Red Moon Rising

by K. A. Holt

  Aunt Billie hands me the crystal and I hold it to the spot, but still it doesn’t seem to be working.

  “Take the drops, Rae,” Aunt Billie says, her eyebrows dipping in worry. Temple puts down her tablet and comes over to us. “Please. For me.”

  I do as Aunt Billie says, and feel a bit of relief but nothing like having the bibiloka around my neck. It is strange that one crystal would work, when another would not.

  Temple points to my neck. “The bibiloka came from the caves of Ebibi, not the cooling flats. Maybe that’s the difference.”

  “You have found the caves?” Aunt Billie’s eyes sparkle. “I have only heard tales of them. Of how there are cooling crystals the size of grown men. Of the healing powers of plants that grow right on the walls.” She is looking back and forth, from me to Temple, her eyes as wide as mine when I first learned of Old Settlement. “With those ingredients, Rae, we could create many new medicines. Think of it . . . you working by my side, learning the ways of generations of physicians. We’d work together keeping the township’s health in robust shape.”

  Her smile is bright and her words interest me more than I would like to admit, but it doesn’t feel right to discuss Ebibi’s caves with Aunt Billie. I can tell by the way she bites her cheek, Temple wishes she had said nothing.

  “I easily brought the men to the village before. I could organize a scouting party,” Ben-ton says from the corner where he always sits. “Take some men to the caves.”

  “Could you?” Aunt Billie’s face glows with pride until it crumbles at the sound I can’t help but make.

  The men he brought to the village? The men he . . . that traitorous, treacherous . . .

  I stand quickly, knocking my chair over. “You have never been to the caves of Ebibi, Ben-ton,” I spit. “You could find the caves no more easily than you could find your own pitar with two hands and a flameless flare. But I could send you there, if you wish.”

  My hand dangles at my thigh, where my knife is hidden in the folds of my dress. He stands quickly, smart to take my threat seriously.

  “It was easy, you know.” The words slide from his mouth, smooth, oily. “The homesteaders were bumbling about, having broken through stone. They dug nearly a whole tunnel on their own. Did you know that? Just to find you and Temple. Did anyone dig a tunnel to find me?” He casts a pointed look at Aunt Billie. “No.” Ben-ton takes a step closer to me, and my fingers tingle as they rest on my thigh. “I came upon them, dusty and squinting in the suns. And I offered them passage to the village in return for reuniting the entire Darling family.”

  Temple spits at him. I feint a lunge and he jumps back, always the coward.

  Aunt Billie clears her throat and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I take several deep breaths, right my chair, and sit down. This is not the place to send Ben-ton to Ebibi. I know that. Though my heart hammers.

  Ben-ton returns to his seat as well and languidly eats a biscuit. I shoot knives from my eyes as I imagine all the ways I would enjoy eviscerating him.

  The lesson begins. And apparently, rehabilitation means repetition, because we have learned all of this before.

  “What act brought the settlers to this moon?” Aunt Billie asks in a voice just as bored as I feel.

  “The Star Farmers Act,” I say. Temple does not speak during lessons, unless it’s to me, and always in Kihuut.

  “Why are the natives of this planet doomed to spend eternity adrift?” Aunt Billie intones.

  I tamp down the urge to argue, biting my bottom lip. Then I say, “Because they do not believe in the same gods we do.”

  “Close,” Aunt Billie says. “The correct answer is because they believe in the wrong gods.”

  It is ro-ri-ta trash straight from my pitar, what she says. I want to spit at these lessons. But I do not. I take notes on my slate, answer questions, keep my head low. I want so badly to argue that this is wrong, but instead I say nothing, waiting for the next in the endless string of questions. If I can get them all right, maybe rehabilitation will end faster and I can spend more time training the wild Kwihuutsuu.

  There are several more exhausting hours of rehabilitation in this day, but then the suns begin to sink in the sky and Temple and I are released. We run straight to the pen in the market so we can visit with the Kihuut. Well, so Temple can visit with the Kihuut. She tells them about our horrible studies and makes them laugh with profane jokes about humans. She also tells them of Ben-ton’s treachery and that I am working on a way to get them free and back home. She tells them that they should pretend to hate me so that the homesteaders do not get suspicious.

