, the scout pointed out a larger structure. Isandor didn’t see it at first. It wasn’t a building exactly, but a structure in the side of a hill, with the top of the grassy hill forming the roof. The entrance was on the side, visible through the two tracks that led to it, one from the beach below, and one from the coastal track that ran more or less along the entire coastline. A small jetty in the bay indicated that large ships came there, even if none were there now. The expedition’s leader was a Knight Captain named Nallayo, a strong competent woman a few years younger than Isandor. She whistled to the scout, and he sent his eagle into a circling descent. Rider Nallayo led the rest of the birds into a circling pattern over the ridge a bit further inland, where relatively warm and moist air rose from the sun-warmed hillside. All the Riders’ communication was through whistles and hand signals, and it seemed that many new signals had been added to the language since Isandor had flown with the Knights. From up here, he could see how the scout landed his bird on top of the hill, how he walked down the grassy slope, followed by the bird—scout birds were trained to do that. The man went to the hollowed-out side of the hill where the tracks led. He disappeared for a bit, came back and disappeared again. Then he came back and waved his blue shawl. Isandor definitely remembered that sign: all clear. Rider Nallayo led the group to the bay. The riders and eagles landed on a grassy field in front of the entrance to the hideout. The little bay faced northwest and the sunlight warmed it into a cosy little nook. There were even still a few flowers in bloom. Isandor let himself slide off the bird, stamping life into his numb feet. Nallayo was already talking to the scout, who was pointing at several features of the hideout. The entrance was a solid wooden door. A second entrance was much bigger, like a warehouse door. The wall was made from beach boulders held together with white cement. There were two small windows, but both were covered on the inside by blinds. “But what if people are hiding inside?” Nallayo was saying. The scout shook his head. “No one is here, and hasn’t been for a while. The chimney up there on top of the hill is cold and there is no recent soot on the sides. The windows are cold. There are no recent footsteps in the mud patches leading up to the door.” “Can we get in?” “Depending on how much we want to destroy, yes, we can.” They both turned to Isandor when he joined them. “It’s your mission,” Nallayo said to him. “Do we spend some time figuring out what sort of business goes on here?” Isandor badly wanted to say no, but ultimately, he knew that everything in this mission, everything related to the nobles, the secretive connection with Arania and the sea trade along the western coast, was connected. The key to finding Tamerane might even be connected. House Mara was deeply involved with the Aranian sea trade, and it was what had led her father Ledor to flee the City of Glass. “Break the door,” he said. “Try to do it with as little damage as possible, but if it’s not possible, break it anyway.” A couple of the Knights went to work. At first they tried the door to what looked like the office or residence, but it was quite solid and they didn’t have the heavy equipment needed. They had more luck with the big warehouse door, which had a lock on the outside that could be wrenched open with the sharp point of a dagger. They managed to open it enough for a person to get through. Behind the door was, as suggested, a warehouse. It contained a truck, a study vehicle with large wheels and a cabin that would seat twelve people. Well . . . that was interesting. Isandor immediately thought of Zaina’s business and how the men had wanted to buy or sell a truck. The coastline track obviously existed partially because of these trucks. The sea trade with Arania covered mainly fish and agricultural products. Isandor was sure that some of the Aranian imports bypassed the harbourmaster in the City of Glass, but most of it would be recorded in some way. If one wanted to be really secretive, obviously, one traded overland. Maybe the princes and spies came in through this place via sea and then went the rest of the way overland to avoid being detected by the harbour authorities. That was a chilling thought. The fledgling Knight Council was failing badly at covering all aspects of the security of the City of Glass and Aranians had found many ways in. It was something that he would have to address urgently when he got back . . . and probably would not have the manpower for. How could a small nation cope after more than half its population had been wiped out, and half of the survivors had chosen never to return? Even twenty years after the disaster, there were never enough people to get anything done in the City of Glass. Rider