Fairy Tales (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 15)

by J. Naomi Ay

Arsan moved closer the old man as he sat before his hut upon the dry red ground. The boy’s fingers were busy too. He was sewing shells upon his new vest. This was a gift from Gani’s mother. It was a betrothal gift, although the boy didn't realize that. His new slippers and new loincloth were likewise intended. It was the way of the Dark people, to bind one family to another, and by wearing the clothing, Arsan showed to them that he had agreed to the proposed contract.

  "Don't do that," Goom had cautioned. "Your old clothes are good enough. Do not wear anything not given to you by me."

  "I like the clothes," Arsan replied, discarding his old and immediately dressing in the new, before thanking Gani's mother by kissing her twice upon her cheeks. “My others are too small, and Gani tells me they are out of fashion. Look how nice this new vest is on me.” Holding out his arms, the boy spun around.

  Goom nodded, although he refused to look, to acknowledge the boy’s new attire. He knew Arsan had grown, but not by very much. His diet had kept him small, nearly the size of a child half his age, while Gani had blossomed into a quite a fetching young lady. As typical of the Darks, her height was less than Arsan’s shoulder, but her mind was already that of a grown woman.

  "Oy yoy yoy yoy," Goom had muttered as he walked away. How he wished the girl had found a Dark boy to love instead of this one. Poor Goom's heart ached to hear all these same words again, and to see these same betrothal clothes, just as his mother had sewn.

  At least, the MaKennah had the decency to refuse the gifts. However, the girl's affections, even he would not deny. No, that one was happy to take what his beloved sister offered. Therein lay the tragedy that would consume the young girl’s life, for the MaKennah would leave no spawn, no bastard children to challenge what was his.

  Now, as Arsan waited anxiously for the story he had heard many times before, Goom felt the heaviness of this impending catastrophe descend upon him once again.

  "Time has to happen in the way it is meant to be," he repeated beneath his breath, the familiar refrain as reverent as an ancient prayer. Sometimes, these words were comforting, and sometimes they made him curse the Heavens with an upraised fist.

  Unfortunately now, the words brought neither comfort nor relief, for the young boy had neither the wisdom nor the knowledge to refuse the girl’s advances. His only saving grace was his youth and immaturity.

  Gani arrived just then, bearing a bowl of berries from a nearby glade, whereupon she knelt at Arsan's side and offered them to him.

  One by one, she placed them in the boy's mouth, letting her fingers linger, allowing his tongue to lick the juices from their tips. The two of them laughed at this game, as Arsan took up the bowl and fed Gani in the same way, the story of the ancient time completely forgotten.

  Goom pulled himself to his feet, and gathered his net. Tonight, when the sky was filled with stars, and the Mother Moon had set upon the horizon, he would call out using the words of an ancient prayer. He would summon the MaKennah, and request that the boy’s presence be removed forthwith.

  "He has learned all that he can from me,” Goom would insist. "Take him back before it becomes too late."

  Chapter 4

  The next day, Arsan was swimming with dolphins when Goom waved him to the shore. The boy was reluctant to leave the clear, warm waters of the sheltered bay, and the cove where he spent most of his time. He had come to be known as a healer among the sea creatures, and was often called upon to repair and seal the wounds from unfortunate encounters with nets, barbs, and large fishing hooks.

  The land creatures knew this as well. Arsan was often awoken during the night by a plaintive cry outside his hut. A small cub might then be presented, or a fawn, or tiny pup who had run astray and been shot, trapped, or pierced by a talon or an arrow.

  Of all the creatures though, Arsan loved the dolphins best, and they loved him in turn for he could heal them as well as play. He could sing their songs and join their games, and he especially loved to hug them all when the day was through.

  “You should have become one of them,” Goom had often remarked. “It is too bad, you could have not swapped your wings for fins.”

  Arsan wholeheartedly agreed. Now, several years after that disastrous choice of raptor had been made, he regretted every moment he had to summon his wings. He had also learned, in the intervening time, that wings were something he had in any form. He still didn’t understand it all, how he could be here as a boy, and yet, be something else in another place, but he accepted it, as he accepted so many odd things about himself.

