by A. D. Koboah
She regarded me for a few seconds before the corners of her lips tugged into a barely perceptible smile. Then she looked upward. Her face creased into a mark of intense pain before the light swirling around her increased to a blinding white. Light streamed from her hands and feet, building to an unbearable intensity. And then there was only darkness.
PART II
Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
–Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
Chapter 20
I awoke to see Avery sleeping in the chair by the bed. I got out of bed and moved to stand over him, my heart bursting with all I felt for him. I loved him so much, and of all the things I wished I could go back and change, not saying those three precious words to him each day was the thing I regretted the most. I trailed a light hand across his cheek before I made my way to the window and opened the shutters to watch the sun ease its way out of the sky so the moon could reign for another night, the weakness within my body making me feel lightheaded for a few moments.
I remembered nearly all there was to remember, although some of the faces I had known were still a blur.
I understood now, but I suppose a part of me had always known. There had always been a yearning, even as a child, and a sense there was something terribly important missing in my life. I thought of my grandma and how she had been around me. She had always doted on me and at times treated me with a reverence that, when I look back on it, had been extremely unusual for a grown woman to have toward a child, especially the brat I had been. I vividly remember that on one occasion, shortly after one of my relatives had been murdered, she had taken hold of my hand, love and respect shining in her eyes.
“You’re special, Dallas. Don’t ever let anyone tell you anything different. You’re the one who will bring an end to this and change everything for our family. You’re the only one who can.”
The words had confused me, but I still basked in her love and adoration. And deep down, even then, I had known she was right.
All the while the painting of Luna stared down at us from its place above the fireplace.
Luna.
I knew I was Luna. But it was still so very difficult for me to call myself that. I turned to look at Avery, his long legs sprawled out before him. It was probably one of the few times he had slept right through the day since I had been here.
My poor Avery.
My heart twisted with anguish when I thought of all he had been through, how burdened his years had been and his guilt over the past.
He had spent the last few days preparing to carry out an exorcism of sorts at the chapel. An exorcism he would be unable to carry out.
I understood that I needed to be the one to confront the chapel entity. But it wouldn’t make things any easier for him if things happened as they were likely to once we got to the chapel. But this had to end.
I stood at the window and continued to stare at the sky. The sun had set completely and the moon, which to my eyes was an orb of molten white gold, lit the world with its tender light. It had me enthralled this night, my thoughts still on the memories; especially the very last image that had terrified and confused me so.
I heard Avery stir and my gaze was wrenched away from the moon. I made my way back to bed and sat down to watch his beautiful face as he awoke, his eyes brightening, a slow smile spreading onto his lips when he saw me sitting there staring at him.
Chapter 21
Akan
Later that day, as twilight was slowly eaten away by the coming night, Akan stood at his door and stared at the growing darkness. Exhaustion from the stresses of the last thirty days was like a heavy hand on his shoulder, weighing him down. Dread over what he would find when he returned to the temple gnawed at him. He had resigned himself to the fact that the little girl was gone, her mind destroyed by the trauma of what had been revealed to her in the ekniwa. Anger curled in Akan’s stomach at the thought of Mutata and the young life he had sacrificed, all in his quest for total power.
Rutia barely made any noise when she walked, her movements graceful and quiet, but he heard her anyway. Soon he felt her arms around him, one of those rare moments when she showed affection.
“You did what you could. No one else tried to save her,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“How could I not know? Only the fool who rushed into battle against an army twice the size of his would try and save the girl from Mutata.”
Rutia moved from behind Akan when Tanu ran up to the two of them and he instantly missed the feel of her warmth. Tanu pulled on his father’s arm.
“Can I go to see the goddess with you?”
Akan picked him up and stroked his hair.
“No, Tanu. You know children are not allowed in the temple. We do not know if the goddess will be with us for long. She may have already left us to return to her home in the sky.”
“But I have something for her.”
He produced a posy of flowers he had picked from the field by their home. They were tiny flowers the colour of snow with red tipped petals shaped like tear drops. Tanu had clumsily weaved the stalks together.
“I will give it to her,” Akan said, thinking of the way her face lit up at the toy he had given her and which she probably still clutched even now.
He placed Tanu on his feet.
With a heavy heart, he left his wife and son and made his way to the temple.
He entered to find all the torches lit, dousing the temple with a scorching orange light. The temple was full as was usual at the ceremony to mark the end of the ekniwa. The excited murmur of the crowd, the suffocating smell of incense and the chanting that pervaded the temple jarred Akan, setting his teeth on edge. He manoeuvred through the tightly packed crowd, most of whom were jostling for a better glimpse of the child, their eyes like that of hungry hawks, their lips curling in excitement at the spectacle they expected to see. Relief brought tears to Akan’s eyes when he finally saw the child. She was sitting up unaided, and although she was unnaturally pale and looked like a living skeleton in her robes, she was alert. Her eyes darted to the shadows in the corners of the temple and she peered into the faces of those gathered, her brow furrowed and her face often twisting in anguish as if she saw things that were not there.
