The Book of the New Moon Door: Part Two, Chapter Twenty

Departure

The Book of the New Moon Door cover image: A book with yellowing, wrinkled pages lies open on an old wooden desk, with a sprig of lavender lying in the center.

It’s nothing, Isabel tells herself. It’s a traveler’s tale, embellished with every telling until it’s unrecognizable as the original story. An entire village did not turn to metal overnight.

She’ll believe that anyone who chanced to be awake last night saw the red star fall. It had been bright as a jewel, burning like a distant bonfire through the sky of this world and of the next. But the rest? It would require a ritual from the old legends, a coven of mages made immortal by their own power, the sacrifice of dozens of innocents. The next part of the story would involve a holy warrior of the church of Alcos, in enchanted armor that shone like the sun and a sword that could cut through both flesh and lies, riding a winged steed into the place of their power.

Emryn Marner himself doesn’t seem to believe it. He eats his pie like a starving man—all men his age are starving—and doesn’t bring it up again. He and Berend take the tub down to the gutter and dump out the dirty water, and then he retreats to his room with his books. “There’s an exam next week,” he explains. “Though if the world’s ending, maybe I’ll get to miss it.”

“When I was a boy, my teacher said that one of the hells was just endless written exams, over and over, for all eternity,” says Berend.

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Journey to the Water Chapter XXVI: The House of the Weaver-Woman, Part Two

Journey to the Water cover image: three evergreen trees stand on a hillside, shrouded in bluish fog. Subtitle reads: the sequel to Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea.

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The rest of the tale of the falling star I knew already. It had landed near Phyreios, in the form of a lump of enchanted iron, and the Ascended had forged it into the Sword of Heaven, the tool of their own destruction. They could no more resist the will of Khalim’s god than he could, as much as they tried. It was only by Torr’s volition that the sword now lay safely among the other treasures beneath the mountain where the dragon made its home.

What could I do in the face of a destiny already preordained? Seven gods had failed even to prevent the creation of the Sword of Heaven and the arrival of their former master to the city they ruled, even carried as he was by one man crossing the wastes on foot. A sandstorm, a single arrow, a knife in the dark, or some slight injury to their forge could have sent Torr back to the nether world for another thousand years. Instead, he walked the new streets of Phyreios with an iron crown on his head, and Khalim was gone.

Taherah stared into the fire, and two burning points reflected in her eyes, but she saw nothing. It was as though she gone far away, and left her body behind to stir her copper pot and keep my sad company.

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The Book of the New Moon Door: Part Two, Chapter Nineteen

Isolation

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Berend takes the desk chair from Emryn’s bedroom and places it against the wall between the sitting room and the kitchen, facing away from the kitchen door. Its slats dig into his back. He’s reasonably sure he won’t fall asleep in it, but he wouldn’t be willing to wager any actual coin.

Water splashes as Isabel wedges the huge kettle sideways into the first bucket and takes it back to the stove. The hiss of steam follows.

When she asked him to stay by the door, Berend had assumed there would be some sort of conversation. He’s starting to doubt that the uncomfortable chair will be enough to keep him awake.

“I wasn’t ever going to take you to the temple of Isra,” he says. “You know that, right?”

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Journey to the Water Chapter XXV: The House of the Weaver-Woman

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The man who greeted me at the bridge gave his name as Sala and his profession as the village smith, though Nagara had not seen a new shipment of iron for many months. I feared the great mine of Phyreios had not yet reopened, and that it perhaps never would, but Sala had no way of knowing what occurred on the other side of the rust-red desert, and I would not press him for answers that he would not possess. The less I knew of Phyreios, the better I could focus on the task before me.

Though I had sailed many miles and walked for four long weeks to reach this place, a terrible dread came over me in place of my anticipated relief. Sala’s face was grim, his brows heavy and his mouth a thin line. I had brought this quiet village the news it had feared for two long years, that their favored son would not return.

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The Book of the New Moon Door: Part Two, Chapter Eighteen

Rest

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Emryn Marner’s address leads to a narrow, three-story house in the University quarter. The first level is red brick, stained with soot, while the upper two are panels of gray plaster between wooden beams. Someone, not too long ago based on the degree of grime, had painted the door red in a spasm of artistic fervor. Upon closer inspection, its original wood color shows through between brush strokes.

It’s early afternoon, and the street is quiet, its occupants away at their classes. From what Berend can see from below, this house is empty as well. He knocks anyway, one fist on the poorly-painted door, and waits.

