Cupping the moon in his hands, Dakin offers it to his little brother. “Go
on,” he insists. “Try again.”
With all the patience of the bored seven-year-old he is, Laurie throws
his head back and groans. “I can’t.”
“You can. Just concentrate.
Just imagine—”
“But what’s the point?” He
falls back against the headboard of his bed with a sullen scowl. “I don’t see why
it matters so much.”
Dakin sighs and shifts. “It matters to me,” he says with practiced
patience, “because I know you can do it. I’ve seen you. If you’d only try—”
“It only matters to you because it matters to her.” Across the long stretch of bed, Laurie’s dark eyes narrow in
a glare. “And that doesn’t mean it has to matter to me.”
The moon flickers in his hands. Resisting the argument, Dakin drops his
gaze to give it the full attention it requires to hold it – smoothing the
curves of the image in his mind and brightening the projection in the air
between them. He can feel it, as slick and as cool as the ice their mother puts
in her drinks. Just as she described. It isn’t that hard. Laurie’s just being
stubborn.
“Go on,” he murmurs again, the soft silver glow brightening between his
fingers, stark in contrast to the warm orange light flickering in the sunjars
on the walls. “Just once more, then you can choose the next game.” His eyes
flick up to catch Laurie’s, and wins the game with an earnest, “Please?”
Making it quite clear that he is obeying against his wishes, Laurie
scowls and rolls his eyes, dragging himself back to resume the cross-legged
position mirroring Dakin’s own. Finally settled, he concedes with a muttered,
“Tell me again.”
With a smile curling the corners of his mouth, Dakin shifts his aching
legs to recite the old story in their mother’s words.
“As cold as the sun is hot, the moon is as smooth as glass and as
slippery as ice,” he says, making it so. “It’s so cold that it can leave your fingers
tingling for hours afterwards, almost burning, ‘though it doesn’t really hurt.
Made from frozen clouds, the moon only appears after the rain has fallen. It
sends down a pale blue light that freezes everything it touches. That’s how the
Moon Path is made, where the light touches the sea. And it’ll take us–”
“The Moon Path’s just one of Mother’s fairytales,” Laurie interrupts with
his well-honed skepticism. “It isn’t real.”
“It can be,” says Dakin, making the moon swell and grow in his hands. “If
you believe in it hard enough.”
“Believing in something isn’t enough to make it real.”
It is an old debate between them, and, patience waning, Dakin ends it
with a sigh. “Just try, Laurie.”
Pushing ineffectively at the dark curls falling across his face, Laurie
obeys, leaning over the illusion nestled between Dakin’s hands, expression set
in the gravest of concentration.
“Smooth as glass,” he mutters. “Slippery as ice…” Biting his lip, he
reaches with a tentative finger, doubt bright on his face.
Dakin finds himself doing the same, with an unconscious but ardent prayer
that this time Laurie will be successful. Magical ability and the willingness
to believe in the impossible does not come as naturally to Laurie as it does to
him; it isn’t as important, he doesn’t care enough, and Dakin can understand
why, knows perfectly well that he is entirely to blame. Wishes, sometimes, that
he could explain to his brother why it is so vital—
Laurie’s fingers go straight through, touching Dakin’s palm.
“I told you!” Laurie snatches his hand back at once with a low,
frustrated snarl and glares at Dakin, holding him responsible for the hope that
has sharpened the failure. “I told
you I couldn’t do it!”
“Ssh.” The moon flickers again, and this time Dakin lets it go. “It’s okay,”
he says, reaching to tug Laurie to him, grateful when he doesn’t resist. “We’ll
try again tomorrow.”
“What’s the point?” says Laurie, playing absently with Dakin’s fingers,
as though looking for residual traces of the moon. “What’ll make tomorrow different
from today? Or yesterday?”
Dakin rests his chin on the crown of his head. “Any number of things.”
His heart aches for it, for the possibility of change. It has to be true. “Maybe the entire world will change tomorrow.”
© Esme Symes-Smith
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Art by the unbelievably amazing Suzanami who completely surpassed all my expectations in bringing the boys to life.
Thank you to my betas, and Sarah and Amie in particular for really pushing me to short out this chapter, and Steven for telling me it's finally there. Let's hope I can get the rest of it up to scratch too!
