Red Moon, White Moon, full in the sky

Red like a witch's evil eye.

Black eats White,

And leaves the Red.

Kratos' Moon, we'll all be dead!

— Children's rhyme describing "Kratos' Moon," a mythical event in which the Unseen Moon eclipses the Bright Mother, heralding tides of war and plague as the Mad Moon reigns unopposed in the sky. 

Chapter Eleven

Caris laid Harric on a bench in the kitchens. Mother Ganner stood at the bread table with her round fat back to Caris, working flour into one of many mounds of dough on the boards. Caris removed her helmet, and looked about warily. Even in her present state of excitement, she noticed the uncharacteristic silence in the kitchen. The serving girls stood together in the pantry, as if afraid to be noticed. More ominously, the Great Room adjacent to the kitchens, which usually roared with revels till midnight, was as hushed as the pale hours before dawn.

"Mother Ganner?" Caris said.

The widow turned her plump face toward Caris, without interrupting her kneading. In a sling across her bosom was a baby — one of her cooks' daughters — sleeping peacefully to the rhythmic swaying of her work. When Mother Ganner saw Caris she stopped kneading and curtsied with a muttered, "Lordship...."

Her face seemed odd to Caris in the uneven firelight, but what first seemed a trick of the shadows snapped into clarity as Caris stepped closer: the left side of Mother Ganner's face was as swollen and purple as a wine melon.

Caris sucked her breath. "Mother Ganner! What happened?"

For several heartbeats the widow stared at Caris, trying to reconcile the familiar voice and face with the hard and polished armor.

"Caris, girl? What...?" Her eyes found Harric and widened. She wiped her hands on her apron and bobbed to his side. "Harric, la! You should be far away by now. What you gone and done?" She brushed his hair from his eyes and examined his battered face. "Don't we make a pretty pair," she muttered.

Caris's breathing eased, but her heart still reeled with fierce emotion. The berserk reaction she experienced when she found Harric in danger upset her deeply.

"He's got to run," said the widow. "You both best run."

"We are. I mean, he was. I am, too." Caris grimaced, uncertain now why she'd planned to go alone.

Two serving girls crept from the pantry to peer at Harric, but Mother Ganner jabbed a fat finger at them, the flesh on her arm shaking imperiously. "Get back in there. Go on! I don't want you tattling he's here, tempted by their dirty silver. Soon as Missy and Wallop come back from the Great Room, they'll stay with you, too, till I say. But one of you fetch me that kettle with the herbs I meant for Lyla. And bring a bowl of rags."

"I need to go," Caris said, abruptly. She dropped the sock of coins Harric had given her onto the bench, then forced herself to take a step toward the door.

Mother Ganner looked at her, brow furrowed, but only nodded. "Gods leave you, girl."

Caris stalked to the stables.

Free.

She'd done the right thing. She could mount and ride from Harric and Gallows Ferry with clear conscience and clean heart.

                    * * *

Harric opened his eyes and stared at the widow for a moment before he recognized her. "Ma?" he said.

"Hush. You're in the kitchens."

He stared about in confusion, then peered closer at her face.

"What happened?" he said, reaching up for her swollen cheek. He tried to sit, but pain lanced his ribs and head. He moaned and fell back.

"Hush, now. It's all right."

"How — ?"

"Caris brought you. All clammed up in metal, la! I thought she was...." Her jaw quivered, and she pressed her lips together.

"I mean what happened to you? Your face...."

The bowl of steaming herb-water came, and she busied herself soaking the rags. "You hush. I aim to clean you up. Take a drink of the blood, la. It'll help to heal." Mother Ganner held a cup of stallion's blood to Harric's swollen lips, and he forced down a bitter swallow. She wrung out a rag, and daubed his brow. Pain stabbed through the cuts on his forehead, but she held him still, her face grim and intent. "No time to be gentle. Hold still, and I'll make it quick. And while I clean you up, you listen, 'cause you have a right to know what happened here."

She lifted her chin as if steeling herself for what she was about to say, but a trembling lip betrayed her grief. She laid the rag across his forehead and lifted another from the bowl. "A second Phyros-rider come through tonight after you left your cart," she said, her voice hoarse and tight. "A real one. One of the Old Ones, Gods leave us."

Memories of Bannus and the Faceless One crashed into Harric's mind. His mother, influencing Bannus. Still trying to kill him. He moaned. "Lyla...Bannus. Is she still...?

