Ride the Moon: An Anthology (17 page)

Ava looks up, eyes befuddled by the sunlight, and looks entirely lost. Her lips purse.
What do you mean?

Come now, you can tell me. I know your secret.

Ava rubs her eyes and locks her gaze with April's
. I have no idea what you speak of
. She rubs her eyes some more, as though to wake herself from her confusion.
Why would I go anywhere at night?

April runs her hand over Ava's braided hair.
You never sleep in your bed, little one. Where do you go with Tom?

Ava looks at her with such profound confusion, such utter befuddlement, that April knows she speaks the truth
. I go nowhere. In my dreams I walk the forest, sometimes, or fly with the wind on a cloud of silk, but I stay right here, asleep in bed.

April nods.
I wonder where Tom goes?
she mutters.

Fourteen is magic. Tom, always too tall for his age and far too thin, begins to grow into his frame. Muscles spurt beneath his skin almost overnight, new hairs stubble his face. He must earn his keep now. He wanders the woods with an uncanny knack for knowing where he is, and chops wood for the nuns. His axe plunges into the tree trunks and severs branches, slices trunks. When he has chopped enough wood for the orphanage, he trades his extra lumber for coin. The maidens look at him now, as he walks to and from the forest each day, shooting admiring glances at his sinewy arms and legs that sprout dark hairs. None of the other children at the orphanage see him as a boy anymore; they look to him as a man.

Ava blossoms. The quiet, gangly, peculiar girl so easily forgotten by the nuns and overlooked by passersby disappears. A wild beauty replaces her. Her black eyes soften to a becoming gray. Hips flare from her narrow waist so her skirt pools around her ankles. The rosy petals on her pale chest blossom into rich mounds. Her cheeks flush and the features on her once-hard face soften. She becomes a beautiful stranger seemingly overnight. Gone is the timid girl who hid in dark corners. A gentle confidence steals into her bones. No man can keep his eyes off her now; she transfixes with her smile and enchants with her laugh. Still, April thinks, Ava is too tall for her own good, and continues to dislike the sun's rays. She walks around half-groggy, as though drunk on lack of sleep.

Though friends and strangers alike now notice Ava through the orphanage gates, she has eyes for only one man: Ewan, the baker's boy. Every day for as long as she can remember, he has come to the orphanage with his father's loaves and buns. And every day, he has offered the bread with the excuse that his father baked too much. Everyone here knows better, though. They know his father's kind heart and generous nature, and they've come to depend on his offerings and Ewan's sunny smile.

Ava noticed him long ago. Even when no one else spotted her as she hid in her dark corners, behind doors and curtains, he knew where she stood. He'd find her and pluck a fresh apple danish or sugar-crusted cherry pie, wrapped in wax paper, from his pocket. She knew he saved one every day especially for her. She liked that. He made her feel special. And she liked him.

Ewan noticed Ava's transformation right away. The softening of her features, the widening of her hips. He pulsed for her. He grew into manhood himself and he wanted her. He dreamed of her at night, pictured her smiling just for him, her strange pointed teeth protruding past her gums, accentuating her fine features. He imagined her in the moonlight—he pictured her naked, garbed only in moon-glow.

He lingered now, on the days when he didn't see her right away. He went out of his way to walk by the orphanage and peer through the gates while completing his delivery rounds. His eyes always seeking their prize, the beautiful young woman with limbs long as a spider's.

Ava,
he'd whisper through the gate,
Let me show you the sun.
He'd hold out his hand. Come with me.

Always she'd cast her dark eyes his way and shake her head
. I like it where it's dark.

He brought her new presents, pulled delights from his pockets. All of the pastries his father was teaching him to make. Buttery crescents filled with thick custard, spiced apples wrapped in puff pastry, handfuls of pie filled with sweet cheese and marzipan. Ava delighted in the morsels, bursting with excitement as she wondered what Ewan would bring her each day, but she never went with him when he asked.

His pastries worked like a potion in her blood. She could think of nothing but Ewan. He awakened her. Those lightly muscled arms, fuzzed with new hairs. The way his thighs filled his breeches. The earnest smile on his face, always with a hint of hope that she'd join him on his excursion.

