The Sisters of the Crescent Empress

by Leena Likitalo

  Sibilia tosses a log in the fireplace, there to keep company with the others. The fire exhales smoke that smells of birch pitch, an odor sweet and somehow intoxicating even. “That should do it.”

  “My feet will never be this big,” Alina announces. My sabots clack as she stomps from the grandfather clock to the fireplace. I’m afraid that she might be right, but I remain silent. Though I have acknowledged the bitter truth, it’s better they stay blissfully unaware of it for as long as possible.

  “Sure they will be,” Sibilia says at last. She’s lying, though. Celestia’s selfishness will yet prove to be the downfall of us all. “Now, place them to dry against the fender, will you?”

  “I will,” Alina promises, but she wonders at her tiny feet and the size of my sabots before she takes them off and places them next to my patched stockings. Her bare feet must be cold, no doubt as cold as those of Merile, who has curled up with her dogs on the divan. The three of them seem oblivious to the drama between Celestia and me. For that, I’m grateful.

  My whole head throbs, and I wonder if Celestia really slapped me so hard as to cause me a mild concussion. I settle on my side on the lumpy sofa, for there’s not much else I can do about the pain than sleep it off. I don’t feel that comfortable, though. My toes are blistered and corpse-white. My dress is sodden all the way up to my shins, but I can’t take it off. The guards may check on us any moment they so wish, and they still do so many times a day. Though nothing really matters anymore, I don’t want to be caught undressed. That much is in my power.

  That and nothing else.

  The truth to be admitted, I’m more than tired. Exhausted. My cheek aches. My lids droop heavy. My body feels limp. I want nothing more than Celestia to be right, there to be a way to save my sisters. But even now, I know deep in my heart, the gagargi’s soldiers are fighting against those who still support us. This fighting will not cease before she returns to him.

  “Elise . . .” Alina tugs at my hem. I don’t know how long has passed. Perhaps minutes. Perhaps hours. Perhaps I passed out. “Are you sleeping?”

  I part my lids to find my sister peeking at me from the narrow space between the sofa and the oval table. Her deep-set brown eyes shine with sincere curiosity. And perhaps with excitement, too.

  “Not anymore,” I reply, though speaking hurts my jaw.

  “Good.” Alina nods to herself. “Sibilia and Merile and I want to show you something.”

  I sigh despite myself. If I were to close my eyes again, I would surely fall asleep. I could leave this room, this house behind for a blessed few moments of nothing more than fabrications of my tired mind. And anything, even nightmares would be better than our existence here, better than this prolonged pretense, this agonizingly slow wilting. “Can it wait?”

  “No!” Merile calls out from the floor where she’s cuddling her dogs in turns. Perhaps I really did pass out. I brush my cheek discreetly. It feels warm and swollen. “Oh yes, my dear sillies! It’s important, so very important.”

  I force my eyes to stay open, though in the grander scale of things, whatever they are up to can’t matter anymore. “How about I look at it from here?”

  “Maybe.” Alina gnaws her thin, colorless lower lip. She glances over her shoulder at Merile. Sibilia has joined our sister there. For weeks after our sister’s folly, she simply refused to speak to her. Before that she wouldn’t talk with Celestia. Soon, it shall no doubt be my turn, though once we were the best of friends. “Sibilia?”

  Sibilia shrugs. “It’s her call.”

  “It’s your call,” Alina repeats, though I heard my sister perfectly well. Before I can reply anything at all, Alina disappears farther under the table. The next I see her, she’s petting Merile’s dogs. The brown dog lies on its back, begging for attention.

  My younger sisters, they are a sorry, endearing lot. A part of me does understand Celestia wanting to protect them regardless of the cost. But unfortunately, that isn’t an option anymore. There’s no such path of action that would result in all of us leaving the house.

  “Celestia, Elise . . .” Sibilia clears her throat, and her tone turns solemn, though she’s not reading the scriptures. “We have something to show you.”

  “Oh, you do?” Celestia stirs by the once-white curtains. A few pale strands have escaped her braided crown. Other than that, there’s no sign of the inner turmoil that must so torture her. She manages to even sound enthusiastic. “Well then, by all means, do show us!”

