Under a Twin-Moon Sky Options

[Guest_Cailean_*]

“We’re close. To reef sails.” Viviana shouted out to the first mate. She lowered her spyglass and checked the sextant once again. The smaller, tighter reef sails did not have the drive of the full sails but greater control around reefs and shoals. Viviana wasn’t sure where it lay – they had navigated here from information gleaned from a thousand words of a thousand sailors.

This had to be the Way.

He was here, somewhere. His ship, the very ship that she now captained in his stead, had been found adrift, abandoned. No sign of what had transpired, what remained was a picture of normality, mundane but disturbing with the absence of the crew. To see the ship’s wood scarred and scorched from an attack on the high seas would somehow be comforting – at least there would have been an explanation, she could have mourned his death, said goodbye and be resigned to the fact that the sea had claimed him in death as it had in life.

He’d encouraged her to join him. Some sailors were superstitious about women on board, but his men were not some unruly seadogs but trained Merchant Navy. They wouldn’t have objected – in any case, their loyalty to their captain was absolute.

More than loyalty, there was love. That was what drove Viviana to deny the possibility that he was gone.

His men had gone with him. If she would have been onboard, she would have shared her husband’s fate – but would that have been so bad? Even dying together would not be as bad as this death-in-life of gnawing loss.

She had talked to the stolen sailors’ wives but they had cried, mourned and gone on with their lives. She couldn’t understand how those other wives could have seen that frozen tableau of shipboard life and done so – half-eaten meals of salt beef and ship’s tack, hands of cards arranged carefully face down on the table, the captain’s dropped quill pen making an untidy mark in the ship’s log. He’d gone in the middle of making an entry – nothing particularly unusual to remark that day.

Except that day wasn’t just like every other, another day of sailing that blue oblivion of the open sea. At that point, all life had fled from the vessel, scoured completely until a fishing boat stumbled unto the drifting caravel. It’s said that even rats desert a sinking ship, but the caravel was sound – all the rats were still gone.

Enough people had given up on their loved ones, accepted their loss and ignored the void growing in their souls. Viviana would not. Inside, she knew that the mysterious circumstances could not wash away the knowledge that her husband was still alive. She had her charts and the information to open the Way.

“Full stop, all anchors.” Viviana called out to the first mate and released the winch slowly to lower one of the small ship’s boats. She climbed down and started rowing to the exact location made from her patchwork chart. The crew watched her row out in silent concern. They’d gotten to know her during their years-long quest, grown to respect her not only as their captain but as a friend.

Juan would be so proud of her. She was truly used to shipboard life now. She couldn’t imagine going back to a landed existence. Fancifully, she wondered if God had somehow arranged this to help her appreciate her husband’s love of the sea, but she discarded that notion. God would have never inflicted such a torment upon her – He knew how even his absence at sea had pained her, let alone this disappearance.

Perhaps it was God’s hand that would bring Juan back to her. That she had unearthed the arcane knowledge of this place and the Way was truly miraculous.

Keeping one hand on the tiller, she fumbled inside her clothes for a small pipe. Placing her fingers over the appropriate holes, she blew a single note, almost lost over the fury of the waves, but loud enough for her to set her pitch. Viviana sang the alien, atonal melody to the empty sea around her.

The melody she had learned from an English sailor huddled up in some pirate’s den in the Caribbean.

First he had refused to even speak with her, even though she had offered more gold that he had probably seen in his entire life. “You don’t want Jack Severns. ‘E’s bad luck. Ask around. Hire someone else, no crew’ll ‘ave me. Bad luck, they say. Bad luck.”

Viviana told him that she didn’t want to hire him, but she just sought information and was prepared to pay.

“You wanta story? You wants to hear how Jack Severns is rottin’ here’n dis rat’s nest? You wanta hear about DIS?”

With that pronouncement he had torn the filthy bandages obscuring his right arm to reveal the seven-clawfingered hand of light green metal clockwork.

“Dat” he announced, “was da price of loyalty to me mate. Tried to drag ‘im back, but was too late for ‘im. Too late.”

Over many mugs of the cheap, watered warm beer the tavern served, he recounted his tale to Viviana.

