Planter's Moon: The Moons of Epigaea, #4

By James Matt Cox

The end has come! The world of Epigaea, once ravaged by the Great Storm that nearly destroyed her, now faces one even stronger. A festering, pustulent evil from a past remembered only by the Elves has returned with an appetite only sharpened by the centuries of its delay. Goblins, hobgoblins, ogres, trolls and worse swarm from the Wild Lands into the Seven Kingdoms of Man bringing death and destruction in their wake. Even more chilling, the spirits of the dead have returned to the world of the living.

 

All is not lost, though. Tigerthorn the Sly, Dirk d'Argent and their friends have the means to avert annihilation. They must needs only discover where it will happen, where it will begin and how to prevent it. Thus begins the desperate quest that scatters them throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. As they walk its paths they must confront old friends and enemies both in their search for knowledge.

 

Will such knowledge be enough? Epigaea's magic has diminished to nothing against that she granted before the Great Storm and it will not be enough to save her now. The key to her future lies in her past and saving life requires death. Can the unlikely band of heroes make the necessary sacrifice?

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Matt Cox
• Release date: Oct 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393657644

Book preview

Chapter 0. Moonfall

Blazing fires of vengeance climb,

As bitter flowers of anger bloom,

Human's hate will seal their fate,

Beneath the shining, dimming Moon.

This tale begins, as do all tales of worth, in a distant time and a distant place. The once blue world of Epigaea stumbles beneath a vast, dark firmament of stars scattered like shining teardrops on a cloth of ebony velvet. Her face is now marred by conflict and consequence.

The ancient races of Elves and Dwarves shelter in their refuges of safety, their Hidden Groves and Deep Halls, while the much younger race of Man now fights against its own extinction. In their arrogant ignorance humans covered the whole of Epigaea with battles, senseless conflicts born of incomplete knowledge and stubbornness, and ever-growing abuses of the power she so abundantly gave them.

In its ultimate madness Man thought to triumph, one faction over another, by wielding the bounty of Epigaea as weapons to her bane. With one insult too many Epigaea herself rebelled against the impudent humans and unleashed her wrath upon them.

And Man's wars ceased.

***

The unseen waters rippled and a Bridgeway opened. Phyryllinos, Lesser Master of Wind and Storm, and Gloraeonia, Lesser Master of Waves and Swells, raised their staves and prepared to weave in offense or defense. A hooded man carrying a bundle staggered through and his weave collapsed behind him.

The Bridgeway didn't vanish normally. It shrank and lingered with blue-white flames engulfing it and trying to reach out. When it finally did close Phyryllinos set aside his staff and rushed to the hooded man's aid.

Ressli, he said. You are here. Are you hale?

As much as can be. Resslirathio, Lesser Master of Flames, staggered to his feet. Beware my burden. Do not let its shroud fall away. We must make haste.

What of the Circle?

Resslirathio shook his head. Zarcocia has fallen. Vellpraefortus has fallen. Crystalanthia is no more. This I know from Tellisrathio. Sadness clouded his face. Rathio barely escaped the conflagration. His friend Aripristis did not.

Gloraeonia sniffed. One less filthy Vatic. What matters that?

If not for Ari we would not have this, Resslirathio indicated his bundle. If not for Aripristis and those like him Epigaea might well die. Is your hatred worth that? Did you not hear the words of Nautilenes himself?

His words stung her. Her eyes narrowed.

Peace, said Phyryllinos. Is the Mother's death truly what you wish, Glora? Ressli? Resslirathio shook himself. Of course not. Pray forgive and pardon, Gloraeonia. When I departed we had not yet received the messengers from Luclenias. I fear for my family.

As do we all, said Phyryllinos.

Indeed, said Gloraeonia. Pray pardon me as well, Ressli. The sky flashed and she looked up. Do we still have time for our weave?

May the Light grant that we do, said Phyryllinos. Come. We must hurry. Ssorillisor is making ready even as we speak.

The three of them started down the pathway. Before long it cleared to the strange, square, tapered stone building the scaled folk called their Spirit Heart. According to their tradition it sat above the sacred spring that birthed them to Epigaea. Resslirathio only knew he was grateful to them for allowing its use. Dozens of scaled folk and humans milled about the entrance. As the three Masters approached one of the former approached them.

