Below the Moon

by Alexis Marie Chute

  Ella scurries from one branch to another, finally resting with her back against the trunk. Her chest rises and falls with the pain Tessa observes etched across her pale face. “All right, Ell?” she asks. Ella keeps her lips pressed firmly shut and nods.

  The water rams the tree with force, releasing a handful of leaves with each crash.

  The flood is drowning the vineyard, submerging low-hanging vines and leaves. Blue and yellow ohmi float on the water’s surface. Junin and Ardenal have the dark liquid up to their thighs, and they leap to make headway. Nate joins them, though he must wade. The three shake the vines and holler, “Wake up! Flood!” Soon many faintly glowing leaves brighten and tremble.

  The leaves unfurl like sun-kissed flowers, but there is no sun and no graceful morning. The tiny faces of the sprites are pinched with shock and confusion. Dry sprites flutter furiously like scattered shards of rainbow, making for the Great Tree. They zip to the shoulders of the company or hide behind wind-whipped leaves. From there, their wispy voices call out to their family below. Young sprites wail. Three spritelings hide, whimpering, in the curls of Tessa’s hair, clinging to her damp braids.

  Other sprites tucked in the foliage of the lower vines discover that their wings are damp and heavy. Some, like Quillie, jump from their leaf, only to find themselves weighed down. Ardenal scoops Quillie from the curve of a wave and places the sprite on his shoulder. Junin and Nate, too, pluck others from the water, where they swoon helplessly, melded to the dark surface.

  “Nate!” Tessa yells from her branch, her voice straining to reach him. “Come back to the tree!” He turns at the sound of her voice. His shoulders and head are covered in drenched sprites, their wings rendered useless and the sparkle of their constellations dimmed. They cling to his earlobes and short blond hair. The sprites tuck themselves into the collar of his shirt and make a chain by holding hands around his muscular neck. Nate turns back to the vineyard one last time, taking stock.

  He, Junin, and Ardenal are only halfway through the vineyard. Many leaves remain rolled and aglow, hinting at the dreamers they contain. The Olearons and humans holler into the distance, down the rows of vines and playfully painted wooden structures. They plead with the sleeping beings, but many do not wake before the flood surges.

  Tessa continues to scream. Her voice is swallowed up by the violent rustle of leaves, the lashing wind, the water’s cymbals crashing, and the yells of all—in the Great Tree and on land. They plead with the dreamers in a nightmarish chorus, but they are not loud enough.

  Water cuts Nate mid-chest. He struggles to wade through the mess of soupy leaves, floating blue wood, and currents of mud. Tessa notices someone buoyed on the water near him. “There, Nate!” She yells and points. “It’s Queen Jeo!” The sprites wail and flutter, animating the Great Tree as their wings stir the leaves and quiver the branches.

  Nate cups his water-wrinkled hand around the queen. She murmurs quietly, though nonsensically. “Faster, Nate!” Tessa pleads. She winds her way down the tree as low as possible, dropping from her lookout on a high branch to one that skims the surface of the rising flood. “Faster,” she begs.

  Nate’s eyes hold hers as he wades, though his body is barely visible beneath the sprites cloaking his skin and clothing, holding on with the protruding bristles that line their thin grasshopper-like tibias. Nate’s blue eyes are surrounded by white, like the sea around the tree threatening to choke it out. He cradles Queen Jeo in one hand as he is forced to tip his head back, his lips puckered just above the swell of water.

  Junin finds Nate’s wrist and pulls him forward. Her long legs and high steps make quick strides to the base of the tree. Ardenal arrives behind them. The Olearons, too, shimmer with sprites clinging to their ears and hanging from their lips. Once close enough, Junin and Ardenal coax the sprites from their limbs into the waiting arms of Tessa and Azkar.

  Junin dips beneath the water, and at first only bubbles emerge, until Nate rises swiftly, Junin encircling his waist. She tosses him onto a branch. The sprites who had clung to his hair lose their grip and tumble onto Tessa, pulling at her gold locks, and she yelps in pain. The young sprites flutter nervously, reuniting with the saved and fretting over those entombed in their leaves beneath the flood.

