The Sisters of the Crescent Empress

by Leena Likitalo

  Yes. Getting sidetracked. Sorry about that.

  I did spend quite a while thinking of what to say. While Elise knows about K, it was obvious she wasn’t talking about him, and thus revealing his full name would have gained me nothing. And I couldn’t very well tell her that for one fleeting moment (that might have lasted for quite some time) I had pondered her former lover’s merits.

  “No one.” I feebly tried. “There’s no one. Really, it’s just that I find myself terribly unaccustomed to exercise.”

  “Is that so?” Elise mused. She extracted a pin from my hair, twirled a lock even tighter around her finger, and then the tip of the pin was grazing against my scalp. I’m not saying she did this on purpose, but I think she might have done it subconsciously. Elise is used to having her way.

  What could I reply? Could I ask her if the downright flirtatious thing she’s kept up with Captain Janlav really is all for show, painstakingly maintained to soften and manipulate him to be more sympathetic to us so that he would help us flee when the time comes? Could I really ask her if she’d be fine with me dancing and perhaps even . . . Yes, Scribs, I know I’m daring and preposterous here, perhaps even kissing him!

  No, Scribs, I’m not stupid enough to tell this to my sister, no matter how close we are. So, here’s what I said: “My dear sister, I have no secrets from you.”

  “Oh, me neither.” And with that said, she leaned over my shoulder and pinched my cheek. Not terribly hard, mind you, but firmly enough to leave a mark of endearment. “Never have had and never will have.”

  Sometimes I hate her, Scribs. That I really do.

  Chapter 4: Elise

  Five days ago, my sisters and I gathered in the icy garden at midday, there to perform the only rite that takes place under the sun’s gentle gaze. As Celestia cited the holy scriptures of the spring equinox, I led Sibilia, Merile, and Alina six times around her in concentric, clockwise circles, then six more times around her in the other direction. Captain Janlav watched us from the porch, either as a silent observer or as someone afraid to stop us. I still don’t know which, but he skied off right after, without a word said, without a message left behind.

  As yet another dinner without him drags on, I can’t stop wondering: did we anger him when we performed the sacred rites or has he somehow uncovered one of the secrets Celestia so carefully guards? Her secrets are more dangerous than mine, the deals she has crafted more intricate, the risk associated with them abominable. She bargained with the witch, swallowed the foul potion, and bled away the gagargi’s seed—a deed, had it gone wrong, that could have harmed her permanently!

  “Could you pass the salt?”

  I stir from my darker thoughts to Sibilia’s bony elbow. We sit at our usual places, in the second-floor dining room, by the large oval table with our backs against the windows that let in only night. The draft gnaws at our backs, for there are no curtains and the cream-colored tapestries must have been threadbare already years ago. In the light of the chandeliers that never shine as bright as those in the upstairs drawing room our meal looks more meager than it is: beetroot soup and rye bread.

  “Please?” Sibilia grits her teeth as if the simple act of seasoning her soup could suddenly make a great difference in our lives.

  It won’t. What is done is done. These walls, these rooms have always guarded secrets. First those of the former occupants. Now ours, those of Millie, and those of the guards.

  “There you go, dear.” I hand over the white enamel salt cup. In this house, time stands still for long stretches at a time. But when it moves, it does so in great, uncontrollable leaps. The evidence of this is right before us. The salt cup doesn’t match with the porcelain bowls or the plates that bear flowers that bloom stubbornly through the winter. Though we are only eleven—with Captain Janlav gone, with no idea if or when he might return—even the glasses form a mismatched assembly. There are only two or three from each setting, those that the former occupants didn’t take with them when they moved on and that no one deemed pretty or useful enough to steal afterward. No, I’m allowing myself to foolishly fantasize that the former occupants had hope. Did I not hear with my own ears Captain Ansalov announcing this house cleaned and liberated?

  “And pepper.” Sibilia offers the salt back. Thank the Moon it’s Celestia who has the pepper closest to her and not me. For lately when my thoughts have veered toward darkness, I have been struggling to keep up my carefully practiced charade of calm. And when I think of Captain Ansalov, my hands, they do shake.