I see you Resslirathio, said Ssukkuul Rhammis, leader of the scaled folk and the humans who shared their jungles and their ways.

I see you Ssukkuul Rhammis. I thank you for your welcome. Would that I came with better tidings.

One day passes into darkness, said Ssukkuul Rhammis. From that darkness another day is born. The sleeper who dreams wakes into another dream. You would do well to learn that, Brother of Fire.

Resslirathio smiled. As would many. Again I thank you and your for your gift and sacrifice.

It iss less than yours, Brother of Fire. Certainly it pales against what your Circles have given. May the Great Jungles guard you on your way.

Resslirathio bowed. Did Ssorillisor speak to you?

He did. We have graven his words into our hearts, Brother of Fire. Our fastest folk have run to all the tribes. We know our task and we will not fail.

Resslirathio nodded and took one of Ssukkuul Rhammis' hands with both his own.

May the Great Jungles grant their greatest blessings to you and all of yours, Ssukkuul Rhammis. May the Light shine upon you until we wake from this dream.

The three of them made their way to the Chamber of Reverence. Weavers both scaled and human waited there. None spoke as the three made their way forward into the Narthex Coor. Ssorillisor, Master of Mountains, awaited them there along with a young scaled lad in the corner.

Preparations are complete, said Ssorillisor. What tidingss to you bring, Resslirathio?

Nothing good, I fear.

Then we shall not sspeak of them.

Ssorillisor took Resslirathio's hand and gave him a firm embrace. Then he repeated it with Gloraeonia and Phyryllinos. Resslirathio did the same with Phyryllinos and offered his hand to Gloraeonia. She took it and embraced him, quickly but with sincerity.

I never liked you Ressli, she said with a soft smile. Of all the days I wished you to be wrong this one rises above all others.

As do I, Sister. He returned her smile and turned to Ssorillisor. Ssorril?

Ssorillisor embraced the young lad, spoke a few words in their language and sent him out. Resslirathio opened his bundle, removed its contents and placed them carefully within the Innermost Heart. Ssorillisor closed the chamber and took his place at the altar. Across it he faced Phyryllinos. Resslirathio took his place beside both and facing Gloraeonia.

May the Light shine upon us, she said. May it protect this blessed place from the taint we bring unto it.

After a few minutes they felt the surge of power as the weavers in the outer chambers began their chant. The magic they called forth pooled with the nascent power of the Heart itself and built up even faster. Resslirathio looked at the three with him, his true friends and family, and nodded.

He lifted his staff, cast his will into it and flexed his arms. After a brief resistance it broke. He felt it in his heart and soul as he placed the two pieces gently on the altar before him. After a moment the other three did likewise. They reached out, joined hands and began their chant.

When Ssorillisor's youngest son ran out of the entrance Ssukkuul Rhammis took his hand and motioned all the others back. By the time they reached the edge of the clearing the Heart glowed. As it brightened it pulsed and as it pulsed it resonated. Its heartbeat touched the grass, the flowers and brush. Soon even the trees themselves beat with it.

The light grew even brighter and the people had to shield their eyes. The few gifted among them felt the Heart throbbing strongly but with a thread of darkness at its core. They knew how to quell it as did the others among the tribes.

A blinding white lance shot into the sky. It burned and throbbed with the Heart for a long time. Finally it dimmed and died.

The folk gathered at the Heart as soon as they no longer felt its ebb and flow. In small groups they entered, some bravely and others less so. Before long pairs returned carrying a third between them. They laid the bodies gently on the waiting carts and returned to the Heart for the next. Resslirathio came last with four folk carrying him gentlest of all.

Take them to their pyress, said Ssukkuul Rhammis. May the Light grant us time to do them this last honor. He placed his hand on Resslirathio's shoulder. Join your brother, Master of Flames. Help him bear the burden he must.

***

The Tower of Might rose far above the ground below. It reached for the sky like a truculent, mailed fist. It served as an example of the Emperor's strength built centuries ago to impress people who needed reminding even today. The map-makers named it Trifficatos but those here who served the Emperor rarely used it. They called it The Emperor's Tool and not in a flattering way. The folk on the middle island of the Emperor's Three Fingers considered themselves independent but they didn't hold a copper coin to the people here. From the thick jungles covering the island-continent's eastern parts to the rocky, swampy morass of its westernmost shore no one gave Emperor Artorios his proper due.

