Below the Moon

by Alexis Marie Chute

  I’ve begun to hear Mom’s dreams. Sometimes I fight them. I scream at them in my head, at Mom directly, telling her to be quiet so I can rest. I don’t want to know all the things she thinks about, all her lusty feelings, and her worries—ever the worrier that she is. I’m getting to know her more, which is nice, I guess. She’s loved on me hard since my diagnosis, but whether knowingly or not, she’s also been painstakingly guarded.

  Sometimes her dreams lead me toward her upbringing, but that terrain is protected more fiercely in Mom’s subconscious than the Bangols’ northern fortress, from what the sprites tell me of their maze. The second my consciousness inches closer to her childhood, Mom wakes up. Snap! That fast. She doesn’t want me to go there. I don’t get it. What’s she trying to hide?

  Mom drives me crazy. Why won’t she talk to me? Really talk. I know a mother can’t be candid with her daughter at all times, like girlfriends, and frankly there’s a lot I don’t want to know, like what she and Captain Nate do when they sneak farther and farther into the vineyard, beyond my listening ears, beyond the giggles of the naughty sprites who are up past their bedtime. Still, I’d like us to be closer.

  When I draw our family—Mom and me, Grandpa Archie, and Dad as an Olearon—when I sketch out our family tree in the slippery ink, Mom’s excuses are shallow. There’s more she refuses to say. I give up on her being forthright with me. I can tell by the way she gazes at me that I’m ten years old in her mind, childish and naive, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

  I’m fifteen now. If we make it home, I’ll be heading into grade ten in the fall. I’m not a child. Cancer will do that to a person; I’ve grown up faster than anyone should.

  I can’t recall how many days I’ve survived out here, which is my failure as an adventurer to keep an accurate record. I should have been etching the sunrises on a tree branch or recording the dates on paper, though I forgot the book Nanjee and Luggie gave me in the cell. The Lord said the Maiden showed him what I drew in that book—in his mind after her death, when they were reunited in one body—but those pages burned with her, or drowned when everything blasted into the sea at her explosion.

  What point is there in noting the date now? If we succeed, I’ll record my days given to me by the cure. If not, and I die, none of it will matter anyway.

  Chapter 18

  Tessa

  Is she asleep?”

  “I think so,” Tessa says as she watches Ella through a break in the leaves.

  Nate smiles at her, and she blushes. “Are you turning in, Tessa?” he asks.

  “Nah, not yet. You?”

  “No.” Nate gestures past Ella and the other members of their company, with their sealed-shut eyes, chests that rise and fall heavily, and the throaty rumble of impending snores. Tessa leads the way ahead of Nate. They follow a slender path blanketed in glimmering, dewy leaves, some soft and others frail, which rustle quietly beneath their feet. The sprites are asleep as well, wrapped in their curls of flora. The whole vineyard breathes as one.

  Nate and Tessa reach the base of the Great Tree, as the sprites call it, where a garden of exposed roots caresses the edge of the vineyard. The roots ripple upward, peeking out of the earth like whitecaps on a turbulent ocean. The tree’s trunk—so broad you could lose yourself running around it—is a peculiar mix of blue bark and the pearl of the white woodland. It shifts and shimmers as Tessa and Nate ascend, climbing its low, tired arms under the cover of night.

  Tessa finds it difficult to steal a moment to speak with Nate, what with the inquisitive ears of Quillie and Pinne and the knowing looks of Ella and Lady Sophia. Plus, she is conscious of the Olearons stalking around; they are fiercely protective of Ardenal. The Olearons have taken sides, Tessa feels, and disapprove of Nate and his affection for her, which the man refuses to disguise.

  Tessa carries guilt with every choice.

  Up in the branches of the Great Tree, Tessa and Nate can hear each other’s whispers clearly, the leaves blocking the whoosh of the disgruntled wind, forming a pocket of sleepy warmth.

  “You look lovely,” Nate says through a grin as he touches Tessa’s hair. Earlier, the sprites wove grapevines around her forehead and through her hair in a living crown. Nate lifts a braided strand, tied at the bottom with a thin, coiling root. He takes the tips of her hair and runs them along her neck and jawbone. Nate scoots closer to where Tessa sits, cupped in a dip of the smooth branch, and brushes a kiss across her cheek.

