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

by J. Naomi Ay

  That wasn't the worst of it though. Accompanying Gani was Maytor, bringing with him the terrible news of Colinda's impending demise.

  "You need to save her, Arsan!" Maytor begged. "For your sister and me. Surely, it’s too soon for her to die."

  "Uh," Arsan responded, genuinely perplexed.

  He had to go to Colinda. There was no question about that. But, should he save her if she wanted to move along? Time had to happen in the way it was supposed to be. Arsan knew not to attempt to alter with fate’s plan. On the other hand, how did he know which path fate had declared for his mortal mother. Perhaps, he was supposed to save her after all.

  "Arsan," Gani demanded, pointing both finger and tail at poor Dirkeh in the cart.

  "Arsan," Maytor begged. "You must hurry."

  "Arsan," the goat bleated.

  Having finished the rest of the boy's slipper, he was looking around for something else to consume.

  "Mama!" Arsan decided, and with a screech, he took to the sky, for regardless of fate’s intentions, Colinda was still his mother.

  A short time later, Arsan arrived in Kirkut, at his mother’s bedside only to discover poor Colinda in the last throes of her life. Her soft round face was gauntly and thin. Her hand, as she reached for him, already skeletal. Her once thick and glossy black hair was now only a few short wisps of lank thread.

  “Arsan,” Colinda gasped, her voice barely as loud as whisper. “My baby. You’ve come to see me die.”

  “I’ve come to cure you,” Arsan insisted, great tears falling down his cheeks as he held his hands above his mother’s heart.

  He felt the power swell inside him, swirling like a tornado, obscuring his vision and filling it with the silver light.

  Colinda’s glassy eyes opened slightly larger, a question on her face, and a smile on her lips, as a tiny tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Bless you, my baby, my Arsan, my first born son.”

  Now, the power surged from the boy, bursting from the inner depths of his soul, battling Colinda’s infection. From his hands, it projected outward, infusing her cells with the light, extracting the toxic invaders, and vanquishing them into atomic particles.

  The boy coughed and gasped, struggling to keep his focus, aligning his cosmic energy, doing everything he could with all he had. His own strength was rapidly draining, his heart fighting to keep pace, yet he would not stop, he would not rest until Colinda was whole.

  “I’m cured!” Colinda cried out as Arsan collapsed upon her bed, not a single ounce of energy left in his body.

  He had cured her, he was certain, and as he lay there completely spent, he rejoiced in the great miracle he had performed. Resting for a few more minutes, his sight bleary, his breath weak, Arsan didn’t realize the presence that had arrived in the room.

  “Idiot,” a voice scorned, causing Arsan to bolt upright from his moment of sleep, whereupon he discovered his beloved mother was stone, cold dead.

  “Ay yah!” Arsan screamed, shaking Colinda by the shoulders. Her blank eyes stared unmoving at the ceiling, watching her departing soul as it left this time and space.

  “You never cease to amaze me.” A flame lit, and a gust of cigarette smoke filled the air, as that familiar deep voice sighed with his usual disgust. “Your ability to choose wrongly is second to none. ‘Tis truly a bit amusing how you change little in each incarnation.”

  “Mama?”

  Arsan didn’t understand. Never before had his healing powers failed. Of course, never before had he tried to cure someone of such a mortal illness. On the other hand, he had felt it work. He knew with certainty for however briefly, Colinda had been restored to health.

  “Kari-fa,” the MaKennah swore under his breath.

  “You did it!” Arsan cried. “You killed my mother.”

  “Did I? Perhaps, I merely discharged her soul from the poor girl’s sickened mortal flesh?”

  “I hate you!” Once again tears began to flood down the boy’s cheeks. “Why must you kill everyone I love?”

  “Ay yah. Unfortunately, I must. And, most of them, you don’t even recall. Come now, I have another task for you to begin. Hopefully, this time, you shall complete it correctly without my guidance or interference.”

