Ten Crescent Moons (Moonquest) (14 page)

He clicked
the reins, urging the team forward. "We will stay here as planned, and you
will face your past."

Adalginza's
grip tightened on his arm, almost threateningly. "Please. No."

"Yes. It
is for your own good."

***

Adalginza soon
stood in front of the wooden portal leading into what was once her home. She
was in a dazed state now, strangely unaware of Kalos even though his arm was
firmly around her shoulders.

Without his
physical support, she would have simply collapsed in a heap.

She was dimly
aware of his voice beside her, shouting out orders to the knights. Assigning
duties for the evening watch. Making arrangements for the care of the sturmons.

"The
lady and I will stay in the abode," Kalos told Luzicos, ending the barrage
of orders. "The two of us will eat inside as well. You and the men can
take your meals in the barracks."

Luzicos stepped
forward, allowing his sullen dark eyes to rest on Lady Adalginza for more
moments than could be deemed polite.

He was very clearly
assessing, making connections between her and his captain.

His eyes then
insolently oozed down to stare below her neck. His expression announced his
displeasure. Was it because the prize he himself wanted was about to be taken?

Or was his
natural instinct to protect the captain?

"Go,"
Kalos said coldly, ending the appraisal.

Luzicos
turned wordlessly, and left.

At that
moment, Adalginza felt a nudging against her leg. And she looked down to see
the gray palosti fox she had as a child. His name was Herol.

He had
slipped in and through the door, probably from his usual hiding place in the
thorn bushes at the side of the house.

She felt his
eager inquiry sifting through her mind. She could never call what she felt from
his mind thoughts, exactly, because animals did not form fully developed
concepts.

But the
animal managed to make its joy at her presence known.

Holding onto
the captain's upper arm, Adalginza at last leaned down and with a trembling
hand stroked Herol's fur.

"I have
never known of a palosti fox that could be tamed," Kalos said.

"I
found him as a pup. I raised him."

"Even
so..."

"You
do not know everything, captain
.
"

Adalginza
could not help the curtness in her voice, brought on by the turbulence that was
beginning to bubble inside her like a cauldron of boiling tea leaves.

She dropped
her grasp on the captain's arm, and took several deep breaths to send the
needed oxygen into her brain, encouraging it to stay vigilant.

Then, she
stepped into the foyer. The fox made a wide, slinking circle around Kalos, and
then followed her inside.

When she
fully entered the room, Adalginza forgot all else but the rush of memories.

Could an
abode that had once held so much life and love now be termed a coffin? Perhaps
so. For Adalginza saw death everywhere she looked.

Nothing had
been touched since that bright spring day when it had happened. No one had even
bothered to clean the thick, dark red stains off the wooden slats of the floor.

She was
aware of the captain's low, persistent voice, asking questions — forcing the
memories to come forward, forcing her to relive the past.

She spoke her
answers in a monotone, almost against her will.

Through it
all, Adalginza remained aware enough to know she could not speak aloud
everything that had happened here.  She must still keep her secrets.

So parts of
what she saw remained only in her mind, confined to her private hell.

Herol whined
a few times as though sharing her pain. His blazing yellow eyes captured hers.

***

Herol had
been there that day.

The rusted,
heavy cooking pot still sat atop the scattered charcoal of the fireplace that,
long ago, had been glowing with hot coals.

Adalginza was
preparing an aromatic stew, topped off with a yeasty, doughy concoction that
had absorbed the simmering juices to puff into a delectable crust.

Herol sat
nearby, licking his lips happily, for as always he had managed to beg a few
scraps before the meat was placed in the pot.

"The
meal is almost ready, Mother!"

Adalginza
could see the girl's youthful face, smooth and blemish-free, without the mask
of cosmetics she now wore.

She had tasted
the stew, feeling as she always did a small twinge of sorrow for the brush fowl
that had sacrificed its life to give sustenance.

At that
moment, Lady Donzala called out from a back room. Her voice in those days always
sounded as though it were muffled, trapped in an acoustical cave along with
what was left of her mind.

 "Medosa
is coming here. I saw him through the window just now. That horrible young man,
Benfaaro, is with him."

Lady Donzala
walked out of the back sleep room, her graying hair in a tangle that she never
seemed able to smooth. But it was a pleasant sort of disarray that seemed to
match the perpetual confusion of her expression.

The elder
woman held a rag, and wiped bright red paint from her hands that had been
stained from her current art project. At the sight, Adalginza felt a disturbing
sense of foreboding.

"Benfaaro
is a good man," she argued. "He has taught me many things."

"He
takes far too much of an interest in you."

"He has
his reasons."

"I'm
sure he does."

"Not
the reasons you think, Mother. He is mated to Bruna. He has a child. A little
girl. Calasta. She visits here quite often. Remember?"

"Yes,
yes. The girl. I suppose she is his daughter. Yes..." Lady Donzala's voice
trailed away, as it often did, when she tried to make sense of her jumbled
thoughts. "I remember now. I remember talking to him. About you. Was it
just a few days ago? He wanted to take you away. Oh, dear saints. I don't want to
remember that..."

Adalginza
put both arms around Lady Donzala, and kissed her forehead. "Then you don't
have to. Just remember to be happy. Can you do that for me?"

"I was
so worried. I talked to Medosa about you..." Lady Donzala's tone contained,
for that moment, an unusual chord of clarity that deeply alarmed Adalginza.

