Moonthread, chapter 3

Walking with Gran

CHAPTER THREE
WALKING with GRAN

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“There it is,” said Gran Akha. “Orcshire Market.”

“Busy,” Nala grunted. She was grumpy now.

The whole valley was laid out before them, clear as a map. The moon was yellow as a candle, yellow as Nala’s own eye.

She wondered what color the boy’s eyes she’d scried were.

“Beautiful moon!” Gran said, grinning.

The trees trees that framed the view were stark silhouettes, cut out of the sparse night’s horizon. Behind them, the trees faced the moon, and basked in its gentle light.

“A telling moon if I’ve ever seen one!” Gran exclaimed.

Nala nodded, only half listening. Her nightmare hung on her like a cowl, or a sticky cough.

But Gran didn’t seem to notice. “Come on then!” the old woman said, nine times as spry as her orcling granddaughter.

Nala sulked behind, gloomy and getting tired.

Gran’s nerves were revving up. “Cold, though! Colder than I’d thought. Better walk faster! Looks like a lot of people.”

They passed the trees, and the slope began to go more sharply down. Moving slower, Gran Akha put out her hand. At one point, it got so steep that Nala couldn’t tell who was helping who.

But Gran stayed chipper. When the way finally leveled out, the old orcish witch started to sing.

“Make a fist and make it make

A crescent on the full moon’s face!

A crescent eye upon the stars,

Made to blink by this, my trace!”

Gran closed one eye, and bit her tongue like a gleeful infant, then and made a fist against the moon. Gran had to stop walking to get the full effect, and giggled at her own silliness.

“We’re gonna be late,” Nala complained.

“Hey that’s my line!”

Nala shrugged, not looking. The lack of response (ironically) was what made Gran notice Nala’s mood.

Gran Akha looked at Nala for the first time, and whatever she saw made the smile die on her face. Gran’s bright eyes dimmed, and the pinched crows feet that sprouted from the creases of her eyes slouched. Her childful glee became the weariness of an elder.

“What’s wrong?” asked Gran Akha.

Nala shrugged, afraid to answer, unsure of what to say. Bad luck to lie on a telling moon, Nala thought, then cursed her own superstition.

“I had a bad dream,” she should’ve said. It would have been so easy. “I dreamt I killed a fluffy thing.”

But even that was only half true; Nala had woken herself up before the… before it…

Nala put a smile on, and looked up at her Gran with all the good mood she could muster.

“I just don’t wanna be late is all,” said Nala. “I’m probably just hangry.”

She didn’t look convinced, but Gran dropped it all the same, and let Nala lead the way. But the giddy mood was gone, and Nala felt a swell of guilt.

Mood ruiner, she thought, and put on the best smile she could muster.

* * * * / * * * *

Beyond the orchard, the valley’s view opened up.

Nala could see it all laid out, ever so slightly below them: the Waste Mounds, the many fields of the grainwitch, the butcher and the rival horse ranches…

But down, down, in the heart of the valley, glittering campfires were roaring under the glittering stars. The normally vacant streets of Orcshire Market were already brimming with music and shouting, with light and loud liquor. Though the night had only just begun, the part was well underway.

“I can hear it from here,” Nala marveled, both impressed and put off.

Gran Akha grumbled. She hated crowds.

“We can always turn back, you know. We’re still close to home.”

“No!” Nala said. “No, I want to go!”

“To the noise? And the stench! Can you smell that?”

“To the Telling! The Telling! Don’t you dare try to get out of this!”

Gran Akha just grinned again. “But we’re already late,” she said.

“Please don’t chicken out?” Nala begged, hands interlaced, eyebrows pleading. “I’ve never seen you do a Telling before.”

“I tell you stories all the time!” said Gran.

“Not the same!” smiled Nala, exasperated.

A Telling was a kind of illusion spell, usually done for entertainment. Gran Akha had been a sorceress of some renown, and even infamy, but Nala had only ever heard stories.

The best she’d seen her gran do was petty spells: greensinging, cut stitching, little things like that. She’d never seen her Gran work an illusion, but something in Nala’s gut told her that Gran was very, very good at it.

“Please?” said Nala. “Come on, don’t chicken out on me.”

“What is that phrase?” Gran Akha said.

“You know, scaredy chickens,” Nala said, sheepish and blushing. “Can’t hold their courage, run away at first danger… You’ve never heard that?”

Gran Akha shook her head. “Chickens aren’t scaredy; they’re scary. You ever provoked a rooster?”

“Well, yeah,” Nala said, “but— But uh—”

Gran Akha laughed. “Alright alright, let’s just keep going. We’re not really all that late.”

“We’re not late at all,” Nala wanted to say. But now that the good mood was back, Nala just let the thought pass, and the two continued their long stroll to town.

“You’ve really never seen me do a Telling?” said Gran.

“Not once,” said Nala.

“Huh,” Gran Akha said.

Some kind of furry creature flitted out of the brush and across the road, and then its little family flitted after it. They were all scrambling away from Mt. Wraithwood.

“Startled me!” said Gran, and laughed. They kept on walking.

Nala found herself wondering if the boy she dreamt of (the boy that she dreamt as) had cooked the creature that he’d caught. She wondered if he knew how to cook; she hadn’t, till a moon or so ago. Something told her they were about the same age.

She wondered if he’d cooked it wrong, and gotten sick. Nala had done that once, not so many days ago, and if he didn’t have enough pract—

“Look!” Gran Akha said, pointing.

Nala snapped out of it. They’d been walking, but the time had disappeared, almost like she’d blacked out, and her body had been moving independently of her.

“What is that?” Gran asked. There were tones of worry and disgust in her grandma’s mellow voice.

“What’s what?” Nala asked, then looked where her Gran Akha was pointing.

They were almost there, almost to town. Its lights looked so different now that they were up close, and Nala was able to appreciate all the decorations for the Springdusk Festival. The moat was low, the gate was up, and the bridge (which was down) was already swollen with orcs.

But Gran wasn’t pointing at town. She was pointing at a big blob of something, or rather a bunch of somethings.

“Tents.”

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AUTHOR’S NOTE— Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter, you get to see some serious magic happening. It’s called…

DON’T TOUCH ME.