The Sisters of the Crescent Empress

by Leena Likitalo

  My sisters and I, we play family—no, Families, the card game—with the guards, and with a silent agreement, we let Alina win at least every other game. Perhaps not all change is for the worse. As I watch the guards laugh with my younger sisters, the grain of hope in my heart swells. To them, we are no longer only Daughters of the Moon, but also human beings, young girls, young women kept captive against our will. I hope Celestia sees this, too. We may not have the power to alter our fates, but it is within our power to make the last days of our sisters better.

  I cast a warm look at Captain Janlav. He smiles back at me, arches his brow at the redness of my cheek. I shrug as if I had hurt it by accident. From his concern for my well-being, I know at last that I wasn’t naïve in placing my trust in him. He and his men will keep us safe as long as we obey the rules of the gagargi’s wicked game. That is more than I have asked for, hoped for.

  And yet, no matter that I’m resigned to my fate, that of my sisters, I want more.

  The polka ends, and it’s then that the door flings open.

  Captain Ansalov’s beady green eyes gleam with ire as he takes in the scene: us sitting around the table, fans of cards in our hands. The black dog on Merile’s lap bounces up and growls at him. It senses the threat in the air, the promise of violence the captain carries with him everywhere he goes. “Ah, here it is.”

  The gramophone’s needle scratches empty circles before it starts replaying the polka. I don’t dare to say a word. Neither does Celestia. No one does apart from Captain Ansalov.

  “But what is it that you, Captain Janlav, are doing here with your men?”

  I pat Merile’s hand, praying the Moon that she will echo the soothing gesture on Alina. For Tabard and Boots no longer lean on the wall. They are ready to spring into action if so much as half ordered. But Captain Janlav merely shuffles his cards. I wish Celestia would say something wise and calming, but she remains perfectly still. Her placid blue gaze reveals that she won’t interfere unless things get much, much worse. She is punishing me for acting out of place, for speaking out of turn, for disagreeing with her. And seeing my younger sisters afraid is worse than any pain I can imagine.

  “We are listening to music. And playing Families,” Captain Janlav says at last, glancing at the other captain from over his hand, smiling all the while. “Would you like to join us, perhaps?”

  The agreement between the two captains, the orders each follow to the letter. Bless the Moon, my sisters and I are exactly where we should be. But Captain Janlav and his guards . . . There must be no constraints placed on them visiting us, otherwise he would have never allowed them to enter the room.

  Captain Ansalov chews his cheek. He must be trying to find a breach in the rules, and given time, he will surely be able to twist the gagargi’s words in a way that benefits him and only him. The cheerful notes of the polka have never sounded so sinister. I hold my breath as I wait for his answer. Merile leans against me, Alina against her. If I’m scared of this man, my little sisters must be terrified! Celestia still refusing to interfere only shows how callous and spiteful she truly is!

  “No,” Captain Ansalov replies at last, but his gaze is drawn to the gramophone, as if he were a magpie mesmerized by all that glitters, greedy beyond its own understanding. I remember the evening when we first met him back at the garrison. He may be a harsh man, ready to follow any order given to him, but at the same time he likes music, and . . . “I didn’t realize earlier you and your men are enthusiastic about music. Why don’t we continue listening through my misplaced collection in the confinement of my office?”

  This polite talk is just a veil, and both of the captains know it. Captain Janlav has stolen that for which Captain Ansalov cares the most. But it’s a dangerous game he plays. For Captain Ansalov knows Captain Janlav has grown fond of us, that by hurting us he will also hurt the captain who has turned into his adversary.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Captain Janlav says with a boyish bravado against a man twice his age, though we would have been better off with him taking up the offer. “We are quite comfortable here as it is.”

  I stare at him, perplexed. There is no shame in sometimes taking the easy way out. He can’t possibly be doing this to impress me! We both know what awaits my sisters and me. There’s no point in dwelling on what could have been between us. And then the game he’s playing becomes so clear to me. He has always known it, but only recently understood that he, too, is at liberty to interpret his orders as he wishes. It’s his duty to keep my sisters and me safe, not to treat us like prisoners.

