Moon Chosen

by P. C. Cast

  “All of this keeps us safe. Not only am I used to it—I appreciate it. You should, too.”

  “Oh, I do. I think it’s magnificent! I just don’t know how I’m going to re-create it,” Sora said.

  Neither do I, Mari thought, but I’m going to figure it out. The sooner her burrow’s ready—the sooner she’s out of mine.

  “To the left here, and then we go down five paces, turn right, up five paces, and we’re at the mouth of the burrow,” Mari said.

  “Finally! I’m exhausted and starving,” Sora said. Then she almost bumped into Mari as she stared, openmouthed, at the entry of the burrow. Sora moved around Mari, careful not to let any of the thorns snag her, and approached the carving of the Goddess that seemed to hold up the thick wooden door. Reverently, she touched the image, reminding Mari for the space of a heartbeat, of Leda.

  “She’s so beautiful.” Sora’s voice was hushed. “Who created her?”

  “The mother of my mother’s mother. She was an artist,” Mari said.

  “It would make me very happy if the Earth Mother protected my burrow, too,” Sora said. She looked over her shoulder at Mari. “Can you do this?”

  Mari blinked in surprise at the question. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried. I, um. I draw things.”

  Sora turned to face her. “Then you’re an artist, too?”

  “Yes. I suppose I am.”

  “Why didn’t anyone in the Clan know that?” Sora asked.

  “Jenna did.”

  “Jenna’s a child. Why didn’t anyone who was important know?”

  “Mama knew. No one was more important than her,” Mari said.

  Sora looked at her for a long moment without speaking. Finally, she said, “The two of you kept many secrets.”

  “Because we had to,” Mari said.

  “I know the Law, but do you really believe two Moon Women would have been banished and shunned, especially for something that happened so long ago?”

  “Leda didn’t want to take the chance that I would be the one sent away from the Clan,” Mari said.

  “Leda was our only Moon Woman. She wouldn’t have been shunned,” Sora said matter-of-factly. “And had you shown that you were valuable to the Clan, you probably wouldn’t have been shunned either.” She paused and her gaze flicked to Rigel. “I can’t say the same for him.”

  Mari lifted her chin. “The secrets Mama kept were to protect me. I’ll protect Rigel the same way.”

  “How long are you going to carry him to and from your burrow?”

  “As long as he breathes,” Mari said without hesitation.

  “And how much bigger is he going to get?”

  “I don’t know, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll still carry him.”

  Sora shook her head sadly. “You’ve chosen a hard life, Mari.”

  “I didn’t choose it. I was born to it.” Mari pushed past Sora. “Come in and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping for the short amount of time you’ll be here. Oh, and you can leave that fern outside the door.”

  “I don’t understand why you made me carry that thing all the way here.”

  “You will,” Mari said tiredly. “Now, pretend to be a good apprentice and come in here so we can eat and get this evening over with.”

  “You’re not a very nice mentor,” Sora said with a whine that grated on Mari’s nerves. Mari glanced down at Rigel, who looked up at her. They sighed in tandem, and she whispered to her pup, “Not surprising since I never planned on being a mentor at all…”

  * * *

  “Your burrow is lovely and clean. I can’t believe you drew these. They are so good!”

  Mari scowled at Sora. “The way you say it doesn’t make it a compliment.”

  “You can’t really blame me for being shocked.” Sora kept leafing through Mari’s pile of sketches as if they mesmerized her. “And I can’t believe you have all this talent and you didn’t share it with the Clan.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Draw pictures for them? I didn’t know there was a big need for charcoal sketches amongst the Clan.”

  “Now you’re being sarcastic,” Sora said, not taking her eyes from the sketches.

  “Actually, I’m not. I honestly didn’t know anyone in the Clan would be interested in my drawings,” Mari said as she stirred their stew and added another handful of mushrooms to the aromatic mixture.

  “Have you never been in any other burrow than this one?”

  “Yes. I’ve been in the burrow Jenna shared with her father,” Mari said.

