The Secrets of the Moonstone Heir: Book One of The Scale Seekers Page 4

  Desert Rain started, her brow furrowed in confusion. “No, that can’t be right—“

  “Judging from all these artifacts, this might have once been a shrine of the Secret Sacroth.”

  Desert Rain’s blood ran cold. The Court of the Secret Sacroth was considered perhaps the least troublesome of the Three Wretched Courts, but they were nonetheless evil—keepers of enchanted relics and masters of hypnotic power. The thought that Skyhan would think such a thing…that he would confuse the presence of Grandma Luna for evil…

  “No, no!” Desert Rain shouted. “It has nothing to do with demons! You’re wrong, absolutely wrong!”

  Swordmaster Skyhan narrowed his eyes at Desert Rain, remaining icily still.

  Desert Rain was torn. She swallowed hard, and then stated, “Forgive me. It was rude of me to yell at you.”

  Skyhan frowned. “Perhaps I am the rude one. You have not been tainted by these objects. I should have seen by your good soul that such things do not affect you. These relics are in your home – it is your choice to keep or dispose of them.”

  Desert Rain smiled. “So there’s nothing to worry about?”

  Swordmaster Skyhan made a small nod, and sheathed his sword. “We don’t need to talk of it anymore.” He turned to leave the room.

  Desert Rain let him walk a few paces before saying, “You must think ill of me.”

  He stopped, turning back to her. He put on the warmest smile Desert Rain had ever dreamed of seeing. “I could never think ill of one who has been good to me, on more than one

  occasion.” He then made his way back up the steep tunnel path.

  Desert Rain stood puzzled for a minute. She followed Skyhan back to the upper burrow.

  “What did you mean, about me being good to you?” Desert Rain asked as she served Skyhan a bowl of stew.

  Skyhan took the bowl, but didn’t drink until Desert Rain was seated and lifted her own bowl to her lips. “You have been more than hospitable, for receiving an unexpected visitor.”

  “No, you said I had been good to you on more than one occasion. What did you mean?”

  Skyhan raised his eyebrows. “The last time we met. Don’t you remember?”

  Desert Rain’s breath stopped in her throat. It was not that she didn’t remember, it was that he did. “I…I think so, but I don’t quite remember when or where.”

  “It was by Syphurius. I had gone to see my sister. The town’s people were in the middle of some ritual…the Rite of Roses, I believe. Does that sound right?”

  Desert Rain nodded.

  “Perhaps the reason I remember it all was because of the smell of all those roses scattered about. It filled the air all across the valleys. I chose…a white rose, and stuck it in my belt. I was leaving the town, and a short ways down the road, I turned back, and there you were. You had my rose in your hand. It must have slipped out of my belt. You were so kind to return my rose. How could I forget that?”

  Desert Rain felt something monumental swelling up inside her. She looked down into her bowl of stew, focusing on a chunk of beetle floating on the surface.

  “Have I said something wrong?” Skyhan asked.

  “No, I just can’t believe that you—”

  Desert Rain stopped when Skyhan gave a sudden start. He was staring wide-eyed at something behind Desert Rain. She turned to look.

  A Wretched was standing in the doorway.

  CHAPTER THREE

  How Desert Rain Met Ayu

  Swordmaster Skyhan’s gray-blue eyes burned into the demon. The Wretched was truly a shocking sight, a staggering eight-foot-tall hulk stained in indigo—although he would have looked even taller if not for his hunched-over stance. His broad, scale-covered back had three trails of cobalt-blue ridges racing from the nape of his neck down to his two serpentine tails. From his body grew arms and legs of raw muscle that could have cleanly uprooted an elder tree, and a triangular, leathery head sprouted from his thick, vein-riddled neck. His glassy yellow eyes were set in a reptilian face, the snout exhaling something putrid through flaring nostrils. Two stumpy black horns jutted out from his temples, right above his pointed ears. Protruding from the lips, which stretched almost all the way back to the horns, were two tusks that curved around towards the tip of his nose. A tangled blue mane flourished from his head and across his shoulders in an imperial crest. His obsidian claws looked like they could slice through stone like warm bread. This titan, this horrific colossus of brawn, claw and tooth, stood there in the doorway, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

  “Ayu, there you are.” Desert Rain rose, making glances back and forth between the demon and the Knight. “I was beginning to wonder when you would be back. I was hoping you weren’t going to stay out by the oasis forever. You were starting to make me worry.”

