The Sisters of the Crescent Empress

by Leena Likitalo

  “Tabard? Yes, he is a fine-looking fellow, though those ribbons and belts should be white.”

  That’s what Elise said, too, but red was all that Captain Janlav could find, so red is what we have to make do with. But I don’t want to think of that now. I’ve sat nice and still long enough already.

  “I want to dance the chicken dance,” I announce, and jump down from the sofa. It’s not fair that everyone else gets to have fun tonight but Merile and me! The guards pay no attention to me as I sneak toward the gramophone, past Merile’s turned back. Done with the preparations, they’re patting each other’s shoulders and chatting, pleased with themselves.

  “Which one is that?” Olesia asks, trailing behind me.

  “It’s the tricky one.” I like how the steps form knots and watching my sisters stumble around, though usually it’s only Sibilia who gets confused.

  Olesia frowns at me when we reach the gramophone. “I am afraid I am not entirely sure which one you mean.”

  “Cot-cot.” The discs are in a neat pile. I shift the sleeves to spell out the names. The one I want starts with the sounds chickens make. “Cot-cot-cot.”

  “Alina!”

  I draw my hands away from the discs and spin around. Though I wasn’t really doing anything forbidden. And I was careful!

  “Away.” Merile storms to me, Rafa and Mufu trotting next to her. Irina remains behind, a raised hand covering her mouth as if she, too, were upset with me. “Step away from the gramophone.”

  “Cot-cot-cot.” I press my fists against my chest and wag my elbows, though Merile is taller than me. And older. She will always be older than me. But she can’t really be telling me no all the time! “Please, just one dance . . .”

  “No.” Merile curls her fingers around my arm and pulls me away from the gramophone, past the table laden with so many treats that I can’t even count that far, to the curtained-shut window closest to our rooms. The ghosts follow us, but they don’t even try and make her stop. The guards barely glance at us. They’re used to Merile’s tantrums. “No. No and no.”

  “You’re hurting me,” I squeal, though really she’s not. But she could if she wanted to.

  “Too bad. Too bad for you.” Merile squats down to whisper harshly in my ear. “The point. The whole point of a debut is that you need to be sixteen or older to participate. And today Sibilia turns sixteen, and Papa be my witness, I forbid you to ruin the only ball she might ever get to participate in.”

  I blink back tears, though I don’t know why I’m crying. I did want to dance. But I also want . . . Sibilia has always been nice to me. She plays with us in the garden. She reads the scriptures every evening. She smiles and laughs, though the gagargi said that she doesn’t matter to anyone, not even to Celestia. But then again, he said many horrid things.

  He hinted that he’d feed me to his machine, as I’d known he’d do all along. He claimed that Elise had in some way I don’t really understand sided with him and plotted against Mama. During those agonizingly long minutes that we waited for Celestia to return, Sibilia said that the gagargi is full of lies. That must have really been it, at least as far as Elise is concerned, because neither Celestia nor Elise ever brought the topic up afterwards.

  “You can let go,” I say in a tiny voice, placing my hand atop of Merile’s. My sister stares at me suspiciously, black brows drawn together. I bet the gagargi was just trying to turn us against each other. Or maybe not. Irina and Olesia have warned Merile and me about the inherent deceitfulness of older sisters many, many times, whatever that really means.

  “Eye.” Merile taps her cheek with a forefinger. “I will keep an eye out for you.”

  I remain completely still by the curtains as Merile strides back to the table with Irina, to count the glasses or something else Elise told her to do. Though I have my one task, I’d like to help more. But asking Merile now would only end in her raising her voice to me again, and I don’t want that. I don’t like people being angry at me.

  “That leaf might fall.” Irina points at one of the maple leaves that the guards slipped through the thread holding the curtains together. The leaf does look lopsided, even before she prods it with her finger.

  “I’ll fix it.” This is Sibilia’s debut, and I don’t like the way her shadow has acted lately. Maybe Merile is right. Maybe this will be Sibilia’s only ball.

  But as I shuffle closer to the curtains, something crunches under my right sabot. I squat down to pick it up. This something is black and sharp. No, not really only black, but kind of see-through. “What is this?”

