The Luna Cycle: Book One

Part Two: Chapter Eight

EIGHT

Rel and his apprentice, Solen Starn, sat waiting in a dusty corner of the darkest inn they could find. They were waiting on Pell Lunel, the level of darkness in the room was of Pell's request, but Rel had no issue with it either. Pell was as well-known above ground as he was below ground in this city. Being one of the Church's master masons, he was constantly in contact with the city officials. He knew what they knew, and that was extremely important to Rel right now, so he would accommodate the man’s need for secrecy as much as necessary.

Rel’s left foot shook on the floor, causing their glasses to rattle slightly on the rough wooden table. He pressed his shod foot into the stone floor, but the tremor just moved to his hand. He set his jaw, determined to not show how jangled his nerves were. He was furious with so many things, but right now, his brain was torn between attempting to return to the home he left so many years ago, or continue fighting for and with the people who had become his friends and family over the last few decades.

Rel’s head pounded like never before.

Manic turmoil had taken ahold of the city. The Underground, stripped, patrolled, and closed off, held none of the promise that he had felt for nearly thirty years. Even the solidarity of the Church had crumbled. Priests all over the city fought and dedicated themselves to quelling their congregations, but Rel knew more than one priest had lost complete control in a few days. He’d heard a few had even taken their own lives, some in public gruesome displays of their undying faith in a dying religion. So many members of the Underground could no sooner keep their identities secret than change their histories, when their homes were discovered to be connected to the Underground. Rel tried to help who he could, but hundreds had been arrested, and were nowhere for him to find to even try and help.

But nearly miraculous happenings and changes were taking place in the citizens of the city. The things Solen had reported to him wholly surprised him; his apprentice was Tertancian by birth and had no trouble wandering the city streets without suspicion. He had heard many citizens, people not even a part of the Underground, mentioning Dosmerind, wondering at their technology, the levels of technology obvious in the Underground, and most unbelievably, the Wave. They spoke of it, not as a religious act, but as something natural, something that could be escaped. Some had seemed to forget their religion all together in the eyes of truth which had began to open all over the city. Solen pointedly told him of the hushed, shameful tones in which people spoke of their once revered religion. The quick changes proved to Rel how fast the Church’s hold had been slipping, quickness of mind overcoming blind faith. But the city was not taking the shock well..

Over half of the lower city had been boarded up, and many were left homeless. In only two days, the military had systematically searched every house in the Trade District, looking for entrances into the Underground. They boarded up each entrance and house connecting to the Underground they found.In the first few hours, they arrested the guilty parties, but soon, the jails were overfull. Instead of detaining, they simply left the guilty on the streets to starve.

A church was burned to the ground by an angry congregation in the middle of the night. Luckily, the buildings on either side were stone, so the fire didn't catch, but if the level of animosity grew much further... Rel was worried this city was a bad place to be.

Especially since they had shut and locked every gate leaving Hold Out.

"The Prince’s plan can't work, Rel." Solen’s voice wavered meekly into Rel’s thoughts. He shifted his eyes towards the worry-creased face of his apprentice. The young man was sure the prince meant to slaughter the whole Rebellion, and Rel didn’t have the heart to tell him he was probably correct. "Too many people know now --too many people question." He took a large gulp of his drink, sputtering slightly, the liquid dribbling down his chin. He wiped it with a shaking, dirty sleeve. They’d both seen better days.