  Apparently, Skyhan had not heard this friendly greeting. He drew Silverheart forth as well as a scimitar. Without a word, he prepared to charge on the beast. The Wretched’s eyes widened, all of his senses targeting this new threat.

  “Skyhan, wait!” Desert Rain blocked the warrior’s path. “He’s not dangerous. He’s—”

  “He’s a Wretched!” Skyhan bellowed. “Can’t you see he bears the mark of Darkscale on him?”

  “I know,” Desert Rain replied, well aware of the markings on Ayu, three water waves over a tongue of flame, on each side of his chest. “I know what he is. He’s my…” She fished for the right term. “He’s my burrowmate.”

  Skyhan stared at her in disbelief. He was truly speechless for a minute. “You desire to bring such dishonor and ruin on yourself?” he finally inquired.

  “Swordmaster, please don’t speak like that. Look, Ayu wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She walked over to the demon, patting his scaly nose gently. The monster relaxed at this, the menace in his eyes fading. “See? He’s harmless.”

  “You cannot let his tricks deceive you. If you are truly as noble and good as you have led me to believe, you will not protect him. You will let me do what I must do.”

  Ayu shielded Desert Rain with a massive arm and lowered his head, snarling at Skyhan. The Knight was stunned—it was as if the monster was defending her.

  “Ayu, it’s fine. This is Swordmaster Skyhan. He’s a good man. He was surprised to see you.” Desert Rain rubbed Ayu’s arm soothingly, and the monster lowered it. “Sir Skyhan, please don’t think poorly of us. Ayu is in my care. He’s my friend. I’ll make sure he never bothers anyone. He’ll stay here with me, away from everyone else.”

  Skyhan froze for a long moment, and lowered his swords. He looked the demon over for a moment. Granted, the demon looked somewhat sickly, despite its intimidating bulk. It hadn’t even emitted enough dark energy for Skyhan to have sensed it coming. It was as if the demon was not…complete. Yet that horrendously twisted face filled Skyhan with loathing.

  “Permit me to talk to you, in private,” he requested.

  Desert Rain nodded, and then said something to Ayu in a guttural voice. Ayu looked at her, then back at Skyhan, and reluctantly disappeared from the room.

  “You can speak to that…to him?” Skyhan asked, sheathing his blades.

  “Yes, and he can understand most of what we said.” She looked up at him, her eyes full of pleading. “Please don’t kill him. I know you don’t understand. No one would understand. But if he was evil and dangerous, I wouldn’t be alive right now, would I?”

  Swordmaster Skyhan regarded her words with steady patience, and after a minute of quiet asked her, “You truly believe you can keep him here?”

  Desert Rain did not answer right away. “He hasn’t wished to go elsewhere. I mean, he has become fond of going out to the small oasis over the dunes, but he’s never gone farther than that. Promise me you won’t tell anyone about him. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

  Skyhan went over to her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me. He is a Wretched. He will never be family to you. I can sense he is not as strong as other demons, bu
t even a lion on its deathbed can still bite. Anything that presents a danger to you, to anyone, I must inform the Council.”

  “You know what they’ll say! They don’t know Ayu. They’ll execute him!”

  Skyhan let out a frustrated sigh. “What would you have me do? You cannot expect me to ignore this. I know what these Wretched are capable of. Even with your powers…” He trailed off, as if realizing something. Desert Rain guessed that, as he had never seen her use magic, he was questioning what her powers were, or if she even had any.

  “Swordmaster, please…” Desert Rain squared her shoulders, standing up straight and firm. “I can take care of myself. I have, all these years. I will always come to you if I’m in danger or need your help. But, if you trust me as a fellow Hijn, if you uphold the Knights’ code to not harm those who intend no harm, then I ask you, to respect my decision, and to

  respect both me and Ayu. The best way to do that is to leave us in peace, out here, where no one will find us.”

