Legend of the Moon Guardian

“But what’s inside?” little Nira asked, brow too indignant for the squeal of her voice. “No one ever talks about what’s inside.”

Ilray’s instinct was to criticize the child’s questioning as he had done to all the pupils before her, but the second-sight had made it clear: Nira was to be trusted as fiercely as the Moonstone hung around his neck. Towing the line between tradition and faith, he answered, “The Nest holds precious secrets, Nira--secrets that many have tried to steal. Our secrets protect the Moon, and the Moon protects the second-sight. When you are ready, there will be nothing hidden from you.” And you will protect us all, he thought, surprised by the ache, by the weight of the truth he could not share.

Her stomping feet mimicked the very thunder that raged during the night of her birth. Silver eyes flashed with lightning underneath black, wiry hair. “I’m ready now.”

Oh, of that he was certain she was not. But she was made of all things that would make her so--it was why the Moon stared back at him through those stormy eyes. It was said amongst the Elders, too, that while only children born during the night of a Full Moon could be considered for the ritual to obtain second-sight, Nira’s right to face the Trial was undeniable: The Moon was absent in the sky at her birth because it visited her in the womb, and only once she was born could it return home. Her connection to their people’s power both thrilled and unnerved him.

“Pity, seeing as you haven’t finished the lesson I had planned for tomorrow,” he teased. “It was such a good one.”

Nira’s expression shifted, evaluating. “Fine. But I’ve no tolerance for fibbers,” she said, throwing his line back at him with a stoic air not belonging to a child. Only when she turned did he allow his lips to embrace the mirth and pride rising within.

Nira grinned, too, though she hid her affection as fervently as her Master, a guardedness only he seemed to admire. For months she had tried to join the giggling gaggle of potion-learning witches her age, but her silent nature unnerved them; and then, when she advanced far enough in her combat training, the warlocks-in-training decided she was unworthy of their comradery. Not even her parents could hold her stare: They gave her unto the care of Ilray and Mother Moon herself right before her first bleed. By the time she was aged old enough for the Trials, she made a home out of a secluded cavern in the mountains, away from the village but closer to the stars. Her heart ached with the loneliness of twenty years deemed different.

“What do you want from me?” she called to Mother Moon one evening, not bothering to stoke a fire for her pale skin preferred the embrace of the breeze over suffocation from flame’s heat. Plus, it kept the stars vibrant, alive alongside her mother like sisters and brothers winking with a joke only her true family could know. And she wanted in on the joke, dag’nabit.

Her answer came only hours later. An angry current of rain-smelling wind brought darkness to the mountains and valley alike, Mother Moon vanishing under the growl of black and blue clouds. The trees began hissing. A bolt of electricity skipped across the sky, raising the hair on Nira’s arms.

She knew the moment she saw Ilray’s form climbing and protesting against the weather: her Trial had begun. Donning the sheath of her halberd and packing various knives in her pockets, boots, and even tying her hair with one, Nira met Ilray at the mouth of her mountain.

“Take my sleipnir,” he yelled over an orchestra of howling elements. “He’ll get you there faster, and you’ll need all the strength you can retain.” She eyed him, knowing he knew more than he was letting on, but he nodded his head as he had done a thousand times before, his lips turned downward. “Some secrets are not mine to tell, Nira. But when this is over, nothing will be hidden from you.” And then he surprised her into a hug, long and warm and full of goodbye.

Her race down the mountainside felt like flying, a buzz just beneath her skin calling her home. She laughed despite the world’s raging; if she seemed crazy before, surely she was manic now. And free, she noted with another cackle to ornament the thunder.

Ilray’s sleipnir charged unphased by the deafening storm toward the Trial Gate, slamming against the iron bars as if they were merely branches in his way. Nira cheered him on with a kick, grabbed tighter to hair as dark and coarse as her own, and pinned herself against his velvet pelt, mimicking his breath, smelling his courage and summoning it for herself.

Nira remembered in vivid recollection the tales of those strong enough to remember their Trial after being gifted the second-sight; the force of magic rendered most unconscious, the price of newfound power being their victory. The best stories were oral, though three Moon Councils prior to her own had begun writing them down, storing them in libraries accessible only to those already given second-sight.

Each Trial was different than the one before it. Tailored to challenge the individual, some spoke of illusions along an ever-changing, winding path; others regaled moments of vines swarming like waves, thorns at their throat; a few even mentioned ghosts stopping them in their tracks with riddles to solve.

Nira faced none of those things. Though the storm conquered all sight and sound, her path was clear, straight and steady in incline, and unthreatening. She kicked the sleipnir onward in frustration.

When the brush began to thicken so as to slow their pace, a shrill cry of a single tone pierced the air. Nira hunkered down tighter and urged her mount forward with a series of kicks, sensing and heeding his hesitation. They crawled through a hedge of wide-leafed brush into a round clearing beneath a tree towering as tall and broad as the mountain she called home.

