The Timekeeper's Moon

by Joni Sensel

  “I’m not sure I want to meet any sender who can’t live on dry land,” Ariel said. The swamp had stretched on for days, and even clusters of trees stood shin-deep in water. “He’s probably a toad.”

  “I’d like to know such a toad,” Scarl replied. “He might talk. And it would not be the first time you’d led us to something that others considered a myth. Are you content that we’re still aligned with your mapstone?”

  Ariel reached into her pocket. While her fingers squeezed the cloth copy, she relaxed her eyes’ focus to better feel the intent of her feet. They kept splashing forward.

  “Yes,” she grumbled. “This is the right way. Stinky or not.”

  She tried to make the best of squishy socks by working them into new verses for her Farwalker’s song:

  Walk with the wind and sun;

  Moon whispers, calling.

  Hurry, it says to me,

  Hasten and come.

  Hurry through slimy mud,

  Moon finally silent.

  Walk where the mapstone leads.

  What lies ahead?

  What lies ahead of us?

  Who is the sender?

  Feet splashing, I’ll go learn

  Why I should come.

  “Clever tongue,” Scarl said. “Passing your First Day has not changed your talent for song.”

  Ariel soaked in his praise, and her fingers found her necklace. She tried to gauge whether she felt any older. Her body had begun changing lately, sometimes in startling ways, but without any increase in poise. She felt neither wiser nor more graceful, and she was still prone to behavior that others called foolish. Almost nobody but Scarl took her seriously.

  She glanced sideways at him. “Don’t laugh at this, okay? But how old were you when you finally felt grown-up?”

  Scarl considered, his gaze on his splashing feet. “You may not like my answer,” he said.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  He drew a heavy breath. “I was seventeen the first time I kissed Mirayna.”

  Ariel dipped her head to cover surprise. Scarl normally dodged any mention of the woman he’d once hoped to marry.

  “That made me feel grown-up, all right,” he continued. “But I don’t think I really grew up until she died in my arms.”

  Ariel winced. Losing people she loved hadn’t made her feel grown-up. Death always made Ariel feel smaller and younger than ever.

  “Perhaps not even then,” Scarl added. “My responsibility to you afterward played a role. I don’t know. Maybe people keep growing up all along. Or we never do, really, until we cross the bridge out of the world.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Ariel sighed. She hated to remind him of sorrow, and the unexpected results of her question seemed proof that she’d never grow out of her thoughtless tongue.

  “I did warn you,” he replied. “Take my first answer, if you like: seventeen.”

  She slogged through the water. Three more years sounded like an awfully long time. She watched Scarl out of the corner of her eye, trying to picture him at seventeen.

  Her curiosity twitched. “When’s your First Day, Scarl? You’ve never said.”

  He didn’t look up from his path. “Oh, nobody kept track of the days way back then.” He peeked up at her startled reaction and grinned. “November 11.”

  “Hmm. Fall child.” She recited a rhyme:

  Hard but warm the winter child,

  Spring born, brightest of them all.

  Summer baby, light and mild,

  Flecked with frost the child of fall.

  “That fits you,” she told Scarl.

  “Think so? Well, you may be light, but you’re hardly mild.”

  She couldn’t argue. “Zeke was a spring child, though. That one’s true.”

  “He is a sharp one,” Scarl agreed. “Anyway, you know the version that parents tell summer children they wish would be milder. There’s another way to say it.”

  “There is? What?”

  “Summer baby, wise but wild.”

  Ariel smirked.

  Scarl nodded. “I think the seasons guide us more than we—” His feet stopped and he cocked his head.

  “What?” As their eyes met, his idea jumped to her like a spark. “Winter, spring, summer, fall.” Ariel plucked the mapstone cloth from her pocket and spread it flat against Willow’s ribs, staring at the double circle marked with the four points of the wind. A strange assurance resonated inside her.

  “It’s not just directions.” Ariel poked the small Flame-Mage’s triangle at the bottom. “I thought this was for south, ’cause it’s hot there. But summer is fiery, too.”

