Red Moon Rising

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For Georgia, the fiercest of the fierce

1

A CLOUD OF DUST LIFTS
over the rise and I stand, smiling and waving, even though Boone is still too far out to see me. Unless he has his gogs on. But that would mean he's gotten his gogs fixed and I doubt that. The cloud moves closer and though I expect to see a horse's head bobbing within it, I do not.

It is something else entirely.

The head grows larger.

There is no boy.

It is not Boone.

I drop my flares into the dust at my feet. For a moment I'm completely frozen. Then I leap onto Heetle and tell her to go, go, go!

Perhaps he has not noticed me. Perhaps he is just flying
low, looking for food or exercising his beast. I urge Heetle to go faster. My hat flies out behind me toward the gorge and I swear into the wind. I will be in even more trouble now. I hazard a look over my shoulder.

He's still right behind me.

Right gum behind me.

No, no no no no no.

I kick Heetle viciously and she rears up, almost throwing me to the scrub. “Sorry, girl,” I yell. I know she's already going faster than she's used to. Her flank is sweaty, her face lathered. She rears again, announcing her displeasure, then takes off so fast it's as if her tail is on fire. My skirts billow out, a violent flapping in the dust. I throw one more look over my shoulder. My hair whips across my face, having come loose from its braids. It slashes at my eyes, my mouth, but even through the whipping hair I see him inside our cloud of pink dust, not twenty hands behind me, and just above. His beast has a mighty wingspan, which is probably why he is gaining so quickly.

“Go, go, go!” I yell at Heetle. She is galloping like the wind. I swipe my traitorous hair out of my face, catching tears and snot along with it. This is not happening. I will not let this happen. I am not Rory. Don't think about Rory.

I lean into Heetle's mane, protecting my eyes from the flying dust and scrub, then remember my gogs. Of course. Stupid, Rae. Holding the reins with one hand, I pull the gogs up over my eyes. They are caked in dirt and grime, I can barely see out of them. The compass spins to the right
direction. The homestead. We will be there soon. If we can just keep up this pace, we will beat him there. Barely.

Poor lathered Heetle. I did not put on her heat armor before I went out. I just wanted to meet Boone. Just one secret race before supper. But now. The suns are so hot, even though we are months from high summer. She is moving fast, but ailing, I can tell. And I am not so well myself. My breaths are jagged, harsh, my lungs filled with heat and dust and dirt and scrub.

I can't breathe.

Panic upon panic.

I cannot have an attack. Not here, not now. I hear his beast shriek into the air, the
whoomph
of her wings. Oh, gods. I start counting as I nudge Heetle even faster. Just like Aunt Billie taught me. One. Two. Three. Four. Calm yourself, Rae. Calm your breathing. Blackness and stars are edging into my vision. I cannot let an attack happen. I will not let it happen.

He is still behind me, but now almost over me, too. I crane my neck and see the red ropes of hair piled on top of his head in a tall spray that looks like a misplaced horsetail. I see his upturned turtle nose, his bony upper lip. He is so close.

Breathe, Rae, breathe.

Faster, Heetle, faster.

One, two, three, four.

The leaning, ramshackle metal walls of the homestead come into view and I want to feel relief, but panic claws at
me. Even as we grow closer, I feel we are too far away.

Finally, within sight of the sagging, dusty front porch, I yank back on the reins and throw myself off Heetle. I'm gasping, my chest as tight as if I'm wearing a church dress four sizes too small. I smack Heetle's haunch and she runs. I don't know where; I don't think she does, either. Just . . . safely away.

I am screaming like I'm the one whose tail is on fire. “CHEESE!” I yell, my voice going as sharp and high-pitched as a night beetle's song. “CHEESE! CHEESE! CHEESE!” I scramble into the cabin, slamming the rickety door behind me. It is as if I'm putting a skirt in front of myself to protect against a maelstrom. The Cheese know no boundaries, no walls, no rules, I know this. My breath is coming so fast. I am seeing stars.

“Ramona?” Aunt Billie looks up. She sits by the cooling grate, mending my fancy dress. Papa is simultaneously reading from his prayer book and cleaning his light rifle.

“Ch—” I say, sputtering, running into the center of the tiny room, my hair wild around my shoulders, my hands flailing. Papa sets down his prayer book and takes my hand. His grip is strong, unwavering. My hand shakes in his.

“Cheese. Here. Coming.” I point at the door with my other shaking hand and by now we can all hear the
whoomph
of wings outside. A screech goes up into the evening air.

In three swift motions, Papa yanks the apron from his waist, hands the light rifle to Aunt Billie, and pulls two
handbows off the wall. They automatically size themselves to his fists. Temple peers around the doorway of the bedroom, her gogs hanging around her neck.

“What's going o—”

Papa waves to her to shush up and then motions at me to go to her.

