Moonlight

Just for fun, this is the first story I posted to SS. In a far off future, a young boy struggles to collect what is necessary for survival.

Moonlight

The moon shone above Selen brightly, a white ball of luminescence set against the starry backdrop of the stars. The youth looked up, scrutinizing the night sky, then nodded softly to himself. It was time.

He slung his rifle carelessly over one shoulder, made sure his leggings were tight against his body - a single slip could be fatal in this terrain - and then set off at a slow pace. No sense in tiring himself out now. It would be a long journey to his destination, and he had to husband his stamina against any and all hazards in his way. Sandworms, for one - in this season the ground was full of them. Even one could get into his suit and from there eat away at...no. It didn’t even bear thinking about. Just keep looking forwards and walking, like Old Man Lyssom told him. “The moment yer head is full is when yer gonna fall right to tha ground, my boy. Pay attention.” Wise words.

Dunes gave way to hills and those to valleys as Selen trudged on. He estimated it would be two, maybe three nights before he got to where he was going. The mountain stood before him, a craggy edifice that got closer and closer with each step he took. He remembered the last time he had been here, in summer. The winds had been higher then, and hotter, of course, almost searing his skin - but the path was the same. Just got to keep walking.

As day turned into night and night back into day, the canister in his belt seemed to press into him, reminding him of the urgency of his task. The village needed the moonlit water. On the eighteenth day of the solstice, the moon was full and high enough to bestow its blessing onto the water taken from the deepest well that they had. Only then could the ancient machines work, and the wheat be ground and fires set alight. The water had to be poured into the hole at the center of the village in the dark of night. Then the ritual would be complete.

Why was it this way? No one knew. When he asked the village elder the old man simply sighed and shook his head. It had been this way for as long as anyone could remember. He might as well have asked why the rain fell, or why the wind blew. They only knew that it must be done, and that it fell to him - as the youngest male member of the tribe - to do it.

That was enough for him. He thought back to his younger sister, her pigtails flying in the wind and cherubic smile, and his ailing mother, face wan and pale with pain. Old Man Lyssom and Anika the weaver. Nialis the blacksmith and Cregwyth who tended the hearth. He couldn’t let them all down.

And so he was out here once again, braving the elements. The wind and rain were not the least of his worries, though. There were other things this far out, dangers that even the texts in the village library had no knowledge of. You could not prepare for everything.

It was on the third night that he saw them.

They came swiftly and silently as the day began to end. It was only a routine check with his scanner that allowed him to spot them - dark shapes hovering at the corners of his vision. Without thinking his training kicked in, the long nights at the range under the tutelage of his instructors coming to him unbidden. He unslung his rifle from its holster and took careful aim.

Wolves, the books had called them. They were not native to this region, and he had certainly never seen them anywhere near the village. Their flanks gleamed silver as they loped over the dunes to him, eyes flaring a baleful red. He counted one...no, two, three - too many. All he needed to know was that they were a threat.

He got the first in its throat as it leapt for him, his pulse rifle spitting an incandescent beam of cyan energy. Then he tore a hole through another as it attempted to flank him. Another lance of light flared once, twice, piercing hide and steel alike. Five down...many more to go.

He had weathered the first wave, but the second was on him almost immediately. Despite his valiant efforts, the wolves eventually got through his defenses. He took shot after shot, burning each lupine assailant as best as he could until - wait. Senses honed in the long hours by the river came to him in a rush, and he turned sharply on his heel, just in time to avoid the slavering jaws of another wolf. Raising the butt of his rifle, he slammed it down onto its head and it collapsed in an insensate heap at his feet.

Almost...almost! He had two, maybe three shots left in his chamber. He had to make them count. His side was bleeding from where one of the wolves had torn through his side, but it was just a flesh wound - nothing that would prevent him from making the rest of the journey. He hoped. But he had more pressing concerns. Four wolves and not enough ammunition for all of them.

He would have to have to bait them. Selen crouched down, feigning weakness. He recalled that the books said that the wolves would be more aggressive with wounded prey, and he prayed they were right. Two of them took the bait almost immediately, leaping towards him in tandem. He did a quick roll to the side and got them both with a single well-placed shot. Selen allowed himself a small grin. Maybe he’d get out of this alive after all.

But he hadn’t reckoned on the other two. Before he could react one of them went for his head, and it took all his reflexes to bring up the rifle in time to hole it through its forehead. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could before the last wolf could attack.

It was just the two of them now. They circled each other warily, blue eyes against red. Selen had only one shot left and he knew it. His fingers flexed near the trigger, itching to take the shot but unsure of when he should. Now? Or wait? Or maybe...no, too much thinking. Focus on the moment. The last wolf took the decision out of his hands with a sudden leap for his head. Before he knew it he was on the ground, razor sharp teeth inches from his neck. In a blind panic he pressed the trigger and had the satisfaction of seeing his attacker stiffen and roll off his body slowly. Blind luck had placed the rifle at just the right angle for the shot to pass through the wolf’s spine and out its head.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and dropped the rifle by his side, the barrel still hissing with superheated steam. It was over. He had done it. But it would be some time before the shivers running through his body would stop. The memory of the wolf’s fangs near his neck still made him light-headed and the youth thought it best to stop for the night. This far out in the desert, the winds made making camp far harder than he thought, and it was nearly midnight before his head hit the makeshift pillow he had created what meagre supplies he brought.