  “Is that so?” Captain Ansalov’s soft question is more terrifying than a shout bellowed from the top of his lungs.

  Captain Janlav drops his cards on the table face-side up and slowly rises. Belly, Beard, and Boy perch on their seats. Sibilia, the Moon bless her, pulls a card from Alina, a distraction meant to keep our younger sisters unaware of the rising tension. “I believe in the equal redistribution of resources. My men and I would much like to lend this player for a while longer.”

  Captain Ansalov chuckles. This horrid sound mixes with the gramophone’s needle scratching the disc, at the outer edge, round after round. “So it seems my time is over and yours has just begun, eh?”

  But what he’s saying between the lines is that Captain Janlav’s time might come to an end sooner than he can even begin to guess. And I wonder, does Captain Ansalov hold in his pockets more of the gagargi’s orders, some that he hasn’t yet shared with us? If he does, is Celestia aware of their content?

  “No!”

  We all, the guards and my sisters alike, turn toward the sound. For it’s neither of the captains speaking, but the little, wide-eyed Alina who has sprung up from the sofa. The dogs bounce beside her, agitated.

  I don’t want to ask my sister what she means, but Celestia still holds her silence. As the guards turn to look at me, one after another, I have no choice but to ask, “What is it, my dear?”

  Even though I know the answer. This is the way Alina acts when she thinks she has seen something in the shadows.

  Indeed, Alina stares intently at the darkest corner of the room. The brown dog dabs my sister’s tiny hand with its nose, and it’s this that brings her back to us. Her lips part as she turns toward Captain Ansalov. Her face pales.

  Captain Ansalov runs his stubby fingers along his upper lip, smug. He likes us terrified, the more so, the better. “Yes?”

  “I . . .” Alina whispers, but before she can say more, a sharp crack interrupts her.

  Jagged black shards scatter every which way. One of them hits me in the forehead. I blink, confused, but the guards act upon reflex. The next I see clear again, Tabard and Boots have drawn knives I didn’t even know they carried about their persons. Captain Janlav has vacated his chair. He has his arms spread wide, as if to protect us with his body. Boy and Belly flank him. Beard hovers by Celestia. Only Captain Ansalov has held his ground. He has done so though a trickle of blood coils down his round cheek.

  Why wouldn’t he have when it was only the gramophone’s disc that shattered?

  “He’s coming.” Alina stares at the first drop of blood on the floor. Tears glint in the corners of her eyes. Her voice shivers. “The gagargi is coming for us.”

  First there’s nothing but stunned silence. Then laughter, vile and deep, erupts from Captain Ansalov’s throat. His whole body shakes with his amusement, even as blood drips down his chin. “By all means, Captain Janlav, keep the gramophone.”

  His words, those of my little sister, chill me to the core. He has no further need for music. Soon we will all be dancing to his tune.

  Chapter 10: Celestia

  As I lean against the window’s frame, I feel the night, the darkening hour, the calm that falls over the garden and the lake, though I can’t see it yet. The curtains were nailed against the white wood and sewn shut six weeks and four days ago. Until recently, we simply let them be that way.

  “Is it the time?” Sibilia teeters on
our bed’s edge, opening and closing the book of scriptures in turns. Though this is the seventh time she is about to strengthen me, her nervousness hasn’t eased. It haunts her through the days. “Ah, drat, I must use the chamber pot again. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, dear Sibilia,” I whisper at her, and seeing her smile back at me is more than I deserve. I chose to abandon her. Yet she has forgiven me, unlike Elise, who still refuses to see beyond the veil of the gagargi’s propaganda. “We will see the Moon tonight.”

  I set to unraveling the thick black thread holding the curtains together, one stitch at a time. We can’t let the thread snatch. Any knot could be easily detected by Millie when she tidies our rooms during our daily outings. She might choose to continue her silence, or then she might not. Fear does unpredictable things to people.

  Elise has changed. I fear she has started to believe the gagargi’s lies. It bothers me that I don’t know how this came to be. She is young. She is naïve. Perhaps that alone sufficed. The gagargi is very charismatic. I, if anyone, know that.

