The Girl Who Drank the Moon(72)

Glerk held up all four of his hands and lifted his great head as high as he could, uncurling his spine and standing on his back legs at first, and then lifting his body even higher on his thick, coiled tail. His wide eyes grew even wider.

“Look!” he said, pointing down the slope of the mountain.

“What?” Fyrian asked. He could see nothing.

“There, moving down the rocky knoll. I suppose you can’t see it, my friend. It’s Luna. Her magic is emerging. I thought I had seen it coming off in bits and pieces, but Xan told me I was imagining things. Poor Xan. She did her best to hold on to Luna’s childhood, but there’s no escaping it. That girl is growing. And she won’t be a girl for much longer.”

Fyrian stared at Glerk, openmouthed. “She’s turning into a dragon?” he said, his voice a mixture of incredulity and hope.

“What?” Glerk said. “No. Of course not! She’s turning into a grown-up. And a witch. Both at the same time. And look! There she goes. I can see her magic from here. I wish you could, Fyrian. It is the most beautiful shade of blue, with a shimmer of silver lingering behind.”

Fyrian was about to say something else, but he stared at the ground. He laid both his hands on the dirt. “Glerk?” he said, pressing his ear to the ground.

Glerk didn’t pay attention. “And look!” he said, pointing at the next ridge over. “There is Xan. Or her magic, anyway. Oh! She’s hurt. I can see it from here. She’s using a spell right now, transformation by the look of it. Oh, Xan! Why would you transform in your condition! What if you can’t transform back?”

“Glerk?” Fyrian said, his scales growing paler by the second.

“There’s no time, Fyrian. Xan needs us. Look. Luna is moving toward the ridge where Xan is right now. If we hurry—”

“GLERK!” Fyrian said. “Will you listen? The mountain.”

“Speak in complete sentences, please,” Glerk said impatiently. “If we don’t move quickly—”

“THE MOUNTAIN IS ON FIRE, GLERK,” Fyrian roared.

Glerk rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not! Well. No more than normal. Those smoke pots are just—”

“No, Glerk,” Fyrian said, pulling himself to his feet. “It is. Underground. The mountain is on fire under our feet. Like before. When it erupted. My mother and I—” His voice caught, his grief erupting suddenly. “We felt it first. She went to the magicians to warn them. Glerk!” Fyrian’s face nearly cracked with worry. “We need to warn Xan.”

The swamp monster nodded. He felt his heart sink into his great tail. “And quickly,” he agreed. “Come, dear Fyrian. We haven’t a moment to lose.”



Doubt slithered through Xan’s birdish guts.

It’s all my fault, she fussed.

No! she argued. You protected! You loved! You rescued those babies from starvation. You made happy families.

I should have known, she countered. I should have been curious. I should have done something.

And this poor boy! How he loved his wife. How he loved his child. And look at what he was willing to sacrifice to keep them safe and happy. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to un-transform and explain everything. Except he would surely attempt to kill her before she could do so.

“Not long, my friend,” the young man whispered. “The moon will rise and we will be off. And I shall kill the Witch and we can go home. And you can see my beautiful Ethyne and my beautiful son. And we will keep you safe.”

Not likely, Xan thought.

Once the moon rose, she would be able to capture at least a little bit of its magic. A very little. It would be like trying to carry water in a fishnet. Still. Better than nothing. She’d still have the drips. And maybe she would have enough to make this poor man go to sleep for a little bit. And maybe she could even ambulate his clothing and his boots and send him home, where he could wake up in the loving embrace of his family.

All she needed was the moon.

“Do you hear that?” the man said, springing to his feet. Xan looked around. She hadn’t heard anything.

But he was right.

Something was coming.

Or someone.

“Can it be that the Witch is coming to me?” he asked. “Could I be that lucky?”

Indeed, Xan thought, with more derision than was likely fair. She gave the man a little peck through his shirt. Imagine the Witch coming to you. Lucky duck. She rolled her beady little bird eye.

“Look!” he said, pointing down the ridge. Xan looked. It was true. Someone was moving up the ridge. Two somethings. Xan couldn’t account for what the second figure was—it didn’t look like anything that she had ever seen before—but the first thing was unmistakable.

That blue glow.

That shimmer of silver.

Luna’s magic. Her magic! Coming closer and closer and closer.

“It’s the Witch!” the young man said. “I am sure of it!” And he hid behind a tangled clump of undergrowth, keeping himself very still. He trembled. He moved his knife from one hand to the other. “Don’t worry, my friend,” he said. “I shall make it very, very quick. The Witch will arrive. She will not see me.”

He swallowed.

“And then I shall slit her throat.”