The Five Daughters of the Moon

by Leena Likitalo

  Celestia lifts her head up high, and addresses us with confidence that warms me more than her shawl. “I will. This I solemnly swear under the Moon, who shines as my witness.”

  Mama closes her eyes and exhales deeply. Then a rattle of boots comes from behind us, from the stairs. Mama’s eyes fling open. Her forehead creases with a frown, as does Celestia’s. My sisters and I spin around just in time to see the guards parting to let a man pass.

  And not just any man, but the most terrible and dangerous one of them all.

  “Celestia.” Gagargi Prataslav halts on the highest step, at the edge of the shadows, as if he belongs with them. He takes in the pulled-down curtains, us basking in the Moon’s light. He doesn’t seem that interested in Mama or Elise, Sibilia or Merile. But there is still something disturbingly hungry in the way he studies Celestia . . . and me. “Crescent Empress.”

  “Gagargi Prataslav,” Celestia replies, boldly meeting his gaze. It’s as if she and he had been opponents in a game, and against all odds my sister had emerged victorious. This is how the scene seems to me. “The winter equinox is here.”

  The gagargi laughs a throaty chuckle as if Celestia had told a joke. Her pose tenses, and she cranes her neck, her chin up. Maybe I don’t know what they’re really talking about. Sometimes adults talk of two or more things at once. But this much is clear to me: even if Celestia and Gagargi Prataslav have been playing together, they aren’t friends anymore. How this came to pass, I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to find out.

  “That it is.” Gagargi Prataslav’s words form a grim lullaby that summons me to dark currents. I can see them winding around everyone present. It’s the same spell he’s cast so many times before. The soldiers stiffen as if turning into stone. Elise, Sibilia, and Merile fall still, too. Only Mama, Celestia, and I remain unaffected.

  But I pretend stillness. For I know he meant the spell to touch me as well.

  Celestia—I can see she must force herself to do so—steps down from the stage and strolls to the gagargi. Her white hem sways in rhythm with her steps, and she shines radiantly under the light of our blessed father. This must give her the strength she so dearly needs, for when she speaks, her voice bears no hint of fear or anger. “Thank you for coming, though it is past midnight.”

  Mama nods at the words. The veins on her neck stick out, as if drawn with a blue pencil. “Celestia will see the daughters to the train and into safety.”

  It’s a practiced conversation, I realize. Mama and Celestia know more about the unrests than they’ve shared with me and my sisters. The gagargi, on the other hand . . . he plays some part in all this. I just don’t know what part that might be. I don’t even know if he’s on our side. What a frightening thought . . .

  “Is that so?” The gagargi’s question only confirms my doubts. His words stick to my ears like honey. I distrust everything sweet for a reason. It’s not the gagargi’s right to challenge Mama’s decisions. He’s only an advisor.

  “For their own safety.” Mama gazes up at the dome and the sky beyond. Can she see what the future holds in store for us? Or is she holding our father accountable for our fates? Mama nods to herself, then faces the gagargi with a faraway gaze that bears the light of the stars. “Celestia, and my younger daughters, are the future of the empire. If any harm were to fall on them, this would endanger what little hope of stability we have for the years to come.”

  Mama is bargaining. Things aren’t going as she planned. But they aren’t going as the gagargi planned either. He’s in control of the soldiers, but he didn’t want them to witness this conversation. This conversation is dangerous to him as well.

  Gagargi Prataslav runs his fingers along his shaggy beard as if he really did have the right to consider a command. His bony knuckles crack. The sound echoes in the observatory for a too-long time.

  “I will remain here and face the anger of my people,” Mama says, folding her arms across her chest. Her back is very straight. Her voice is very even. “People need to know there is a future for them, even if they rebel.”

  “Besides,” Celestia remarks, standing on the edge of the shadows, so close to the gagargi that I wouldn’t dare to do so. The Moon’s light forms a bright ring around her. She’s terribly white and terribly pale, and her cheek is very red. “There is nothing to be done tonight. My father knows.”

  I can only barely hold still. Something bad, worse than unrests, has happened. Something between the gagargi and my sister. I’m not sure I want to find out what that might be. I fear that eventually I will.

