Moon Chosen--Tales of a New World

by P. C. Cast

  “Hey, watch it,” Nik heard himself protesting. “She’s littler than those others. I don’t think she’s very old.”

  “Damn, Nik, you’re turning into a champion for lost causes!” Thaddeus’s laughter was sarcastic and infectious, and the group, except for O’Bryan, joined him.

  Nik would have turned away. He would have started immediately back for the bridge, but Jenna’s face was tilted up toward him. It caught the light of the torches and it seemed to glow like a full Hunter’s moon. Her eyes met his and he couldn’t look away. Without saying anything, Nik stepped into the boat, taking the seat across from Jenna and lifting an oar.

  “All righty then—let’s deliver these Scratchers and go home. Row!” Thaddeus commanded.

  The Channel was wide, and had dangerous hidden currents that swirled beneath its surface. Nik thought it would be tough to row the ferry, but it felt like it only took a few minutes and they’d docked alongside the closest of the twelve floating houses. Through the bars that covered the windows, dirty hands reached out and Nik could hear an unrelieved cacophony of madness and melancholy. It was difficult to make out individual words, as most of what they were saying was gibberish, but one word lifted over and over again from the chaos of voices: “Help … help … help … help…”

  Nik shuddered. He knew she was looking at him, and for a moment Nik wished he was a coward, or as hard-hearted as Thaddeus. He wouldn’t have made himself meet her eyes and smile encouragement. Not caring what the others would think, Nik told Jenna, “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe in there.”

  Jenna said nothing, but Nik blocked Thaddeus’s way so that he could gently lift her to the deck of the house himself.

  She stood there as if she’d been frozen. Then, slowly, she turned to stare at the closest house. Nik didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone look so frightened. Her pale, terrified face made his stomach feel hollow. By now Thaddeus and the Hunters were lifting the other captives from the boat, and their appearance had the Scratchers inside the houses pressing their faces against the barred windows, their cries for help more easily understood from so close. Jenna began walking toward one of the windows, as if she really did want to help the females within.

  Nik glanced quickly at Thaddeus, who was, thankfully, busy with lifting the largest of the captives onto the deck. Then Nik vaulted out of the boat and went to the girl, taking her arm again, and leading her away from the window.

  It was while he was near the window that he heard it, as clearly as he’d heard Jenna speaking to him earlier.

  “She has been Washed!” Then another voice added, “Moon Woman!” And yet another, “Where is our Moon Woman?”

  Jenna reacted faster than Nik. Her head whipped around, so that she faced the window again. “Forbidden!” The girl practically spat the word at the females. The staring Scratchers went utterly still. Then Jenna turned and marched ahead of Nik back to dockside.

  “Hey, Jenna, what’s a Moon Woman?” Nik asked softly.

  But Jenna didn’t pause to answer him. Instead she took her place among the other four women. Nik watched and kept watching as Thaddeus led the five of them down to the wooden walkway that ran the length of the group of houses, unbarred the door of one of them, and shoved Jenna inside. The last glimpse Nik had of the girl was as she craned her head around so that she was staring at him when Thaddeus slammed and barred the door in her pale, stricken face.

  * * *

  Nik couldn’t get the image of Jenna’s face out of his mind. It stayed with him as he jogged with the Hunters back to the Tribe and the sanctuary of their homes in the sentinel pines.

  It stayed with him after he had said a weary good-bye to O’Bryan and collapsed upon the sumptuous pallet in his cozy bachelor’s nest. It haunted him as he closed his eyes, hoping that escaping sleep would claim him. But instead of sleeping, Nik sat abruptly upright; finally realizing what it was about Jenna’s face that he couldn’t forget.

  The rain had washed away the dirt and blood from her cheeks to reveal the mystery beneath. Jenna’s skin had been pale—almost as pale as moonlight. It hadn’t been the gray color every Scratcher’s skin turned from sunset to sunrise.

  “What the hell is going on?” Nik spoke aloud to himself as he raked his fingers through his tousled hair. Had he been imagining things?

