Julia Gray - Guardian 01 - The Dark Moon

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Prologue

It was a night when mountains ground their teeth, when islands moved like

ships and the oceans boiled.

The birth of the Emperor's son had been prophesied many years before, but the

court seers and advisors had left nothing to chance. The maiden selected to be

the Emperor's seventh wife had been carefully chosen - from a noble family

whose fecundity was legendary - and the required conception had been timed

precisely nine median months in advance of the appointed day. All subsequent

omens had been meticulously monitored and taken into account as the pregnancy

progressed, and every contingency had been catered for. The midwives and

physicians came equipped with potions that would induce labour if prayers

alone proved ineffective.

In the event, and to the seers' delight, such measures were not required. The

Seventh Empress of the Floating Islands knew her duty, and her young mind

ordered her body into action.

Shortly before midnight on the fateful day, the Emperor's son was born. He was

a plump and strangely placid baby, who had to be coaxed into uttering his

first cry, but who nonetheless appeared physically normal. This came as

something of a relief, as many legends had spoken of strange and hideous

defects in children born when the multiple lunar influence was at its

strongest.

All those present were happily congratulating themselves on their success in

fulfilling the prophecy when the all but forgotten Empress screamed again,

signalling that her confinement was not over. The birth had been predicted by

augury. What had not been foreseen was the fact that there would be two

imperial children born that night.

Adina's second son could not have presented a greater contrast to his twin. He

was tiny, his skin mottled with purple as if it were bruised, and he screamed

incessantly - without the need of any prompting - from the moment he came into

the world. Worse still, his right arm was withered - the hand little more than

a tiny, grotesque claw - and his right leg was twisted so that the foot was

bent back upon itself.

Dazed from pain and exhaustion, the Empress stared at the baby as he lay

howling in the arms of a nervous midwife. No one knew what this unexpected

arrival portended, least of all Adina, but she understood instinctively that

it was up to her to dispel the cloud of uncertainty that now hung over the

previously joyful occasion.

'Show him to me.' Although her voice was hoarse and weary, the tone of command

was unmistakable.

In spite of her own fears, the midwife held out the baby to the Empress. When

Adina saw the full extent of his deformities, she could not hide the look of

revulsion on her face. She made no move to take the child, and the midwife

hesitated, waiting to be told what to do next. It was at that moment that the

baby chose to open his eyes for the first time, falling silent at last as he

gazed at his mother's face. It was Adina's turn to scream.

'Take it away!' she shrieked. 'Take it away!'

As her attendants hurried to obey, wrapping the baby in a swaddling cloth and

carrying him to the far side of the room, the Empress fought to regain her

composure.

'Get that thing out of my sight,' she grated. 'And bring me my son.'' In that

instant she made it clear to everyone present that, in her mind, she had only

one son - and the observers took their cue from her. The senior midwife

brought the elder twin to the bedside, while minions cleared away the bloody

sheets and tried to restore a semblance of normality to the scene. Adina

cradled the child, looking at him with eyes that were full of relief as well

as love.

'This is my son,' she whispered. 'This is my son.'

In the antechamber where most of the court seers were gathered, the news that

the Empress had given birth to twins was greeted with exclamations of

disbelief. Their consternation increased when they learnt of the second boy's

defects, and of the Empress's reaction to them. The hurried and anxious debate

that followed was led, naturally enough, by Mirival, the Chief Seer. As the

Emperor's closest advisor, he knew it would be his duty to report the

unexpected event to his lord, but before he did so he needed a plausible

explanation. In particular he had to explain the failure of their augury.

Mirival prided himself on the fact that no one in all Vadanis knew more about

the Tindaya Code, but his many readings of that ancient text had found

absolutely no mention of twins. He had never even considered such a

possibility, and nor had any of his fellow astrologers. How could their

science have failed them so drastically, especially when their other

predictions had all proved to be so accurate?

Mirival looked around at his colleagues, seeing his own fears reflected in

their frowning eyes, and knew that they too were at a loss.

'Theories, gentlemen?' he prompted, without any real hope.

'There's nothing in the Code to even suggest-' 'I'm aware of that,' Mirival

snapped. 'We've a great deal of work ahead of us, trying to seek out what

we've missed, but that will have to wait. What I need right now is a way to

present this to Dheran - and to the people.'