  “I gathered as much.” Gagargi Prataslav grunts, a sound of acknowledgment rather than disappointment. He gazes first at Celestia, who stands right before him, then past her at Mama. “Then so be it.”

  With that, the spell lifts. Beside me Merile gasps, drawing in a long breath that spooks both Rafa and Mufu. Sibilia blinks as though she’d just woken up from a nightmare. Elise flutters her long lashes and rubs her forehead. I realize I should do something, too. I yawn.

  “Go.” From the gagargi’s thin lips, the word is like a whiplash. His tight smile bears a hint of cruel amusement, and I know, just know, that that smile is targeted at me. It says: Run, run if you want to, but you can never flee from me.

  A tremble runs through my body. I can’t, won’t turn away from him. He’s not the kind of man you let stand behind your back.

  “Go now then.” The gagargi steps aside, and as he motions at the stairs his voluminous black sleeve spreads like a bat’s wing. “But I will send for you when the time is right.”

  Elise, Sibilia, and Merile are still too confused to understand that though the gagargi seemingly addresses us all, the words are meant for Celestia.

  “And I will return,” Celestia replies, unswayed by threats, by anything. “Once my sisters are safe.”

  “Elise, Sibilia, Merile, Alina,” Mama calls to us. She has made a deal of some sort. What did it cost her and Celestia? The price must be terrible beyond naming. “It is settled. You must go now.”

  As my sisters are just stirring from the spell, it takes a moment for them to understand that we are to leave the observatory, the Summer Palace, the whole city. Elise looks excited, Sibilia flushed as she fidgets with her nightgown’s sleeves, while Merile merely picks up Rafa and Mufu in turns, unable to decide which one to carry.

  “Mama . . .” Celestia calls softly over her shoulder as she prepares to leave. It’s a good-bye of sorts. Or that’s what I think, at least.

  Mama stares at Celestia, her expression impossible to interpret. She glances at the gagargi, at Celestia. Celestia bites her upper lip.

  “Wait,” Mama orders, though we can’t have much time to lose. The gagargi might change his mind and prevent us from leaving. That I fear. And yet, this too is an important moment.

  Celestia falls to a deep curtsy as Mama glides to her, faster than is her natural pace. My oldest sister presses her head down, as if she were apologizing. Mama kisses her on the forehead. It’s a seal of forgiveness. There is no doubt about that. “Go now in peace, my daughter.”

  Celestia meets Mama’s gaze, their eyes the same blue, behind them the same wisdom. “I will. Thank you, Mama.”

  My sisters and I leave then, in a single line, in the order of age, as is our habit. As I hurry past the gagargi, I feel my hem shift one last time. The ape detaches from the fabric and slips into the gagargi’s robes. He doesn’t notice a thing.

  I suddenly realize he can’t see the shadows.

  Chapter 7: Merile

  The stink. The day carriage stinks of sweat and the humid air of a train rushing across the empire. I can’t escape it, not even when I kiss Mufu’s black forehead, still wet from the melting snowflakes. I can’t escape anything here, no matter how I try.

  “Merile . . .” Alina yawns on the sofa opposite to me. At last. It’s afternoon already, but she hasn’t slept a wink. Not after the plain breakfast, not when the train stopped for water and coal, not while the nameless ser
vant took Rafa and Mufu for a quick walk outside, not even after the train rattled back into movement.

  “Yes?” I pick the dried hare leg from the lacquered side table and hold it out for Mufu to gnaw. Wrong. So many things are so utterly wrong and unacceptable here, but I must try my best to feign that everything is well for little Alina’s sake. “What is it?”

  Alina pauses brushing Rafa as she glances at Celestia and Elise. They sit on the other end of the carriage, on the padded chairs by the oval table, and pretend to do embroidery. But it wouldn’t do to let little Alina know that all is not how it seems, no matter how dearly I want to know myself what really is going on. Eight days. Ever since we boarded this train, eight long days ago, Celestia and Elise have had whispered conversations when they think Alina and I can’t hear them. I’m sure they keep Sibilia in the dark, too.

  “We’re fleeing,” Alina whispers, thin fingers clutching the hairbrush’s handle so tight her knuckles threaten to pop right through her pale skin. “Aren’t we?”

