The Five Daughters of the Moon

by Leena Likitalo

  “My gift!” Poet Granizol claps. His rings clink as they meet. Rafa and Mufu stir to this sound. Mufu’s floppy ears perk. Then she sneezes again. “Have you found them to your liking? Or are you disturbed by their occasional licking? Ah, they truly look fine tonight! You must have brushed them with all your might.”

  I beam. I did brush my companions myself, and personally chose the collars. The chain of oval diamonds complements the shine of Rafa’s silky hazel fur. The dove pearls shine lovely against Mufu’s dark gray coat. To me, they look more elegant than Elise, who spent the whole evening before her mirrors. Though that I would never say aloud, lest she’d tell Nurse Nookes, and I’d be the one disciplined.

  “Fine are the creatures I chose for my seed. Now, where is this one thing I dearly need?”

  I watch the Poet pat through his pockets, amused. He has a way with words. Will I have that gift too when I grow up? That would be wonderful. I could put an end to my sisters’ teasing for good.

  “Ah, there it was all along. For a moment I thought it truly was gone.” The Poet produces a silver cigarette box from his pocket, a gift from Mama when he was still in her favor, I’ve heard. He flicks the lid open and fumbles to pick up a cigarette. He’s already about to light it when he glances at me, grinning as if he were a scullery boy about to do something forbidden. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

  The smoke in the salon is already so thick that I can’t see past my own extended hand. Besides, I don’t understand why he’s asking my permission, of all things. It’s not as if I really matter. And yet, I nod.

  “She was always full of nos.” A tremor runs through the Poet’s body. His fingers tremble as he produces a flame from the silver lighter. This trembling eases only after he’s sucked the first taste of the acrid smoke. “Though that is not a word she knows.”

  He’s talking of Mama, I guess. But since I don’t know for sure, it’s better not to reply. I pat my knee lightly. Mufu replies to my summons instantly and jumps on my lap. My darling companion.

  “Ahh . . .” The Poet smacks his lips, eyes closed. His lashes are long and black. I hope mine will grow to be like his, for in comparison, even Elise’s are short and pale. “Never does this taste better than on a night blessed by the Moon himself.”

  I watch my seed smoke in silence. Rumors. There are almost as many rumors about him as there are of me and my sisters. He was Mama’s favorite once, but only for a short while. These days he’s rarely invited to the court. Though many share his vices, I’ve been told Mama can’t tolerate his. I bury my fingers between Mufu’s collar and her fur, seeking comfort from the warmth. I don’t want to anger my seed, but there’s so much I don’t know. So much I want to know.

  “What is it that you are smoking?” I ask, for to that he can answer honestly at least.

  Poet Granizol turns his back to me before he puffs more gray clouds. When he’s done, he leans toward me, elbows against knees, onyx eyes wide. “The nectar for those who need to imagine, for those who yearn to see more. For those who are afraid, but bold enough, to glimpse the world beyond the great door.”

  The Poet’s words make no sense. Rafa and Mufu glance at him, too, sharing my opinion. Maybe seeking out my seed wasn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe I should return to the grand hall. Sensing that I’m about to get up, Mufu jumps on the floor.

  “Don’t go.” The Poet lowers his hand on my arm. His fingers feel hot through the fabric of my sleeve.

  “Mama might need me,” I say, although that’s not the truth. The court celebrates Alina tonight—though, given how shaky she was earlier, she has no doubt retired already. As in all the celebrations, everyone has their eyes set on Celestia and Elise. Sibilia and I don’t matter. That’s the role of the younger daughters. To be ignored and forgotten. But Mama can’t possibly understand any of that, as she’s the oldest and only daughter.

  “The empress is akin to a celestial object or a distant star. She can only be glimpsed from afar. Oh, when the planets align right, terrible, terrible is her might.”

  As I shake my head, the world blurs around the edges. Rafa nudges my shin. Mufu sneezes. I feel cold. “I’m not sure I feel well.”

  The Poet touches my forehead, the wrinkles on his brown forehead deepening. “I will read you poems. A nourished soul can never fall ill.”

  I debate with myself whether to leave or stay. If I leave, I might faint. If I stay . . . I don’t see my seed that often, and he did give me Rafa and Mufu. I decide to stay.