  Nik’s mind searched back through the events of the night, this time paying attention to everything and not just to the small, but real signs of his pup.

  He hadn’t put any real effort into chasing Scratchers. He truly had used the need for a few more captives as an excuse to join the Hunters out in the forest—and to encourage them to seek farther to the south than they usually hunted. He hadn’t really cared whether they captured the female who had struck Miguel—he’d used that as an excuse as well. Not that Nik was ashamed of what he’d done. He’d do it all again and again. He’d do whatever it took to keep searching for the pup. Even if it meant killing more Scratcher males and capturing more females.

  Nik stared down at his hands, suddenly not liking the feeling in his gut. “He was her parent—her father,” he said softly. “Jenna’s father.” He cringed as his memory replayed the small girl throwing herself on the big man’s bleeding body. She’d keened and cried as if her heart had broken. And her father had been protecting her. Nik realized that now. He remembered the Scratcher male standing in the middle of the path, covered by spiders, but not moving. Not attacking. Not until they’d grabbed Jenna. Then he’d charged them.

  And as he sifted through his memory another vision had him sitting upright and shaking his head in disbelief—the big male had been bloody and pale, but like his daughter his skin had not been Scratcher gray.

  13

  Nik got almost no sleep that night, which was fine with him as it allowed him to be awake well before sunrise. He did spend a good amount of time on making himself presentable. Sol was his father, but he was also Sun Priest, Leader of the Tribe of the Trees, and to present himself disheveled and sleepy-eyed would not impress Sol or put him in the right mood to hear what Nik needed to say to him.

  Freshly washed and groomed, Nik made his way along the suspended bridges and graceful wooden walkways to the heart of the Tribe and the large, beautiful nest that housed their Leader, the Sun Priest. Everything the Tribe created was made with an emphasis on form as well as function—artists were as revered by the people as were Hunters and Leaders, perhaps more, and that reverence had produced generation after generation of talented artisans—who had, in turn, created a city in the trees filled with beauty and grace.

  In the dove-colored predawn Nik paused just outside the closed door of his father’s nest, collecting himself and appreciating the glorious carvings of guardian Shepherds and beaming suns that decorated the arched entryway. Almost of its own accord, Nik’s hand lifted so that he could stroke one of the carvings. His smile was poignant as he remembered his mother’s golden head bowed over this very piece of wood that she had, two decades ago, so lovingly crafted for their home. Though she had been gone for many years, Nik often missed her and wondered how his life might have been different had she not died that terrible day ten winters ago.

  “Oh, Nik! You startled me. Good morning.”

  Hand still raised Nik stood there blinking in surprise, hardly knowing what to say or do, as Maeve and her pup, Fortina, filled the doorway in front of him. The older woman’s hair was long and loose, spreading down her slim back, and she was wearing only a thin sleep shift. As he stared at her, Maeve’s cheeks flushed a bright pink.

  Fortina’s young voice warbled, as if to ask Nik a question, and that had him unfreezing. “Oh, sorry, Fortina. You must need to go out.” Nik stepped aside so that Maeve and Fortina could move past him.

  “Thank you, Nik,” Maeve said, then she hesitated and added, “Did you find sign of the pup during last night’s hunt?”

  “I did,” Nik said.

  “Oh, I am so pleased for you! I don’t care what anyone says. I think
he’s still alive, too. Keep looking, Nik.” Then Maeve patted his shoulder gently and followed her impatient canine.

  Nik watched her go, his feelings warring between embarrassment at catching his father’s lover leaving his nest, and pleasure that she actually agreed with him and believed the pup was still alive.

  “Are you going to stand there forever, or are you going to come in?” Sol’s voice boomed from inside the nest. Nik drew a deep breath, and stepped into his father’s home, and the home of his childhood.