“I'm staying and fighting,” I whisper fiercely. “I'm thirteen summers now. I want to protect the homestead, too—” Papa holds a hand up and pinches his fingers together. I know this means,
Hush your gum mouth, noisy child
. I begin to protest but Temple runs into the room and grabs my hand, pulling me back into the tiny bedroom with her. She's barely nine summers, how is she so strong?

The screeching comes louder and then softer, so I know the dactyl must be diving figure eights around the house. Just like Boone said they did to his. The night they lost Rory.

My throat is so dry I can barely swallow. I push Temple away from me, but as soon as she's loose she's grabbed on to my arm again, keeping me in the back with her. I know what we're about to do, where we're about to go, and I don't want any part of it. I will not go willingly into the dark.

Aunt Billie's and Papa's breaths are coming so hard I can hear them echoing off the metal walls. Aunt Billie looks to me and Temple and nods twice. It's our signal. Just like we've practiced. I shake my head, so that my brain lobs back and forth between my ears, but Aunt Billie just nods twice again, this time more forcefully.

The Cheese raps on the plastic window in the front of the cabin. The window scavenged from the
Origin
. The one that didn't crack even when the ship dropped out of the atmosphere and landed in the gorge like a rock falling from space; the window that still has the small imprint of the Star Farmers Act seal from so many summers ago.

The Cheese presses his scaled face up against the cloudy plastic, leaving a smear of golden and silver paint. The dactyl swooping over the cabin screams again. And then, with a yank, Temple has me in the pit. The metal floor of the cabin, which was once part of the
Origin
's hull, is pulled over the top of us. The hiding pit. For storms and raids. For children and babies. For weaklings. For girls.

It is pitch black in here.

I hear the zoom of the light rifle. The
zip-pew
of the handbows.

The darkness crawls all over me, even though Temple holds both my hands. She begins counting softly. I try to count along with her, but I can't catch my breath.

The only light is from the stars in my eyes as I breathe so fast. So fast.

And then the stars disappear.

And it is only blackness.

2

“IT'S SAFER THIS WAY,” I
say, arms across my chest.

“It's a disgrace.” Aunt Billie's voice is low. Her lips quiver with emotion as she picks up the piles of hair from the floor and holds them in her hands like she is mourning something beloved and dead. “What will your papa say?”

“I don't care what he says,” I say, tightening my arms. My heart pounds because this statement is not the exact truth.

“I care what he says,” Aunt Billie says, more to the hair than to me.

“He is not a girl-child working the fields. He does not have to worry that his hair gives him away to the Cheese.
Now that my hair is short, I will be safer while I work. I wish I could cut Temple's hair, too,” I say.

“No!” Aunt Billie looks up sharply. “You will do no such thing. It goes against the gods, Rae. Have you never listened to one lesson in your life?”

“The gods did not have to worry about being stolen by soulless beasts, did they?” I mutter. I did not sleep during the night, still shaking from my encounter with the warrior Cheese. My hands only steadied when I picked up the sewing shears and sliced at my hair.

“Get to the fields,” Aunt Billie says, her mouth a tight line. “We will discuss this later. With your papa.”

I run my hand over my head. I already feel lighter and more free. It is lovely to have short hair. Even if it goes against the gods. I walk past Aunt Billie and she sighs deeply, swatting at my back. I turn, surprised. Is she that angry? But then I see she is only removing more strands of thick black hair. I keep my eyes low and try for a smile. Can Aunt Billie forgive this latest transgression? She does not smile back.

Out on the porch Boone and Temple stop talking as soon as they see me.

“Shut your gum mouths,” I say. “I already heard enough from Aunt Billie.”

They continue staring as I sit. I pull a little stone figure and my knife from my apron pocket. I try to ignore them as I whittle at the stone. The nose is not quite right, but at least the arms are finally functioning. Built with tiny gears
I removed from broken watches and other pieces, the arms are attached to the rock, and when I push them back they fly forward to clap hands. Or they're supposed to. One arm flies off, striking me in the eye, and the other lands perfectly, precariously, on the top of my head.

Boone and Temple start laughing so hard they're snorting. Boone rolls off the porch and lands in the scrub and that sets them off even more. I'm afraid one of them is going to suffocate on their own gum stupidness.

“I said, shut your pieholes.” I collect the broken pieces of my figure and run a hand over my newly shorn head. It is hard to cut your own hair when your only reflection comes from a piece of broken glass.

I want to be mad at them for laughing. I do. But after a minute I can't stop my mouth from twitching up just a little. Boone has a smear of red dirt under his nose like a mustachio.

“You think
this
is funny?” Temple says, changing the subject. “You should have seen Rae last night. She just . . . she just . . .” And Temple mimics a faint, complete with the back of her hand held to her forehead. She lands in the scrub next to Boone.

