The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2) Read online

  “If the moon was dark,” she continued. “There is a good chance Joya was not yet here when she left.”

  The answer of who wouldn’t see came to them in fleeting images out of the corner of their eyes. The reoccurring image was of a tall white creature, completely bald with slightly monstrous features, wearing a heavy black robe.

  “Beckindal,” they heard a commanding voice say, and they watched as Porillon stepped out of the shadows. The markings on her face writhed lividly, as if marking her anger. Her hazy image gathered at the back of the room as if conjured out of the past.

  “Leave the other be. I think she is close to breaking; my wyrd can do the rest now that she is so weak and away from the others. Track the amber-eyed one; I need the medallion she carries.”

  “I guess that means Amber did not leave with Joya,” Angelica said.

  “It also means that …” Jovian stopped short. There was no doubt Porillon was still within the Mirror of the Moon. He would, in fact, bet his very life that she was still lurking deep within some shadowy depth, and if she was here, there was an even better chance that her ears were everywhere. So it was that he finished the rest of what he was about to say mentally. It also means that she left the medallion here somewhere, and Porillon does not know about it. Thank the Goddess we only have her to worry about and not Beckindal too.

  Wait, what about that boy Maeven knew – Astanel, wasn’t it? Angelica asked, and her look became intent as she stared about the room.

  Angie, I don’t think what you seek is here. There are many rooms within the temple. I am sure we will stumble across the one that is his.

  You are right; let’s finish up here and go on. We are not helping anyone looking at the past.

  I think we had best look through this room before moving on. There is no telling where Amber hid the medallion.

  Good point. There was, between them, a silent understanding that from now on they would be communicating mentally with one another so that Porillon would not over hear what they did not want her to, unless there was some way for her to intrude on their minds.

  A quick inspection of the room found them just as empty-handed as they were when they entered.

  So Beckindal is following Amber and there is no trace of Astanel? Angelica asked.

  Yes, but what worries me more is Joya, Porillon did make mention of the other one that was nearly broken – to me that would be Joya, which doesn’t bode well.

  Angelica could only sadly agree.

  Once out of the tower they continued the path they had started to the next room.

  Angelica looked at Jovian, and she reached for the doorknob. Surprisingly it opened without hesitation.

  “But she is weeping,” a young boy protested, and their vision was flooded with a tall blond youth with eyes gazing up at the ceiling of his musty, tattered room. He didn’t have a bed as Amber had, but instead a tangle of blankets that even now lay holey and dirty on the floor. “I want to go to her,” he was saying, but no sooner had he said it then he reached to his throat, his eyes going wide like they had the night Porillon attacked them.

  It wasn’t until he removed his hand from his throat that they saw the green snake twined around his neck.

  “I understand,” was all he said before coiling his length onto the blankets and rocking himself to sleep.

  There were no more visions for them within the room, which looked like it had at one time had been a shrine to the saints. The meager room size was minimized by the countless small tables arranged against the walls. Discarded candles sat at odd angles in the holders, dusty and broken. Some of the tables were in disrepair as the legs were broken off leaving jagged shards and chips of wood laying around the room. Other tables were upended as if the room had been ransacked.

  The medallion wasn’t in this room either.

  Where is it? Angelica asked.

  That is a question I think only Amber can answer, Jovian commented as they closed the door and moved on down the pulsing white hall.

  The next room, though large, was completely empty, devoid even of furniture. The only thing that occupied, they found upon inspection, was years worth of dust. They rummaged through the room quickly. Having no trappings or evidence of concealed cubbies for the medallion to hide in, they decided Amber had not been in this room at all. In point of fact, they figured no one had been in this room for some time as the dust had not been disturbed until they had entered.

  Their hopes crumbled around them as they closed the door and moved on to the last door.

  This one looked important as if it were the central place of worship within the temple. This was the place, they knew, that postulants would come to for prayer and scripture. The door sat in the opposite side of the Lunimara from the entrance doors. The doors to the chamber were as grand as those they had passed through on their way into the temple with the difference that they were not locked with wyrded silver vines.

  Resolutely Jovian turned the great silver latch shaped like an upside-down crescent moon, the points facing up, and pushed on the door, which whisked open with neither noise nor opposition. Silently they peered into the dark room.

  At that very moment another door was being opened within the Mirror of the Moon, this one leading out into the gardens. Maeven had searched the other side of the temple, not finding the well-concealed door to the bell tower designated for Fire and the south. Even if he had found the doorway, it was highly unlikely that he would have found anything in the room above anyway.

  From the moment he stepped into the Mirror of the Moon, Maeven knew precisely where he needed to go, for he did have one advantage that the others did not. He was an expert tracker, able to tell what laid down a certain path. This he used tonight, allowing him to find where he needed to go and ultimately Joya.

  He veiled his eyes momentarily and let his mind race down the path before him. It was not so much that he was able to instinctively know about the way before him, but more like a part of his mind separated from his body to scout out the route he desired, and with mental eyes he would know what lay the way he wished to go.

  He had, not long after having left the company of Angelica and Jovian, saw a glowing silver light through the vine-clotted windows of the central garden.

