Page 2 of Moon Chosen

Leda wiped her eyes and gave her daughter a quick hug. “I take back everything I said about your illustration. I decree that it is perfect.”

“Thank you,Mother.” Mari’s eyes danced. She took a fresh sheet of paper and held her charcoal at ready. She loved the ancient stories her mother had shared with her for as long as she could remember, weaving wisdom and adventure, loss and love into them as deftly as the talented women of Clan Weaver wove baskets and clothing and tapestries to trade with Clan Fisher, Clan Miller, and Clan Wood. “One more story! How about just one more? You’re so good at the telling!”

“Flattery will not get you another story. It may get you a basketful of early blueberries, though.”

“Blueberries! Really, Mama? That would be wonderful. I love the color of ink I make with them. It’s a nice change from the black stain I get from walnuts.”

Leda smiled fondly at her daughter. “Only you could be more excited about painting with blueberries than eating them.”

“It can’t beonlyme, Mama. You like the dye you make from them, too.”

“I do, and I’m looking forward to dyeing a new cloak for you this spring, but I admit freely that I would rather eat a blueberry pie!”

“Blueberry pie! That sounds wonderful! So does another story—the Leda story. And, Mother, can we take a moment to discuss your name? Leda? Really? I’m assuming your mother did know that story,” Mari teased. “But as her name was Cassandra, I sometimes question her ability to name sensibly.”

“You know very well that Moon Women always name their daughters whatever is whispered to them on the wind by the Great Earth Mother. My mother, Cassandra, was named by her mother, Penelope. I heard your lovely name whispered by our Earth Mother the full moon night before you were born.”

“My name is boring.” Mari sighed. “Does that mean the Earth Mother thinks I’m boring?”

“No, that means the Earth Mother thinks we should make up a story to go with your name—a story all your own.”

“So you’ve been saying for all the winters I can remember, but I still don’t have my own story,” Mari said.

“When the time is right you will,” Leda said, touching her daughter’s smooth cheek, her smile turning sad. “Mari, sweet girl, I cannot tell another story tonight, though I wish I could. Sunset is not far off, and tonight the moon will be full and brilliant. The needs of the Clan will be great.”

Mari opened her mouth to plead with Leda to stay just a few moments more, to putherneeds before those of the Clan, but before she could speak her small, selfish desire her mother’s body twitched spasmodically, shoulders trembling, head jerking painfully and uncontrollably. Though she had already turned from her daughter, as always trying to shield her from the change night brought with it, Mari knew too well what was happening.

All teasing fell away from her as Mari dropped the paper and charcoal and went to Leda. She took her mother’s hand, holding it in both of hers, hating how cold it had become—hating the pale silver-gray tinge that was beginning to spread across her skin. And wishing, always wishing, that she could soothe the pain that visited her mother with the setting of the sun every night of her life.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I lost track of time. I didn’t mean to keep you.” Mari kept her tone light, not wanting to send her beloved mother into danger and darkness burdened with more worry than she usually carried. “We’ll make up my story another time. And I have work I have to do while you’re gone. I still haven’t gotten the perspective perfect on that piece I’ve been trying to finish.”

“May I see it yet?” her mother asked.

“It’s not done, and you know I hate for you to see my drawings before they’re done.” Another tremor shivered across Leda’s skin and Mari’s hand automatically tightened around her mother’s, supporting her—understanding her—loving her. Mari forced herself to grin. “But I suppose I’ll make an exception tonight, especially since you’re my favorite model, and I like keeping my favorite model happy.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say you like me more than Narcissus,” Leda joked while Mari went to the simple wooden table that sat in the corner of the main room of the little cavelike burrow she and her mother had shared for the eighteen winters of Mari’s life.

The table was framed by the sides of the burrow that held the thickest of the glowmoss, and sat beneath the biggest and brightest cluster of glowshrooms, which suspended from the ceiling like organic chandeliers. As Mari approached the table, the strained smile she had adopted for her mother relaxed, and when she turned to Leda, holding a sheet of thick paper made from meticulously hand processing plant pulp, Mari’s smile was genuine. “No matter how many times I look at my drawing table, the way we’ve grown the glowshrooms and placed the glowmoss will always remind me of your Earth Sprite stories.”

“You have always so loved the stories passed down from Moon Woman to Moon Woman to entertain and teach their daughters, though none of them are any more real than Narcissus and his unfortunate Echo.”

Mari’s smile didn’t falter. “When I draw it—it’s real to me.”

“So you have always said, but—” her mother began, and then broke off with a little gasp of delight as her gaze went to the unfinished sketch. “Oh, Mari! It’s lovely!” Leda took the sketch from her daughter and looked at it more closely. “Truly this is one of your very best.” With a wondering fingertip, she carefully touched the image of herself, sitting at her usual place beside their hearth fire. On her lap was a partially woven basket, but she wasn’t looking at the basket. She was smiling lovingly at the artist.

Mari took her mother’s hand in hers again and smoothed her skin. “I’m glad you like it, but your hand is much more delicately boned than I drew it.”

Leda pressed the palm of her hand against her daughter’s cheek. “You’ll fix it. You always do. And it will be as exquisite as the rest of your drawings.” She kissed Mari gently on her forehead before adding, “I have made something for you, sweet girl.”

“Really? A present?”

Leda smiled. “A present indeed. Wait here and close your eyes.” She hurried into the back room of their burrow, which served as Leda’s bedchamber as well as a drying and storing room for her fragrant herbs. Then she hurried back to her daughter, standing before her with her hands behind her back.

“What is it? It’s small enough to hide behind your back! Is it a new quill?”

“Mari, I said no peeking!” Leda admonished.

Eyes screwed tightly shut, Mari grinned. “I’m not peeking! I’m just smart, like my mama,” she said smugly.