  Briefly, Tessa and Nate are blinded to everything beyond each other and the frantic flutter of wings and dull prism of light. They cannot see beyond the vibrant mob. They cannot hear anything but the patter of wings and smacking of lips. Tessa and Nate cling to each other as they balance on the branch. The pale daylight seeps through tangerine, lemon, lavender, and baby-blue wings. The sprites’ skin is alive with emerald shimmers, and their hair glows russet beneath steadfast droplets of sea and sky.

  The sprites’ trembling red lips kiss cheeks and eyelids and tiny water-creased hands and feet. Nate and Tessa pull each other close as the nervous babble of fear, relief, and grief mounts around them in one great trembling cloud. Nate find’s Tessa’s mouth. Their lips are cold, their teeth chattering, but their hearts beat loudly enough to send warmth from one to the other and back again.

  The two entwined humans do not realize when the wings pattering around them have quieted and the intensity of color has faded into the grey morning.

  Ella pulls at her mother, and Tessa looks away from Nate. Oh no, what have I done—and for all to see? she thinks. Ella is obviously annoyed but also worried.

  Queen Jeo—who was passed from Nate to Junin, to Azkar, and back to Junin again—quivers in her cold, damp gown of awakin wings and green feathers. The gown, which had been full and lush, is now spindly and shrunken, like the fur of a drenched cat. When the company first arrived and was welcomed in the Fairy Vineyard, Queen Jeo had appeared plump, a miniature version of Lady Sophia. The two women enjoyed each other’s company from the instant they shook hands, the queen’s dainty one inside Lady Sophia’s broad grip. Now, however, Queen Jeo is frail, spent like an empty change purse.

  “What did you say, Your Majesty?” asks Lady Sophia, concern rattling her otherwise smooth voice.

  “I can’t understand,” says Nate.

  Quillie, struggling to fly with his damp wings, drops to the queen’s side. “Let me listen,” he tells the company. He puts his ear to Queen Jeo’s trembling lips.

  “She’s repeating something,” Lady Sophia says. “See, she’s starting again.”

  Junin sighs. “Her heartbeat is weak, it is failing …”

  Quillie leans back. “Queen Jeo wishes all sprites to know that she is proud to have loved each and every one of you. She feels she has witnessed her last sunset and enjoyed her final race through our lovely home. She does not know what home we will have left after the storm of the Star demolishes all we hold dear”—Quillie chokes on his words—“and she wishes to leave us with a gift.”

  Quillie, with all tenderness and reverence, slips from Queen Jeo’s clenched fingers a tiny sparkling ohmi. He holds it up for all to see before slipping it within the pouch built into his drenched royal attendant uniform.

  Quillie’s twin sister Pinne flutters beside him. “The Life Ohmi,” she whispers, just loud enough for the company to hear.

  Queen Jeo wheezes one final time before her head tips back, her neck curving like the swan she wears in her hair. Her eyes drift shut.

  Tears blossom on Quillie’s emerald lashes. He folds an arm around his twin. Junin straightens her back. When the Olearon speaks, her tone is reverent. “Queen Jeo ventured into the vineyard to retrieve the ohmi that would ensure that you surviving sprites are not the last. Her sacrifice will outlive her through you.”

  “Our queen is gone.” Pinne weeps. “Who will lead us?”

  “For now”—Junin cradles the dead sprite in one hand and places her second over the small still body, holding Jeo like a pearl in an oyster shell—“follow Quillie, who will care for you with great devotion. Appoint a new queen once the fate of Jarr-Wya has been determined.”

  The solemn moment is cut short when Lady Sop
hia shrieks, “Oh, good heavens!” The plump woman clutches a thin branch between her round fingers. She wobbles in her shoes, still impractical even with the heels sliced off. “The flood! Higher, everyone! Higher!”

  Tessa strains to see what Lady Sophia has witnessed beyond the drowned vineyard and the northwestern coast. “Wait, where’s the coast?” she asks everyone and no one. Ella climbs to Tessa and takes hold of her mother by the elbow. Her eyes are pleading.

  What, Ell? I don’t understand what’s happening. I can’t see—

  “Leave her, Ella.” The voice belongs to Ardenal. “Your mom is a grown-up.”

