The Sisters of the Crescent Empress

by Leena Likitalo

  “What are you up to?” I ask the magpie. A few pale rays reach out to me, all the way up to the third floor. Yet, Papa’s embrace is lacking, dulled by distance.

  The bird hops off the sill. The white-striped wings split the night as it swoops down into the garden. Then it pecks the lush new grass, as if waiting for me. Moon’s light strengthens, and . . .

  I know it then, and I know it for certain. Papa is summoning me. This is the night my sisters and I will finally leave the house. With the magpie waking us up, there’s no doubt about it.

  I dash back to Alina, excited. “It’s the witch.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Alina squirms up to sit cross-legged before me, with poor Rafa struggling to stay on her lap. “Did you see her?”

  “No.” I frown. That I didn’t. But if I’ve ever been sure of anything, it’s this. With the curtain still partially drawn, I can feel Papa’s call clearer with each heartbeat. “But I’m sure she sent the magpie, and she must have Papa’s blessing.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Alina stares past me at the window. A beam of Moon lights the way there. Rafa and Mufu climb up to her sides, every single muscle tense. They sense this night is different, too. “Should we wake up our sisters?”

  Hesitant! Why is she so hesitant when we’re about to finally leave the house! Though we haven’t seen the witch since she first showed up here, she promised to help us. The magpie, however, has checked on us almost every day. It’s her companion, just as Rafa and Mufu are mine. But, as we haven’t told our older sisters about the witch and her promise . . .

  “No.” I firmly walk to the sofa chair, pull my day dress up from the pile of clothing heaped there, and slip it on. Wrong. In the unlikely case that I might be wrong, I don’t want our older sisters to know anything about the witch and the magpie. “Not yet. I’ll go and see if it’s really her. And when it is, I’ll send Rafa back for you.”

  “You promise?” Alina’s voice is so frail, her eyes so wide. “You wouldn’t leave me here alone.”

  I return to her and my companions and kiss their foreheads in turns. I would never ever abandon any one of them. “I promise.”

  A glint of silver draws my eye. The hand mirror shines softly in the Moon’s light, on Alina’s nightstand. I grab it with me, just in case I run into the ghost. Not that I trust them even if I agree with them on certain matters, but they do have some very useful skills.

  * * *

  I lead Rafa and Mufu through the silent path across the drawing room. The path never stays the same for long, and Alina and I must search it anew every day. Game. Celestia would have us think it a game, but that it’s not. She had an escape plan, but I think it fell apart when Captain Ansalov decided to stay in the house. If she’s got another one, she hasn’t shared it with us. I understand she wants to protect Alina from everything, including disappointment, but me! She should tell me the truth, especially when I ask her directly. Maybe the ghosts are right when they say that you can never really trust your older sisters. Though there’s something bitter in their comments, something that makes me weigh their words carefully.

  I’ve almost reached the door leading to the hallway when a soft, wet sound carries to my ears. Rafa tucks her thin tail between her hind legs. Mufu turns to look over her shoulder, toward Elise’s room. I tilt my head, not daring to voice the question.

  Then I recognize the sound, and I wish I hadn’t. My sister is crying, though she smiles the days through. She pretends that the arrival of Captain Ansalov and his soldiers changed nothing, though it definitely did. Awake. And also, since my sister is awake, I could go and tell her about the witch, the magpie, and Papa. But . . .

  Rafa raps the door leading to the hallway. Mufu nods. My dear companions agree with me. It would take too long to explain to her what’s going on. Alina can do it, once I send Rafa back for her. Even if they don’t believe her, they will at least follow my companion out to look for me.

  I turn the door handle. It’s stiff and, for a moment, I fear it won’t budge. But my sisters and I have been stranded in this house for three and a half months already. The guards may worry about someone galloping to our rescue—not that that’s likely anymore with the gagargi feeding all our supporters to his machine—than us simply walking out one night.

  The handle shifts and the door opens, creaking, but not screeching. I tiptoe through the length of the hallway. My sabots don’t make a sound, but my companions’ nails click against the planks. I hope it’s not the sort of sound the guards are drawn to come and investigate.