The tower itself stood in the middle of an immense circle of blue with fountains wandering about its surface sending up plumes of water. The soldiers stationed here called it a moat while others born here named it a lake. Even though the natives knew both tower and lake came to exist at the Emperor's command they refused to bend the knee deeply. Even though they knew the nature of the more recent fountains they refused to acknowledge the Emperor's rule.

Between and around the fountains danced whirlpools, smaller and more numerous but just as useful. With the long-overdue Outcasting, weavers from the Vatic Orders put paid to an affront perpetrated by the rebellious Mantics. Every watery vortex and spout was a pesky water-spirit captured, broken and bound into service. They all served to gather magical power and feed it to the massive reserve beneath the tower. The stronger it grew the stronger its bindings held them. Over the years more than one Mantic weaver lost his or her life trying to free the suffering creatures.

Now a faint shimmer clung to and covered the tower, more visible in the approaching dusk. Atop the tower Guard Commander Markokassios Sarbanes faced east and peered through a woven spyglass. The unnatural clouds closing in from the horizons all around bothered him less than the pulsing shaft of light piercing the sky. His assistant Ruben hurriedly wrote and calculated as they tried to work out its location. Sarbanes heard someone behind him.

Is this what you observed, commander? Finger of Light and Shadow Roukhan Mitsau spoke softly and did not reprimand Sarbanes for his lack of ceremony.

Yes, Hault Mitsau. It shines less brightly now than when I sent word.

Mitsau stepped forward and Sarbanes handed him the spyglass. Ruben should have enough for his sums, now he only needed some time.

It has not faded?

A small amount, Hault Mitsau. At first it was blinding bright and it did not waver.

What of those strange clouds?

It seems they seek it, sir.

Sarbanes didn't know that for certain but they appeared soon after the pillar of light and moved toward it.

The filthy Mantics overplayed their hand, said Mitsau. I sense the sophistication of the Realms to the clouds. Mere elemental weaves are far simpler and less intricate. He scoffed.

As you say, sir. Is there any word from the High Priest?

There is none but we are not overly concerned. Mitsau handed the glass back. Bearing and flight as soon as you have them, commander. Prepare a heavy patrol. Perhaps they will capture a prisoner or three. For now we shall smite them at their weakest.

With pleasure, sir.

Mitsau departed hastily. Sarbanes double-checked the chalk marks he made around the parapet. The tower builders cut measurements into its surface and the geometers at the Tower kept them fresh and accurate. The light vanished as he checked his last one but he found no errors with any of them. He thought to help Ruben with the figuring but by his look he was almost done. Sarbanes felt a jolt of satisfaction at that. Roukhan Mitsau did not strike lightly when he let loose his wrath. The jungle-scum Mantic rebels would know his anger soon enough. As he and Ruben hurried to inform the Finger neither noticed the ominous clouds swelling above the tower.

Mind your focus, said Mitsau needlessly. We do not know what the Mantic fools attempt but we shall destroy it and them alongside. Touch our pool gently and prepare. We will strike soon.

Around him the Vatic priests chanted softly as they joined each other and melded their weaves. They had done this countless times and Mitsau knew he could merge with them and grasp their flows easily. The strange spear of light rose to the east so he faced that direction. The wall of the round chamber held a map, strangely distorted but perfect for its job. It had lines of gold and silver that matched those around the tower parapet and with the figures he'd soon have he would know exactly where to send his strike. He had his suspicions and irony would bless him if he thought correctly.

Sarbanes entered the chamber silently and handed him a scrap of parchment with a predatory half-smile. Mitsau returned it and nodded. He proffered the parchment with a full bow and left as quietly as he entered.

Mitsau clamped down on his suddenly-surging emotions and worked to focus his mind past it. He was right. He was right and this strike would put paid to more than just the insolent Mantics. If any of the sub-human creatures tried to complain, he thought, he had ample justification for his actions. Even as tranquility came it brought a smaller and more delicate irony. This day the Mantics would feel the bite from the very creatures of their Spheres, captured and coerced into collecting its power.