  The light, understandably, drew his attention so that all other rooms and doors passed his vision and only one thing did he focus on: the strange silver light that pulsed within the embrace of those vines, the same light that quickly winked out of existence as he approached the entrance to the grand garden.

  The door opened with some difficulty, but with persistence he was able to finally push it open enough to squeeze through. On the far side he glimpsed a figure, one that he recognized, yet was almost beyond recognition.

  It was obvious, upon closer inspection, that Joya LaFaye had been beaten rather badly.

  As he approached she recognized his wyrd on the air, and she raised her head to smile at him, though it was obvious the effort caused her pain.

  “Maeven,” Joya croaked. “If that is truly you, you are a most welcome sight.” Maeven was instantly concerned at the sight of her cheek muscle twitching.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” he said drawing his boot knife and cutting the bonds at wrist and ankle. Though once standing she had to lean against the wall as half of her body twitched.

  “Sorry, I must apologize for my current state of disrepair on account of a crazy white monster making my brain all willy-nilly.” Her statement shut Maeven up instantly and he stared at her hard.

  “You were touched by the Verax-Acis?” he asked menacingly.

  “I am afraid so,” and if it was not for the dark shape that wheeled out of the sky landing behind Maeven she would have lost her composure.

  “What is it?” Maeven asked, gripping her, fear and anger apparent in his voice.

  “Behind you,” she whispered, and with a slight touch of shaking hands to his ears he was rendered deaf.

  Behind him was the m
ost hideous creature he had ever seen. The jagged teeth, talon tipped fingers, bat wings and scared face told him it was a siren.

  Before the Siren was able to reach him, Maeven rolled out of the way, unsheathing his sword as he came up.

  Joya knew from previous experience that her wyrd would not work against the Siren, but she had been devising a plan ever since she realized where she was and that Angelica and Jovian would be coming for her. Her plan consisted of not using her wyrd against the Siren, but against the things directly around the Siren, therefore influencing the monster. Joya had to wait for the perfect time, however. If she were to have tried this earlier there would have been no point other than alerting the enemy that she was able to think, and thus make them more cautious of her. Now that help was here, there was no need to hold back on what she had been planning for the last several days since her Trial of Fire had finished.

  The one thing she had not counted on, however, was the corruption of the Well of Wyrding. She knew there was something different happening with wyrd, but being new to what she was, Joya thought maybe it was a normal change.

  This was one of the first times she had worked wyrd since she had come back to herself, but never before had her wyrd been as affected as it was this time.

  Joya had intended on affecting the air a little, a gale to blow the siren back, but when her wyrd came out as a violent torrent and earth, sod, and rocks exploded up, assaulting the siren in mid flight.

  She was faster than Joya had counted on, however, and as the assault came she quickly wheeled back up out of sight.

  “What in the Otherworld?” Maeven asked.

  “It has been guarding me for some time now. She checks in from time to time but I am sure, now that she knows you are here, that she will not be gone for long.” Back to the center of the garden Joya and Maeven both scanned the open sky above them.

  When the singing came it was swift and powerful, corrupting both their minds almost instantly.

  They turned on each other then, Joya’s hands glowing violent red even as Maeven raised his sword toward her.

  The fight they were about to enter would be to the death.

  “This one is empty also,” Jovian reported as he stepped into the shadowed altar room where years ago many postulants came to pray to the Goddess leaving gifts of flowers, trinkets, and other items of personal value in offering up to her as sacrifice.

  The room itself, even in its current state of disrepair, was grand and made Jovian long to see what it would have been like in those years when it thrived as the most holy of temples dedicated to the Goddess.

  Full-length windows lined the walls to the right and left of Angelica and Jovian, cascading moonlight onto the floor just before the sprawling altar that was larger than even the Stone Table in Whitewood Haven. Jovian knew, without having to see it, that set into the recess of the wall furthest from them would stand an image of the pregnant Goddess, taller than three men and with her arms spread out, palms up as if serenely welcoming her children into her embrace. As was typical, her head would be covered in a veil that would flow in stony ripples down to her bare feet.

  He could, just now as the moon broke free from the clouds, see the outline of the statue, lotus flowers at her feet that seconded as torches at one time. Before her glimmered what appeared to be a pool of water. The surface rippled in the stillness, without air or vibration to cause its distress, but instead from the overpowering wyrd within the temple.

  Before the Goddess sat two large thrones, silver by the glimmer of light that passed over them, and covered with plump cushions. He imagined that these thrones were meant to seat Sylvie and Pharoh, but now they were empty, the cushions untouched, the torches unlit for many years. With as pristine as the gardens had been, Jovian was surprised to see the lack of care inside of the deserted temple.

  With years of history covered in dust, Jovian examined time’s toll on this dark, empty room. He was surprised that the strange light that had led them through the halls and lit up each room was not in attendance here.

  “We have searched almost every room,” Angelica said and gave a jump as the heavy oaken door slammed shut behind her. Iron torches all around the room began to light, one at a time.

