By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought)

by Crandall, John

  Dreaming was something new to Cinder. Elves dreamt while awake, actually never needing sleep, only requiring a dream-time state in which to rest their minds and recall things from so many years ago. Cinder’s human blood was turning her, as she wished, more into one every day. But a lack in her development or the fact that fear was something which was not elven at all, forced this terrifying dream from her mind and Cinder later could not even recall it. At first light, Cinder dressed and left the man’s home, never to go back, though she could consciously never recall why.

  4

  It lifted the manhole cover and peered out into the waiting night; a night set with ominous clouds low in the sky which seemed barely above the tallest buildings. The Fiend slid the cover back into place as It stole into the shadows. It stalked the darkness slowly and silently this night, like a great cat prowls its jungle. Andrelia was the Fiend’s territory, and It looked to clear it of all fellow predators, leaving only the prey. It could sense that prey was close, and there was no need to fly with speed this night.

  It slid through the streets slowly...until It heard her coming. It watched. She walked down the wooden sidewalk along the cobblestone street. It followed her silently; watching her dark hair sway from side to side as she walked, and soon she came to a door and walked through it. It listened, It’s keen ears hearing her move down the hall a short distance and then through another door. Just then the weather broke, and torrents of rain came down. The Fiend was so engrossed in Its upcoming pleasure that It was nearly surprised by a venerable, one-armed vagrant unfortunately trying to take cover from the rain in the same alley. He looked up at the Fiend. It reached out and grabbed him, snapping his neck and hurling him thirty feet down the alleyway all in one violent, hate-filled and fluid motion.

  After waiting a short time, no one else moving by, the Fiend ventured inside the building and there found three doors. Breathing heavily It went to the closest portal, stooped and picked the lock, but the door still did not budge. The door was bolted and stealth would no longer be possible. It raised Its limb to smash the barrier in, when there came a sound up the hall. The Fiend ducked back silently, blending into Its friend, the shadows. A man came into the hall from another door. He looked down toward the Fiend, did not see him, then, with a shiver, hurried out into the downpour.

  The Fiend waited a moment then went back to the door. It listened, heard soft breathing, then raised Its hand and struck the door with a mighty blow that forced the barrier open, sending splintered wood showering throughout the room. The prey sat up, rubbing her eyes, hurriedly trying to shake off sleep. The Fiend looked about, saw her then leapt across the room to land on the bed. She tried to roll off, but It caught her by the hair and throttled her neck, choking the air from her. She clawed at the rough, leathery hands, but to no avail, and mercilessly slow, darkness came to her. But It did not kill her; not yet. The Fiend took her beauty home to enjoy for as long as she could withstand Its tortures.

  The door flew open, and Maria sat up. With her one good eye, she saw It drop a delicate figure onto the floor. Then It came to her.

  She could not remember how many days she had been there since the morning she was dragged from her window, or how many occasions It had abused her. Her time had been spent in a plain room, with thick knotty floors and walls, no windows, no furnishings whatsoever. She had tried to escape, once, when the Fiend opened the door, but a large dog chained at the top of the stairs just outside, nearly tore out her throat. It had pulled the beast off of her, then beat and raped her severely for her attempt.

  Now, for reasons she did not understand, It did the same, but worse, pinning her then to the floor. It moved It’s mouth to her throat as It ravaged her, to a spot just under her chin. She thought, maybe, It might kiss her, as It had rarely done on occasion. It did not. The Fiend, instead, opened Its jaws, still molesting her, and bit viciously down, so hard that she could no longer breathe. Maria heard a snap and felt her throat collapse, her wind pipe being crushed, though she knew nothing of it. Maria began to heave and choke, but It held her tighter. She flailed her arms, beating It, but could make no escape despite her panic, and peace soon came: for Maria.

  Jestell Andrews was lurking in the shadows when she heard footfalls. Pulling the mask down over her face, drawing her small sword and stepping out into the light, she purposely confronted a short, thin, gentleman, probably a merchant judging by his well-made but not opulent attire; his lean face strained from his quick steps. For her exquisite luck at gaining such a rich purse, Jestell smiled under her veil.

