Moonlight (8 page)

He had endeavored to find his way back to the pond, but he could not. He would get lost in the woods, turned around, and surrounded by a haze of ghostly fog. He undertook aligning the stars in the sky to those he had seen that night, but they did not match. He wondered, in his grief, if he had dreamed it.

Xander removed a slab of boiled leather from a cauldron over a small firepit. When it was cool enough to touch, he sank his teeth into it, yanked off a bite, and chewed. He tried to convince himself that it tasted like venison, or boar, or roast lamb. Xander choked. He pounded his chest to make it go down. His belly protested even though it knotted with hunger. He braced himself against a gust of winter air that bit into his skin. His hair whipped back, and he winced. His once boyish frame had grown lean and tough in this environment. Wiry black hairs formed at the corner of his jaw, upon his chin, and under his nose. If not for the clothes on his back, he might freeze. His tent had become tattered and mostly useless. Bannock had said the war would not take long. It should have ended by summer if Aodhagáin was as weak as Xander’s father, Rab, made him out to be. Six months after the leaves had changed their colors, Xander remained. If he had not known better, he would have convinced himself that Rab had sent him to his death.

***

Waging war came easily to Ciatlllait. With Sylas at her side, they drew away the ranks of the upstart intruder. The commander of the opposing army seemed to play with his soldiers like a boy with tin men, moving them in predictable formations. His attacks were paltry. The one thing he had managed to hold was his campground. Ciatlllait felt that he had become more of a nuisance than a source of entertainment. With Sylas’s help, she could pick off the last of the boy’s men and send him packing. Causing them to suffer, however, continued to be amusing. She liked seeing them scurry like rats in the dungeon, picking in desperation at whatever food they could find. Holding them to their camp made Ciatlllait’s subjects feel safe. It was exactly what she wanted. Let them think they were safe. When the spell finished Aodhagáin off at last, Sylas would become king, and a new race would emerge on the Summer Isle.

She would need to solidify her position as queen, however. No one would follow her after Aodhagáin died, lest she give him an heir. They would cry out for Aowyn as their queen. She, the rightful heritor of the throne. Ciatlllait seethed. Sylas had said he would take care of the whelp. While it pleased Ciatlllait that Aowyn could no longer speak out against her, the girl still accused with her eyes.
Bewitcher!

This would not do. So many nights she had sat beside the princess, scheming. She had to be careful. People were watching. If anyone else saw in Aowyn what Ciatlllait saw, it would be the end of the usurper queen. Aowyn persisted as a thorn pricking at Ciatlllait’s ambition. She must be rid of the girl. Turning to her runes and bones and demons in the shadows, Ciatlllait asked, “How?”

***

Xander wandered the woods. He had told his men he would return with food, but it was no secret what he really pursued. Those who stayed in his ranks enjoyed hearing the young man’s tale of the girl in the moonlight. They thought little of it, but it kept their hearts light despite the losses they had suffered. Signs of spring began to crop up. The snow became patchy. Ice in the streams and rivers receded. Smaller creatures grew bold, coming into their camps at night seeking food after months of hibernation. The worst of the winter had hit hard and fast. The Summer Isle never tarried gray and cold for long.

Xander’s breath billowed on the air like great heads of cotton. The air smelled sweet with a distinct snap to it. It worked its way down Xander’s throat and stung his lungs. He welcomed it, however. It reminded him that he was alive and lucky to be so. The trees splintered the view of the moon in such a way that the glowing orb resembled pillars of light rather than a singular chattel of the heavens. Twigs snapped beneath his tattered boots. The cold enveloped his bare arms. He sniffed back the fluid sneaking from his nose. He stalked toward the moonlight, always towards the moonlight. He felt drawn to it as though the girl might be attached to it somehow. A strange fog loomed ahead. He set his jaw, determined to find his way through. He always got turned around at this point, but he had a good feeling about tonight. He had been leaving notches in the trees all the nights before. A few trees were unmarked. The girl in the moonlight had to be this way. He kept his hand on the trunk of the unmarked tree, making his way slowly to the next and the one after that. The fog grew thicker, determined to squelch him out. Xander sojourned. One foot in front of the other. Tonight he would find her and prove it had not been a dream. Droplets of water hung on to his tanned arms. He paused for a moment and listened. Water washed against banks ahead. He reached for the next tree but came up short and stumbled into a bush. The ground sloped steeply onto the shore of the misty pond.

Xander crouched in the cover of the bush which was strangely green for this time of year. The grass grew tall around him as though the pond suspended itself in summer, but the water glazed over with ice. It shined as precious crystals in the moon.

Xander leaned slightly around the bush, searching for the maiden. She descended upon the shore like a specter. Her form swayed under a white flowing gown. It hugged curves that were beginning to lose their girlishness. She padded barefoot into the water unflinchingly. Xander felt as though he witnessed a miracle as the maiden walked forward until she disappeared under the water. The water became still for a moment before rippling. The girl surged out of it with a gasp. Xander awed that she did not catch her death in the cold. The girl slowly turned to the moon and savored its light. Her head tilted backwards until she floated on her back. She allowed the light to pass over her and onto the surface of the pond. Her gown flowed out around her, becoming as much a part of the moon as the orb’s reflection in the water. She almost glowed. Xander wondered what might be flooding her mind and wanted nothing more than to make himself known to her. They gazed at the moon together, and Xander felt much closer to the girl than merely on the bank of the shore.

For want of that closeness, Xander sidestepped to a tree. He was not careful enough and rustled the grass. The girl searched as a doe for the hunter. Not wanting to lose her again, Xander slowly moved into sight. He held his hands up in front of him to show that he came unarmed and meant no ill.

