Lunar Zenith

Chapter One

Cassandra

Burning. Alight. The forest was on fire. The smoke was stinging my eyes and the heat was singeing my lungs, but the raging inferno boxed me in. I had no escape. Streaks of ashen fur flashed in the corner of my vision. Gunshots, blending with the drumming of my heart, pounded in my ears. The sky was bathed in an orange, copper hue, creating the illusion of day, but the moon, bloodied and red, sat high above the turmoil like a king on his throne, watching the chaos unfold.
   
"Cassandra?"
   
A foreign voice. Hazy. Desperate. Laced with fear.
   
"Cassandra?"
   
A wolf at my feet. White fur, shot through with silver. Cerulean eyes gazing upwards, unseeing. Blood pooling.
   
"Cassandra!"
   
A serpent, black. Its eyes, black. Its intentions, black. It slithered up my leg, up my arm, coiling around my neck, hissing in my ear. Tighter, tighter. My vision blurred. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Tighter, tighter, tighter.
   
"Cassandra, I asked you a question."
   
Ma's voice snapped me back to reality. I blinked dazedly, attempting to clear my muddled mind. Woah, what was that? "Um, could you repeat that, Ma?" I asked.
   
She was hunched over the table, flipping through an old recipe book. "I said, what do you think of making a pie today?"
   
"Pie?"
   
"Yes, pie." Ma rummaged through the cabinet and plopped down a sack of flour in front of me. Some of the powder flew out, dusting my hands in a fine white. "I was thinking of a raspberry filling."
   
Raspberries. Red. The image of a crimson moon and scarlet splattered earth flicked in my mind. Red like blood. I abruptly stood up and brushed the flour off of my hands.
   
"Raspberry pie sounds wonderful," I  said. I grabbed a basket and tucked it into the crook of my arm. "I'll go pick some berries." Then I strode out the front door, shutting it behind me.
   
Standing outside in the morning rays, I shut my eyes and suck in a deep breath of air. Burning. Alight. My eyes fly open, but the images still linger. I shake my head with a little shiver, and walk in the direction of the forest.
   
Was it a dream? But I was awake, and it was so vivid, so surreal. The faint taste of ash still lingered in my mouth. I began nibbling on the inside of my cheek. If not a dream, then a figment of imagination? Ma always did say I had an overactive mind. But to fantasize something as abhorrent as that... I must not have gotten enough sleep last night.
   
I broke the treeline, entering the woods. The tree-ladened lands surrounding the village were shrouded in a thick fog of mystery, a great deal of the territory being uncharted, and thus, fairy tales and legends sprouted as an unintended consequence. A wicked witch in the woods who hexes travellers. A lost village, entirely consumed by ravenous undergrowth. And of course, wolves. Not creatures of myth, but thought to have been driven to extinction. Father said it's bad luck to see one.
   
I wasn't superstitious, most of it was tomfoolery used to scare children away from the woods, but I couldn't help but feel unease squirm in my gut as I traversed through the thicket. There were other varmint roaming about in these parts, deadlier than any old witch or wolf, and much more real.
   
The raspberry bushes grew on the bed of a small, picayune creek that had branched off from the main stream a little while away. It was odd of me, but I admired the little creek's resilience and vigor. It diverged from the flow and forged its own path.
   
I plucked the raspberries one by one off the bush, carefully weaving my hand around the thorns. Still, in my clumsiness, I managed to prick my finger. I yelped in surprise, yanking my hand out of the bush.
   
A bead of blood formed in the center of my thumb and I promptly shoved it into my mouth, screwing up my face at the metallic taste. Sighing, I popped my thumb out of my mouth and continued stripping the raspberry bush.
   
I must have been hyperfocused on the task at hand because I failed to notice all of the forest's warning signs. The flapping of bird wings, the hushing of the toad's croaks, the rustling of underbrush. I, still blissfully ignorant, picked up my berry filled basket and turned around.
   
A breath flew past my lips. The basket slipped from my grasp.
   
White fur, shot through with silver. Cerulean eyes, gazing upwards, meeting mine. A wolf. A living, breathing wolf, barred the route home.
   
I was already stupefied by the appearance of a wolf, but the striking similarity between this wolf, and the one from my imagination magnified my bewilderment. It was too pinpoint accurate for it to be a mere coincidence.
   