  “Here, lay your head on my lap. This one is called ‘The Ode to the Moon, the Light of the World Beyond This One.’”

  I close my eyes and let myself lull into the trickle of his carefully chosen words. As I inhale more smoke—there’s no avoiding it in this room—the words swell into a stream, then into a river. I float in my seed’s gentle voice. The words, they have no meaning, never had. All that matters is that I’m with him and that he cares the most for me, and not one of my sisters.

  Suddenly the Poet falls quiet. A heartbeat later Rafa growls and Mufu joins the warning. I jerk up to a sitting position, just in time to see the smoke part and a ghastly figure emerge.

  Gagargi Prataslav strides toward us. The heels of his boots clack loudly against the floor. His black robes billow behind him as if he were riding the wind. His dark eyes gleam with pure malice.

  Frozen. I sit on the sofa, frozen, head spinning. My companions hide in my hem. The gagargi knows I eavesdropped on him. He might know more than that. How? I can’t say. It doesn’t matter.

  “A Daughter of the Moon,” Gagargi Prataslav says as he halts before the sofa. His thin lips form a smile. Why he’s smiling, I can’t tell, but I scoot instinctively toward the Poet. The gagargi shakes his head. He says to the Poet, “Go.”

  The Poet glances at me, at the gagargi. I cast a pleading look at my seed. Don’t go!

  The gagargi’s smile deepens until it becomes a scythe’s edge. I know now where I’ve seen that expression before. On a cat toying with a mouse. What can he be thinking?

  The Poet opens his mouth as if to argue. He’s noticed how I clutch my hem. He may have heard how my heart thunders.

  “Go,” Gagargi Prataslav repeats, and his gaze darkens. He has much power. He’s to be feared.

  The Poet gets up. He doesn’t look at me. Disappointment and anger pierce my heart, leaving me wounded beyond recovery. I can’t believe how easily he gave up on me. “Fine.” He sucks in another breath from his cigarette. He exhales it toward the gagargi. “But I’ll be back.”

  Gagargi Prataslav laughs, a deep rumble from his chest. I hunch on the sofa. Rafa peeks out from the cover of my hem. She hesitates but a moment before she jumps to take the Poet’s place. My brave little companion. I hug her against my chest. I don’t even know why I feel so threatened. The palace is full of people; just there, on the other side of the room, older ladies gossip and decorated soldiers exchange war stories. I suspect.

  “Now, little Daughter of the Moon.” The gagargi arranges his robes. He smooths the folds one at a time before he takes a seat too close to Rafa. My dear companion whips her head around to growl at him, needle-like teeth bared.

  “Why . . .” Gagargi Prataslav pats Rafa on the head, though she pulls her ears back, tight against her slender neck. But as soon as the gagargi buries his bony fingers into her smooth hazel fur, she stills. The growl dies in her throat. “There is no need for ill will. None. None at all.”

  Mufu, still hiding in my hem, trembles. She buries her head against the underside of my knee. But even that doesn’t make me feel better or braver.

  “Look here, yes here, little Daughter of the Moon.” Gagargi Prataslav speaks softly, in a melodic tone that could pass for a grisly lullaby. I don’t want to listen to him, but how could I not? I obey.

  The gagargi holds in his hand, the one that he’s not petting Rafa with, an empty glass globe the size of Alina’s fist. I know immediately what it’s used for. I saw one but hours ea
rlier. A tremor that has nothing to do with the room’s temperature runs down my back.

  “Yes. It is an empty soul bead,” the gagargi says, his voice deceitfully friendly. With his middle finger, he draws a circle on Rafa’s forehead. My throat tightens, and I barely dare to breathe. Mufu nudges me, nose cold through the layers of my dress. “How should I fill this emptiness? What do you think, little Daughter of the Moon?”

  I shake my head so vigorously that the pins holding my hair up loosen and the beautiful creation unravels. He wants to, means to, take my friend’s soul to fuel his foul spells. I know that without asking.

  “You can’t . . .” I manage to whisper. But my voice is weak. As insignificant as I am.

  He laughs again, as if pleased by my terror, and his gaze deepens. He cradles the empty soul bead in his palm, precariously from side to side. “I cannot what?”

