A Rising Moon (Sunpath, Band 2) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Stephen Leigh is a Cincinnati-based, award-winning author with nineteen science fiction novels and over forty short stories published. He has been a frequent contributor to the Hugo-nominated shared world series Wild Cards, edited by George R. R. Martin. He teaches creative writing at Northern Kentucky University. Stephen Leigh has written Immortal Muse, The Crow of Connemara, and the fantasy trilogy Assassin's Dawn.

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1

The Acolyte

Often enough, Orla wondered why she'd ever bothered to come to Onglse.

The opportunity to go to the island home of the draoi was the culmination of an impossible dream, a path she'd been destined to take from the moment back in Pencraig when she'd realized that-like her mother Voada-she could see the ghosts of the dead. The soldiers' wives in the Mundoan army encampments had spoken of how Voada was an awful monster, how she'd been trained on Onglse before she'd taken on (or stolen, depending on who was telling the story) the title of ceanndraoi, joining with Ceannˆrd Maol Iosa to lead the rebellion against the Mundoa. Together, Voada and Maol had laid waste to the Mundoan settlements south of the River Meadham.

The camp wives had hated Voada-even those, like Azru, who had some sympathy for the Cateni. They hated that she had killed so many of their husbands and sons. In turn, most of them also hated Orla simply for being Voada's daughter. Still, like all the Cateni attempts to throw off the yoke of Mundoan rule south of the River Meadham, Voada's war was ultimately a blood-drenched failure.

It had been close to a year since Orla and Sorcha had crossed the River Meadham into Albann Brˆghad. Orla's eighteenth birthday had passed unremarked. Orla had heard the tales of Ceanndraoi Voada whispered everywhere: in stories, in poems, in songs. She'd listened to the wondrous, contradictory, and still-growing legend of her mother hands upon hands of times, from hand upon hands of mouths, in every clan house she'd visited. Orla was hardly able to reconcile the fierce, vengeful, and merciless Voada they described with the woman she'd once called Mother.

Her mother was now famous, if not universally beloved, while Orla was a burnished copper mirror reflecting a warped image of that maternal fame. The northern Cateni passed her carefully from clan ˆrd to clan ˆrd, pretending to be pleased to meet the famous Voada's daughter but heaving a sigh of relief when they sent her on her way again, as if they'd somehow escaped contagion or attack.

For nearly half a year, Orla and Sorcha passed from village to village, always hearing the words, "Oh, you must go on to Onglse. You need to speak with Ceanndraoi Greum. He'll be able to help you. We wish we could, but we can't." What exactly Ceanndraoi Greum could help her with was never quite voiced.

When she and Sorcha finally reached Onglse, the Isle of the Draoi, Ceanndraoi Greum made little effort to mask his feelings toward Orla. The Red-Hand, as Greum was also known, remembered Orla's mother all too well, and that was the problem. Yes, he had helped train Voada, and he had commanded the forces defending Onglse when Commander Savas of the Mundoa had attacked the island.

But Voada had stolen away Greum's military chief, Ceannˆrd Maol Iosa, when she abandoned Onglse to organize the rebellion in the south. And it was Greum's title of ceanndraoi that Voada had claimed as well.

Greum was obviously less than happy to find that Voada's daughter had arrived on the island asking for training. His voice was a deep, rich baritone that lent authority to his words, and he leaned on a wooden staff he always carried for support, as his leg had never quite healed from a wound he'd taken in the battle for Onglse.

"You say you can see the taibhsean, the ghosts of the dead, and I'll accept that," Ceanndraoi Greum declared when she was presented to him at Bˆn Cill, the sacred temple set at the center of Onglse. Greum Red-Hand had the build of a warrior, with dark hair now well-laced with gray, a long braid down his back, and a thick, oiled beard. His eyebrows, like fat caterpillars perched on the ledge of his brow, were already more white than dark, though the eyes beneath them were the black of a moonless night. As ceanndraoi, he wore an outer cloak of deep red, sewn at the hems with silver threads in a knotted pattern. Orla immediately saw why he was called "Red-Hand"-not for the blood he'd shed in battle, but because the hands emerging from the sleeves of his lŽine were mottled with orange-red splotches, as if the Goddess Elia had splashed pigment on them as he was born. An older woman draoi, whom he introduced as Ceiteag, stood alongside him. The woman stared at Orla with an intensity that unnerved her.

"Given your lineage," Greum continued, glaring at Orla, "I've no reason to doubt your word. But seeing taibhse doesn't make you a draoi, only a potential menach-a cleric of Elia." Greum bowed his head slightly as he spoke the goddess' name.

"She sees the anamacha as well," Ceiteag broke in. "Go on, girl-point to the Ceanndraoi's anamacha or to mine. I know you see them, even if your friend is entirely blind to them."

Greum scowled as Orla pointed to Greum's right side, where a ghostly figure stood, its head flickering as several visages came and vanished, the faces of dozens of the former draoi caught within it. "Draoi Ceiteag is correct; I can see the anamacha too, not just the taibhse," Orla told Greum. "I know now that back in my old home of Pencraig, both my mother and I saw Leagsaidh Moonshadow's anamacha, and we all know what my mother became when she bonded with the Moonshadow."

Greum's scowl deepened at the mention, irritation knitting together bushy eyebrows. "And where is the Moonshadow's anamacha now?" he scoffed. "Lost again, as it was for so long before it found your mam. I don't see the Moonshadow's anamacha or any other standing alongside you, girl. Do you think I need another menach or another servant to clean the temple? What use are you and your unsighted friend to me or to Onglse?"

Sorcha, who had been Orla's constant companion since they'd fled the Mundoan army encampment, took a sudden step back at the ceanndraoi's evident rage, as if afraid the man might strike them or cast a spell. Since their arrival on Onglse, Sorcha had become increasingly reluctant to speak out and more reserved, despite being the older of the two. Orla forced herself to stand erect, lifting her chin and staring silently at Greum, her lips pressed together tightly.

"Here's what I will do," Greum spat at last. "It's two moons until the next solstice. You and your friend may stay until then. I'll have Menach Moire see if you've any potential at all, and if you don't, you'll both be asked to leave."

Ceiteag touched the arm of his robe. "Ceanndraoi, perhaps I should-"

"No," Greum said loudly before Ceiteag could finish. "Not you, Ceiteag. Menach Moire will be in charge of the girl's training."

And with that he stalked away with a swirl of his red cloak. With a final glance back toward Orla, Ceiteag followed him.

--

Orla had little contact with Ceanndraoi Greum after that first day, though his red-clad presence was often in the periphery of her vision and the sound of his brass-tipped staff on the templeÕs tiled floors in her ears. Menach Moire undertook teaching Orla the duties and responsibilities of a menach. Sorcha, unable to see the taibhse at all, was taken on as a lowly temple servant-mostly, Orla suspected, because Orla had insisted that if Sorcha were sent away, Orla would go with her.

That was what little power she had from being Voada's daughter. No one wanted her, but no one wanted to cast her away either.

Menach Moire was one of the staff members always hovering around Greum-nearly all of them women, Orla noted. She had a thin face and body that reminded Orla of a human-sized weasel, and her darker complexion along with the shape of her cheeks and nose made Orla wonder if she wasn't part Mundoan. The woman treated Orla and especially Sorcha with a cold disdain that Orla suspected was simply a reflection of Greum's attitude. Menach Moire was both menach and draoi, though the acolytes whispered that her anamacha was...