  Olesia cranes down at the black grain. Then she glances at the door leading to Celestia’s and Sibilia’s room. “You should ask your older sisters.”

  I close my fingers around the black grain so tight it bites my skin. I really don’t like the way the ghosts speak of my older sisters. “Maybe I will.”

  But right at that moment, the door leading to Celestia’s and Sibilia’s room opens.

  “Is everything ready?”

  It’s Elise, and yet as she lingeringly pulls the door closed behind her, she’s not my sister. Or that is, she’s more so than she’s been on any day during this summer. With her gray eyes sparkling with mischief, the gleaming red-gold hair curled atop her head, and dressed in a thin white gown, she’s the very Elise, the silly, wonderful Elise with whom everyone wanted to dance back at the Summer Palace.

  “I think we are.” Captain Janlav snaps his fingers once, and I wish his uniform were still decorated with silver ornaments, not with red ones. Beard and Tabard and Belly and Boots and Boy settle into a line next to him, at the edge of the carpet. There’s some tugging of shirts and lifting of belts and slipping of flasks into the back pockets. “Right, lads?”

  “Yes, we are!” The guards’ reply is booming, cheerful—false, too—as if they really weren’t guards, but . . . Elise beholds them with a warm curiosity, as if they were our guests. Are they? She calls them her friends, but I’m not sure they’ll ever be mine.

  “Merile?” Elise turns to our sister, still beaming at the guards. But her laughter doesn’t chime like it used to. It’s weary and worn, like the dress she wears, the one from which she and Celestia removed the sequins during the train journey. “How about you?”

  “Ready.” Merile hides the hand mirror behind her back, and though Rafa and Mufu rub against her shins, she doesn’t bend down to pet them, which isn’t right either. No one is as they should be. “I’m ready. Alina?”

  My sisters and the guards all look at me, and I shuffle a step back, bump into the curtains and the window behind. It’s as if we were playing a new game, but no one told me the rules. But though the guards play cards with us, they never play with us in the garden.

  “Alina . . .” Elise tilts her head toward the sofa. I squeak as I notice the dance cards there. Maybe they did tell me the rules after all, but I just forgot them.

  “Yes!” I dash to the sofa. The moment of the very important task assigned to me has come. “Yes! I’ve got them.”

  “Perfect.” Elise claps her hands twice. Merile glowers at me from the gramophone, but Rafa and Mufu lay down on her hem, preventing her from moving. Irina wafts to her sister, who stayed by the curtains. The guards perch on the carpet’s edge. “I shall bring her in then.”

  Elise disappears back into the room, only to appear a moment later with . . .

  I clutch the dance cards with both hands as Elise and Celestia guide the blindfolded woman into the drawing room. She’s Sibilia, though she doesn’t look like her! A crown of maple leaves sits on her golden curls. The white dress that’s whiter than anything we’ve worn in months makes her seem tall and slender and round all at the same time. I recognize the crescent-embroidered hem, the high neckline. It’s the dress that Celestia wore the night we boarded the train!

  “May I present you Sibilia, a Daughter of the Moon, of General Kravakiv’s seed?” Elise asks Celestia as they halt before us. My oldest sister looks more like herself th
an Elise and Sibilia, though the dress she wears is funny. It has puffy lace sleeves that have been split at the bottom so that her arms are both covered and bare, even though she wears gloves. The hem is lacy too, but only because . . . she has cut it that way, maybe?

  “You may,” Celestia replies, the line that should have belonged to Mama. Her voice doesn’t waver, though mine would have. My throat tightens on its own. I miss Mama so much! May Papa look after her soul in the sky!

  Having received Celestia’s permission, Elise glides behind Sibilia. Our sister stands very, very still while she unties the white blindfold. As Elise lets the blindfold drop on the floor, Celestia says, “Sibilia, meet the court.”

  But Sibilia keeps her eyes squeezed shut, as if she were dreaming and didn’t want to wake up. My heart goes out to her. I know how it feels to see things, both the sort you never want to see again and those you don’t want to let go of!

  “Court—” Celestia gently pats our sister’s arm—“meet Sibilia.”