  Natka, for one, is all too happy to comply with this request, and enjoys shouting Kihuut profanities at me and lunging at me through the bars. Some days I wonder if he isn’t acting a little too well. He has caught hold of my sleeve and is in the process of growling and ripping it off me when I shout, “Peltan! ” as a warning. He can’t tear off my sleeve or my Cheese clothes will be revealed.

  Papa wheels out of his office toward us. “I don’t know why you continue to come here, Ramona,” he says. “They obviously do not care for you now.”

  “I am only trying to teach them of our gods, Papa,” I say, dipping my eyes to the ground. Temple begins coughing loudly. As she turns her back I can see that she is trying not to laugh. “I weep for anyone who cannot see the glories of the proper gods.” My words make me want to roll my eyes, but they seem to placate Papa. He even smiles.

  “Good work, Rae. Perhaps one day they will hear you.”

  “Perhaps,” I say.

  “Pare-haaps,” Natka mocks, giving my sleeve another yank.

  “Peltan! ” I yell at him again. He is going to expose me in more ways than one if he does not stop.

  “Pare-haaaps,” he taunts. “Pare-haaps. Pare-haaps.”

  Papa points his handbow at Natka. I put my hand on his bow to lower it, my heart suddenly leaping to my throat. “Don’t worry, Papa. These beasts do not speak our language, nor understand our ways. No matter how much I try to teach them. They only mimic.” I stare hard at Natka. “Like animals.”

  Papa pats my arm. He smiles again. Two smiles in one day! “Do not stay long with your beasts, Rae. It will be dinnertime, soon.” He wheels over to his one-man.

  For a moment I am filled with pride that Papa seems pleased with me. But then I realize why he is pleased with me and I am disgusted.

  “Don’t take it too far, Rae,” Temple whispers to me in Kihuut. “Even Papa will only believe so much.”

  “People believe what they want to believe,” I say. I wave to the Kihuut, who all spit at me and yell curses. Jo winks, then rubs her eye as if something has flown into it.

  “Come,” I say, holding my arm out for Temple. “We will be late for dinner.”

  We turn to walk away, and when we do, I hold my hand out behind me and stick it quickly through the bars of the pen. It is full of dried plini. Not much to share among everyone, but still something other than biscuits and water. I feel a quick pat on my shoulder and then Temple and I walk quickly to Heetle and head back to the homestead.

  There is food cooking when we arrive home. I sit at the table and say the prayer of forgiveness for my daily mistakes, and Papa watches me closely as he drinks his before-dinner chicory. Ben is at the table, too, also drinking chicory. He looks up at us, with no expression. I am tempted to take off my boots and pummel him with them.

  Papa asks, “You have been home how long now, Ramona? Temple? Ben?”

  Temple snarls at Papa, but I smile and say, “For me, nearly a week.”

  Papa nods. “It feels longer than that. In a good way. Your rehabilitation is going well. Billie speaks of starting up your physician studies again soon.”

  My eyes fly to Aunt Billie, who smiles at me. Ben sighs deeply. His expressionless face now looks lined and his mouth dips in a small
frown. He fidgets in his long sleeves and vest, sweat seeping through.

  Aunt Billie says, “I look forward to having enough help that I can take a day of rest every now and then.” She and Papa and I laugh quietly, while Temple broods and Ben slurps his drink.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Papa says, rubbing his palm over the scarred metal of the table and then looking up at me. “With the success of your rehabilitation . . . maybe it’s time to bring you back into the fold in other ways as well. Not just with your healing studies, but to publicly show the people you are still Ramona Darling, not some Cheese beast. Maybe you could help pray with the homesteaders, Rae? You seem to have dedicated yourself to the gods since you’ve been away.”

  I am stunned silent. Aunt Billie beams as she brings the stew to the table.

  “I think that is a lovely idea,” she says, sitting. “And maybe . . .” She gives Papa a hopeful look. “Maybe it would also be good for Benny to see the day-to-day action of the sheriff, as well?” We all look at Ben-ton, shifting uneasily in his seat. Sheriff Reverend one day? As likely as baby Kwihuutsuu flying from my ear.

