Maraluna: Book 4 in the Lunation series

By J.J. Gadd

Book 4 in the compelling Lunation Series, where readers can choose their own path through the story.

Tables have turned. Raul is now trapped inside the book and plagues everyone with nightmares.

Released from the moon, Marama embarks on an epic battle to defeat the enemy army.

Meanwhile Branguin and his companions discover that there is some other mischief present ...

Marama's servants, newly released from their original dog form, are not as benign as first assumed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Sep 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781460702963

J.J. Gadd

JJ Gadd is an Australian writer based in regional Victoria. She likes green and growing things, cooking, and history - particularly antiquities. The call to writing came young, and she worked as a journalist and editor for more than 15 years, garnering the life experience she thought she’d need in order to do justice to the story she’s wanted to write since she was a girl. Now that she’s a grown-up she’s realised that life experience is something that keeps happening - but she wrote the story anyway.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The first thing the man felt as he regained consciousness was steel against his neck. Then he became aware of voices. Discussing him.

‘Just throw ’im over. He’s not our problem. We’re only a couple of hours away — he might even catch a lucky tide and make it to shore.’

‘Well he might have, Jim, if the tides hadn’t gone so haywire. But I think we should throw him over anyway.’

‘Come on, Gregson. Aren’t you curious as to where he came from?’chimed a third voice. ‘I’d certainly like some answers. A man doesn’t just appear like that, on deck, in the middle of the sea. There’s something afoot.’

‘If he could appear on deck, Farley, he could appear in the sea. Or disappear,’ the first voice, Jim’s, spoke again. ‘I don’t want to get mixed up in whatever mess he’s in. It’s none of our concern. Things are weird enough with these red dreams keeping us awake. We don’t need any more trouble.’

‘Wait!’The man under discussion decided it was time to plead his case. Whatever his case was. Where in the world was he, and how did he get here? He opened his eyes, and saw he was surrounded by a number of scruffy-looking sailors. Probably the entire crew. Given the sailors’ scrawny, underfed look, he figured he was lucky they were not contemplating throwing him in a cook pot.

‘Please don’t throw me over! I’m not much of a swimmer, and if you’re nearly at shore, can’t I just go my own way then, with no trouble to you? Um, where is this shore, exactly?’

‘We’ll ask the questions!’ snapped Jim. He seemed to be the leader, though he wore no badge or hat that singled him out as captain. He certainly did look to be one of the fiercest the man could see arrayed before him.

‘Quite right, Captain Jim!’ the man replied, taking a guess. ‘I’ll happily answer your questions if I can, though I should say straight out, I’m quite unaware of how I came to be here myself!’

‘A silvertongue!’ said one of the crew;Gregson, the man thought. ‘Throw him over, before he ensnares us with his words!’

The steel was still at the man’s throat. He let his eye follow the blade up to the sailor who held it, a sailor who had not spoken yet. The sailor’s eyes were full of fear, and the man thought the seaman would strike first, and think later. Nonetheless, he risked wringing his pale, scholarly hands, and pleading pitifully.

‘I’m an innocent man! I have done no wrong to you or anybody! Please, just let me go when you reach the shore!’

‘Move again, and it will be the last time!’ Jim said.

The man stilled his hands.

‘It’s not as easy as all that, stranger. The shore is Iros, and we’re only there one night, to offload and load again. You don’t look like the sort to work, and there’s no room for passengers on this ship. And we can’t take you to Iros. They don’t like strangers there, and we’d be responsible for you.’

The man was familiar with Iros. It was known as a pirate island, which meant that these were likely pirates. Which meant there was no pleading innocence.

‘So I’m sorry, stranger, but we have little choice but to throw you overboard.’ Jim continued, motioneding to Gregson and Farley to enact his pronouncement.

Cornered, something snapped in the man. A mask, long-worn, fell away; his obsequious expression replaced with one that was cruel and hard. Even his skin tone seemed to change, becoming a little grey-green. Before Gregson or Farley had even stirred, the sailor with the sword fell motionless to the ground with a thump and a clatter, and the man leapt to his feet.

‘Now, don’t any of you move, or you’ll meet the same fate!’ the man snarled. ‘His heart has stopped, as will the heart of any man who tries to harm me.’

The sailors regarded him warily.

‘Are you a saher, then?’ Jim asked.