  It’s only then that Sibilia opens her eyes. Her gaze is gray and deep like mountain valleys and stormy seas, and it reminds me of . . . Mama. Our sister has grown so pretty and also very wise. I don’t know why this thought makes me teary, but it does. I rub my eyes quickly, before anyone can grow worried about me. This is Sibilia’s night.

  “Father Moon.” Celestia holds a white feather on her upturned palms. I think it’s a swan feather, because though her hands are parted, the feather rests at ease. And though I’ve never been part of this ceremony before, I’m sure this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. She shouldn’t be the one introducing our sister to Papa. She shouldn’t be holding a feather. In her place should stand a gagargi with a swan soul bead. “Welcome your daughter to shine by your side, as in life also in death.”

  There’s a heavy, swollen pause as we wait for the fall that must follow. My oldest sister’s hands tremble under the feather’s weight, just a little, but too much still. Though a week has passed since she sent the gagargi away empty-handed, she still tires easily.

  “Honored swan, bear my message to the Moon.” Celestia further parts her hands, and it’s as if the two chandeliers decided to dim at that moment. I look around and realize, it’s only me again. Or no one else has noticed this.

  The feather falls. No, it doesn’t fall, but floats, slowly, back and forth before Celestia. When it meets the floor, it should shatter and release the swan soul, though of course it can’t, not when it’s but a feather. And that’s wrong because Papa will never learn that Sibilia has turned sixteen, that if she were to die she should become a star by his side!

  The feather sways, lands on the planks, against Celestia’s white hem. The guards start clapping, smile broadly at Sibilia. The ghosts clap, though their hands make no sound. Merile claps, and Rafa and Mufu wag their tails. I blink again and again because I’ve decided that I won’t cry, no matter what, and when I next look at the feather it has turned black.

  No, not black. A thinnest veil of gray has stretched out from Celestia’s hem. It shifts through the feather, taking shape. I stare at the feather, glance at my sisters and the guards. They’re still clapping. This is again one of those things only I can see.

  The gray shape twirls into the faintest shadow of a tiny swan. It perches on its webbed feet, extends its long neck, lifts its delicate head up. I don’t know where this shadow came from, or I know because I saw it. But I don’t dare to even glance at Celestia. I need to, want to see what happens next.

  The tiny swan tries its wings. Finding them light and steady, it rises with ease into the air, beak parted for a song even I can’t hear. Three more flaps of the wings, and it soars past the chains of maple leaves, through the ceiling, and then it’s gone, on its way to tell Papa about Sibilia’s debut.

  Though it’s all so strange, I feel better now that I know our father will know.

  “You may congratulate Sibilia,” Celestia announces. I try and meet her gaze, but she is talking to the guards. I’m curious to find out if she noticed what just came to pass. Where did the swan come from? Was it of her doing? It wasn’t the same one that brought the news of Mama’s death, I’m sure of that.

  “Thank you.” Sibilia giggles, a hand lifted to cover her plump mouth. Celestia smiles as she places a palm on our sister’s shoulder. She knows how the sacred ceremonies should go. She’ll follow them as well as we can here. Yes, she must have been the one who brought the tiny swan to life, though I can’t even begin to guess how she did it.

  Sibilia straightens her back and extends her right hand toward the guards. Captain Janlav is the first to approach her. The ghosts watch in silence as he presses his lips on my sister’s gloved fingers and meets her eyes. She jiggles on the spot, giggling. Captain Janlav laughs. I’m pretty sure this isn’t part of the ceremony, but there’s no swans left to witness anything.

  Beard, Tabard, Belly, Boots, and Boy follow their captain’s lead. They don’t laugh, though. Apart from Boy, but his snickering sounds nervous, and he blushes awfully lot, even worse than Sibilia!

  “Now.”

  Who spoke to me? I have to glance around me twice before I spot Olesia waving at me. Why is she doing so? Ah, yes, the dance cards! My very important task!

  I tiptoe to Sibilia and curtsy as Elise taught me. “May I present you this evening’s dance card?”

  “Why, Alina . . .” My sister’s cheeks glow in the same shade as the dance card’s roses. “That you certainly may!”