  “No.” Arsan stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He glared up at the elder man, while doing his best not to shirk. “I won’t do anything more for you. You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Actually, I am, and I shall endeavor to ignore this willful teenage outburst rather than accept your challenge to prove it to you. Trust me, young one, you do not wish for me to send you back. I can guarantee, you shan’t like it there. My presence, however distasteful, is much more pleasant in this current form.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Arsan was about to spout a few more willful teenage statements when his sight went blurry and his entire body became quite warm. In the back of his mind, he began to remember a horribly hot place during a time when he wasn’t Arsan.

  “I hate heat,” the MaKennah replied, now not as himself, but as someone else. “I much prefer cold as it is now. Open your eyes and see where I have brought you.”

  Arsan did as he was bid, only to discover he was in another place, a field next to a street, framed by houses unlike those of Karupatani. The MaKennah was seated upon a bench in what appeared to be a city park, his bad leg splayed out awkwardly before him. Cold rain was falling on their heads, and the wind whistled through the corn field on the neighboring lot. Arsan glanced quickly at their surroundings before turning his gaze back to the older man.

  “What happened?” the boy gasped, for the MaKennah was now appearing differently than only a moment before. He was dress in flowing lumincesent robes, his long shiny silver hair drifting down his back.

  The boy looked down at his own plain clothes, having arrived in the dress of Karupatani. He looked terribly out of place in this strange new world. Although he was clothed in leggings, a vest, and cape, they were sitting uncomfortably upon his back, so he reached up to straighten the garments upon his shoulders. There, as upon the man before him, were the same impressive attachments of supernatural plumage.

  “How?” the boy asked, as a foggy, not quite formed memory swept across his brain. The recent pain of Colinda’s passing drifted far away, becoming less significant than it had been only moments earlier.

  “’Tis early yet, for all your memories to return,” the MaKennah replied, his voice bringing the boy back down to Earth. “They shall. Do not fear. You shall soon know all, though you may wish that you did not. Would that I could forget most of my lives, and the times in between.”

  “Why?”

  The boy reached up again to touch the silky feathers, but discovered, with a twinge of disappointment, they were gone. Instead, he was now attired in a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie sweater, typical of a normal teenage human boy in the Midwest.

  “Can I do that too, Sir?” Arsan pulled at his sweater, imaging himself dressed in something else. “Can I make myself change clothing with a wave of my hand?”

  “You may appear in any form you wish, or you may be only as they desire to see you. Go on now. A boy awaits you in that house across the street.”

  Arsan nodded, for somehow, he knew there was a child in distress, indeed waiting for him to assist in a difficult situation.

  “May I cure him?”

  “Only, if that is how time must come to pass. You will know if it is right, or if it is not. Understand, everything you do affects the fate of others. To save one soul, you might kill a thousand more. What you must determine is who is allowed to live, and who must go on to what is next.”

  “Like the fleas on the cat?”

  The MaKennah frowned, and rubbed his temples.

  “I suppose you could say ‘tis something like that, although I regard mankind slightly more important than a passel of fleas. Only slightly though.”

  “Okay,” the boy replied, nodding his head, although he
was growing a bit concerned about this new and weighty task before him. How was he to decide who was worthy of life, or not? “Will you help me?”

  “No.” Laboriously, the MaKennah pulled himself to his feet by clutching the back of the bench, his long silvery feathers glistening like a cape behind him. “I am here only to speak with you. Momentarily, I shall depart to a place far away. I shan’t return for some time, as I have other business to attend. When I do, I shall summon you back to Rehnor, to Mishnah, for another task.”

  “How will I get there?”

  You shall travel in the same manner as we have come here. We have passed metaphysically through the Universe’s hidden doors. This is something you must learn again how to do.”

  “Is it difficult?”

  “It can be if you do it wrong. You might end up in a place you shouldn't be. Pay attention to me, Rafa. Listen for I shall explain. Afterward, please prove to me that you have more sense than our brother, the cherub, for at the moment, I cannot decide who is the bigger fool.”