‘Not as you know it,’ the man replied. ‘But I do have powers beyond your imagining. Now, what cargo do you collect at Iros, and where do you take it?’

‘Kerria’s at war,’ Jim replied. ‘The people are starving. We take Worthing all the food Iros has to spare.’

‘For a tidy profit, no doubt.’ The man commented. ‘And perhaps your return cargo might be some of those orphaned by the war? Slaves?’

Jim shrugged.

‘You will continue with your plan, with a slight detour,’ the man instructed. ‘Before Worthing, you will drop me off in Amore. But not a word of this onshore! My presence must remain a secret, and any man that who speaks out will suffer this man’s fate.’

‘Amore! There’s not even a port!’ Gregson snorted, rudely, but did not get to say any more. He turned white, clutched his heart, and fell to the deck, dead.

‘I’ll do the lot of you, if I have to,’ the man said, in a menacing tone. ‘We’re a short distance from shore, and I can always get extra crew. Crew who are loyal to me. So what will it be? A short detour is a small price to pay for your lives.’

‘We will do as you say, sir,’ Jim said, placatingly. ‘Will you tell us who you are?’

‘My name is Mesbah,’ the man grated, and it was. He would disguise himself no longer. It was time for action. And Amore would not know what hit it.

CHAPTER 1

Waves crashed against the rocks below, a rhythmic, repetitive sound that calmed the thrashing of Arla’s thoughts. The tiny woman before her extended a hand, a request for assistance. Arla helped her to rise, propping her up against the altar for support, and then bowed back, deferentially. What had just happened? Where was Elodea, if not here in her own body? Where was Branguin? And Anselt, and Eave, and Habsem? She looked around, her eyes straining in the gathering darkness, but she could see no trace of them.

The wave-swept silence was broken by an ungodly howl. Straining to see far in the dimness, Arla made out the forms of the white-cowled men further across the promontory. They had fallen to their bellies, where they whimpered and pawed at their heads, as though unable to believe what had happened to them. The woman at the altar raised a weary hand, drawing a square in the air with her finger, and the sound ceased.

‘Vikrant!’ She snapped a command. The voice was not Elodea’s, though it came from her body.

Nearby, the fawning man ceased licking his hands, and sidled towards his mistress.

‘Your Majesty,’ he whined, a dog-like sound. He alone recognised Elodea’s new voice.

‘You must solve a puzzle for me, that even with five hundred years of rumination I have failed to decipher,’ the woman said. ‘Who are those Darcons over there, and why did they turn into white wolves and attack the populace when we were transformed?’

As though awakening from a dream, the cowering form before her diverted his attention across to the men corralled within Marama’s magical, sound-proof walls of air.

‘The Krallen,’ he said, slowly, as though he wished he were not speaking. ‘An elite band of fighting Darcons, formed to protect us in times of danger. Their existence was a secret known only to myself and a handful of the other Darcons.’

‘Fighting Darcons?’ Elodea/Marama looked aghast. ‘But the Darcons are resolved to do no violence. I do not understand! It goes against the entire Darcon creed!’

‘They were religious too,’ Vikrant stammered. ‘They only harmed in times of great need, which was almost never. They were more a precaution than anything else.’

‘Then where were they, when I fought Balesh? You did not mention them to me then — you let your queen march off the war without even telling her!’

‘Majesty!’ a note of exasperation crept into Vikrant’s voice. ‘That is hardly fair! As I recall, you were busy giving the orders — we did not have a chance to enact our own plans, with you showing up out of the blue, and taking over.’

For half a second, it looked as though Vikrant had won the upper hand: the queen was rendered momentarily speechless. And then —

‘Something like that would be all the justification Raul needed for his claim that the Darcons are corrupt! I am appalled!’

‘Their existence was secret,’ Vikrant insisted. ‘No one could have known about them, least of all Raul.’

‘I would not be so sure, and besides, that does not make it right,’ the woman replied. ‘Just look at them, they are a danger to themselves and others. This should never have been allowed. How many of them are there? What will we do with them?’

‘There are not many left,’ Vikrant replied. ‘They were hunted almost out of existence after your interment. The ones that remained I bade hide in the hills until we were released. There they stayed, until they were confused by the appearance of the Raul moon. They thought it was a sign that you would never be freed, and this distressed them.’