  He scowls at Nate and Tessa, who still stand entwined on their branch. The sudden guilt feels as if it will anchor Tessa beneath the sea. The Olearon, frustrated, leaps down to Ella’s branch and gathers their daughter’s petite body into his strong embrace. Ella fights her father at first, thrashing and stretching to Tessa. In protest, she even opens her mouth—from where two green birds emerge and fly happily away, only to return from the storm to the safety of the Great Tree. After all her effort, Ella’s energy wanes.

  Still clutching Jeo’s body, Junin leaps higher. Azkar and Nameris are close behind her. Nameris drops a hand to Lady Sophia as he passes, pulling her up as well. Gratitude paints the singer’s cheeks strawberry-red.

  Ardenal loops Ella’s arms around his neck, careful of his flame. He jumps from branch to branch, grabbing tree limbs as he ascends the Great Tree like a broken ladder. He finally slows when their weight bows the branch beneath their feet. Shuffling close to the trunk, he ensures Ella is safe, though her eyes are not on him.

  Mom, get up here! What are you waiting for?

  I am. We’re climbing now, Ell. Not as fast as your dad, but we’re moving. What do you see from up there?

  The water, it’s rising fast!

  Really? From here it looks like it’s receding. See that branch Nate and I were on a second ago? The bottom of it has cleared the water.

  It’s getting sucked out to sea. Back into the wave.

  Wave?

  Yeah, wave, Mom. What did you think Lady Sophia was moaning about? Find a safe spot. Tell Nate to hold you against the tree.

  I know you don’t like Nate, but really, Ell. Do you have to say his name like that?

  Junin’s voice interrupts all conversations. “We have mere breaths, everyone. The water will hit us hard. Olearons, bind yourselves to the tree by your belts. Lady Sophia, tie the skirt of your gown to that branch. Sprites, fly high and carry your family too damp to do so on their own. Hold to our company with all your strength. Everyone, do what you must to survive.”

  Junin ignites her hands and bows her head. Within her fire, Jeo’s body turns to brittle ash, which Junin regards respectfully, reverently, before blowing what is left of the fairy queen into the breeze. “We will mourn and remember when the time is right.” She places one palm to her heart, leaving a white handprint on her blue warrior jumpsuit.

  Junin pounces from branch to branch, catlike, helping the fearful sprites and the stoic Olearons and the trembling humans. Ardenal waves away her assistance. Already he has looped his belt around Ella’s body and the shimmering trunk. He slips his arms within the belt and around Ella, his body shielding his daughter. He presses his fingertips to the wood and burns small holes where he anchors his hands, bracing for the impact.

  Your father has always been your hero, even after he left us.

  He left to help find a cure for my cancer.

  But did he? Did he help? He was here—for two years—while I was at home, taking care of you every day.

  We all make our own choices, Mom.

  You’re so quick to forgive.

  Life’s too short not to.

  I only wish you’d look at me like you look at your dad, even once. Like I’m the hero.

  Whatever, Mom. You could have been the one to wrap your arms around me.

  I want to, Ella. All I want to do is protect you.

  Really, Mom? And whose hand are you holding, hmm? You’re so selfish.

  I’m selfish? Really? You want to go there? Right now?

  You think I’m selfish? Just because I’m sick? I’m sorry you’ve given up so much to take care of me. Very heroic, Mom. You should’ve just let me die.

  That hurts, Ella Wellsley.

  Ella dips her head beneath Ardenal’s arm, straining to peer between the branches, down toward the tumultuous water. Tessa sees the blue eyes gazing down at her apologetically. Tessa smiles, as much as she can with the regret that plunges her heart deeper into despair. Ella smiles weakly in return.

  It’s okay, Ell, I understand. I’m sorry—for everything …

  Mom, I—

  “Enough,” Tessa hears Ardenal say to Ella. “Don’t waste your mental energy with talking. Look!” He gestures, his long arm and finger a red arrow pointing at the impending danger.

  Still the Great Tree’s foliage blocks Tessa’s view. She slips on a branch and Nate catches her by the waist. His hands are tender and guiding. They climb faster, their fingers scratching, catching on bark and filling with slivers. Nate freezes. “Tessa.” He speaks as if the breath has been blasted out of his lungs. He does not need to point. Tessa can now see through the leaves and bodies and Queen Jeo’s ashes that hang in the breeze.