  Alina and Merile giggle as they dash to her, the dogs bouncing behind them. Sibilia follows, showing a bit more restraint, but not that much. Though I try, I can’t muster up enough strength to push myself up from the sofa. I can barely crane my neck enough to watch them from afar.

  “What might it be?” Celestia tousles Alina’s gray-brown hair. She favors Merile with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. For Sibilia she has nothing but the lightest of nods. Me, she ignores as if I were no longer a part of the family.

  “We found it today,” Alina replies. “It’s a—”

  “Alina! Surprise,” Merile cuts in, crossing her arms across her chest. She pouts her lips. “It’s a very good surprise.”

  Sibilia grins. “And you’ll sure like it!”

  Though I have come to loathe surprises, I’m growing curious. Perhaps this is because lately every single one of them has been bad. Another thought occurs to me. I should be there by the window with my sisters, for we may not have that many good moments left together. But after what I have been thinking lately, after sharing my realization with Celestia, I don’t feel like I deserve any.

  If Sibilia was mad earlier with Celestia intending to leave her behind, then how would she react if she learnt that I suggested Celestia leaving and abandoning all of us in Captain Ansalov’s hands?

  “Can I?” Alina glances at Merile, then at Sibilia. But before either of our sisters can reply, she produces a jingling key ring from the front pocket of her dress, the very same one I worked on when it was still winter here. “Ta-daa!”

  No, I’m not mistaken. It’s really a key ring, dark with age. I bless the name of our celestial father even as Celestia’s pale brows furrow. She can’t believe what she sees either. “Is this . . .”

  “It is!” Alina squeals, beaming. She waves at me to join them before the curtains. My heart jolts, but my limbs, they are slack and won’t obey me. I can’t go to her, even though at that moment I want nothing more. “It has a key to our room and your room and Elise’s room and this room, too!”

  With an effort, I manage to sit up at last. But the world spins before my eyes. I clutch the table’s edge, to anchor myself to this world, a trick Lily taught me the first time I tasted wine and drank too much. For almost a month now, we have been locked in and out upon the will of others. Regaining even a sliver of freedom is more than I have dared to hope of late.

  Celestia accepts the keys, but she studies our younger sisters in turns, with no joy, not even a hint of a smile on her face. “How did you come by the key ring?”

  As my dizziness evades, I realize Celestia is concerned rather than pleased. I see it then, too. If my sisters have snatched the key ring from one of the guards or, even worse, one of the soldiers, they will no doubt search the house from cellar to ceiling, and then there will be guns aimed and triggers drawn. Holes in the stone walls. Blood as red as wine.

  “A magpie brought them,” Alina chimes, just as Merile replies, “Rafa and Mufu found them.”

  Which means neither of them is telling the truth. Leaning on the table for support, I maneuver myself up on my feet. I shall join my sisters soon, once the world steadies, when the glimmer of hope we glimpsed has already dampened.

  “Will you tell me where you found them?” Celestia turns to Sibilia, the one who should be sensible, and I dread her answer. For dear Sibs is still but a child.

  Our sister meets Celestia with a level gaze, one that mirrors hers. She’s no longer a girl easily intimidated, perhaps not
a child after all. “In the garden, while we were gathering roses. No guard or soldier lost it. It had been there for years.”

  While Sibs might be telling the truth, it’s not the full truth, but at the moment I know it’s all she’s going to say. Gone are the days when my sister shared everything with me. I shouldn’t be exactly surprised about that. She has learned her tricks by observing the best.

  “Try. Can we try them now?” Merile tugs at Celestia’s hem. The fabric has worn so thin that her fingertips slip through the wool. Yet, in her excitement, she doesn’t notice that.

  Before Celestia can answer, a scrape of metal against metal interrupts us. A muffled conversation comes from behind the door leading to the hallway.

  “Later,” Celestia replies. “Go on and play on the floor with your dogs. Alina, you too. Elise, sit down, will you?”

