The Moon Dwellers (13 page)

I
wa
ke up sweating and
yelling
, thrashing about in my bed.
And thinking about the underworld.

Roc i
s by my side.
As always.
He put
s
a hand a
cross my chest.
“Shhh,” he says
.
“Someone will hear.”

My legs stop thrashing, my arms stop flailing.
I am
breathing heavily but not screaming anymore.
It was just a dream.
I am on my bed; Roc must have carried me.

“What happened?” I say
.

“You fainted,” Roc says
, his lips curling slightly.

“Does that give you s
ome kind of pleasure?” I snap
.

Roc continues
grinning.
“Given it was brought on by your battle with a ferocious warrior, namely me, I’d say yes, it does bring me a level of pleasure.
Especially because it was in the midst of my stunni
ng and heroic victory,” he adds
.

Normally
I would laugh.
But I
feel
anything but normal.
I feel like I’ve
lost someone special to me, someone close.
Like my mother—but a different kind of close, a different kind of special.
I grunt
.

Roc seems to recognize that something is wrong and his smile fades
.
“
Tristan, are you okay?” he asks
.

I honestly don’t know.
So I
swing my legs over the side of
the bed and
tell
him everything.
Abo
ut the girl in the Pen,
the big guy who was about to assault her,
how I saw
her face just before I fainted, and about
my dream—what my father did to her.
When I finish I look
for his reaction.
I think
he might make fun of m
e.
If the roles were reversed it’s what I might do
.

Instead
,
his lips a
re
tight, his eyes narrow.
He says
, “I think it means something.”

“You do?” I say
, genuinely surprised.

“Yes.
A storm is coming.
I’ve felt it for some time now.
I think you have, too.
Why we have never spoken of it before, I do not know.
Perhaps we were scared.”

My first instinct is to contradict him
.
Not the stuff abo
ut the storm—whatever that means
—but
about us being
scared.
He might be, but not me.
I’m not
scared o
f anything.
Not even my father—not anymore—
although I
probably should be
.
But I kno
w I’
ve
been too reactionary lately—too qu
ick to fire back at Roc if I do
n’t like something he
says
.
Like a good friend, he’
s
put up with it, shaking his head and ignoring my
outbursts.
So, for once, I do
n’t say
the first thing that pops
i
nto my head.
I actually think
about what he said.

A storm?
I know he does
n’t mean a physical
storm, like the ones that rage
on the earth’s surface from time to time.
Therefore, a metaphorical one.
Like a conflict.
A battle maybe.
No, more specific than that: a rebellion.
I
have
felt it, too.
Have
even commented on it.
If not out loud, then i
n my head, to myself.
How it i
s a wonder that everyone put
s
up with my father’s tyrannical politics, his cruel and unfair treatment
of the people that support his way of life
.
Not a wonder—a
miracle
.
And miracles simply do
n’t happen th
ese days.
Not anymore.
They a
re a thing of the past, of l
egends, of stories.
Which means it i
s bound to happen eventua
lly.
From time to time we hear
whisperings of secret groups of radicals, plotting and scheming in hidden caves, using secret handshakes and
passwords.
My father dismisses them as casually as he swats
pesky flies from his shoulder.

I
have
felt it, too.
So why have
n’t we talked about it before?
I try
to open myself to t
he possibility that I am scared, like Roc suggested.
I know right away that isn’t it.
It’s something else: I do
n’t beli
eve my own feelings.
And why would I?
Things have
been t
he same my whole life.
Things will never change, can
never change.
Can they
?

I feel
Roc’s eyes on my face.
I look at him.
There i
s a twink
le in his eye
, like he kno
w
s I’ve
worked it out.

I say
, “I’m not
scared.”
You know, just to set the record straight.

He winks at me.
“I know,” he says
.

“You what?” I say
.
“Then why did you—”

“Because I
am
scared, and I wanted you to think about things seriously.”

I rise to my feet.
“What?
I do take things ser…
W
hat
a
re you suggesting, that I’m
not serious enough?”
My face i
s starting to feel hot.