  “Ah, I see you have brought too many to net tonight, though I should grow quite fat if I were to eat them all.”

  Goom said this in a slightly aggressive, teasing tone as the child climbed from the water to sit next to him on the granite shelf. The old man tossed his line into the pool amidst Arsan’s finned friends, though Arsan waved and called, warning them to quickly disperse.

  “Why don’t you eat seaweed instead?” Arsan suggested in the same slightly aggressive teasing tone. Swishing his feet around in the water, the boy shooed away a silver fish who was both stupid and curious enough to approach Goom’s line.

  “I despise the taste of water weeds. Would you kindly stop doing that please? What will I eat for dinner if you deny me a catch?”

  Arsan grunted, a noise the sufficed for just about any response in the language of the Darks. He steadied his feet momentarily, and turning his gaze upward toward the sky, he refused to watch as the fish became snared, and tiny droplets of her blood oozed out into the sea.

  Despite this, it was a brilliant day as Goom and Arsan sat there, both sky and sea a perfect shade of indigo blue, broken only by an occasional scattering of high, puffy white clouds, as the Rehnorian star fell toward the distant horizon.

  “Ah, a beauty this one,” Goom declared, snagging the fish, and proudly dragging it from the water. “You shall fill my belly full, unlike Arsan who shall dine on only sea grass.”

  “I like grass,” the boy replied, although he never ate the bitter land weeds. Goom knew this too, and repeated it only for humor’s sake. “Perhaps tonight, I shall try to chew a rock.”

  Goom chuckled, a deep throaty noise, his tail wagging like that of a dog.

  “You are too small,” he lectured, catching and slaying another fish, and then, sending the innards back to the clear blue sea. “You are too weak. Your body is not designed to be an herbivore. You have been graced with the genetics of a tall and strong, warrior race. Your diet has kept you half the normal size."

  “I am still bigger than you,” Arsan protested, his stomach reeling as the fish guts dispersed in the water. More fish arrived to dine on this cannibalistic feast.

  “See? This is how the circle spins. By eating this flesh, those fish shall grow large enough to feed me again, as well as the other creatures in the sea. You must respect this cycle, and honor it. The MaKennah is concerned that you are too small.”

  Goom rose from his perch and while carrying the fish on his hook, led the boy back to the village of tiny huts. Arsan loved this village now, for he had resided here many years, nearly half this life, his mortal one in this boy’s body.

  “The MaKennah,” Arsan repeated, slowing his pace to match Goom’s smaller steps. The boy’s feelings had grown conflicted about that strange presence which controlled nearly everything he did. “He speaks, and we must all obey, even when he is wrong.”

  “He is never wrong,” Goom replied, his tail swishing back and forth with agitation. Although, he protested, deep in his heart, Goom did not believe his own words. “Time has to happen…”

  “Right.” Arsan interrupted. He had heard this verse too many times before. Each time a question was too difficult to answer, Goom had responded with this phrase, telling him, “This is all you need to know for the time being.”

  “You are leaving us soon,” he now informed the boy.

  In truth, this pleased Goom immensely. The MaKennah had shared the old man’s concerns about Gan
i, and was determined that boy be removed before their friendship could progress. He would miss the child though. He had grown quite attached to the young lad, and because of this, decided to tell him the truth of his own existence.

  “Really?” Arsan waited with trickle of excitement.

  For years, the boy had wondered what sort of creature was Goom. Obviously, he had a knowledge that spanned far more than a simple fisherman’s existence. Could he be someone from the spirit world, from that other place that was still only a hazy, unformed memory to the boy?

  “I am,” Goom began, but before he could explain further, a tremendous hissing sound rang out across the forest. From behind the mangrove trees, a huge gold and black snake leapt at young Arsan.

  “Goom!” Arsan cried, for the Dark threw himself directly in harm’s way, saving the boy from the serpent’s deadly fangs.

  “Fly away!” Goom called.

  Unfortunately, the boy responded with only a paralytic fear. While the boy stood there, unable to lift a finger, the snake opened its wide jaws and swallowed the dark man whole.