  “The cycle of seasons.” He swept his finger around from the top to the smaller hoop strung on the larger ones like a bead. Following his motion, Ariel chanted the months in her head. A shiver ran under her skin.

  “August?” She’d been born July 21. August was only nine days away.

  “Or May,” he replied. “Depending on which way around the circle you go. It’s probably not an exact month, anyway. The marks are more likely solstice and equinox days, so it’ll be off by almost a fortnight.”

  Ariel frowned. “It’s now,” she insisted.

  “Why do you say so?”

  She drilled her fingertip into the solstice mark for summer. “Solstice, June 21.” She moved it. “July 21.” The smaller circle began there and spanned to her next touch: “August 21. Equinox in September.”

  He murmured appreciatively.

  “But why didn’t whoever painted it just use the symbol for August?” she added. “They didn’t have to make it so hard.”

  “Calendars can change,” he explained. “And the names of months, too, especially over long generations. But the sun moves the same in the sky now as ever. Didn’t your Storian teach you that?”

  With a flare of anger, she slapped at a mosquito drilling her skin. The map made her feel stupid enough without questions like that.

  Scarl renewed his study. “So it’s not just a map. It’s a calendar, too.”

  “A map of places and times. When to go.” She remembered the moon’s whispers about being late. Thoughts of the moon helped her spot something else.

  “I hope our bearing line doesn’t indicate time or distance as well,” Scarl said, “from one side of a year to the other. And beyond.”

  Ariel grimaced. “Even a Farwalker would dread a trip that long.”

  “It might only be the diameter of the year’s circle….” Scarl glanced up and squinted, calculating. “That would be a hundred… roughly a hundred fifteen days? Plus the stretches outside the circle? Or a hundred fifteen miles, perhaps. But we’ve already come farther than that. Curse the mapmaker for not giving us measures.”

  “We definitely haven’t gone too far,” Ariel told him. “I can always feel in my feet when we get where we’re going, until I start thinking about someplace else. But three or four months—we’d drown in the sea if we walked in one direction for that long! Wouldn’t we?”

  Scarl snorted. “Perhaps your sender’s a whale.” He tapped the long chain of dots swooping away to one side:

  “Or these could be days. I like that idea better. A fortnight? We’d be almost there.” He counted. “No. Only thirteen. Not months, then, either. Something else.”

  Ariel waved her free hand, fending off biting bugs. She had an idea about those thirteen dots, but she wasn’t sure how to broach it with Scarl.

  “We’d better move on before we’re both eaten,” he said. “More to think about, though.”

  Content to muse for a while, Ariel tucked the map away, and they led the horse forward again.

  An eel slithered out from between Ariel’s feet.

  “Eek!” Jumping sideways, she slipped to one knee. Water slopped over her thighs.

  “Don’t panic, it’s only a mudtail.” Scarl yanked her back to her feet. They watched the eel retreat, the swamp’s surface rippling in its wake.

  “Ugh.” Scowling, Ariel tried to scra
pe slime from her legs before giving up and splashing ahead. “If this gets much worse, I might have to try riding Willow.”

  Scarl halted. He pointed ahead to a large stand of cypress dripping with moss. “Perhaps you can just climb a tree.”

  It took Ariel a moment to see what he meant: the cypress trees held more than moss. Ladders reached into their shadowy branches. Square, unnatural shapes poked from behind gray-green veils, and dots of firelight winked through the gloom like trapped stars. As Ariel stood staring, sounds drifted out, too—splashing, a clunk, a shrill human voice. A village rose there before her, concealed by trees and plunked smack in the midst of giant stink cabbages and rot.

  CHAPTER 7

  Moonless Welcome

  A ruckus arose as voices called through the trees that strangers had arrived. As she and Scarl sloshed forward, Ariel realized the buildings weren’t squatting in the mud but clinging partway up the trees, lashed to trunks and resting on branches. She could have walked beneath all but a few. Most of the structures were little more than a floor, though, with boughs draped overhead against rain. Ariel could look up and see the tree dwellers gazing back in uneasy surprise.