  Papa pulls a silver star from his pocket and spins it on the table.

  I reach out and take the star. It’s heavy and sharp, with the words “Reverend Apprentice” stamped on it.

  “Papa, I . . .” But I have no words. Truly. Allowing a girl-child to not only learn physician work, but to lead prayers? I would never have foreseen this. I am not even sure that Papa’s gods allow this. He is . . . trusting me. Reaching out to me.

  Papa holds up a hand. “No need to get emotional, Rae. Just pin the star on your shirt in the morning, and we will get to work. You’ll be able to divide your time between prayer studies and healing studies.”

  “Where is my star?” Ben asks. Then, before anyone answers, he has lost focus on the conversation and is gazing out the window.

  I spin the star on the table, around and around, and watch as it mimics the thoughts spinning in my head.

  30

  “THE TIME IS NIGH,” Old Man Dan says. His face has been the color of the Red Crescent ever since he saw me walk in the office with my reverend apprentice badge.

  The wind beats on the walls of the office with impressive force.

  “Nigh, I tell you!” he repeats. “It has been too long since the trials. The storm will be here any moment and the people grow restless. If you do not sentence and execute, you will have homesteaders taking private revenge upon the Cheese. And as much as I would love to put down the beast who stole my Virginia’s ear, I do not believe in shooting penned animals. I believe in justice.”

  Papa rolls his eyes sky high. “You. Justice.” He moves his wheeled chair closer to Old Man Dan. “If you put those Cheese on that windblown, poorly constructed scaffolding, it will take one unified push and the whole contraption will come tumbling down. They will all escape. You know that.”

  “And if, when they escape, the townspeople are ready with light rifles to execute the fair and just sentences . . . is there anything wrong with that?”

  Papa curls his lip in disgust. “I remind you, yet again, Brother Livingston, I am the Sheriff Reverend of this township. I will mete out the law as I see fit.”

  Old Man Dan leans down into Papa’s face and says in a hard, quiet voice, “You have gone soft because of your new weaknesses, Zeke. You are not fit to be Sheriff Reverend of this township.”

  I do my very best to keep quiet.

  “This is a civilized community, Brother Livingston. Fair sentencing is imperative. Do you not recall they have prisoners of their own? That loved ones of our people are being held in the Cheese village?”

  “If you think any of those men are still alive, then you are more dumb than you look, Zeke.”

  “They will be properly sentenced,” Papa says. His stubborn tone sounds so much like Temple it makes my heart ache a little. “We have been over and over this, Brother Livingston. I will not budge my stance.”

  “Why not trade?” I say, my mouth dry. “Our prisoners for theirs? Surely the gods would find this fair and—”

  “Her wicked tongue tries to lead us to a trap,” Old Man Dan snarls.

  Papa holds up his hand. “Rae is rehabilitating at an impressive pace and I would ask that you keep your tongue civil.”

  Buoyed, I continue, “Why not give their people back unharmed so we can ensure we get ours? There need not be more bloodshed. How does this eye-for-an-eye mentality really work? In the end everyone is blind.”

  Surprisingly, Papa appears to consider this, but Old Man Dan shakes his head. “These heathens have killed our men already. I’m sure of it.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Besides, who are you to counsel us, girl? I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

  “Brother Livingston, please,” Papa says. “She lived with them for a great long while. She knows them better than we do. Besides, she brought back your daughter. You can’t forget that.”

  “Do you think the gods would really approve of a girl-child offering counsel to the leadership of this township, Zeke? I have never heard of such nonsense.” Old Man Dan’s face goes even redder, which I thought to be impossible.

  Papa looks at me and then to Old Man Dan. There is a great gust of wind that blows a line of dust into the office from under the door. Mara is outside howling her displeasure at this day.

  “If the scaffolding proves sturdy,” Papa says, looking out the window at the swirling dust, “we may proceed with sentencing. That has always been my opinion. As soon as you prove to me it can hold the prisoners, I will begin the sentencing.”

  “I can have that proof to you in one hour’s time.”