Nallayo had found and lit a lamp. The lamp’s metal construction with the clear glass shade was of Aranian origin, and so was the book that lay next to it. A door was in the back of the warehouse, underneath shelves containing nets and crayfish pots and other fishing gear—most of it dusty. The door led to a second storage area, with shelves all around containing neat boxes labelled with Aranian script. “It’s warm in here,” one of the Knights behind Isandor said. He was right. Coming in from outside, it was really warm in this room, but there was no obvious source of the heat. From that room, Rider Nallayo led the group into a hallway to a residential section of the building. There were rooms with beds on both sides and a large kitchen at the end. All of this hadn’t been used for quite some time, judging by the amount of dust on tables and shelves. It was surprisingly warm in here, also. They passed a living room with couches. This room had a window on the far side, which, when Rider Nallayo lifted the blind, turned out to be one of the two windows they had seen from outside. The second window belonged to an office next door—a large room, with a desk, and shelves with boxes of files or archives. Isandor looked around this room. Something in here made him feel uneasy, but he would probably need to pull things off shelves to know what it was. It wouldn’t be a quick investigation. “Well,” Rider Nallayo said, standing outside the door to this room. “It’s very odd. What would they do here?” “It looks like some sort of storage and administration office,” one of the Knights said. “This place gives me the creeps,” the scout said. Isandor agreed. Rider Nallayo said, “I don’t understand why it’s so warm in here. There is no fire.” “The chimney hasn’t been used for a while.” In fact, Isandor had noticed only one fireplace, and it wasn’t a fireplace as such: it was the cooking fire in the kitchen. This place didn’t appear to use any fires for heating. While the Knights talked about the possible purpose of the building, Isandor walked around a second time. In one of the rooms off the side, he found a little door to a storage room—empty—where it was even warmer than in the rest of the building. “Something in the ground warms the building,” he told the Knights, and several agreed, also looking disturbed. They went on a hunt for further doors that led into the hill and found a narrow door in the back of the second storeroom behind the one where the truck stood. The door—made of metal, and rusty—was locked, but the scout made short work of the lock. The door creaked when he pushed it open. It was very thick and heavy and as he pushed it, a bubble of golden fire burst out. Rider Nallayo took a step back and trod on the toes of the Knight behind her. “Whoa!” “What?” that Knight asked, looking slightly put out. Isandor knew. He could see the golden strands, but because they belonged to the Pirosian clan, most of the Knights could not see it. “Icefire,” Rider Nallayo said, for the benefit of those who couldn’t see it. “Well, it seems we may have located the source of icefire patches on the coast,” Isandor said. One of the Knights said, “Why would the Aranians build this on top of an icefire source? Doesn’t icefire kill Aranians?” Rider Nallayo snorted. “Maybe that’s why there is no one here.” Maybe, Isandor thought, the noble Perian families built this here because no one else could come to this building. He stepped into the narrow passageway beyond the door. It was rough underfoot, with the walls hewn into the rocky ground and sloped down into the earth. The strength of icefire strands almost blinded him. He had to use his hands to guide him along the wall. After a while, the passage opened into an underground cavern where the air was warm and humid. A basin in the middle of the cavern steamed bubbling water. To his eye, the water also exuded many golden strands of icefire, which snaked into the air and were absorbed into the rocky walls and ceiling. At least that explained why it was warm in the building. It might even explain why it was so warm in the bay, and the flowers outside. But then again, icefire usually turned the air cold. He peered into the bubbling water, and gestured Rider Nallayo to come over. Even the flame on the lamp she was still holding was doing a strange dance, threatening to break loose of the wick. The Knights were complaining that it was too dark in the room to see where they were going. This was strange, because to Isandor’s eyes, the strands of icefire lit the room with blazing brightness, but it was also further evidence that this was indeed icefire. Rider Nallayo must have a good deal of Thilleian blood, because she was peering into the water. The light from all those concentrated strands lit her face. “Can you see what’s down there?” Isandor asked. “No, but it will be the source of the