Under the Light of the Earth

Chapter 6- Wereness

The Rusino Guards put up a serviceable camp and mostly had to shoo away the intolerable meddling of the orphans. Those of them who were servicemen in frontier skirmishes before they had their positions were well used to camping out in lunar forests like these.

Captain Christ-is-king admired them. They had not commented much on anything taking place, and remained impressively stoic throughout the whole of their ordeals. Private Scrout and his baby bird was the odd man out, caring for the fluffy chick seemed to divide his attention.

They sat around the fire, and the children, as usual, chased each other about and entertained themselves. Very little seemed to sap their spirits, and Christ-is-king knew why. They were still high on their own freedom, and Sunfish their saviour.

The girl herself seemed to have no happiness of her own and merely sat like a stone while the gleeful gaggle orbited her.

She sat at the fire with the grownups, choosing to feast on her rabbit rather than indulge in the rations the important people were offered.

The traditional first course was, rather inevitably, cheese.

The captain did not know how much of the resources the soldiers carried in their canisters and cases was dedicated purely to preserving cheeses for the Viceroy to peruse.

The little man nibbled, and did not seem to even enjoy it. He rather bore it as a grim tradition. His head poked out of his grey puffy coat like a tortoise poised to retreat.

Many mooners were lactose-intolerant, and so regarded the eating of cheese as a grim and torturous ceremony, consuming only tiny amounts. All in the name of that old adage 'the moon is made of cheese'.

The big strong man Mitchell Wim outclassed them all physically, even as he sat by the fire. His cheeks had begun to grow rosier again now that they had left the tumultuous sea.

Something looked like it was bothering him. Well, it was hardly surprising, he was a prophet after all, but whatever it was, he wasn't sharing it with any of them.
His wife sat close by his side, gazing into the fire with those milky white eyes of hers.

The Capsidac seemed to be trying to distract himself by conversing with the bright eyed Private Scrout who cradled the Seekerbird chick, with it's massive red eyes and fuzzy white fluff, trying to feed it dead Dust-moths without having his fingers pecked off.
The crimson-coated soldier still seemed to be full of wonder.
"Mister Capsidac sir, earlier you were speaking of Werewolves. Men that turned into animals when the moon was full."

Mitchell cleared his throat.
"Well, it might not be suitable conversation when one is hiding out in the woods at night."

His wife looked up at him, urging him to indulge the young soldier's interest. The Capsidac huffed.

"The Viceroy can tell you more, we were in the same class in school."

All heads turned to the bunched-up cheese nibbler.

He raised his eyebrows.

"When Mitchell Wim and I were in the same Linguistics class, our professor was a cranky old moustachioed cat called Markov. One day, we were discussing the 'Moonatic' movement, the new age people. Markov went off on a tirade about the use of the word 'Moonatic' which he abhorred because 'Lunatic' meaning 'dangerous insane person' is already derived from 'lunar'. Supposedly, in times of the past, people believed that the moon made people mad. This got so far that some even said men could be cursed to become Lycanthropes. Werewolves. When the moon was full, they would lose their minds and literally become savage beasts. When I asked whether there was a connection between 'Lunar' meaning moon and 'Lupine' meaning wolf, Professor Markov very nearly murdered me."

Mitchell Wim chuckled.

Private Scrout petted the head of the large chick in his care as it cooed.

"So, if they go mad just from seeing the moon when it's fully lit, what does that say about us, who are on it?"

"It says we're all a little bit mad."

"We're in madman-land after all." Said the captain with a mischievous grin.
He looked to Sunfish, but she wasn't listening, still possessively following that unborn child she seemed to naively think was hers.

"Sunfish, why do you want that child?"

She looked up, sharp eyebrows in her dark and gaunt face, eyes like a bird.

"The Peach took mine."

The Peach, the mysterious and frightful thing she feared, the Baron's slave-catcher, loomed over the conversation, as though promising to appear.

But there was a more pressing question.

"Sunfish, how old are you?"

"Don't know." She said.

Obviously older than she looked. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. Old enough to have born a child herself and lived to tell the tale.

She looked at Mitchell Wim.

"Where is she?" She asked. "Capsidac, can you see her. Will I find her again?"

Wim tucked in his lips and rubbed his hands together guiltily.

"I don't know. I can't see her. I didn't even know you had a child, which is not like me."

The Viceroy furrowed his brow.

"Mitchell, if you've. . ."

"No, it's not the eyedrops. She won't let me have them, she wouldn't relent, even when we were on the ship."

His wife raised her head, stubbornly.

"Well, I have another explanation." Said Mitchell.

"But I won't tell you about it yet. But I think it means your child survives, Sunfish."

The girl blinked. She did not seem to believe him.

Then she looked up at the night sky, and shot up to her feet.
"Oh no." She said, and immediately drew her knife from out of her wooden poncho, the thing glinting in the firelight.

The Rusino guards immediately followed her, brandishing their rifles and stomping out the fire. The Viceroy blustered as he was pulled to his feet and wedged between three of them who stood around him like a wall.

Captain Christ-is-king drew both his pistols in the sudden darkness and reached out for Morphea's arm, but found Mitchell Wim's thick wrist.
"I've got her, Captain. But I'll take one of those pistols."

The Captain begrudgingly handed the Capsidac one.

Meanwhile, the viceroy was indignantly babbling.

"What is the matter with everyone!"

Sunfish hushed him. She was still gazing up.

It was very dark. Much darker than the captain had first realised.

It was dark-earth. A new moon for the Earthers, where it completely blocked out the sun. They were in the vast shadow of the planet.

"The mad men." Sunfish whispered.

"They are mad, and easy to fool, every night of the month except one. The dark-earth. It is then that they become sane. That is very very bad. They will come to sell us to the Peach, if the do not eat us first."

"I thought you said they aren't mad this time of month." The Viceroy replied.

"They'll use forks." She replied.

Private Scrout, still cradling his baby bird in one hand while his rifle was wielded singe-handed in the other, quipped.

"I think I would have preferred werewolves."