Roc put
s
his arms out, palms open.
“No, I just think that ever si
nce your mom…”—his eyes drift
down—“…left, you’ve been in a funk, a haze, not really as engaged as you used to be.
The only time I see l
ight in your eyes is when we’re
training.”

“What a
re you, my shrink or something?”

“There you go—not taking things seriously again.”

I grit my teeth.
I am
determined not to make another light comm
ent or joke for the rest of the
conversation.
I hope our talk
wo
n’t last too long.

“Fine,” I say
.
“Okay, so I’ve been in this
haze
, hating life, no light in my eyes except when I’m beating the snot out of you with a wooden sword…”
Blast!
A joke—I’ve
f
ailed already.
Being serious i
s hard
er than I thought.
Maybe Roc is right, but I’m certainly not
going to say
that
out loud.
Pausing, I try
to gather my thoughts.
Roc let
s
the joke pass without comment.
“So I see this girl, this moon dweller.
Roc, lemme tell ya, she was incredible.
Beautiful.
Even wearing her gray prisoner’s tunic she was stunning.
Her hair fell like
a black waterfall
around her shoulders.
Her eyes were
intensely fascinat
ing.
And her curves, my G
od, Roc, were they ever—”

“Get
to the point, Tristan,” Roc says
.

Righ
t.
Serious.
My point.
What i
s my point anyway?
Ahh, yes.
“
I felt
something for her
, Roc.
Somehow across the distance, through the f
ence, over the mob of people, I felt something
.
I probably would have just let it go,
chalked it up to male hormones,
but then when she acted so strong, pushed that guy…I don’t know,
since then I can’t get her out of my mind.”

“That’s called a crush, sir.”

Oh, damn you
,
Roc!
He seems
intent on making
this more difficult than it has
to be, even throwing a “sir” in
there for good measure.
I can
feel
the grit in my mouth as I shave
the enamel of
f each tooth
with my in
cessant grinding.
Yeah, I love
Roc like a brother, b
ut also like a brother, I wish
he would just go away sometimes.

When I speak again, I am proud of how even my voice is, pretending like I have
n’t even heard Roc’s comment.
“It’s weird.
I feel l
ike our lives are tied toge
ther.
Like our destinies are intertwined.
I think I have to find her, Roc
, if only to know that she survived, that her strength didn’t lead to her death
.”

“Is this moon dweller girl the only reason you want to go?”

I raise my eyebrows.
“I, uh, I think so…”
I’m so unsure of my answer that
I
rub my head to try to think.
Yes, I want to know what happened to the moon dweller.
Yes, I felt something for her and want to meet her.
It hits me.
“She’s only part of it,” I say.

“I know,” Roc says.

Of course he does.
Roc always seems to be one mental step ahead of me.
I sigh.
“I want to get out of here, Roc.
I’m tired of living like this.
There’s no meaning in my life.
I hate my father.
I hate this place.
Finding her is as good a reason as any to get out of here.
I just have to get out of here.
I can’t deal with my father anymore.
”

“We can’t just leave.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you think they’ll notice?”

“Of course they’ll notice, Roc.
But who cares?”

“I do.
I don’t feel like being chased all over the Tri-Realms by a bunch of your dad’s goons.”

“My
father’s
goons,” I correct.

“Your dad, your father: What’s the difference?” Roc says through clenched teeth.

I bare my teeth back at him.
“It’s…different…to…me.”
We are on the verge of another brawl.

“Whatever.
In any case, I’m not leaving with you on some half-baked journey all over the Moon Realm, just to chase the first pretty tunic you’ve seen in a while.
She’s a prisoner
,
for God’s sake.”

“Then I’ll go alone.
And for the record, I’m not chasing a tunic.
Yeah, I’ll try to find her.
But this is not all about her, Roc.
Like I told you, I need to do this for me.
I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

Roc’s hard stare continues for another moment and then his eyes soften.
“Tristan, I…
”

“What?”

“Never mind.
You promise you’re not just doing this to find some silly girl?”

“Yes,” I say, my tone more confident than I feel.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.
I’ll come with you.”

I can’t hold back my smile.
I’ll say it again:
Roc is like a brother to me; I’m not sure what I would’ve done if he decided not to come.
I’m
glad we’
ve
made it through our serious talk without killing each other.