He’d been a disreputable sailor. Jack and his friend Jeff had decided to grab the choice but easily transportable cargo from the ship’s hold and escape in the dead of night in a rowboat.

This ill thought-out plan “gang-agley” as Jack put it. The little rowboat was snatched by the current and was swept out into the deep sea. They hadn’t thought to pack provisions and were soon hungry, thirsty and desperate.

“Then I hears a song. I sez to Jeff, ‘I kin hear music playin’.’ Jeff hears it too and da damn fool starts singin’ along like ‘e’s in bleedin’ church or sumtin’. Then there was a rumblin’.” Jack shook the table for emphasis, letting little waves of beer slosh across the top, “and dis hole in da air; held up t’us like a lady’s mirror. In da hole is somewhere else – da sun shines down on us but there’s two moons in da other sky over silver sands. Da water shifts some and Jeff’s end of da boat slides in. Da boat slides back and Jeff’s gone and I thinks ‘e fell overboard so I row back and look fer ‘im. Now, inside da hole, there’s sumtin’ on da beach.”

The whole time, Jack had told his tale in a singsong, tired tone, a tale so often repeated that it came without thought, a resigned deadness in his eyes. When he attempted to describe the thing, Jack’s eyes burned and the bleary, bloodshot orbs looked around like those of a rat looking for a bolthole.

The scattered remnants of his experience Viviana slowly sewed together to relive Jack’s horror.

Five jet-jewel eyes sprouted from an angular pentagon of a face, slicked back antennae tasting the night breeze. Supported by a thickset frame of muscular chitin, the creature shifted uneasily on its four claw-footed legs.

“Da worst thing … da worst thing was, I knows it was Jeff. I knows it! ‘E’s da monster. Me mate, saved m’life more’n I c’n count. So I tried t’get ‘im back, din’t I? Reached through da hole and …”

Jack’s clockwork hand sprung into motion, the seven claws slicing together with a sound like a frenzied knife-fight.

“I felt nuttin’ change – was fine den m’arm was like dis. Was so stunned I lets go of da oars and got swept away. Da music stopped and da hole shut – and me mate Jeff was gone fer’ever.”

Jack started blubbering into his beer, his alien hand alternately slamming and scraping into the tabletop. Viviana left him to his grief and started to walk away. Before she escaped the seedy tavern his voice intercepted her.

“Remember, lady – there’s always a price t’be paid. Remember da price poor Jack Severn’s paid.”

She did not look back, she knew he was holding up his taloned limb in some strange grim triumph to match his tone.

Jack broke into song then, the same melody she sang now over the crashing waves to the hidden portal that led to a twin-moonlit sky over silver sands.

Viviana let her soul and spirit to be carried beyond time and space to Juan, to her lost love. Some of her tears mingled in the salt spray sent airborne by the thrashing waters, others were stolen by the gale-winds, destination unknown.

The music had to work. He had to come. All her hope and hard work was pinned to this moment – if this failed, she did not know what she would do. Could she continue living as a half-woman, crippled within her spirit and soul? Could she exist with half of her being gone?

Juan. As Viviana continued to sing the melody over and over, she repeated his name within her mind. Each time, she thought of some tiny fragment of him. A smile shared over breakfast. A kiss for no occasion. A spontaneous caress as they passed in the hall. A simple flower picked from their garden, presented with such inappropriate pomp and ceremony that she had to laugh. He made her heart smile.

The longing, the yearning he felt to come home and be with her, and her alone. The ache he’d share with her when he was far away, the joy they’d share when he wrote her he was coming home. Viviana could feel him holding her, those moments while she read, feel him pull her into a close embrace.

She died a little death each time he went away.

Viviana stopped singing – somehow there came an answering song, the strange melody refined to otherworldly, unspeakable perfection. Under the waves, there was vibration through the caulked timber of the boat; she knew it was no sea-quake. It was an arrhythmic grinding as if some great machine had begun to wake and work.

From this sorcerous science, a tear in her world came into being. Beyond, just as Jack had described, was a twin-moonlit nightscape over silver sands. The portal had opened onto an island and she could see the layers of sand suspended against the dark blue waters that cradled her. As rough as they were, they were still far more familiar than the alien world over there.

