Books by Me
MOONBORN
CHAPTER ONE
Bronich is a dimly lit city at best. At this time of the night, the city is shrouded in darkness, which is why I am not particularly concerned anyone will discover me peeking through the hole in the wall of one of the tiny wooden houses clustered together on the northern hillside of town. Turning to lean back towards the wall, I pull my wool cloak tighter around me, watching puffs of frosty smoke dance in the air with each warm exhale. It creates a beautiful but fleeting display.
Dropping my head back, I allow tiny snow flakes to kiss my face as I stare into dark nothingness. Even the towering peaks of the surrounding mountains are invisible in the impenetrable darkness that envelopes the city at night. Yet, anyone caught using candles or oil lamps after nightfall—anything apart from the fire necessary for cooking and warmth—would suffer severe consequences. The Minister proclaimed that possessing lights other than Him was sacrilege, and nobody dared to challenge his authority. Perhaps I should have listened to the Minister too. Stayed at home in my bed instead of sneaking around on the outskirts of town in the dead of night. I’m sure to receive a whipping if I get caught, and that’s if I’m lucky.
Cursing the cold, I rub my half-frozen hands together in a desperate attempt to regain some warmth. It’s the humid type of cold that chills you to your bones, and it leaves me with no desire to stay outside for much longer. Neither does the excruciating pain caused by the brace I’m wearing on my left arm. Although there are days where I will welcome the pain, this is not one of those. My right hand clenches down around the brace so hard I’m surprised my nails don’t leave marks in the cold metal as another wave of pain moves through my body. Teeth clenched; I squeeze my eyes shut. Do not make a sound, Laïna. Do not make a sound. I am pushing my limits tonight, and only the Father knows if it will be worth to have wandered this far from Master Coperie’s estate.
Another primal scream echoes through the night, followed by a softer wail, and I turn my attention back to the hole in the wall. Finally. In the dimly lit room, I see her. Drenched in sweat, she is clearly exhausted, slumping against the blankets of her makeshift bed. In her arms, a tiny, fragile baby cries out, filling the silence of the room with its plaintive wails. The scene is both beautiful and heart-wrenching at once, giving me a glimpse of the monumental journey into motherhood. I study the small hands waving in the air, a bittersweet ache filling my heart for a moment before I push it away. I know it is not for me. Even if I manage to buy my freedom, I haven’t even had my first bleed yet, and at my age, it is likely I never will. Still, I can’t help the undeniable longing in my chest as I watch the family, their bond almost palpable in the atmosphere.
The husband adds another log to the fire, making sure the room is warm enough for the newborn member of their family. Dipping a piece of cloth in a bucket of water, he wipes his wife’s forehead and leans down to place a tender kiss on her mouth. A sliver of embarrassment tinges my cheeks for witnessing such an intimate moment, yet I find myself unable to tear my gaze away. What would it be like to experience such deep affection from someone?
My attention shifts to the sound of heavy boots on the wooden floor. I squint my eyes to see better, and struggle to suppress a gasp that would undoubtedly have given me away as a tall figure emerges from the shadows. Towering over everyone with his commanding presence is the Minister himself. What is he doing here? I’m left with no time to ponder the implication of his presence as a second figure slides into my view. I narrow my eyes to improve my vision. Darkness obscures its features, making it impossible to discern any distinguishing characteristics. Still, there is no mistaking the malevolent aura surrounding the figure. Upon seeing the newcomers, the new mother scrambles away, her eyes wide with terror, clutching her newborn baby close to her chest in an attempt to shield it from the two menacing figures. The Minister, however, strides forward in a no-nonsense sort of way and snatches the baby out of the woman’s arms. With a firm hand, he snaps the baby’s neck.
With a trembling hand, I steady myself against the rough exterior of the house, taking deep breaths to control the intense feeling of sickness in my stomach. Did I just witness the Minister taking the life of an infant?
The woman appears as confused as I feel, and there is a moment of an almost suffocating silence while she stares at the Minister with a look of utter disbelief. Realizing her newborn now hangs lifeless and still in his arms, the woman’s eyes widen in horror, and confusion and disbelief transforms into sheer, unbridled rage. With a heart wrenching scream that pierce through the night—so raw and primal shards of glass might as well be piercing my skin, digging their way through to my very soul—she throws herself towards the Minister, reaching her arms for her baby.
“Murderer!” Rabid, with tears streaming down her face, she claws and spits, hitting him over and over with what little energy she has left in her body, blood from the recent birth pooling on the floor underneath her. “MURDERER!”
Her husband—who had so far looked to be in a state of shock—now rushes over towards his wife.