  Chapter 8

  Maytor was able to hitch a ride with a family heading west, back in the direction of Kirkut, as long as he promised to stay beneath the cart at night. He could ride on the buckboard during the day. In fact, he could drive if he proved competent enough, but he was absolutely forbidden from going near the family's four daughters. All four of them, well into adulthood with long plain faces and thin lank hair, sat in the cart all day and night, jostling around, and complaining mightily of the rocking and the bumping.

  Staying away from the girls wasn't a problem for Maytor at all. He had no interest in them, especially after listening to their whining voices. Even when they weren't complaining, their mouths never shut, prattling on endlessly with every thought that came into their heads.

  Maytor couldn't blame them for this though. Within a day of commencing on this endless boring journey of dark and gray scenery from sky to sea, he too longed to prattle to someone.

  The weather never changed either. An ever-present low and cold fog enveloped them from dawn to dusk, with only an occasional break in the late afternoon. Then, as if the hand of an angel was reaching down from the heavens above, a bolt of light might briefly shine through a cloud. A few moments later, it was gone again, quickly swallowed up by the oppressive fog, before the night turned quickly into darkness.

  If that wasn't bad enough, the buckboard bench was hard and unforgiving, so much so, Maytor longed for the days when he did nothing but walk. Next to him sat an old man, the father of the four maidens in the cart.

  "Such nice daughters," the father would remark every morning as Maytor climbed up next to him to begin their trek. Then, the old man would shake his finger, and pat the gun strapped to his side. "You stay away from them. You hear me? I won’t have you running off with one of my girls. I have four of them. Count them. Four. And, four girls I mean to keep."

  "I promise," Maytor would reply, taking up the reins, and slapping them across the backs of the two mules.

  Both animals reluctantly lifted their heads, and slowly stepped out. As the cart lurched forward, Maytor glimpsed at the sky hoping for a break in the fog, but just as the day before, he was out of luck. Darkness shrouded his path ahead as well as behind, the gray as omnipresent as his worry.

  “Now, if some fellow needed a wife, and if he took a fancy to one of the girls, say the eldest, Peni or the youngest, Leni, I’d have to make a deal with that young fellow. He’d have to pay me a hefty sum, and agree to labor on my behalf for at least five years, maybe more.”

  Maytor nodded noncommittally, but didn’t respond further, as all he really wanted was to return to Colinda’s side. He was certain when he arrived in Kirkut, Arsan’s magic would have cured her ills, and she would be happily sitting up bed, perhaps even walking about tending to young Mayco and their goats.

  “If that fellow proved to be a decent sort of man,” the father continued, placing a wad of tobacco in his mouth. He pressed it against his gum, before offering Maytor the tin. “I’d make him a discount on the girl. In fact, Pula and Lula, I might even offer for half price. I might cut his laboring job to three or four years.”

  Maytor grunted softly, a universal noise, just to show that he was listening. He didn't want tobacco though, thank you very much. He also didn't want Pula or Lula or the laboring job, or anything else for that matter. All he desired was his wife, his daughter, and his life back in the village.

  “Actually, I’m thinking I ought to pay someone to take these girls away before they get too old. A good man, who would be a son to me, ought to be worth a shiny coin.” The old man patted the gun at his side, and spat a wad of tobacco on the street. "An extra nice fella might even be worth another coin or two."

  Fortunately for Maytor, at this point they were not far from the village of Kirkut, so when the mules paused to snatch some grass, he jumped down. On the pretense of checking a harness, he began to sidle away, hoping the old guy wouldn't notice his disappearance.

  “Where are you going?” the father demanded, prompting Maytor to bolt for the brush just as a shot rang out behind him and over his head. “Pick one of the girls, I tell you. I've decided you're my new son. Now get back here and take your wife, or I’ll shoot you dead!”

  Maytor ran as fast as he could, the brush around him ricocheting with misplaced bullets, until he arrived upon the familiar streets of his home. Alas, the poor man’s homecoming was not in the nick of time, but far too late to bid his beloved wife farewell.

