Leena Likitalo: The Five Daughters of the Moon

He shrugs as he lifts a cigarette to his lips. His moustache is unoiled. Whiskers curl against the rolled paper. “I really can’t say. Curious, though, isn’t it?”

I wrap the blanket tighter around myself. The chains of sequins weigh heavy against the vulnerable skin of my neck. He really, really doesn’t remember the moments we once cherished. That is a relief to me. There was a time I thought he had knowingly deceived me, that he had only acted to get into my favor, that the love we had shared hadn’t been true. It was only after Celestia told me of what Gagargi Prataslav had done to her that I understood he must have altered Captain Janlav, too.

As Captain Janlav blows smoky clouds into the night, I feel not only cold but also dizzy. I seek support from the rail, lean on my left hand. The metal bites my flesh with teeth of ice. My whole body jolts, yet I curl my fingers around the rail. I’m past caring about pain. Every single one of us was led astray, in one way or the other.

Celestia feared for the empire’s future and consulted Gagargi Prataslav for advice. He stole a part of her soul and used her as a puppet to advance his wayward plans. He… it’s too terrible to think of, but I owe my sister not to ignore it, not to pretend that what befell her could really be forgotten and hence hadn’t happened at all. The gagargi manipulated his way into her bed. He sowed his seed, and made her think she wanted it.

“Watch out or your fingers will freeze and you’ll never get them off that bar.” The voice belongs to the one who doesn’t remember who I became, only who I was before we first met. He touches my left hand, and even if I wanted to, I can’t move an inch. “Ah, too late.”

I stand so very still as he attempts to pry my fingers loose. To no avail. The metal pinches my skin possessively. I’m stuck to the rail. How embarrassing.

“May I?” he asks, bending his head close to my hand. What is he after? What have I got to lose?

“You may.”

He blows gently at my hand, moist clouds of salvation. On the third breath, I manage to free my hand. My fingertips, the inside of my palm, are raw red. My handprint remains on the rail, a dull, dark shape against the faint sheen of ice.

He moves as if to examine my hand, a crease of alarm on his forehead. I quickly hide my hand under the blanket, against my palpitating heart. “I’m not hurt.”

But Celestia was, still is. My sister confided in me when she didn’t bleed when she should have. I assured her that it was due to stress only. That happens often enough, I have heard. She didn’t say it out loud, and it would have been too early to know still, but she feared that the gagargi’s seed had taken root inside her.

The deal my sister made with the witch benefitted them both. But when trading with witches, the cost always runs deeper than one can anticipate. Even a week after swallowing the potion, Celestia continues to bleed. No longer as heavily, but… She must fear that the witch’s potion has left a permanent mark on her body, that… No, I won’t think of it. Our mother is dead. Celestia will be the empress, even if there hasn’t been and won’t be a ceremony in the near future, even if she hasn’t yet married the Moon. Her daughters, let there be many of them, will rule after her. Not mine.

“We should go back inside,” Captain Janlav says.

He’s right. My left hand aches. The fingertips hurt as though a heavy object had fallen on them. And yet… If the cost of freedom, even a momentary one, is pain, I would be a fool to not pay it.

“Not yet,” I reply, and without waiting for his answer, I climb down the steep, narrow ladder, onto the snow-veiled tracks.

His boots crunch against the snow as he jumps after me. He reaches out to grab my shoulder. I evade him. I stride farther away from the train. Perhaps I can’t flee, and I won’t, not without my sisters. But maintaining the illusion of freedom, for even a moment, is worth more than anything I have ever owned.

“Please…” The pain in his voice, it pierces my heart like a spear. “Please don’t try to run away from me. I’m only trying to keep you safe.”

I falter to a halt, for the crossties between the rails are slippery. I hear him stop behind me, the uneasy rhythm of his breath. The walls of snow around us are stained by coal smoke and stripes of blue paint from the carriages. This aisle, almost a tunnel, reminds me of a time gone past, of the times I followed him through other tunnels. Curious, how much has changed and yet so little.

“I know I shouldn’t say this…” A silvery click betrays his need for another cigarette. And then later, the wisp of malty smoke his hesitation.

“Then don’t,” I reply, tired of games. Though who am I to blame him—wasn’t this little escapade of mine a silly move on my part? For where would I go from here, in the middle of the night? Follow the trails to the village where we stopped for fuel earlier? Why tease myself with a prospect of freedom when I know all too well that our lives are not for us to live but are in the hands of others?

“But I want to, need to say it aloud.” His fingers come to rest against my shoulder, on the blanket, lightly like raindrops. He coaches me to turn around, and I can’t resist his plea. And yet, he lacks the courage to meet my gaze. He stares past me, into the distance. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for much longer than for the duration of this journey.”

Just as the icy rail burned my hand earlier, his words scorch my heart and mind alike. A part of him does remember me. This thought warms me, though by now my eyelashes must be frozen, though my earlobes feel numb, though my cheeks ache when I smile.

“Is that a happy smile or one reserved for fools?” He knows me well indeed, even if he doesn’t realize it.

What do I have to lose if I tell him now? This information can’t possibly endanger whatever plan Celestia has in mind. “We have known each other since last autumn, since we danced at little Alina’s name day festivities.”

He laughs. His chuckles form white clouds that are cold by the time they reach me. “That’s impossible. I would remember that.”

“You courted me for months,” I say, slightly annoyed at him, at everything.

“Don’t be a cruel woman.” He fidgets with the cigarette, clearly tempted to toss it aside but aghast at wasting an almost untouched treat. My father decides for him—the cigarette slips from his gloved fingers. His sad sigh echoes a loss of immeasurable magnitude. “Not when I’ve made a fool of myself already.”

Every breath hurts, but not because of the low temperature. It hurts me that he thinks me cruel, that I’m jesting at his expense. Even worse, he might think that I’m trying to manipulate him, wrap him around my little finger so that my sisters and I could at last go free.

That’s of course an idea, one that I can only see failing, and besides, that isn’t what I want now. I want him to believe me. I want him to remember what we shared for those few blessed months. “You took me to workhouses and hospitals.”

“Stop it now.” He stomps his heel on the cigarette and crushes it against the frozen crosstie. “I should have… I should have known better. Oh, I’ve heard it said that the Daughters of the Moon are witches better to watch out for. Now I see what they meant by it. Don’t say a word more to me.”

I want to slap him so badly. Instead I force myself to simply take hold of his hand. I’m not sure where my actions will lead me, but any place is better than letting the distance between us grow, for letting him continue believing that he never loved me. For that hurts; it hurts more than I’m capable of admitting to myself. “You took me to an orphanage where we shared bread with the nameless children. You wanted to carry me over the puddles, but I didn’t let you. That would have gathered too much attention.”