  Skyhan paused, taking in the bright green glare of Desert Rain’s eye, before responding. “I respect you. I will not tell anyone of this, if that is what you wish. But understand that I cannot simply act like he doesn’t exist. You have my sword ready to defend you if he should turn on you, Desert Rain.”

  Desert Rain nodded, but then snapped her gaze up at him. “You remember my name?”

  “For some time I did. I had to ask Clova Flor to remind me after a while. It seems like every time I could go to a meeting or celebration with our Hijn brethren, you weren’t there. I think the last time we were at a gathering with all the Hijn was when Mage Skyhan introduced you to us. It was nice to have a new face in the council.”

  Desert Rain blushed. “I remember that, vaguely. I don’t really go to those gatherings anymore.”

  Skyhan removed his hand from her shoulder. “I should be on my way. There is much I need to do. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “As all right as I’ve always been,” she replied.

  He pulled a small compass from one of his pouches. It was full of water, the needle bobbing about aimlessly. He put it away, looking up at Desert Rain. “Which way is Ulomin?”

  “Northeast. More north than east.” She pointed the direction, although she realized it probably looked silly giving the direction underground instead of outside.

  Swordmaster Skyhan made a small bow of thanks. He went over to the corner of the room where he had left his armor, and he reattached it piece by piece. He walked into the hall, where Ayu was standing. The demon stared blankly at Skyhan. Skyhan gave him a sideways glance, trying to appear nonchalant, and he climbed the steps out of Desert Rain’s home. He turned back to look at her, departing with, “Remember, Desert Rain, you have friends.”

  Desert Rain climbed the steps, and watched Skyhan walk off a ways across the sands. She verified silently that he was headed the right way, and then she walked back down and sat on the bottom step.

  Ayu made a sound like a wounded tiger.

  “Hmm?” She looked up at him. “Oh, I’m all right.”

  Ayu walked over to her, nuzzling her arm with his thick nose.

  “Okay, I’ll make you something to eat. There’s the stew.” She arose, patting his head. She started towards the kitchen, but looked back at him. “I forgot how nice it is to have guests,” she commented, then walked off.

  Ayu turned his head towards the burrow exit. He growled deeply.

  ***

  How Ayu came to live with Desert Rain was a page of her past that still perplexed her. It had all been triggered by an unusual guest even stranger than Swordmaster Skyhan.

  It was roughly a year ago, on a normal day when Desert Rain was returning home after scouting for vegetation by the oasis. As she approached, she saw a little figure – a man? - standing by her front door. He was clothed in a robe with a hood, much like a mountain monk, but whereas a normal monk would wear a green or sienna robe, this one wore black. Donning the color black was not always an indication of a practitioner of the dark arts, but it seemed odd to Desert Rain that one would come to the desert wearing the absolutely wrong color. Black soaked up more of the sun’s rays, instead of reflecting them like the color white.

  The figure had drawn aside the tarp covering Desert Rain’s front entrance, and was peering curiously down the steps into the burrow. Desert Rain approached him silently, surprised by the figure’s short stature, for it stood as high as her waist. She guessed that this was a young Yopeis-Gichen, for they were the shortest of the Noble Races.

  “Are you lost?” she asked as she came within audible range of the figure.

  The figure turned its head towards her. Desert Rain could not see the person’s face, but a long white beard fell out from the hood, the straggly hair almost touching the ground.

  “I can’t be lost, if I’m not headed anywhere,” the old man said. “But I was wondering if the master of this home might be kind enough to give a weary old timer a place to sit out of the sun.”

  “The master of this home is actually a mistress, and that’s me,” Desert Rain replied with a smile.

  The figure was silent for a beat. “You’ll do,” was all he said.

  Desert Rain led him inside, sat him down in the kitchen and fetched him a cup of cactus milk. The old man observed the cup at first, asking, “This wouldn’t be goat’s milk, would it?”

  “No, it’s from the cacti. Goats are in short supply around here,” Desert Rain chuckled.