At the base of the tree was a gaping hole illuminated by white, almost blue, light. It shone as bright as Mother Moon if she were full, cascading through the clearing as if the storm didn’t exist. Mesmerized, Nira dismounted and cared not when the sleipnir disappeared.

Another cry infiltrated the air. She stopped, and looked upwards, heart pounding in her throat rather than her chest.

With wings so large they blocked the view of the canopy, a great beast held talons as large as her arm in a fashion clearly meant to rip through her body. She fell flat to the ground while the giant whooshed overhead, circling back around to land in front of the tree’s entrance.

Nira stood and stared.

When the village farmers took it upon themselves to rid their barns of excess nuisance, Nira welcomed the migration of owls, cheerful even when they built nests and had babies on ledges above her cave dwelling. But this--this was the queen of them all.

Staring back at her were immense, black eyes crowned by white feathers and sharp nose to give the illusion of being set deeper within the face. Blue feathers painted its wings while its belly donned the colors and pattern of Mother Moon.

The owl’s beauty was as alarming as its grandness, the bird towering over her by at least another ten feet. But Nira didn’t have time to contemplate: Snapping its beak, the bird lunged at her head, every movement a vicious threat of death.

Nira unsheathed her halberd and danced with the monster. She avoided talon swipes while her blade connected with the beak, jabbing over and over, the dark eyes of her opponent feeling as lethal upon her neck as any weapon. Pulling knives from her pockets, Nira flung blades into the flesh of the bird’s wings; blood poured to mar blue feathers black, but still the beast was unfazed. Nira’s own blood reminded her that this was no illusion, no trick--it was a true fight for her life.

Then, as the queen of the owls touched the tips of her wings together to stir the clearing into a frenzy, she grabbed hold of Nira’s halberd and flung her to the edge of the clearing. Nira landed without air in her lungs just as golden feet stole every image in her vision.

No. Not like this. Nira swung her blade in a desperate attempt to shield her head.

Blood rained down in a split-second downpour, accented by an earsplitting shriek. The queen fell to the ground beside Nira. A new fury coated those intelligent, animal eyes. She attacked with her beak just as Nira found her footing.

Once again, the owl caught hold of the staff of Nira’s halberd and tossed her further away from the clearing, into the brush and right next to a cliffside. Rocks tumbled past Nira’s feet into an abyss she didn’t have the courage to look into.

The owl flew closer in crooked flight. Nira picked up her weapon and charged, screaming her determination, but the owl bowed, causing Nira to hesitate. In another moment, the feathered beast was pounding the ground with her beak. Realization caused Nira to freeze.

A low cracking vibrated at Nira’s feet as the owl pounded harder, faster.

Nira unfroze. Sprinting with everything she had inside, and just as the ground beneath her began to give way, Nira lashed out with her halberd one last time.

The blade sliced the queen’s neck, and downward they both fell.

Falling was more blissful than she ever fathomed. Mirth blossomed in her chest and she held out her arms as if hugging the sky farewell, smiling in the sudden absence of fear. At least she had fought.

A painful surge replaced her thoughts, so sharp and fast that Nira was certain she had hit the ground. But when she turned her attention to her outstretched arms, they were no arms at all. They were wings--black feathers jeweled with bright flecks of blue. Her feet, too, had vanished, and in their place grew silver toes and even shinier talons.

Her transformation complete, a deep pleasure rippled underneath her feathers to coat the pain in an invisible salve. Nira flapped her wings and brushed against stone until she found her rhythm.

While she soared toward home--toward The Nest where moonstones were born--instinct and new wisdom flooded her mind, drowned her human thoughts. By the time she arrived at the clearing, she had muddled through most of the incoming images and impressions to know she was now the Guardian of The Nest.

Nira stepped into the glimmering light that had so captivated her before.

True to its name, The Nest mirrored that of any bird’s home in shape and contouring, but instead of straw and sticks, it consisted of sparkling opals around the rim and water in the middle. Moonbeams shone downward onto the water to illuminate an ancient language she had never seen, and yet she understood each word.

Some characters were that of names for those who guarded Mother Moon’s Nest before her; others were spells or stories. Then, finally, instructions: Only those she deemed worthy were allowed to drink from the pool of crystal water and take a moonstone from her Nest. Hers to give was the gift of second-sight, of knowing the past, present, or future in a unique way; a deep magic to call upon and guide her people as Mother Moon desired. She was the new Judge of the Trials.

The stories of the Moonpool gave her this, too: Over the course of an eon, seventeen others chosen by Mother Moon had come before her to fight the previous Guardian, Misceen, and thus give her leave of her vigil. Each, of course, had failed.

Nira hadn’t just been given her destiny--she had won it.