This was a time before there was measurement of time. Before countries were distinguished, and enemies made. Before all thought or hope of love, there was a village of terrible figures that feared difference and defiance. This was the time that Moenea knew.
Moenea’s life was not simple or pleasant as a child. She knew only her abusive father and cruel mother. She had pure brown eyes and soft auburn hair. The townspeople she grew up with thought her an abomination. She was small, imperfect, and her bright eyes scarred the townsfolk. But while the manners of the others diminished her generosity and nurturing only grew for every friend she lacked. When she came of age she left her fathers house and made her own home without a husband, both things unheard of being done by a woman; and the result was only the further distrust there was from the eyes of the villagers. She took in and helped those that it seemed the world would have let die. As her hair grayed, the scoffs only increased, and her eyes only brightened.
One evening, when Moenea was very old and seemed to be at the end of her days, a strange man appeared on the villages’ road. It seemed he came from nothingness. He had no belongings other than the clothes on his back, which were rich in fabric but worn at the hems. The village closed their doors on this stranger not willing to trust him long enough to ask his name. But Moenea came out to the road to great him. “Good sir!” she said. “What brings you to this little village?”
“I look for shelter for a time.” He said, never giving his reasons for being there.
Moenea gestured towards her door. The man asked no questions but strode silkily through the threshold.
“I’ll not be able to pay you for your hospitality.” He said although his accent and grandeur suggested otherwise.
Moenea replied, “That’s fine dear, stay as long as you like.” She beckoned for the man to follow her so she could show him his room. “Do you have a name good sir?”
“Many.” He stated but did not go further.
Moenea did not ask again. “I’ll leave you be less you’ve got a question for me.”
“Ma’am, I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that I have none.”
“I still can be polite, well good evening sir.” Moenea closed the door as she left, leaving the man to his tidings.
The next morning, the town woke to screams. Moenea, who had trouble sleeping of late, was the first to arrive at Denva’s orchard where she found Mrs. Denva shrieking and weeping over what seemed to be the small body of her youngest son. Moenea hobbled forward as quickly as her aged feet would carry her.
“Mrs. Denva.” She said softly. “Mrs. Denva, are you alright?”
“Get away from me you old hag!” she spat at Moenea. The other villagers were arriving in their bedclothes. The last to arrive was the stranger.
“Kiera! What’s going on?” one of the men asked in a rough deep voice.
“He’s not moving” she sobbed despairingly. A man with light brown hair, who seemed to be in his thirtieth summer, stepped forward and bent over the boy. He touched the boy’s chest and shook his head. Kiera started crying. “I’m sorry Kiera, he’s gone.” She screamed in agony.
“What happened to him?” the man with the deep voice demanded of the crowd. All the eyes turned towards Moenea and the stranger she was housing. A peacemaker took a step in front of Moenea, more to protect the townspeople than to protect Moenea. “I assure you I will get to the bottom of this.” He addressed the town. “In the meantime, there is no need for accusations.”
He directed two of the men to take the body back to the village keeper of the dead. And one by one, the villagers dispersed into the town. When only Moenea, Mrs. Denva, and the stranger remained, the peacemaker turned to Moenea. “Will you and your guest please wait for me at your house?” As the two walked back to the inn, they could hear him addressing the mother. “Mrs. Denva, I know you are very upset, but I need you to tell me everything that happened from sundown last night until this morning when I arrived.”
Moenea was busying herself cleaning and the stranger was lounging in a chair. He was holding an old book that needed new binding in his left hand, it was open but he was not reading it. His eyes were focused on Moenea's back. When the peacemaker walked in, only Moenea looked up. The stranger only continued to stare at Moenea. “Ma’am,” the peacemaker said, “I’m going to need to have a word with you outside.” He glanced at the stranger who did not return his gaze for he was still busy watching Moenea. The peacemaker waited for her to exit first, and then followed her outside positioning himself so as to still see the stranger through the window.