  “Your money, mister,” she said, confronting him with bared steel. When the man hesitated, she jabbed her sword at him and up went his arms. Jestell reached over and drew his dagger out, hurling it into the gutter far away, where it skittered to a stop somewhere in the dark. Next she pulled out his purse and cut the string holding it to his belt. “Thanks,” she said, then wheeled and ran down the street, laughing.

  “Help! Thief!” the merchant called repeatedly as she ran on, and slowly his cries died away in Jestell’s ears.

  Melissa and Fiona came to Bessemer’s and roused Dirk from his bed early in the morning; it was his free-day after all, they reasoned. Fiona cast open the shutters, allowing the brilliant light to rush in. Outside a beautiful day was dawning and they could hear the crash of the surf on the beach just beyond the city walls.

  “Get up, Dirk,” Melissa said brightly. “We’re going on your first adventure.” Dirk opened his eyes and sat up, a look of puzzlement on his face.

  “What?” he asked curiously.

  “An adventure,” Fiona said, going boldly into his dresser and pulling out some suitable work-clothing for him. “We’re going outside the gates.” Long ago Dirk had told Melissa he had never been outside the city; he had never had any reason to. Everything he had ever needed could be found within the walls.

  “Where to?” he asked, but received no answer as he lifted his arms, allowing Melissa to pull the shirt Fiona had selected down over his head. But he did not let her put his pants on him: he took them and dressed under the covers. “How did you get in?” he asked sleepily as he worked.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Fiona said slyly. “Let’s just go.” Dirk rose, yawned, then pulled on his socks from the day before, then an old pair of boots which lay near.

  “It’s not really an adventure,” Melissa said secretly as she opened the trapdoor. “We’re just gonna go out for a walk; maybe see the farms and things.” Dirk nodded and let himself be led along in his currently disorganized mental state.

  Dirk paused at the threshold of the East Gate, looking at the land that stretched out below him. The girls turned and looked back and Dirk drew a deep breath and took his first step out into the world. Before long they were off the road and walking down the steep embankment upon which the city had been built. They had forsaken the road for the fertile fields, and walked across the lushly grown acres through small copses of trees dotting the landscape and separating the fields of one farmer from the next. They had walked many miles this way and that, and were still less than a mile from the city walls, which were clearly visible to the west, when they heard a low moaning; a call of some sort unfamiliar to Dirk.

  “What’s that?” he asked in shocked curiosity. Melissa laughed so hard, she nearly fell over. “What? What is it?” he said, growing angry with her frivolity.

  “A cow,” she said, still laughing.

  “No it isn’t. I’ve heard cows a lot of times in the city,” he said with a scowl.

  “Well, it is,” she insisted. “Believe me. I know. Maybe it just sounds different out here over the distance. Maybe.”

  “Maybe, it’s just you being afraid of being outside the city,” said Fiona teasingly. Dirk ignored Fiona, but he did believe Melissa. He had never imagined that things could be so different. It was just an example of how different one thing could seem to Dirk depending on where it was encountered. It was strange not seeing a wall every place that his eyes
came to rest. Dirk wondered if he were a fool to think that he could go out on his own on an adventure miles away from civilization. This little experience was enough to show him that perhaps he had been a little naive.

  Just after midday they stumbled onto a farm appearing suddenly before them as they emerged from a thick forested track. Two dogs ran eagerly toward them and Melissa knelt down, patting their ribs roughly and talking to them as if they were her own pets. They, in turn, replied with a light barking enthusiasm, and soon a man, wiping the sweat from his brow, came around the corner of the long low barn which stood across the yard. He was small and slight, the age on his face clearly shown by his many deep wrinkles. Dirk prepared to run as Melissa stood, knowing what trespassing could lead to in the city. But Melissa walked instead toward the man, smiling and waving as she moved.

  “Melissa,” Dirk whispered urgently, looking at Fiona for support. “Come on,” he urged quietly, but Fiona simply smiled.

  “Hello,” Melissa called, ignoring Dirk’s alarmed requests.

