The Moon Cycle

The cycle - the circle is unbroken; iterations upon iterations, the unnatural revolution, a recursion of a recursion of a recursion

Looking up through bloodshot eyes, she stared into the face of the armored attacker struggling to maintain control of the hefty claymore wedged into her chest, cleaving her ribs and organs as it drove deeper, releasing a wet sucking sound mixed with the crack of bones as two streams of ruby blood pulsed from her, splattering on the reflective metal armor he wore.

Wet with blood and tears, her face relaxed and she looked up to the sky, to the blanket of dismal clouds enshrouding the stars above.

Relaxing into a heap, her body slipped forward onto the sword, her bruised arms dangling to either side.

Releasing the hilt, a sigh escaped as he rose from his knee and stood up, the bulky armor clinking with a metallic ring, the harmonics of which were attenuated by the globs of viscera dangling off the polished plates. Staring down through the slits in his helmet he could see her lifeless body slumped over the weapon lodged in her.

The blackness, the infinite claustrophobic prenatal blackness.

A shuttering breath rocked the body violently, stale fetid air sucked down through decayed throat, whistling through the cracks in the leathery flesh clinging to bones.

"Delilah," an all-encompassing voice filled the mind painfully resituating into an old rotten brain. "The cycle will continue. The moon is dying and you must create a new one. You must prolong this struggle."

Suddenly, the corpse began to vibrate as light began emanating from deep within its decades dead chest. A brilliant blue flame peaked through the skin as it ravaged the body, engulfing it in a fantastic azure glow. As the fire passed over, the flesh unrotted, the bones reset as the eyes reformed from mildew. The corpse, transmogrified by unseen powers, lay in the sepulcher, motionless--a new cycle had begun.

Nails reduced to quick, dirt and blood mingling in the crevasses of her hands, she emerged covered in a vernix of cobwebs and mouldering tatters of fabric into the cold uncaring gaze of the moon, its azure glow baking the entire landscape in an alien familiarity.

Reawakened, she cried out softly, sighing at the indifferences, resigned to uncaring forces which pull and push in cycles beyond comprehension, the attenuated harmonics of which oscillate all that we ever will be.

Dragging her body from the quiet dark hole in the ground, she crawled out into the cricket cacophony echoing, filling the air with a constant static buzz.

Looking down into the trickling water flowing over ancient weathered pebbles, she saw her face: fresh, youthful, unbruised. Her eyes were deep, unfeeling, revealing the countless scars she bore on the inside from the endless cycles upon cycles. A glistening sphere reflected off of the water, her head cutting a dim silhouette into its warbling image.

Looking up at the opposing bank, she observed the large trees standing idly in the wind, their leaves flowing gently. Shivering lightly, she looked down at the goosebumps covering her exposed body. She rose slowly, turning to face away from the breeze, and saw a cottage drenched in shadow a hundred yards in the valley.

Holding the door firmly to not produce a creaking, she slipped through the crack, entering the stygian darkness within. Eyes adjusting slowly, she began scanning the room for clothes, gaze falling on the sleeping bodies huddled in ragged blankets. She took deliberate steps across the wooden floor, keeping steps light to avoid unneeded noise, only faint sighs from the weathered planks betrayed her movement.

As she pulled a loose-fitting shirt over her head, a soft voice emanated from a dark corner. "Hello. Mom? Who is there?" it whispered in a hushed tone, the high pitch revealing the young age of the speaker.

"I am a fairy," Delilah said comfortingly as she crouched down, the cuffs of her oversized pants splaying out on the ground, "You've been so good this year I have come to make your harvest bountiful."

A tapping on the wooden boards preceded the small child walking into a beam of moon light falling in from the window over his orange hair and dirty blanket held tightly to his body.

"A real fairy!" he let out.

"Shush," she shot her finger up to her lips, "Do not wake your parents. They don't believe in fairies so if they wake up, I won't exist anymore."

The little boy nodded vigorously, thumb held firmly in his mouth.

"Do you have shoes?" Delilah asked

The boy turned and disappeared into the darkness her eyes had unadjusted to, coming back into vision holding leather boots.

She grabbed them and patted the boy on his tuft of hair.

"You've been such a good boy. I will remember how much you helped me and when you need it most, I will help you."

The boy hugged her leg as she stood back up and made her way to the chill world beyond the rickety door.

As she walked down the dirt road outside the cottage she looked out at the fields of sickly-looking crops, their pale leaves shriveling in the cool gaze of the moon.

With the sun tipping over the sea, casting warm rays of deep amber out into the dawn sky, she saw a village situated high above the choppy water, built atop a coastal cliff. The ancient boulders that once made up it's wall were shattered and patchy surrounding the old wooden buildings now stretching beyond the confines of any ancient wall. A central cathedral was visible above the thatched roofs, catching the morning light refracting through its ornate clock tower.

Walking through the wooden gate along the main dirt path, she entered the village and joined the crowd of peasants wearing the nicest clothes they had on their way to the cathedral. Joining along in the flow, she stepped up the large stone steps leading into the cool interior of the high vaulted room, a raised platform at the front sat beneath the down turned gaze of a dying god.

Sliding across it's smooth wooden surface, Delilah sat in a back pew, staying towards the periphery of the room.

Dressed in white vestments with ornate gold details, the priest stood on the platform and began speaking in an ancient tongue.

Delilah thought to herself how speaking to their god in the language of the empire that murdered him didn't make much sense, but then again, she doubted many people could speak Aramaic; no one else had been around then.

Walking through the village as the sun began it's track down towards the west, she listened to the quiet splash of waves smashing against jagged rocks. The sound of small children playing, their callused hands playing with balls and hoops.

Warping under the influence of the chopping waves, the reflection of the moon encompassed the sea, filling its deep berth with a silver glow.

