Red Moon Rising (10 page)

My thoughts cloud over as I watch her go. What is making her speak like this?
Think
like this?

“Temple!” I shout after her. “I love you!” She holds her hand up in a wave, but doesn't turn around.

It has only taken a few weeks and she has forsaken our gods for beautiful stories. My hands go to my hair, my eyes close. Papa will not abide this. I have failed him again.

I am losing Temple.

16

NATKA WILL NOT PASS THE
hashava fruit.

“Hashava,” I say again, in my best Cheese accent, feeling color rise to my cheeks, tension building in my jaw as my teeth grind.

Natka says he can't understand me. He calls me a
pitar
and Klara flicks him with her nails, making him wince. Fist shoots him a glowering look. By now I have guessed what
pitar
must mean, and it matches well with the nickname Tootie, which I can't seem to shake, thanks to Jo.

I don't know why he won't pass the hashava fruit. It is dinner. It is meant for us all. He is just being obstinate. He holds no fondness for me and for that I am grateful. I will feel less guilt when I pound his face with my fists.

Fist growls a few words, Klara nods. Natka's ear
membranes throb and his beaky front lip comes down against his teeth twice as he looks at me.

“Shall I create a poultice for your hand?” I say it with a menacing sweetness. “I'm sure I could remember the correct roots. Then perhaps your fingers would work better and you would
pass
. The.
Gum.
Hash
ava
.” I smack the floor with every other syllable. He waves his hand at me, smiles with no mirth, and then pushes the bowl toward me with more force than necessary. Finally I have the hashava.

Natka pounds his fist once on the stone floor where we are eating together (gods do I miss civilized tables and chairs), stands, and storms off toward the pool in the back of the cave. Klara blows air through her mouth and looks at me, tilting her head to the side. For a moment I worry she will strike me. But she looks away.

Fist puts his bowl down and stands, wiping crumbs from the dactyl-skin vest he wears over his bare chest. He follows after Natka and soon I hear them yelling. At one point I swear to the gods I hear Natka yell “Rory-ton!” and my heart begins a gallop.

“Rory?” I say to Klara, who is quietly finishing the hashava fruit. She looks up sharply.

“Was she here? Rory?”

Klara's eyes seem brighter. Wet, almost.

“
Ro-ri-ta
,” she says after a moment. She blinks several times, clearing the brightness from her eyes, then she crosses them and sticks out her tongue, making a little singing noise. I am shocked speechless by this sudden
ridiculous display. “
Ro-ri-ta
,” she says again, and again the silly display.

“Crazy?” I ask. “Stupid?
Ro-ri-ta
means something like that?”

“Cray-zee. Stoo-peed,” she says, and nods.

“Oh.” I would dearly love to know where Rory is, or if these Cheese know anything about her. But it appears they do not. Just as they do not know what has happened to Boone. Fist questioned the Cheese who rode the dactyl that scooped up Boone but would tell me only that Boone is not in the village. The Cheese don't need boys. This does not settle me.

Natka comes storming back, using his foot to push me into the wall as he goes by. My back hits a shelf, knocking over a small figure. Klara is by my side in an instant. She drags me to my feet, yelling at me in Cheese, “
Naa loma Kailia!
”

I think she is saying “Don't touch Kailia,” but I don't know what that means. Then she yells after Natka, “
NAA LOMA KAILIA!
” She is gripping me hard by the front of my shirt, air blowing from her nose in short, hot bursts.

This amount of sudden anger from Klara, who is usually so calm, frightens me. I don't understand it. We were just having dinner. We . . . I wriggle away from her grip, flatten myself against the wall next to the shelf, and stammer, “Wh-what is Kailia?”

As the word comes from my mouth Klara strikes me hard on the cheek. Natka is quickly by her side, his hand
on her arm, murmuring something to her. She blows air at me once more, snaps her jaws, then lowers her head and walks away. I am left against the wall, my breath coming fast and my cheek on fire.

