Moon Dancer (Beneath the Thirteen Moons)

  Table of Contents

  Praise for BENEATH THE THIRTEEN MOONS

  Praise for THE RELICS OF MERLIN

  Title Page

  Copyright

  From the Author

  MOON DANCER

  THE DISENCHANTED LOVER

  About the Author

  Praise for BENEATH THE THIRTEEN MOONS:

  "A fast-paced, elegantly written romance that reads almost like the best of fairy tales: the characters stay true to their original characterizations even as they learn and grow throughout the novel." - Fresh Fiction

  "Incredible, amazing, fantastic... I can't wait to see more from this incredibly talented author." - Rom Fan Reviews

  "[Kennedy] has a stunning imagination and is able to bring all her ideas and concepts to the printed page perfectly... Magic at its best." - The Good, the Bad and the Unread

  "An absolutely beautiful fantasy world... a magical treat." - Reviews by Martha's Bookshelf

  "Kathryne Kennedy's imagination is amazing... Her beautiful writing and superb world-building have captivated me." - Queen of Happy Endings

  "Lots of vivid scenes that will have you in awe as you escape to the magical world Kennedy has created in Beneath The Thirteen Moons." - The Book Faery Reviews

  "[Kathryne Kennedy's] ability to create new worlds that are realistic and believable with characters of immense depth astounds me." - Once Upon a Romance

  Praise for THE RELICS OF MERLIN:

  "Magic is intriguingly woven into the historical romance." - Publishers Weekly

  "The latest in Kennedy's Relics of Merlin series features exquisite world building, making this richly imagined adventure appealing to fantasy fans and romance readers." - Booklist STARRED Review

  "[A] fabulously imaginative setting" - Chicago Tribune

  "Kennedy has created a wonderfully different but entirely believable world fraught with dangers and intrigues." - RT BOOK Reviews, Top Pick

  "A superb fantasy world...of magic, mayhem and fractured love." - Reviewer Top Pick -Night Owl Romance

  "Once again Ms. Kennedy weaves her magic and pulls the reader in from the first page." - The Good, The Bad & The Unread, GRADE A+

  "Kennedy brilliantly and seamlessly lures readers into a realm where magic exists and Merlin's legacy continues." - RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award Nominee

  MOON DANCER

  ~Beneath the Thirteen Moons, Book 1.5~

  Bonus Short Story

  THE DISENCHANTED LOVER

  ~The Relics of Merlin, Book 4.5~

  Kathryne Kennedy

  MOON DANCER

  Copyright © 2017, 1999/DISENCHANTED LOVER Copyright © 2017, 2008

  by Author Kathryne Kennedy, LLC

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to www.kathrynekennedy.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in review.

  All texts contained within this document are a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons (living or deceased) is entirely coincidental.

  From the Author:

  My deepest gratitude to my Beta Readers: Tina Swayzee McCright, Erin Quinn, David Benz, and as always, my devoted husband and son.

  And To My Readers: My humble thanks to those of you who have waited so long for another story from me. MOON DANCER was written when I first began to visualize the world of Sea Forest, before BENEATH THE THIRTEEN MOONS was written. Although MOON DANCER required extensive revision, it still remains true to the original story I wrote years ago. I hope you enjoy entering the world of Sea Forest once more, as much as I did in bringing this story back to life. I have also included a bonus short story from my best-selling RELICS OF MERLIN series: THE DISENCHANTED LOVER, for those of you who may not have read it from when it was briefly posted as a promotional event. It has been completely revised and edited, so even if you know the twist at the end, you should still enjoy the journey.

  My Magical Best,

  Kathryne

  MOON DANCER

  ~Beneath the Thirteen Moons, Book 1.5~

  On the landless planet of Sea Forest, where all life is supported within the giant trees that grow from the ocean’s floor…

  The Madera farm lay within half a day’s boating through the smaller channels flowing from the town of Seastar, where Tarov’s flotilla had docked for their performance. Tarov had borrowed a small punt and poled it to the farm herself, out of practice in the maneuvering of it, but with enough stamina from dancing with her ‘ka that she managed to arrive without mishap.

  She peered through the foggy mist toward the upper branches of the mammoth sea trees. Braq Madera should be up there, bone-hoe in hand, cultivating the moss which provided most of the income for the small farm. She struggled to contain her disappointment when she didn’t see him, then quickly scanned the shallow tide pools flourishing within the roots of the trees. He might be harvesting the animal and plant life living inside them.

  Perhaps he had even found the magical zabbaroot, Tarov mused. Braq had once told her he dreamed of finding one of the rare trees that grew the root. He intended to be wealthy even if he had to smuggle it beneath the noses of the royals, who claimed the root belonged under control of the king.