  Colinda had already been buried in a pauper’s grave behind a tree, while their few belongings were sold for back rent by their former landlord. Little Mayco was placed in the care of the village schoolmarm, although the child was now sweeping for her bed and board.

  As for Arsan, he was nowhere to be seen.

  “The boy was here,” an old woman said. “And, I heard tell he saved his mother’s life, but another came, and immediately took it away.”

  “What does that mean?” Maytor gasped.

  “Only Heaven knows.” The old one shrugged and shook her head. “That boy is One of Them, in case you weren’t aware.”

  “One of who?” Maytor inquired, although he really didn’t care to hear any more.

  It was time for him to leave this village of pleasant memories. He set off to collect his daughter, and from there, he’d head to a destination he knew not where.

  “You owe me seven coins,” the schoolmarm demanded, when Maytor arrived on her doorstep.

  “Papa!” Mayco screamed, clutching a broom to her tiny chest.

  “That’s half the price I normally charge for the care of such a young child.” The schoolmarm held out her hand anticipating the coins.

  “Seven coins?” Maytor repeated, as this was an enormous sum, certainly more than Maytor had in his pocket, or his sock.

  “Don’t come back unless you bring the money.”

  The schoolmarm’s door shut soundly in his face, while Mayco screamed, and Maytor stood unmoving on the wrong side of the heavy wood.

  Maytor pounded for a bit. He called out his daughter’s name, but unfortunately, his efforts brought no response.

  “Oh, what am I to do?” he moaned, spinning around to face the street, where he discovered a mule drawn cart full of women.

  “Hey ho, Maytor. There you are,” his travelling companion called.

  This was followed by a sound similar to a chorus of clucking hens. Some of the noise came from the cart, but was echoed down the street by the town’s older biddies.

  “I’ve got a new deal for you, lad. One you can’t resist. Take your pick of my beauties Peni, Pula, Lula, and Leni. Each one is more comely than the next, and will make the perfect wife for a man like you. Not to mention, she’ll be a mother to your future children.”

  Maytor was about to mumble his apologies as he was quite recently widowed, and would need a suitable time to mourn. In addition, retrieving his daughter was the foremost item on his list. Getting married again w
as a low priority. In fact, he wasn’t certain anyone could ever replace Colinda in his heart.

  "I'll throw in a bag of coins. Two bags. Don't make me offer three."

  An hour later, little Mayco was safely ensconced between her new step-mother, Peni, and aunts Pula, Lula, and Leni in the back of the cart.

  As they set off again on the journey across the continental divide, Maytor still sleeping at night in the dirt beneath the wagon, he considered this was the best option he could have taken. Little Mayco was warm and safe above him, wrapped in a soft blanket and embraced her new mother and aunties.

  Chapter 9

  While Maytor headed west to return to his ailing wife’s side, Vinz bought a ticket for a seat on a ferry boat to Mishnah. His destination was Korelesk, to the Duchess Luci, his one true love, although he hadn’t seen nor spoken to her in nearly sixty years.

  “Take us with you,” Gani begged, and with her tail, indicated Dirkeh in the medicine hut.

  This prompted Vinz to wonder why he had sought them out to say goodbye. He should have just boarded the ship and departed quickly, no strings attached, especially to strangers he hardly knew.

  “Please sir,” Gani continued. “He’ll die here without real medical attention.”

  "Of a broken ankle?" Vinz questioned, allowing Gani to pull him into the medical office.

  "It'll fester, or become infected, or maybe, something worse. Please take us to Mishnah, to a real hospital."

  Vinz, whose heart was soft, even though he had an engineering brain, watched the village doctor dancing about Dirkeh in circles. The young carter lay upon the floor on a worn grass mat, which was covered in dried blood and smelling foul.

  In any case, as the doctor bounced around, he smoked a long pipe filled with fragrant Barkuti. Vinz wondered if Dirkeh ought to be allowed to do the same. After all, the young man was the one in pain, and would most likely benefit from the relief which the drug would bring, since the dancing and chanting appeared to be doing little in that regard.