  Sora scoffed. “That was little more than a male’s hovel. You’ve never been in any of the females’ burrows?”

  Mari met Sora’s gray-eyed gaze steadily. Even though the subject was not a pleasant one, she was finding that it was freeing to be able to tell the truth. “I was barely five winters old when the sun-colored pattern started appearing under my skin. Until then Mama had dyed my hair, but hadn’t needed to do much else to cover what I am. I went everywhere with her then. Well, during the daylight I did. At night I would stay locked in here.”

  “All by yourself? Even when you were so little?”

  Mari nodded. “Some of my earliest memories are of falling asleep by the door so that I’d be sure to hear Mama knocking when she came home at dawn.”

  “That must have been difficult for you, and for Leda,” Sora said.

  “It wasn’t that bad. Mama and I had each other, and that was enough for us.” Mari turned back to the stew. “So, I have been in the females’ burrows, but I was too young to remember much. What sticks in my mind is that they seemed very big and full of lots of unusual things.”

  “Yes, like artistic decorations—carvings and tapestries and such. I’m really surprised that Leda didn’t tell you about the beauty of the burrows. Your talent would be very much in demand if the Clan knew about it.” Sora looked around the little cavelike dwelling. “I’m also surprised that your walls aren’t decorated with murals you’ve painted. You can paint, can’t you?”

  “Of course I can. Mama and I talked about me painting scenes on our walls, but as you can see, we decided to fill them with extra glowmoss and glowshrooms instead so that the light is better for me at night while I waited up for her to come home.” Mari pointed to the hearth. “I painted those.”

  “They’re pretty.” She studied the delicate blue flowers that seemed to be growing across the mantel.

  “They’re forget-me-nots. Mama’s favorites.”

  “Like I said, they’re pretty. You’re an excellent artist. Your skills would be appreciated by the Clan—especially the teachers of the Clan. Those sketches of yours would really be helpful with teaching the children how to read and write.”

  Mari peeled and smashed another garlic clove with her fist, stirring it into the cauldron, and then began chopping spring onions. She thought about what Sora had said, turning the idea around in her mind and trying to see Leda’s reasoning for keeping her talent a secret. Mari knew Leda had always thought first of her safety, and lived in terror that her secret would be discovered and Mari would be cast out of the Clan. She wondered, though, if maybe her mama had been too worried about her secret. For a moment Mari imagined being appreciated by the Clan for something that was unique to her, and not tied to her mother, and she was surprised at the rush of longing that washed through her.

  Rigel whined and his warm, strong body pressed against her leg. She looked down at him, smiling.

  “It’s okay. I was just thinking about might-have-beens.” She patted his head.

  “You talk to him a lot,” Sora said.

  “Yep. He’s a good listener,” Mari said.

  “You act like he can understand you.”

  “He can.”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Truthfully.” Mari glanced at Sora and saw only curiosity in her expression, so she added, “Rigel and I are bonded for life. He chose me as his Companion. That’s more than just a title. It means that he and I are linked. I can feel his
emotions and he can feel mine. And when I sketch a picture in my mind, and then imagine sending it to him, Rigel understands.”

  Sora arched her dark brows. “Are you making that up to tease me?”

  “No! I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Can you show me?”

  “How?” Mari asked.

  “Well, sketch in your mind a picture of Rigel going over to the door and lying down,” Sora said after thinking for a few moments.

  “That’s easy.” Mari kept stirring the stew, and without looking at Rigel or saying a word, she imagined drawing a picture of Rigel lying in front of the door. Within a heartbeat or two, the Shepherd had left her side, padded to the door, and lay down.

  “That’s amazing. Do you think all of the Companions’ canines can do that?”

  “I don’t know about all, but my father’s Shepherd could. Mama told me about it.”

  “This is him, isn’t it?” Sora held up the sketch of Galen, Orion, Leda, and Mari as an infant.

  Mari glanced at it, and then quickly averted her gaze. It hurt to look at the sketches of her mama—hurt a lot. “Yes. That’s Galen and his Shepherd, Orion, Mama, and me.”