  “May the gods be with you, then, Brother Livingston.”

  Old Man Dan huffs his approval. He pulls his bandanna over his nose and mouth and bangs out the door into the blistering wind.

  “Surely we won’t kill them all ?” I say, finding my voice.

  Papa shakes his head. “What did you think we would do, Rae? We don’t have the facilities to hold them long-term and we certainly can’t let them go.” He shakes his head. “Their fates lie with their gods now, and we both know how that will turn out.” He looks to the ceiling for a moment, and then wheels himself to the doorway. “I will go check on the scaffolding as well. We can’t risk an escape, but Brother Livingston is right. If we don’t end this soon I will have a pen full of electrocuted natives, and a mutiny on my hands.”

  I nod and Papa wheels out the door leaving me alone.

  I have to get the Kihuut out tonight. The storm is imminent. And Old Man Dan will ensure that the scaffolding holds even if he has to bolster it with his own hands.

  How am I going to do this? I have yet to get either of the Kwihuutsuu to let me ride them and we cannot outpace a legion of one-mans and horses when we are only on foot.

  There is nothing else to do but hope for the best. If we are to die, at least it will be fighting.

  The day is torturous. Hot. Long. There are sparks of lightning on the horizon. It’s as if the moon itself feels the energy seething within the township.

  There is not time for me to get away to tell Temple what is going to happen tonight. There isn’t even time for me to get to the pen to tell the Kihuut.

  When finally, finally, the suns begin to dip in the sky and Papa stops droning on and on about religious law and says it is time to leave for supper, I am so beside myself I want to hug him tightly. Then I remember I am about to defy him in a way that will be unforgivable, and so I nod once and say, “Excellent. I will be there shortly. I—I want to look something up about neighborly compassion.”

  I keep my expression serious, my mouth a straight line, and Papa nods. He wheels out to his one-man and I hear it putter away.

  I try not to ransack the office as I search for the key to the pen. I know there must be one even though I have never see
n anyone open the door. I am rummaging through Papa’s desk drawer when Old Man Dan bursts in and then stops, seeing me.

  “What is this?” he says, his hand going to the light rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “What does it look like?” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. Think quick, Mayrikafsa. “I-I’m looking for Papa’s reading glass. He is getting old, you know.”

  “Isn’t that his reading glass right there?” Old Man Dan asks, pointing to the circle of glass that magnifies everything. It is sitting right on Papa’s desk. Right in front of me.

  “Of course,” I say, grabbing it and shoving it in my skirt pocket. “How silly of me.” I push past the grizzled hulk of a man and walk quickly to Heetle.

  I have no key.

  This will not do.

  The evening is interminable. I try to communicate with Temple via eyebrow wiggles and impatient taps on the table, but this only results in Aunt Billie taking my temperature and wondering if I am suffering from heat stroke.

  Ben-ton arrives briefly and announces he will be sleeping at the schoolhouse. No one says anything. I think that he, too, is having trouble adjusting to the hot confines of the cabin and needs the open space we have learned to enjoy from the Kihuut. Maybe he will not admit this, but it’s what I believe.

  It is finally bedtime and we say our family prayers. As soon as Papa’s snores begin, I make my way to the kitchen. As I force down a biscuit, fuel for the journey to come, I am seized with a moment of doubt. Would it be so bad to stay here? To be a healer? I am not sure I could truly be a reverend as I do not think I believe in these gods anymore, but . . . to be able to help Aunt Billie? To achieve a place of sanctioned prominence within the township, as a woman? It seems an impossible idea.

  My armless figurine gazes at me from the mantel, glowing a light blue from the haze of the cooling grate. I think of my dexterous hands creating new ways to save lives. I think of Aunt Billie’s praise. I take the statue and rub my thumb over the nose, the eyes, the lips. And then I notice the box. The box I’ve never been allowed to touch. I put the statue in my peltan, which is hidden under my nightdress, and carefully unclasp the lid. Coiled inside is one reddish-brown rope of hair. Could this hair have belonged to Kailia? I rub my thumb over it and think of the Kihuut I’ve come to love. Their strength, their brutality, their fierce devotion.