  “Goom!” the boy gasped, for now only Goom’s tail and feet remained, his body, an immense lump inside the snake. Still Arsan didn’t move, although tears streamed from his eyes, as he had come to love the little tailed-man almost like a father.

  When the last of Goom disappeared, the snake swallowed hard to move the man along his digestive tract. Then, he turned his golden eyes upon the boy.

  “I am ready for dessert,” he declared, his voice and language as clear to the boy as if he had spoken directly inside the child’s skull.

  “Me?” Arsan squeaked, still stuck in place, searching furtively down the snake’s wide throat when the creature again opened his mouth. The boy wondered, if by chance, he were to slay the serpent and pull Goom out, could he revive him, and heal him back to normal?

  “He’s already dead,” the snake informed him, although Arsan hadn’t voiced a word. The creature crept closer, his wicked tongue wagging, his beady eyes shining with a strange blue light.

  Arsan closed his own eyes, and wished he was somewhere else, although he couldn’t think of exactly where he would prefer to be. At this point, any old place would do, but unfortunately, when he opened his eyes again, he discovered the snake’s wide mouth still bearing down upon his head.

  Then, it wasn’t any more. In fact, the head was on the ground, the tongue still waggling, the body still digesting the amazingly large lump.

  “Kari-fa!” the MaKennah swore from Arsan’s side. He held a light sword in his hand, the blade still hissing. “Can you not leave the child alone? Go back to Hell, Luka. Surely, you’ve got more important business to occupy you there.”

  “Shall I take our little brother there?” the head inquired, to which the MaKennah raised a booted foot and smashed it down.

  “Goom!” Arsan cried, pointing at the headless stomach. “Cut him open. I can save him. Please!”

  “Actually, you can’t,” the MaKennah replied, although he drew his sword across the snake, exposing the newly deceased Goom’s feet and tail. Arsan knelt down and grabbed the Dark man’s ankles, pulling with all his might, only to discover the body had already been partially digested. Goom’s skin and hair were gone, leaving his veins and nerves fully exposed.

  “I can save him,” Arsan whispered, placing his hands in the bloody mess.

  “No, you can’t. He has already passed.”

  “I can try. Goom! Please come back.”

  “No,” the MaKennah repeated, silencing his sword and walking away. He leaned against a tree, lighting a cigarette, and taking a long drag. “Leave him be. It is time for him to rest in peace."

  Arsan wept, great tears running down his face, and falling into the bloody remains of his beloved Goom. Of all the sickness and the many injuries he had encountered during his five years on the Dark Continent, this was the first time he could not repair someone to health.

  "Death is final for the body. Do not weep, for ‘tis only the flesh which has ceased. Come now. You must return to Karupatani. Your time here is finished."

  "I can't leave him as this,” Arsan cried. “I must bury him, or else the animals shall eat him. I must tell Gani and her mother what has happened. Everyone in the village will mourn."

  Arsan rose to his feet, and had only just turned his back, when Goom's body was swept by flames, reducing it to ashes.

  “Goom!”

  "I said, it is time for you to return to Karupatani,” the MaKennah snapped. “Go to the village of Kudisha, and seek Tuman, the High Priest. You must read the Holy Books and understand them. You must help him to understand them as well."

  "Yes, Sir," Arsan whispered, bowing his head, as the fire once again died out. Nothing remained of Goom, save the acrid stench of burnt flesh, and powdery white dust on the jungle floor. The boy sniffed loudly and swiped at his nose, his heart turning even colder to the man before him. “How am I to get there, Sir?” he spat. “I know not which way to go.”

  “Kari-fa,” the MaKennah swore. “Why did you not chose to become a fish?”

  In the blink of an eye, the great man was gone, and Arsan was left alone.

  “Kari-fa,” Arsan whispered, not generally inclined to swear, but overcome with frustration and grief. His tears was ineffective. The MaKennah was obviously not about to summon him a plane, so now the boy had no choice but to call upon his unused wings, and begin the long trek northward across the planet.