There was a long, awkward silence, as each of the seers contemplated just how

foolish they were going to appear.

'Do the people have to know?' Kamin suggested timidly.

Mirival was about to tell his deputy not to be so stupid, but then he held his

tongue, considering the idea.

'Should we not take our lead from the Empress?' Fauria enquired. 'Women's

instincts do not contain the logic of astrology, but they cannot always be

dismissed lightly. If Adina disowns the second boy, we can surely do the

same.' 'Exactly,' Kamin said, more confident now that he had received some

support from a fellow seer. 'Hide him away somewhere safe, and no one need

know he even exists.'

'But the midwives will gossip, like all servants,' Shahan pointed out. He was

the eldest of the group - and some said the least imaginative. 'We won't be

able to silence all the rumours.'

'There will be some practical difficulties,' Mirival conceded thoughtfully.

'But silence can be bought or enforced if necessary.' He was beginning to warm

to the idea. Keeping the second birth secret could save much embarrassment.

Plans were already forming in his calculating mind.

'We'll still have our Guardian,' Fauria said. 'His destiny can unfold as

planned.'

'And there's every likelihood that the second infant will die soon anyway,'

Kamin added. 'He's clearly crippled, and who knows what damage may have been

done to his internal organs.'

'Including his brain,' Fauria put in.

They paused again as the implications of that remark sank in.

'It would do the Emperor's standing no good if it were to become known that he

had sired an imbecile,' one of the other seers observed.

'Seal the doors!' Mirival cried, suddenly decisive. 'No news, nothing at all,

leaves these rooms without my express approval.' As guards hurried to obey his

orders, he lowered his voice again and looked round at his colleagues. 'I will

speak to everyone here before they leave the palace, to ensure their

cooperation, but right now I must talk to Dheran. We can't hide the truth from

him.' Much as I'd like to, he added silently. 'So, what should I tell him?'

Shahan, who had been silent throughout the discussion, his disapproval

evident, now spoke again.

'Perhaps the second boy could actually be considered a blessing,' he said,

then hurried to explain in the face of the incredulity displayed by his

colleagues. 'Perhaps he was there to absorb the malign influences of the

conjunction, so that his twin might be saved from any such afflictions and

become the hero we all desire. Perhaps his role was to protect the Guardian.'

The old man watched as his fellow seers absorbed this idea, noting the

eagerness that crept into their expressions, and wondered whether he actually

believed his own theory.

'Coming from anyone else,' Mirival responded, smiling,

'I would take that as superstitious nonsense. From you it carries the stamp of

authority.' And it'll certainly be good enough for Dheran, he thought

privately. Dress it up in some suitably oracular language and he'll swallow it

whole.

'It's almost midnight, sir,' a deferential voice reminded him.

Mirival nodded.

'Everyone is to remain where they are until I return,' he informed the

gathering. 'It is time for my audience with the Emperor.'

Dheran was engrossed in a game of chaikra when Mirival entered the room. A

glance at the board told the seer that the Emperor's position was hopeless,

and that any competent opponent would force a win in a few moves. However, he

also knew that Remi, the young courtier who was Dheran's adversary, would

prolong the game for some time - and perhaps even contrive to lose, in spite

of his clearly superior skill. That boy will go far, Mirival thought, as the

young man looked up expectantly.

Dheran made the move that he had evidently been considering for some time,

then glanced up at his advisor.

'Is it over?'

'Yes, Your Majesty. The Empress has delivered you a healthy son, exactly as

prophesied.'

'Excellent.'

'Congratulations, sire,' Remi said.

'May I speak with the Emperor alone for a few moments, please.'

Although it had been phrased as a request, Remi was more than capable of

recognizing an order when he heard one. He rose and left the room quickly, but

in such a graceful manner that there was never any suggestion of haste in his

movements. Mirival waited until the door closed softly behind him before

speaking again.

'There was, however, one slight complication.'

'How is Adina? Is she well?' Dheran asked, genuine concern in his dark eyes.

'The Empress is in perfect health, although naturally tired and overwrought,'

the seer replied, marvelling at the fact that Dheran actually cared for his

seventh wife.