“Kailia her sister,” Natka says to me, his voice as fiery as my cheek feels. “Killed by hyoo-mans.” He grabs my throat with his clawed hand and squeezes until I am gasping. He stares into my eyes, shakes his head, and lets go abruptly.

My hands go to my throat instinctively as I suck in large amounts of air. I no longer find the roughness with girls shocking, though it is still unsettling. The Cheese seem to see no differences between boys and girls whether they be warriors or clothes washers, and I admit, I like this freedom even though it means bruises and split lips. It also means I, too, can hit back, and sometimes that is lovely.

But I don't get the chance to hit Natka back. He goes out into the night as Klara returns. Fist returns to the room as well. He speaks quietly with Klara. She sighs but then nods. He, too, leaves.

I give Klara plenty of space as she huffs around the room. I have so many questions for her, but even if we shared enough language, I have sense enough to know this isn't the right time.

The limited words I have learned so far are about shooting and running and the Cheese gods. Not words I would ask her, like “Please help me find my family before my sister becomes a Cheese forever.” Or “I'm afraid my friend was shot by a shine tree and kidnapped by your people
and you won't tell me what you know.” Or “Why did you think me worthy of having a warrior's third eye branded on my neck, and how can I get the scar to stop itching?” Or “Please tell me about your sister.” I don't have these words. And so, with Fist and Natka gone, Klara, having calmed down, begins her nightly job of allowing two Cheese at a time into the cave, working with them to settle disputes. My job is to clear the dishes and rinse them in the pool. But first I find the small totem of Kailia on the floor and put her carefully back on the shelf.

They have been arguing for what feels like an entire cycle of the suns. Natka and I sit in the dark cave, the cooking fire providing the only light, as Klara and Fist shout in their sleeping chamber.

Natka and Fist returned not too long after leaving, and there has been shouting ever since. Natka pulls burning pieces of scrub from the fire and flicks them at me. I am too tired and too irritated to flinch. In fact . . .

I stand and walk out of the cave. There is no reason I have to tolerate this. Natka shouts something after me that I don't understand, but I don't turn around. I am tired of him. Yes. He no longer makes me angry. He makes me tired. I am a human. A
ke'ekutaat
. An invader. Not only have I taken land on his moon, I have beaten him in a public fight and taken space in his home. Surely, if I were Natka, I would hate me, too.

I wish I had a knife, a stone, some wire. My fingers are
restless, as is my mind. I could placate them both by working on a carving. But the Cheese do not trust me with my own knife. For this I do not blame them. I lean against the outside wall of the cave and slide into a sitting position, staring into the distance.

There is a bustle of activity in the village center this night. I hear a commotion from the area where the
Kwihuutsuu
nests are, and shouts from the Cheese and a hoot of laughter. There is a charged feeling in the night air that I would have to be
ro-ri-ta
to miss. The Cheese are preparing for something. But what?

I feel a shadow fall over me. It is oily, blue-eyed Ben-ton. My long-lost cousin. Or perhaps he is not oily. I only know that my belly tightens when I see him, this Cheese who is not a Cheese. I feel danger roll off him like heat from a rock.

Ben-ton sits next to me and clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“What?” I say, not feeling guilt over the lack of politeness in my tone. The day has been long, I have much to ponder. I miss Boone, who was always good to help me ponder things. I miss Aunt Billie, who would let me talk and offer no comment. I miss Rory. Gods, I miss her. These thoughts cause such a feeling of longing that I almost gasp, as if I've been punched in the stomach; punched in a place that is sore from being punched over and over again.

“It gets easier,” Ben-ton says in his voice that shares a Cheese and human accent. I look at him and wrinkle my
nose. I do not want to hear sympathies from him—this man who looks at me with such scorn while Jo works me to death every day. He waggles his fingers and with a flourish produces a crystalline rock from behind my ear. Handing it to me, he smiles.

“You should smile more, Tootie. You're prettier when you smile.”

I contemplate punching him in the ear. But instead I say, “Can I ask you a question?” I gaze into the distance. The Red Crescent glows.