“Know your place, mudling.” The Minister pushes his boot into the face of the man with a forceful blow that causes him to flail across the room. He doesn’t get back up. Looking down at the raging woman with a smirk—like she is no more than a mere nuisance—the Minister gives her too a solid kick, sending her tumbling on top of her limp husband. The scene unfolding before me is a bloody and chaotic mess. Still, in the midst of it, the Minister appears calm and unconcerned.
He turns towards the shadow in the corner. “Take their memories and bring them in.” Narrowing his eyes, he turns back towards the couple where the woman is now pressing a cloth to her unconscious husband’s temple. “Witch,” the Minister snarls. “Only witches give birth to the moonborn.” He spits at her feet—as if the word itself has given him a foul taste in his mouth. “I’m telling you; what you gave birth to is not a human. The moonborn are evil—a threat to our very existence. They are better off dead. We are better off with them dead.” He reaches forward with his cane, causing the woman to push backwards, but there is nowhere for her to go. Cornered by the minister, she’s helpless as he cuts her face with the sharp tip of his cane.
With a push to the top of his cane that causes the sharp tip to retract, he takes a step back as if admiring the bloody W that now decorates her cheek. “It’s always sad to ruin such a pretty face.” He offers her a small apologetic smile that never reaches his eyes.
“I trust you can handle it from here.”
The shadow figure offers a slight nod, and glides forward, its ominous aura so palpable that I can feel it even where I stand outside the wooden walls of the house. Its tall stature is enveloped by swirling, shadowy tendrils that occasionally reach out like dark tentacles of death.
A tentacle brushes across my skin, as if there were neither walls nor several layers of clothes between us, causing me to let out an involuntary gasp. I slam a hand across my mouth, but it’s too late. Oh Father.
The shadow stops dead in its tracks, cocking its head as if listening for something.
A wave of icy dread washes over me as I hold my breath. If it turns around, it will look straight at my eye, but I don’t dare to move save I make another sound. Its head moves slowly from side to side, and I swear I can hear the faint sound of sniffing. It is halfway turned in my direction when it pauses, head tilted as if it’s contemplating something, then decides against it, and redirects its attention towards the couple.
My heart beats with such an intensity I’m surprised it’s not bursting through my ribs, and the previous intense pain of my brace has become all but a faint hum in the background. What is that thing?
The shadow is now hovering over the woman and her husband, but because of my angle, it is challenging to discern the nature of their interaction. The concept of making them forget baffles me. How could such a thing be possible? It holds the sound of magic, and if there is one thing more banned than light in this godforsaken city, it’s magic. The bare mentioning of it could be enough for a death sentence.
A moment later, it retreats. I stare at the motionless couple. Are they dead? No, their chests are moving. Not by much, but enough to let me know they are alive. Besides, the Minister wouldn’t want to rob anyone of the excitement of another burning. It’s what the city lives and breathes for.
“We will send someone to pick them up later.” He gives the shadow a curt nod, spins on his heels and strides towards the door, wrapping his wolf cape around him as he departs. A moment later the shadow follows.
I close my eyes, doing my best to comprehend it all. So, it is true, after all, what the prostitutes were saying. Infants are killed around the 7th week of the month. Whatever a moonborn is, I have no knowledge of it. What is a moon, anyway? Nevertheless, it is apparent that the Minister considers them a grave danger that has to be eliminated. Perhaps the moonborn is the evil he always preaches about lurking beyond the mountain pass. Evil that has the power to bring down the almighty Father. Yet, that doesn’t explain the shadow creature.
I fight the urge to empty my stomach right there as a wave of pain rolls through my body. Cursing the brace, I clench and unclench my fingers, doing my best to ignore it. I know I should feel bad about the infanticide, and a small part of me does, yet it’s hard to care when a handful of people burn to ashes every week. Besides, if the baby was indeed a creature and not human, it was no different from taking down an animal in the woods, was it? That shadow creature, on the other hand… I frown. Magic should not be a part of a society. Everyone knew powers like that would corrupt your soul and pave your path to damnation. Such should belong to the Father alone. Another wave of pain leaves me with no more time to contemplate the ethics of the Minister’s action. I know from experience that I can only push its limits for so long before I pass out, and the black spots that dance before my vision tell me it’s a close call.
I breathe deep, and peek around the corner, scanning the narrow lanes for any signs of movement. An eerie, almost vacuum-like silence hangs over the town, broken only by the occasional crow caws. I let out a sigh of relief when the black scavengers are the only living creatures in sight, the streets devoid of any other life signs. With one last glance around to ensure the coast is clear, I step forward into the street.
I have not made it far down the winding street when I spot the tall frame of a deeper darkness in the night, causing me to freeze in place. A mere few streets away, that same dark creature stands immovable as a stone. Its dark silhouette is barely discernible, yet I can feel its penetrating gaze fixed upon me. Holding my breath, I tiptoe backwards, seeking refuge in the darkness of the narrow alley behind me, sending a silent prayer for the darkness to hide me. A moment passes, then another.