“Juan.” Through the waves and the barrier of different worlds, Viviana was desperate to know if he heard her call.

She could sense him close, could almost feel him holding her. She shut her eyes and she saw him there in her mind. When she opened them again Viviana was confronted with a monstrosity. She had hoped - for some magical reason – that Juan would be pristine, untouched by its corruptive influence.

The creature’s pale blue skin smashed her hopes, its tusks curling from its wide mouth. Rangy and lithe, it towered above as it loped towards her. Esoteric indigo sigils slowly slithered under its skin while it came to rest in front of the portal, hunching down to rest itself on long arms. The small black pits of darkness that were its eyes stared unblinkingly at her.

Within those unfathomable depths hid Juan, Viviana knew. As alien as his visage was, his essence, his soul touched hers across the distance of dimensions. She could feel their spirits meld and mesh as they always had, they hadn’t needed to speak to communicate when they were together, and it was just the same as it ever was, irrespective of form or flesh.

In that shared essence, they both knew love. She felt his fear that he would never see her again, that she would have considered him dead to her, leave him lost on silver sands under a twin-moon sky. He felt her loss, her desperation to find him, knew of her years of searching for the Way to find him.

Such a river of gratitude welled from him, unable to be reflected in his bestial features. It was mingled with the joy of her presence, only separated by the thickness of a shadow.

They both knew what was required; Juan retreated from the portal, shaking his huge azure head in negation. Even if it left him a tormented, twisted caricature of a man, he did not want her to pay the price. He would pay his own price of isolation, the frustrated helplessness of being so close yet so far away.

Viviana smiled and beckoned to the thing that was her husband. “My love, I pay no price. It is a gift, from my heart to yours. Take it, for without you I have nothing, with you, I have everything.” She lay her hand upon the surface of the portal, its substance rippling viscously at her touch.

As if they were separated by only a mirror, Juan’s splayed fingers slid along the surface, reflecting her action to overlap her hand.

A rumbling ripped through the seascape within both worlds. A high pitched whine erupting over the rumbling as if some machinery in pain. Viviana and Juan both knew that they were forcing the portal to do something it was not meant to do – it existed as the Way from their world to the other, not as a Way back. Grimly determined now, they both maintained contact through the violent cacophony.

Slowly Juan’s hand pushed through the barrier, his fanged face distorted with agony. Viviana weaved her fingers through his swarthy, calloused ones, his wrist distending at the edge of the portal. She pulled, leaning back away to add her weight to her effort. Gradually more and more of Juan traversed the barrier of worlds.

Eventually he was there, holding her as he always used to. Viviana thought, cradled within her husband’s strong embrace I have done it. My Juan has returned to me. Looking deep into his eyes, she could see the love they shared, mirrored in her own.

She smiled and died.

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The crew, watching the events play out, saw the man appear and the portal wink shut with a flash of light. In awe they watched Juan row the boat back to the ship.

The first mate approached Juan first and threw down the mooring lines. The rest of the crew kept their distance, fearful yet curious.

Saluting respectfully, the first mate greeted the returned man. “Captain Juan, the Armada welcomes you … back to service.” Juan saluted back and attempted the awkward climb up from the boat while still holding his wife.

With obvious concern, the first mate asked, “Sir, if I may ask what has happened to Cap-” the first mate spoke again quickly, “- Senora Viviana?”

Juan loosened his grip enough that the sailors could see how limp she was, her bosom at rest from breath. Her corpse still smiled, her joy still shining in her bloodless flesh.

A great sigh wandered amongst the crew, the ship’s boy sobbing his loss unashamedly. As Juan stepped out onto the deck with his charge, the first mate reminded him: “Sir, begging your pardon, but regulations state that unprepared corpses are not allowed on board.”

“She is coming aboard.” Juan declared in a tone that brooked no argument. Shrugging in response, the first mate let him past – he’d done his duty to the Armada, and Juan was now the captain – his word was law on the open sea.

