Leena Likitalo: The Five Daughters of the Moon

My little sister crosses her hands over her heart. She whispers shyly, “My name is Alina.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Celestia nodding, Elise and Sibilia hastening to follow her example. I do likewise. My dear companions, Rafa and Mufu, nod too. The light brown head goes down as the black head goes up. They’re so silly.

“Alina.” Mama is the first to repeat the name my little sister has chosen. It rolls off her tongue smoothly. No one has a voice as full and pleasant as hers, one that stirs your heart and summons you to obey, no matter what the request may be. “Let her name anchor her soul to her body.”

“Alina.” Gagargi Prataslav repeats the name, but from his lips, it sounds jagged. I don’t understand why. Nurse Nookes says that only the gagargis and empresses are without fault, devoted as they are to serving the Crescent Empire. “Veneered Moon, hear the name your daughter has chosen.”

The crowd of favored ones, those who have been chosen to witness the sacred ceremony, stills in anticipation. Even my sisters and I stare fixedly at the gagargi as he lifts the soul bead up once more. He pronounces the sacred spell under his breath and lets the bead drop. As the bead connects with the black stone tiles, the glass cracks. For a moment, there’s nothing but shards.

Sea after rain. I can smell the swan soul before I see it, the moist scent of the sea after rain. Then a white shape, no bigger than the bead was, forms before Alina, at her feet. Thickening wisps spin into a shape: powerful wings, arched neck, black beak. The swan spreads its wings wide, flaps briskly. Rafa and Mufu shuffle back. They hide in the cover of my voluminous hem. I remember more vividly than is proper how it felt to stand there, feel myself become whole, a person.

“Honored swan, the sacred messenger of the Moon.” Gagargi Prataslav sails to stand behind Alina, black robes billowing. As the swan regains control of its wings, the gagargi spreads his arms wide and his sleeves brush the floor. His voice, strong as a gale wind, touches every nook and corner of the grand hall. I must be imagining it, but it almost sounds as if it hides a hint of displeasure. But how could it?

He says, “Bear the name Alina through the clouds and the sky, to the night that blesses us after day. Let the Moon know the name of his daughter. Let the Moon be proud of his child.”

Alina sways as if she were about to faint. I hear one of my sisters gasping in concern—Elise or Sibilia, I think, but I don’t dare to glance at them. Rafa and Mufu whimper from the depths of my hem as the swan takes to the air. It soars over me and my sisters, circles up, toward the domed ceiling. For a moment, I’m sure the glass panes will hold it back, or that they will soon shatter.

But the swan’s soul passes through the panes as easily as if nothing had ever held it back. I stare after the bird, the receding white dot. Clouds part before it, close in after. All too soon, it becomes just one more speck of light, a faraway star, and I think… Are all the stars swans, messengers of the gagargis? Do they sing to Papa of good and bad, of what has come to pass in the empire he’s bestowed upon his wife to rule?

“My dear daughter,” Mama congratulates Alina. She pecks a kiss on both her cheeks, but lightly, so that her reddened lips don’t leave marks. I can’t recall the last time she displayed such warmth toward any of us. We see her but an hour a day, for running the empire keeps her occupied from dawn to dusk.

At last, I dare to steal a glance at my sisters. Celestia, as pale and fair as Mama, beams in ethereal approval. Elise and Sibilia, each fair of skin but merely pale compared to her, whisper to each other. I’m darker of blood, and so is Alina, but only mildly compared to me. There are rumors in the court—I’ve heard them, for people are often careless around those who don’t have a name or have acquired theirs only recently—that Mama’s choices for our seeds are political, that it suited her to pick mine and Alina’s from the Southern Colonies.

“This gift,” Mama says as she accepts a gold-engraved box from an attendant draped in midnight blue. She holds it up for everyone to see, and light slowly returns to the hall as servants unveil owl-soul lanterns. “It is from General Rasvatan. He sends his fondest regards from the Southern Front.”

Alina stares at Mama, her big brown eyes round with confusion. It’s as if she’s not really here, but seeing things that exist only in her mind. How can Nurse Nookes’s potion be wearing off already?

“Poor thing,” Sibilia whispers to Elise as she fidgets with her long sleeves. She insisted they be made of lace so thin as to appear almost translucent, but that may not have been the best call. The fabric seems to itch. “Not to have her seed present at her name ceremony.”

“Hush.” Celestia nudges Elise, who proceeds to nudge Sibilia.

I feel bad for Alina only. Rafa must sense it, for she rubs her head against my knee. Since the most important part of the ceremony is over, and since I’m only eleven and hence allowed some leeway, I pick my companion up and clutch her against my chest. Mama should have summoned General Rasvatan to the court. She could have done so. Why didn’t she?

Alina’s small hands shake as she holds the box, though it’s only the size of a thick book. Whatever the box holds, it’s bound to be immeasurably valuable. Though it can’t contain anything living. I press a kiss on Rafa’s forehead and inhale the lovely scent of her fur. My seed gave me the best name day gift possible—my dear companions!

“I can’t wait to see what she gets,” Elise whispers to Sibilia, though we’re not supposed to prattle during the ceremony.

Hesitantly. Unaware of our curiosity, Alina lifts the lid slowly, almost hesitantly. She holds the box so that only she and those standing right behind her can see what it contains. Elise strains her neck. Celestia elbows her once more. I hold my posture. There’s a limit to what I can get away with before Nurse Nookes is forced to reprimand me.

“Oh!” Alina lowers the box as an intense blue glow escapes from inside it. Her mousy gray hair lights up in shades of indigo. Her pallid skin turns even more so. “It’s…”

Mama steps to her side. Slowly and regally, she picks up the object from inside the box. General Rasvatan’s gift is a blue-and-green-enameled miniature peacock. Its feathers are crafted to lifelike perfection, but where its belly and chest should be gleams brightness in a cage of gold-netted glass.

“Is that a…” I whisper under my breath, hoping one of my sisters can impede my curiosity. Rafa shivers against my chest, but Mufu, rather uncharacteristically the braver of the two, lifts her forepaw. She’ll go and investigate if I give her the permission to do so. I don’t.

“It’s a soul-automaton,” Sibilia replies without moving her lips. She must fear Celestia’s elbows, though there’s no way our sister could reach her without making a scene. And that’s something someone as serene as Celestia would never do in public.

The attendant in midnight blue retrieves the box from Alina. She sighs in what can only be relief. Next to her, Mama turns the tiny golden screw under the peacock’s tail. Alina stands very still as the automaton comes to life, and I can’t help thinking that it’s as if my sister doesn’t realize that the spell is already fueled by the peacock soul, that she thinks that she must cease to be for the bird to be!

The mechanical peacock sings a chiming, vibrating tune. Alina trembles. She’ll soon burst into tears. Elise must have reached the same conclusion, for she rushes to embrace our sister from behind. Mama’s brows lift, but she nods at Elise as if her presence were indeed required by the ceremony.