A Glass Thought

Moonchild
Part 2


The next morning I awoke at dawn feeling like my head was going to explode every time I heard something that was even the slightest decibel above a whisper. I left my ledger on my desk as usual, not bothering to put a hair or speck of dusk to mark the path of intruders.

The town was busy as usual. I had gained popularity with most in Kolhari the night before. Now I wasn’t considered some stranger from Rome, but something like a distant cousin who came to visit. I guess we Romans didn’t invite Britain into the empire with the humblest of arms.

I rode into the square around noon. Children played near the fountain while their parents mingled around the different items displayed by the merchants. I could hear a group of elderly women talking about how prices for potatoes had risen outlandishly over the past few weeks. On the east side of the square was a ragged looking man preaching about a man named Yashua and repentance, or at least he was struck in the head with a rock by some unseen assailant.

“Francis, how are you, you Roman dog?!” Called out a voice from behind me. I turned and smiled as I realized it was Rupert.

“Rupert, how are you today? Did you enjoy the wedding?”

“Yes, it was even better than the one between Perking and What’s her name, the fat one. Oh well.”

I laughed, and then I remembered something.

“Say Rupert, Can you tell me where Merlina lives? I haven’t found her in the census I’ve taken so far, so I think she must live in the eastern sector. Do you know her?”

His smile faded for a second then he brought it back.

“Why are you looking for Merlina?” Rupert asked.

“Well, I’ve noticed her daughter is out around the town late at night. Does Merlina know about this?” I asked. He paused for a moment, considering what I said.

“You’ve seen Alia?” He asked

“Yes, once after I left your place, at the river. And again last night right over there at the fountain.”

“I see.” He said. “Well Francis, I’m sure Merlina knows what Alia is up to. Don’t worry about her, no one here cou… would harm that girl.”

“Still, I would like to speak with Merlina. After all I’m going to make my way around to her eventually.”


“No Francis, I don’t believe you will. Merlina and Alia no longer… live in Kolhari. Plus, she is sleeping now, and you would do well not to disturb her.”

“Sleeping? That’s what Chalon’s father said last night. Why does she sleep so much, is she sick?” I asked. Rupert chuckled a little and patted me on the back.

“Don’t worry so much. If you really want to know you can ask the Thatcher’s wife, Marlene. In the meantime there is a couple down in that eastern sector that would like to meet you. That’s where you were headed anyway, weren’t you?”

“You’re right, Rupert.” I said with a heavy sigh. “Maybe it was the alcohol or my own paranoid nature, but you’re right. I’m sure I am over reacting a bit. I should be done with my census of Kolhari by the end of the week, what do you say Friday I drop by before I leave in the morning?”

“That would be wonderful. Until then!” He called out as he made his way between old women and shopping stands.


The couple were the Tulane’s. At 54 and 42, they were the oldest couple in town, and it seemed that Duncan Tulane had seen as many different worlds as I had, if not more. It was a delight to hear about old worlds and places even I would never visit.

Soon, night approached and I was hesitant to leave before sundown. Alia still lurked in the back of my mind, and maybe I would find her again.

“Do you know the little girl Alia and her mother Merlina?” I asked. They looked at each other and Duncan glanced out the window.

“It’s almost sundown. I’m sure you’ll see her tonight, that’s the only time anyone does.” He said with a smile.

As dusk approached, I said my goodbyes and made my way out the door. I saddled my horse and rode back towards the town square. And there, as predicted, sat Alia. She was at the fountain, except this time not asleep. In her little milkwhite hands she held several stones, which she released into the water. One by one.

This time I did not approach her, but rather stayed on my horse, determined not to let my eyes off of her at any cost.

For hours I sat there, watching her. She seemed to possess not a care in the world. The moon lit her face and I realized that dawn was not far off. how silly it would be, I thoughtif someone were to find me here, sitting on my horse all night.

Then I remembered my horse, and feeling the upmost pity for the poor mare, I dismounted and let her rest. My eyes never left Alia. So I stood there, for three more hours, watching this girl whose skin seemed to glow with the moon.

Is that what you are?I thought while my mind entered states of delirium.IS that your mother, whose light graces the night sky. Alia, daughter of the Moon. Alia the Moonchild

Around dawn I must have dozed off, because I awoke to the sound of footsteps to see Thatcher walking towards me.

I sat up and quickly looked for the girl. She had gone.

“Roman, my wife needs you.” He said to me. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. My horse had moved a few yards away to a patch of fresh grass where it was grazing.

“What’s wrong Thatcher? Is Marlene alright?” I asked.

“Yes, she’s fine. But her mother is ill, and has been for some time.” He said as he helped me up. “We thought nothing of it, a cold at the worst. But it has been a two weeks and she has only gotten worse. We fear she may be dead within a few days.”

As startling news as this was, I was still a bit grumpy and sore from sleeping on the ground.

“What do you need me for?”

“Francis, you are from Rome. Perhaps you could take a look at her. Maybe tell us what is wrong.”

Although I knew nothing about medicine, I agreed.

It turned out that Thatcher was being modest about the condition of Marlene’s mother. She was pale as a ghost and her breaths were short. It seemed a miracle that she was even alive now. Sadly, I told them there was nothing I could do. I could tell they were still wondering where I had been. Later that day Marlene’s curious nature got the best of her.

“Thatcher said he found you asleep on the ground by the fountain in town.”

“Yes, I was… with someone.”

“Who? Some young lover?” She asked with a smile. I laughed a little at this.