  She wondered if there might be someone among them who knew what a telling dart was and had sent some. If so, nothing in their rustic appearance gave it away. Her feet wanted to linger, however, even though it was barely midday. Ariel took that to mean she was meant to arrive here. She smiled.

  Somber men splashed to meet them and usher them up a ladder onto an empty platform. Ariel guessed it must serve as the village’s commons, and, indeed, a curious crowd soon hovered around her and Scarl. She could hear the swishing of others arriving below. Willow, left hitched at the base of the ladder, drew as much attention as the human visitors did.

  The people, though they waded daily in mud, were more artful than some Ariel had met. They wore simple shifts of linen or hemp, but the men were clean shaven, the women twisted their hair in intricate patterns, and both draped themselves with delicate chains of snail shells or seedpods.

  A robust woman with a garland in her hair bustled up. She glanced at Ariel but extended both hands toward Scarl, palms up, the way women reach for babies. Her face cramped with worry.

  “I hardly know how to greet you,” she said. “It’s been long and long since a stranger appeared here.”

  Scarl barely hesitated. He and Ariel both were becoming adept at figuring out unfamiliar gestures of greeting. He placed both his hands in the woman’s.

  “Well met,” he said. “We come in goodwill.”

  She studied him, gripping his palms as if feeling through his skin whether to believe him. A smile broke onto her lined face.

  “Welcome,” she said. “I’m Lamala Judge.”

  Ariel realized why the woman had invited a clasping of fingers. Judges could spot lies at a glance, and the good ones could sense deeper trouble or truth through a touch.

  Lamala flapped a hand at the village. “This is Skunk, but perhaps you know that. Or can smell it. It’s not us! It’s the cabbage.”

  Ariel smothered a giggle.

  “We’re grateful for your welcome,” Scarl said. “I’m Scarl Finder.”

  “A Finder—that explains it,” said Lamala. “What made you want to find us?”

  “Not me.” Scarl tipped his head. “Ariel Farwalker.”

  The woman’s eyes widened as she released his hands to reach for Ariel’s.

  A tingle passed between them at the touch. Lamala’s smile shriveled and dismay darkened her eyes.

  Ariel’s heart flopped. As she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, the Judge shook herself—or was that a shiver? She recovered her smile, squeezed Ariel’s hands, and let go.

  “A Farwalker! I must say, that’s a fresh one on me.” Lamala turned back to Scarl. “Your daughter?”

  “You might say so.”

  His words, which were more truth than fact, warmed Ariel’s heart. So did Lamala’s knowing nod. Ariel decided she must have misunderstood the woman’s fleeting expression.

  “Farwalkers are no more,” said a man behind Lamala.

  Another voice suggested, “Prove it.”

  “She doesn’t have to prove it.” Scarl’s eyes flashed. He’d grown sore to this common reaction. “If you’re not interested in what a Farwalker can share with you, we’ll go elsewhere.”

  Ariel touched his arm. This was no ordinary farwalking trip, and she couldn’t just leave. But it seemed rude to start asking questions about senders or mapstones without first sharing the news of the Vault. Their reactions to her so far implied they knew no more about it than people anywhere else. Besides, she rather enjoyed proving herself. She reached into her pack.

  “No, no. Please don’t mind them.” Lamala cast a glare over her shoulder at the hecklers. “She got here, didn’t she?” Turning back, she added, “We just thought Farwalkers had passed from the world. Surely you understand?”

  “It’s all right.” Ariel pulled a fanged skull, as big as a shoe, from her pack. It drew a collective gasp as she brandished it over her head.

  “Have you heard of a place where these swim in the sea?” she asked the crowd. “They’re called wolf eels, and if you think this is ugly, you should see one alive. I can tell you about them, if you like. The seacoast where they live is just one of the places I’ve walked to.” Curious questions and at least one apology filtered to Ariel’s ears.

  “That walloped them,” said Lamala. “But before you start yarning, let’s tend first things first. Are you hungry? If not, we’re eager to hear what has brought you.”

  Scarl turned to Ariel. “The usual?” he murmured. “Or…?”

  She consulted the skull in her hands, not sure how to proceed. The eel’s toothy grin bolstered her confidence. She took charge.

