The Moon that Shone like Boating Ostriches
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Rhiannon Humble looked at the cursed book in her hands and felt sleepy.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her wild surroundings. She had always loved grand Camborne with its dirty, drab ditches. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sleepy.
With barely enough sun for potatoes planted outside their windows but long hours spent staring out across bleak green fields as far into the distance of memories as she could see—and just lately, she’d been able to go further than that—she had never imagined living anywhere else.
But then Dafydd had arrived one afternoon from Colwyn Bay, claiming that his aunt wouldn’t let him live under her roof because he liked wearing dresses better. Rhiannon told him not to mention this little episode again—or do something really terrible so her parents would take pity upon them both—then did an incredibly stupid thing: invited him along for tea.
What made it worse was when his awful dog chased her cow Bessie, or maybe they were chasing each other; neither ever admitted which role they played in what happened next.
Next morning after breakfast, Dafydd said a dreadful lot of words about the fact that they should keep themselves away from each other’s farms if nothing else, leastways until spring came ’round again, but also because some wicked farmers must have told nasty stories about Daffyd Elgin finding himself mysteriously trapped up here all alone and going mad after looking down on people’s bare feet while hanging on tight to a pole sticking halfway through two rusted fence posts with nails shooting sharp jags all around them on the inside like you’re going insane now’cause your mother has a mind to pull out every single one of those blisters, even though everything gets way more crowded and muggy instead of cool ’cause everyone in Wales is too busy keeping warm this time of year despite a few days where I get soaked by a couple rain showers in between, anyhow,’ which wasn’t how it works exactly—like ever.
Because no farmer or landowner or local lord owns more than five acres worth of anything above ground level, plus the low-roofed, stone buildings spread out all over most places that are either farms or farmhouses and barns are already built everywhere except near valleys, cliffs or hillsides.”
“Then Daphne Jones suddenly turned up and joined in,” Lleu pointed out cheerfully. “But still there wasn’t much of anybody ’til Elliynn Gruffudd showed up three years ago.
He’s got his own horse stabled here in Camborne because my uncle tells me somebody could break a leg on top of falling off in this steep shilly-shally mountainside countryside, so he won’t come over whenever our aunt brings up the subject because his wife died about a month before Ester married Cousin Roddy.
His daughter Dora will be fourteen soonest, and not only does she hate me—but her older sisters do, too.”
Ridiculously delighted at having discovered someone who wanted to spend time with him rather than just speak to him, Dafydd declared that he wanted to stay, right then and there; the housekeeper said we’ll see whether your Auntie Vina knows anyone else without the heartache of losing them afterward, so everyone decided it best to ask Mrs. Parnell herself when she was up country doing visits, especially since almost nobody from anywhere lives within riding distance of Camborne these days.
And once Dafydd asked them politely if they needed help running the estate ‘cus Uncle Rodd was ill in bed somewhere being kept company by Father Owain Glyn Davies, Mother Meg stayed home that day to bake the very special cake which Rhiannon found quite interesting because she’d heard that Daphne made cakes that sounded nearly as good as Rhia, who mostly baked at St. Fagans where she lived with Aiwrth; and the bookseller heard so much complaining from Mama and Daddy during her breaks (although nothing stopped her coming back for lunch), Rhiannon couldn’t be happier unless she went into labor right then.
It wasn’t actually snowing anymore, but she knew winter might’ve started coming in the blink of an eye ‘cos last October, autumn wasn’t nearly done freezing and killing people in the river valley yet, and thinking of Rhia brought another memory tumbling free of all restraint. Back on Saint Day when everybody thought they wouldn’t be getting a proper storm, Rhiannon hid in a storage room waiting patiently for the evening celebration to wind itself down before venturing out to find her fiancé. The building’s fire alarm didn’t seem all that urgent because several elderly priests went tearing past it as though possessed.
“What is happening?” she mused aloud, turning back toward her bedroom. No answer reached her ears. With a groan, Rhia backed away from the wall and set out walking across the kitchen. She hoped none of what was going on would start in the north. And speaking of danger…
Rhiannon sighed, pushing the door open wide enough to slip through. Two guards stood nearby and stiffly stepped aside while Rhio guided her inside. Daffyd and Kethry were already there along with Cunedda and her servant. Not alone. When both looked alarmed, one of the serving maids gestured at something near the ceiling.