Resting quietly above the water, cross-legged, arms to her side, Dalilah sat along the coastal cliff. Her head was bowed before the brilliant silvery blue presence hanging low in the black sky.

"You are coming to an end" she said out into the cool night air, breath crystalizing in a frosty mist escaping out from her. "I cannot sustain you any longer. Even if I make it to the ancient engine, I don't know if I can prolong this cycle."

Nodding to an invisible suggestion permeating her brain, she sighed.

"This age is dying--the moon is dying." she continued, responding, "The ancient engine lays dead deep beneath the vaulted bedrock. I don't know if I have the strength required to activate the archaic machine and create a new moon to perpetuate the futile cycles. Each moon shines duller, hangs lower over the horizon, and burns out quicker."

Nodding again, she paused. Her scrunched face shook from side to side slowly. Standing up, her baggy clothes flowed vigorously in the wind off the sea.

She looked up to the moon and exclaimed, "The ages are coming to an end, but what else can I do? I must do what those before me have always done--the only choice any of us ever had--and power up the unknowable machine beneath the world and bear a new moon to prolong this."

Looking back down to the sea, to the warping reflection of the brilliant orb, she closed her eyes and said quietly to herself, "and then I will be free."

Standing alone atop a small hill overlooking the blasted valley, Dalilah looked out at the base of the weather word basalt tower, the upper portion cracked and lying in shattered pieces next to the base. A faint azure glow emanated from the ancient gateway leading into the vaulted cavern below.

Turning her attention to the encampment surrounding the pillar, she observed the large old boulders of a once great wall left to decay aeons ago, new wooden fences built to supplement the wall, filling in the cracks with beams and logs, latched together with leather and tar.

Within the camp she could see knights moving about, training, their steel swords glinting in the afternoon sun. Along the border, several sentinels patrolled the upper catwalk lining the wall, cross bows in hand ready to fire on anything that approached the dead monument.

She kneeled down, the plated armor sliding to allow her to rest one knee on the soft earth. Slinging a pack from her shoulder, she dug through it until she found a light pink crystal. Dust kicked up from the dry dirt as the crystal fell to rest on the ground. It was chipped, with a deep crack running through it, refracting the light into a deep red streak. She read the word written on the side of the crystal. An ancient word. A word from before words. A word predating minds. The cosmic antediluvian word.

Reading it to herself, she felt something. Not a physical change, not even an emotional change. She understood the word had no power--not anymore--but it reassured her in a way as she mouthed the sounds, repeating the word in her mind. It couldn't--wouldn't--protect her but she read it anyway.

A swirling layer of clouds flowed above, casting the world into shadow, starving the land of the cool uncaring gaze of the moon. When the winds aligned and the clouds parted slightly, she could see the moon. It hung very low in sky, it's brilliance bright but fading.

She began walking down the hill towards the torch lit camp. The bronze blade of her sharpened sword glinted in the small rays of cool light breaking through the clouds.

Sneaking in through the unpatched hole she broke through the wall before, Dalilah moved quietly in the outskirts of the camp. The moon was hidden, obscured, allowing her to pass between shadows, out of view from the torch-bearing soldiers walking in tight file around the encampment.

A large brute stood alone near the entrance to the collapsed tower. The recently polished plates of his armor enhanced his already large size. Gripping the hilt of his claymore tightly, he turned his body slowly, scanning for interlopers.

Clouds parted slightly, allowing one weak beam of moon light to bath Delilah in azure coolness. She looked down at her shadow, and mouthing the ancient word, began to move towards the entrance.

In a dead sprint, she was able to surprise the guard, making her way past him before he could turn his bulky armor. As she slipped down the cold black stone staircase, she could hear the violent commotion behind her as the knights prepared to enter the fallen pillar after her.

It was no matter, soon she would be upon the moon chamber, soon she will be in the presence of the ancient engine resting below the world, soon she would activate the machine and bear a new moon, prolong the terminal cycle.

Illuminated in a deep blue glow, the moon chamber stretched high above the ground leading to huge vaulted ceilings, cracks in the ancient rock gave way to the moon light pouring in from above, mixing with the ambient glow from the machine resting quietly in the center of the room.

Walking reverently towards it, she took deliberate steps across the cracked basalt floor. Dalilah instinctively bowed as she approached the engine. Holding out her hand she touched the cold surface.

The sound of rowdy soldiers clattering their way deeper into the tower provided an ever-increasing intensity to her labor, the faint flickering red of their torches reached more and more into the pale coolness of the chamber.

She tried desperately to activate the machine, to create a new moon, to prolong the futile cycle. Pulling with all her might, she tried to merge the device, tried to activate the ancient pistons and turn the archaic gears.

A thundering commotion blasted into the moon chamber, the chaotic red flickered off of their warm torches, disturbing the sominal stillness of the hall.

Turning to see the men pouring into the room, she fell back against the machine, muttering the ancient word to herself in a penultimate attempt at security.

The clouds diapered suddenly, casting the entire hall into a dark blue as the moon, barely hanging above the horizon, spilled its gaze through the myriad cracks in the old basalt vault.

The seemingly infinite stream of knights encircled her, their weapons drawn, their eyes staring through slats in their helmets. As the flowing mass of armor continued to writhe, a solitary knight walked forward, approaching the machine as he began taking small steps up the raised slope to the engine.

The solider dragged his claymore behind him, its silvery surface reflecting the mad red glints of numerous torches.

They're eyes met as she stared at him, his claymore piercing her heart. She look up, to see as the moon faded dimmer, slipping more and more away.

The blackness that permeates all.

"You must prolong the cycle, Dalilah. You must create a new moon."

The pale azure glow looked down. The cycle begins anew.