David Cook: Beyong the Moons

Finally, Teldin warily raised himself out of the water, ready to bolt like one of the rabbits that sometimes crouched at the edge of his fields. Muck ran down his scratched and burned body, but the farmer was too intent on the blazing scene to notice. Cautiously, he stepped up the bank and slowly began to circle the burning wreck.

Abruptly there was a loud groan of timber, followed by a single thundering crack as the vessel’s keel split. Teldin sprang back as the shattered form lurched, then split in two, the back half settling, slightly canted on its outspread wings. The front, with its long, jutting spar, tore free and dropped onto the remains of the chicken coop, smashing it flat. Stunned hens reeled out of the wreckage and staggered throuh the rubble-strewn yard. The knifelike bow wobbled and fell over, tipping away from the wreckage of the house, and the upper decks listed toward Teldin. A short mast thrust out at him like a misguided dragonlance, wavering up and down, a tattered pennon at its tip. The few hens that remained fled, squawking in alarm. When the ship finally settled, Teldin stalked forward, his hoe clutched in both hands. He could barely make himself move, he was so tense and ready to bolt, but the need to know more drove him forward.

As he advanced slowly, weaving from side to side, Teldin studied the wreck. The main hull and most of the ship seemed to be made of wood, but sprouting from the keel of the rear section were four flaring fins, definitely not of timber. Ribbed like a trout’s fins, the strange sails were mangled badly by the crash, broken in several places when the vessel sheared through the trees. Bits of a fleshy membrane, of which only torn and burned strips remained, once joined the ribs of these wings. A similar fin rose out of the middle of the deck, its arching shape tangled in the shattered branches overhead. Trailing into the darkness at the back was something that looked like a flamboyant fish’s tail.

Teldin had never seen these things on any ship in Kalaman. He blinked, wondering if the explosion had addled his senses. The strange wings, combined with the gleaming portholes near the bow, made the vessel seem like a living creature. This was furthered by the leaping shadows of the fire, which gave the shattered hulk the image of pulsing life, as if the last breaths of the ship were being gasped away.

“By the Dark Queen of the Abyss!” Teldin swore softly under his breath, letting loose the strongest oath he had ever used. The farmer ducked down to go under the mast of the fore section when a scratching noise came from the deck. Whirling about, Teldin watched a dark, limp shape slide across the tilted foredeck, break through the railing at the edge with a wet thud, and drop behind the broken wall of the house. “A person!” Teldin blurted.

He froze in place, torn about what to do. If there were beings on board, Teldin finally realized, the gods only knew who or what they might be. Part of him suddenly wanted to flee, to get away from this monstrosity, but other parts, his curiosity and his decency, urged him forward. It was with slow steps that Teldin finally edged forward to the broken log wall. With his hoe held ready like an axe, the farmer thrust his head over.

The other side of the wall was dimly illuminated by the leaping flames that showed through the shattered porthole in the bow, but there definitely was a body crumpled atop the tumbled piles of shingles and rafters. Teldin could not tell if the body was male or female; that much it was too dark to discern. Taking up a burning brand, Teldin held the rude torch up for a closer look. The being’s frame was light and thin, like an elfs. The body was strong and muscled, though, and certainly not like the few elves he’d ever met. The face was toward the ground, but the black, tangled hair glistened wetly. Probably blood, he thought. Whoever it was, it wasn’t human, of that he was almost sure.

Teldin poked at the body with the handle of his hoe. Nothing moved. He prodded again. There was still no movement. Satisfied, Teldin scrambled over the remains of the log wall, cleared away some of the shingles and rafters, and knelt beside the body. Ignoring the fact that he had scraped his shin on a jagged bit of chimney stone, Teldin breathlessly rolled the body over, succeeding only with difficulty, since a long, purple cloak was twisted around the arms and legs. One arm was bent at an odd angle, apparently broken. The shirt was dark with bloodstains.

As he had guessed, the intruder clearly was not human. The bones were too light and long, the fingers too narrow. To his embarrassed surprise, Teldin discovered as he loosened the shirt that the stranger was female. Her breasts left no doubt about that. The almost triangular face was drawn, yet kept a compelling aspect. Everything about the face was thin-narrow lips, sharply cut nose, pointed ovals for eyes. Bands of dark makeup ran above and below the eyes and were drawn out in whorls at the outer corners. She was exotically handsome, vaguely masculine, yet clearly not, and, even unmoving, seemed endowed with more grace than any man.

A sticky, warm wetness dripped through Teldin’s fingers as he lifted her head. Dark blood matted her hair from a gash in the side of her skull and ran down Teldin’s arm as he tried to lay out the body. The cloak, coiled and tangled, again interfered, but Teldin could only fumble unsuccessfully at the silver clasp around her neck. As he did so, the painted eyelids weakly opened and the dark eyes beneath still showed a spark of life.

"Neogi bly zam no insson…." the woman-thing whispered, her sibilant voice growing softer with each word until only the lips moved without speaking. The eyes dimmed; the lids almost closed. Whatever she had said clearly had taken great effort.

“What?” Teldin pressed, astonished to find the stranger still alive. So startled was he that he almost dropped her head, which he held cradled in his arms. Finally he drew closer, almost pressing his face to hers. “Who are you?”

“El za.m neogi,” the stranger falteringly tried again. Her delicate lips barely moved as each word was whispered.

“What? I don’t understand,” Teldin answered with excessive slowness, as if that would make him understood. He fumbled again with the clasp of the cloak, trying to remove it.

With her good arm the woman-thing weakly tried to push Teldin’s hands away. “Ton! Ton!” she hissed at him. Teldin let go of the clasp and shook his head in frustration. The flames beyond the porthole lit his face, and she seemed to understand. Slowly reaching up, she touched her fingers to his lips. They tasted slightly of ash and salt, mingled with the sweeter flavor of blood. Her own lips moved, silently forming words. When she finished, she let her hand fall.

“Now we may speak,” she whispered, somehow in words Teldin could understand. Her voice was more musical than any he had heard. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Teldin quickly answered, taken aback by this sudden transformation. “What-who are you?”

“I am dying, I think,” the woman-thing continued, ignoring the human’s question. “Are all my crew dead?”

Teldin, who had not seen a living soul since the crash, nodded.

The alien closed her eyes. “Then I am resigned to die.”

“Who are you? What happened? Where did you come from?” Teldin demanded. The ability to communicate uncorked a stream of questions in the farmer’s mind. He let them flood out, trying to get all his answers before it was too late. As her eyes dimmed, Teldin patted her cheeks, hoping to keep her conscious.

“The …the neogi did this,” was her weak reply. Her eyes barely opened. The color was fast draining from her already pale cheeks and her eyes were growing duller. “They want the-” She stopped abruptly, her eyes suddenly opening. “You must take this. Take this!” the woman- thing said with a forcefulness greater than before. With her good hand she tore at the clasp to her cloak. What he could not open, she sprang free easily. “Take the cloak. Keep it from the neogi.” The alien pulled Teldin’s hand onto the fabric. “Take it to the creators."