  “Hello,” the man called back.

  “How are you today, good-man farmer?” Melissa asked. “How’s your work?” The farmer assumed a friendly posture. Though alarmed, as any man would be by a stranger the size of Dirk showing up instantly and unheralded from the trees, the aging farmer was disarmed by Melissa’s friendly demeanor and Fiona’s childish looks, at least from afar. Besides, no true bandits ever came this close to the city, living, instead, dozens of miles away, and only in the heaviest snows of winter did beasts more foul descend from the hills or emerge from deep caves to crowd in on the nearby lands known as the Inner Kingdom.

  “Well,” he said slowly, almost hesitantly, “I’m having a little trouble.” A pained look crossed the man’s weathered face. Dirk and Fiona walked slowly up, moving to where they could hear the conversation but still remain a polite distance away, while the dogs leapt playfully around them, trying to run under the humans’ hands in hopes of getting just a single pat of affection. Fiona and Dirk could soon hear the conversation: the farmer was in the midst of a detailed story telling how his wagon had become disabled.

  “...stopped Butch and climbed down. The wheel had come all the way off by now and the wagon teetered, ready to fall. Same thing happened to young Denny Strickler last summer. It’s these damned rutted roads,” he paused momentarily, nodding unemotionally at Dirk with the word “Hi,” and tipping his straw hat to Fiona saying “Afternoon, Miss.” Then he continued, “Don’t the King collect enough taxes to fix the road? Anyway, I’ve got a load to get into town right now and the missus can’t help. Young Deny is already in town. Farmer White’s waiting for his mare to birth, and...”

  Melissa interrupted, “We’ll help you.”

  “I’d be most appreciative, dear,” he said, taking his hat off and holding it humbly to his chest, revealing a great mound of light hair, much like straw in its brisk appearance. Dirk was surprised by the gentleman’s manners; he thought all farmers had to be slow and unsophisticated, but could tell by the sparkle in this farmer’s light blue eyes that he was intelligent and as feeling and aware of his surroundings as anyone born and raised in the city, regardless of formal education.

  “Show the way,” Melissa said brightly.

  “I’m Varley Astin,” he said, bowing his head and shaking hands with them in turn, surprising each with how his gentle grip contrasted with his rough, calloused hands. He then turned and stalked off methodically around the barn, as if he had done it thousands of times.

  “Daddy and I had the same problem once,” Melissa said. Varley looked attentively at her while she explained, “Our wagon took one hole real bad and snapped the front axle like kindling and we both flew forward onto the ground. Well, the wagon was empty, so we didn’t lose any goods, but it took three days to have a new axle made and put on.”

  “Ah,” Varley said, “I’ve not been that unfortunate yet, lass, but the load does make the matter very pressing. I was just about ready to unload the whole thing so as I could lift it and remount the wheel...when I heard the dogs.” The three friends all moved to the wagon and saw that it was so full of potatoes that the bed was actually bowed. Dirk sighed; he could feel his back aching already and Varley cast him a keen glance, a friendly smirk passing Dirk’s lips at the encounter.

  Varley had several crates piled about, and two logs, one splintered, lay nearby. He had been trying to use the levers to lift the wagon onto the crates, but was unsuccessful. Melissa immediately started giving orders. “Dirk get right behind the axle. Fiona, you in front. I’ll get here,” she said, moving to the rear of the cart. “Now, we’ll lift it, and Farmer Astin, you slide the crates under the axle. Now, we only need to lift it a few inches for him to get the wheel on. Ready: one, two, three lift,” she commanded.

  They heaved only a moment, Fiona using the log—Melissa and Dirk their strong backs—when the old farmer pushed the stack of sturdy crates under the axle. As the three relaxed, Varley rolled the new wheel over and lifted it into place, then walked into the barn, quickly to emerge with a thick iron pin and a heavy hammer. Varley slid the pin through a hole in the axle, just outside the wheel and began to methodically rap one end of it. Dirk took the hammer from him and with one great swipe bent the pin clear around; then the other end; it was now fastened and held the wheel in place.

