The Palace of the Moon

By Andrew Clitheroe

On the shores of the marshes it is the time of Moonblossom and the Palace, time for Luan's childhood sweetheart Pellia to dance with the Court and become a woman. But the truths he must confront as he becomes a man are harsher than he could know...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Clitheroe
• Release date: Jul 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465878922

Book preview

THE PALACE OF THE MOON

by

Andrew M. Clitheroe

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Andrew M Clitheroe on Smashwords

The Palace of the Moon

Copyright © 2011 by Andrew M. Clitheroe

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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THE PALACE OF THE MOON

It was the time of moonblossom, the time of the Palace and the rite of womanhood, but on a hillside high above two not-quite children lay and hid, two pairs of eyes peeking down from amongst the rocky crags and mountain grasses to survey the broad nighttime swelter of the wetlands, where across a glimmering black expanse proceeded a tiny oasis of light: a raft bedecked with flowers and guttering torches.

Look! Pellia pointed, and Luan dutifully strained to see. The figures lining each side of the raft were indistinguishable to him, but he nodded anyway. Pellia's shoulder, radiant as if the summer's day had charged her with its heat, pressed against his as she leaned in for him to sight along her arm. It distracted Luan, like a hundred other little things about her had done of late, and for the hundredth time he wondered why it should be so.

That's Goedral, whispered Pellia. My sister said she's been telling everyone how she'll be taken last; she says the seer told her so.

Who'll she give her blossom to? Luan asked. Neither he nor Pellia had leaned away when her arm lowered.

Erromand, said Pellia with certainty. My sister told me, and her face was like this. She dragged the corners of her mouth and eyes down. Luan rolled onto his back, giggling.

She likes him!

All her friends do. And their mothers. His father's herding-pole is notched nearly to the bottom.

Luan stopped laughing.

I don't like him though, said Pellia after a while. He's too tall and loud.

Luan looked up at her, silhouetted against the indigo dusk, and found himself saying:

They'll take you last, when it's your turn. I'm sure of it. I mean: if I was the seer, that's what I'd say.

His words hung in the air between them.

Then I could have my pick, said Pellia, and he couldn't refuse.

Cold, heavy metal filled Luan's heart.

Who?

For an answer, Pellia reached out and plucked the nodding head of a stardrop from its stem. Luan felt his whole body tremble as she tucked it behind his ear. He touched her hand as she withdrew it, and found that she too was shaking. He wanted to say something clever, something meaningful. He said nothing.

Look! Pellia pointed again and Luan scrambled to his knees, both disappointed and oddly grateful that the spell had been broken. His breath caught in his chest.

From over the farthest hills the moon was rising, vast and