They both bust out laughing again until Boone chokes out, “She fainted? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Temple snorts, “into a heap on the floor. Out cold.”

“Our brave hero,” Boone says, standing and bowing at me. “Standing in the face of the Cheese. Never backing
down.” Ah, so this is what they must have been speaking of before I appeared and distracted them. I push Boone back down in the scrub, laughing despite myself.

“It was from a lack of oxygen,” I say. “You know. To my brain.” I point to my head and we all laugh. “Besides, the Cheese left, right? He didn't steal anything, he didn't take anybody. So, one point to Rae!” I curtsy and then realize what I just said about the Cheese not taking anyone. I flush as Boone finds something very compelling to study in the scrub.

“What is this ruckus?” Aunt Billie comes out onto the porch, lunch sacks in her hands. She hands one to me and one to Temple. “Those fields won't clear themselves.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Temple says, standing and shaking the dust and bits of scrub from her long skirt. She takes her lunch sack. I put my knife and the little statue back into my apron pocket and grab my lunch. Aunt Billie reaches out and puts her hand under my chin, looking at my face, my hair. She frowns and hands me a small, cloudy plastic container. It fits in my palm. I am meant to inhale the contents inside, straight into my nose, if I have a breathing attack in the field.

I drop the bottle into the pocket of my apron.

“In case of an emergency only. Do your counting first.” Aunt Billie's crystal-blue eyes dart to clouds of dust blowing by in the breeze. She clears her throat and turns her face from the wind. The air blows her hair out like a flag.

We're running out of the medicine. She hasn't told
me this, of course, but I know. My attacks have been coming more often and the medicine supply scavenged from the
Origin
is finite. Aunt Billie has been letting me help her cultivate seedlings for plants that might help replace some of the medicines, but so far nothing can tolerate the heat.

The counting sometimes helps me steady my breaths so I don't need to use the drops, but not always. I'm practicing, though. For when the drops run out.

“Too bad the drops do not also foster hair growth,” Temple says, and I stick my tongue out at her.

“Meet your papa a bit before midday for lessons, please,” Aunt Billie says, ignoring us. “You, too, Boone. I know how you like to feel ‘unwell' around lesson time.” Aunt Billie gives him a stern look. She takes hold of Boone and peers at the angry web of flesh on the side of his head where his left ear used to be. She says nothing, just looks him over good and then releases him.

Boone hops into his saddle. It slides around on Raj's back, and it takes him a second to steady it with his knees. Boone's horse is growing skinnier every day.

“See you later, brave protector,” Boone says to me with the flash of a smile. He salutes me and then kicks at Raj and yells, “Hyah!” They're off in a burst of dust.

Aunt Billie shakes her head. “He's going to wear out that animal, riding him like that in the heat of the morning.”

I walk off the porch and over to the side of the house where Heetle is tied up under a sagging awning. I untie her
and help Temple into the saddle. Then I hop on in front of her. “We won't be late for lessons,” I say, giving Heetle a quick “Hyah!” of my own, but making sure she stays at a respectable trot.

“Rae!” Aunt Billie yells after us, holding her hand up to protect her eyes from the already burning suns. “If your field work is finished early we can practice some poultices and tinctures tonight!” I smile bright. She still likes me well enough to work on healer studies? Maybe she can forgive me for my transgressions after all. One point to short-haired Rae.

“And, Rae!” she continues as Heetle picks up speed. “Keep your sister safe!” I raise my hand to wave at Aunt Billie, and gently squeeze Heetle with my knees so she'll speed up.

It doesn't take that long to get to the field. It's not a large area of land—just a few acres between Boone's homestead and ours. Boone is already over on his end, pushing a huge red rock into the gorge that marks the—abrupt—end of the field. The gorge spreads even farther along the horizon than the looming Red Crescent, an enormous frown that hangs in the sky. On a clear day, we can see the swirling clouds of the planet our people were supposed to reach but never did. So close. But still so far away.

Our shared field is small and it's filled with rocks and boulders churned up by the last electrical storm, making it impossible to plow the gum thing. If we're going to get the seedlings in the ground before high summer, then Temple and Boone and I are going to have to work double time,
throwing the boulders in the gorge. Fun times ahead.

Temple leaps off Heetle and walks to the very edge of the gorge, where she sits, clearly leaving all of the hundreds of boulders for me to take care of. Well, that is not going to do. I tie up Heetle under the cracked metal awning hammered onto four posts that serves as her shelter from the suns, and I march over to Temple. The wind snaps the front of the awning up and down onto the tops of the posts, making a noise louder than Papa's sneezes. It is like a drumbeat playing for me as I prepare my angry speech about lazy younger sisters who only want to daydream while their older sisters grow hunchbacked and bedraggled from—

“Can you see that?” Temple asks as I come up behind her. She surprises me and I momentarily forget my speech.

