Page 15 of A Hunter for Luna

"Pleasant enough," I said curtly. "Take me to my brother."

The physician motioned for me to follow. The narrow windows on the side of the hall by the river showed glimpses of sun onwater until we reached the areas that housed those committed to care here. This was where the poor lived. Contrary to popular belief, the poor did run mad from time to time.

I paid, and paid well, for Francesco to have his room on an upper floor.

As we ascended the creaking wooden steps to the second floor, I steeled myself for the heartbreak of seeing Francesco. His was the third door in the hall, and at least this time, he wasn’t screaming. Drawing a deep breath, I stepped through the door to my brother's chamber.

The room was as I remembered it, clean and comfortable, though shadows of writing on the walls showed despite persistent scrubbings. On his bad days, Francesco used whatever came to hand to write on the walls, and strange glyphs and symbols lingered.

Soft lavender scented the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of fresh flowers adorning a nearby vase. Sunlight streamed through the barred window, casting a warm glow on the crisp, clean linens of Francesco's bed.

Yet even these small comforts couldn't ease the knot of misery twisting in my gut at his imprisonment here.

Francesco sat hunched in a chair secured to the floor, his long dark hair wild and unkempt, his sharp eyes now vacant and haunted. The angular face we both inherited from our father was gaunt on him, the cheekbones almost sharp enough to cut.

It was as if the madness consumed him mind and body.

"Francesco," I said, squatting next to him. I kept my hand on my blade; he’d tried to take it to harm himself in the past. "It's me, Benedetto. It’s good to see you again."

For a moment, he didn't react, lost in whatever hellish visions flitted through his haunted mind. Then, slowly, he focused on me, a flicker of recognition animating his features.

"B-Benedetto?" His voice sounded raspy from disuse. "Is it truly you? Not a memory?"

"Yes, I'm here." I clasped his hand. Thin, frail and bony. I’d ask what he was eating later. "I'm sorry I’ve been away so long."

Francesco leaned toward me, a feverish intensity overtaking his features. He gripped my hand with surprising strength, his nails digging into my skin.

"Listen to me," Francesco said, his hands shaking as he clenched them on mine with unexpected strength. "She's coming for you, brother. Moonshifter, she covets the dark moon’s curses, and Ruin walks with you, searching for the Lord of Nightmares..." His words tumbled out in a frantic stream.

I listened intently, trying to piece together any sense from the fragments of his shattered mind. "Slow down, Francesco. Is this Ruin the person or the action?"

"She is destroyer of kingdoms, the bringer of desolation." He shuddered. "Her journals told the secrets, the reasons for the gods' absence, the lost magics...when I read them, my eyes turned to black gold, and dropped out of my head, overcome by the echoes of her rage…"

I'd heard rumors when I came to the capitol, whispers of a rare tome surfacing in Legnali, a place I normally avoided. A friendhad mentioned it in passing, that it had already been sold to an unknown buyer. I’d asked the shop’s name. Antiquities & Rarities.

The sorcerer Ruin's story was a tale everyone heard as a child, a cautionary fable about the dangers of unchecked sorcery. Some argued that the sorcerer didn’t actually exist. Others said when she raised her sigil and took her name, she left a trail of destruction in her wake, razing entire realms before vanishing into legend.

All that happened long ago, long before Kalion was founded, and no other sorcerer had awakened that name when they ascended. But if Francesco's ramblings held any truth...if reading Ruin’s journal was part of what maddened him…

I needed to find that book. If it truly existed, it might hold the key to curing my brother's condition, or perhaps lure Moonshifter to me too.

I’d give all I had to exact revenge on the sorcerer responsible for Francesco’s descent into madness.

My brother’s mutterings grew more urgent. "You must stop her, Benedetto. Before it's too late, before she claims you too...the vixen and the wolf…one will save, one will damn…"

I squeezed his hand back, trying to offer some measure of comfort. "I will, brother. I swear it."

My mind raced as I considered my next move. In my searches, I’d known Cassius, the owner of Antiquities & Rarities for a long time. He was tight-lipped about his clientele in the best of circumstances. Getting information from him would require a deft touch.

And if deft didn’t work, brutal was always an option.

Once I had the journal in my hands, I’d see if it furthered my goals. I’d chased ghosts and legends, delved into the darkest corners of the arcane in the past few years. What was one more shadow?

For Francesco's sake, for the salvation of my brother, I would risk anything. Even if it meant spitting in Ruin’s eye.

Francesco clutched at my sleeve as I prepared to leave, the black cloth bunched in his sallow fingers. "Don't go, Benedetto. Please, don't leave me here alone."

His words made my chest tighten. I turned back, pulling him into a hard embrace. "I have to, Francesco. But I promise, I'll return soon. I won't stop searching for answers, for a way to help you."

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