  The words get stuck in my throat. He can’t have my companion’s soul. That’s what I want to say. But as his stare bores through me, vicious, I shrivel. I shrink in the sofa. Rafa is limp, as if in deep sleep that precedes death. There’s no escape. The gagargi can take whatever he wants, and I can do nothing to stop him.

  The gagargi inhales, grin baring his crooked teeth. I realize he enjoys my distress. He’s a cruel man. How he ever managed to climb into Mama’s favor, I can’t fathom.

  “Merile . . .” Celestia’s voice comes from far away, pure and chiming and spun from silver. Then I see her—and I don’t know how I didn’t notice her sooner—gliding toward me. “What are you doing here, of all the places?”

  My oldest sister takes in the scene, the predatorial lunge of the gagargi, my shrunken posture. She’s tall and serene, white as winter in her gown, with the diamonds and pearls forming an ethereal glow around her. She clicks her tongue, but her expression remains otherwise indecipherable.

  “Honored Celestia.” Gagargi Prataslav rises up, gloating as though her sudden arrival pleases him immensely. As he lifts his fingers from Rafa’s forehead, my companion stirs. Rafa glances around, confused, as if she doesn’t know where she is or how she ended up on the sofa. I sigh a cooing sound of relief.

  “Go,” Celestia says to me. There’s an undertone of urgency in her voice, as if she isn’t quite sure how long even she can hold the gagargi’s interest. “Go now, my dear sister.”

  I flee. Rafa and Mufu run at my sides, treading on my hem. Their nails tear the silk. I don’t care. I won’t be wearing this dress ever again.

  Spins. My head spins, and I shiver as I make my way toward the grand hall, up a stairway I don’t remember taking earlier, down another. I need to talk with Elise or Sibilia. They need to know what happened, even if they might accuse me of lying. Maybe I should talk with Nurse Nookes, maybe even with Mama. Though they might not believe me. They never believe Alina either.

  As I stumble down another set of stairs, into a thickening crowd, I hear snippets of conversations. I can’t pinpoint who says what. Or understand. I can’t understand what they mean either. Like waves. There are too many people around me, parting before me, closing in after.

  “The Crescent Empress is akin to a shark: as that great fish must swim to live, so must she expand her empire.”

  “A shark, you say? Then what are the gagargis?”

  My vision blurs, and I can smell only the smoke the Poet favors. I sway onward, toward the open double doors that lead to the grand hall. Elise. I will find Elise there. Surely this time she’ll believe me!

  “The gagargis have always been a part of the empire. I say she should not have rejected the Great Thinking Machine without at least trying it. What does it matter if it consumes souls? We have plenty of war prisoners waiting for good use. Plenty of orphanages and workhouses filled to the brim.”

  I flee the words that don’t make sense. Or maybe they do. I don’t know. The whole world is but smoke, and I forget . . . I’m fleeing the gagargi. I must remember that.

  “We have been looking for you everywhere!” Someone grabs my hand when I’m but steps away from the grand hall’s doors.

  I shriek. Rafa and Mufu shriek too. It’s the gagargi. He’s caught up with me!

  “Merile?” But no, it’s just Elise and the young captain. Dove beads shine amidst her red-gold locks. The gagargi gave them to her as a gift. The gagargi . . .

  “Gagargi,” I stutter. But speaking of him only reminds me of the immense terror. Hurt. He wanted to hurt me. My dear companions. “Oh, Elise . . . The gagargi . . .”

  Elise bends down and sniffs at me. Her pale gray eyes widen. She shakes her head, brows arching. “Have you been smoking something? Tell me, have you?”

  What is she talking about? There are more important things to say. But I know the look on her face, the frown, the pursed lips. She won’t listen to me now. I need to find Sibilia.

  I yank myself free and spin around. Rafa and Mufu yelp as I stumble on them, in my hem. My left ankle twists. Something snaps, and pain lashes through my leg.

  I fall on the hard parquet. People stop mid-sentence, to stare at me. Shame. I feel shame, but also terror and pain.

  “Help,” I whimper. “Elise, help me.”

  Chapter 3: Sibilia

  Tonight, my dear Notes, I’m happy! Happy, happy, happy!