  “I’m coming with you,” a familiar voice said, once again purring with that honeyed charm. “He is cruel, our eldest brother. He has no love in his heart for any of us. We are just his tools. That is why we must band together. Only this way, we shall overcome him.”

  “Leave me alone. I don’t like you either.” The boy rose to his feet and raised up his arms.

  “I won’t. I am with you everywhere, little brother, just like he is. We are behind you wherever you go.”

  Arsan turned to see the black and gold snake hanging intact from a tree. However, instead of fear, the boy felt rage rise in his throat. Were it not for this snake, and the MaKennah, Goom would still be alive.

  “Go ahead,” Arsan challenged. “Follow me all you like.” Then, he instantly became that which he hated, baring his long, wicked talons at the serpent, and spreading his wings.

  The snake vanished, the tree empty as if he had never been, so Arsan took to the skies, rising as high as the jet stream, letting the winds take him north, back to his home.

  When Arsan arrived back in Karupatani, on the outskirts of the village of Kudisha, it was raining lightly, and the temperature was bitterly cold. A dense fog hung atop the mountains, the scent of winter filling the air. Having forgone clothing during his stay on the Dark Continent, the boy found himself shocked by the sudden chill, as he landed in a field populated by an abundance of woolly sheep.

  In the distance, near a farmhouse, a dog barked as Arsan stowed his wings, although the hound didn’t bother to rise. Arsan realized he was completely nude, his skin puckering with bumps like those of pin feathers.

  Immediately, the boy set sail once again, locating a spot in hills above the village. Conveniently, there was a cave, as well as a hot springs pool wafting steam. As Arsan bathed in the warm mineral waters, enormous tears ran down his face. Once again, he was all alone and feeling unloved, until a woman happened along, dressed heavily in a fur cloak and boots.

  "Kari-fa!" she cried. "What are you doing alone out here?"

  Although she looked nothing like Colinda, and her accent was not of Kirkut, Arsan's heart begged for a mother to take him in her arms. The woman, Lucreda, daughter of the almost chief, Rekah de Kudisha, and sister of the High Priest, Tuman de Kudisha, bundled the boy in her cloak, and took him home to her house in the village.

  Chapter 5

  For most of his thirty years, Maytor had wandered the hills and valleys of Karupatani without stopping at any particular place for longer than two cycles of the moons. Wi
thin days of arriving wherever and whenever, his buttocks began to itch, his feet prickled, and his legs spasmed until he once again hefted his bindle and bag across his shoulder, and set off in whatever direction his nose pointed.

  Even when the weather was at its worst, the snow piling in drifts so high neither Maytor nor his poor donkey could walk, Maytor begged passage on a sled. Continuing his journey thusly, he paid the driver with the proceeds from the donkey, never minding if the beast had been sold for a purpose other than rendering.

  Maytor cared for no one beyond himself. This was a good thing, for his constant need to travel was more of a curse than a blessing. No one had ever cared for him. No memory of a mother or father could be summoned from any cell of his brain. As far as he knew, Maytor might have been raised by wild wolves, save the fact that wolves’ cleanliness were far greater than his.

  "Pity the poor woman who should lose her heart to this fellow," the old women of Karupatani often said whenever Maytor happened down their street. "For she shall lose it entirely when he walks off to the next village, and doesn't return by the next moon."

  "There shall be no chance of that," the young women of Karupatani often replied. "See you not his face, his unkempt clothes, and filthy hair? What fool would take an interest in a man such as he? She could do better to share her house with a herd of goats."

  For most of the continent of Karupatani, and most of the half million women who resided therein, this was indeed true, much to Maytor’s bad luck. At least he had nice teeth. In fact, Maytor had a lovely, wide, white smile from good genes passed on to him from some unknown parent.

  He was also quite unaware that anyone would find him so repulsive. He liked himself, and assumed the ladies would too. Once or twice, he had tried to meet a girl at a dance or a banquet when passing through a village. Once or twice, he had bathed, washed his clothes in a river, and attempted to flatten down his unruly hair. Feeling dapper and unusually clean, Maytor had stood against a great hall’s wall, admiring the girls, and flashing that smile.