“Moenea, how well do you know that man in there?” he whispered
“Not at all.” She replied matter-of-factly without regards to loudness.
“Well I will need his name can you give that to me?”
“He has given me no name.”
“Moenea! You know the ‘Piece For Peace’. All paying visitors must give a name.” His voice rising to a loud and heated whisper.
“But he is not paying.” She sounded stunned that he thought she could have overlooked this.
“So you’re just letting a stranger live off you?” He was having trouble keeping his voice polite. How could she be so daft?
“Just say what you’re thinking peacemaker, you think that poor man murdered the little Denva boy.” She said becoming impatient with him. “But don’t ask all of these evasive questions, I’m not as dim-witted as some say.”
“If it comes out you are helping him, I won’t loose a lick of sleep throwing the both of you to the dogs.” He declared and stormed off down the road in a rage that was only to be settled by the flask of drink he had hidden in his bed.
Moenea went back inside, thinking thoroughly of what just took place. “What can I call you?” she asked the stranger sitting on her checkered rest.
He looked down at the book he was holding, and chose his name. “Bilog”
“And what kind of name is that?” she asked rudely, forgetting herself, but the stranger took no notice.
“The Jordbo call me that.”
“The earthe people?” she had never met someone who had ever seen an earthe person. But then she had never seen much of anything, for she had never left the town.
Bilog nodded solemnly. “I have met many foreign peoples.” He told her.
Moenea dared to ask a more personal question. “What did you come here for?” It wasn’t rude, but he was so secretive that she feared it may seam invasive. But he didn’t seem to notice any apprehension she might have felt.
“Does not a small village such as this deserve saving?” Moenea did not understand what he meant, but she didn’t push him further. “Does the peace keeper suspect me for the boy’s death?” Moenea looked up, how did he know? He nodded as if he knew what she was thinking. “Not many people are willing to trust strangers. I promise you Moenea, I had no hand in that boy’s death. But I would understand if you wish for me to leave.”
“No.” she said. “I believe you. After all, by what reason would you hurt someone in this town? I am honored to have you as my guest.”
Seventeen days later Moenea left for market. Not much had changed since that fateful morning. The peacemaker was no closer to finding the murderer. The only thing that was different were that tensions in the village were running high. There was not one person that didn’t suspect Bilog or blame Moenea for giving him shelter. But Moenea was used to jeers and curses, and it would take something worse than fruitless words to scare her.
Hujembey, the man with the deep voice, who had almost no neck, and was very large, stepped out in front of Moenea blocking her way into his market.
“Excuse me Hujembey, but you are in my way.” She said as politely as she could with her tempered annoyance with him.
“You are not welcome here anymore. Until you send Bilog away you are not welcome.”
“Hujembey, I am willing to pay you if you just move out of my way.” She said defiantly. Hujembey did not move, and the villagers were starting to assemble around them. And for the first time, she felt something swimming inside her. Fear. “Bilog did nothing to that boy.” She said fiercely. “It was one of your own that killed him and by going after Bilog you’re letting him get away.” But the crowd wasn’t listening. They were closing in around her, and now she was truly afraid. The crowd could see her fear through her many wrinkles. And they didn’t care.
Suddenly there was a loud boom, as if someone had dropped a boulder from the sky. It was enough to knock the villagers from their mob mentality. They all looked towards the source of the sound. It was Hujembey’s meager means of a house. He pushed through the crowd calling for his three children. The eldest, his only boy, called out from somewhere on his left, but from his girls he heard no reply. He ran to his hut and wrenched open the door. They heard him cry out from behind the shadows of his hut. It was a long and terrible cry. Bilog arrived and put his hand on Moenea’s elbow to let her know that he was there. The village was still focused on Hujembey's hut where they saw him emerge covered in blood. The healer and the peace maker saw this and rushed into the house. Hujembey caught sight of Bilog standing next to Moenea and yelled out. “You!” he pushed back into the crowd. “What did my girls ever do to you?” he knocked over several people in order to reach Bilog before his rage subsided into grief.