‘So they attacked innocent people? I don’t understand how any Darcon, fighting or otherwise, could harm the populace, whom they are sworn to care for!’

Vikrant shrugged. ‘I don’t understand it either, Mara. Let me talk to them, and I will see what I can discover.’

The endearment seemed to soften her, and she relaxed a little.

‘All right, Vikrant. But hear me: I won’t allow this to continue. The Krallen must be disbanded. We must help them find peace. Look what a life of violence did to them; it twisted the spell, and instead of becoming harmless dogs, they became killers.’

Vikrant ducked his head, and loped over to the prostrate figures, who became audible again at a wave of the woman’s hand.

The woman, Marama — for she really was Elodea no longer, the new mannerisms altered her person completely — diverted her attention to the three figures bowed nearby.

‘Rise, all of you,’ she said, kindly. ‘Thank you for what you have done to release me from my prison. Your efforts will be rewarded — I will make short work of this Plains Lord, and your cities will be saved. But we must make haste — the attack will come via an unexpected route; I have seen it from above.’

‘Pardon, Majesty,’ Arla spoke, both words sticking in her throat. She realised she was not used to deferring to another. ‘What of our other companions? Where did they go?’

‘Ah,’ Marama looked about her, as if remembering. She reached out her hand and picked up the moonstone and necklace, which Arla now noticed sitting atop the altar. ‘Oh dear. An unfortunate side-effect. The impact of the spell has propelled them elsewhere.’

‘But where?’ Arla asked, at the same time thinking to herself ‘Even Elodea?’. But she did not utter the words aloud: something in Marama’s imperious bearing stayed her tongue.

‘Let me see,’ Marama frowned. ‘It could be that they were projected in the direction I was travelling as the moon; they may have continued to follow my orbit.’

‘You mean due west, Majesty?’ Yanek asked, reverently. Marama bestowed him with a radiant smile, gesturing for him to rise, which he had not done with the others.

‘That is right, my faithful follower. Your knowledge of the globe is as impressive as that of your admirable grandsire, Ike, who served me well.’

Marama slipped the stone into the necklace setting, and fastened it around her neck.

‘What lies to the west?’ Arla asked. ‘Will they be drowned? Can’t you do a finding spell, or something?’

‘I think you will find they can look after themselves,’ Marama replied. ‘They are all quite capable.’

Her tone was a touch contemptuous, Arla thought, trying not to bristle at Marama’s quick dismissal of the other companions’ wellbeing. What if they had landed in the sea, unconscious, and drowned?

‘Even so, I would like to confirm it,’ Arla replied, quietly, peripherally aware of Perry’s nod beside her. Marama shrugged.

‘You are free to do as you will, girl, though I expect you will find your efforts wasted. We have a war to fight; to my mind that need is the most pressing. I will go directly to Quira, and begin the defence. You may do as you please.’

Girl! That settled it. Arla had no desire to spend any more time with Marama than she must.

‘Then Perry and I will go in search of them, if my Majesty will give her blessing,’ Arla responded, injecting as much sarcasm into her tone as she dared.

‘My majesty does give you her blessing,’ Marama responded, with a sardonic smile. ‘She also grants permission for the Captain to take you, as she does not have pressing need of his services right now.’

Speechless, Arla looked to Captain Yanek, who was bowing yet again. It had not occurred to her that she would genuinely need Marama’s permission to depart, let alone with Captain Yanek. The full force of the change hit her: they were Marama’s subjects, and bound to do her will. She looked into Marama’s eyes, and recoiled at the strength she saw there. Here was a woman who could rival her grandmother Guina for mettle. Arla bowed her head in submission. Satisfied, Marama gave her the barest of nods in acknowledgement, and looked across the peninsula to Vikrant, who knelt among the cowled figures, almost indistinguishable in his own cowled robe.

‘Now, let us resolve the fate of these Krallen,’ she said, stepping away from the support of the altar with effort.

‘Majesty, you are weak,’ the Captain said, moving to take her arm. ‘You need food.’

‘Food! I do not remember what it tastes like!’ Marama exclaimed, waving him away. But she did take deep breaths as she took one step after the other, as if suddenly aware of being in a body again, walking confidently, though a little slowly, in the darkness.