  “Huh,” I mutter under my breath. Fair. It’s not fair she should ask me that question when I don’t know the answer. I can only make what Elise would call educated guesses.

  This all has something to do with Gagargi Prataslav, the horrid man who threatened my dear companions, and his awful Thinking Machine. Something very bad happened to Celestia, and Elise is upset because of that, or for some completely unrelated reason. Neither of them will speak of it. What they speak of is the unrest amongst the peasants and . . .

  “The train is taking us to a safe place.” I repeat the lie told to me. Or a partial lie. Both Celestia and Elise agree that we couldn’t have stayed in the Summer City. The windows in this train, or at least in the two carriages where we are allowed access, are bolted shut, but I’ve glimpsed burning buildings through the cracks between the heavy white curtains. At times, the train has sped through cities, only to halt later in smaller towns. The unrests are real and dangerous, whatever they are about.

  Alina lowers the brush on the sofa and lifts Rafa up so that my dear companion faces me with her. It’s as if she has it in her mind to puppeteer with Rafa. That won’t do! But before I can say so, my dear companion bares her needle-sharp teeth and squirms around.

  “So sorry . . .” Alina blinks, moistening lashes, even as Rafa curls up on her lap. She fears I might deny her the privilege of tending to my dear companions. I wouldn’t, not even when she does things that upset them. For I’m not tending them as well as I should either.

  “It’s all right,” I lie, though the conditions of our imprisonment are inhuman for us, even worse for Rafa and Mufu. “But don’t touch their feet. They’re delicate.”

  “I won’t!” Alina promises, hugging Rafa fiercely despite her low growl of protest. “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.”

  Worried. I’m as worried about my companions as I am about what will become of me and my sisters. Through our journey from the palace, through the narrow tunnels to the train station, and then onto this train, the six guards have remained the same. The women who serve us, however, change at every station. They might as well not change, for they’re all the same: old widows with white hair braided tight, with lips sealed shut, with not a trace of kindness left in their wiry bodies, let alone compassion toward us. They serve us oat porridge for breakfast, rye bread and hard cheese for lunch, and mushy meat and vegetables for dinner. They empty our chamber pots when full, but never rinse them particularly clean. Thrice a day, they take Rafa and Mufu to the guards’ day carriage, there to perform their business on old newspapers, I’ve been led to understand. When the train stops, they take my companions out for a quick walk. Fear. I always fear that they won’t come back in time, that the train will continue onward with my companions abandoned alone in a desolate town.

  I swallow to prevent myself from tearing up. I mustn’t let Alina see me cry. But if I were to lose my dear companions, it would no doubt feel as bad as losing one of my sisters. I don’t want to lose Rafa and Mufu. I don’t want to lose Alina or Sibilia, or even Elise and Celestia. I don’t want to be apart from Mama. Oh, Papa Moon, please let us be reunited with her soon!

  “Merile . . .” Alina’s voice drifts off as if she forgot what she was going to ask or as if she were listening to someone whispering at her. She twitches, then continues, “Why don’t we ask Papa to turn us into deer?”

  “Whh—what?” I’m so shocked by her question that when Mufu tugs at the hare leg, it falls from my hold and tumbles onto the carpet. Both Rafa and Mufu jump after it. They snarl playfully at each other, teeth bared, ears pulled back.

  I study my sister, who seems so frail and small between the two plump cushions. Sometimes she acts strangely, speaks of shadows and treats objects as if they were alive. Has she somehow guessed what I was thinking, or is her question a mere coincidence?

  “Or mice.” A smile tugs at the corner of Alina’s pale lips as she watches my companions fight over the hare leg. She giggles behind a raised palm. “They’re so silly.”

  I smile with her. My darling dears are silly at times. And we’re silly, too.

  “What would be the point in that when there’s no need to flee?” I ponder aloud, even though we are fleeing the Summer City, even though I have this feeling that we should abandon this train upon the first chance. Unrests haunt Mama’s empire, and somehow Gagargi Prataslav is to blame for that. That night in the palace he ordered the guards to take us away. But Mama told us to go with them. Are they on our side or do they serve him? “The guards, Captain Janlav, are here to protect us.”

