THE LUNAR YEAR
[CHAPTERS INDEX]Prologue: Moon-sick
The first time that Bélinai fara Satia saw the Avatar of the Moon in her blazing silver glory, she was not quite nine years old. That was the year that her parents deemed her old enough to join them at the Temple of the Moon in Tar-Atarellu for the Midsummer Moondance, where they could listen to Old Teluvien songs and murmur Old Teluvien prayers without fear. Bélinai expected to grow tired as the hour grew later, but instead she found a surging energy sweeping through her as soon as the full moon peeked over the horizon, and she slipped through the dancers and feasters even as the other children began to settle down.
And then, in between moments, the moon high in the sky, the world around Bélinai froze. Bélinai turned to look this way and that, confused—her parents had certainly never mentioned anything like this when they had spoken of the Moondance!
She turned on instinct then, and saw, seated upon the outdoor altar, a young woman in an old-fashioned dress. The young woman was silver from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, and she tilted her head at Bélinai. Then she rose from the altar and walked towards her, her feet never quite touching the ground.
The young woman knelt before Bélinai, who stared at her with wide dark eyes. She placed one of her silver-glowing hands on Bélinai’s ochre-brown cheek, and smiled softly at the girl.
“We will meet again, Bélinai fara Satia,” said the young woman in Old Teluvien. “Do not fear. I mean you no harm.” She pressed her other hand against Bélinai’s chest, fingers splayed over her heart, and between breaths she vanished as if she had never been.
Around Bélinai, the world unfroze. She stood still, staring, and slowly lifted her hands to her cheek and chest where the silver woman had touched her. After a moment, she turned back to her parents.
“There was a woman,” she said, much later that night—so late that the horizon was turning grey—when she and her parents had finally made their way back home. “A woman, all in silver—hair and skin and everything. The world froze, but she was there. She knew my name.”
Her parents exchanged a glance that Bélinai could not read.
“Go to bed, Bélinai,” said her mother gently. “We can talk about this in the morning, if you want.”
Bélinai went to bed, and in the morning found she could not quite recall what she had wanted to discuss with her parents, but from that day forward her chest and cheek gleamed silver in the unclouded light of the full moon.
That was the first meeting. It was not to be the last.
Eleven and a half years later
The Call of the Moon came in the winter’s night, five days after the solstice. Chiara, though they were present, was not the one who heard it; that dubious honor went to their assistant who was Bélinai. They were working late on a new spell-construct when behind them Bélinai, who had been putting their books away, gasped softly. Chiara turned in time to see Bélinai’s eyes glaze over silver, and their heart sank.
They had known that Bélinai was moon-sick, and they had known that the third millennium of the Moon Ascendant was almost upon them—and as such that the thirty-first Lunar Year would be observed. They had not thought that Bélinai would be caught up in it, though, at least not more than any other moon-sick girl.
There were plenty of moon-sick girls. But with stiff movements and silver eyes, Chiara knew that Bélinai was the only one who had this specific voice in her mind.
Bélinai stepped away from the bookshelf and carefully set down the books she hadn’t gotten around to shelving on the table. Then she picked up her coat from the hanger by the door, slipped her feet into her warm outdoor boots, and stepped outside. Chiara followed hastily—there wasn’t anything they could do about any of this, not really, but they did not know how much the calling-spell would protect her and they did not wish her to come to harm.
The snow was light on the ground, which Chiara was thankful for; it made it relatively easy to keep up with Bélinai’s tireless stride towards the great Temple of the Moon. They were no priest, only a wizard, so all they knew to do was keep Bélinai company as she went.
When they reached the outer gates, they found them standing open, and Bélinai crossed over still in her trance. She led them to the central sanctuary, where the doors stood open and a white-haired old woman sat in a silver chair, the scarlet blindfold over her eyes seeming to be the only splash of color in the white-grey-silver room. There was a much younger woman who seemed to be the magical center of the ritual, bone-pale hands clasped tightly over a ritual orb, eyes closed and lips moving, forming words that Chiara could not parse. Straight dark hair fell in silky waves over her shoulders and down her back, and a faint silver glow colored the air around her.
Then Bélinai’s feet crossed the threshold of the temple sanctuary, and she drew in a ragged breath, collapsing to her knees. Chiara was beside her in a moment.
“What… where are we?” she whispered.
“This is the Temple of the Moon,” said Chiara quietly. “And I believe you heard the Great Call.”
“Oh,” said Bélinai, voice still soft. She looked up over the room. The voices had gone quiet and the figures had gone still.
“Welcome,” said the old woman in the chair, her voice not raspy but thin, almost as insubstantial as the wind, “to the Temple of the Moon, Bélinai fara Satia.”
Bélinai, staring, slowly got to her feet. Chiara stepped back; they could tell that they were not needed, and probably not wanted, at this exact moment, but they weren’t going to merely abandon Bélinai to whatever her fate might be either.
The priestess at the ritual orb opened pale, angular eyes, and looked up at Bélinai as she slowly relaxed her grip on the orb.
“The thirtieth century is drawing to its close,” said the priestess.
“We have been waiting,” chorused the others around the room, fellow clergy dressed in white and silver. The old woman with the scarlet blindfold said nothing.
“And you have come,” said the priestess. “What brought you to the Temple of the Moon, Bélinai fara Satia?”
Bélinai hesitated, but when she glanced at Chiara they inclined their head slightly. They may have known wizardly magics, but this—this was something else. They would not interfere.
“There was an echo in my mind,” said Bélinai, and even now her voice was a little bit distant. “A call, beckoning to me. I could not have refused it had I tried.”
“You did not try to refuse the Great Call,” said the old woman, her thin-frail voice winding through the air again. “You let it carry you along.”
“Yes,” said Bélinai.
“There is more to tonight than a simple summoning,” said the central priestess. “You have been brought here to answer a question.”
“I know.”
At that, there was a faint murmur that rippled through the room; it quieted almost as soon as it arose.
“Do you know the question, then?”
Bélinai stood a little straighter, the ghost of a smile flickering across her mouth. “Of course,” she said. “You’re going to ask me if I will refuse to be the next Avatar of the Moon.”
Again there was a pause—Chiara had the distinct sense that this was not the way that the Rite of Calling was supposed to go, but there was little anyone could do about it now.
“Will you accept the Call of the Moon?” the old woman finally asked. “Is this a burden and honor you will accept to the end of days, to be the Avatar of the Moon?”
Bélinai took a deep breath. “I will not refuse this call,” she said.
“Then the First Pact is sealed,” said the young priestess.
Bélinai turned to Chiara and smiled at them. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Thank you for coming with me, but… I think they might not want you to see everything past this part.”
Chiara sighed. “Very well,” they said, and wrapped Bélinai in their arms for what might well be the last time. “If you feel you must leave,” they murmured in her ear, “my shop will always be open for you.” Then they released her and stepped away, giving her a shallow bow.
She returned the gesture. “Thank you,” she said, and Chiara nodded sharply.
They turned and stepped out of the sanctuary into the cold snowy night. Behind them, the great silver doors swung shut.
The thirty-first Lunar Year had begun.