“What?”

She points to the other side of the gorge. “Shine tree.”

I pull my dusty gogs up from around my neck and look through them. Yep. Shine tree. “So?”

“So how'd it get over there? Was it there yesterday? I don't think it was.”

I shrug. “I don't know, Temple. Shine trees grow anywhere, and they grow fast. They love the suns. They eat the heat.”

Temple turns and looks up at me from where she's sitting. She puts her hand up to shade her eyes, even though she's wearing a wide-brimmed hat. She smiles and says, “Rae, you're a poet.”

I drop my gogs back around my neck and make a face. “What do you mean?”

“‘Love the suns,' ‘eat the heat,'” Temple laughs. “You're a poet and you don't know it.”

“We gotta get to work, Temp.”

She turns back to look out over the gorge. “I know it. I just wonder how that tree got there, is all. Papa says the Cheese don't grow shine trees.”

“Maybe they stole it from us,” I say. “Maybe the wind blew a seed over there and it started growing up on its own.”

Temple shakes her head. “Shine trees don't grow from seeds. They only grow from the needles they shoot.”

And that's when it hits me. It gum near knocks all the breath out of my body.

Only two people in this settlement have been shot by a shine tree needle. Only two times anyone's ever seen it happen. One time was me, one was Rory. Shine tree is why I only have four fingers on my right hand. I don't know about Rory's hands or arms or legs or head because the Cheese got to her first. They took her just as the poison was making her cry out.

“You think that tree has something to do with Rory?” I whisper. You can hardly hear my voice over the hot gusts whipping by.

Temple nods once. She stands, swiping a tear across her dusty face. “Don't say anything to Boone,” she says.

“You know I won't,” I say. I lick the salty grit from my bottom lip and then kick a rock over the edge of the field into the gorge. It cracks and snaps as it bounces off ledges
and outcroppings on its way to the bottom. “C'mon. We got ten hundred rocks to clear.”

I give her a quick one-armed hug. I can't imagine what my life would be like without Temple, even if she is a gum rockhead sometimes. How Boone still breathes and eats and lives without Rory is a mystery I will never solve.

Temple and I both reach into the pockets of our ratty canvas aprons and pull on our gloves made of the same canvas scavenged from the
Origin
back in the early days before we were even born. The pinkie finger in my right glove is tied in a knot so it doesn't get in my way.

“Hey, Temp,” I say, staring at my glove. “You ever think about what these gloves were like before they were gloves?”

“Huh?” Temple looks at me like I have night beetles in my hair.

“You know. Our aprons, too. This canvas. It was probably part of some vital mission on the
Origin
.”

“Or part of a tablecloth on the
Origin
.” Temple wanders over to a giant boulder and gives it a shove. It doesn't move. “How do you think this canvas got up here?” Temple asks. It's a familiar discussion between us. “I mean, how did it really get up here? How did any of the supplies get up here, out of the gorge?”

“Papa says everything comes from the wings of angels,” I say, though what he means by that I'm not sure.

“They must be strong angels,” Temple says. “And tireless.” She shoves the boulder again, and again it doesn't move. It is the biggest, nastiest one of the bunch, for sure,
nearly as tall as she is. Even with both of us pushing, we can't budge it.

I go and untie Heetle. It's tricky with the big rocks like this. I pull some grotty old rope out of one of Heetle's saddle­bags and tie a big slipknot. Temple helps me pull the circle of rope around the boulder. The knot pulls tight as I yank on the rope and tie it to Heetle's saddle.

This is not something we like to do, but sometimes it's the only choice. Can't plow a boulder. And no seedling is gonna grow on top of one, either. I give Heetle's haunch a pat and she trots forward a few feet, pulling the rope taut. Another couple of trots and the boulder rolls forward a bit. A swarm of prairie spiders comes flying out of the hole and Temple and I both shriek like a dactyl, and leap almost as high as one, too.

Heetle is none too pleased at our antics, and rears up at me, waving her hooves in an impressive display of
You better watch out or I will brain you with my feet just to teach you how big of a rockhead you are.

I whisper and purr at her, getting her to sidestep closer and closer to the edge of the gorge, so that she's dragging that boulder behind her, kind of diagonally to the drop-off. She is not happy with me. I try to keep my breathing even and steady, so she can see I'm calm, even though I hate doing this to her.

“I don't like this part, either, girl,” I say to her as calmly as I can. “But Temple's quick with the knife and the gum rope is trash anyway.” Heetle stamps and edges away from
where I want her to go. But with a few prods she swings her backside close enough to the gorge that the rock follows and starts to slip off the crumbling edge. Heetle's eyes tell me she feels the weight behind her giving her a tug. My heart lurches as hard as her front legs do as they try to regain purchase.