When Akan took his seat, her eyes met his. He did not see the child he had encountered a month ago. Her face was like a mask made of bone and her gaze resembled the flat cold gaze of a statue. He stared at her, hoping for the little smile she had bestowed upon him in the past, but it was as if she had never laid eyes on him before. He felt crushed when she glanced away to peer intently at the shadows behind him as if she found hidden meaning in their depths. Akan was the only member of the ruling elite who was able to meet her gaze. The rest looked away as if her gaze had the power to strike them dead. They either stared at the altar behind the child with dogged concentration, or became fixated with picking at the threads of their kilts.
Mutata strolled into the temple a short while later. He had been absent during the thirty day ritual, no doubt believing the child was either already insane or would soon be dead. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw the child sitting cross legged before the altar, his eyes almost popping out of his head, his mouth gaping open at the fact that she appeared lucid. He quickly moved to the altar and faced the crowd.
“Blessings on this night, this—”
“Did I say you could speak, Mutata?”
Her clear, birdlike voice cut through the temple. Mutata turned to her, his mouth flapping open as if he were a confused fish. He clamped his mouth shut and smiled although anger moved into view behind his eyes.
“Goddess,” he bowed. “I am sure you are aware—”
“I have still not told you to speak. You.” She pointed to Mutata’s brother in law. “Get to your
feet.”
Mutata’s nostrils flared as his eyes widened like that of a startled vulture.
“Take him outside and slit his throat,” the child said to two of the guards.
Mutata paled as his brother in law, who looked as shocked as Mutata, was dragged outside the temple. The child looked on with steel in her eyes until Mutata’s brother in law disappeared from sight. It was only then that she directed her gaze to Mutata again.
“Sit down, Mutata, and speak only when I say you can.”
Mutata sat down, his head lowered, but there was no mistaking the rage in his eyes.
The child stared intently at those gathered for a few moments. Only Akan and Mutata were able to meet her gaze, the latter’s burning with anger. She spoke, her words and demeanour that of someone much older.
“As you can see, the ekniwa was a success and the spirits of the underworld have favoured the Enwa people by returning the earthly body of their goddess to them. The crops and harvests will be favourable this year as a reward for your devotion to your goddess.” She directed a glance as sharp as a blade at Mutata. “The sky gods have never required human sacrifices from the Enwa people. The death and destruction that was foreseen will not come to pass so long as you believe in me and trust what I say to you.”
A sound of relief, of suppressed joy, rippled through the crowd. Her gaze still on Mutata, she continued speaking.
“Being a temple elder is a privilege given by the people. Not even the earthly incarnation of a goddess can interfere with that choice. But subjecting a child to the ekniwa is not something even the beings of the underworld approve of, Mutata. As penance, your home and lands will be taken away. You and your family will be given new lands by the burial mounds.”
The ripple of relief that passed through the crowd settled into a tense silence.
Mutata rose to his feet and made as if to speak, his eyes dark with rage. The child paused and stared at him, her chin tilted, her eyes steady and unblinking, her bottom lip pursed. Mutata stared at her and perhaps he saw what Akan saw: The child who had sat before the altar a month ago was gone. Whether changed by her communion with the otherworld or possessed by one of the vacoma was difficult to discern.
Mutata sat down. A small smirk passed over the child’s lips before she continued; her gaze on Mutata.
“After the third moon, your goddess may require another sacrifice, of sorts, but that remains to be seen. But for now, go. Celebrate. The next few days are to be ones of joy and festivity.”
The crowd arose and a shower of cheers reigned down within the temple. Only Mutata remained silent, his gaze on the child—no, not child. Goddess. Mutata turned and pushed his way through the departing crowd. The goddess watched him go, hatred in her eyes.
Akan got to his feet and turned to follow the crowd out of the temple, unsettled by the changes he saw in the child goddess.
That clear, sharp voice rang out again, halting him.
“You have something for the goddess?”
He turned around and kneeled before her.
“I beg your forgiveness, but I think you must be mistaken, Divine One.”
A hint of a smile touched her lips. “Are you going to go back and tell him you did not give me his gift?”
“Of course. Forgive me, Goddess. It is a small gift my son asked me to give to you.”
Akan pulled the little posy of flowers from his robe and kneeling before the altar, offered it to the child goddess.
She took it, her expression unreadable for a moment as she stared at it. He rose to his feet.
“It is just a small thing. A child’s—”
“What is this flower? I have never seen one like it before.”
“It is called Heaven’s Tears. There is a small field of them near my home.”
She looked up at him, her gaze intense.
“Tell him the goddess is pleased with his gift. He will be rewarded with good health and a long life. You may go now.”
Akan nodded, bowed, and moved toward the temple door.
Just before he ducked out of the temple, he turned back to glance at her once more. Her gaze was on the flowers, her little face soft once more. She looked up at him and smiled.
Relief so intense it brought tears to his eyes settled over him. A smile came to his lips.
On the eve of the last battle Akan had fought, the battle that nearly claimed his life, the real goddess of the moon had appeared to him.