Mitsau joined himself to his fellows gently. He strengthened their links, drew the power to himself and sent his mind forth. He felt and shared a small satisfaction as he found confirmation to all of his suppositions. He didn't waste energy on detail but he saw dead bodies. Many dead bodies. That meant the scum found Vatic defenses beyond their power to pierce and their weaves failed. Whatever the cause they were vulnerable. They and their scaled pets would feel the Emperor's retribution now. Anticipation, gladness and eagerness flowed through the links strong enough to make his head swim.

As the power the group held grew, the clouds above the tower darkened. Peasants in nearby villages noted them and feared as they obscured the rising moon. All who saw took their families and scurried for shelter. Those who had cellars opened them to their friends and neighbors. Most of them spoke frantic prayers to the Light as the last bit of it faded from the sky.

When the power Mitsau held tingled into pain he formed and released his Great Strike. It lashed out and their connection to the pool narrowed to a trickle. He took a breath and prepared to send out his mind again. He had no doubt about what he'd see, he simply wanted to see the destruction he and his fellows wrought.

The floor bucked beneath them throwing him to the floor and several others into tables or chairs. He struggled to hold the fusion together as pain flooded it. Discarding any thought of weaving he worked instead to break the fusion apart without harming any within it.

Pain from outside washed through them as massive power with a strange feel to it engulfed them. Mitsau's ears informed him of a great noise and rumbling as the chamber turned sideways. He felt a stomach-hollowing sense of falling and all the loose things within the room floated upward. Despite all the Wards woven into it the wall cracked. Mitsau's eyes perceived a blinding light above tortured ground just before the room crashed into it and ended his life.

Pustulent green and red lashes of lightning whipped from the clouds and smashed every part of the tower into pebbles. One of those vicious sparks penetrated the foundation all the way to the pool of power beneath it and sucked the energy into itself. Down, down and down the lightning struck.

Within the water the tortured sprites tried to escape. The weaves binding them and compelling them still existed and the power now washing through them only made them stronger. While it existed they could not leave and some measure of the lightning shot through those excruciating channels. Now tortured to the point of madness, the creatures darted about screaming until their last modicum of wit expired.

As the belligerent clouds loosed their unreason the now-mindless water-spirits blindly sought solace. The fountains gathered and clung to each other in the center of the lake, desperate for the thread of power still connecting them to it. The whirlpools scattered, unrationally seeking escape from that same thread. As the wild magic flowed around them that tiny puddle of power started once again to grow.

***

Nikavolitus of Seas and Swells shook his head and struggled to gain his feet. Around him he heard moans and cries from others in the Porta Conclavis. The chamber now held only the dead and those close to it.

N-nika... Justin Piers, Master of Mountains, twitched and moved feebly. He and two near him slowly sat up. What happened?

I do not know. Hulzin conveyed the travelers through the Gateway. I felt the arrival, his departure and return as always. I was making ready for the opening when a great chaotic swell overtook the Great Gate and thrust itself inward. I held the weave as long as I could. I remember little after I lost my grasp.

What of the vacuole? asked William Scrivener, Master of Wind and Storm.

I... I believe the filaments still hold. I feel them yet they are hard to discern against the power that now throbs within the vacuole.

What of this power? asked Piers. What was its form and flavor?

It was foul, said Doris Woodburrow, Least Master of Mountains. It reeked of Vatic weavers. It was more raw power than all here together could hope to hold. I tried to join my weave to yours, Nika, to strengthen it. I could not.

I felt you, said Nikavolitus. I felt your weave as well as something preventing me from touching it. That... it had a friendly feel to it.

Is the vacuole secure? asked Piers more urgently.

It... is, said Scrivener after a brief weave. It holds for now but it is a bubble of foam on the crashing surf. It does not pull against the filaments yet it itself is near to bursting.

How did they know? asked Woodburrow. How did Histiliothenes know? Few of the Circles and Spheres knew of our island and fewer still how to come to it. How did they know to strike here?

I don't think they did, said Nikavolitus. The massive flow of power smelt foul, that is true, but it did not scent as strongly as it should given the size of it. It should have burned all here to ash and burned the ash yet it did not. It felt as though another's hand guided it.

A distraction? wondered Scrivener.