  “The Shepherd is unfinished,” Sora said.

  “That’s because until Rigel chose me, I hadn’t seen a canine close up enough to draw one.”

  Sora sat heavily on the pallet that used to be Mari’s, but was now—temporarily—hers. “It really is incredible.”

  “What is?”

  “You—or rather your parentage. And him.” She jerked her chin at Rigel, who was still lying by the door, watching Mari through sleepy eyes. “You know, his fur is very thick and surprisingly pretty colors. It would make a beautiful cloak.”

  Mari spun around, holding the ladle like a sword. “Don’t you dare talk about skinning him!”

  Sora laughed until Rigel’s warning growl hushed her. She cleared her throat and then, eyes still sparkling but voice deceptively contrite, said, “I wasn’t serious. It was a compliment.”

  Mari and Rigel snorted at the same time.

  “It’s very odd how in sync the two of you are,” Sora said.

  Mari ladled up a healthy portion of stew for Rigel, adding raw rabbit to his large wooden dish. She set it aside to let it cool while she dished up portions for Sora and herself. Then she gave the Shepherd his dinner and joined Sora, pulling up a chair to sit beside the pallet.

  Sora tried the stew, nodded, and made a small, agreeable sound, and then through her second mouthful said, “No fresh bread?”

  “If you want fresh bread feel free to bake some yourself,” Mari said.

  “I’ll do that. My bread is light as clouds on the inside.”

  Mari snorted. “Like you can really bake.”

  “I can really bake. And well, too. Just because I don’t like to root around in the dirt to gather things, and I loathe hunting, doesn’t mean I don’t understand how to turn what others hunt and gather for me into deliciousness.” She took another spoonful of stew, tasting it thoughtfully. “This isn’t bad, but you added too much garlic and too little salt.”

  “Are you complaining about my stew?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m only making a truthful observation. Tomorrow I’ll cook. You’ll see. Do you have the makings for bread?”

  “Yeah. It’s all in the storage room in the rear of the burrow.” Mari tried not to sound too interested, even though just thinking about bread as light as clouds was making her salivate. “Mama did the baking and I made the stews.”

  “I can do both and more. If you can hunt and gather it, I can cook it.”

  Mari bit back a quick retort. Why should she care if Sora knew how to find food or not? It would make her life easier if Sora did the cooking. “You have a deal,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Thank you!” Sora said around another mouthful of stew. “You won’t be sorry.”

  Mari laughed humorlessly. “I’ve been sorry since you found me under that tree.”

  “That was a mean thing to say.” Sora stared into her stew, biting her lip.

  Mari lifted a shoulder, surprised that Sora’s comment made her feel uncomfortable. “I was being honest, not mean. I’m—I’m not used to spending this much time with anyone but Mama. Maybe you should stop being so sensitive.”

  “Do you want to change the way you are?” Sora asked.

  “No. Why should I?”

  “I won’t go into that because it would be a really long conversation. I’ll just leave it at this—you don’t want to change. I don’t want to change. So instead of trying to change each other, why don’t we just accept who we are and make the best out of our arrangement?”

  “I guess that makes sense.”

  “So, is it a deal?” Sora said.

  “It is,” Mari agreed.

  They finished the stew in silence and with at least the pretense of camaraderie together they cleaned the dishes. It was during the aftermath of dinner that Sora started rubbing her arms, reminding Mari poignantly of Leda.

  Mari opened their window to the sky to see that dusk had, indeed, fallen. She drew a deep breath and turned to Sora. “All right, time for lesson number one. Do you know about earth writing?”

  Sora was sitting on the pallet, working a wooden comb carefully through her long, thick hair. “No. I’ve never heard of it.”

  Mari sighed. “Did Mama teach you nothing?”

  “Why don’t you just assume that I know nothing about drawing down the moon, because like I told you earlier, I know nothing about drawing down the moon.” Sora paused and studied Mari before adding, “Why isn’t your skin crawling? It’s after dusk.”

  “I’m not like you. Sunset doesn’t affect me,” Mari said.