As he slept, he dreamt.

It was the moon again, shining brilliantly in the night sky. But this time it was different. Tinged faintly with green, it shone with an eldritch light that burned his eyes even as he looked at it. But he wasn’t even there. Instead all he could see were people, sick and frail and infirm, an endless mass of humanity that spread as far as you could see. And even as the moon shone they twisted and writhed in its baleful light, shrinking in upon themselves and turning silver and grey. They had become something else, similar to the machines that lay scattered around his village.

And them some of them changed even further, turning into the wolves that had attacked him earlier. Others still became pulled into other forms, becoming twisted aberrations that he had only seen in some of the books in the village. Still others grew long and gaunt, becoming statues standing tall and silent. And above all that the moon cast its lambent light everything below.

He woke with the memory of lunar phosphorescence still fresh in his mind. He checked his hands and feet...the dream had been so vivid that he half-expected them to have turned to the same metal he had dreamt of moments before. But no...he was still flesh and blood, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

What did it all mean? He wished he had Old Man Lyssom nearby, or the elder. They would know what to do. But no, he was just left with the sighing of the wind and the early morning sun for company. Shaking his head to clear away the last cobwebs from his mind, the youth rolled up his bedclothes, holstered his rifle and set out on his way once more.

One day left. With each step the mountain hove more clearly into view. Checking his supplies, Selen was relieved to find that they were sufficient to last on the way back. Almost there now. It was now simply a matter of putting one foot in front of the other.

Before long he found himself in front of the mountain. He had been here before - many times, in fact - but each time the wind and sand and rain had changed its appearance, and it looked new in his eyes. The climb was long and arduous, and Selen found himself out of breath even before he had gone up halfway. A quick stop and a drink from his canister though, and he was ready once more.

As he made his way up, he looked out over the desert that he had walked through to get here. It never failed to amaze him how small everything looked from where he stood...the village just a tiny dot in the distance, and the dunes like little piles of sand. He took a moment to incline his ears to the wind. Each time he reached the summit he thought it was speaking to him, and he craned his ears to make out words that seemed to twist and slip away even as he heard them.

“The moon...long ago...once...humans were...” and then it was gone. And he was left as always to wonder if it was simply a figment of his imagination.

The last flight of stairs was always the longest, and Selen had to pause multiple times as he made his way up. How long ago had these been made, he asked himself. Stairs in a mountain meant that humans had been here...but since when? Before the moon? Before the wolves came? A hundred - no, maybe even a thousand years ago. He would have to ask the elder and Old Man Lyssom again when he got back, but he doubted they would know the answers. For now he simply had to put one foot in front of the other until he got to where he was going.

Finally he stood atop the mountain summit. Here the winds were so cold that he had to huddle into his jacket to preserve what warmth was left to after the frigid air had taken its share. The moon looked even fuller from where he stood, and he took a moment to admire it in all its majesty. So white and so cold, like a pearl in the black ocean of the night sky.

But he had a task to complete. Selen cast his eyes across the peak and there it was - a recession in the hard stone of the mountain where water had gathered. That was his goal. He walked over slowly, unslinging the second canister from where it rested on his hip.

The water gleamed in the moonlight, almost blinding him. As he knelt down to fill the canister, he thought he had never seen something quite so beautiful in his life. The play of lunar luminescence on the shifting flow of the clear water held him almost spellbound for a while - as it always did. With long slow motions he filled it to the brim with the moonlit fluid, taking the utmost care not to spill even a single drop.

There. Done. Selen screwed the cap of the flask on tight and placed it back into the holster at his hip. Another year that the crops would have water, the machines would run and the village would be safe. He turned to make his way down the mountain, but not before taking one last long look at the moon.

There was something about it that was different from where he was now. This high up and this close to that brilliant white orb, he couldn’t help but feel that he could almost reach out and touch it. The youth raised a hand to the open sky, seeing the pale white rays shine through his outstretched fingers. Its wan light was mysterious, lonely and beautiful all at the same time.

The wind sighed again, and Selen remembered his dream. The words that whispered ever so briefly to him and then faded away mingled with the remnants of his dream-fraught sleep, and the youth struggled to put them all together. He could not help but feel that it was all connected...the wolves, the moonlit water, the mountain he stood on and even the legends of his village. A story lost to time, its fragments split between gust and reverie. A faraway memory whose truth even Old Man Lyssom and the village elder would be hard-pressed to know the meaning of.

Selen stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Eyes caught by the moon, ears ensnared by the wind, and mind captured by reminiscence. And then as quickly as the moment came upon him, it was gone, and he was left shaking his head at its passing.

Time to go home. The village needed him. He cast one last glance at the pale orb ahead and then turned to walk back down the mountain.