  The wave.

  Beyond the Fairy Vineyard, where the northwestern lip of Jarr-Wya once butted up against the Sea of Selfdom, no coast remains. Rocks that lined the shore have been carried away. Boulders that once rested great distances from the vineyard now peek a sliver above the current, are driven inland, and will soon crush the wooden structures holding the vines in tidy rows.

  Tessa chokes on her breath at the sight of the wave. The smooth wall of water inches forward, growing in height. Its azure hue is magnificent in contrast to the pallor of the new day. The pale light only suggests at the creatures that swim in the shadows.

  “What are those things?” Tessa manages to say.

  Junin answers from the next branch, where her belt is looped around the trunk. She tests her weight to ensure its hold. “They are shellarks. They live in the deep. They don’t see the sun unless they are called forth in battle to defend their part of Jarr-Wya. This is my first time beholding them, except in their shattered form as sand on the southern shore, in their wicked incarnation as the Millia sands.”

  “Are they coming to fight?” Nate asks. “Should we be ready?” He shimmies in Tessa’s embrace to retrieve the knife from inside his boot. He flips open the blade and clenches it between his teeth. He secures his grip on the tree and around Tessa once more. She winces.

  “If the Star is not our enemy,” Junin says, doubtful, “I don’t know who is for us or against us. Jarr-Wya is dying. The weather has grown wicked, as you can see. All inhabitants on the island are in danger—from the elements and each other. It is clear: we must be ready for anything.”

  Junin surveys the company, ensuring every Olearon, human, and sprite is secure and ready. She hollers to her fellow warriors in their language and they nod in reply.

  Lady Sophia pipes up, “Will we survive this, Junin?”

  “Nothing in life is certain. Only uncertainty.”

  “That’s not very comforting,” grumbles Lady Sophia. “May I sing to calm my nerves?”

  “Please,” Tessa answers instead. Her eyes are closed, her jaw locked.

  Through the water, huge shelled creatures can be seen—the shellarks. They carry a circular shell, milky and rose-kissed, that curls innocently like toddlers’ hair. Some spiraling shells are tight and compact, while others form loose asymmetrical twists, yet are always firm and menacing. From the mouths of these shells emerge pointed grey heads with emotionless round eyes. Snapping jaws expose jagged fangs that pierce the water and shine through the churning current.

  Tessa cannot help but gasp. Also from within the shells sprout strong, stout legs. The creatures’ feet fan wide. Between their toes, where sharp talons emerge, grows thic
k webbing that allows them to slip through the water smoothly, despite their bulbous containers. As the wave brings the shellarks closer, Tessa appreciates the shell details; the brilliant orange with freckles of brown and pearl in twisting patterns. The leader shellark watches the company in the Great Tree as the wave moves steadily closer.

  “Warriors, now!” Junin orders.

  The Olearons form fireballs between their palms. They hurtle the blazing spheres at the shellarks nearing the edge of the wave. The sea creatures dart backward suspiciously, looking to each other and swimming in jagged patterns.

  Lady Sophia pauses her melody to remark, “Not much good that’ll do.”

  “You are right, human,” Azkar answers. “This is a show only, a display of our power, our fearlessness, before our flames are squelched and we are forced to fight with glass daggers. Do you have yours at the ready?”

  “Yep.” Lady Sophia parts her enormous breasts and carefully slides out a piercing blade of glass, its handle wrapped with burnt-ocher leather and sheathed in a similar fold of animal hide. She cradles the dagger in one hand and shouts profanities at the snapping mouths and paddling feet of the shellarks.

  “I think the fireballs did the trick,” Nate says—but too soon. “They’re coming back, hungrier than ever!”

  “Yes, the shellarks return, but we hope with trepidation in their pebble-sized brains,” Junin answers. “A little fear can determine the winner and loser of battle.”

  Azkar’s deep growl startles everyone. “The shellarks are not alone.”

  “They departed at our demonstration of strength—not from fear, but for reinforcements.” Nameris points, his words trailing off.

  Tessa can see something new swimming dangerously around the shellarks.

  “Drowned wyverns!” Azkar curses and spits.

  “Are they dead?” Nate asks.

  “No, simply submerged,” whispers Azkar. “But they deliver death, of that I am sure.”