“Of course,” he says, his back straightening.

“Why don't you have a Cheese name? Ben-ton does not sound like Cheese to me. Why am I not Rae-ton? Or Temple, Temple-ton?”

He clears his throat twice and there is such a pause I think he will not answer. “It is because I did not pass a test,” he says. There is another long pause. “
Ton
means ‘fail.'”

“What test?” Now I turn to look at him, but it is he who is gazing into the distance.

“I am not a girl.” Half of his mouth turns up in a smile even though his eyes close slowly. “My long blond hair as a ten-year-old boy did me no favors.”

I know this is not funny. It is terrible. A terrible thing happened to young Benny. And, even so, I cannot help but to laugh. Just a little.

“Were they very surprised when they found out?” I ask, trying to temper my smile.

Ben-ton shakes his head, a small smile playing at his
lips. “You should have seen their faces.” He pretends to clack his upper lip like a Cheese, and waves his hands over his head.

This is too much and I burst out laughing, quickly clapping my hands over my mouth to stifle the noise.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “It's just . . . oh, Ben-ton, what a thing to have happened.”

“They stole me for vengeance, you know. After the death of Kailia.”

“Klara's sister?”

Ben-ton nods. “She was the last female Kihuut born in the village. A fierce warrior. Killed during a raid out on the plains years and years ago.”

A falling sensation fills my belly. “Out on the plains?”

Ben-ton turns to face me. “Coincidentally where your father killed a Cheese, if I am not mistaken. Does he still keep the box on the cooling-grate mantel?”

I nod, having momentarily lost my words. The Cheese Papa was always so proud to have killed . . . could that have been Klara's sister?

“The Kihuut were very angry about this murder, so they returned and killed a woman in retribution. An eye for an eye. Then they took me to replace Kailia and, well, surprise.”

My mother was killed as an act of vengeance?

“My gods, Ben-ton.” These are the only words I can muster.

He shrugs. “They were to feed me to the
Kwihuutsuu
,
but I promised I could learn; I could be helpful. And yet, from there, I failed other tests, too.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“The third eye. I flinched. I showed weakness. I proved I would not make a warrior. And now not only do I pay every day for not being female, I pay every day for being weak.”

“Pay for it? How?” I ask. He always seems busy to me, has people he talks to and laughs with, seems not to want for anything, seems, in fact, to pretty much own his way in the village.

He turns to me, eyes flashing. “I am not a warrior. Did you not hear me? I am relegated to serving and staying at camp. I will never, ever escape.” Ben-ton stands. “Keep passing the tests, Rae, and you never know. You might be
krasnoakafsa
one day. Beautiful warrior. Chieftess. Though Natka begins his final warrior test in the morning, Kihuut law says he can never actually lead the Kihuut. He is not female. Many of these people have accepted you wholly. You were born of this moon, just as they were.”

Ben-ton takes my hands, reminding me of Papa. His hands do not offer strength, though. I feel his sweaty palms and it makes my skin crawl. He squeezes my fingers and when he pulls away there's a piece of canvas in my hand. Written on it, in a childlike scrawl, are the words “Let me help you.”

He smiles as his eyes narrow. “Your path continues to be written, Rae. Tootie. Mayrikafsa. It is up to you to choose
who you shall be. Don't let wagging tongues dismay you.”

“What wagging tongues?” I am still holding the scrap of canvas. I do not know where to put it. I do not want it.

“While you are accepted by many, not every Kihuut is in love with the angry
ke'ekutaat
girl-child. Some would see a male Kihuut become leader rather than a female invader. Though if this angry
ke'ekutaat
had a knowledgeable adviser . . .”

My voice lowers, my jaw clenched. “No one wants me to be a leader, Ben-ton. Right now I'm just trying to stay alive.”

Ben-ton looks me up and down. “Why do you think Jo trains you so hard? Why do you think you live with Klarakova and A'alantka? You fought hard that first night, Rae, and now you find yourself conveniently in a place of prominence. They have been trying to find someone worthy of replacing Kailia for years.”