'Then what . . . ?'

'There was a second son,' Mirival said bluntly.

The Emperor stared at the seer in amazement. 'Twins? How can that be?'

'Fate has seen fit to present us with a mystery,' Mirival replied, 'but I can

at least offer one possible explanation.' He went on to describe the second

baby's abnormal appearance, and then expounded Shahan's theory about the

infant's acting as a shield against astrological influences.

'So the child split in two?' Dheran asked. 'Good and evil, so to speak?'

'You could put it that way.'

'That should make the Mentor's job easier, eh?' the Emperor commented, smiling

at his own cleverness.

'Quite so, Your Majesty,' Mirival agreed affably, though he knew it could not

possibly be that simple. 'However, it does present us with something of a

problem concerning the second child. Because he has already served his

purpose, we must decide what to do with him.'

'Ah,' Dheran responded, and frowned to show that he was giving the matter

serious thought. 'I see what you mean. What do you suggest?' After that it was

easy.

At the hour of midnight all the bells in the city of Makhaya began to ring in

celebration of the birth of the long-awaited imperial heir, and also to honour

the alignment of the four moons of Nydus in the sky above. The streets were

thronged with people eager to witness this rare event, something that only

occurred every seventy-five years and thus only once in most people's

lifetimes. This was a night when fates collided, when great events were bound

to happen, when history would be made, and everyone wanted to be a part of it.

Not even the near-certain threat of earth tremors would keep the onlookers in

their homes.

News of the birth of Adina's son was already spreading throughout the city as

the crucial moment arrived. As everyone looked upwards, the thin crescents -

which were all that was visible of the Red, White and Amber moons -grew

thinner still. Then, at the exact moment of conjunction, they disappeared

altogether behind the Dark Moon, the 'sky shadow' that was completely

invisible because it reflected no light. Its observers only knew it was there

because it hid the stars beyond and occasionally produced eclipses of the sun

or, as now, its fellow moons.

The sky became a deeper black and the distant stars shone brighter as the

whole world seemed to hold its breath. For a few moments the earth beneath

their feet shook, as the islands began to change course, but most people

hardly noticed. And then, as if by magic, the mirror images of the three

crescents appeared in the sky, growing brighter and more substantial as the

stately ballet of the heavens continued - and Makhaya's bells rang out in

earnest.

Inside the palace the clamour of the celebrations could barely be heard, and

the mood was far more serious. The impact of Mirival's words had been

undeniable and - looking round the room at all the solemn faces - he felt a

small measure of hope. We might just pull this off, he thought.

Against all the odds, it might work. No one had asked what was to happen to

the unwanted baby.

'One final thing,' the seer went on. 'I don't need to tell you how serious

this matter is, nor how vital it is that our trust, both the Emperor's and

mine, is not betrayed.' He had no need to emphasize just how important the

events of the night were likely to be in deciding the future of the Floating

Islands. Everyone present was aware of the importance of the arrival of the

Guardian. 'No one outside this room, except for the imperial family

themselves, must ever know of what we have witnessed here tonight. If our

secret is revealed, you can be sure that I will discover the traitor - and

that they and their family will be exiled.'

This barbaric threat had the desired effect. Duty would now be reinforced with

fear - and if a few unsubstantiated rumours did persist, they could easily be

dismissed as superstition. Mirival was already thinking ahead to the first

public appearance of Dheran, Adina and their new son - their only son.

'I know I can rely on you all,' he concluded, allowing himself to smile. 'Now

you are free to go about your normal duties - and to celebrate with the rest

of Vadanis.' I, on the other hand, still have work to do, he thought grimly as

he turned away and headed for his own quarters.

The city's revels lasted until dawn, and long before they were over the final

part of Mirival's plan had been put into action. No one paid any attention to

the unmarked carriage that slipped from the city under cover of darkness, and

by the time the sun rose it was many leagues away.

Apart from the driver, the coach carried a man and a woman. In the woman's

arms lay a tiny, misshapen baby, now wrapped warmly and fast asleep, but his

companions did not know who he was or where he had come from - and knew better

than to enquire. Their instructions had been passed on to them by people it

would be unwise to double-cross, and had been quite specific.