  Angelica and Jovian turned away from each other, their eyes watching the torches on their side of the room, following them to their destination, past the silver thrones covered with their blue velvet cushions to the back wall, at the feet of the Goddess where the lotus torches flared to life in a lick of nearly translucent flame, bathing the Goddess in shadow and light. Ever dancing over her form, the lights presented a mirage of movement, as if her robes were shifting slightly around her swollen belly.

  Finally their eyes fell on a form just before the statue and the glowing blue light on her face gave her identity away before she could cast the hood back, allowing her silver hair to cascade down her back to her feet like a mockery of the veil that hung from the back of the Holy Mother’s head.

  “She is not here,” Porillon said, taking off her slate blue cloak and laying it over the arm of the nearest throne. “I was just beginning to wonder where she had gone to. Had you been but a moment sooner you might have run directly into her.” She crossed her hands before her and smiled to each one of them. “I am here, however, and I feel there is a lot to talk about between us.”

  “I feel there is nothing we need to talk about,” Jovian disagreed.

  “Ah, didn’t that old bitch teach you manners, LaFaye?” Porillon said. “I see she has told you of your rightful heritage then? No doubt you had to beat it from her.”

  “She gave the information up willingly,” Angelica said, her hand creeping toward the mace at her side.

  “Some things change I guess.” With a flick of her hand the mace flew out of the holster at Angelica’s side to crack loudly against the window, spider-webbing the stained panes. “There will be no need for that. As I said we have much to discuss, and when it comes time for fighting it will be long over before you can even reach for your weapons.” She smiled at them pleasantly again, and they felt something strange stirring within them.

  “I was one of their first followers you know,” Porillon said, stepping between the thrones once more and looking down at the seats with a mixture of emotions on her face. “I loved them as much as Grace did.”

  “You are going to have a hard time convincing us of your love after what you did to them,” Jovian argued, and with his words a strange fire flared in his belly, mirrored by the one kindling within Angelica.

  “And what was it that I supposedly did?” she asked curiously seating herself in the throne she had draped her cloak over. She leaned forward expectantly, giving the impression that she was genuinely interested in what they had to say. “Please, tell me what Grace told you about me. I am intrigued now and would love to know the poison she has been spreading about me.” Now she leaned back, draping her arms over the arms of the chair. She crossed her legs and spread her hands in a gesture that was meant to encourage their words.

  “She told us how you betrayed them to Arael,” Angelica said.

  “I betrayed them?” Porillon barked with laughter. “I suppose that she even said that I turned on them because I was jealous of her. This is rich; thank you for making my night. Me jealous of Grace?

  “I take it she did not tell you that Pharoh herself expressly wished that I see to the needs of her lover and his friends?” Porillon asked, staring down at her fingers. “She gave me willingly to them, and through them I learned much. See, Pharoh taught about wyrd and how best to use it; Arael and his friends taught me much more than that.”

  “They taught you how to manipulate and steal energy I gather?” Angelica asked remembering what she had read in Joya’s book.

  “If all energy is one, what does it matter where it comes from? And if all energy is one then how can you steal it?” Porillon asked standing once more. “It doesn’t matter, but that is what allowed me to persevere. Don’t you think
it odd that all these angels were dying and a mere human remained alive? It comes, naturally, from time on the streets that you learn how to overcome and survive.” She began to pace back and forth, her hands waving in the air as she spoke, painting for them the truth of her, the story of Porillon as she knew it.

  “See, when Pharoh met Arael and began courting him, her teachings took second place to him. By then I had learned a lot from her. As it turned out, I am second only in power to your dearest aunt herself; good luck trying to best me, by the way. While I had learned a lot from her, there was still much she had not taught me. Why she had not taught us others of what we could do, the full capabilities of our wyrd was something I never asked, not from Pharoh or Arael when he began teaching me. Suffice to say that Arael gave me what your aunt could not, which was a fuller education in the Wyrding Ways.” She turned to them then and spread her hands wide. “Don’t get me wrong; Pharoh was a stellar teacher, but one can only teach as much as they know. It became obvious to me that Arael was the most powerful teacher one could ever have. I mean, if the Goddess chose Pharoh over Arael she was sorely mistaken, for she was no match for my master.” Porillon shook her head in dismay at the wrong choice she felt the Goddess made.

  “So because of power you threw in with the wrong crowd?” Jovian taunted.

  “There is that word again,” Porillon said, wagging her finger at them. “Right? Wrong? What are they anyway? They are concepts created to keep us in line, created to keep one obedient and under the control of others.”

  “Spoken like a true dalua,” Angelica sneered, feeling as if another force were taking her over. She would never be taken over with sly words and hollow promises as her sister had been, as Astanel had been.

  “I do not denounce what others call me, nor do I agree with it. In order for there to be dalua you actually have to believe in them. Seeing how I no longer think in terms of black and white, I no longer believe in such human concepts as good and evil. That is something Arael taught me, not to believe in something just because another says it is so. Why, then, should I believe what Pharoh and Sylvie taught? After all, the Goddess herself had not come down and decreed this, and Pharoh appeared to me as nothing more than a talented sorceress, nothing messianic about her really. She was, and remains to this day, nothing more than a gifted sorceress.”