All were witness to see the captain hold his wife’s body close; he stroked her dead face tenderly, kissed her lifeless lips.

He laid her in her bed, drawing the sheets to her neck as if she was just unwell rather than dead. A final kiss on the too-pale forehead as he left.

He returned to the deck and broke the silence. “Helmsman, set a course for Spain. Full sails. We’re going home.”

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Within the darkness of the captain’s quarters, Viviana’s body twitched and turned fitfully as she dreamt of her life anew with Juan, within the brief sleep of Death.

© Cailean Darkwater. Monster creation by Nathan McGee-Goodchild and Sarah Snyder.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Why HELLO Cailean!

It's so good to see you again! I'm looking forward to reading your story, will print it out and be back in a few days. I hope all is well with you and I look forward to learning what's new in your life.

So glad to see you!

~Cleo

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Well, you seem very pleased to see me, which is heartwarming. Mail me sometime, K? Thanks for having a read of Twin-Moon. I'll post after I've critted some and such. A bit busy with college at this moment in time but I should have some time Friday :)

Cailean.

[4rum]

Though entirely fitting and proper, for cacophony, I would have traded tempest or maybe even rebellion, as the portal rebelled against the regression of it's captive.

When Juan came on board, I would have used 'pass' in place of past. I'm probably wrong in this as my grammar is not so good.

Now having dispensed with that... my what a wonderful gift you have (or several I should say). Your character study is so very clear. Your characters stand out bold in the mind. You have a style which is 'easy' to read and that makes it pleasant to read. Your grasp of the period and use of the language is excellent.

All this with appearant attention you have put in on spelling, punctuation, sentence structure and careful editing leave me envious indeed.

My toast to Juan and Viviana... and to you sir!

[Guest_Cailean_*]

You are dead right on the "pass" rather than "past" - I have a recurring error in tenses. Half of my editing is sorting out my tenses so they're all in one tense rather than jumping between them! With cacophony, it's generally a reference to the sound from the protesting machinery. I like your other words too, they are appropriate but not sound specific. I must admit, I love the word cacophony as well, hehe.

With the historical veracity, I admit I did have some help there. I think I pinned down the voice of the period and some of the language (although with Jack's dialogue I had some help as well - the first draft he was completely non-understandable with his accent, haha) but the details a friend helped me with when she spotted some historical inaccuracies. Did it seem to you to be around the 1600s or so? That's where I was aiming it. My ex-girlfriend thought it was in space ... but she's odd like that :P (or envious!)

As to your envy - there's no reason why you can't get to my level, if you think there's something noteworthy in it. I generally don't like to compete with other writers and I can also admit that others will write better than me! For myself, it's a matter of being in touch with your feelings, most of all. The word work is purely a matter of intellect and an editor can help with that, not to mention a spell-checker. Once you have the essence right, the words are almost immaterial. The essence is what gives a story life. A well-crafted story without passion is at best an animated corpse. It shambles around, you can admire the craftmanship but you're not going to introduce it to your sister.

Therefore, if there's anything in my "ability" (and I believe that I have a level of talent with my work, but I don't expect anyone else to agree with me, but it's nice when they do!) it's the ability to feel and be free to express those feelings. I think that's something that anyone can do if they have a mind to.

Thanks for being the first crit on this piece, it's nice to get some constructive criticism. Now that it's my day off from college I shall see what pieces here I can remark upon ... like your own, perhaps, 4rum? PS. I love your sig line :)

Blessed be,

Cailean.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hey C.

I haven't forgotten this one (just otherwise preoccupied this past week and more). I WILL be back for comments (promise), the printout sits here on the desk, along with 3 other Stonehenge posts I look forward to reading.

How is college treating you and have you had any issues in your neck of the woods with the weather situation in Oz?

~Cleo

[4rum]

Dear Cailean;

I think the seafaring jargon might work well for that period (1600), but for me it goes a little further and seems pretty universal as used. Those speach patterns, mannerisms and vocalizations have a long history. You'll find many in use today on a working ship. (No personal knowledge, but I do see it (hear it) quite clearly in documentaries and/or interviews with seamen.

I still read much more than I write. Your presentation is very good. You'd have no trouble as a top notch novelist.

