Phases of the Moon

Part One: New Moon

Phases of the Moon

By: Olivia Virginia

Part One:

New Moon

“The night was young.

The night was old.

The night whispered secrets,

Not yet told.

The night would rise like yeast.

And turn man into beast.

The night was black.

The night was white.

The night issued warnings of an attack.”

~Old Tribal Hymn

        Eerie smoke rose from among the ashes of the dying campfire. The small band of woebegone travelers gazed up drearily at the others around them, shock on their faces, as if they had just noticed that they were still there and alive. Their feet were scared and blistered as their shoes had slowly worn to dust. The Tribe had been greatly reduced in its numberings as it persevered on throughout famine, war, demons, and each other. Now only five still survived.

There were three males and two females. The one at the head of the crumbling ashes was named Seraphim. She had only witnessed sixteen winters and even those were filled with horror. Her twin brother, Cherubim, resided next to her. They were unmistakably twins, for they shared the same dark black hair, olive skin, and bright green eyes that were the only ones filled with life. They were the youngest amongst their company.

Caryatid was a wizened old crone who was mainly consistent of her mouth, which had mainly gums and, in happier times, a knack for trouble. Her milky eyes were a shade of blue that was blurred with numerous clouds. Kylix was the next one in the small ragged circle. He looked very healthy when one was considering the circumstances that the Tribe was facing. He was a strapping young man of around twenty winters. He had had a handsome face with chiseled features before the famine had struck, although you could still tell he was once beautiful.

The last one on the left of Seraphim used to be the chief of a prospering tribe, Lycan. He commandeered his remaining followers with the grace of a dying eagle. For it was true, the group was dying, and with them, the legacy of a great Tribe. Stories would be lost to the winds. All that would be left of them were the straps of their sandals, if they were lucky.

Seraphim reached into the small pack that carried the twins’ belongings. She feebly withdrew a small reed pipe and began to blow upon it, whispers of an old tribal tune. Cherubim also reached in and withdrew a small, bark drum. He began beating upon it in a slow, solemn arch.

“In all my years upon this world, as a bird, as a fish, as a toad, I have never drank Nectar with the Gods nor danced with the Devil.” Seraphim repeated the song that her mother had told her, in an almost singing, but speaking, tone.

“The winds had blown the waters into the rocks, shaping the land we now know.  But now, the land is barren, the land is blank, it too has lost its joy.” Cherubim had now resumed the song, the history of the Tribe.

“We were taken by force, by demons whose faces turn to dust in the sun.”

“We were forced to flee, aye! The mighty Tribe had fallen.”

“The lives quickly dwindled, like candles lit in a winter gale. We ran, not knowing it would be our own undoing.”

“The Tribe was in chaos as I slowly closed my eyes, for the last time. The Tribe is dead.”

The campfire ashes had since grown cold by the time the lament was done. The other members were slowly nodding their heads, in a slow acknowledgement of their woe and sorrow.

“But we shall rise up! Like the sun that beats down in the day, goes down, and then comes up, we will rise!” Kylix now spoke, with a fire burning in his eyes to replace the dead one before them. Caryatid managed a gummy smile. The Tribe, nay, they could scarcely be called that, the remaining.

When the group had fallen into the peaceful ruse of slumber, only two souls remained awake. Kylix and Seraphim slowly sat up and their gazes met. She slowly rose and walked off into the woods. Kylix let her go for a moment, and then got up to follow her. They met again in the usual spot, a cluster of three bending willows by a small lake that acted as their water source. Kylix rushed over to her, grabbed her arm, and yanked her closer to him. She held his eyes for a moment in hers and then leaned in. Their lips met and they stayed that way.

With no moon to guide them back for light, they just sat down under a willow, cradled in each other’s embrace. Suddenly, Kylix sat up with a jerk.

“What’s wrong, Kylix.” Seraphim spoke, her words laced with worry.

“I shouldn’t be here, not with you, not when the Tribe needs me most. Not,” he broke off.

“Not, what?”

“Not falling in love.”

Neither of them said a word. They just remained standing there, facing each other. Seraphim’s eyes cast remorseful beams tinged with sadness.

“We are all just going to die any ways,” she said quietly, almost inaudible. With that last remark, she stalked back into the woods and, hopefully for it was the blackest of nights, to the Tribe.

“Wait! You can’t see a thing under a new moon! Seraphim!” he paused, “Seraphim?”