I took a hesitant step forward, towards the creature. It flinched, startled, and scrambled back under the coverlet of foliage. I frowned, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind my ear.
   
The wolf had fled. But what was I expecting, really? Perhaps the wolf held a special place in my mind, but the feeling wasn't mutual. It was an untamed, primitive beast, and I was a human, the ones that pushed its kin to the brink of death. Of course it was scared of me. I'd be scared of me.
   
I dropped to my knees and began to gather the raspberries that were strewn about. I held up one of the berries and scowled. Its rosy skin was now coated in dirt and dust. I dropped it back into the basket. Ah, curse my clumsiness. I scooped up the remaining raspberries and poured them into the basket, dirt and all. Then, I marched through the woods, back to my village.
   
It had crossed my mind that I should mention the wolf sighting to the townsmen, but what purpose would that serve other than to aggravate the creature and send the men on a wild goose chase? Perhaps it would be wiser to leave the matter to rest. The wolf hadn't caused any harm, only strayed from its territory, and the likelihood of it lingering near the village after its encounter with me was slim. It was a smart creature, after all.
   
Upon my arrival at home, I set down my basket and tossed a bucket down into the well. With a clink, clank, splosh, it landed in the water below, and I began to crank the handle.
   
"Ah, there you are Cassandra." Ma walked up behind me and rested a firm hand on my shoulder. "I was starting to get worried. What took you so long?"
   
"Oh, it was nothing." I hauled the bucket onto the ledge of the well. The water sloshed inside, spilling over the brim. "Clumsy old me spilt all the berries on the ground." I tilted the basket, watching the raspberries tumble over each other, landing in the bucket with a plop, plop, plop. I drained the water and poured the raspberries back into the basket. "All finished," I said, herding my Ma into the house.
   
Ma had already prepared the dough, the oven. Dinner was already made, the table set and waiting. All that was needed was my raspberry filling. I set the basket on the table after transferring the raspberries into a bowl. I crouched down and hunted through the spice cabinet, the sharp scents of nutmeg and thyme tickling my nose.
   
I furrowed my brow. "Where's the cinnamon?"
   
"Here." Ma slid a glass spice jar my way.
   
"Thank you." I shook the jar, dusting the raspberries with the fine powder. A dash of sugar here, a sprinkle of flour there. I beamed at my masterpiece. Ma waltzed over and sweeped the bowl of the counter. She dipped her pinkie into the concoction, checking its flavor. The corner of her eye twitched.
   
"Too much cinnamon," she said, taking her finger out of her mouth.
   
I rolled my eyes, placing a hand on my hip. "You can never have too much cinnamon."
   
"Yes, you can." Ma scooped a dollop of the filling onto her finger and shoved it into my mouth.
   
I recoiled at the poignant spice erupting inside my mouth, wholly drowning out the secondary fruity flavor. "Oh Gods," I spluttered, choking on the spice. "You can have too much cinnamon."
   
Ma tossed the bowl into the oven, softening the raspberries, and hopefully the taste. "Fortunately, there's an antidote for this poison you've created."
   
I leaned against the table. "There's no coming back from that catastrophe." Ma whipped out a lemon and sliced it into thin slivers. I raised an eyebrow. "Lemons?"
   
"Just a few drops will do." She pulled the bowl out and brought it back to the table, then squeezed a yellow slice. The juice sizzled upon contact with the raspberries. Ma began to stir the filling with the same energy as a witch brewing an esoteric potion, and when she was content, she handed the wooden spoon to me. "Here, taste."
   
Reluctantly, I licked the tip of the spoon, expecting the sharp spice, but instead, tasting a pleasant sweetness. "You have a remarkable relationship with spices," I said, licking the sweet residue off my lips.
    
With a prideful smirk, Ma poured the filling into the pan. "It's an acquired taste that all wives have." She rolled out the remaining dough into a disc and set it on top of the filling. "One you'll have to learn soon."
   
I blinked, then squinted my eyes. "What?"
   
Ma slid the pie into the oven. "You heard me right. You'll have to learn how to cook."
   
I crossed my arms. "I do know how to cook."
   
"Nuh uh, you don't. You just about cook as well as a pig. No man wants a pig for his wife."
   
