Phases of the Moon

Part Two: Crescent Moon

Part Two:

Crescent Moon

“My love has fallen.

Like the sun that sets she has.

Only I shall not to rise from this grief.

For no one can comfort me.

She was a lover, a friend, and I adored her.

Now, she is gone.”

~A Widower’s Song

The Tribe was awakening as Kylix joined them. The twin was rifling through the food sacks. He dug deep into the burlap bag in vain. Their food had run out.

        “Time to hunt.” Chief Lycan said grimly.

        “Where is Seraphim?” Kylix spoke quickly, his eyes frantically searching the faces for hers. She was not there. Without a moment’s hesitation he grabbed a bow and was off like the arrows he was carrying flew. Cherubim tried to catch up with him, Seraphim was his twin after all, but to no avail. Before he caught his breath, Kylix was gone.

        The leaves on the ground pooped and crackled as Kylix’s bare feet pounded on them. Any food that the tribe had hoped to catch would be scared away, but he did not care what-so-ever. The only thought on his mind was that he had to find Seraphim.

        “Seraphim! Seraphim!” He shouted out her name until his voice was hoarse and he could scarcely breathe.

It was then he saw it.

Hanging on a branch.

Right above him.

It was her scarf. A sound like a hungry animal came out of Kylix’s throat. He reached up and tore it off the branch.  He thrust it to his nose and inhaled deeply. Her scent mingled with the scent of fresh blood.

He looked down and saw signs of a struggle. The leaves were moved so that they created the impression of a slight frame and branches nearby were snapped. The scent of a demonic presence lingered in the air. He knelt down and picked up a scale the protruded grisly from the earth. A basilisk had been there.

He had heard legends of them from the chief and his mother, but this was the closest he had ever been to one. They were long saclike creatures with a grotesque head. One look from their black, soulless eyes and you would be turned into stone, or worse, you could become one of them.

“Dear God, please don’t let her have looked at it!” Kylix examined the ground more for a place, a direction to where it had gone. He discovered that it had dragged her, for there were two indentations in the ground. She had not looked. He had discovered the directions the unholy beast had taken her, north. He was just about to go, when a thought hit him like a bolt of lightning.

“I can’t just leave the tribe, but if I do not go after Seraphim,” he broke off as an image of her with him under the willows entered his mind. He would go. Cherubim had enough skill that would keep the Tribe alive until he got back. If he ever got back.

“What is taking him so long?” Cherubim spat.

“Patience, patience is what we must have, Cherubim.” Chief Lycan said with a sigh, “He will come back once he has found your sister.”

“And what if he never does? What if they both die out there while we are sitting here slowly starving away? What if,”

“Now listen here young man,” Caryatid had broken in between the two men and pushed them away from each other. “We will not starve! My grandson left us with a knife and a net. Now in my day,”

“We don’t want to hear it Caryatid.” Cherubim walked over to the pack. She was right. They would survive. Hope that he thought was dead sprung up in his chest, a blaring flame. His beloved sister would be brought back alive and well, and. He broke off mid-thought. For, arising from the clump of trees was a low, morose growl. It was soon joined in by numerous growls of the same kind.

“It’s only a crescent, it can’t be!” Lycan exclaimed as the howl grew in a crescendo. The chorus rang out and pounded in their eardrums. It could only be one thing. The Children of Luna. Lycanthropes.

“RUN!” No one knew who had said it, but the request was gladly acknowledged. They ran and ran until Caryatid had to be carried by Lycan. They ran but could not outrun the wolves. They could hear every snarl, every movement of the beast’s joints as they chased after their prey. Adrenaline soon gave way to fatigue.

“No, put me down Lycan,” Caryatid said, “Save yourself.”

“I won’t let you die! I won’t,” Caryatid put a finger against Lycan’s lips and wrenched herself from his arms. She dropped down to the hard earth with a thud, and the wolves descended. Provided with this distraction, the Lycanthropes paused. Not wanting Caryatid’s sacrifice to be all but in vain, they ran with exerted force. Their muscles screaming in protest, their limbs lifting like iron, Cherubim and Lycan dashed faster. Soon, they reached a small clearing by a stream. They paused there to catch their breath and cast nervous glances behind them. It was then they realized two things necessary to their survival were gone. One of them was Caryatid. The other was their packs.

Kylix was spent by the time he reached the monster’s lair. It was a hollowed out hill that reeked of death and malice. It nearly made him gag. The only thing that stopped him from gagging was that he needed silence. If the stories he’d heard were true, basilisks were tricky.

“Seraphim, I am coming.”