  She lets a rush of balmy air fill her lungs before speaking. “I need to ask you something. And if it happened, then I’m relieved I’m not crazy, but it if didn’t … I’ll be a fool for bringing it up.”

  “What, Tess?”

  “Do you remember the night our company camped by the Creek of Secrets? Before we visited Rolace and his web? Before we reached the Bangols’ destroyed fortress and arching bridges in the east, and before the Maiden—” Tessa’s voice catches in her throat as she relives the shocking sacrifice.

  “Of course, I remember,” Nate answers. “I’m furious with myself for not asking Valarie to move over so I could sleep beside you on the ground. If I had, then I would’ve felt you stir and prevented you from falling into the creek.”

  “But if I hadn’t, I’d never have learned what Rolace desired—the Banji flowers, which he needed to weave his magical web and form our cocoons, to help me find Ella.”

  “I’m leery of the magic on this island, Tessa—I’ve got to be honest. I have been since the beginning. Everything here seems two-faced. Like these Olearons. One moment they’re swearing to save your daughter, and the next they backtrack. ‘We’ll save Ella, but only after we crush the Bangols,’” Nate says, impersonating the stiff red beings and their formal manner of speech.

  “I know what you mean. A part of me needs to trust them, but the other part … Even this plan. Why send Archie and Lillium to distract the Bangols? Why not Azkar and Nameris?”

  “I thought that, too. Archie and a sprite? Really? Out on their own?”

  Tessa nods and bites her lower lip. “I wanted to argue with the Lord, but I worried he’d order more of us—like Ella, you, me, even Arden—on this death errand. I bet the Lord sent Archie because of that magical glass. From what you said about the Maiden’s reaction when she caught Archie reading it, there’s more going on than we know. The way the Lord stared at Archie when we made it back to the glass city, when he told Archie that the two of them needed to talk … I could sense it was a big deal. And how the Lord transformed in the forest on the way to Baluurwa. Ugh. Now I feel terrible that we sat back and let Archie go off to die!”

  “No, Tessa. You were right not to disagree with the Lord. There’s a sinister edge to that guy. We can try to protect Archie, but he’s an adult. The only people I’ve tasked myself with keeping safe are you and Ella. Besides, haven’t you noticed Archie’s hair? Or his never-ending energy? Something’s happening to him. My gut tells me we don’t need to worry about Archie.”

  “Plus, if the Bangols do capture him, maybe Zeno will be there. He and Archie have a bond, a complicated bond, but still. I bet that creature would venture to save him, especially from Tuggeron.”

  Nate nods, then asks, “Was that what you wanted to ask me?”

  “No.” Tessa feels her cheeks flush and she looks away. “This is hard for me, Nate.” She avoids his deep brown eyes, rich like the earth twelve feet below them. She gazes at the island. Jarr-Wya sleeps, like the company and the sprites. Small fires are lit on the side of Baluurwa the Doomful, the Steffanus race unafraid to announce their presence after their reproach of the company. The fires flicker and some are extinguished in a trail of smoke that dances into the night sky, twirling in the wind like wafting ribbons.

  The Bangols’ northern fortress glows warmly as torches reflect off its clay structures and stones. The Bangols do not sleep this night. The sound of industry, of building, hammering, and drumming continues to rise along with steam and smoke by night, as it had by day.
The sprites have only alluded to the Bangols’ activities—making weapons, the merry beings suppose.

  Digging. Mining. The racket floats above the fortress, raising questions in Tessa’s mind.

  “Tess?”

  She surrenders to the inevitable discussion. “All right, I’m just going to spit it out,” Tessa says. “And please don’t say anything till I’m finished.”

  Nate nods.

  “When we were by the Creek of Secrets,” she continues, “I woke up. Everyone was asleep, even you. I went to the water and drank, then heard someone coming up behind me. I turned, startled, and it was you. At least I thought it was you. We talked. Then you kissed me.” Tessa bites her lower lip, remembering the rich taste of Nate’s mouth, and his smell—earthy, manly, memorable. “It was like your kiss now, but more of me. My lips. My shoulders. My collarbone.” Tessa shuts her eyes as she continues to speak. She hopes Nate will not notice her blushing. “We spent time together. I still remember the feel of your skin, your chest, your hands on me. When I opened my eyes”—Tessa turns on the branch to straddle it as she studies Nate’s face—“you were gone. I was alone … Did any of that really happen?”