'He's a poor scrap of a thing,' the woman remarked, looking down at the

discoloured face.

'Don't get too attached,' her companion warned her. 'We deliver him as

arranged, nothing more.'

'I know that.' They were both being paid enough to ensure they did not deviate

from their orders. 'What would I be doing with a kid like this, anyway?'

'I'm just saying,' the man replied wearily.

The woman reached up and pulled back the heavy curtains. Early morning

sunlight slanted in, falling across the baby's face. He slowly opened his eyes

- and his temporary nursemaid only just managed to stifle a scream.

Sensing her shock, the man leant over to look for himself - and he too froze

in disbelief. They stared, as if hypnotized, trapped by a mixture of fear and

wonder.

The irises of the baby's eyes had seemed colourless at first, but now, in

daylight, they were like pale diamonds, bright and glittering as if formed by

crystalline facets rather than human flesh - with only a few irregular but

quite brilliant flashes of colour in their seemingly infinite depths. It was

the most unnatural sight either of them had ever seen.

'Moons!' the man whispered. 'No wonder they wanted to get rid of him.'

PART ONE

HAVENMOON

Chapter One

The last thing Terrel saw before the darkness found him again was the White

Moon falling from the sky. The bright disc grew incredibly fast, filling his

vision and threatening to crush him. Yet in his eyes the moon was somehow

flat, like an enormous plate, even though he knew it should be a sphere - but

this just made him feel curious, not afraid.

And then it was gone, extinguished without a trace, and he was enfolded by the

suffocating darkness. Pain reached out with red fingers. He heard the

thunderous rhythm of the sea - the sea in which he swam, but which he had

never seen. Already he felt himself growing smaller.

Terrel recognized this phase of the dream. What had gone before was a

broken-mirror rush of images, some strange and formless, others vaguely

intimate, as if they were memories that belonged to someone else. Although the

images had been real, as only dreams can be real, they had not frightened him.

But what came next, although familiar, almost drowned him in fear. He knew

that when he awoke he would be gasping for air and shivering, his skin cold

and drenched with sweat.

It was not the pain that terrified him. He was used to pain. Nor was it the

thought of drowning. This ocean would always release him. It was not even the

fact that he was blind. His other senses more than made up for that lack. His

fear was caused by the hatred that lay beyond the darkness, beyond the waves

of pain; the remorseless enmity that was driven by something he did not -

could not - understand. He felt it seep into every fibre of his body, like a

slow-acting poison or some vile disease.

He fought against it instinctively, defending himself against his invisible

foe. But the best he could hope for was to survive. He could never win. Like a

hedgehog curling into an ever tighter ball, Terrel was drawing in upon

himself. Drawing in, and drawing in, until there was nothing left.

This - as always - was when he woke up.

'It's odd that it was the White Moon,' Alyssa remarked. 'You'd have thought it

would've been the Amber.'

Terrel sat up, blinking the last of the dream away. Alyssa was sitting,

cross-legged, on, the floor, and for a dazed moment he wondered how she had

got in. Then he saw that the door to his cell stood open, and realized that

he'd slept later than usual. He had not even heard the turnkey making his

rounds.

'Do you think it's a sign of your destiny?' Alyssa went on. 'That's one of the

meanings of the White Moon.'

'To have it fall on my head?' Terrel replied. 'I hope not.'

He no longer found it strange that Alyssa was able to 'see' his dreams. It was

only one of her oddities, after all. When he had asked her about it, she had

said that they floated near him, like a cloud, before they eventually faded

and blew away. No one else could see these clouds, of course, but she had

described his nocturnal visions with such startling accuracy on so many

occasions that doubting her ability was no longer an option. Alyssa could do

this with other people too - with anyone, in fact - but she had learnt not to

speak of what she saw. Her strange talent had got her into trouble too often.

'Did you see anything after that?' Terrel asked. Time didn't mean a lot in

Alyssa's view of dreams, but she knew what he meant, and shook her head.