A parry, said Nikavolitus. Filinatassa knew Histiliothenes prepared a weave great enough to cause the death of us all and Epigaea besides. Perhaps the power he gathered escaped him Perhaps he struck untimely.

Mantics gathered power to oppose him, said Woodburrow. My sister's son told me that. He thought Filinatassa foolish to waste it trying to Ward Histiliothenes' strike. She sighed. Fire was lucky to gain him.

There was a feel of the Great Elements, said Nikavolitus. He tested a weave. You speak rightly of the vacuole, William. It holds yet any disturbance will burst it.

No, said Woodburrow, following his fault. Nika, you cannot. You must not.

We must. We must seal it firm lest another surge strike it. Even without the weaves in place the Great Gate is fragile as a dry leaf. Did the vacuole burst the Gate would certainly fail and the backlash would wreak great harm here and upon Epigaea.

Piers and Woodburrow looked up at the strange clouds, visible for a long time but advancing rapidly now.

We must seal the gateway, said Nikavolitus urgently. Quickly. You must find all of our brothers and sisters able to help. The filaments are secure but if the vacuole bursts they matter not at all.

What of those inside? asked Scrivener.

I fear they no longer live. Any who do must gird and fend for themselves. Nikavolitus looked at the clouds again. May the Light burn my soul to shadow. We must care for Epigaea. Quickly now.

The others moved quickly among their fellows, rousing whoever they could. Piers found a Master who...

"Nikka. No!"

The others looked up. Nikavolitus stood between what the Masters who wove them jokingly called the Horns of Kaphronus.

No, cried Woodburrow. You are not strong enough, Nikka.

I will not ask you to do this. He put one hand on each horn. Upon my soul only will this rest. I will find the strength. Warn the others. Warn as many as you can.

Nikavolitus grasped the Horns, his face set in a stony mask of determination. His hands glowed, the Horns glowed and the carved archway holding the Great Gate glowed. Brighter, brighter and brighter still the weaves glowed. It flickered once, Nikavolitus screamed and the light slowly died.

Woven stone now filled the Gateway. Between the Horns only a faint wisp of fine black ash drifted down. The strange clouds lurched forward. A great white wave shot upward as the sea around the Four-Spur Island crashed against the cliffs of its shore.

You have a fine hand, William, said Piers. You and Doris write all you can.

What of you, Justin? asked Woodburrow.

He looked at the clouds. Those bode nothing good. I shall attempt to contact the others.

The Great Circle?

No. I dare not. I'll go wherever those vile clouds allow.

***

Therimatoria, Master of Seas and Swells, looked to her left and right. Jack Waller of Seas and Swells and Luke Fortberry of Mountains stared back. The three columns of the Anchor Stone stood at the center of the triangle they made. By Therimatoria's rede they had waited long enough if not overlong. Inwardly she hoped for news but none came. Behind her the tower Anx Solum stretched toward the sky. From its roof she saw the strange clouds seeping above the horizon in a near-perfect circle. Earlier the three of them felt world-spanning weaves of incalculable power.

They sheltered in the dungeons of the tower hoping that its stone walls and the protections woven into them would hold. When they and their servants emerged they knew the world had changed. Fortberry felt it strongest. At the time he said they should execute the plans they all dreaded and safeguard what the lowest levels of the tower basements held. Therimatoria demurred. Now she wondered at her decision.

With that they began an apprehensive vigil. If Filinatassa's plan worked he'd let them know as quickly as he could. In her heart Therimatoria still hoped. Though none of them knew the details of what the Greatest Masters planned they did know it might kill them. Even if they lived they would be exhausted. Under the best of circumstances she knew they couldn't communicate immediately.

If the Mantic plan failed and Histiliothenes' weavers emerged victorious they would know. He could not possibly slay all Mantic weavers despite what he thought. At least one would be able to come to Anx Solum. Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours and still no word came.

Filinatassa gave Therimatoria as much discretion as he could but now it was gone. She took every precaution he decreed and now they dictated her action. She nodded to the other two.

Before they could raise their staves The stone columns burst into blue-white flames. Therimatoria felt the power surging through them and motioned the other two to make Wards. The flames grew more and more furious until the Bridge opened. She caught sight of a shimmering room just before someone stumbled through the portal and fell. The flames spread to the body, only flickering out when the portal closed. A few runnels