Before Rhiannon could guess what might have prompted it, several golden curtains crumpled downward and enveloped her whole body. In fact, those few steps forward had seemed like miles when she first realized how deep into her space everything lay—except she felt no fear or panic.
Yet, there was some indefinable presence as she advanced until she encountered what appeared to be an iron ring in the shape of a hinged U. Without hesitating, she swung up and pulled against it; nothing happened except the rings opened farther upward revealing bright light flooding in beneath it.
Surprised, she tucked her arms around herself instinctively… then did a double take. Somehow, everything outside that curtain became invisible to the other side. Was this magic? And now she remembered why this place scared her. It must be. There was no way such an escape was possible otherwise.
As she stepped away into the void again, a most horrible cry echoed in that hollow cavernous space. Dark shadows danced eerily under the translucent yellow-green glow she’d seen. Too high to reach, she continued on backward in wonderment.
Her steps halted after moving barely three paces when someone grabbed hold of her sleeve. Startled, Rhiannon gasped and yanked free. Then another pair of hands plucked her close. Light spilled over her arm. Terror seared across her chest. Her scream made every man jump.
If anything was ever wrong with him, her outburst reminded the bookseller how lucky he was she hadn’t grown up like the rest of the women in the castle and earned his admiration by becoming strong, quick-witted instead of shrill and flighty. “Rhiannon! You’re bleeding!”
He glared at whoever’d dared touch her, hoping he could kick hard enough. Instead, Cunedda snarled, “The spell…” then raised her voice still higher and continued explaining what had been witnessed: “…and a black shadow lurking in the corner—’tis only you!” She closed the hole behind him as fast and fiercely as a closing oven door. His eyes bulged.
“No,” murmured one of the other men. He clutched his stomach. Another began to shake too. All but Cunedda watched their reactions closely. Then his knees buckled when that ghost came hauntingly into view. Rhie spun.
At her feet, there lay a cloak draped atop a round stone bench whose legs ended just above ground level where she stood now. Or maybe…the vision shifted. A chill raced through her limbs making them tremble. Whatever she saw next passed quickly as swiftly as misty dew drops clinging to grass blades in the early dawn sunlight.
With scarcely more time than that, the entire scene abruptly dissolved and left her feeling somewhat bereft even though the phantom vanished faster.
Breathing hard, Rhion nodded dumbly; realizing there wasn’t much she wanted to say. Fortunately, she had other things on her mind at the moment anyway. Standing closer to her right side, Gwyndor lifted an eyebrow meaningfully; then he pointed a questioning finger at the faint imprints below her bare toes on the floor.
“I see.” Turning slowly from her astonished gaze, he motioned impatiently. “‘Tis plain to me who’s wearing boots now.”
“Odd as I feel about your getting hold of them before they smooshed, it also pleases me to know we are all equally prepared for travel to whatever destination lies beyond that portal—just not sure I want to go,” responded Kethry matter of factly. “Not yet anyway. The mystery seems endless…”
Gwyndor broke in. “If the child would return my weapons, this quest might well turn out less difficult if necessary.” He cast an appealing glance toward Rhio and sighed softly when the girl offered the sword belt back without comment. Kethry nodded. Looking past the young lady to regard Tzadn, Cunedda spoke urgently.
“‘Tis true ’tis unwise to venture into any unknown passage—but without light, our way is dark indeed, Master Bardon. We shall need yours as soon as Rhiannon reaches within it.”
Without glancing his way, the priest muttered quietly and shook a heavy wooden box lightly to test its weight. He met their gazes simultaneously with one of calm patience; then smiled suddenly and said aloud, “It will do nicely since some parts no longer function—as you can plainly see.”
Pushing aside the cover he revealed five more boxes to either side along with a stack of neatly tied bundles secured with several lengths of silk cord each.
Taking down a single bundle, the woman looked inside carefully before extracting a small object wrapped in cloth. This she handed to Gwen and then held onto as Kethry stepped forward holding her staff high between them so both others could clearly make sense of the tiny pentagram pattern etched deep into a crystal surface on the top.