  I give her the first dance card. Celestia accepts hers with a smile, as does Elise. I like seeing my sisters cheerful. But there’s something off in their smiles, something I can’t quite name. They’re happy, though we’re locked into this room, though nothing is quite as it should be. But they’re really happy, and maybe that’s all that matters.

  * * *

  After the official ceremony is over, which is pretty soon, Elise announces that it’s time to enjoy the refreshments, as she calls them. Merile cranks the gramophone, and the notes of the opera flap across the room like swallows with soaking-wet wings. Though I like music, my stomach knots. It’s the same sad song that the awful Captain Ansalov was listening to the day we first met him. My sisters and the guards chat by the table moved before the windows. They don’t seem to care about the music. They trust in the agreement between the two captains. It has the gagargi’s blessing, after all. Captain Ansalov won’t dare to break it.

  I remain by the curtains closest to our rooms. I should join my sisters, but I don’t want to, not even if Rafa and Mufu are both there, as are the ghosts. I don’t feel like it, and I can’t make myself feel like it either, even though I try really hard.

  “Punch?” Elise hands over glasses filled to the brim, though no two are matching and some should be called cups or mugs. There’s pastel cookies and treats of many sorts, but I don’t want any. Sweet things always make me dizzy, and I’m already confused and lonely.

  Boots stomps to claim a cup. “Yes, please!”

  I fidget with the black grain I found earlier. Everyone is in a great mood, even Celestia, though she has had to sit down on a sofa chair to rest. The guards jest with my older sisters and the bravest of them even ask to be favored with a dance or two. They think that everything that has happened so far will soon be over, though it won’t be. It won’t ever be over for me and my sisters.

  Someone pokes at my knee. It’s Rafa, her big brown eyes wide and pleading. She’s mistaken the grain for a treat. I’ve got nothing for her. “Sorry, Rafa.”

  And it’s because I talk with Rafa that I miss whatever happened by the table.

  “Oh, well . . .” Elise laughs, flicking her hand, spraying red drops around her. Boy stands before her, blushing terribly, a half-empty glass in his hands. As the red drops land every which way, on Elise’s hem and the guards’ tunics, he mutters apologies. My sister will have none of that. “It’s only a glove!”

  But it’s not only a glove. The white satin is no longer so, but very, very r
ed, and for some reason this fills me with dread. I shrink back, toward the curtains, though it’s not night yet, and even if it were, Papa couldn’t see me.

  “Really, it’s quite all right,” Elise repeats.

  Rafa presses herself against my knees, back arched. I pick her up and hold her against my chest. Nothing is all right. My sister is lying.

  The grandfather clock strikes six then, and everyone falls silent. Though I know what’s to come, I’m afraid. But I’m also sure that I’m the only one who realizes the foulness of this night.

  “Why,” Elise exclaims, “I believe it’s time to dance!”

  My sisters, the guards, and the ghosts gather onto the dance floor. Merile remains by the gramophone with Mufu. That’s her part tonight. She’s the orchestra.

  “What’s my part?” I whisper to Rafa.

  She tilts her head to lick my chin, floppy ears drawn back. Her brown fur glows under the light of the chandeliers. Dressed in white, next to the curtains, I’m invisible.

  “Am I a ghost?” I ask her, glancing at Irina and Olesia. But even they’re more present than I am. Olesia has her arm hooked around Tabard’s, who has no idea about this. Irina fans her face with her palm, eyeing Belly rather coyly.

  Rafa shifts in my arms, to stare at them. No, not them, but their shadows. She’s so much smarter than I am. I whisper in her ear, in agreement. “Tonight, I’m a shadow.”

  And I won’t be in anyone’s way. No one will see me apart from those who know where to look for me. I tiptoe further into the hem of the curtain.

  Merile changes the song. The needle scratches the disc for a while before violins announce the waltz. Captain Janlav strides from Elise to Sibilia and bows deep. “May I?” he asks my sister, though his is the name my sister scrawled down first on the dance card.

  “You may.” Sibilia waits still as a statue, but not as still as I am, for him to step closer to her. She places her hand on his shoulder only after he’s positioned his behind her back. Though he smiles, she doesn’t move an inch. But when the waltz really starts, she melts in his arms.