  * * *

  Captain Janlav pushes the door open with his shoulder, and for a moment I’m not sure if what I see is real or if I’m suffering from a hallucination. The light of the two chandeliers wraps around the brass horn of the gramophone he cradles in his arms. Though his is the wildest smile, the guards trickle in after him, each more hesitant than the other. Tabard and Beard enter side by side, one fidgeting with an unlit cigarette, the other a box of matches. Belly comes in next, his blue tunic looser now, Boots behind him, his namesake footwear worn almost undone. Boy enters the drawing room last, and he closes the door behind him. The guards are unarmed, and this makes them seem bare, as though a strap of leather and piece of metal were something grander, something behind which to hide all fears and hesitation. They huddle together, stare expectantly at their captain.

  I blink twice, but neither Captain Janlav nor the guards disappear. I realize it then, they are here because of me, because of the cigarettes shared, the shy smiles exchanged. Whatever Celestia thinks of me, my plans are the ones that have proven to work time after time, not hers.

  “I’ve brought you music,” Captain Janlav announces with a grin, and he looks boyish once more, someone who has been up to mischief and knows he will eventually be caught.

  Yet I don’t really know what he expects to happen next. Or I can guess what some of them think. Beard and Tabard must have told Captain Janlav about the argument between Celestia and me, for nothing in this house stays hidden for long. He feels pity for us and what we have been through lately. He thinks music might ease the tense atmosphere. Boy no doubt imagines that we will start dancing upon hearing the first sweet notes, that we will forget our constraints and our captivity, that he can then swirl Sibilia round and round until she gets dizzy and upon looking into his eyes falls in love with him.

  Though that won’t happen. She has her eyes set on someone else. Eventually, I will find out whom she’s dreaming of. If I can lead them together, then I shall do exactly that. My sister deserves to experience the fluttering of her heart, the rush of blood in her veins. She deserves to experience that before . . .

  “Shall I put a disc playing?” Captain Janlav asks.

  The truth to be told, with my hem wet and stockings drying, I’m in no mood for dancing. Looking at my sisters, neither are they. We have navigated through the steps for months without a song to guide us, and this has turned the dance practices into a compulsory chore. Now that we could dance for fun, it doesn’t feel like the appropriate thing to do. But how do you turn down kindness without insulting those who meant well? I turn my head slightly, to better see Celestia, who once more stands before the curtained window. She has her chin tilted up, and I can already hear in my mind the wrong words she’s about to speak.

  “Yes! What a wonderful idea!” I reply in my sister’s place, for having failed to reason with her once already today, I’m past caring about the breach of etiquette. If we were to send the guards away now, they would never return, but resume the distance I have fought so hard to bridge. “Please, do place it down on the table and take seats if you will.”

  And with these words, the tiniest flicker of hope stirs in the depths of my heart. If you care for people, they will care for you. This is something Celestia has yet to comprehend. She is so set in her ways that I’m not sure if she will ever be able to see that.

  “Thank you.” Captain Janlav chuckles. He strides toward the table with the gramophone. Alina and Merile flee out of his way, to hide behind the sofa chairs, but not because they are afraid of him. Rather, as if he were their older brother, someone who might lift them up and spin them around or playfully hang them in the air from their ankles.

  “Alina, Merile, you can sit here on the sofa with me.” I pat the padded seat once, twice, to reinforce the invitation. Celestia won’t dare to disagree with me before the guards, her mastery of self-restraint becoming a weakness for me to exploit. “If we move a little, there will be space even for Rafa and Mufu.”

  My little sisters do exactly as suggested, but Celestia and Sibilia are slower to realize how important this day may yet turn out to be. Sibilia shuffles to occupy the end of the table only after receiving a nod from Celestia. Our oldest sister broods opposite to her, her long fingers curling around the back of the sofa chair. After our heated argument, she doesn’t exactly trust me.

  “This is an old model.” While Captain Janlav hustles with the gramophone, turning the metal crank a dozen or so times, the guards remain by the door. The instrument is ancient indeed. These days all machinery is powered by souls. “Boyek, you brought the discs, right?”