Then turning together, all four faced the open wall. “Dantrag says the boy is alive at least long enough to utter a few words of warning or revelation.” She glanced slyly around. “Maybe once he realizes we’ve actually done what he suggested instead of abandoning his reckless adventure—”
“Actually,” countered Rhio, grinning happily, “you abandoned the expedition yourself because you couldn’t find two sorceresses eager enough to get away from King Kellan for very good reasons.” When Cunedda scowled, the girl laughed loudly and turned bright red; but didn’t move, refusing to relinquish possession until the old wizard bent an apology and promised never again to dare claim superior knowledge regarding the behavior of both children.
Nodding firmly to herself and gritting her teeth against an attempt to suppress further laughter, the bard wiped tears away from the corners of her eyes and then resumed scanning the walls once more. “There’s no telling what sort of danger waits for us beyond that one entrance.
It isn’t always possible to take every precaution.” Careful now to avoid moving anything else by accident, the slender youth balanced on tiptoe near the middle of the hall while scrutinizing the nearest markings as best as he could without his fingertips being pressed uncomfortably into the cold stone beneath.
Almost immediately, his curiosity was rewarded with the sight of the unmistakable rune for life prominently depicted in silver; then another identical symbol drawn deeper within the same runnel marked death, reminding Dantrag that these must be representations of aspects of the human soul.
Not certain of his interpretations, he watched curiously as Tzadn took hold of the centermost passage, gently inserted the point of his rapier, and pushed roughly downward. After half-fumbling twice, the blacksmith still managed to give the impression he intended to use it as part of an act in which a double line pierced straight through his palm into the floor.
Presently, after speaking only briefly under breath to each other in whispers meant to remain unheard by the others, the older man seemed satisfied.
Turning again to look quizzically upon Gwynnorion, Cunedda nodded and drew back the lanyard hanging over a long snorter tucked into the pocket sewn directly beneath his chin; raising the butt end into view, the veteran thaumaturgist showed everyone that the weapon was clear, at least at the moment, of its load:
“We were able to detect no trace of poisons or corrosives lodged within those things used by the lad as a quicksand, nor any of the sorceries required to render such defenses ineffective. His rapier could have been a different matter altogether unless the blade had first received full treatment against poisonous compounds—but this?”
Again lifting up the weapon, Cunedda raised eyebrows inviting appraisal. “From our initial scrutiny, I am forced to believe any poison attached to a surface here remains only potential rather than actual.”
Catching the lanky male apprentice off guard, Rhio cocked an inquisitive eye his way before replying wryly. “How strange. You can trust Dantrag on most matters concerning weapons but there are many who would agree entirely with you in regard to trusting him when it comes to sorcery—much less spells!”
Grinning fiercely, the thaumaturgist chuckled ruefully to himself at Rhiannon’s sudden change in subject and at the apparent insinuation that his own prowess lacked confidence—before realizing how his humor might read out loud and turning sternly back toward the younger mage.
“Aye, your excellency,” said the senior warlock solemnly, nodding slowly; “the lad did take great pains to insure his hand remained safe at all times.
Still”—keeping his voice carefully neutral so the bard would know not to speak her mind out of turn—”it is fortunate indeed that we will soon meet whatever adversary awaits inside together. If only for my own protection.”
He swallowed heavily to moisten his dry tongue, clearly trying to keep from sputtering out words completely nonsensical given their context and the meaning of what they concealed; yet despite his discomfort, Cunedda managed to deliver them evenly enough.
“Of course,” he continued casually, “my power grows somewhat diminished since the loss of Erantal the Wonder,” indicating his empty sleeve by removing a fingerless glove held underneath a breastplate strap and twirling around idly so that the blade hilt dangling down caught his fingers in a familiar grip, “But not far enough away where it won’t make one single bit of difference should I need to deal with what lies waiting for me once we step into the next room as if the yon gate were no longer standing before my face! In the past, I may have hesitated to allow just anyone access to one of these blades without even knowing exactly whom to ask—but thanks to Prince Idwal, things have changed quite considerably…