‘Go on, all of you!’ she exclaimed, looking back at them over her shoulder. ‘Look for your friends. When you are ready, you will find me fighting the Plains Lord.’

The three companions obeyed, though Yanek looked a little hesitant.

‘Do you think I ought to bring her up some stew?’ he asked, as the approached the Oyster crevice. ‘She looked very weak, and it’s a long way to Quira from here.’

‘I don’t think she’s accustomed to people disobeying her orders,’ Perry replied, and the Captain nodded.

‘She might transform into an animal to feed,’ Arla said, secretly relishing the thought of the proud woman taking bestial form, and eating without manners or decorum. ‘That’s probably why she doesn’t need our food.’

They found the sailors on the staircase, as many crowded on the top step as it would take, the others bunched down behind them, hearing the news as relayed by the sailors on the top step.

‘Is it true, Captain?’ Corliss asked, cap in hand, tone awed.

‘It is,’ the Captain replied, solemnly. The sailors bowed their heads. First one, and then all of them, began to chant. Arla did not understand the words, though she caught Marama’s name.

‘Oh, for Kral’s sake!’ she exclaimed, uttering words she’d often heard cross her Grandfather Maynard’s lips, but never given voice herself. ‘We don’t have time for this! We must immediately sail west to find the others.’

She did not anticipate the hostility she saw in the eyes that turned her way.

‘We have been waiting a long time for this, Arla,’ Yanek said, quietly. ‘We have prayed for it, and now we must give thanks.’

‘Can you pray for it once we’re out to sea?’ Arla asked, but her tone was less demanding — she was well aware that she could not afford to anger the sailors, whom she needed to help find the others.

‘Marama did command us to go and find them,’ Perry chipped in, helpfully.

‘Queen Marama,’ Yanek said, frowning, but he seemed to take Perry’s reminder seriously. ‘Let’s go, lads! A staircase is no place for giving thanks! We will have a proper ceremony on the ship.’

To Arla’s relief, the sailors hastened to obey their captain, and before long they were on the ship and heading back out to sea. As the sailors negotiated the rocky exit from the cave, she and Perry rifled through the maps in the Captain’s room. She felt a sense of deja vu — the last time she had looked at these very maps had also been as they left the castle, but she had been so focused on locating Birdtrap Island that she had not really paid much attention to the other landmasses dotted about Kerria. There were more than she had ever realised — she had always viewed Kerria as the centre of the world, except for the mountainous Rollingian Islands at the country’s foot. But the Rollingians were so close to the mainland that they were almost considered a part of it.

Looking due west of Kerria, she saw now that there were three islands: Iros, Vania and Vanad. Iros was by far the largest, a long, narrow island that rivalled Kerria for length, though it was not nearly so wide. It was the only one of the three to have a city marked — Middrie. Vanad was shown as white, where the others were green, and Vania had a picture of a mermaid drawn beside it. She remarked on it to Perry.

‘I imagine it’s just a creative flourish of the map maker’s,’ Perry commented.

‘I’m not so sure,’ Arla replied, thoughtfully. ‘We have seen so many things we presumed to be childhood fancy come true in the past few months – the Afsun, for example.’

‘Even so, mermaids!’ Perry laughed. ‘You can’t be serious. They’re just dreamt up by lonely sailors.’

‘Oh, no, they’re not!’ Yanek retorted, entering the room and overhearing this remark. ‘They’re real, all right, and sailors fear them. Their call is irresistible, and many a sailor has drowned in heeding it.’

‘This map shows a mermaid by Vania, one of the islands to the west of us,’ Arla said, holding out the map so the captain could see it.

‘I know well what’s due west, and I don’t like it one bit!’ Yanek replied. ‘I can tell you straight out: I will not go to Vania, no matter how much you beg it of me. It’s an accursed place: no one who has sailed there has ever returned. I have heard stories that the inhabitants of the island use the ships for firewood and building and let the mermaids drown the crews.’

‘Oh, well that sounds credible,’ Arla said, sarcastically. ‘Surely not …?’

‘You can say what you will — not one of the lads would agree to sail the ship there, and I wouldn’t ever ask them to do it.’

‘All right,’ Arla said, letting the matter drop. ‘It’s not the first island in our path anyway — Iros is a bit closer.’

‘Iros,’ Yanek said, gloomily. ‘It’s almost as