Terrel hadn't really expected anything else. She always seemed to pick up on

the early, trivial parts of his dreams, but never the end. What she saw was

sometimes embarrassing, sometimes curious, but more often than not it was

merely dull, because it didn't mean anything. He would have welcomed some

insight into the fear, but she would never discuss that. Whenever he'd asked

her about it she simply said that it wasn't really a dream, but was part of

him. That was frustrating, but no amount of coaxing would make Alyssa admit to

anything more, and Terrel had long since given up trying to force the issue.

He wasn't even sure now whether she had anything more to say.

'Do you dream about the Amber Moon?' he asked now. All the moons had their own

characters, their own spheres of influence, and the Amber moved in the realm

of spirits, of intuition - and of dreams.

'I don't know,' she replied. 'I never remember my own dreams.'

'Never?' Terrel exclaimed in surprise, then realized that in all the times

they had talked about dreams, he had never heard her discuss her own

experiences.

Alyssa tipped her head to one side, a habit of hers when she was thinking. It

reminded Terrel of the action of a small bird.

'I remember the feelings sometimes,' she said, 'but never what caused them.'

'You're lucky.' Although his own dreams often faded quickly from his memory,

even when he didn't want them to, some images remained all too clear.

'Maybe that's why I can see other people's.'

'Compensation, you mean?'

'If you say so. You're the one who knows all the big words.'

They were silent for a while then, neither feeling the need to fill the void

with talk. They were nearly always at ease in each other's company. Alyssa

brought a welcome warmth to the room, and Terrel realized that her presence

had enabled him to recover from his nightmare almost instantly. His arm and

leg still ached, but for once he had not woken struggling to catch his breath,

and his skin was not even clammy. At times like this it was easy to imagine

that he loved her.

Terrel had never quite been able to work out his feelings for Alyssa. He had

known her for almost four years now, ever since she had first been brought to

Havenmoon. She had just been a girl then, and because they were - as far as

they knew - the only two inmates of a similar age, their friendship had seemed

natural enough. It had only recently dawned upon Terrel that Alyssa was

female, and thus different from him. His sometimes contradictory emotions when

he was with her confused and embarrassed him, but if Alyssa was aware of any

change in their relationship she gave no sign of it.

At fifteen Alyssa was a year older than Terrel, and at times she seemed the

more mature of the two. Even the signs of her madness - which were real enough

- were

nothing out of the ordinary to her. She dealt with them in a calm, adult

fashion that Terrel could not hope to imitate. Yet at other times she was like

a child, laughing at things that he merely found idiotic, and skipping instead

of walking.

This dichotomy was even echoed in her appearance. As Terrel looked at her now

she seemed perfectly at ease, almost serene. Her shapeless grey shift covered

a body that, while it was as tall as his own, was thin and frail - but which

was now developing in ways that he found disconcerting. He felt somehow

disloyal even thinking about it. In the last year or so her face had become

more finely honed, as if she were growing into her own shape, and Terrel

thought she was beautiful - although he had never mentioned this to anyone,

least of all to Alyssa herself. And yet her deep brown eyes remained

resolutely childlike, so large that the phrase 'wide-eyed innocence' might

have been coined with her in mind. Her hair was another reminder of her

relative youthfulness. It was blonde, the colour of sunlit straw, and cropped

short in ragged, uneven clumps. She cut it herself- one of the few inmates

allowed to do so - and although the results should have been comic, the style

somehow suited her.

However, the most striking thing about Alyssa had nothing to do with her being

caught between childhood and maturity, but was uniquely her own. Not only was

she pale and thin, but there was also something altogether insubstantial about

her, as if she might blow away in the slightest breeze. When she ran, it

sometimes seemed as though she were floating - skimming over the ground like

the ghost of a giant dragonfly. Alyssa's body, like her mind, often seemed

only loosely tethered to the world.

'It isn't in my cell,' she announced now, looking puzzled.

Terrel was not surprised by this unexpected statement. Alyssa often began

conversations in the middle, assuming that her companion had 'heard' her

earlier thoughts on the subject. Many people found this extremely irritating,

but Terrel was used to it, and even enjoyed the challenges it posed.

'Do you think someone might have taken it?' she went on, fingering her left

ear in an abstracted fashion.

'I doubt it.' He already had a good idea of what she was talking about - she

had few enough valued possessions - but he wouldn't spoil the game by asking

her outright. 'Where did you last see it?'