  “I have important news to share with you, and gifts from afar,” she told the villagers. “Will you gather at sundown, when your day’s work is done, to hear me?” She was hoping for a few hours alone before then so her feet could lead her to whatever had drawn her here.

  “Forget sundown,” said Lamala, “unless you’re too tired. Curiosity will slay us by then. Our work can wait. If we feed you our best, will you sit down and talk to us now?”

  Ariel couldn’t deny her. The Judge announced a picnic on the spot, and the villagers retreated to gather snacks and more people. Resigned, Ariel watched the commons fill and soon caught the excitement of her usual farwalking duties. Adults who’d only heard rumors of faraway places asked whether monsters lurked beyond the swamp. Children dared one another to approach her, jostling until they tumbled off the platform with a splash. Lamala directed the bustle, bombarding her guests with food and positioning favored villagers around them.

  “Does Skunk have a Flame-Mage?” Scarl asked. “It’s not urgent, but if so, we’d like to meet him or her.”

  The reminder of her birthday gift shot a thrill through Ariel. Lamala scanned the crowd for the Flame-Mage.

  “He’s not feeling well today,” said a clear voice. “But I’d like to be met in his place, if I may.”

  “Ah, that’ll do,” said Lamala. She drew a slender young woman, not many years older than Ariel, through the crowd. “Meet Sienna, first apprentice to our master Flame-Mage.”

  Tall and striking, Sienna stood proudly above most of the other villagers. Her long hair, a glowing paprika that Ariel had seen only in sunsets, wound in complicated plaits at the base of her neck. Like everyone in Skunk, her feet and legs were bare to midthigh, but her velvety shift fit her snugly. Sienna eyed Ariel.

  “So you’re a Farwalker.” Her voice hinted of challenge.

  “So you’re a Flame-Mage,” Ariel replied. “I have a job for a Flame-Mage, if you think you can do it.”

  Sienna stared back, unflinching. Suddenly she smiled and took Ariel’s hand.

  “Oh, we can talk about that later.” She pulled Ariel down to sit where they stood. “There isn’t much fun in Skunk,” she added in a whispe
r. “You might be sorry you came. But I’m glad. Tell me what a Farwalker does, and where you come from.”

  Pleased by the quick thaw, Ariel chattered with Sienna while everyone ate. She was midway through a description of Tree-Singer Abbey when Sienna interrupted.

  “Your necklace.” Sienna reached toward Ariel’s throat and then faltered. “Gorgeous. Can I touch it?”

  Ariel nodded, unable to hide a proud blush.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “My Storian back home gave me this bead,” she said, pointing out the green one. “Scarl strung the rest for me.”

  Sienna’s deep gaze bounced to Scarl. “How sweet.”

  Ariel giggled. She would never have placed that word on Scarl herself. “It was a First Day present,” she explained. “I need a Flame-Mage to make something else to go with it. I’ve got the glass.”

  “Easy.” Sienna waved off the topic. She posed questions about Scarl until Ariel got her talking of fire. Sienna told of burned fingers, singed eyebrows, and sizzling hair.

  “That’s why I have to keep my hair tied up,” she said, stroking her plaits. “You could say it picked my trade for me—my Da still calls me Firetop—but it sure doesn’t help. If I wasn’t careful, it would be shorter than yours. Which is nice, by the way. Bouncy. Want me to braid the longest bits for you?”

  Ariel realized how many eyes were upon her. Their meal complete, the people of Skunk watched her, whispering and fidgeting.

  “Maybe later,” she told Sienna. She rose.

  In the instant hush, Ariel’s heart sped and an anxious lump formed in her throat. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that nobody could criticize her performance because they’d never had a Farwalker visit. Besides, forces greater than whim or fortune had sent her. She felt the map cloth through her pocket and glanced at Scarl, who nodded encouragingly.

  She repeated her name for late arrivals and began. “I’ll start with a gift.” Delivering was her favorite part of being a Farwalker; it always helped her get past the jitters. She reached for and dug in her pack, glad it still held the spoils of her last trip.

  “Does Skunk have a Healtouch?” she asked.