Aowyn’s glare drilled into the young man. It was
him
. The archer seemed different than she remembered: leaner, taller, more brooding. She clenched her teeth. Though the heat of anger swelled within her, the cold in the world suddenly crashed into her. She moved quickly from the water, but she felt heavy as stone. She flew to the arrow stuck in the tree. The bark had grown around it, but Aowyn was so enraged that she pulled it out effortlessly and brandished it at the young man. She did not care that he came in peace. He had wronged her family. She tried to crack the arrow’s shaft against the young man’s arm. The wood was supple and would snap like a whip. She wanted him to feel the pain he had caused her.

The young man moved his arm over his head to protect himself at first. He yelped as the shaft caught him squarely in the shoulder and left a long red mark. Before Aowyn could get another good swing in on him, he had caught her wrist with one hand and the arrow with the other. Aowyn struggled against him. She ventured to wrench the arrow away so that he would understand the sting of his kill. When that didn’t work, she raised her knee to kick him in the belly. He held her barely far enough away that she missed. She twisted her arm to curl his wrist, but that only ended with her back to his front and the arrow before her. He drew her in, bracing her against him with the shaft of the arrow. Aowyn’s breath raced.

Xander thought he had won. He trembled having her so close to him. He strove to keep his breath steady. Xander had only wanted to know her name, but she had not been very happy to see him. He tried not to think about the way her body fit so perfectly against his, like the missing piece of a puzzle. He tried not to think about how warm her skin felt even though she was dripping wet, or the way tiny crystals of frost formed on her hair. His mind scrambled for words.

“My name is—”

Xander fell against the ground as red hair smashed into his nose and teeth. He gawked at the sky, reeling. He reached for his nose and wiped away red ooze. The maiden loomed over him as he stared at his cupped hands. He rolled away when the arrow plunged toward his shoulder. The girl stumbled, and Xander swept his foot against her ankles. She fell beside him. Xander chuckled.

Aowyn braced herself as she fell in a heap. The soft ground spread beneath a thin layer of fallen leaves and tender grass. The arrow snapped. Jagged splinters cut into her arm. Aowyn winced at the burning sensation and sucked in a breath. She turned onto her back, pressing her palms into the earth and looked at her arm. The broken arrow lay between her and the young man. He turned his head. His black hair flopped over to one side, and he flashed a boyish grin. Aowyn scowled. When the young man saw that she was bleeding, his smile faded, and he crawled over to her.

“You’re hurt.”

Aowyn clutched her arm and tilted away from him.

The young man sat on his knees. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you. Here, let me—”

Aowyn rammed her elbow into his forehead as he bent to help her.

The young man fell back with a grunt. He shook his head and blinked. “Really?”

Aowyn found her feet and began marching toward the castle.

The young man followed her and grasped her wrist. “Please let me help you.”

Aowyn sprang free of his hold and gave him a bold look; her teeth clenched, her chin jutted, and her eyes flashed.

The young man let go of her, but not before placing his hand on his chest and bowing a little. “I’m Xander.”

Aowyn’s eyes narrowed as she decided whether or not she cared.

He continued. “My camp is not far from here. If you come with me, I can get you bandaged.”

Aowyn chewed the inside corner of her mouth.

Xander backed away slowly. “It’s up to you.”

Aowyn watched him turn and walk up the bank and through the trees. She glanced down at her arm. A small stain of blood had spread on to the sleeve of her gown. It didn’t strike her as bad now, but it could turn harmful if not treated. She blew a stray strand of hair away from her face. She would allow this boy to help her. If he had a camp, then he had a fire. Aowyn could get warm and dry. She felt grateful that she couldn’t say a word. It would make it easier to leave him. No formalities. No worrying about whether or not he would hold her hostage if he discovered her a princess. Just bandaged, get dry, and go.

Aowyn tromped up the bank behind Xander.

SHIELD MAIDEN

Aowyn sat on a log beside a fire in the enemy’s camp. She rubbed her hands together over the flame as she watched the fire sway and dance. Xander had a physician in his ranks who mended Aowyn’s arm just as well as Maeb. Aowyn had bit into a scabbard as the physician dug out large splinters, and the pain had drained her. Her eyelids drooped. She sat up straighter when Xander plopped down beside her and offered her a tin cup.

“I would give you mead, but we have little. So I give what I have.”

Aowyn gazed down into the cup to see it full with clean, steaming water.

Xander rested his arms on his knees and folded his hands. “My men are starving. We are lucky to have survived the winter between the battles we have fought and a strange coldness that keeps us bound here. If I did not know better, I would say our enemy has us under a dark spell.”

Aowyn wished she could tell him,
You have no idea.

“It is as though we are locked in a cell and cannot advance. The food is scarce. My men go mad running after spirits in the woods. The only way forward is to go back.”

Aowyn rolled the warm cup between her hands, staring into the swirling waters.

Xander leaned closer to her. “You’re a quiet one for someone so full of fire.”

Aowyn frowned.

Xander leaned back. His eyebrows arched. He gazed into the fire, then at his boots, then back up again. “Can you speak?”

Aowyn sighed. She missed it. The talking.

“Why do you not?”

Aowyn bit her lip.
If I lost another brother….

She thought of the nights she had been forced to spend with Ciatlllait and her vacant father at the table while the woman—for Aowyn would never call her a queen—taunted her.
Cat got your tongue, Your Highness?

Aowyn focused on the forest where Xander had said dark spirits roamed. The young man followed her gaze. His expression became strained as he glanced between Aowyn and the woods. The gears in his brain turned as he put them together.

“Dark spells?”

Aowyn gazed into her cup sadly.
Something like that.

Another soldier joined them by the fire. He was thick and bald. Aowyn thought if they were truly starving, it was because this one ate more than his ration.

“Is this the elusive girl you’ve been ranting about all winter, Commander?”