Under cold moons the cro.., p.1
Under Cold Moons (The Crowns of Talam Book 1), page 1
Copyright © 2023 LE Van Veen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, please contact me: storiedstarsbooks@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First edition December 2023
Published by Storied Stars Books
Cover Design by Kelly Ritchie
Copy and Developmental Editing by Becky Wallace
Proofreading by Noah Sky
Map by Alyssa Hurlbert
Author Photo by Marigold Visuals Photography
ISBN 979-8-9892243-0-2 (ebook)
ISBN 979-8-9892243-1-9 (paperback)
ISBN 979-8-9892243-2-6 (hardcover)
www.LEVanVeen.com
To the dreamers and the believers.
To the younger me who longed for this feeling.
Contents
Taistealai
I. SWARM OF OMENS
1. Aisla
2. Aisla
3. Weylin
4. Aisla
5. Weylin
6. Aisla
7. Ruairi
8. Aisla
9. Weylin
10. Ruairi
11. Aisla
12. Ruairi
13. Aisla
14. Aisla
15. Weylin
16. Ruairi
II. JOURNEY OF ALIASES
17. Aisla
18. Aisla
19. Weylin
20. Aisla
21. Ruairi
22. Aisla
23. Aisla
24. Ruairi
25. Weylin
26. Aisla
27. Aisla
28. Weylin
29. Ruairi
30. Aisla
31. Weylin
32. Aisla
33. Ruairi
34. Weylin
35. Aisla
III. REVELATIONS OF HAVOC
36. Eire
37. Ruairi
38. Weylin
39. Aisla
40. Ruairi
41. Aisla
42. Weylin
43. Aisla
44. Weylin
45. Aisla
46. Aisla
47. Aisla
48. Ruairi
49. Weylin
Tasitealai
THANK YOU FOR READING UNDER COLD MOONS
PRONUNCIATION GUIDE + GLOSSARY
COMING SOON
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Taistealai
The way the three ancient beings billowed about the room never failed to raise the fur along Taistealai’s spine.
The small squirrel peered from the shadows at the baby nestled against her mother’s heaving chest. The ornate bed was silent, and Taistealai could taste the fear of the new parents on his tongue while the norns held the room in suspense.
Aisling, Aisling, Aisling.
Three feminine voices echoed through the air as though coming from no source at all. They hummed their chorus that declared the fate of each elf upon their birth, and this birth was no ordinary one.
Taistealai held his breath while he awaited their next words, resisting the urge to tap his claws nervously on the wooden floor in order to avoid detection. The scent of childbirth mingled with the unique stench of life and death that followed the norns wherever they went.
A dream. A vision. A blessing or a curse.
The messenger of the gods watched as the father cradled the mother’s hands and traced nervous circles on her pale skin with his thumb. He knew the words that rested on the tips of their tongues—the question they wanted answered above all else. It was the question only he and the norns held the answer to. The answer would be the true prophecy, the correct and faithful whisper of the norns from nine generations ago that would remain their secret until the elf’s nineteenth naming day.
The elf born into the ninth generation. The elf born of the richest bloodline. The elf to deliver or destroy the realms. The elf born into a prophecy you cannot yet know lies before us.
The words settled like dust in a forgotten nook, and the air grew heavier with each passing moment. Taistealai swallowed as he watched a single tear roll down the mother’s cheek. It brought their fears and their most dreaded truth to fruition through the chilling song of the norns.
While Taistealai could not see the faces of the norns from where he crouched beneath the rocking chair, he knew they would show no emotion. They had long known this day would arrive, long before the mother and the father were even of this world. And Taistealai had known too.
Taistealai watched through watery eyes while the most ancient of the norns pulled a shining golden thread out of thin air and gently pressed one end into the bottom of the infant’s left foot. It stayed there as the norn pulled the other end up into the air, where it shot through the ceiling and into the skies—out of sight.
The golden glint of the thread lingered there for one beat . . . two beats . . . three beats before disappearing into thin air. The norns faded away along with it, leaving the family of three in the elegant and desolate room.
Taistealai hung his head low as he readied his aching paws for the long journey back to the home of the gods.
Part One
SWARM OF OMENS
1
Aisla
The ash trees of the Tus Forest swayed in a way that seemed to taunt Aisla Iarkis from where she peered beyond the emerald scales of her wyvern’s wing.
The sound of rustling leaves echoed in her ears, even from their distance away. Her ears strained to take it all in with the deep breath that filled her chest. Dead branches littered the tree line from the passing winter, as other branches flourished with the green of coming spring.
But that was the Tus Forest.