  That is how much I dread the day he returns to this house.

  I know the sort of man Captain Ansalov really is behind his polite words and seemingly kind smile. I know this even though my sisters and I used to lead a sheltered life where all the evil under the Moon was hidden from us, kept out of our sight. Captain Ansalov is a man ready to follow instructions to the letter, who may not be able to pull the trigger himself, but never hesitates to order others to do so in his place. He takes, I believe, pleasure in seeing pain and misery, and this is what sets him apart from the man I thought I once loved. If there’s a way to obey without hurting others, that’s the path Captain Janlav chooses.

  Or that is what I hope, but I can’t be certain of it anymore. Why did he depart? Why hasn’t he returned?

  “And some more bread.” Sibilia turns to me again, and from the corner of my eye I catch Merile rolling her eyes at our sister. Hers and Alina’s is still the privilege of childish diversions and secrets that don’t matter. “If you’d be so kind.”

  I understand all too well the underlying currents that no one ever mentions, and because of this my hands tremble so badly that I have to hide them under the table. Even if we are safe for the time being, my younger sisters haven’t yet realized that we are treading in the footsteps of this house’s former occupants. As history tends to repeat itself, we already sit on the same chairs and sleep in the same beds, and eventually we will come to see every twist and turn of their path.

  “I say, the soup is good as it is.” Beard lifts his bowl to his lips and gulps what remains of his portion down in one go.

  Merile and Alina giggle, no longer frightened to share the table with the guards, but rather amused by this willing display of bad manners. I’m happy about this distraction, something else to think about. I don’t know whose idea it was in the first place that we start eating every evening together with the guards. Perhaps it was Celestia’s—this might be a part of her grand plan, a piece that might not seem to fit in anywhere yet, but that will later prove to be crucial. Or then, perhaps, it was Captain Janlav’s idea. His and the guards’ duty is to protect my sisters and me. Be it as it may, this practice is very fitting for the new age of the empire, and it means less work for poor Millie, who never says a single word, not when she sets the table, not when she sits down to eat with us, not when she collects the dishes away. Not even when I offer to help her.

  I might not have ever been able to connect the dots if it weren’t for Millie and the drawing room’s clock. Though the years haven’t been kind to her, her eyes are still the same, gray as wisps of smoke, ever narrowed in suspicion. I remember them, even though I was so very young when I last saw her, no more than three. I was taught to forget her mistresses, pretend they never existed, and after so many years of denial, acceptance doesn’t come easily. Celestia and I mustn’t speak of their crimes to our younger sisters, for ignorance in this matter is bliss.

  “Was really good.” Beard burps, and his whole massive body expands, then shrinks. Boots and Belly and Tabard burst into laughter and drum their knees with their fists. They wipe their mouths on their tunics’ blue sleeves. With Captain Janlav gone, it feels as if everything in this house were unraveling. It started with manners. These grown men have turned into boys, apart from Boy, who partakes only because not doing so would set him apart, but who at the same time feels ashamed to commit vulgarities.

  I cherish this ray of normalcy, refuse to think of what my sisters and
I might lose next. Boy has his eyes set on dear Sibs, who seems completely blind to this fact. My sister fancies someone else, but who that is, I don’t yet know. She’s too embarrassed to admit to admiring one of the guards to share his name even with me.

  These silly avoidance games I play in my mind, they are of no use. It took me days to acknowledge that I’m not anxious only because Captain Janlav left, not knowing the reasons behind his decisions. I . . . I miss him. The unsteady jolting of my heart drives air from my lungs, knits my ribs together, and lets me breathe only in gasps. I can’t stand the pain, the uncertainty any longer. I have to ask if the guards know more, though this single question might reveal to my younger sisters how little control we have over anything here. “When do you think that Captain Janlav will return?”

  Though the guards have been with us for over three months now, they aren’t as accustomed to us talking to them as we are to their perpetual presence. This isn’t because of any sense of novelty or honor of being addressed by a Daughter of the Moon. According to the scriptures, under my father’s gaze, we were meant to be equal in the first place. But perhaps during the train journey the guards grew used to us being silent and demure and would prefer things to stay that way, to forget that we exist, that we must stay here supposedly for our own safety, that any day, any moment someone might come to threaten us and these men might need to pay for the privilege of protecting us with their lives.