She no longer dreamed of the forest at night. Instead she dreamed of the forest with him in it. Showing Ewan her special places—her favourite spots to perch, to sit and wait, to bask in the glow of the moon. The space between her legs grew moist and she found her hands wandering to the rosy buds on her chest. She felt the stirrings in her body.

Ava knows when he reaches the gate. She knows his step as well as she knows her own. That sure, quick pace so different from her shuffle. In the day she shuffles, she knows it, but in her dreams she walks with a practiced pattern of feet through the forest.

Come with me, Ava
, he whispers, her name a blessing on his tongue.

Ava looks at him and her lips part, exposing those exquisite teeth.
Ewan,
she whispers, her voice just a breath, so laden with want.
Show me the day.

His smile splits open. It blazes wide and bright as a sunset. He takes her long-fingered hand in his moist, warm one and she opens the gate to stand beside him. April watches and smiles for her little charge; this girl will find love after all. She will not die alone.

Ewan leads Ava down one street and then the next. She follows him blindly; she hardly knows the world outside her little home. Ewan holds her hand firmly as he guides her through the cobbled streets, steering her out of the way of carriages and piles of horse manure. Ava looks with wonder at the stalls they pass: baskets of fruit all the colours of the rainbow, clothes and tapestries, rosaries and prayer cards, statues of the Virgin Mary, tobacco-pipes and fish and dead pigs hanging from hooks. Live chickens squawking, clucking, tussling one another in their cages. Stray dogs pleading for morsels of food. An acrobat who plies his trade for spare coins. Ava marvels at each and every sight, and Ewan must tug her along to make her follow. She does not know this world by day.

The path leads to the outskirts of the forest and suddenly Ava is home.
Come
, she says, tugging Ewan with a twinkle in her eye.
Follow me.
And then she runs, free as the wind, her long legs carrying her through the thickets and briars. She jumps over scraggly bushes and loops her arms around tree trunks and low branches, grasping and flying, deft as an acrobat. Ewan struggles to keep up. Thorns and brambles scratch his legs and tear his clothes.
Where are you going?

Ava runs, her skirts dancing around every fallen log and outstretched branch. She knows her way.

Ewan trips and falls.
Ava!
he calls out. He scratches a tear from his eye and sucks in his breath.
Ava, you'll get lost. And I could never live with that.

From far ahead, Ava hears him. She stops her sprint and turns back. She slowly picks her way back to Ewan's side.
I'm sorry
, she says, a tentative smile playing along her lips
, I was free.

Ewan looks at her as she speaks, from his sorry perch on the ground, shirt torn and stockings in tatters.
How do you see in this dark?

I want to show you my favourite place.
She holds out her hand and pulls him up. She walks next to him as he gingerly picks his way through the brambles and moss. He does not ask how she knows the forest so well; he merely follows, his pride a little hurt, knees a little bruised.

Sunlight dips through the canopy and the trees thin. Ava and Ewan emerge in a clearing.
Here
, she breathes. She lies down on the grass, a few rocks and dried leaves scattered around her. The sun hits her skin and Ewan is transfixed by its pallor. She does not belong to the realm of the sun.

Sit beside me
, she says, tapping the ground, and Ewan forgets his every thought. He sits and his body trembles. He feels himself rising and he cannot look at her face. Instead he fixes his eyes on her wrist.

She brushes her hand over his thigh and he jerks away.
Ava,
he murmurs, voice no more than a hoarse croak.

Ewan.
She leans forward and Ewan looks up. He can't help but notice the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. He pulls his gaze to her face and loses himself in those gray eyes. Her lips part. She leans closer
. Ava, I
—

Shhh.
She touches a finger to his lips.
Will you kiss me?

His pulse hammers in his throat.
Kiss you?
he repeats.

Kiss me.

He hopes she does not see his trembling as he presses in and touches his lips to hers. Awkward, simple, beautiful.

A breath escapes her lips. She touches them with a finger, exploring the place where his mouth touched hers. She looks at him, a smile playing about her face.
Ewan, will you one day make me your wife?

His eyes light up.
I wish to make you mine.

A stream of naked want hums through her body. She feels like a torch ignited; she needs to be consumed by the flame.
Ewan
, she murmurs, hands running the breadth of his shoulders.
Make me yours.