On that day he was waiting outside the village in the woods for his second in command. Although he was as still as the trees he stood beneath, there was a dark knot in his stomach that kept him tense, his nerves and reflexes as sharp as the spear he carried.
Then the very air in the woods seemed to still and the warm summer evening was swallowed by a dark chill that melted through his skin to his bones. Silence descended around him as the air a few metres from him thickened as if it were turning to liquid.
A woman stepped through the liquid air, appearing a few feet from him. A thin film of sweat broke out over his skin and he felt goose bumps along his arms, his breath catching in his chest. She came to a stop and turned to him. He held his breath and stared at her. The Enwa did not have a clear description of what the goddess of the moon looked like, but his soul recognised the divine one the moment he saw her. Her skin was the colour of night, her hair a dark storm cloud around her face. When she moved, turning to face him, her image wavered and her hair became like cascading black water. Her eyes, like a cat’s, took him in and, to his surprise, recognition moved behind them like fast flowing water. A hint of curiosity pinched her dark brow.
He almost bolted and ran when she moved toward him, a smile curving her plum-coloured lips.
All at once, he was alone in the woods, the leaves soughing gently above, the song of the woodland once more filling the air. He stood there for a long moment, unsure what it meant, why she had come to him, especially on the eve of a battle. His second in command joined him moments later. As they moved away, Akan kept turning back to glance at the place where the goddess of the moon had stepped out of thin air and faced him.
The experience so shook Akan that after that battle he gave up the warrior life and chose a wife. He swore his life to the goddess and spent many hours in the temple in prayer and meditation, asking of her only that she reveal why she had come to him. He had also undergone countless spirit quests in order to find out why she had appeared to him. The spirit quests had revealed nothing to him bar one thing: a very vivid image of a brown mare. When he had pushed Agu on its meaning, he had been vague.
“The horse could be one of your future lives, or perhaps it is your spirit guide.”
Many years had passed and he’d had no other vision of the goddess of the moon, not even a whisper of why she had appeared to him.
Now he was sure he knew why. The smile from the child before the golden altar was the reason the real goddess of the moon had appeared to him, for he was meant to save the child’s life. The smile was nowhere near as bright as the ones he had received a month ago, but it lifted the burden from his soul. The child he had met was still there. Perhaps she would fully return once the shadow cast by the trauma of the ekniwa passed.
Chapter 22
Knowing the past brought me joy, yet filled me with so much pain. I could remember what it was like to be loved by Avery. I remembered—and yearned for—those days spent closeted in his arms in our bed-sized chest, shielded from the vengeful sun, often talking long into the afternoon. I remembered the exquisite bliss of his lips, his touch, and of being held in the warmth of his loving gaze. I remembered it all and knew no one could ever love me the way Avery loved me.
I marvelled at the fact that decades after that love had been stolen from him, its ashes still smouldered in his heart and there wasn’t a single second of every day he wasn’t tormented by its memory.
Being near him was so much more difficult now. I missed him terribly and wanted nothing more than to be in his
arms. At times it was difficult to hold back from leaning over and giving him a little peck on the lips as I used to do so often when we were together. In the past he had been so open, so accessible—his thoughts, feelings, every word, every glance—an expression of his love for me. Now his thoughts were shut to me, his expression guarded, his eyes always holding a hint of suspicion, for he could never be sure when I would disappear and the Other would seize control. It felt as though everything we had shared was gone. I had waited so long and journeyed so far to return to him, but now I was here, it seemed he was further away from me than ever before.
How could I hope to win his love now I was so different from the woman for whom his heart was languishing? It was painful. Ironically so, because his enduring love for me was what was barring the path to his heart and I was desperate to tell him I was Luna. But I didn’t know how. And I wasn’t even sure I should.
I had fallen in love with Avery twice although he had changed so much, so I had to believe there was a chance he could fall in love with me as I was. And despite the dejection I felt, there were little signs that gave me hope.
I used to think I irritated Avery and he merely tolerated me. I could see now this was not necessarily the case. I did irritate him, but he also found me amusing. At times I would be relating a story to him whilst he listened in silence, seemingly impatient for me to be finished. Now I recognised the little tell-tale signs in the nearly imperceptible raising of one eyebrow, along with the softening of his eyes, that he was amused. On one occasion he wasn’t able to contain that amusement and had burst out laughing whilst I stared at him blankly, wondering what on earth he was laughing at. In the end I joined in, just glad to hear the sound of his laughter.
It was difficult and so painful—for him too, because he was conflicted when it came to me. I could see it in his eyes and the way he held himself around me, so much tension in his body, as if he had to restrain himself from reaching for me. At times I would glance at him to find him watching me. The moment my gaze met his, he looked away, but not before I saw that mix of conflict and guilt in his eyes. He usually made an excuse to be away from me for a short while so he could no doubt wrestle with his conflicting feelings. But it was never for long, for as the weeks passed, he appeared to find it increasingly difficult to be away from me.