  This thought in my mind, I stop at the top of the stairway. I gaze into the awaiting darkness. Though only two flights of stairs and one more hallway separate me from the night and the Moon’s light, the way out feels much longer. Going out on my own . . . Millie is asleep for sure, but what about the others? In addition to Captain Janlav and the five guards that came with us on the train, Captain Ansalov brought with him five more soldiers, and I don’t like the look of them in the least. Hounds. He’s got his hounds with him, and though he keeps them locked in the stable, he sometimes lets them out in the garden. They’re vicious beasts, and they remember our scent. But if we flee tonight, Papa will guide them off our tracks.

  I boldly stride down the stairs and enter the hallway that always reeks of cabbage, beetroot, and pork. And then, I find myself under the dark gaze of the gagargi.

  Posters. I chastise myself as I slip past the posters that Captain Ansalov has glued all over the house and across the garden wall, too. I hadn’t known that Alina could read before she started asking what the messages written in bold red letters meant. I know the words, but what’s written and shown in the posters isn’t right at all.

  In the poster announcing Age of Equality, muscular men and women work side by side in golden fields, in clean white clothes that for some reason reveal their arms and legs and bellies. They smile as though they couldn’t be happier about the gigantic shape of the gagargi looming behind them, arms spread as if he were about to cradle them. Elise says the peasants are happy to be free of their lords and ladies, but I wonder if they understand that their new master is much harsher.

  In the Gagargi of the People, the gagargi writes a letter under the full Moon. His black hair is braided against his head, and his robes are blacker than the night. He holds a white quill pen—it must be made of a swan feather—in the air, as if waiting for Papa to speak to him, though I’m sure Papa never has and never will!

  And then there’s the Age of Progress poster, the one that Alina always runs past, and to be honest, I don’t like to look at it either. Scarf. I fidget with the red scarf my seed gave me that I always carry in my pocket, but never dare to wear. Tonight is different, though. I slip the scarf around my wrist and boldly face the poster. Rafa and Mufu do likewise.

  The Great Thinking Machine gleams under the Moon’s light. The gagargi stands before it, his smile knowing, waving at the children gathered before the machine, urging them to come closer. Action. Celestia says this one is a call for action. I’m not sure what she means. But the poster reeks of ominousness, if that’s a word.

  I walk past the posters quickly. Yet the images burn in my mind. They’re all lies, and surely everyone sees it. The words that my seed said aren’t true. The gagargi doesn’t have Papa’s blessing, no matter what he claims.

  Stairs. I’m relieved to reach the second and last flight of stairs, to leave behind the posters, and soon this house altogether. I run down the stairs with my companions. I slow my pace only when I enter the hall.

  “Shh!” Irina hisses at me.

  I turn around, holding the mirror at an arm’s length. Ghosts. Where are the ghosts and what are they doing up this time of the night? There, Irina hovers before the library with Olesia, behind the mute Millie, who has her ear pressed against the door. She keeps her finger raised to her lips. What. What can possibly be happening inside the room?

  “What does it mean?” Beard’s rough voice is low, dimmed by
the door and the wall no doubt, but I’d recognize it anywhere. “Read it again. Will you?”

  “The great Gagargi Prataslav.” Someone chants, and many voices join the chorus. It’s almost as if both the train guards and Captain Ansalov’s soldiers were gathered in the library. But usually the guards and soldiers avoid each other! What can be going on? “The Gagargi of the People.”

  Then I recall, there was a rider earlier today, one of Captain Ansalov’s men. We’ve grown used to seeing riders come and go to the garrison, but it seems this one bore a message in addition to the new set of posters. A thought occurs to me. Maybe this is why the magpie woke me up, to hear whatever is happening in the library. Or maybe I’m supposed to both hear this and then go out? That must be it.

  I pad to stand next to Millie. The ghosts make way for me, but the servant doesn’t notice a thing. Maybe she’s turning blind in addition to being mute already.

  “Did it say when it’ll take effect?” Boots asks when the cheering ends. I know it’s him because the words are followed by the heavy stomp of his feet. Though I’d want to, I can’t make myself forget what Elise told me about him. To grow up in a mine, so deep underground, no wonder he’s hesitant to ever enter a room first. “And was it mentioned if it affects children who are already on their sixth year? My Marisa . . .”