  They might remain with us in this house, live in this flux, for mere days or then for decades.

  “At some point.” Beard grunts, lowering the bowl on the table in such a firm manner that it spins around on its own for two full laps. It’s a miracle that any of the dishes have lasted for this long.

  “But . . .” I do falter then, for I can sense Celestia studying me. She must be as worried about Captain Janlav’s absence as I am; she must ponder if her secrets are no longer hers and mine. Though each of the guards has skied to the garrison on their turn, none of their visits has taken this long. I wonder then, and not for the first time, if he somehow found out about the deal Celestia brokered with the witch. If he did, did he see it as his duty to report directly to the gagargi? It’s an understatement to speculate that the gagargi wouldn’t react well to the news—his wrath would be beyond vile. But there is still a chance, a shivering, shrinking one, that Captain Janlav left simply because my sisters and I performed the sacred rites without asking his permission or acceptance for that matter. “He has been gone for five days.”

  The guards stare back at me blankly, and it occurs to me, they don’t know why he has been delayed either and they must be anxious for their captain’s whereabouts, too. For without him, who would lead? Beard himself? Or Belly or Tabard? Not Boy, for he can’t be older than sixteen. And Boots likes following others, not going through anything unknown first, having spent too many months, years in the tunnels chipped under the mountains. Without Captain Janlav, one of them would have to talk with us when the need arises, escort us to our outings in the garden, ensure that the rumble of our dance practice is indeed merely our sabots and heels clacking against the floorboards, nothing more sinister.

  Belly lowers his fist on the table. “Eat your soup before it gets cold.”

  * * *

  First, we hear the front door slam against the house’s wall, as if someone had just yanked it open with much more force than required. Then there’s the swaying steps up the stairs, muttered curses and expletives. These sounds should frighten me, but they do not. I can hear but one pair of boots, and that can only mean that . . .

  “Who. Who can it be?” Merile demands, ever so impatient. Her dogs reply to her from upstairs with high-pitched whines.

  “Hush,” Sibilia replies, but to her or the dogs, I can’t tell.

  The guards get up sluggishly, gingerly picking up the rifles hanging at the backs of their chairs. Celestia, she nods in approval. If Captain Janlav were to have uncovered her secrets and reported them to the gagargi, he wouldn’t be returning alone but with Captain Ansalov and his soldiers.

  Yet my sisters and I remain seated as we are, for then both the table and the guards will stand between us and the doorway. Though, as the stumbling steps approach, I recognize their tone, the weight behind them, the cadence. This is no intruder. The cruel fingers clutching my heart ease their hold at last.

  And this is the distraction Celestia must have been waiting for all along. For now that the guards and Millie have their backs turned toward us, she reaches out for the rye bread basket, picks up the loaves, and then they are gone, no doubt hidden in the pockets we recently have sewn into our day dresses. She notices me noticing.

  Now she knows I know that she has a new plan. Should I ask her about that later or rely on her sharing with me what I need to know? The steps reach us before I can make up my mind.

  “I’m back!” Captain Janlav bursts into the room, his cheeks and the tip of his nose glowing red, tiny icicles still clinging to his beard and moustache. He wears a wolf skin cap with the flaps tied under his square chin. His coat isn’t the one he wore when I watched him leave through my room’s narrow window, not the blue one with the wooden buttons and scars left where he tore away the epaulets. He has donned a trapper’s fur coat, warm but soiled with death. “And look what I brought with me!”

  Eleven pairs of eyes turn to stare at his raised hand, but I stare at his face, his expression. It’s one of pure pride, not one filled with scorn. He doesn’t know. Relief washes over me like summer waves against a lakeshore, but it is soon gone, replaced by ire. Oh, I can smell the stink of liquor from where I sit; the melting snow on his trouser legs and the rags tied around his boots is already pooling at his feet. How dare he show up like this when I have been fearing for the worst, wasting away in worry!

