Over the Moon

by Natalie Lloyd

  “I’m not,” I promise him. “I’m going above it.”

  I tap Leo’s sides with my boots. “Fly,” I command. And Leo leaps into the air. We’re suspended in the cold white air for a moment. Then Leo drops, falling. To build momentum, I think.

  I stand in the stirrups, leaning forward. “Up. Let’s get through it as fast as we can.” If there is a way through, I think to myself.

  Leo zooms toward the sky. Past the cave where Adam and Denver watch me. Toward the summit of the mountain.

  Snow burns my face.

  The cold is aching, biting.

  Ice chips are sharp against my cheeks.

  One last frigid burst of wind and we’re above the snow cloud. Higher than I’ve ever been before. The Dust stretches out as far as I can see, deep brown and billowing. Just a hint of sparkle patched throughout. And a hint of that sinister yellow.

  “We just have to get through it,” I tell Leo. “It hurts. It’s horrible. It will make you feel empty and angry, but I believe there’s something above it.”

  Resolved, Leo flaps his wings, hard. Again. And then he presses his wings against my legs—holding me—and soars toward it.

  The Dust looms closer. I hold him tight. Close my eyes. Grind my teeth.

  And we burst into the darkness of it.

  I feel the heat of it on my skin.

  I feel it like a scream rising from the center of my gut, my chest. The rage falls out in a scream of fury, frustration. Terrible scenes play out over my mind:

  Monsters, hunting me.

  Boys with eye stains, digging through dirt.

  Girls scrubbing floors until their knuckles bleed.

  Horses, weary from flying.

  Iggy hugging herself tightly as the horses fly away.

  My papa, his voice fluttering out of his chest.

  My mama, worry crushing her soul.

  Leo neighs, galloping circles in the Dust. Trying to climb out of it. The darkness is confusing him. And I want to call out to him. I need to … but I can’t make the words come out of my mouth.

  We have to get through it. But another part of my heart tells me—just as loudly—there is no getting through this. This is our normal now; it always will be.

  Denver. He’ll always be on the run.

  Denver …

  Climbing through the mines. Pushing his way onto the flat ground, like a hero.

  Bedtime stories. Adventures and walks to school and climbing trees. Laughing until our stomachs ache. The Dust didn’t take our laughter away.

  Mama and Papa. Granny Mab. My friends from the Coal Top school. Iggy.

  Adam.

  Tears burn against my face. The Dust clouds my vision.

  “Climb,” I whisper. It’s all I can say.

  It’s all I have to say.

  Leo rockets skyward. And just when I think the weight of this Dust is too much, that it’s going to suffocate me, that I’m going to tumble back to the earth like a fallen star … we burst free from it.

  Free into the crisp air of a dark night.

  I open my eyes to stars.

  This cold, starry night isn’t just the most beautiful thing I’ve seen. This kind of silence is one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard. It’s the sound of a winter-white morning, the space between the words I love you. Peace. That’s what this sound is. Perfect peace. Leo soars gently above the Dust while I look at the stars.

  They were never snuffed out.

  They’re still here, still shining.

  They’re all a thousand different colors. Colors we have no names for. And just like they did for the Weavers so many years ago, I feel the stars call out for me, pulling the song from my mouth:

  Mountain girl, lift up your eyes,

  the stars are shining bright for thee.

  Reach out and take the silver cord

  Braid beauty now for all to see.

  As I sing, the stars begin to stretch. Like they have tails. Like they’re kites, I think. And my heart feels like a magnet, drawing me farther up, farther toward them. I stretch out my hand—reaching for this light. I long for it, with every corner of my soul, I need these stars.

  And as I sing, they reach for me.

  Those long strands of silver starlight drip down lower, like candle wax. Suddenly, they’re low enough for me to touch.

  Breath catches.

  Fingers tremble.

  Does starlight burn if you hold it in your hand? No. I wrap my fingers around it and realize:

  It’s as cool as a wish,

  as special as a spoken dream.