  This satisfied the old man, who took the cup and sipped. His hand was small and fragile, and covered in a light coating of white hair. “You’re a nice young lady. Such hospitality shouldn’t go unrewarded.”

  “No, it’s all right. You don’t have to—“

  The old man held up a hand for silence. From out of the sleeves of his robe, he began to pull out various knick-knacks: bottles of brilliant pigments, jeweled pins, ribbons, paper flowers, palm-sized ceramic dolls, silver chimes, and even a tiny green bird in a cage of reeds. “Take your pick of anything you’d like.”

  Desert Rain was fascinated, and suspicious. It a wonder how so many objects could fit up those sleeves, but it was also as if this array of trinkets was specifically customized to her tastes. “Do you always carry such things around in your sleeves?”

  “One never knows when he might meet a lovely lady who will bestow kindness on him.”

  Desert Rain knew this man was up to no good. He had patronized her with the term “lovely.” “What I mean is, would these objects be different had you found courtesy with someone else, someone with different likes?”

  The old man made a soft chortle. “You fancy me a sorcerer, do you?”

  “Not quite. If you are what I think you are, I wonder what you’re doing so far from the Inbetween.”

  Desert Rain was not sure how she knew that this man was a Trickster. He could have been a simple magician, and yet she recognized him as one of the outcasts who dwelled within the uncharted territories between the northern and the southern Noblelands—thus why the wildwood was called the “Inbetween.” These Tricksters were creatures who had abilities similar to spellcasters, but their illusions were infinitely more alluring, for Tricksters had the sense of knowing any individual’s dreams and desires, and they took extreme pleasure out of exploiting such desires for personal amusement. Seeing as how no one knew much about her, and certainly not what she liked, Desert Rain assumed this man had that special sense belonging to the gifted pranksters.

  The man was silent for a moment, and then began to snicker. It developed into a brazen laugh, the meek aged voice becoming young and light. Suddenly, the man threw aside his

  robe, and revealed himself to be a great deal taller than he had first presented himself to be. In fact, he was now a foot taller than Desert Rain. He also stood upon two hoofed feet, and displayed a pair of large spiraled horns atop his head. Frosty white fur enwrapped his body, which was attired in clothing of equal whiteness: a gold-trimmed vest over a fr
illed shirt, satin pants with gold buttons down the sides, and a pair of silk gloves. His golden waistcoat fitted him perfectly, and from his curled ivory locks sprang two pointed ears. Even though he was upright like a man, Desert Rain was staring speechlessly into the face of a smiling, and very prim, goat.

  “Allow me to introduce myself.” The goat-man gave her a deep theatrical bow. “The Great and Glorious Gothart Grandwitt, of the famous House of Grandwitts.”

  “I had no idea I was in the presence of a celebrity,” Desert Rain said, although she had never heard of the name Grandwitt before. “I’m Deser—”

  “That’s nice,” Gothart interrupted without interest, and he tossed his black robe to her. “Be a dear and do something with that, won’t you?” He proceeded to scrutinize her abode, running a finger along her kitchen shelves. “Hmm, amazing what one can do with a house made entirely out of sand and dust. This place screams wasteland rustic.”

  Desert Rain now remembered why she normally did not have guests to her home. She started to fold Gothart’s robe when she felt something bulky inside. From one of the inside pockets slipped a magenta-colored pouch, and Desert Rain managed to catch it before it fell to the floor. She could feel something round and smooth inside the pouch, but before she could get even the slightest glimpse inside, Gothart plucked it out of her hand.

  “Uh uh uh, not for curious hands such as yours,” he chided playfully. “This is for important business matters with a friend.” He was about to slide the pouch up his frilly sleeve, when he paused and gave Desert Rain a wry grin. “Unless you might have something that would interest me in a trade.”

  “If that’s for your friend, why would you consider trading it with me?”

  “Let’s say, I’m not sure this friend of mine will hold up to his half of the bargain. He’s not all-together trustworthy.”

  “Well, then I can see you and your friend have much in common.”

  Gothart smiled. “And you have a sense of humor to boot! How delightful.” He went over to her and poked at the moonstone on her forehead. “I don’t suppose that comes off, does it?”