  “A pheasant!” Captain Janlav cherishes the bird’s carcass. He has tied the knurly gray feet together and the copper-speckled wings against the sides. As he shakes the bird, its beady yellow eyes bulge accusingly, though the white-collared neck has already been split, the blood drained. “Freshly shot. This calls for a feast!”

  He’s boyishly proud, and so very, very drunk, and this escapes no one. The guards clap hands and each other’s backs. Tabard and Boots exchange bets on him vomiting or otherwise further embarrassing himself. Alina and Merile lean against each other, stifling giggles. Sibilia stares at him as if all her dreams had just been shattered. Celestia . . .

  “Thank you, Captain Janlav,” my oldest sister says, in a perfectly calm and collected voice as if she had never worried about him learning her secrets in the first place, “but we have recently finished enjoying our dinner. May I suggest that we spare this magnificent catch of yours for tomorrow so that Millie can prepare it with the dedication it deserves?”

  Captain Janlav glances at the pheasant, then at Millie. Old Millie stays completely still on her chair, and yet I can tell she’s hoping to sink so far back that she would disappear from our sight until everything is decided. If Captain Janlav has his will, she will be up all night. But she would never say a word in disagreement. Even in this new world, some things never change. She’s still but a servant in the guards’ eyes.

  “I believe there is still some soup left. Celestia and I would be delighted to keep you company,” I say in my girliest, silkiest voice. He’s in a good mood now. Let him stay that way. “But please allow the younger sisters to retire upstairs, for the time for them to go to bed fast approaches.”

  Captain Janlav notices the empty plates and glasses only then, the bowls and stained beards and sleeves. When he speaks, his questions aren’t aimed at me. “It’s that late already? But not too late for a few more drinks, I hope!”

  Beard and Tabard assure him that it’s not too late. This is the cue for my sisters and me to return upstairs, first into the drawing room, then later into our rooms for the night. But he still holds the dead bird up in the air. I dare not to think what will be left of it come the morning if he starts drinking with th
e guards now.

  “Why don’t you take the bird to hang in the cellar first?” I suggest with the innocent tone that has never let me down.

  He turns on his heels, and his eyes widen. Again, he looks at me as if he had never seen me before. The spell the gagargi worked on him has made him forget me so many times already that all I feel is mild annoyance. “Ah, yes! What a splendid idea!”

  He sways back to the hallway, and I instantly regret my suggestion. Father Moon help me, he will fall on the stairs and break his neck. That wasn’t my intention. His death would benefit no one. It would shatter me beyond repair.

  “Should someone not go with him?” I ask.

  But the other guards find his inebriated state only funny. Celestia and my sisters remain seated. Of course they do. Descending to a cellar for a man’s sake isn’t something any one of them would ever do.

  “I shall come with you.” And without waiting for an answer or protest, I rush to shelter the man who can’t remember that once upon a time he swore me love under my father’s light.

  * * *

  The arm of the man I once loved is around my shoulders at last. But this isn’t what I imagined the return of his affections to be like. He smells of frost and smoke and brandy. His steps are heavy and unsteady, and if it weren’t for me holding him upright, he would have fallen down the stairs multiple times already. The arm that isn’t wrapped around me clutches the feet of the dead pheasant, and I’m sure he wouldn’t drop it even after breaking every single bone in his body.

  “And then I saw this pheasant, strutting with its head high and wings wide, and I thought—” Captain Janlav belches. He wipes his wet beard into the sleeve of his fur coat, then looks at the sleeve to see what he left behind. He seems boyishly happy to find nothing but an old, rusty stain. “A feast! I shall shoot it dead and bring it here, and we shall have a proper feast.”

  “And a feast we shall have, but for that Millie needs a bit more preparation time, don’t you think?” I say as we pass the door that leads into the room that once was a library, but now serves as the guards’ living quarters. I think of the third floor and the three chambers there. When we first came to the house, I insisted on having a room of my own. Celestia must have realized instantly what I had in mind, though not even once has she asked if I still intend to . . . “There are, after all, the feathers to pluck, the bones to break, the sauce to simmer, and meat to roast.”