  The guards exchange grins, relieved and proud as if this had by no means been an easy feat. But Boy’s pimpled face flushes as if he were caught red-handed. And that he was. Because even as he meanders his way to his captain, balancing a pile of paper sleeves against his widening chest, he’s still staring moon-eyed at Sibilia.

  “May I see which songs we have to choose from?” Celestia speaks for the first time since the guards entered the room. I hope it’s only me who recognizes the tone. She’s more than slightly annoyed. This situation isn’t in her control. But it is in mine. “Ah, do lower them gently! The older discs may be brittle.”

  Boy’s shoulders draw up to his chin, so high that his neck disappears altogether. I feel for him, for my sister’s chastisement. This isn’t how one treats one’s guests!

  “Sibilia, dear,” I chirp in, “would you pick the first one?”

  Let my sister’s presence bring back Boy’s cheer! For he sees her as she is, a girl grown into a woman, tall and lush, though wearing a gown too short on the sleeves and hem, sagging around the frame she hasn’t yet realized she possesses.

  “Sure.” Sibilia shrugs, waving Boy to bring the discs over to her rather than Celestia. She browses through them, unaware of the hope she has stirred in this young man’s heart. She sees Boy only as he is, not as what he will become. He may be lanky, but soon he will grow to fill in his tunic and trousers, his narrowness will turn to pure muscle, his awkward steps to determined stride. “How about a waltz?”

  Celestia studies us, lips pressed together as if she were a bird observing her subjects from between clouds, unwilling to sing, to let them even catch sight of her. I wonder if she will ever be willing to learn from me, acknowledge how well I handle this sort of situation. I doubt it. She doesn’t understand how everyday kindness is akin to a pebble rolling down a hill to join an avalanche.

  “If you will allow me,” Captain Janlav offers, and soon the brittle black disc is spinning under the needle, and the grandiose strokes of the violins interlace with the bold brass notes. While my younger sisters lean their elbows against the oval table, the guards listen to the music from where each of them ended up. Captain Janlav is bent over the gramophone, cranking it when need be. Boy shifts his weight behind Sibilia’s chair. The other guards are still clustered by the closed door.

  I don’t think they have heard music in ages either. For Beard has his eyes closed, lips parted under the brown whiskers. Boots taps the floor hesitantly. Tabard and Belly nod along as if they yearned to spin us—any girl, for
that matter—around, but know that this isn’t the right time or place for such.

  When the song ends, the guards look disappointed, but hopeful, too. No one dares to speak, for we are dazed by the simple beauty of the waltz, by the memories of better times that it has stirred in our souls. Finally, Beard clears his throat. He brandishes a small rectangular cardboard box. “I’ve got cards. Anyone fancy playing?”

  My younger sisters turn to Celestia, to see how they should react. But again, before she can say that it wouldn’t be proper for us to play together, I hasten to reply, “Yes! That would be most delightful.”

  “Come join us,” Celestia agrees, finally taking a seat herself, but the look she casts me speaks volumes. If I had hoped earlier that she would descend from the skies to join us, as a sister amongst sisters, that she hasn’t. She sees only that even in captivity, there are certain protocols to follow. She’s the oldest. The decisions should be hers. But she doesn’t understand either that the world has changed, that we must change with it or cease to be.

  Captain Janlav and Boy and Beard and Tabard take the free chairs on the other side of the table, opposite to me. It’s an unexpected reflection of the dinners we shared during the winter months. Or not quite. Belly and Boots choose to stay by the door, leaning against the wall, with one knee raised. At ease, at least.

  “A polka?” Sibilia suggests, holding another disc up for Captain Janlav. His hands tremble, barely visibly, and I don’t think anyone else notices this. What is he nervous about? Surely not being so close to us.

  Then I realize it, and I should have realized it much sooner. The gramophone is the one from the garrison. Did he bargain for it or steal it? How much is he risking simply to cheer me up?

  But as the buoyant polka starts, I push these thoughts aside. I shall not worry about the gramophone’s origins, even if Captain Janlav’s choices may have consequences later on. I shall enjoy that which is within my grasp now. Something I failed to do when enjoyments were available aplenty.