'I took it off before we went to work for Ahmeza yesterday, but I don't know

where I put it.'

Ahmeza was Havenmoon's head cook, a paradoxically stick-like and permanently

angry woman who ruled her steam-filled domain like a tyrant. Terrel and Alyssa

had both been on kitchen duty last evening, a chore they disliked.

'Well, if we don't find it we can always make another,' Terrel said. In fact

he had already decided to make another earring to replace the one Alyssa had

evidently lost. It would make him feel good to give her a present.

'When?' she asked abruptly.

'I don't know yet.'

This answer did not seem to satisfy her.

'I don't feel right without it,' she complained, looking crestfallen and

touching her ear again.

The missing earring - Alyssa only ever wore one - had been made from a small,

twisted piece of wood. She'd carved and polished it herself, and fixed a wire

hook to the top, before making a hole in her earlobe using a tiny nail. The

fact that this hurl and produced a short-lived flow of blood had seemed to

surprise her. Terrel had found her crying, and comforted her as best he could,

cleaning the wound and enlisting the help of one of the female warders, who

wore earrings of her own. That had been more than a year ago, and since then

Alyssa had rarely been without her only piece of jewellery.

'It could still turn up,' Terrel consoled her.

'I don't feel right,' Alyssa repeated.

As always, any hint of unhappiness in her face made Terrel want to go to her

aid, to make everything all right for her. There had been so many huge

tragedies in her life that any small ones seemed unbearable to him.

'What about something else?' he suggested. 'Until the new one is ready.'

'What?' she asked, her expression brightening immediately.

'Um . . .' Terrel mumbled, looking around his sparse furnishings for something

he could fashion into a necklace, a ring - anything.

Alyssa fished a tiny piece of twine from her pocket and held it up.

'Could this help?' she asked hopefully.

The string was barely longer than one of her fingers and didn't seem very

promising, but then Terrel had a flash of inspiration. A piece of thread had

come loose from one of the seams of his nightshirt and he pulled this free,

then held out his good hand for the twine. Alyssa gave it to him and watched,

engrossed, as he began to weave them together.

'That too,' she said, pointing.

Terrel twisted round and saw one of his own brown hairs on the pillow. Feeling

rather self-conscious now, he added this third strand to the plait, but then

found he could not tie the necessary knot. He had adjusted to the limitations

of his withered right arm for most things, but such delicate work was beyond

him. He passed it over to Alyssa. Even she found it difficult, with the weave

constantly threatening to unravel, but she succeeded eventually, and held up

the new ring triumphantly.

'You put it on,' she said.

'Which finger?'

'That one,' she replied, indicating the third finger on her left hand.

Alyssa was smiling, looking directly into Terrel's eyes. She was the only one

who ever did that. Even in Havenmoon, where the grotesque was commonplace,

Terrel's eyes were a source of unease for inmates and staff alike. He

understood why, and had developed something of a squint in his efforts to keep

them hidden, but Alyssa actually seemed to like looking into them. And as she

did so now, her own eyes - which could not have been more different from his,

and which often seemed to be the only solid part of her - were as

disconcertingly candid as ever.

Awkwardly, Terrel positioned the ring over the tip of her finger, then rolled

it down until it fitted snugly at the bottom. Alyssa looked at it happily then

glanced up again, smiling mischievously.

'That means you have to marry me now,' she said, and laughed in delight as

Terrel blushed crimson.

Chapter Two

'This stinks!' Elam complained, his voice filled with disgust.

'You don't say,' Terrel muttered.

The two boys had been assigned to mucking out the stables, a job they hated at

the best of times - and these were definitely not the best of times. The day

was hot, even for summer, and so still that there was no breeze to cool them

or lessen the all-pervading stench. Dust from the straw irritated their

throats and made their eyes water - and rubbing their faces with hands that

were already filthy only made matters worse. There were flies everywhere.

'It's not fair,' Elam moaned. 'Why do we get lumbered with all the lousy

jobs?'

Terrel could have told him why, but he was saving his breath - and he knew

that the question had been rhetorical. Life within the madhouse was not fair,

as they both had reason to know. In some ways, however, the two friends were

luckier than many inmates.