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Journey to the Water Chapter XXIV: A Vast, Green Country

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For four weeks I journeyed through those mountains, in the shadow of the sacred peak of Abora. At its top, the villagers among the cliffs told me, was the shrine of the great serpent-god, the wisest and craftiest of all the ancient beings that had once built cities in the highest reaches, whose eyes were like rubies and whose feathered wings could blot out the sun. Each morning, sunlight blazed from behind the mountain, and I thought again of climbing it; by the time I had packed up my camp and saddled Bran again, the desire had burned away like fog. I returned to the road north and did not stop again until nightfall.

The sun set a little earlier each evening, and as I followed the pilgrim’s road, the forest turned from deep emerald to the yellow-brown of the kelp that grew in the warm waters of the south. From the highest places of the world to the bottom of the ocean, the turn of the seasons followed me. I had allowed my quest to stretch on for two years, and I was determined not to let another pass without Khalim by my side.

Fate, however, had other plans for me. Perhaps if I had sought the aid of the winged serpent of Mount Abora, my journey would have proceeded differently.

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The Book of the New Moon Door: Part Two, Chapter Seventeen

Warning

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The young man stands slowly, rolling his shoulders, as though the somber temple of Ondir is a country park and he’s contemplating concluding his picnic and heading home. He walks unhurried to the end of the row and starts up the center aisle, his hands in the pockets of his fine trousers and his polished riding boots sending a slow rhythm to echo against the dome.

Berend stands, dragging Isabel up with him. His free hand goes first to his pistol—it’s empty, Isabel remembers, because he shot the animated corpse in the morgue and hasn’t had a chance to reload—and then to the hilt of his sword. His cloak hangs over his elbow, hiding the weapons from view.

She twists her wrist out of Berend’s grasp. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers.

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Journey to the Water Chapter XXIII: The Port of Charkand

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The Lady of Osona passed into the storm’s eye. Where there had been wailing wind and rain beating against my back, there was now an empty, yawning stillness. The ship rested lightly upon calm waters.

My hands had contorted into stiff, aching claws, and splinters dug into my palms and the exposed skin of my legs. I climbed down from the mast, forcing my limbs to stretch. My head spun; though the ship beneath me lay as if in a deep, dreamless sleep, I felt as though it would throw me into the sea. When my rope-burned feet reached the deck, I fell to my knees and shut my eyes, forcing myself to breathe evenly until rain brushed against my shoulders and the back of my neck once again.

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The Book of the New Moon Door: Part Two, Chapter Sixteen

Friends

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Berend marches Isabel out of Father Pereth’s office. His grip on her arm is immovable as a rusted iron hinge. Isabel struggles, twisting her elbow and pulling against him, but it’s no use. Fear restricts her vision to the end of the hall, where the dome allows in a few thin beams of sunlight. She expects the chapel will be filled with constables, but she might still be able to get away, to disappear into the back corridors and out into the graveyard—if she could only get herself free of Berend.

She trusted him. She’d thought he cared enough about the state of the world, about protecting the people of Mondirra, that he would help her. He saw the same terrible vision in the nether that she did. She’d even thought he supported her against the high priest’s accusations, until he’d smiled and acquiesced and grabbed her by the elbow.

“I’m not going to the temple of Isra,” she snarls through her teeth. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but if she has to, she’ll drive the heel of her boot straight into the soft leather instep of his. It’ll have to be quick, and then she’ll have to run. He’s still injured. That will slow him down.

Instead, Berend lets go. He holds both hands out, spreading his fingers to show they’re empty. “I know.”

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Journey to the Water Interlude Three: The Broken Road

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The creature clung to Khalim’s back, breathing a quick, shallow rhythm against his neck. It was light as a bird, and its fingers ended in tiny, sharp talons, black and shiny as obsidian, that clicked together as it adjusted its hold on his shoulders. It was a meat-eating creature, Khalim guessed, based on the claws and its many pointed teeth—though maybe it didn’t eat anything. He hadn’t been hungry since his still-shaky memories of the world before the citadel, and there wasn’t anything identifiable to eat in this place even if he had been. He was lost, and so very cold, but the world beyond had not been as cruel as he’d feared.

The question remained, then, why someone would lay a trap to catch small creatures in the wood, if not to eat them. Its iron jaws could have easily closed on Khalim, had he been less fortunate. At the very least, he wouldn’t have starved to death before he freed himself.

“So,” he said. His voice was flat and muffled to his own ears, swallowed up by the forest. “Where are we going?”

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