  Nate sighs deeply, his strong jaw clenched tightly. “I wish I could tell you it was real, Tess.” He balls his hands, opens one, and punches his palm. “You see, it’s the magic of this place. How can we know what’s real and what’s illusion? I tell ya, the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  Tessa does not hear anything Nate says after he confirms her suspicion. The kiss hadn’t happened. Her shoulders scrunch and she turns away, self-conscious and embarrassed. Nate continues to fume at her side.

  Tessa hoped what she experienced at the edge of the Creek of Secrets was real, even if it did make her feel guilty knowing that Ardenal—Arden—rested nearby. That was before he released her from their marriage, giving her the freedom she desired, though she was startled to discover that his words didn’t satisfy her either. Once released, Tessa wondered if that was really what she wanted.

  Agh, she thinks. When I first saw Arden in Brown Beans Coffee Shop, with his bright blue eyes and deep chestnut hair, I knew I wanted to kiss him. When I needed a break from studying for a nursing final and Arden pulled out his Egyptian history textbooks and passionately rattled on about pharaohs and dynasties, beaming and pushing up his chunky glasses in that charming, dorky way of his, that’s when I knew I wanted to marry him. I craved that passion and intelligence in my life. I knew he would be a great father, although I’ve never really known any father …

  Tessa thinks back to the creek. The Olearons call it “the stealer of secrets.” She agrees. It called her Orphan. She never breathed her secret to anyone, not even Arden, though he understood in his own way. He was too perceptive to believe her lies. A pang of anger rises in her chest. Tessa wishes she could be brave enough to tell the truth to the people she loves.

  She aches to be wanted in the way she felt in Nate’s embrace at the creek, for it to have been real—that she was indeed coveted and desired. In the midst of her self pity, her skin begins to tingle, and she becomes aware of being watched.

  Tessa peers at Nate from the corners of her eyes.

  He is still. His hands are unclenched. His jaw is loose. His gaze is blurred by tears. “What else, Tessa? I can see, I can feel you have more to say.”

  “No. I’m sorry, Nate. I can’t.”

  She finds herself crying, and Nate reaches out to brush away her tears. As he does, his own cheeks are streaked in damp paths that reflect the bewitching moonlight. Tessa laughs through her sadness and cups Nate’s face. She shifts, and they both straddle the branch, knee to knee. Nate rests his hands on her thighs and pauses there before lifting her legs so they cross over his. Their breath hangs in the shrinking distance between them.

  “You can trust me, Tessa. Whatever it is, I don’t care.”

  Nate runs his fingers up her arms, and they find their way into the tangles of her hair, beneath the braids and crown of vines. Tessa leans into him, their hearts beating as if drawn together through their ribs and skin and clothing. Nate’s lips are warm and smooth. She lets them explore her mouth, and she unbuttons his shirt so his chest is bare. They tap teeth and laugh. Inches away from his face, she reads his eyes and the faint wrinkles he wears from years of smiling. Tessa traces these lines, his cheekbones, and the curve of his strong chin.

  Repeating what she said to the vision of Nate at the edge of the Creek of Secrets, Tessa whispers, “I’m scared to want you as much as I do.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not a perfect man, obviously. Just look at Valarie. I’m sorry for my mistakes, and sorry you’ve become a guarded woman. But I see a tenderness in you, behind your walls. If only you’d let me in, allow me to know you. I’m also terrified. I’m scared by how much I want you, too, Tessa Wellsley.”

  She flinches at the sound of her last name—of Arden’s last name, which she took on the day of their small wedding ceremony. That day, two chairs remained unoccupied at the reception, meant for her parents. Arden never demanded to know what she refused to tell him, and eventually he stopped asking. Did that mean he didn’t care? In contrast, Nate, his body pressed against hers, neither begs to know nor ignores her pain.