“You are making a big mistake Hujembey.” Bilog said quietly, and yet, to the villager’s astonishment, in a voice that carried so that every person in the crowd could hear him as clearly as if he stood right in front of them. “You are right to not trust yours or your family’s life with a stranger. But you are wrong, very wrong, to accuse when you don’t understand the full circumstances. I did not kill the little Denva boy and I did not touch your little girls. You would be wise to stop this madness now.” He spoke with a fire on his tongue, and for the first time, Moenea sensed that he was dangerous. “I will be leaving this evening, but you will find death will not leave with me for the true killer will still be here.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you did that to my girls!” Hujembey grabbed at the collar on Bilog shirt, but Bilog, who was the only one that had remained calm, was ready for him. He grabbed Hujembey's wrist and excruciating pain shot through Hujembey's eyes.
“Do not test me son, I do not wish to hurt you. I did not touch your girls, and nothing you can do now will bring them back.” He released Hujembey’s wrist, who sunk to the ground weeping. Bilog took a hold of Moenea's upper arm. His grip was strong, but not painful as it had been for Hujembey. He led Moenea back to the inn and told her to grab anything that she wanted to keep, but she was going to have to leave the village.
Moenea was terrified. As much as she had hated it, she had never left the little town she grew up in. “Why do you want me to go with you?” Moenea asked apprehensively as she gathered her few precious belongings.
“This village is no longer safe for you. And I have other plans for you my child.” This was odd Moenea thought. Him calling her child. After all, she had to be thrice his age at least. “But we must leave now, or it shall be too late.”
They left together, going through the same gate of which Bilog had arrived. The town was in a rage and they could hear it for twenty minutes after they had left. Moenea, in her old age, felt little of loss, for what had she know in that village but hate and fear. The pair walked until the sun went down. They made camp in a grove close to a stream that trickled through rocks. Bilog started a fire and collected leaves for Moenea to sleep on for the night. He promised her she would not have to sleep on the ground for very long, soon she would have a bed and warm blankets. Moenea’s bones and joints were sore from such a long day’s walk. She was not young after all.
She swiftly fell asleep and dreamed of a far off place with stars shining in the daylight. She was young again, maybe sixteen summers, and she was wearing a silky blue dress that flowed around her ankles. Someone was waiting for her over the ridge. Her feet strolled naked over the soft green grass. He was waiting just over the hill. She climbed the hill but he wasn’t there. “Perhaps it was the next hill.” she thought and proceeded to that of which she thought. But he wasn’t there either. “The ridiculous fool,” she thought, “doesn’t he know to stay put?” But she continued to follow him all throughout the night, with the constant thought of “He’s over the next hill.”
Moenea woke with the birds after the first goodnight’s sleep in many years. She sat up. There was a breakfast waiting for her on a nearby rock. Fresh fruit, eggs, and a biscuit, but no Bilog. She found a note next to her belongings. It was from Bilog.
Dear Moenea,
I am sorry to leave you but I am needed urgently elsewhere. But know that I am never too far away. Follow your heart to the road on which you belong. You will know it when you see it. Help those who need your help even when you feel you have nothing to give. You are not forgotten, and your kindness is remarkable. Dear lady I thank you for your hospitality, especially in times like these.
Humbly Yours,
Bilog
CN¥C¥‡b
Moenea couldn’t help but notice that the last inscribings, the ones she couldn’t read, had been written in blood. She felt comfort at his words even though he had left her alone in the woods. But she knew he would not have done so had it not been safe.
She decided to stay where she was for the day, and find some feeling in her feet. It was almost midday when she heard a scuffling in the bushes near her. Moenea lifted herself up slowly and investigated the noise. As she looked through the brush, she noticed a little road made by deer or their hunters. It was so familiar to Moenea even though she had never laid eyes on it before. She gathered her things and set off in the direction she knew was to her destiny.