  It isn’t only this that contributes to my increasing disquiet. I don’t know if Alina really saw a shadow the day that we heard music. She claims that an ape came to warn her about the gagargi’s arrival, but that it was so faded by the distance traveled that it couldn’t tell her more before vanishing altogether. Two weeks and six days have passed since then with no further news. But it would be pure madness not to prepare for the imminent encounter by whatever means available to us.

  The thread tightens. A frayed part has caught on the edge of a blooming midsummer rose. I will my fingers nimbler, the movements more precise. Each day, the unraveling becomes a task trickier, the secrets weigh heavier on my heart. Even so, my sisters must not learn what Sibilia and I are contriving. Elise has become unreliable. She thinks me selfish, that I should abandon our younger sisters and just return to the gagargi, that this simple act would end the bloodshed. Merile and Alina are too young to benefit from the hope that may yet turn false. For even with Sibilia’s help . . .

  I am done with the unraveling. The curtains part slightly, and a thin sliver of night winds its way in. I inhale exaggeratedly slowly. My swan-self says the air tastes different, too moist and cold. I am tempted to believe her. The maples have turned bloodred, too early considering that it is still summer here. Perhaps it is because lately it has rained almost constantly. The house’s pale orange paint flakes, revealing the gray plaster beneath. The posters glued on the garden walls disintegrate in the moisture. The gagargi’s face is bubbling as if he were covered with warts.

  He is not diseased, but a disease of which I must cleanse my empire.

  “Please let it not rain.” Porcelain scratches against the floor as Sibilia pushes the chamber pot under our bed. She is concerned that we might not be met with our father’s gaze tonight, that instead she might need to guide me through the spell once more.

  Though I have already smelled the air and know what awaits us, I press my ear against the curtains that wait to be parted. Some secrets are mine to keep, more dangerous than others. I think of the flooding lake, the ever-swelling puddles before the garden wall, the path that is fully submerged, the swans that nest by the lake, that can now swim all the way to the iron gate. They observe my sisters and me through the elaborate bars. As they sing throaty tunes, my swan-self yearns to sing back at them. But this I can’t tell to my sisters any more than I dare to reveal that I might not be able to bear children.

  I say, “It doesn’t rain now.”

  “Great.” Sibilia tiptoes to me as I slowly pull the curtains apart. I don’t know how many more times we can do so without fraying them too much. Perhaps once. Perhaps two times. No more than that, I think. “You won’t believe how glad I am that we’re not practicing the spell. I’m so worried about you accidentally saying it aloud and wasting all of our father’s power! Remember that once you do start pronouncing it, you can’t say another word before you unleash it. And every word you say after that will drain more and more of your strength.”

  She has told me all that a dozen times before, but I smile at her as I reply, “I will remember that.”

  The black pane is cracked, and beyond it lies the gap between the planks. I broke the glass the first time we parted the curtains, to perform the sacred rites of the midsummer night. The crack has remained the same since, but the gap grows wider every day. Soon, no doubt, the soldiers will grow suspicious of the magpie that seems so intent on nesting behind the planks. I am not wary of the bird, but curious. While I am tempted to believe that the witch and the magpie might be connected—perhaps the bird is her companion like the two dogs are Merile’s—that perhaps the Moon has chastised her for asking such a heavy fee from me, I have no proof one way or another. I haven’t met the witch since we visited her cottage. She hasn’t shown herself to me, and how could she with the guards shadowing my every step?

  I can but rely on things I know are real. “I am ready.”

  “Me too,” Sibilia replies.

  Beyond the crack and the gap, the night is pale, just an imitation of the true darkness, but we know our father is still present. I nod at Sibilia, and she opens the book of scriptures. She hasn’t marked the page, but as she knows each section by heart, it doesn’t take her long to locate the right passage. She breathes rapidly as she prepares to read the holy words. She parts her lips, but no words come out. Instead, she pronounces a silent shape, powerful and arcane.