  I am guarded. I’m a maze of walls, like those that protect the Bangols’ northern fortress. Why do I want to tell this man who I am? An abandoned child who never knew her parents. A lonely girl, so neglected in a foster family overrun with unruly children that she faded into the wallpaper, trapped in silence behind its pattern. An adult determined to appear normal, from a normal family with a normal upbringing. Would it matter if anyone knew? Tessa thinks irritably as she slowly realizes how the seed of fear was planted.

  It came from the idea that if people knew where she came from—nowhere—they would start to wonder why: why her parents did not want her; why her foster family ignored her; why she struggled to make friends; why she preferred to be solitary. They would look for her faults, and sure enough, they would find them—one thing or another. Then they would leave. Just like everyone else before them. Easy to leave. That phrase planted itself into Tessa’s mind at the heartbreak. Easy to leave.

  As if reading her thoughts, Nate whispers, “If you let me, Tess, I’ll never leave you.”

  Fresh tears stream through Tessa’s gaze, falling quickly, mixing in this new kiss. She slips into Nate’s arms and rests her head on his chest. She listens to his heart—one hundred beats she loosely counts. His scent fills her lungs. She feels sleepy suddenly and pulls away.

  “I’ll tell you … everything—but not tonight,” she says, yawning.

  “We have time,” Nate responds. “I’ll make sure of it. We’ll find our way home, then there’ll be a lifetime.” He kisses her forehead before they climb down the branches. The curled leaves in the vineyard hum with the sleeping sprites. Down a gentle grassy slope, the company rest in a line between two rows of lush ohmi.

  On the path from the tree, Tessa looks back to make sure Nate is still there, that he has not disappeared, as he had by the creek. His grin is playful, and they twist their fingers together tightly, tenderly.

  When she returns her gaze to the slumbering company, two blue eyes meet hers. Tessa freezes mid-step.

  Ella.

  Her fragile head rests on the fine, sprite-woven pillow of vines and green feathers. Ella’s body is stiff. Her lips are pursed. Tessa drops Nate’s hand, and she rushes to her daughter.

  “Ell, you startled me. Did we wake you? Are you all right?” she asks.

  Ella remains still and releases a baby bird in response. Not even through their telepathic bond does Ella utter a word. She rolls her frail body over, turning her back to Tessa and Nate.

  “Tessa.” The deep, tentative voice is Ardenal’s. “Can I borrow you for a second?” His black eyes turn to Nate, who nods and steps aside to find his place amongst the row of slumbering bodies.

  Ardenal leads Tessa to the crest of the vineyard, w
hich rises on a lazy hill overlooking the sea. He brushes aside a gathering of wayward leaves, and they twirl in the air. Tessa slips down on the dewy grass and shivers, a sudden cold slipping over her.

  The moon reflects onto the sea in shattered pieces of light that dance on the turbulent water as the storm rakes the sea. Ardenal graciously released her from their marriage in the white woodland. Tessa wonders what more he has to say. She laces her fingers, nervous that he will notice the confused energy that surges through her—giddy from Nate’s kisses, guilty about her own happiness when her daughter is dying and Jarr is poisoned by the Star, and heartsick over her and Arden’s lost love.

  “Tessa,” Ardenal begins.

  There is so much Tessa wishes to say to the man looking back at her. His eyes may be black, but they are still Arden’s eyes, sheepish and charming. A lump rises in her throat from all the words that want to spill out of her. I’m sorry … I wish … if only … I love you.

  Ardenal clears his throat. “I do not want this to hurt you, Tess, I really don’t, but I need you to think about what I am going to say.”

  Tessa nods, swallowing down the desires that have not fully formed on her tongue.

  “It breaks my heart to see you with Nate. I know I said I release you, but that doesn’t mean I do not love you. You will always have my heart.”

  “Arden—”

  “I see the same feelings on Ella’s face. She notices your secret smiles and the way you and Nate hang off each other.” Ardenal looks away.

  Tessa strains to see him, but he slouches, his hunched shoulders guarding his countenance as he stares at the watching moon. He wipes his eyes with the backs of his ruddy hands.

  “What I want you to think about … What if Ella stays here with me? She is obviously taken with Luggie. I have missed out on so much father-daughter time, and I know that is my fault, but I want to make it up to Ell, however I can.”