She soon came across a baby bird that had fallen from its nest. She took the ratted thing and placed it in its net. She took out a ribbon that had held together a pen and paper. She started to unravel the ribbon until it was only soft fuzz and string. She laced it into the nest to stop it from falling apart. She stood back as the mother flew back to its chick. She smiled seeing the joy and love of the two united figures. She continued down the path.
She came across an injured rokus. The poor thing had damaged its front paw. Moenea took out her pens and her lace and mended straitened its break. She wound the lace around the pens and the leg to help keep it sturdy. The rokus let her know that it could remove the bandage when it was healed. As it scuttled off, Moenea was happy.
She found a clearing in the woods and sat down to eat some berries she had picked. By now all of her possession had been cast away to those animals in need of help. She heard a squealing and crying of some poor defenseless creature. She rose to her feet and hurried off in the direction of the strangled yelps. It was not long before she came upon the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. It was an ymber. Its white coat glared against the darkness of the trees and seamed to create its own light. Moenea could see that its neck had been caught in a trap, and was going to die.
Moenea burst out in tears. She had nothing else to give this creature. Nothing could help it now. And such a beautiful ymber should not perish this way. Moenea was furious now for giving all of her things away. But she knew that none of them would have helped. Moenea put her head close to the ymber, remembering that it had magic. She spoke to the fox-like creature.
“Do you understand me?” she asked feeling quite ridiculous. But the ymber seemed to nod. She asked, “If a creature gives up its life, can you be saved?” the ymber nodded again. She put her hands on the ymber’s head as if it were a small child she adored. She told the ymber, “Then take my life, after all it is not far for me to go.” She felt the life drain out of her, as peaceful as a summer’s day. She saw the blue sky above her before she drifted off like sleep. The ymber glided out of the cage, its bloody wounds no more.
The ymber walked over to Moenea's body and nuzzled her neck until her head rolled to the side. He looked at her face and saw grace dancing around her fading spirit. He put his mouth on hers and breathed out light into her mouth. Her eyes opened. And she looked at the ymber.
His eyes were blue, like the sky she thought. But she was told that ymbers had only amber eyes, and she was amazed at the beauty of the blue. “I thought I would be dead” she told the ymber. It grinned mischievously.
“You were.” The ymber spoke. Moenea was surprised although quite pleased. “I have the gift of restoring others to life if I feel that they deserve so.” Moenea realized that the ymber spoke in another language and yet she could understand it as if she had spoken it all her life.
“What is your name?” she asked, alarmed that she had used the same tongue without knowing how.
“Pia Eilius.” He bowed. “And yours?”
“Moenea.” She said a little shyly.
“You are speaking the language of the Relvulia.” said Pia Eilius. “It is the tongue spoken by all magical creatures. Not many outside our kin have even heard such language. I have blessed you with this gift for saving me. But you are not fit to know such wisdom as I have bestowed in your present state.” The ymber began to howl, and with that howl blinding blue light filled the clearing.
When it began to fade, Moenea noticed a change in herself, she was no longer weary with age. She looked down at her hands. There were no wrinkles no lines, her fingers were deep blue which faded into the peachy color of skin. she no longer was wearing an old filthy dress, but a dazzling blue one like the one she had worn in her dream, it seamed years ago, but only last night.
Pia Eilius looked up at her. “One more thing my friend.” He said. He instructed her to cut off all her hair, which she noticed had turned back to auburn, so as not to ruin her living body with death. She did as she was told, and when not one hair was left on her head, Pia Eilius took her fallen locks and gathered them into a heap. And he put his mouth up close to the mound. He breathed into it and it began to form into a man, but of the likes of Moenea now, which he named Notarious. He led them to a grove where the trees grew blue and gave it to them as their domain for all of time so long as they protected and cared for it.
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