  A ray of light slants in through the gap between the planks, the cracked black glass, and the parted curtains. It pierces the dimness of the room, paints a perfect circle on the floor, before my bare feet. I am pristine and white once more, even if only for a moment.

  “Father,” I sing softly under my breath as Sibilia has instructed. “Make me stronger.”

  The Moon’s light grows denser, thicker. And then I feel my father’s embrace, his thousand hands on my shoulders, caressing my cheeks, my hair. This is more than I deserve, and there are those who would be more deserving of his love. But it is I who must put an end to the gagargi’s twisted rule. I who has to face him. I who must be able to persuade him to let me bring my sisters with me.

  For I will not leave them here, no matter what Elise may think the best course of action. As much as it is my duty to protect my people, I must also keep my sisters safe. And now that my father has blessed me with his presence, I know that I am right.

  I close my eyes. I let my father see into my mind, into my heart. He is gentle and caring. He knows I am earnest, that my reasoning isn’t affected by selfish ambitions or lust for power. I hold only the best interest of my people and my sisters close to my heart. He will make me stronger. He will . . .

  His presence feels different. Hurried and imperfect. Pale things, like sheets drying in wind, flicker before my eyes. They are like . . . Can they be? Yes, they are images, glimpsed from too far away, for too short a while.

  “Father . . .” A ragged breath escapes my composure. I am not married to the Moon. What he yearns to show me, I can’t yet fully see.

  My father withdraws, the images disappearing, but his touch doesn’t leave me vulnerable and lacking. Not like the one that hurt me so much.

  “Celestia.” Sibilia’s voice brings me back.

  I blink, but the images are gone. How long was I under my sister’s spell? For a minute or for an hour? I always lose track of time when connected to my father.

  “How do you feel?” Sibilia asks, curious of her own powers and our father’s, too.

  The circle at my feet has broken. The light trickling in is duller. The short night is over.

  That day I first read my sister’s diary, I resolved to never lie to her again. But speaking half-truths isn’t the same thing. I reply, “Stronger.”

  But as I once more sew the curtains together, I don’t know if I will ever be able to defy the gagargi. For it seems that even my father’s powers have a limit.

  * * *

  At first, I mista
ke the approaching, rumbling sounds for thunder. It has rained for weeks, after all. But then the clamor travels through the house, from the library to the hallway and up the two stairways. From that I know that the moment I have dreaded for so long has finally arrived.

  Elise stirs on the sofa where she dozes these days when she isn’t playing her feeble games with the guards. She doesn’t seem to realize that regardless of how fond the guards grow of us, in the end they will have no choice but to obey their orders.

  Sibilia lowers the book of scriptures on her lap. She squints past the smoke at the flickering flames. She tosses one more log in, though she knows it won’t make any difference.

  Merile and Alina pause playing with the hand mirror on the carpet. The two dogs bounce onto their feet, alert. The brown one lets out a low growl.

  I say in a voice in which I pray the Moon shall bear no trace of my terror, “Gagargi Prataslav is here.”

  Though I have had seven months and two weeks since we left the Summer Palace to prepare for this encounter, my statement frightens every single one of them. Elise, who so casually suggested I go with the gagargi and leave my sisters to face death or worse. Sibilia, who turned to the scriptures for comfort, who found something more, but still frets about missing her debut. Merile and Alina, who understand that the gagargi is evil, but blessedly nothing more.

  “He’s greeting the captains downstairs,” Alina says, and Merile nods, avoiding looking at the mirror’s reflection. From this I know that Irina and Olesia are present, a complication I would have hoped to avoid. Yet I can’t reveal that I know of this—in this house knowledge is power.

  “Gather around, my sisters,” I say. I can’t allow myself to be distracted by the past, mistakes made by my mother for which I may yet need to bear the blame. “We may not have much time.”

  My sisters do as I ask, even Elise, who no longer cares about traditions and rules. She has her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze downcast. Does she hope or dread that I will heed her advice? Sibilia meets my eyes boldly. The two of us share a secret. She thinks I have a chance against the gagargi. Merile and Alina know nothing at all. They are our little sisters. I believe every single one of us, even Elise, would do whatever is in our power to protect them.