  I let go of the reins and reach for a yellow strand of light. Then a blue one. I twist the strands together until they are as green as the stripe in my hair. The colors meld into something metallic, shimmering. And I can’t stop reaching now. I can’t stop creating.

  Bending the light into shapes, into braids, it’s new … but it’s natural, too. As natural as riding a flying horse. I tug my braided starlight until it pulls loose, humming as I work. And then I fashion a pale white beam of light into wings. Wings with sharp points and patterns that I slip around my shoulders.

  And I feel lifted, held up. The ever-present ache in my back doesn’t hurt so much. This light braces me. That’s what this must have felt like, years ago, when people wrapped starry capes around their shoulders. When they held starry books in their hands. It’s like the light draws the very best in you up to the surface. It’s hard to look down when you wear stars.

  I wrap spools of light around my arms, drape them across Leo’s back. I feel him tensing beneath me, antsy to fly.

  “Okay,” I whisper, not sure of what he’ll do. “Go!”

  He’s running on air, playful as a puppy as starry threads drip down all around us.

  I wouldn’t have seen this if I’d turned back. I wish the Dust had never been here in the first place. But pushing through it was worth it for this. I am a Star Weaver.

  I’ve been one all along.

  “We have to tell them,” I say to Leo, looking down at the Dust below me. The yellow is visible up here, woven as subtly as a topstitch throughout the gray. “We have to tell them the light isn’t gone. It’s here.”

  Before we return to the cave, I see something: grains in the Dust, like fingerprints. They have a strange sheen to them, a nearly invisible spin. The entire spiral of Dust is spinning, so slowly, toward a central point. And as we fly toward it I know—without looking—what that central point is: the mountain mine.

  “We can make this right again,” I tell Leo.

  I tighten my legs and pull the reins, turning him back toward the cave. It will hurt, I know, to go back through the Dust. Back to Adam and Denver. But I have starlight in my arms now. And I have a plan.

  The next morning, the sun rises somewhere above the Dust, that mix of ink and crushed dandelions we’ve all become used to. It’s the only beautiful we’ve known for years. We stayed in the mountain cave last night, coming up with a plan. Later in the day, Denver flies with Adam down into the valley to tell the boys in the mines—and the girls going into the city—what is happening. And I fly to the West Woods, to Iggy’s stables.

  Her eyes go wide when she sees me and Leo. We’re flying low through the trees today, careful not to be seen.

  “I thought you’d be far away by now,” she says. “You can’t be here! You’ve caused a mighty uproar. Mortimer is fuming. So are the Guardians. He’s called a town meeting at the Coal Top train platform tonight. He’s going to say something awful about you, Mallie. And you know how people are—they’ll believe what they’re told.”

  “Come with me,” I tell her. “Help me tell the truth.”

  Iggy bites her lip. “I want to. But Papa, Fred …” Her voice trails off into a sad sigh.

  “He won’t give them back to you. You know he won’t, deep down. He’ll always find a reason to keep you here working for him. But I can prove he’s lying, in a big way. People will see it. I want you to be there, too.” />
  Iggy clenches her hands into fists and nods, once. “Fine. Right. That’s the better, braver choice, so I’ll do it. But you’ve got to do one thing for me.”

  “What?”

  Iggy’s mouth quirks into a funny half smile. “Help me climb on Leo? I can ride him fine once I’m there, of course.”

  “I know,” I say, sliding off Leo’s back. “You’ve told me.” Once I’ve lifted Iggy into the saddle, I climb up behind her. Leo flies low through the treetops until we’re close to the train platform in Coal Top. Dusk is creeping over the mountain. Torches and lanterns are alight along the walkway and against the buildings. We spy Mortimer at the end of the platform with his Guardians, waiting for everyone to arrive.

  “He knows you’ll confront him,” Iggy says. “He’s got something up that fancy sleeve of his.” I hear a smile in her voice when she adds, “But look how many Guardians he has tonight. He’s a little bit afraid of you, Mallie-girl. Or he wouldn’t have so many in place.”

  Her words give me a small boost of confidence, like the small light I had in the cave. I have enough courage to take the next step now.