  At last, you might be tempted to remark. Admittedly, I’ve been doing lots of complaining during this autumn, but who can really blame me? My sisters and I have been stranded in this cold palace for months now, with no end in sight to our imprisonment, since the unrests (whatever those are about) that have spread across the realm don’t show any sign of calming. Here, the balls and concerts and fetes continue as before. Without me, since I have to wait eight agonizingly long months more for my debut.

  No complaining today. Yes, I promised that, and if a Daughter of the Moon can’t be held accountable for her words, then who can? Onward with the splendid news.

  Today, I learned that I won’t have to wait till I’m a shriveled old hag to take a lover, but that I may take one as soon as I debut. Praise Papa! Praise Celestia! And perhaps, since Nurse Nookes constantly reminds us that we live in troubled times, I might get away with getting a lover (one particular K, as you might have guessed) even before that. Though that would be scandalous. So very scandalous that I’m itching to do exactly that.

  Loving a man before one’s debut . . . Perhaps that’s too much to ask for. But a few more waltzes, some kisses and caresses, and . . .

  Spilled ink. Now it’s smudged all over the page. Sorry about that, dear Notes. I will show more self-restraint in the future. I certainly will.

  How was my day? How did I come upon this great news?

  Nurse Nookes was the usual pain in the backside. She insists we stick to the same day routines, riots or no riots. So, scriptures it was for me, hour after hour of reading and repeating the sacred texts and writing my reflections with the fountain pen that refused to run out of ink and release me from the agony. Papa, forgive me, but I find the words you shared with us before you rose to the skies terribly incomprehensible and boring.

  I must have drawn the short straw when Mama decided to assign Nurse Nookes to look after me. Elise’s governess, Lily, tells her the latest court gossip. But Nurse Nookes—her cruelty knows no limit! She makes me read the scriptures every single day. Soon I’ll know them by heart whether I want to or not.

  A ghastly thought. Perhaps that’s been her intention all along!

  Tonight I had enough. I lied to that wrinkled witch that my stomach hurts (it does, since it’s that time of the month. I can’t believe I ever looked forward to getting my wretched days). She ordered me to bed. I pleaded her to fetch me a cup of hot chocolate. She frowned at me, and for a moment I feared my ruse had been revealed. Then she left. As soon as the heavy thudding of her waddle faded, I fled.

  The one good thing about the Summer Palace is that here I only need to walk down one drafty corridor to reach any of my sisters. My heart pounded wild (not as wild as it did when I danced in s
ecret with K at Alina’s name day celebrations) as I tiptoed to Elise’s door. I was sure Nurse Nookes would return at any moment. Luckily, she didn’t, and I managed to sneak into Elise’s room uncaught.

  “Just in time! But do close the door before my precious heat escapes,” Elise called at me from before her vast vanity table. Her red-gold hair, gathered in a chignon atop her head, glowed like a halo. She was dressed in a beautiful, silver-encrusted ball gown, but she hadn’t donned her gloves. She didn’t need them yet—the tile stove in the corner glowed with pleasant heat. “Could you fetch my dove pearls? The ones with the tangling diamond crescents?”

  I pushed the door closed, but tilted my head in a way that stated I’m no servant, as my sister should know. There was a silver tray with an arrangement of different chocolates on the side table to my right. Though there were no beautiful bitter dark ones, I popped one in my mouth anyway. My luck had it that it had that awful berry paste inside it. Why, oh why are the cooks so stingy with chocolate these days?

  “Pretty please?” Elise gazed at me, begging like Merile’s rats might. Her dress did look terribly stiff with the heavy embroidery. She probably couldn’t get up on her own.

  I swallowed the rest of the chocolate and sighed. “I will, but just this once.”

  “Perfect!” Elise clapped her hands together and cast me her best smile, the one she’s used to charm every single count and lord and captain she’s ever met. Dear Notes, though she and I are of the same seed, I fear I will never manage to look as elegant as Elise. “I knew I could count on you! Believe it or not, I have a concert to attend, and I’m nowhere near ready to be admired by half the empire.”

  “Ah, the concert . . .” I had completely forgotten that Elise was going to an event tonight. Well yes, Notes, that’s actually a lie. I knew very well that she and Celestia had accepted the invitation from Marques Frususka and were due to leave in an hour or so. K had been invited too—Lily had told this to Elise upon some prompting from me. “A friend of mine will be there, too.”