  “I’ll hitch the horse,” Melissa said, walking over and retrieving the animal that had been grazing nearby. Once hitched, Melissa led the beast forward and the wagon rolled off the crates with a heavy thud, but the wheel held. Varley was just then emerging from his small, dark cottage, though they had not noticed him leave.

  “The wife will fix ya up. I’ve got to get these taters into town. Somebody’s got to feed the city folk. I greatly thank ya for your help.” He climbed into the wagon and drove off straight toward Andrelia without so much as a glance back. Shortly, Mrs. Astin, a large matronly woman who dwarfed her husband in size as well as boisterousness, came out of the house bearing a tray of food. Her clothes were plain brown and sturdy, her hair in a tight bun, and she smiled profusely, her cheeks red and full. She reminded Dirk of the grandmother he had never met, but knew somewhere in his past he had surely had.

  “Here we are,” she said, setting the tray upon the lush grass before the cottage. On it were a large sliced ham, two loaves of dark bread and half-a-dozen apples. “Name’s Thelma. Sure am thankful for yer help. The well’s over there.” She pointed across the yard and placed three wooden mugs down near the tray. “Give a yell when yer finished.” She turned and went promptly inside, calling the dogs with her.

  Dirk—momentarily forgetting his manners—sat right down to eat, realizing for the first time how hungry he had become. The day had been simple physically for him, compared to delivering furniture, but mentally it was taxing on him simply because the world he had always known, perhaps the largest city in the world, now seemed so small. Melissa and Fiona, however, thanked Thelma before joining Dirk, sitting down just as he remembered himself and stood up politely to thank her as well.

  After their lunch, they talked briefly with Thelma and walked around the farm. Melissa showed the two city-folk what living in the country meant: the animals, the quiet, that smell of growing things, the open vastness and feelings of freedom. She also showed them the work. While Melissa had been talking privately with Mrs. Astin, she learned that several tasks had been “left undone,” as she put it, by her market fevered husband over the past several weeks. Melissa, missing the work she grew up performing, coaxed Fiona and Dirk into trying their hands at it.

  Fiona was quite adept at looking busy while actually doing little work at all, as Dirk huffed and puffed his way in a bullish manner through every task. Melissa seemed to wait until he was nearly finished doing it the hard way before she would show him the shortcuts, or easier methods, always with a quick smile to Fiona, causing Dirk to feel rightfully outnumbered when alone with the two young ladies.

  They had a busy day,
with hay to be put in the loft, a stretch of fence posts which needed replaced, a bucket needing patching, firewood needing cut for the now distant-seeming autumn. A sagging beam in the barn required an additional support column put up, the three cows needed milked (Dirk was uncomfortable with that one and left it to Fiona), and two chickens had to be caught—Dirk also had trouble with this one, but finally laid his hands on them, to the amusement of the girls who giggled whenever he dove and came up empty. It wasn’t until much later that he learned the chickens never needed ‘caught’ in the first place and it had been another joke on the part of the women.

  Melissa kept finding tasks, no matter how small, and Fiona did less and less work with each successive one. But Dirk didn’t mind: he actually enjoyed the labor and thought that it might be nice to have a farm with Melissa as a wife to cook and care for him, and to be in his bed...but he grew uncomfortable with this last thought there in the daylight, and quickly cleared his mind of it. Dirk then realized that Fiona had been watching while he daydreamed, and smiled as if she knew what he was thinking. Dirk blushed, wondering if his face had told her the whole story, and Fiona grinned wickedly at his embarrassment.

  About an hour before dark, Varley Astin returned in his creaking wagon and the three city dwellers were invited into the close, friendly shack for a dinner that was, though common, delicious and more than enough for them all; even the ravenous Dirk who ate until it hurt for him to move.

  “Is this how all farmers eat?” he asked groaning as he leaned back in his chair, remembering Melissa’s delicious repasts.

  “Hard work requires much energy,” Mrs. Astin said, laying a huge slice of hot pie before him. He groaned again and refused politely, but in a few moments found room in his stomach for the sweets. “Besides, times in winter are very lean,” she added softly.