Sam

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Thanks, 4rum, on the opinion that I'd be a top notch novelist, unfortunately my attention span and ability to plan (hey, look, I made a rhyme!) probably stymies any attempt of me actually creating a novel. Although, lately my short stories have been running a little long but I've also had problems finishing the sodding things. (currently working on a vampire ghetto story which could turn out rather long, a story about a person who is just a brain and spinal cord in a jar and my latest, probably finished soon, about a feminist assassin in possibly a medieval setting).

I can't write at home so I often write on my 90 minute travel time to college each morning and back home. I need to break up some of the info-dump I've had to use in "Tulip" with some sort of action but I'm not exactly sure how to do it without making it unclear. Chances are I'll write the damned thing and sort it out later with editing :)

I'm glad that UAT-WS fits your idea of the period and nautical term in general. I have a passing knowledge of sailing but it's mostly picked up from pirate movies and role-playing games, which I guess is based in truth anyway :) gogo verisimilitude!

Thanks again!

And Cleo, better late than never, eh? :) It's all good.

Blessed be,

Cailean.

[Psyche]

Hi Cailean!
Here I am in Stonehenge, except that, after reading your highly fascinating story, I sort of got stuck in that portal, maybe! Truth is, I went off to do some work, meaning to come back & make some commentaries (quite positive ones, I assure you), but it's gotten to be nearly 11 p.m. in Argentina, so I'll have to come back asap. and take another read of your exceptionally original tale.
Back soon, and congrats!
Sylvia
PS: You're 12 hours ahead of Buenos Aires, right? How complicated, you'll be reading this post through another sort of time-portal between us.... weird, huh?

[Lady Poet]

Dear Cailean--

I am honored and thrilled to have the chance to read this amazing short story. It is one of the best I've read. Your colloquial vernacular is splendid and spot on and the cool twist of otherworldly dimensions with insectoid aliens (reminded me of a very good sci fi trilogy I read once)added to this sea faring journey made this a delightful read for me. Outstanding in every way and I have to disagree with respect to my pal Sam, I happen to perfer cacophony. I love that word...lol. I truly hope I don't let you down with having no crit to offer, but there was none that I saw. Wonderfully creative and had the essence of a book written before these modern times. Which I perfer. This has become an instant favorite!

Blessings and smiles, Pami

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Lady Poet: thank you for your warm, encouraging words :) I'm trying to get this piece into "flagship piece" category to use to send out to publishers. Therefore, even a thumbs up is wonderful, thanks :)

Psyche: We are +930 GMT, we're generally about a day ahead of PST in America, I'm not sure where that relates to Buenos Aires - my grasp of geography is kind of shaky :) thanks for having a read.

Please excuse my rather slow response - back been playing up and various annoying things happening. And here I thought my birthday would have been trouble free, I guess the day was at least :) Just the aftermath :P

Cailean

[Guest_Rosemerta_*]

Hello Cailean,

I've been too long away from writing to go into any sort of technicale details but will give my first impressions for now.

To the positive I enjoyed the dilect and was most impressed with some of the wording in many paragraphs. Once I got further into it I found your story intriguing. So much so that I think this is a great foundation for a novel.

In retrospect I see it more as such than as a short story for a more effective write. Perhaps I am too tired to concentrate fully but I did feel lost at times, especially in the beginning. You do jump from scenes and time frames a bit which perhaps added to my confusion. I have solved that problem in my own writing by placing a small bar (of sorts) between scenes and that has helped.

In this story I might suggest reorganizing some of the scenes. Though it is good to start out with one to grab the reader's attention you might have started with her aboard ship before going to the flashbacks. You can always liven it up more if you wish.

I did have a little trouble catching how he was transformed in the first place, but again that is probably just my concentration level at the moment. The only part that really bothered me was when she died. With all your beautiful use of words prior it was left a little bland and far too short for real impact (minus the emotion indicated throughout the rest of the piece).

I would love to see you develop it further as a novel and submit chapters for critique ranther than leave it as a short story. You obviously have a talent that you should develop further. Nicely done!

~~ Jackie