Shards of Moonlight

(rough draft)

Created: Tue, Apr 18, 2000, 9:12 PM

.....

4/18/2000

Two raggedly cloaked figures desperately scampered across the moonlit hills, like
mice scurrying for their burrows in the shadow of a bird of prey.  Their breath
rasped forth in the effort of their labor, billowing like short-lived clouds in
the fog of urgency that permeated the frosty midnight air.  Fear and necessity
had driven them this far, but the fatigue of their flight began to catch them in
its ever-extending claws; they began to stumble in the dark, their feet falling
like the unsteady footsteps of a newborn calf.

Jezbah's fear for her own safety ran untethered, driven by the malice of her
pursuers--and yet she paused to look back as motherly concern unexpectedly
descended upon her like a breaking wave, washing away any thoughts of herself.

Mishta had fallen behind.

His little legs had more heart than ability to carry him any further; that he'd
made it this far was more of a testament to his love for his mother than his
fear.  He was not driven to run as his mother was-- for he was naive to the
horrors of the world-- he was pulled by the heart-strings that hold a son to his
mother.

Jezbah smiled through her tears as she saw her son's awkward but determined
footsteps towards her.  She must be strong for him; a great oak standing
defiantly in the confusion of the thundering storm that had descended upon them
so quickly, surrounding them in its fury.

She extended a hand to him, whispering in a rushed tone "Come Mishta, I must
rest; the rocks will hide us."

She clutched him close to her breast as they huddled together against the rocky
cliff wall.  For some time, they said nothing, but rather found close comfort in
feeling their breath on each other's skin, their hearts pounding against each
other.  To someone looking on, they must have appeared nothing more than a pile
of discarded rags; but in each other's arms, they felt an importance that
transcended their situation, like a phoenix rising from mere ashes.

In an instant, the fleeting moment of comfort that had afforded him respite left;
the specter of reality had chased it away.  Tears began to stream from Mishta's
eyes, falling like drops of morning rain on his mother's tattered robe.

"Mother, what will become of us?  Our village has been burned, and father..."
Mishta whispered a halting, wayward voice between choking sobs.  He breathed
deeply, unsteadily in an attempt to settle himself.

Jezbah's own pain was compounded by the suffering she saw in her son.  She had
been hardened by the trials of living, but to see the innocence in her son
corrupted; to see him caught in the clutches of despair was more than she could
bear.  The more she lived, the more she felt she knew, but the less she felt--or
allowed herself to feel.

She would not allow him to become an empty husk of a person like she had become:
she spent so much of her energy hardening herself to the world that what little
remained of herself was forever trapped in the shell that was meant to protect
it.  Like a jewel that no one would ever see to marvel at its beauty, she at once
realized the futility of the path she'd chosen in life.

"Mishta, you must listen to me, I have a story to tell you." she whispered to him
in hushed tones, trying with all that was left in her to sound strong and
reassuring.

"Look up at the night sky, my Mishta -- what do you see?" she continued, stroking
his head lightly with her damp, cold hands.

"I see the moon and the stars, mother-- why?" he replied inquisitively; her ruse
of distracting him was beginning to bear fruit.

"It wasn't always that way, my Mishta-- here, come close to me, I have a story to
tell you about the moon and the stars."  She gathered him closer to her,
protecting him from the world in her arms, as he gazed off aimlessly into the
obsidian sky, drying his eyes on the wind.

She continued "Seeing is only half the journey to understanding, Mishta-- you
must also know what it is that you see.  Seeing without knowing what you see is
like eating when you are sick: you cannot taste what you are eating, you just go
through the motions of eating to survive.  A certain numbness of being.

"Years ago-- before our village was there, before even our people existed-- in
the time of the Ancients, the moon was not alone in the night sky.  No, my
Mishta, the moon had a companion; smaller by far, but resplendent in its beauty;
a pearl on the black velvet of the night sky.

"Glimmer, the people called it.  For years,  Glimmer and the moon shown down on
the earth, like twin beacons in the barren night sky; slivers of hope that the
sun would rise the next day, driving away the night.

"Because the moon was so large and powerful, the people worshipped it with great
devotion, and the moon grew to think very highly of itself indeed.  In fact, the
moon would sometimes swell so greatly with pride that it would appear larger in
the night sky than even before, dwarfing little Glimmer in its brilliance."

Mishta shifted himself in his mothers arms, looking up at the moon in spellbound
wonderment, and then shifting his gaze to his mother with a comforted countenance
that gave her heart and hope to carry on.  She smiled, touching his face lightly,
and continued.

"There was one girl, though, named Daphne, who loved Glimmer for its beauty, and
cared little for the moon and its magnificent glory.  And indeed, Glimmer was a
jewel that shone like a small diamond in the murky waters of the night, casting
off shafts of iridescent light as it pirouetted happily in the shadow of the
moon.

"Every night since Daphne was a little girl, she would wander off away from her
family into the fields at night, and lay looking up wistfully at Glimmer, singing
sweet songs of love that drifted over the night wind with a silky carressing
melody.  Daphne would repeat this solitary ritual of devotion even as she
blossomed into the flower of womanhood, and began to match Glimmer in her beauty.

"The favor of a childish girl went unnoticed by the moon, but as Daphne began to
blossom into womanhood, so did the moon's jealousy begin to take root and grow
into the twisted brambles of envy.  As Daphne would sing her lovely soliloquies,
Glimmer would beam down at her in delight, growing brighter in appreciation,
sparkling and radiant with love for Daphne.

"Meanwhile the moon would listen in, growing blood-red with jealousy; so much did
the moon begin to envy the love of one young girl for Glimmer that the moon grew
to hate his companion with the full rage and fury of that blinds us all in our
hubris.  With a mighty smite, the moon smashed Glimmer into a thousand shards of
its former self, scattering the shining pieces throughout the night sky as the
stars that you see today.

"Daphne wept from the well of her soul; her heart was shattered as Glimmer was;
her dreams scattered asunder along with her love; her song echoing like an empty
memory on the deaf night wind.  She fell asleep with the wetness of her pillow
pressed close to her cheek.

"Yet the very next night, Daphne strode forth into the night, and looked up in
the night sky to see thousands of sparkling pieces of Glimmer defiantly shining
down upon her with affection, looking even more glorious than before.  She glowed
inside, and sang to her Glimmer-- but this time, she sang even louder and more
beautifully, so that each shard of Glimmer, no matter how far away it had been
shattered, heard her song.

"So much was the moon shamed at what he'd wrought in his fit of passion that he
now goes into hiding much of the year, showing his full face only a few times
each year.

"It said, my Mishta, that on a silent night, when you are all alone, if you lift
your head towards the sky, and sing with a purity of your soul, you'll see the
tiny fragments of Glimmer twinkle at you in delight.  That is why we call
romantics 'star-singers', young Mishta."

Jezbah pulled Mishta closer to her, and said to him "So you see, my Mishta, we
may be broken, but we may never be torn apart.  Sing to the stars, my Mishta." 
At this, he closed his eyes and slept peacefully until the sun rose once more.

.....

If you have any questions, please feel free to email me at:

andrew@AmbrosiaSW.com


+--------------------------+-----------------------------------+
|       Andrew Welch       |       Ambrosia Software, Inc.     |
|      Thaumaturgist       |     http://www.AmbrosiaSW.com/    |
+--------------------------+-----------------------------------+