"Bannus, la!" Tears streamed from her eyes. "Oh, Harric, he bust into the foyer like a god, all blue-faced and wild. He grabbed our Lyla where she stood sweeping, and roared for drink, and laughed, and smashed things and dragged her to a room. I grabbed his arm to stop him and he swatted me down like a child. I'm lucky he only smashed my fool head and left it on my shoulders."

The widow choked, and her round face wrinkled in a mask of grief. "Oh, Harric, her eyes. I couldn't do a thing for her. Oh, that poor, sweet girl!"

Harric sat up, head pounding. "She's still there."

Mother Ganner's weeping eyes went suddenly hard. "Where the Black Moon you think you're going, you damn fool? You think you'd get her back? That monster'd take your head clean off with a thought. Only reason you're alive now is luck. Only reason I'm alive is I'm an old fool of a fat thing, and there ain't no glory in killing a cocklehead as that."

"But — will he let her go?"

She shook her head, swallowing hard. "I don't know, Harric. But I ain't about to lose two of my chickens in one night. Your mother's ghost would never let me rest if any harm come to you."

Harric's swollen lips twisted. "I'm pretty sure she'd be comfortable with it."

"Don't be a fool. Your momma'd want you to live to set this right." She leaned close and thrust an angry thumb at her ruined cheek. "Take a good look at this, Harric, and don't you forget it. This is what it was like before Her Majesty come. No law but the whim of blood rank. No lady learned her letters like your mother, no widow owned her own timber lodge like me, and no bastard lived to manhood with a chance at freedom. Her Majesty is all that's standing between us and the Old Ways. And if the Old Ones are come again, then she's our only chance against 'em."

Harric grimaced. Something was coming clear to him — an old obstruction dissolving in his heart, a new purpose filling his mind and cleansing his conscience. "I'm going to Her Majesty," he said, raising a hand to cup her swollen cheek. "I'm going to tell her what I've seen, and pledge to serve in any way I can."

A cautious hope wrinkled her brow. "You mean that, la? Just like your momma wanted?"

"No. Not for her. Never for her."

Something in his voice made her pause. She regarded him between swipes with the rag. "You wasn't like this before she died," she said.

"Like what?"

"You ain't been nothing but mad since that day. All full of hurt and hate. Always talking how you'll resist her doom and you won't be her puppet."

"And I won't."

Mother Ganner stood abruptly. She towered above him like a mountain, chins trembling with emotion. "I don't want to hear another word about it, Harric. The Old Ones are returning. Think of it. I fear the Breaker Moon is coming. It hasn't come since before the Cleansing, but that time it near burned us from the map. That means the queen's in real trouble. The world's in trouble."

"Krato's Moon?"

She nodded gravely. "Call it what you like. I been having dreams on it. Thought they was just dreams till Bannus turned up."

 It made sense. Old Ones returning, a new magic in the north, rumors of the Iberg Empire stirring across the sea, its greedy eyes on Arkendia. It could all point to the coming of the Breaker Moon.

"When the Bright Mother goes dark," she said, "we're gonna need every maker we can get, so we don't have no time for you moping about your mama. Time for you to be a man, and we needs whatever your mama taught you, if we're gonna survive. You understand? Queen didn't free you to have you shrivel up in bile."

"I will, Ma. I'll use it for good. For you and the Queen, I will." 

A look of love and pride spread across her face, and in it he saw her old strength return, which did him more good than all her bandages.

He fumbled in his sleeve and pressed the last share of the witched squire's silver into her hand. "This is for Lyla. I'd intended it for Ana after her embarrassment today on the porch, but..." He grimaced. "Just make sure Lyla gets it." The widow hefted the purse for a heartbeat and smiled with the good half of her face. She dropped the bundle in the baby's sling and climbed ponderously to her feet, raising Harric with a sturdy hand. 

"I'm so proud of you Harric, I could near bust myself. Helped raise a right gentleman, I did. Proudest thing I ever done. Now you get. If you find yourself north and with simple folk what can give you help, you tell 'em you're my son. Like enough I done them a kindness when they come through, and they're good folk who'd jump to return a favor."

Harric's eyes teared. He caught her hand and held it to his lips. "Thanks..." was all he could say.

"La, sweet boy! It's me that owes the thanks. Made my life a song all these years. You just come back when you're safe and ready. And don't worry about us. We'll get on."

Then she swept him out the door with a strong and gentle hand. 

*************************************

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