  The Sun Priest’s nest was larger than any other single-family home. Like the other nests, it had been beautifully woven, form following function, into a great, round structure. But unlike a normal family nest, Sol’s had three levels to it. The entry room was outfitted with a gleaming pinewood table and benches that hugged the curve of the room and allowed an area for more intimate meetings with Tribal members than would take place in the public Forum. Curving stairs led up to the second-level landing, off of which had been Nik’s sleeping room until he had passed sixteen winters and graduated to his bachelor pod. It was now his father’s library, and held the largest private book collection in the Tribe. From the second-floor landing another stairway slanted up, wide and sturdy enough for a massive canine to traverse, and it was from the top of those stairs that Laru sounded three welcome barks and then hurried down, wriggling like a pup, to greet Nik.

  “How are you doing, big guy? You’re looking pretty spry for it being so early,” Nik said, stroking the Shepherd lovingly and enjoying the feel of his thick, soft coat.

  “Don’t let him fool you. He’s tired. Maeve’s pup kept him up most of the night. If you come back by after midday you’ll find him curled in a sunny spot sound asleep.” Sol chuckled as he emerged from his third-floor bedchamber pulling on his shirt.

  Nik slanted a knowing look at his father. “You’re looking a little tired, too. Did Maeve’s pup keep you up as well, and will you be napping with Laru later?”

  “That is none of your business, Nikolas.” His father’s widening grin took the sting from his words and Nik returned the smile.

  “Hey, you know I don’t want you to be alone,” Nik said, still petting Laru. “And Maeve is nice.”

  “She is, indeed. Tea?” Sol asked as he moved to the small brazier that had been carefully situated near the corner of the nest. Lined in shale the coals and tinder were in a miniature upraised brazier, over which hung one of the Tribe’s most cherished artifacts, an iron pot.

  Nik nodded. “Absolutely. I’ve missed your tea.”

  “You should visit my nest more often.” Sol smiled over his shoulder at Nik before going to one of the small openings woven in the upper side of the nest. Though the sun had not yet risen, the sky was already blushing with dawn, and as Sol stared at the sky, his father’s green eyes began to glow amber. He lifted his hands, and with a deft, practiced movement, flicked his fingers at the tinder, and small sparks, like tiny fireflies, leapt and crackled, lighting the coals and merrily burning the tinder pile.

  Nik liked living on his own, but his bachelor’s nest was definitely lacking the luxury that filled his father’s home, especially as only a Sun Priest had the ability to harness the might of the sun as a fire starter. Lulled into relaxation by his father’s familiar morning routine, Nik settled on a bench seat and Laru stretched out beside him, resting his head on Nik’s lap.

  His father poured two wooden mugsful of strong, steaming tea, handed one to Nik, and then sat across from his son. “It must be important. You even beat Thaddeus here.”

  “We found sign of the pup,” Nik said without preamble.

  Sol sat up straighter. “Truly? What sign did you find?”

  “Paw prints under a holly hedge near a place where a bunch of Scratchers had gathered.”

  “Scat? Did you find scat as well?”

  “No.”

  “So there is no way to judge how old the prints are.”

  “Father, if you give permission for me to return today with Terriers I will prove to you and everyone else that the tracks are fresh and my pup is alive.”

  “Nik, I want the pup to be alive as much as you do, but logic must dictate our actions, and it is not logical to believe that a half-grown canine has survived for nine nights unprotected in the forest.”

  “He’s been in the forest ten nights now.” Nik pointed at Laru. “This is his sire. Why is it so hard to believe that with such strong blood flowing in his veins the pup is still alive?”

  Sol’s expression saddened. “Not all sons are as strong as their fathers.”

  Nik gritted his teeth against the old pull of his father’s disappointment. He was supposed to be Sun Priest after Sol, but that would never happen if he wasn’t Companion to a Shepherd.

  “Don’t you see, Father? That’s it exactly. I can’t be what you want me to be unless I find this pup—my pup.”

  “Nikolas, I did not mean to disparage you. I was talking of pups and sires, not of you and me.”

  Nik met his father’s moss-colored eyes and saw the lie there, but chose not to challenge him on it. Instead he deftly changed the subject and his tactics.