'The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get out of here,' he said, lifting

another shovelful of manure from the stall and dumping it into the small cart.

The handle of his spade was wedged under his withered right arm, while his

left hand held the shaft lower down and guided the tool back and forth.

Lifting each new load meant that Terrel had to bend his entire body, then

straighten up and twist to the side in order to reach the cart. To an observer

who did not know of his disabilities this would seem a particularly laborious

method, perhaps even slightly comical, but Terrel was used to it. Even so, it

was heavy work, and he was sweating profusely. Elam was toiling too, each new

effort causing him pain. He would never have admitted it, but Terrel could see

it in the way the other boy moved, in his laboured breathing, and he felt

another jolt of anger at the injustice with which the world had treated both

himself and his friend.

At just ten years of age, Elam had been committed to the madhouse for stealing

potatoes. Although the potatoes in question had been left to rot in a muddy

field, and Elam's family were on the brink of starvation at the time, his

actions had been not only illegal but also in direct contravention of

astrological lore. This stated that all root crops must be sown only when two

or more of the moons were waning, and harvested only when two or more were

waxing. (The opposite was true for crops that grew above ground.) On the night

of Elam's arrest, all three visible moons had been waning - which was why the

potatoes had been left to rot - and this flagrant disregard for the taboo had

angered the authorities. Under imperial law, the boy had been too young to be

imprisoned, but the seriousness of his crime was such that the local

magistrate had ignored the mitigating circumstances and declared him insane -

justifying his own actions by claiming that only an addled brain could have

conceived of such a heinous act.

For the next two years Elam had languished in a cold, damp cell in the lower

reaches of the house, his limbs chained to the walls. His once lithe muscles

had atrophied, and his joints had become stiff and painful. The appointment of

a new Head Warden - who held slightly more enlightened views about heretical

behaviour - meant that Elam was eventually released from this barbaric

torment, but by then the damage was done. Although he had slowly regained some

of his former strength, cold weather or any form of strenuous exercise brought

the pain back, so that he often moved like an old man. When Elam and Terrel

had first met, each had thought the other to be mocking his own graceless

movements, and they had fought as enemies. Gradually, however, as they learnt

the truth, they realized that they had much in common. Their eventual

friendship was all the more devoted because of its troubled beginnings. Now,

three years later, they were like brothers.

'How many more after this one?' Elam asked as they cleared the last of the

soiled straw from the stall.

'Three.'

Elam swore softly, but with feeling. There were usually only a few horses kept

in the stables. Most of the staff who did not live in the house walked to work

across the moor that surrounded the estate. None of them could have afforded

their own mounts anyway. But in the last few days there had been many more

visitors than usual, and their animals required temporary lodgings. Neither

Terrel nor Elam knew who the outsiders had come to see.

'We never get any visitors,' Elam muttered, 'but we still have to clean up

after them!'

One of the things the two boys had in common was that they had both been

abandoned by their respective families. Terrel had never known his, while

Elam's had not lifted a finger to help him since his arrest. In truth there

was little that they could have done, but they had not even tried to contact

him and his resentment was simmering still. His bitterness was compounded by

guilt, partly at having allowed himself to get caught, and partly because he

had no idea what had happened to his family since his incarceration. For all

he knew they might all be dead; in his darkest moods, he almost wished they

were.

'No one would ever want to come here from choice,' Terrel pointed out.

'They're too afraid of us lunatics.'

'Hah! I sometimes think it'd be better if we were mad,' Elam grated. 'They

don't make Old Timi shovel shit, do they?'

Old Timi was one of the most ancient residents of Havenmoon. He had been there

for decades, and his peculiarities were legendary. He claimed to receive

messages from other worlds every time he touched a green leaf or a blade of

grass. He would refuse to eat any meal until some of the food had been smeared

on each wall of the room - which did not endear him to the cleaning details -

and at every full Red Moon he howled like a- wolf and tried to bite anyone who

came too close. As he had no teeth left, he was no real danger, but he could

make a nuisance of himself nonetheless.