  Within the zabba lay the power to See, Hear and Shape…to control the unpredictable elements of this landless world so humans could survive. And more importantly to Tarov, the magical properties of the zabbaroot gave her the ability to dance with the ‘ka, her leviathan bone instruments. The royals eagerly funded the arts with zabba, and Tarov often wondered who had been the first to create the ‘ka from the bones of the sea monster. It took a great amount of the power to See into the bone of razor-sharp edges and cut them to size, then carve out a hole within it. Once the main airway was created, more holes on the outside of the tube created even richer music, although more than thirteen holes dissipated the sound. It also took an inhuman amount of Strength to spin the rope attached to the bone with enough force to make the wind pass through, creating the haunting music for the dance. But no amount of power could smooth the dense edges of the bone, which made the wielding of them so dangerous.

  Tarov couldn’t be sure which aspects of the moon dance the royals prized the most.

  With trembling fingers, she smoothed down her frizzy brown hair, adjusting the headband that attempted to keep it in place. She yanked at the strip of spider silk covering her small breasts, and then adjusted the matching bottoms. Bereft of its veils, her dancing outfit looked plain; she’d twined strings of striped marbela shells around her neck for decoration.

  Yet she’d worn her costume on purpose, for moon dancers never lacked for companionship. The homeliest of women who wore the rare purple silks and sported the myriad scars of a dancer found themselves much sought after. And Tarov needed all the confidence she could get to face her ex-lover.

  She tied her flat-bottomed boat to the small landing before climbing up the ladder to the top of the tree’s roots. Tarov took a deep breath of courage and then strode along the trail of interlaced limbs that led to the home’s front balcony.

  When she stood a few paces away, the
door suddenly opened.

  “Tarov Jin’nidea,” whispered Henel, her blue eyes wide with surprise. Her sculpted mouth hung open prettily, revealing even, white teeth. Gold hair lay in masses of smooth curls along her shoulders, flawless skin flushed a rosy pink as she threw herself forward and hugged her friend.

  Tarov fought a pang of envy, for Henel looked even more beautiful than she remembered. “It hasn’t been that long,” she murmured.

  “Yes, it has,” pouted Henel. “All these years, with not a word from you, then suddenly you’re at my doorstep!”

  Tarov shook her head in annoyance. “But you sent for me, Henel. The message said it was an emergency.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose I did. But it was so long ago; I didn’t think you’d come. I heard you’ve been traveling, training as a dancer, and felt sure you wouldn’t--couldn’t take the time. By the moons! Let me look at you.”

  They stood apart, Tarov knowing what the other woman saw: the frizzy hair, the muddy brown eyes flecked with green, the wide mouth, and the even wider nose and forehead.

  “You look...like Tarov,” she finally said with a dismissive shrug, although her eyes narrowed speculatively at the moon dancer costume and the tiny scars. She waved Tarov into her home of hollowed-out tree bark with a proprietary tilt of her chin.

  Tarov stopped at the threshold and abruptly realized this would be harder than she’d thought. Some things time cannot dull. Her memories of this humble farm, the days she’d spent behind that bedroom door--the feel of Braq in her arms--rushed at her with astonishing clarity. This place had once been her little bit of paradise. As long as Braq Madera had shared it with her.

  Tarov tried to ignore the changes Henel made to the front room. Drawings of Braq and Henel graced every wall, and one large work with just Henel in a flowing gown hung over the mantel of the fire shell. New furniture had replaced the old. The rickety table where Tarov and Braq had eaten, laughing as the surface wobbled enough to spill their drinks, had been replaced with a polished, sturdy one of carved rose-bark. Driftwood chairs with fluffy cushions replaced the old, lumpy ones.

  Henel had made sure to put her personal stamp upon the entire room.

  But Braq’s old leaf-carved chest still sat against the varnished tree wall, a gift from his father when Braq left home to find his way in the world. Tarov’s throat tightened when she remembered the day he’d finally shown her the contents. It held drawings of his mother, father, and brothers. A stack of lace and linens his mother had sewn. And at the bottom, a box with a ring of polished amber Braq said would one day be hers, as soon as he made enough money to support them…

  Tarov looked down at Henel’s hand. The ring--her promised ring--wrapped the girl’s left middle finger. Her heart felt like it held the weight of a narwhal. Why had she ever come?

  “Where is he?” she asked, not caring what Henel thought of her bluntness.

  Henel’s blue eyes narrowed, then widened in surprise. “I thought you’d heard,” she replied, elegantly flipping her fingers in the air. “He died.”

  The room spun and Tarov clutched the doorframe to keep from falling. Images of blue-black hair and soulful eyes played in her mind. “How? When?”

  Henel shrugged. “A while ago--he died from the sting of a large sea wasp. I sent for you right after it happened. For friendship’s sake, of course. I know he had once been important to you.”

  Once, always, forever, thought Tarov. After he’d taken Henel for a lifemate she’d tried other lovers, certain the feelings Braq aroused couldn’t be unique to him alone. But to her regretful heart she discovered she was wrong, and after her rage at Braq’s betrayal faded, she found herself longing for him, dreaming of him, dancing for him. And now he was gone.

  “Again, you’ve taken what’s mine,” whispered Tarov.

  Henel started. The soft blue glow of her eyes quickly changed to hard bone. “You never had him to take, Tarov Jin’nidea.” She tossed her golden curls contemptuously. “But it hardly matters. He’s gone, and now I’m finally free of this miserable place.”