  “Land,” I whisper to Leo. We ride quietly to the small, dusty corner where I used to hide after work to catch my breath. I can see Mortimer farther down the platform, waiting for the townspeople to arrive. They should be here any minute.

  “What do we do?” Iggy asks.

  “Wait until people start coming,” I tell her. “Then we’ll tell them.”

  “Is that so?” trills Honor’s voice from behind me. “The mountain pirate and her faithful mushroom are here to make an announcement? I can’t wait to hear it.”

  Iggy turns to face him first and takes an immediate step back. I see why.

  Because Honor is holding his sword. And it’s pointed at me. “Imagine how happy they’ll be when I announce that I’ve caught you. Then I’ll be a hero.”

  I have no time for Honor Tumbrel today. I’ve never had time for him.

  My eyes dart to a lattice hanging overhead, the one where the dusty paper roses are held. The squares are big up there. Big enough to fall down over his shoulders just right. In one slick move, I dart around him, running for the rope holding the lattice overhead. Honor lunges in my way, blocking me.

  But I swivel around behind him, jumping for a broom propped up against the side of the building. Gripping it in my hand, I spin toward Honor—just as he raises his sword into the air. His blade slices against my broomstick but doesn’t break it. I knew it wouldn’t. My green stripe of hair falls down in my face, and I see the shock in his eyes. Honor owns a sword. But he’s barely practiced with it.

  While his sword is stuck in the handle of the broom, I raise my boot and kick him hard in the chest.

  He growls as he falls, but bounces up quickly. The veins are visible in his neck. He twirls the blade in his hand. The dull blue sheen of the metal reminds me of animal eyes in the night.

  “Go, Mallie! Knock him out!” Iggy screams. She’s bouncing around behind me, punching the air like she’s the one fighting. I only watch her for a second, but it’s enough to lose my focus.

  Without warning Honor spins, and his sword crashes into the broom before I’m ready. Another sliding slash of metal, and this time my flimsy broom warbles. I’m twirling the broomstick, madly trying to keep the sword from striking me. I duck beneath Honor’s sword as it arches through the air, twirling around until I’m standing in front of him.

  Now he’s the one flailing at me, as I move him exactly where I want him, right beneath the lattice. I slash my stick against his sword, crank it, and flip his sword onto the ground. The shock barely has time to register on his face before I throw the broomstick down, grab his sword, and spin it toward the rope holding the lattice in place. The lattice falls down around him exactly the way I imagined. Honor Tumbrel is trapped in the midst of rotten boards and paper flowers.

  Suddenly, the ground begins to rumble like upside-down thunder.

  Honor shakes his head, dazed. “What’s that sound?”

  “Whoa,” Iggy whispers. She has come to stand beside me. Her tiny hand clutches my wrist as she looks out over the expanse.

  “That’s an army,” I tell Honor. “My army.”

  Hundreds of children—boys from the mines, girls from the mountain and valley, too—are walking out of the woods with Adam leading them.

  Mortimer and the Guardians stand at the far end of the platform, but I see them moving closer at this noise, confused.

  Iggy and I walk out from my resting place. Mortimer increases his stride when he sees me, and we meet in the middle of the platform. There’s no stage to make him bigger than me now. He’s only taller. But he is still intimidating, still cunning. He reminds me of a beautiful snake, still in the grass until the second it strikes.

  “Hear me out.” Mortimer holds up his hands. He speaks low, so no one else can hear what he’s saying to me. “I like you, Mallie. And you need to see that you are making a mistake. Are you trying to intimidate me with a bunch of children? Do you think convincing children they’ve been lied to will change anything? No one will listen to them. Just like no one listens to you. Everything you’ve worked for could fall apart today. Or, your life could change. We’re similar, me and you. I knew it from the moment I met you. When I was your age, I was curious, too. If some people can manipulate starlight, I wondered, then why can’t I manipulate other things?”

  “So you made the Dust,” I say. “You built a wall of Dust all around us, on every side of us. And no one questioned you. I don’t understand why.”