“No, a little girl that only seems to be out at night. I’m told she’s Alia, Merlina’s daughter.” I replied. Her smile disappeared.

“Marlene, it seems that everyone in Kolhari knows who Merlina is, but no one will talk to me about her. I know I may just be acting paranoid, but could you tell me where to find her?” I paused. She breathed deeply.

“Of course I can, Merlina is my sister. You’ll find her on the southeastern side of town. Past the temple.” She replied. I thought about my maps and which houses were on the southeast side.

“But Marlene, there are no houses past the temple, are there?” I questioned. She said nothing and left the room.

The next day I rode out to the temple, and then beyond it and over the hill. There I found Merlina and Alia. They rest there along with many of the others who had passed on over the years. Among the anonymous dirt mounds I could not tell which was theirs, but it wasn’t necessary. Everything made sense.She is sleeping, and you would do well not to disturb those who sleep.

I finished my census before nightfall. I did not encounter the Moonchild on my way home. Her magic must be saved for those blessed enough to not understand. Alia and her mother died in a fire seven years back.

The day before my departure from Kolhari, tragedy struck. Marlene’s mother had passed, and her burial was held that same day. I walked the distance to the cemetery with the rest of the town, and watched as her mound was dug. Christa, Rupert’s youngest, was crying despite her mother’s attempts to calm her.

Quietly, I walked over to her and handed her something I had in my pocket: It was a small square of chocolate.

“Hush now, little one. She sleeps now, and you would do well not to disturb her.” She slowly found a smile and Rupert patted me on the back. I turned to leave, but as I did, I noticed two mounds close together. One of which was much smaller than the other.

Silently, I made my way back to the house where I packed my things. The ledger was on the table, the hair still in place. Before sundown, while the town was still up at the temple, I headed north out of Kolhari and into the darkness while the moon slowly rose to light my path.

END

__________________
"You have confused the true and the real." -George Stanley

I am worth $2,288,562 on HumanForSale.com

mwd

Hey again,

Well now that I've read the 2nd part things make more sense to me, hehe.

Anyways, the story seems a little long and unfocused to me. You have a lot of scenes between him and the locals which don't really seem to advance the plot between him and the spirits. It almost seems, while reading this, that the town and its inhabitants are the main star of the story, rather than the ghosts -- I'm not sure, maybe this was your intention. As it is, I could see you cutting quite a bit of his conversations with the locals out, while still leaving the theme of the spirits intact.

I liked it, and it's well written, it just seems that some extra scenes were thrown in without advancing the plot. I liked how you tied in the his paranoia and the stuff in his room moving with the ghosts at the end, implying that the moonchild had been moving everything. That was good.

A few specific comments I made while reading follow..

A Glass Thought

hmmmm, 21 views and only one reply. Now, I'm no math expert or anything like that. But it seems to me that there are at least..... 6 people who didn't leave any sort of comment.
Very interesting......

__________________
"You have confused the true and the real." -George Stanley

I am worth $2,288,562 on HumanForSale.com

aloycius

I liked it. It was well-written, and involving. Your character, as I said before, is personable, and his job was very clever the way it served the story.

mwd

I wouldn't worry about it too much. It seems to me that generally you can expect to get about 1 reply for every 10 thread views...

Chris Miller

The prose is clean and easy to read and the main story and character seem interesting enough. But beware of flat or empty patches.

For example:

After making my way from house to house and the sun had risen and began to fall, I realized I had lost track of the time. Rupert Hasser was an entertaining man and had a way with guests. I liked him so much that I regretted leaving. He had his stories and I had mine, and with his family around the table we ate and talked and laughed until I had to insist on leaving.

“Rupert, it’s been too long since I’ve laughed that hard. Hopefully we can do this again sometime before I leave.”

I hate when I’m told a character is funny or witty or interesting, but not given a single example of his being so. I’m glad they all had fun in these paragraphs, because for me they kind of drag, say nothing.

…my whistling subsided to thoughts of love and what it would be like to make love in the shallows of the stream here…
Nice, as long as you’re on top I suppose.

…shallows of the river…
A second ago it was a “stream.”

…and rode one.
one = on

A hair slide down the cover and brush my hand.
Huh?

On the east side of the square was a ragged looking man preaching about a man named Yashua and repentance, or at least he was struck in the head with a rock by some unseen assailant
This makes no sense.

The story is too slow paced. It tells too much that is banal along the way and does not offer enough by way of idea, insight and description, especially considering that your narrator is a mature, well traveled man of considerable life experience. It is credible enough, so I do not feel like I am reading something made up, but that I am reading about something. I believe that the important details and ideas and descriptions of this story could be squeezed into half as many words without crowding. The ending and theme has the feel of “wouldn’t it be cool if…” but the story lacks any sort of satisfying conflict and therefore resolution.

…she is sleeping now, and you would do well not to disturb her.
This motif was nice for a while. Then it started to distract.

You might garner more feedback if you kept the story in one thread. Having to read 2 threads to comment deters people I think. Also, I kind of hate reading unfinished short works. It’s like the author can’t be bothered to finish and polish before posting. The whole is more than the sum of its parts.

__________________
the fairwriting blogs

Barcelona Review story: http://www.barcelonareview.com/64/e_cm.html

snorrie

Your writing and imagery is clean, but the piece is really transparent. I knew right away that the daughter was a ghost. I'm not sure how you could fix it, but it takes away from the story. I almost went straight to the end just to confirm my suspicion. Good luck. Keep writiing.