  Tarov frowned. She’d never understand Henel! She called this bit of paradise miserable, and yet she had pursued Braq with an almost obsessive determination. Sudden memories of a childhood friendship that mirrored such contradictions threatened to near choke Tarov with bewildered rage. “And I suppose the monk-fish was never mine? Nor the leviathan bones, or the gray eel-skin dress?”

  Tarov’s hand went to her heart. Finding the bones of the sea monster had been a stroke of rare luck, as the creatures couldn’t be hunted, and only washed-up carcasses could be used for tools and instruments. And the dress had made her feel pretty for the first time in her life. But the loss of Ki-ki, the little monk-fish who emerged from the forest one day to bond with her, had sent Tarov into a depression that took her years to overcome. Ki-ki’s long arms would wrap around her neck, the even longer legs wrap her shoulder, her scales so soft they felt similar to fur. Her big brown eyes would stare into Tarov’s own, and this feeling of completeness would envelop Tarov. Few monk-fish chose to bond with a human, so the royals had decreed the relationship sacred…

  Henel frowned, as if she searched for the memories Tarov reminded her of. Then she blinked. “For goodness sake, Tar, we were only children!”

  Tarov shook her head, her memories suddenly full of Kiki. Her tail would spread into a fin when excited, and little webbed hands would pat Tarov’s face with gentle touches. She forced the images away as she answered the other woman. “An innocent child doesn’t steal a bonded monk-fish and keep it until it dies from separation. It’s illegal, for one thing--”

  Henel abruptly burst into tears that shook her delicate body. “I was sure it bonded to you only by accident, that if given half a chance it would bond to me. I was just a foolish little girl.” Watery eyes looked up into Tarov’s. “I’ve lost everything,” she blubbered. “And I send for my dearest friend, hoping for comfort, and all I get is anger and accusations.” She sniffed.

  Tarov sighed. She knew this game, had played it many times before. If Henel considered Tarov her dearest friend, then she wondered at the girl’s affections. They had grown up together, yes. Living in a small village on the outskirts of the large trees that made up the Palace and more populous towns, they were constantly thrown together by virtue of proximity. Henel seemed to enjoy Tarov’s company to the extent it made the girl appear even prettier than she already was. And Henel always desired whatever Tarov managed to gain, even and most of all, Braq. They had parted ways, then, and Tarov hoped to never see her again. Only the thought of seeing Braq had made her come.

  Henel could always twist things to make Tarov feel as if she’d done something wrong. But no more. “Why did you really send for me? What do you want?”

  Henel flashed a hopeful smile, quickly hidden beneath the hem of her otter-skin apron, then turned a beseeching face toward Tarov.

  “Well, I just thought...I mean...I can’t stay here. All the memories, you know.” She wiped her eyes again, and then peeked up at Tarov over the apron. “I hoped you’d introduce me to your dance master.”

  Another time flashed, the same voice, laced with the same charm, saying: “That’s your lover, Tarov? He’s surprisingly, um, quite handsome. Please, please introduce me!”

  Tarov shook off the memory. Again and again she had supported her childhood playmate. Again and again, her loyalty had been rewarded with a knife in the back. What now?

  “Why would you want to meet my master?” she demanded suspiciously.

  “I’ve been practicing, you see. And since you’re so famous and all, I figured--”

  “No.”

  “Please, Tar. I know I could be a great dancer. You did it, after all.”

  Tarov looked wildly around the cavern-home. Why hadn’t she instantly noticed none of Braq’s things littered the room? His boots, his seaweed pipe. Nothing. Henel may have had time to mourn his loss, but Tarov still felt herself reeling. She couldn’t even make the ef
fort to keep the harshness from her voice. “I don’t want you in my life anymore. Why wouldn’t that be obvious to you?”

  Henel’s smile slowly faded, and she whirled and paced the polished floor, head down, delicate fists clenched in fury. “I’ll do it anyway, you know. I don’t need you--but you’ll regret it Tarov Jin’nidea. I make a better friend than I do an enemy.”

  Tarov shrugged. “You could have fooled me.”

  * * *

  Tarov spun, her veils flowed, and her fish-scale gloves glittered in the sun. She realized the only bit of passion she felt now was when she danced. She twirled the woven strings, slowly letting them play out to a longer length than their usual few feet. The razor-edged leviathan bones at the end of her strings were about two hands long, with eleven holes puncturing the outsides of the hollow tube, creating thirteen musical holes, the most advanced instrument a dancer could attain. She advanced through the Pattern of the Crab to the Anemone with fluid precision, then free danced, her movements slow, erotic, measured, until the song that issued from the ‘ka made her eyes burn.

  A falsetto laugh broke her concentration and she faltered, the edge of one of her ‘ka bones sliding through her skin as if it were seaweed paper. Tarov stopped, panted, felt the warm flow of blood ooze down her leg. This would be the third time Henel had interrupted her dance, and she looked at the master, who frowned at Henel.

  “I don’t know what the history is between you two,” he’d calmly told Tarov when she’d barged into his cabin after finding Henel on board. “But your friend told me enough to believe you two can work it out.”