  “I told you once. It’s not so hard to convince people to follow you when they’re afraid. Fear is a good thing. People need leaders, Mallie. They need boundaries.”

  “So you gave them monsters.”

  “I gave them … parameters. Rules worth following. Let me teach you what it feels like to be powerful. You could be my assistant.”

  “No.” This isn’t a decision I have to weigh anymore. “I won’t follow you. Neither will they when they see the truth.” I whistle, and Leo soars down to the ground, a blanket of starlight on his back. The children gathered at the platform gasp at the sight of it. Turning to face them, I see they’ve stopped a good distance from the Guardians, many of them huddled against one another.

  “The stars are still here,” I tell them. “They’re just above the Dust. The Dust doesn’t kill you, not like he says. You push through it, and you get to the light again. We’ll fly together. You’ll see.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to her,” Mortimer says, walking up behind me. “She is an anxious, confused little girl. Ever since her father made a mess of the mines … she’s not been well.”

  “She’s Mallie over the Moon!” shouts Denver, who’s sitting on his own horse. I don’t know where it came from, but he looks so comfortable already. “Listen to her.”

  The children are all whispering, gasping at the sight of Denver’s horse. Some of them point to the green stripe in my hair, to Leo’s wings.

  “If you follow her,” Mortimer warns, “you’ll lose your jobs. Your livelihoods. Why should you believe one girl?”

  “He makes the Dust!” I shout to them. “And the Dust makes you feel sad. Or angry. Or hopeless, sometimes. It clouds the way you see things. It weighs you down. There’s a way back to the light. We can get it back!”

  Low, so only I can hear his voice, Mortimer whispers: “Come on, Mallie. Let me show you a better way. Weaving stars is old, boring magic. I can teach you how to weave emotion into the very air people breathe.”

  His eyes are on me. But my eyes are on the coal-smudged faces in front of me. Some are younger. Some are older. I know some of them from school, but I’ve never met most of them before. We’re all different. But I know, just by the look in their eyes, that we have this much in common: We are brave enough to believe better stories than we’re given.

  “Close your eyes,” I tell them. “Remember the stories you heard when you were
young. Imagine the better-than-best magic. Imagine the horses. Imagine them coming for you.”

  And one by one, the horses do.

  Starbirds I’ve never met trot out of the woods. Children smile as if they’ve walked inside a daydream.

  “Believe it!” I shout. “You don’t have to say it out loud. But in your heart—say that you know better. You are not who he says you are. You don’t have to believe the story you are given!”

  “Is that right?” Mortimer asks, his voice low and dark. “You don’t believe the stories you’re given? Prove how brave you are, Mallie.”

  Hissss.

  Swish.

  The happy chatter and gasps suffocate immediately at the sounds coming from the woods behind Mortimer Good. Screams erupt from the crowd. The horses stomp and flap their wings. And Mortimer is beaming. His monsters are here.

  Clouds of Dust burst from the trees behind Mortimer, followed by the creatures’ screams. Yellow eyes beam, bright and hungry, from the trees. These eyes are high above the ground. The monsters have never been this big before. Even though I know they’re only Dust, I’m backing away from them, too. It’s like my body is reacting apart from my mind. I know they’re not real but I’m still shaking.

  The train platform has turned to chaos. My plan begins crumbling apart. Mortimer crosses his arms over his chest and watches, like it’s all just a show, put on for his entertainment.

  I take another step back and bump into Leo. He won’t let me run away, and I love him for it. I also know he won’t let me fight alone. As the monsters emerge from the trees, I try to calm myself. Just because I feel fear doesn’t mean there’s anything to be afraid of right now.

  Weave emotion into the air, Mortimer said. Can he really do that? Is that part of his magic? Are the monsters growing because we’re afraid?

  There are so many of them—a pack like wolves—some barely distinguishable from the night and shadows. All surrounded in Dust thick enough to smell from here. They’re covered in thick scales. Long-clawed paws attach to muscled legs. And when they roar—that earsplitting scream—their long, sharp fangs drip with Dustblobs.