  “Not at all? Your skin doesn’t feel terrible?”

  “No,” Mari said.

  “You have no pain whether or not you go out in the moonlight?” Sora was watching Mari with big, shocked eyes.

  “The setting of the sun doesn’t affect me. Neither does the rising of the moon,” Mari said. “Now, about earth writing.”

  “Wait, are you sure you have the power to draw down the moon? I mean, how can you if you can’t feel it in under your skin?”

  “This is silly. Showing you is easier than telling you.” Mari hesitated, and then she entered what had been her mother’s room, but was now hers. She went to Leda’s neat stack of cloths and took her cloak. She allowed herself a brief moment to hug the multicolored cloth close to her and breathed deeply of her mother’s scent of rosemary and rose water. She put the cloak around her shoulders, tying it carefully into place before taking two thick clumps of dried sage, held together with brightly colored strips of cloth from Leda’s basket of supplies, and then rejoined Sora in the main room of the burrow.

  Mari paused to carefully brush a live coal from the hearth fire into a small tinderbox, and while she was bent to the hearth, Sora reached out and gently brushed her fingers down the sleeve of Leda’s cloak.

  “This is so beautiful.”

  Mari jerked in surprise, causing Rigel to lift his head and skewer Sora with his amber gaze.

  “You don’t need to be so shocked, especially when it makes him give me that look. I liked Leda. Plus, I’ve always envied her this cloak. The dyeing is lovely, as is the embroidery of flowers all around the edges of it.”

  “Thank you. I made this for Mama.”

  “If that’s true you should try making some clothing for yourself. You really don’t have to wear things that are so drab and dirty-looking. I can help you with your hair, too.” Sora paused, studying Mari. “Well, I think I can help you.”

  “Sora, I’m tired. I’m sad. And I’m out of patience. Now follow me and try not to talk for a little while.” Mari walked to the door, opened it, and handed Sora her old walking stick. “You’re going to start by holding aside your own bramble branches. And remember—it’s night. We’re hidden here, but be mindful of what you say
and how loud you say it. With Mama gone I have no idea where the Clan, or more specifically, the Clansmen are at night.”

  “I know where they are. They’re surrounding my lovely little burrow that is now all in ruins,” Sora said in a broken voice. “I barely got out of there.” She picked up her own cloak, grimacing at the dirt and stains that covered it. “Goddess, not having all of my tunics and cloaks and dresses is almost unbearable.”

  “Sora, focus. You’re supposed to be my apprentice, and that means you should be thinking about attempting to draw down the moon—not your missing clothes.”

  “My clothes aren’t missing. They’re being held hostage,” Sora muttered as she awkwardly brandished the walking stick. Just outside the door, she paused to gently touch the image of the Great Goddess.

  “Hey,” Mari said, glancing over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to bring that fern.”

  With a groan, Sora slung the huge, wilted fern over her shoulder, causing dirt from its exposed roots to cascade down her back. Grimacing, she announced, “When I’m the Clan’s Moon Woman I will never get dirty again. I mean it. Never! You might like dirt, but I absolutely, definitely do not.”

  Mari didn’t bother to correct Sora. She simply strode forward, allowing a bramble branch to fall back over the path. Then she and Rigel shared an amused look at the muffled shriek that came from behind them.

  24

  “This is lovely! And no one would ever guess that it’s here,” Sora said in a hushed, reverent voice. “May I approach the Earth Mother?” Mari made no response. She’d come to an abrupt halt half a step inside the clearing, and was just standing there, staring. “Mari? Are you okay?”

  Rigel whined and licked her hand fretfully.

  “What? Oh. Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Mari absently stroked Rigel, drawing comfort from his nearness.

  “You don’t look like you’re going to be fine. You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  Mari met Sora’s gaze. “I buried Mama here—in the arms of the Earth Mother. I—I haven’t been up here since.”

  “Oh. That explains your paleness. I’m sorry, Mari,” Sora said quietly. “May I approach the Earth Mother?” she repeated, and then added, “I’d like to offer a prayer for Leda.”