  “We captured five Scratchers last night and killed several males.”

  Sol gave a resigned nod. “It is planting season and the Scratchers need to be replenished, especially in light of how rapidly the Tribe has been growing.”

  “Father, have you even known a Scratcher not to go gray at night?”

  Sol shook his head, giving his son a confused look. “No, of course not. What are you talking about?”

  Nik recounted the events that happened, beginning with the first sight of Jenna’s father on the trail, and ending with his realization about the girl’s pale skin and her father’s.

  Sol sipped his tea contemplatively before speaking. “I must admit that the Scratchers have long been on my mind. Their lives are so sad, so pitiable. I have often argued with myself about whether keeping them as we do is inhumane. Perhaps something you discovered last night could help them—could make their lives better.”

  “But everyone knows they’re like big, walking babies. They can’t take care of themselves. All they can do is make plants grow and live in mostly silent misery. We keep them safe, even from themselves, though their lives are so short. All we ask in return is that they tend our crops, which is already like second nature to them.”

  “We enslave them, Nik. And we do not ask that they tend our crops. They are our captives. They must do as we command,” Sol said.

  “But they don’t seem to care,” Nik said.

  “True, but they don’t seem to care about much of anything after we capture them.” Sol shook his head slowly. “It’s baffling. They must care for themselves in the wild, otherwise Scratchers would quickly become extinct, but on Farm Island they act like they’re unable to protect themselves or do anything except eat, sleep, and tend crops.”

  “You really think they’re that different in the wild?”

  “I do, son. Actually, I believe they’re drastically different.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it is the truth. How many Hunts have you been on?”

  Nik shrugged. “Counting last night, I think almost a dozen.”

  “I have been on fifty-seven Hunts. In that time I have seen many Scratchers, male and female, young and old. Very old. Women more often than men, but I have seen stooped, gray-haired grandmothers. The Hunters do not capture them, as they are less likely to have the strength to tend our crops, but I have seen them,” Sol repeated.

  Nik thought about the faces he had seen last night pressing against the bars that covered the windows of their floating houses—their floating cages—and tried to remember if he had noticed any grandmother-aged women at all.

  “They don’t live long enough to grow old on Farm Island,” Sol said. “They die of sadness instead.”

  “Father, we don’t know exactly why they die. It’s like they decide to quit living—and th
en that’s it.”

  “Tell me, Nik, what did you feel last night while you were there, hearing the females call for help?”

  Taken aback by the question, Nik hesitated, considering. “Well, I was tired and worried about the pup because—”

  “I don’t mean what did you feel about yourself,” his father interrupted. “I mean what did you feel from the Scratchers, especially this young one you say spoke rationally to you.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I felt Jenna’s sadness, but I understood it.” He met his father’s gaze. “She’d just watched one of her parents die.”

  Sol closed his eyes and bowed his head. Nik could see his father’s pain, and he shared it. Laru moved from Nik’s side to his father, resting his head against his Companion’s knee.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of Mother’s death,” Nik said softly.

  Sol opened his eyes. “Son, your mother is never far from my thoughts, but it is not only in memory of her that I bow my head. I believe what happened last night was a sign.”

  “Really? A true sign?” Nik sat forward, waiting eagerly for his father to continue. Signs held great import for the Tribe. Where once their ancestors ignored omens and portents—so much so that they became completely detached from nature and the living earth—today’s Tribe believed that the earth was ensouled, that animals, trees, and rocks and the earth herself were filled with unique energy and spirit, and that if the Tribe listened nature spoke to them of wonders and warnings.

  “Really,” Sol said. “The Scratchers have been often on my mind. I believe what you observed last night, whether an anomaly or not, is a sign that there is more to them than is convenient for the Tribe to admit. Thusly, I will make a deal with you, Nikolas. I will grant you permission to use one Hunter and his Terrier to keep searching for your pup for as long as you feel the need to search, but you must do two things for me in return.”

  “Anything, Father!”