heat.” Isandor looked around the room. The wall surrounding the basin looked like a recent construction, but the stone paving around it was blackened, worn and covered in moss. He knelt on the ground and scraped some of the moss aside. Underneath, he found the same type of smooth artificial stone that made up the walls in the buildings of the City of Glass. Well, that was interesting. He’d never heard of other places where remnants of the ancient civilisation that had built the City of Glass still survived, although he’d always considered it likely that those places existed. “The floor in this cavern is very old,” he said to Rider Nallayo. “What’s the basin for?” she asked. Isandor rose. “I don’t know. Cooling the device, maybe. I don’t think anyone comes close to understanding why these people made machines that kill.” “Or why some of us have resistance to it.” He nodded, looking at the bubbling water. “I’ve never seen this before. The machine we called the Heart made the City of Glass a cold place. Since it has been destroyed, our weather has become so much warmer. This one produces heat. I thought icefire was cold, but here it is, lighting the cave.” Rider Nallayo also nodded, staring at the glowing surface of the bubbling pool. She offered no theories of her own—Isandor had found that Knights were highly practical and wondered about “what” and “how” much more than about “why”. So of course she said, “What are we going to do about it?” “Eventually, the machine down there needs to be destroyed.” “Do you know how?” “No, but the Brotherhood of the Light will be able to advise us.” Rider Nallayo pressed her lips together. Most Knights didn’t like the Brotherhood, an ages-old organisation steeped in tradition and knowledge dating from before the time of King Caldor. Isandor didn’t trust them either. They were probably more closely aligned with the nobles than the Knight Council, but they were an important source of knowledge about icefire. They decided that the building was safe enough for them, as natives of the City of Glass who were naturally resistant to higher levels of icefire, to spend the night in its relative comfort and warmth. The kitchen store held a variety of grains, and together with fish caught from the jetty, the Knights fashioned a decent meal. It was nice to sit at a proper table again. After dinner most men retired to the bedrooms, where they rolled out their blankets over the musty mattresses. Isandor, however, felt too restless to sleep. He took the light and wandered into the office. He pulled the archive boxes off the shelf, looking for clues to the purpose of this place, as well as for something he could read. He knew the Aranian characters, but only recognised a few words here and there. Those words, like duty and delivery and tax seemed to indicate that this was some kind of freight handling office. But why have it in the middle of nowhere on top of an icefire source? The first reason—easy heating—seemed obvious. A second reason might be to disinterest intruders. But then why was all this documentation in Aranian and not Perian? He leafed through the papers again, mainly invoices and bills of transport. What did they transport and who were the recipients of it? Isandor spent some time trying to decipher the writing on one particular page. Not because it was different from the rest, but because he had to start somewhere. He cursed himself that all the Knighthood’s Aranian speakers had gone on the previous missions and none had been available for this one, or at least none who had skills with eagles. If he was correct, the top section identified the transport company, underneath that was the name of the sender or recipient. The row of numbers with items spelled out was easy, if only he could read what sort of items had been sold or bought. The next page repeated that pattern. The top ones identified the transport company. And it said . . . it said . . . something like Waifei Farlong Curack . . . if he was correct. In the end, he grew so frustrated that he grabbed a handful of the papers and stuck them into his saddlebag. He’d ask someone at home. But when he closed the flap on the saddlebag, his hand met with something else: the Chevakian sonorics meter. He pulled it out. The little dial said forty motes per cube. What? That was slightly elevated, and probably not terribly healthy for a Chevakian, but there was no way it could be correct, sitting right on top of an icefire source. He walked down the corridor, into the storage room and through the little door into the cavern with the water basin. Icefire was so strong here that he needed no light to show him the way. The basin and the boiling water inside it glowed with light, and the golden strands were so bright that he could barely see where he was going. At the edge of the basin, he looked at the dial again. It had dropped to zero.