  “My compeers, you heard the same words as I did.” Scythe. The mellow voice that hides a scythe interrupts him, and I’d recognize it anywhere. Captain Ansalov. Does this mean that all the guards and soldiers are indeed in the library? That would be so very convenient. “The machine knows everything. The machine cares for us all. This is the end of injustice.”

  Injustice? The word burns me, and if I weren’t out on my own, in the middle of the night, I’d march in the room and confront him. The gagargi’s men are the ones who shot Mama dead and broke the rules that had been set in place for everyone’s benefit. It’s them that dragged the lords and ladies out of their houses and herded them before the gagargi to be judged for crimes that don’t even exist so that he could apparently justly feed their souls to his machine!

  “For every soul we selflessly share, two more are guaranteed a good life.” It’s the utter agreement in Captain Ansalov’s voice that frightens me the most, the willingness to serve the gagargi regardless of the orders. But then again, Elise says that he’s the kind of man that likes breaking things, people, too. “No price is too great for such freedom. No price is too great for a better world.”

  The ghosts shake their heads. They’re not believing a word said either. How could a coup like this, Mama’s murder, possibly lead to peace? How could anyone ever forget all the death and those dead? Even if Celestia will at some point claim her throne from the gagargi, how can the people continue on from where they left, as if no hand had ever grabbed a weapon, no soul was ever pulled from an unwilling body!

  “I shall read the manifest once more and address your questions, one at a time.”

  Mufu nudges the back of my knee. I should go. Outside, the magpie—or the witch—and Papa must be already waiting for me. But I need to hear with my own ears the gagargi’s plan. How can I otherwise protect my sisters from him?

  “On this first day of the fourth month, with the greater good of the Crescent Empire and the Equal People in mind, I—Gagargi Prataslav, the Gagargi of the People, thus appointed by the Moon himself—degree a law to be equally shared with every subject of the Crescent Empire, effective immediately.”

  Shiver. I do shiver, despite Rafa and Mufu huddling against me. Now I understand why the guards are so confused. Evil. Evil lurks beneath the tide of words.

  “Together we have glimpsed the new Age of Equality and Progress, and the Great Thinking Machine shall forge us the brightest future. But as all machines need fuel to continue functioning, so are we also privileged to together provide for ours. My brothers and sisters, my fathers and mothers, I humbly appeal to you to let every other child become a part of the empire.”

  Surely he can’t mean! From the corner of my eye I catch Irina and Olesia shaking their heads. They don’t want to believe it either. Because it’s a whole different thing to yank a grown man’s soul from his body than . . .

  “A parent may choose which of their children with an unanchored soul to honor with this privilege. It is to be noted that families with one child only may choose whether they wish to grant their child the ultimate opportunity of fueling the greater good.”

  Captain Ansalov sounds happy to deliver this horrid news of a tax that demands every other child to be fed to the machine! My heart jolts as I think of Alina . . . No, my little sister is over six already. She’s exempt.

  “As we are all equal before the Moon, no title or rank shall be a reason for exception.”

  The words. Then I think of the words and the man who wrote them and the man who read them aloud. That day in the pavilion, when he first presented his machine to Mama, he fed it a grown man’s soul. Since then, he’s been stealing souls from the people loyal to my family. His evil knows no limit. There’s nothing preventing him from falsifying Alina’s age and saying that we lie about the naming ceremony ever having taken place, though he himself performed it.

  “The machine belongs to us all and benefits every one of us.”

  Leave. Alina and I must leave the house now that it’s still possible. The gagargi, he will be back, and he shall demand her soul. Papa must know of this. Yes. That must be why the magpie knocked on our window this night of all nights.

  As Captain Ansalov continues reading the gagargi’s manifest, I tiptoe to the back door with Rafa and Mufu right behind me. Both Millie and the ghosts are so concentrated in eavesdropping that they don’t notice me leaving.