When she directed her gaze towards the southern tip of their continent, there was no hint of the vibrant greens. Her throat constricted as the evidence of the lofa ravaging her home became harder to ignore with every flight atop Muinin.
“You okay, Ash?” Ruairi Vilulf called out to her from her right.
Ruairi, who never let anything slip past him. He was one of the two people closest to her, and the other flew to her left. Ruairi was always the first to pick up on what she was feeling without her needing to say the words. He had just returned from a scouting trip where they sailed along the southern coast to investigate the mysterious plague that first appeared just over three moons ago. There was no known source, and civilizations along the southern coast had moved north, where they could sustain growing populations.
The communities had been happy to help those fleeing the devastation until lofa became a viral disease infecting living beings. Then, uncertainty and panic became the next thing to level their continent.
“All good,” she called back to him with a forced smile, and she wondered why she even bothered lying to him.
Ruairi pressed his lips into a thin line. His brilliant red hair shone in the light of the rising sun. A sense of longing filled her as he held her gaze, trying to read her, but she turned back to look out at the sky as Muinin flew through thin, wispy clouds.
“Of course she’s not okay,” Eire grumbled from their left. Her voice was hoarse, as though she had spent the night shouting. “It looks worse out there each sunrise, doesn’t it?”
Aisla could only nod, but she knew Eire had not been expecting an answer. Eire was nothing if not honest. The liveliest and most energetic of the three of them, Eire had been vocal with her thoughts on the lofa. While Ruairi scouted out food sources and explanations, Eire turned to the gods, as her family always had. And Aisla—she was forced to stay out of it all. Her grandmother kept her nearby under claims of protection, but Aisla knew her skills would be of better use spent out with Ruairi. She matched him, if not bested him, in every training course in scoil, save for esos. Aisla still lacked the control necessary to harness the magic coursing through her veins, and her grandmother never failed to remind her of that.
Esos wasn’t necessary on the scouting missions, though, and they both knew that. Dwarves and humans joined in too, despite not having esos at all. Aisla would give anything to finally be permitted to take part in making a change, but as their mathair, her grandmother would always have the last word.
“It definitely isn’t getting any better,” Ruairi bit back.
“The gods won’t turn a blind eye to us,” Eire spoke under her breath.
Aisla sensed that each time Eire said it—each time she insisted it—she believed it a little less herself. Aisla couldn’t blame her. She had always admired Eire’s commitment to her faith. Sometimes, she wished she felt the same; but that faith had started to feel more like naivety.
“It appears as though they already have,” Ruairi said.
Aisla winced.
She tightened her grip on the leather reins that harnessed Muinin. The tension in the air was palpable, and while Aisla agreed with Ruairi, she stayed as neutral as she could. Any time she hinted towards Ruairi’s side, Eire would just blame it on the feelings she swore she saw between them—feelings Aisla had held on to for longer than she would ever tell Eire.< br />
“There!” Aisla shouted, thankful for the reprieve as bright purple flowers came into view.
Aisla steered Muinin towards the patch of them. She had been searching for the rare plant for weeks now, hoping to add it to the collection pressed between pages on her bedside table. It was a silly hobby, given everything else going on in Eilean, but she was limited in where and how she could help. Collecting the flowers, herbs, and foliage of her continent gave her something to do and something to preserve. She became obsessed with adding each species to her collection and recording all that she knew about them in hopes it would one day prove useful. Aisla had no desire to become an herbalist or a farmer, but she enjoyed the knowledge that came with her expeditions.
Most of the time, she went alone with Muinin, but on mornings like this, when Ruairi was home and Eire had the time, Aisla was thankful for the comfort of their presence and that they humored her mission. Ruairi often brought her home new plants from his scouting trips, too. Some of her favorites were ones he had returned with.
The grassy earth came flying towards them as Muinin hit the ground with a thud that Aisla had long grown accustomed to. She stroked the scales along his neck as she heard two more heavy thuds sound behind them. Then there was a third, softer thud. A feminine yelp followed.
Aisla whirled to look over her left shoulder and watched Eire’s head fall back to follow her body that had fallen from her wyvern, Combha.
Confusion muddled her brain, but Aisla wasted no time sliding down Muinin’s side as she sprinted to Eire where she lay on the ground. She was clawing at her own neck as she gasped for air.
She coughed, choked by an invisible source.
Shock rattled Aisla, and her hands trembled. She dropped to her knees beside Eire just as Ruairi knelt to her other side. Aisla cradled her neck to lift her head up in an attempt to get air down her airway again. Eire continued to gasp as her eyes locked onto Aisla. The gentle blueness of them shone with desperation and the urgency settled into Aisla, warring with her helplessness.
