Dark Moon Read Online Free

mathematically perfect, Chio,’ Gatien had told him. ‘The stars move in their preordained paths, rising and falling to a cosmic heartbeat.’ Tarantio had listened, awe-struck, to the wisdom of the white-bearded old man.
    ‘My father told me they were the candles of the gods,’ he said.
    Gatien ruffled his hair. ‘You still miss him, I expect.’
    ‘No, he was weak and stupid,’ said Tarantio. ‘He hanged himself.’
    ‘He was a good man, Chio. Life dealt with him unkindly.’
    ‘He quit. Gave up!’ stormed the boy. ‘He did not love me at all. And we do not care that he is gone.’
    ‘Yes, we do,’ said Gatien, misunderstanding. ‘But we will not argue about that. Life can be harsh, and many souls are ill-equipped to face it. Your father fell to three curses. Love, which can be the greatest gift the Heavens can offer, or worse than black poison. Drink, which, like a travelling apothecary, offers much and supplies nothing. And a little wealth, without which he would not have been able to afford the dubious delights of the bottle.’ Gatien sighed. ‘I liked him, Chio. He was a gentle man, with a love of poetry and a fine singing voice. However, that is enough maudlin talk. We have work to do.’
    ‘Why do you write your books, Master Gatien? No-one buys them.’
    Gatien gave an eloquent shrug. ‘They are my monument to the future. And they are dangerous, Chio, more powerful than spells. Do not tell people – any people – what you have read in my home.’
    ‘What can be more dangerous than spells, Master Gatien?’
    ‘The truth. Men will blind themselves with hot irons, rather than face it.’
    Tarantio looked down into the flickering flames of the camp-fire now, and remembered the great, roaring blaze which had engulfed the house of Master Gatien. He saw again the soldiers of the Duke of The Marches, holding their torches high, and with immense sadness he recalled the old man running back into the burning building, desperate to save his life’s work. His last sight of Master Gatien was of a screeching human torch, his beard and clothes aflame, staggering past the windows of the upper corridor.
    Up until then Dace had merely been a disembodied voice in his mind. He had first heard him when he looked up at his father’s body, hanging by the neck from the balcony rail, his features bloated and purple, his trews stained with urine.
    ‘ We don’t care ,’ said the voice. ‘ He was weak, and he didn’t love us .’
    But when Gatien burned, Dace found a pathway to the world of flesh. ‘ We will avenge him ,’ he said.
    ‘ We can’t! ’ objected Tarantio. ‘ He lives in a castle surrounded by guards. We … I … am only fifteen. I’m not a soldier, not a killer .’
    ‘ Then let me do it ,’ said Dace. ‘ Or are you a coward? ’
    Two nights later Dace had crept to the walls of the Duke’s castle and scaled them, slipping past the sleeping sentries. Then he had made his way down the long circular stairwell to the main corridor of the castle keep. There were no guards. The Duke’s bedroom was lit by a single lantern, the Duke himself asleep in his wide four-poster bed. Dace gently pulled back the satin sheet, exposing the Duke’s fat chest. Without a moment of hesitation he rammed the small knife deep into the man’s heart. The Duke surged upright, his mouth hanging open; then he sagged back.
    ‘Gatien was our friend,’ said Dace. ‘Rot in hell, you miserable bastard!’
    The old Duke had died without another sound, but his bowels had opened and the stench filled the room. Dace had sat quietly, staring down at the corpse. He had drawn Tarantio forward to share the scene. Tarantio remembered his father’s face, bloated and swollen, his tongue protruding from his mouth, the rope tight around his neck. Death was always ugly, but this time it had a sweetness Tarantio could taste.
    ‘Never again,’ whispered Tarantio. ‘I’ll never kill again.’
    ‘ You won’t have to ,’ Dace told