  “Please, don’t mention his name.”

  Surprised by Elise taking part in the conversation, I swirl on the sofa to meet my sister’s gaze. Her gray eyes are wide, and her freckled cheeks blush. She holds a needle up, poised to strike. Sequins glitter on the thread. That’s no embroidery she’s doing.

  “Why?” I ask, because I want to know. Though the guards have remained the same throughout the journey, Captain Janlav is the only one I know by his real name. I remember him and Elise dancing at Alina’s name day party. It’s curious that he’s now here with us, and that my sister doesn’t want to hear of him.

  “Yes, why would that be?” Sibilia chimes in from the divan by the window, opposite to Elise. She lowers the fountain pen and stares critically at her notes. How she can bear to study the scriptures, let alone ponder their meaning, completely escapes me. “For if I remember correctly . . .”

  Red. Elise’s cheeks glow red. The train shudders, and so do the teacups abandoned empty on the marble-topped table. When Elise speaks, her voice echoes this sound. “Because I asked you nicely.”

  Sibilia sighs and rolls her eyes, but she resumes reading the scriptures. I don’t know how she can take this from our sister. We deserve to know; if not everything, then at least something.

  “I want to know,” I say, because Sibilia and Alina would never have the courage to ask for the truth. Rafa lifts her head as though I’d addressed her. Mufu uses this opening to steal the hare leg for herself. Defeated, Rafa jumps back onto Alina’s sofa.

  Elise glances at Celestia, lips drawn tight. Celestia lowers her needlework on her lap. She draws her shoulders back. She tilts her chin up, and her neck seems longer than it can possibly be. “Dear Merile, be glad that you don’t know. Knowledge can be a very dangerous thing to possess. I ask you to trust your older sisters to guard you from any possible harm.”

  How dare she! But as she’s the oldest of us, her word is final and there’s no point in arguing against her. I mutter, “Glad. I’m so very, very glad that I know nothing at all.”

  Alina stares at me, eyes wide. Darkness lies under her eyes, in her gaze. How much does she really understand? Then she resumes petting Rafa as if we’d conversed about the weather or something equally boring. Of this, I’m glad indeed.

  For a moment no one speaks. The only sound is Sibilia’s pen scraping against the thick pages. She mutters under her breath, something I can’t quit
e make out, but that might have been: “A day longer in this train, and we’ll be clawing out each other’s eyes.”

  “Come here,” I call at Mufu. My dear companion glances at me, more interested in gnawing the hare leg on the floor than comforting me. That won’t do. “Yes, here, my silly dear.”

  Mufu yaps at me, thin tail wagging. I meet her gaze and bare my teeth. She yaps once more before she jumps back on the sofa and trots onto my lap. Though her paws press painfully against my thighs, even through the itching woolen dress, I wrap my arms around her. Too much. Sibilia is right. We’ve spent too much time together during this horrid journey. Though the train consists of a locomotive and four carriages, we’re allowed only in two. At night we toss and turn in our own separate cabins, crammed things better suited for servants. Each morning, we’re herded into this carriage. Though the train stops almost daily, we haven’t been allowed out even once, not even to take Rafa and Mufu out!

  I miss the smell of snow and open skies. I miss . . .

  “I’ve thought it through,” Alina says cheerily. Rafa’s pink tongue lolls out of her mouth as if she already knew what my sister is about to say.

  I glance at my sister from under my brows, wary. This morning, she wouldn’t touch her blackcurrant juice. I managed to coach her into tasting a spoonful, but she wouldn’t drink more. During lunch, she drank only half of her tea. It’s as if she knew it was spiked.

  “What exactly have you thought through?” I ask. When Alina evades her medicine, her mind wanders to strange places, and the things she says frighten me more than I care to admit.

  “Last night, when I waited for the shadows, I went through all the animals I know,” Alina gushes. Both Rafa and Mufu stare at her, eyes wide, ears spread wide. I hear Celestia and Elise perching on their seat—the springs in the chairs squeak when they move. “A deer would be so fast that the red-gloves couldn’t hit me with their rifles. Though a deer might not be able to sneak out of the train, and I might injure myself upon jumping out.”