Terrel shuddered at the thought of ending up like Old Timi, even though he

knew Elam was not serious, and then banged his spade on the ground as another

wave of anger swept over him. He and Elam were quite clearly sane - a fact

that was tacitly acknowledged by Ziolka, the Head Warden, in the relative

freedom he allowed them - so why should they remain incarcerated in this

dreadful place? But Terrel was under no illusions that whoever had discarded

him as a baby fourteen years ago would return for him now. He was not even

sure he would want them to.

Two of the three remaining stalls were still occupied, which meant spreading

clean straw in new pens and then swapping the mounts over. Terrel left this

task to Elam because his friend was indifferent to horses, having been used to

farm animals in his earlier life. Terrel disliked horses, who grew nervous and

fretful if he came too close. He saw madness in their eyes - and, ironically,

they probably saw something similar in his. Alyssa was the only one who was

quite at home with them. She never rode, but could calm even the most fiery

colt simply by talking to it or stroking its neck. Although he was still

smarting over the trick she had played on him that morning, Terrel wished that

she were there now.

As the two boys went back to work, the warden who had been watching over them

went off duty and was replaced by another. The stables were always guarded,

even though the only way out of the estate with a horse was via the drawbridge

over the moat and then through the only gate in the wall. Because this was

normally kept locked, and the gatekeepers kept a constant watch there, such an

escape was impossible - but nonetheless a close eye was always kept on any

horses in the stables. The new man, whose name was Ingo, strolled over now, a

broad grin on his face.

'Put your backs into it, lads. Got to have the place looking spick-and-span

for tomorrow.'

'You could always lend us a hand,' Elam suggested caustically.

'I'd be glad to,' the warden replied, 'but I'm on duty. Sorry about that.'

'Ha ha.'

'What's happening tomorrow?' Terrel asked.

'Some inspectors are coming,' Ingo informed them. 'From Makhaya. There'll be

changes around here before too long, you mark my words.'

'Yeah, well, when they make you Head Warden, don't forget to put in a good

word for me,' Elam remarked sarcastically.

'Have this lot carted away by the end of my watch, and I might just do that.'

Ingo wandered off again, whistling.

'That self-important clod has as much chance of becoming Head Warden as I do

of being made Emperor,' Elam commented when Ingo was out of hearing. 'I've a

good mind to bury him in a dung heap.'

'And what good will that do?'

'It'll make me feel better. Come on, I want to get this finished. For my sake,

not his.'

Elam was still moaning as they struggled to complete the last stage of their

task. Because neither of them had been able to face the thought of an extra

journey, they had piled the handcart too high, making it even more cumbersome

than usual and difficult to manoeuvre. Even with Elam pulling and Terrel

pushing, their progress was agonizingly slow as they circled round the main

house to the south. Going to the north would have been a much shorter route,

albeit still circuitous, but it would have meant traversing the lower slopes

of the small hill which was topped by the Necropolis - and the appalling

prospect of the cart toppling over sideways.

'You'd have thought the people who built this place would've had the sense to

put the stables and the kitchen gardens close to each other,' Elam grumbled

breathlessly. 'Not on opposite sides of the house!'

The mansion had once been the home of a long-extinct noble family. When their

line had ended, the Havenmoon Estate would have fallen into ruin had it not

been for the need for a remote place to hide away the province's lunatics.

Even the name had suggested such a use.

Havenmoon remained its official title - though the local people had other,

more colourful names for the place - but in common parlance, and with an

unconscious irony, the house was generally referred to as 'the haven'. The

building's aristocratic past was all but forgotten now, but it was this that

accounted for many of its eccentric features. Terrel knew its secrets better

than most; he had spent his entire life there, after all. There were few rooms

or corridors he had not visited at one time or another and - more importantly

- he knew where not to go. Some of the dungeon cells, which had once been wine

cellars, held sights he had no wish to see.

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PrologueItwasanightwhenmountainsgroundtheirteeth,whenislandsmovedlikeshipsandtheoceansboiled.ThebirthoftheEmperor'ssonhadbeenprophesiedmanyyearsbefore,butthecourtseersandadvisorshadleftnothingtochance.ThemaidenselectedtobetheEmperor'sseventhwifehadbeencarefullychosen-fromanoblefamilywhosefecunditywa...

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Julia Gray - Guardian 01 - The Dark Moon

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