Oh, Father. Why can you never do what you’re supposed to do? Not for the first time I wish I had been born a different person.
Despite the cool night air, I can feel the sweat forming on my forehead. I count to one hundred, forcing my breath to be slow, before I dare a peek around the corner. Gone. Without hesitation, I set off down the deserted streets in the opposite direction, lifting my skirts scandalously high, as I race towards the safety of my home.
By the time I arrive at the Coperie estate, I am gasping for air. Breast heaving, I take a moment to calm down before I slip through the iron gates and towards the servant’s entrance in the back. The steep descent of the stairs is made perilous by a thin layer of ice, threatening to send me tumbling; but gripping the iron rail in a firm hold, I make it down in one piece. It doesn’t help that my legs are threatening to give in on me. I lean an ear towards the door before I dare a peek inside. Everything is still and silent, save for the familiar snoring of Master Coperie’s footman, sleeping by the fireplace. I’m not the only one who takes advantage of our Master’s drunken nights.
He looks peaceful where he sleeps, the soft glow of the dying embers illuminating his face. Still I have to fight the urge to kick him as I pass by. The amount of times he has snitched on me are too many to count, and my body bears the scars to show it.
Tip-toeing across the wooden floor, I take care to avoid the squeaky floorboards as I hurry towards my small chamber in the back. Once inside, I turn and fall back against the door. My legs give away, and I sink to the floor. Rubbing that hollow space in my chest, I lean my head back and let out a long-held sigh. Thank the Father, no one has noticed me gone. I don’t know how long I sit there, but at some point I manage to push myself back up. Hanging my felt cloak on a peg by the door, I all but stumble into bed. Sleep, that’s what I need. I will deal with the implications of what I have witnessed tomorrow.
...
A piercing scream wakes me from my slumber, and it takes a moment before I realize it’s my own. I sit up with a jolt, gasping for air. My heart pounds in my chest, and my body is covered in a thin layer of sweat.
The dream won’t leave me; I try to shake it off, squeezing my eyes shut, which only causes it to vividly repeats itself.
Bound to the floor, I can only bear witness as the Minister walks slowly around the perimeter of the circle, methodically breaking the necks of one infant after another, their bodies falling to the ground with a sickening thud, thud.... I am in what appears to be a temple, or some sort of place of worship. The stone walls are lit with torches, while tall, twisted shadows are moving in the outskirts of my periphery. I am bound in the middle, limbs stretched out into a pentacle, resembling a centerpiece of some twisted ritual, while thirteen of the dark, ominous creatures, their features hidden within their hood, use their writhing tendrils to hold me in place. Still, what caught my attention is the man resembling a golden god that stands at the head of the circle, his hands raised, palms facing me, while draining me of my very life force. I can see it leaving my body as I’m sucked dry.
I shake my head yet again, in an attempt to dispel the unsettling images.
Relax, Laïna. It was just a dream.
With a glance around the room, I take in its familiarity—the dark stone floor, the neatly folded clothes on the stool near the door, the washbasin in the corner. Lighting a candle, I tiptoe over the freezing floor towards the washbasin, cursing the cold as I crack the thin layer of ice that has formed on top of the water. Determined to scrub away the haunting events of the night, I reach for the soap. My hands are shaking, and I know it is not only because of the nightmare. I take a deep breath, inhaling the gentle fragrance of pine emitted by my soap and splash some of the cool water on my face.
I stare back at my pale reflection in the bulky mirror. The lone candle does little to banish the shadows of the room, but it provides enough light for me to notice the deep circles below my eyes. Pushing the boundaries of the brace always left me drained, and this morning I’m a hair’s width away from looking like a ghost. Blue veins are visible through my translucent skin and my pale, sunken eyes are bloodshot. If Master Coperie sees me like this ... My stomach churns. It is a telltale sign I have been acting out of place, and his punishment will be severe. I splash another handful of icy water on my face. Whatever I witnessed during the night is far beyond my wildest imagination. It has also been a sharp reminder of my own insignificance. If not even newborns are safe from the wrath of the father, where did that leave me? I’m not even a free being—I am Property for Father’s sake; I live at the whims of my very human Master.
Slipping a thick, gray wool dress over my linen shift, I button it to my chin and take a moment to savor its comforting warmth. I meet my bleak gaze in the mirror. Should I sell this information? It was, after all, why I was risking my hide every night. Still, the severity of the situation makes me question my plan. There is no doubt that information on the Minister‘s involvement with infanticide and shadow creatures will bring good money, but is it worth the risk? Chewing on my lip, I push a couple of loose strands of ash-brown hair under my linen cap and fasten the veil that covers the bottom half of my face. Yet, information like this could bring me money. Enough money. I cast one last glance in the mirror, making sure I look presentable, and decide I’ll discuss it with Em and take it from there.