But Ava—

She stops his protests with a finger to his lips. Please. She traces her hand down his torso, inches it across the softness of his belly.
Touch me.

He reaches a trembling hand to her neck and hesitantly runs it down her throat. The skin strangely hard. He can feel her pulse, quick as his own. He pauses, swallows, then quickly cups a hand around a small breast. She gasps, then smiles encouragingly. Ewan explores her body then, and the fire within her flares.

By the time the sun's rays slant sideways, afternoon just beginning its metamorphosis into evening, the two youths lie naked in the clearing, wrapped in each other's arms, Ava's legs curled around Ewan's. She clings to him possessively in her sleep, clutching his torso and holding him tight. His arms, muscles bulging gently from their frame, cuddle her to his body. His manhood, spent now, exposed to the sun's touch. They look both beautiful and strange together—this tall, thin girl with skin like fog, intertwined with the peach-pink, soft-skinned, stocky youth. Their eyelashes dust their cheeks as they rest, the air growing colder as the sun arcs west.

The moon comes out and still they sleep. Ewan breathes softly now, his chest rising and falling in a deep sleep, even as the sun sets and the owls begin to hoot. Ava's breaths soft but quick—shallow pulses, as though she waits to wake. And then she does, when the moon rises higher and casts its light on her shape. She looks to Ewan then, still sleeping, and she blushes. She studies his naked body with her eyes—every inch of his beautiful skin, so soft and wondrous. The soft stirrings of love tug at her heart.

She looks to the moon, then, almost full, hanging heavy, and she feels a different kind of hunger awaken inside of her. Not the urgent pulse that sang through her body before, where she could think of nothing but Ewan and her need to couple with him. No, not anymore, not now that he has spilled his seed inside of her and she can feel it warm and hot—alive—inside. This is a different hunger entirely, and Ava recognizes it.

She looks to Ewan now, deliciously naked. She smiles and runs her tongue along his throat. He stirs but does not wake. Ava's teeth hum. She bends her head to Ewan's chest and breathes in his scent. Her eyes turn inward and she sees. She remembers breaking open the sac, a slow gnawing process with her pedipalps, pushing tiny new legs into cold night air. Tom behind her. She remembers flying on a filament, lighter than air. Catching the wind all the way into town on that first night. Landing on the doorstep, legs first. Naked.

By the time someone heard her cries, she was no longer herself. Instead, she held a new shape. A vulnerable, pale, peculiar shape. A shape that never fit, even after all these years. She could only hold her real form at night, under the moon's beams. Scuttling down rickety bedframes, flitting through cracks and under doorways, catching the wind with filaments of silk and flying with Tom to the forest. Where she belongs.

She opens her mouth wide now, above Ewan's throat, and pauses for only a relished second before she ducks her head and bites him open.

Ewan wakes as blood gurgles out of his throat. His eyes open wide with fear and see his love with blood circling her lips. He tries to cry out but blood spurts from his neck, spittles from his mouth. His fists pound Ava's shoulders but they do nothing against the hard shell of her skin. Ava lunges forward and seizes his throat between her teeth, too intent on her task to notice Ewan's urgent eyes, frantic sobs.

Tom knows when his sister does not return. He knows that she is gone. April whispers into his ear,
She eloped with the baker's boy
. But he knows this is not the right story.

A lone spider roams the forest. He crawls up and down the trunks of trees, searching. He knows when he finds it. He can smell it. He crawls up the tree trunk and stands sentry all night. No sign of her; she's gone like a spider on the wind. He waits all night, listening, staying perfectly still, invisible against the bark of the tree.

Morning casts its light into the forest and he drops from the tree to the ground. Naked, human. He is afraid to open the earth. But he summons the courage and pulls apart the freshly-churned soil beneath the tree's roots. And there he finds what she hid, and he knows without a shred of a doubt that she is gone. Bones, gnawed by pointed teeth. Cracked open, the marrow sucked out. Fresh bones. Too many bones. A complete skeleton. Tom throws the bones back into the earth and retches. He spits on his palms and wipes the blood away. He grasps the earth in handfuls and casts it back where it belongs. When his task is complete, he pats the soil under the tree, hiding his sister's secret.