Aisla fought to calm a roaring wave of her esos that came to life with the overwhelming feeling rising inside of her. The uncontrollable force threatened to break free, but Aisla knew she could not let it.
“It’s okay,” Aisla breathed out through clenched teeth. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath.”
Ruairi’s warm arms wrapped around Eire as he lifted her higher without a word. He gently pounded on her back to help with the choking as Aisla leaned back onto her heels and took in the graying of Eire’s skin. Her mouth dried as she recognized it in the death of the crops along the south. She shook her head as though she could lose the thought as easily as it had entered her mind.
Foreboding stirred in her chest.
Eire fell still in Ruairi’s arms. Aisla watched as he used two fingers to check her pulse beneath her jaw.
“Ru,” she whispered. “You don’t think. . .”
Her voice trailed off and she would not allow herself to finish the sentence.
“We have to get her to the infirmary,” Ruairi responded.
Aisla nodded in agreement, slowly bringing herself to stand again as she pushed past the fear threatening to keep her kneeling there. Ruairi lifted Eire with ease and walked her over to his wyvern, Gaotha. A pang of sympathy shot through Aisla as Combha groaned with the ache of watching the pain of her rider. Combha had seen enough pain as it was, having lost her previous rider, Aisla’s mother.
“I’ll take Muinin and Combha back to the wyvern caves,” Aisla directed. “You get Eire to the infirmary and I’ll be right there.”
Aisla’s heart raced as she mounted Muinin with not flowers, but a fear seated deep within her as she refused to look at Ruairi and Eire. She kept her gaze ahead while tears burned the corners of her eyes.
Not Eire, she pleaded with gods that had never heard her. Please, not Eire.
2
Aisla
Eire’s dark curls fell limp, as though they had lost all of their life.
Aisla knelt by her side, her chest tight with emotion as she untangled knots of sweat-dampened hair. Her tawny skin had paled to a sickly shade. Her lively, outgoing best friend was hardly recognizable, tucked beneath a heavy floral quilt pulled all the way up to her chin. Her body was visibly trembling underneath.
Ruairi stood behind Aisla, ever the protector. She could practically feel his heart fracturing along with her own.
They were permitted into the infirmary so long as they wore cloth tied around their mouths. The infectious nature of the virus was still unknown, as was so much about it.
It was one thing to fall ill. Plenty of sicknesses were common in the city, especially during the shift from winter to spring, but this was different. This was new. Eire was hardly breathing, and all of it had happened so quickly.
The rapid decline is what scared Aisla the most.
Aisla hardly noticed the tear that rolled down her cheek and landed on the quilt as a sort of emptiness settled within her. She stopped untangling the knots and gently took Eire’s hand in between her own. It was icy cold, despite the sweat beading along her forehead. If Aisla had better mastery over her esos, she would have used the warmth of her fire esos to warm Eire, but it was far too much of a risk.
“We attempted mending,” the nurse said gently from the doorway. “Even the life esos has no effect. The menders have never seen anything like it.”
The room followed her statement with silence. Aisla found her words stuck in her throat.
“What is to be done?” Ruairi spoke for them and she silently thanked him for it. “There must be some way to heal her.”
“We are working on it,” the nurse insisted. “I promise we are doing everything we can. We have menders and world tellers alike looking into it already. It’s the first we have seen of lofa this far north.”
Aisla’s stomach churned, and she pushed herself up from the ground. The world seemed to be closing in around her. A suffocating feeling originated in her core and pushed itself outwards. The whispering rush in her veins came to life in response.
A ringing sounded in her elongated ears.
She needed to get out.
Aisla said nothing when she pushed past Ruairi and the nurse, her tears flowing freely. She refused to acknowledge any of the sympathetic glances that were cast her way as she broke into a jog to escape the building.
She made her way out of the infirmary—a blur of gray walls breezing past in her peripheral vision, and found herself behind the building, facing the woods as she stumbled to the earth. An audible sob racked her trembling body as the ringing grew louder, and dark shadows curled around her shaking frame. They swirled in circular formations, enclosing her within. Aisla was caught in the middle of her shadows, the dark esos, and hardly seemed to notice.
It was a comfort and a peace inside her esos. A place for her to escape.
Her mind was lost. Terror consumed her thoughts, while every worst-case scenario raced through her vision in a dizzying manner. Her stomach clenched as though she would vomit at any moment. She could not breathe. The air was stuck inside of her lungs even as she reached for it. Her hands grasped at her throat in desperation.
She would drown in the shadows.