I laughed at the absurdity of Ma's words. "If a man can't cook for himself, then maybe he isn't worthy of a wife," I said.
   
"The world doesn't run like that, Cassandra. As a wife, it is your job to care for the family."
   
"Then, maybe I don't want to be a wife."
   
"That's not necessarily an option." Pa strode through the front door, a shotgun over his shoulder. "You remember Mr. Murphy, don't you?"
   
I had only seen him twice in my lifetime, once as a child and a second time at the age of sixteen, but two encounters were more than enough to know that Mr. Murphy was a downright rotten man.
   
"I do," I said, shivering at the recollection. "He was disgusting and putrid."
   
Pa hung the shotgun on the wall, and took a seat at the table. "He has a son."
   
"A son?" I collapsed into my chair. "Please tell me he isn't as horrid as his father."
   
Ma called for the boys, and they came crashing into the house like a herd of clunky buffalo. Ma plucked the sticks out of my brothers' hands and tossed them back outside, much to their disappointment. "No toys at the table," she said.
   
"Since you're my daughter, I'll be wholly honest with you," Pa continued. I leaned forward in my chair, vibrating in anticipation. "He's an exact replica."
   
I gagged, sticking my tongue out. "There's no way I'm marrying him."
   
"Well, you're going to have to," Ma said, sitting across from me. "He's one of those rich striplings, and you know they're hard to come by."
   
"And they are  also arrogant, selfish jerks. I'm not marrying him."
   
"Yeah, Cassandra can't marry him," Jon, the youngest, piped up. "Cause she belongs with Peter."
   
The rest of my brothers hooted in agreement, and heat rushed to my cheeks. "Jon, you—" I lashed out at him with my fork, but the little weasel darted out of the way.
   
"Cassandra, sit down," Ma snapped.
   
I slunk back into my seat, casting Jon a catty glare. He stuck his tongue out mockingly and shoveled food into his grubby mouth.
   
I turned my attention to my own dinner. Fleshy, morsel of chicken, uneven, chunks of potato, stringy and lanky beans. I nudged the food around my plate, having a meager appetite.
   
Ma heaved a heavy sigh and muttered, "You scoundrel children." Then she turned to Pa. "Did you catch anything in your traps today?"
   
"Not today," he said. "But we're getting close. Couple more of Jenkins's chickens got eaten this morning, and one of his boys said he saw a wolf slink back into the woods."
   
I coughed, having swallowed a potato a few chews too early. Arnold, my second brother, slapped a hand on my back.
   
Ma rolled her eyes. "There ain't no wolves here."
   
I gulped down the water in my glass. "I agree," I said, wiping my sleeve across my mouth. "These forests are empty. There's no wolves here." The lie tasted foul on my tongue.
   
"Who knows," Pa mused. "But even so, something ate Jenkins's chickens, and its fur will fetch us a hearty sum of money."
   
"Say it is a wolf." Sam, the eldest brother, tapped his fork on the table in a rhythmic drumming. "What would we do?"
   
"Well, son, there ain't no man in town who'd let it roam free. It'd be a race to see which party can kill it first."
   
"There's no reason to kill it," I said, setting my utensil down. "It hasn't done any harm."
   
"Hasn't done any harm, yet," Ma retorted. "But the second it gets cocky, someone's going to be missing a chunk of their arm."
   
"Can I be a part of your party, Pa?" Sam asked.
   
"I wanna be a part too," Liam, my fourth and final brother, chimed in.
   
"We'll have to wait and see, boys. If it's a simple fox eating the chickens, that wouldn't be any fun to hunt."
   
I stood up, pushing my chair away from the table. "I won't stand for the killing of innocent creatures."
   
"They aren't as innocent as you believe, Cassandra," Ma called as I marched up the stairs. "They'd kill you in a heartbeat."
   
I closed my bedroom door and sank to the floor. Kill me in a heartbeat, huh? No, I didn't believe that. No living creature could be read at first glance like a book. There was depth to them, a second side, a layer we humans refused to see.
   
From my window, I saw a flicker of white in the treeline. I exhaled a hard breath of resolve. I would protect that wolf. No hunter in this village would lay a hand on it. Not a finger.

Hey, thanks for reading!

Not a finger. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cassandra.