Again, she
could not quell the feeling that something was about to change her life.
Drastically. And forever.

Adalginza
paused, holding the wooden spoon above the pot.

"You
did not tell Medosa any secrets, did you, Mother? We talked about that before.
You. Me. And Benfaaro. What was said was between the three of us. Remember?
Remember how he explained the danger of saying too much?"

"I...forgot.
I told Medosa everything."

"What?"
Adalginza grasped her mother's shoulders, none too gently. "When?"

"Last
night. I was...worried."

"Oh, Mother.
No. You should have never involved Medosa in our personal lives."

Adalginza
hesitated, wondering what to do now.

She never
knew exactly what to say to Lady Donzala, who at times seemed to recognize that
Adalginza had replaced her real daughter.

And yet
there were other times when she had no memory at all of burying the baby girl
whose grave could still be seen, if one knew where to look, in the thicket on
the hill overlooking the abode.

It was a
beautiful area, resplendent with yellow blossoms.

"That
evil man, Benfaaro, came to me," Donzala muttered. "He said you had
to go away. He said it would be on your birthday. Eighteen seasons. That was
our agreement. I could have you as long as you were still a child. But when you
became a woman, you had to go away."

"Mother.
Please stop."

"He
said you had a job to do. For him. Such wickedness..."

"It's
not what you think. Please believe me."

Adalginza
hesitated, wondering desperately if this was the time to tell Lady Donzala the
whole truth. That Benfaaro was Adalginza's brother and could not possibly have
the evil intentions Lady Donzala imagined.

But the demented
lady of the House of the Fifth Crescent Moon had already proven that she could
not be trusted with secrets.

What had she
already told Medosa? And what else would she say if she knew her beloved adopted
daughter had been spared death as an infant only so that she could later spy upon
the Crescent Houses?

Eighteen
seasons old.

 On the next
morn, her birthday, there was supposed to be a party lasting an entire day and
night. All of their friends among the savages were invited, as was Medosa.

It was to be
a ceremonial rite of passage. A celebration of Adalginza's womanhood. Yet, even
then, Adalginza knew that there would be no celebration.

Instead, Medosa
rang the bell hanging on a string outside the door to announce his presence.
The low, vibrant tone sounded ominous.

When
Adalginza opened the door, she looked first at Benfaaro standing behind and a
little to one side. She knew her brother well. And she saw the dark anguish on
his face, mixed with a kind of inescapable desperation.

Beyond the
two men and partially concealed in the brambles beside the house was Bruna. She
was holding back. Watching. And waiting.

"We
were just about to take our meal," Adalginza said. "Could you come
back a little later?"

Rude, yes.
But what she needed most now was a diversion. Time to think.

Lady Donzala
pushed beside her, already having forgotten the conversation of only moments
ago.

"Nonsense,
daughter. We have plenty of food. In fact, it was this nice young man,
Benfaaro, who brought us the gauma hen for our dinner just this morning. We had
such a nice chat. Although...."

Lady Donzala
frowned. "I can't remember exactly what it was we talked about. And so
nice to see you as well, Medosa. Do come in. We'll set extra places for both of
you."

Medosa, who
was a bit wide around the girth, did in fact seem tempted. But as he stepped
through the door, he sadly held up his hand to decline.

"Alas,
this is not a social visit. It's actually...well...a rather serious matter."

Benfaaro
then walked into the room, and leaned against the wall. The door to the outside
remained open, and Adalginza could see Bruna slowly walking toward the abode.

The snakeskin
frock she wore flapped in the breeze, surrounding her thin frame like a cloak
on a skeleton.

"Mother,
you need to go out the back way and find us some bristleberries for dessert,"
Adalginza suggested. "Please. Go.
Now
."

"I don't
think that's necessary right at this moment," Lady Donzala replied,
sounding a little peeved. "And I don't think I like the tone of your voice,
young one."

"Please,"
Adalginza whispered. "Please go."

As Bruna
stepped inside the door, the palosti fox whimpered and slipped behind Adalginza's
legs. Lady Donzala blinked at the woman in confusion.

"I
believe your name is...yes, I remember. Bruna."

"She is
Benfaaro's mate," Adalginza said.

"Oh.
Certainly. Yes. Well, there's plenty of food here for all of us. And for the
little girl, too. Now...What is her name?"

"Calasta
is not here," Bruna interrupted nastily. She stared directly at her
husband. "A hole has been dug. In the thicket on the hill. The body is
gone."

"Body?"
Lady Donzala asked, blinking stupidly.

"The
baby. Your baby." Bruna seemed to relish the cruelty of the reminder. "It
is gone from the grave."

She pointed
an accusing, crooked finger at Medosa.

"This
man, who claims to be a voice of the gods and goodness, took it. I saw him do
it last night, in the cover of darkness."

Medosa hung
his head, looking genuinely ashamed. Then he looked up again, almost in a
pleading way, as he addressed Lady Donzala.

"I know
you don't remember the visit you had with me last night. I know you don't
remember the things you told me. But when you talked about the baby, I remembered
when I delivered it that it didn't seem very healthy. And then, a few days
later, when I saw Adalginza again — and saw how much better she looked. I
thought then that it was a miracle."

"It
was
a miracle," Lady Donzala said, regarding Medosa blankly.

He looked
pained. "But you have forgotten. You told me last night that these people
had given you another baby, and that you had buried the real Adalginza in the
thicket."