  I slowly push the door open. The spring night, alight with a half Moon, greets me with moist, warm air that tastes like upturned soil and new grass. There’s not a hint of cigarette smoke, none of liquor or horse sweat either. As all the guards are really in the library, the hounds must be locked in the stables.

  I slip out, leaving the door ajar.

  Magpie. On the porch’s railing perches a magpie as black as the night, as white as winter Moon’s light. It stares at me, beady eyes glinting with a shrewd savviness that is very familiar.

  “Witch at the End of the Lane?” I dare to barely voice the question, for the air smells of freedom, so sweet I must lick my lips.

  The magpie nods.

  Mufu rises to her hind legs, leans against my knees, and pokes me with her nose. Rafa turns to stare at me expectantly. They want me to hurry. I ask the witch, “What do I do next?”

  A thick beam of the Moon’s light sets the path leading away from the house ablaze. Didn’t Celestia once say that the Moon and the magpie—the witch—are old allies? Yes, she did say that. And the witch helped us once before already, when Alina got sick during the train journey.

  I’m sure of it then. Together, the Moon and the witch are helping me and my sisters flee.

  “Go. Go fetch Alina,” I whisper to Rafa. “Go and get my sisters.”

  My companion stares in turn at the misty garden and me. Then she slips through the narrow crack of the door. I want to wish her good luck, but I won’t. Better not to make too much noise.

  The magpie hops twice along the railing, then takes off. It glides over the wet lawn, wings beating slowly. I hurry after the bird with Mufu. Rafa will lead my sisters to me.

  I stride the stone steps two at a time, toward the iron gate that bars the way to the lake. The garden wall casts thick shadows, but my path keeps me out of their reach. As I leave behind the house the color of a bruised peach, no one calls after me. The guards and soldiers are still in the library, too confused to care about me and my sisters. Freedom. For the first time in months, I feel something akin to proper freedom. Mufu trots beside me, fur silver under Papa’s light, and everything is at last as it should be!

  Gate. And then I’m but a mere three steps away from the gate. The magpie lands on the handle. The si
mple iron rod budges under its weight.

  The gate has always been locked before. But tonight, the world is different, and I dare to hope. Dream. As if I were in a dream, I drift toward the sound of the gentle waves washing against the lakeshore. I reach out for the handle. Red. My seed’s scarf is red around my wrist.

  My fingertips touch the cool metal. A stink of rye liquor and sweat floods my nostrils. A mountain of a man waddles forth from the wall’s shadows, a rifle cocked against his shoulder.

  “You halt right there. You halt right there, girl, or I’ll shoot you dead.”

  Chapter 8: Sibilia

  Hi Scribs,

  I know without you reminding me that I haven’t written a single word in the last six days. Trust me, it’s for a very good reason. Everything has been horrible and getting even more so since the INCIDENT. I don’t actually want to talk or write about it. But I’m willing to detail the resulting consequences. Though be warned, Scribs, I might have to pause at a moment’s notice. The guards keep on checking on us at odd hours.

  It’s tough to write in the dark, so please ignore any poorly stroked line or the more than likely smudges. Even though both of the chandeliers are lit the long days through, the corners of the drawing room remain so shadowy that I don’t want to even glance that way. My sisters and I are constantly on edge, and so are the guards and soldiers. Even that dreadful Captain Ansalov is terrified, but for a different reason.

  This is of no use, Scribs. I must tell you more: why it’s dark and why my sisters and I are confined to the drawing room. Otherwise you won’t understand why I’ve come to hate this house so much more than I ever loathed the train journey. At least then we were moving and not stuck!

  It’s all because of the INCIDENT. The first day after, the guards painted the windows black with tar. Once this was completed, poor Millie had to sew shut the curtains in the drawing room and in our chambers, too. Yesterday, when my sisters and I were escorted out for our daily walk in the walled garden, I saw the soldiers building ladders and piling planks next to the house. All this because Papa saw what came to pass, and no matter what Captain Ansalov said that night, he’s afraid of our celestial father. He’s properly and thoroughly frightened, though we’re less than a month away from midsummer and soon all that remains is one long summer day when his power will be at its weakest (which is not a very cheery thought either).