Leena Likitalo: The Five Daughters of the Moon

“Trivial questions, are they not?” From the corner of my eye, I catch the gagargi studying me. He must have heard the dogs moving. “The key to the door that stands between us and the luminous future is the intelligent redistribution of resources.”

“Fine.” Merile gets up slowly. She brushes her white hem straight, runs a hand over her hair to ensure the pins still hold her ringlets in place. They don’t, but she merely shrugs. “I’ll come with you.”

“Engineer Alanov, if you will?” Gagargi Prataslav pats the engineer on the shoulder, much like he patted the machine. His pleasant smile bears a hint of cruel amusement, and I know, just know, that that smile is targeted to me. It says: Run, run if you want to, but you can never flee from me.

The engineer clears his throat, maybe fearing that the rest of his audience might trickle out after Merile and me. Sibilia notices us leaving then. She whispers something to Elise, who then whispers the message onward to Celestia. My oldest sister turns her head so minutely that the ibis-bead tiara resting against her tall forehead doesn’t shift at all. Her gaze radiates the kindness she feels toward her every subject-to-be, including me.

Merile takes hold of my hand, and together we dash out. A pair of guards joins us at the doors. A Daughter of the Moon is never truly alone. Though, with my sisters to look after me, that’s not something I need to ever fear.

Merile hums under her breath as we walk along the gravel path circling the pavilion. Nobody else lives on the Gagargi Island apart from Gagargi Prataslav and his flock of apprentices. From this side of the island, with the pavilion blocking the view, I can’t see the Crescent Island or even one of the many towers of the Summer Palace. The view to the ocean is unblocked. The sea breeze carries a hint of things rotting. Farther out in the sea, sheets of rain fall down from coal-black clouds. Seagulls screech as they swoop the skies, but they keep away from the shores of this island. Only a fearless magpie, the bird black and white, dares to prance on the rocks.

We turn a corner. Rafa and Mufu dash through the tall grass, all arched backs and slim limbs. But suddenly they halt, one forepaw in the air. Then I catch a glimpse of the peacock corrals and swan pens in the valley below.

“Go on, silly dogs,” Merile says to Rafa and Mufu. To me she says, “The wings of the pedigree birds have been clipped.”

As Rafa and Mufu run down the hill, toward the corrals and pens, I think of the poor birds. Of course I know where the soul beads come from and that the gagargis must practice their art somewhere. And yet… I shiver as I glance over my shoulder. Though the gagargi’s brick house with its massive round towers looms at the far end of the island, the shadow stretches longer than it should, almost far enough to touch me, though that’s impossible. And I’m not imagining it. “I don’t like this place.”

Merile tilts her head sideways, and the black ringlets bounce with the movement. Out of my four sisters, she’s the only one who takes my worries seriously. But as she’s grown, as I’ve grown, even she has changed. Maybe soon she, too, will report my words to Nurse Nookes or, even worse, directly to Mama.

“Why…” But before Merile can say whatever she was about to say, what I didn’t want to hear anyway, the barking of dogs, shrieking of birds, and flapping of broken wings distracts her. And me, too.

Merile grins, not old enough to be above mischief after all. She glances at the corrals, to catch a glimpse of dog tails and raised heads, clipped wingtips and curved necks. “I should call them back.”

But she doesn’t.

We stroll along the long side of the pavilion. Only the dirty glass separates us from the audience gathered in a semicircle to listen to the gagargi speak. We pass the guards, the audience, even the gagargi. The glass muffles his voice, for which I’m happy. His words are poison.

The machine looks as massive as ever. Merile runs her fingers against the pavilion’s wall, parting the thick, green moss to reveal the glass underneath. She rubs her thumb and forefinger together. Her white glove is ruined. “Elise’s governess, she told her that this used to be a greenhouse. She says every gagargi has his own area of interest. Specialty of one sort or another.”

As we turn another corner, I think of the machine, less threatening now that the glass stands between us. Is the machine Gagargi Prataslav’s specialty? Or does he do something else, too, here on this island that no one in her right mind would want to visit?

“What is he doing now?” Merile wonders aloud. She tiptoes closer to the pavilion’s wall. I follow her through a bush of lupines, and so we both hover as close as we dare, squinting through the panes.

Engineer Alanov stands but meters away from us, his back against the wall. Before him is a sturdy table, on it a polished wooden box. He inserts a key into the heavy iron lock. As he props open the box, an amber glow lights up his weasel face.

“What is that?” I ask, even as the engineer lifts from the box a bead the size of my fist. He turns around swiftly and marches to the machine.

“It can’t. It can’t be…” Merile whispers. “Mama would never allow that!”

The engineer opens a hatch in the machine and lowers the bead in solemnly and carefully. He steps back, head bent down and arms crossed behind his back like a country gagargi retreating from the altar. A heartbeat later, the machine screeches, a high-pitched sound from an unoiled throat. The insect legs burst into a gallop. The pistons and wheels and cogs—I think that’s what they’re called—join the movement.

I shriek back, stumbling on the lupine stems. I cling to Merile’s arm before I notice what I’m doing. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice our guards staring at us.

“The machine…” Merile’s mouth hangs slack. She looks around for her dogs, then at me. It’s almost as if she’s seeking someone to comfort her. But that can’t be. She’s eleven already! “The machine has come to life.”

I’ve seen things come to life before. But these things have been small and insignificant, toys created for our entertainment or novelty items meant to buy Mama’s favor. Nothing this big. Or threatening. Merile and I really should go. But I don’t dare to say a word for fear of alerting the guards. For that would lead to them reporting to Mama.

Behind the glass, Engineer Alanov inserts holed cards into the machine. He licks his fingers at regular intervals, presses each sheet down with great care. The machine looks hungry even after he finishes. I know for sure, no matter how many beads and sheets he’ll feed the machine, it can never be fully satisfied.

“Come.” Merile tugs my hand, and I’m overjoyed to obey her. My sister leads me down a path toward the shore. Rafa and Mufu appear from amidst thistles, run to us, bounce next to us, tongues lolling out from between tiny, sharp teeth. The guards tail us from a distance.

I can’t speak for as long as I hear the awful machine shrieking. Merile and I walk down a hill, toward the ocean. It might rain soon. If it does, we need to return. But…

“I don’t want to go back,” I say as we halt on the rocks polished smooth by wave after wave. From this side of the island, I can see home, but this does little to comfort me. Strange as it is, it’s the presence of the magpie, the same one I saw earlier, that gives me the courage to speak. “The machine… it looked so hungry.”

Merile squats before me and places her palms on my shoulders. Dove beads glitter around her neck, against her brown skin. They remind me of the amber bead the engineer fed to the machine. Which animal’s soul was that one?