Tara walked with/was the goddess/moon walking herself.
Space did not exist out here, so how could there be time? How could one being endure separate from others? In this realm stories told each other, tales tangled in tales. On the mountain there was a monastery and within the monastery was a young monk and an old, and the young monk asked the old, master tell me a story, and the master said, on the mountain— She was is will be
moon mother tiger stone water woman wolf tooth sickle claw winter human goddess more
falling, fallen.
The goddess tumbles to the desert floor, the goddess lies broken and bleeding in her many parts, and if she is always everywhere then she is always here, she is always dying, always the Craftsmen’s hands are inside her pulling out gobs of flesh, seizing her parts to force her story to their service. Her wings are flayed and she burns and— —something is wrong—
Tara, for Tara was still, is still, here, felt terror larger, older than herself.
The goddess strained. She had built a hidden redoubt, a community of faith formed into a pocket through which Tara might pass and remain intact, but that pocket was in danger— The moon that is a mirror of itself cracked and monks and mountains and sitters and spinners scattered all askew— *
Matt didn’t recognize the ragged man as Corbin Rafferty until he spoke, until he shouted Ellen’s name over the silent market. His hair was matted, his beard tangled, but he pointed toward her, accusing. “Ellen, get down from there, what the hells are you doing?” and spinning to see the crowd, “What the hells are you all doing? Don’t you see what’s happening up there? We have to get safe.”
Ellen was afraid, and the crowd shook. Whatever was happening here, with the goddess, Matt was only on its edge, but Ellen stood at its center, and as she came apart so did the web she’d knit from these people—like a whirlpool in a sink stopped when you replaced the plug.
He ran to Rafferty. “Corbin, stop it. You don’t know what’s happening. Calm down.”
The eyes that stared up into his were sharper than he remembered Rafferty’s eyes being, and the hands that gripped his outstretched arms stronger, too. “Matt, that’s my girl. Don’t you step between a man and his family,” with man and family spat. “Ellen! We’re going home.”
Matt forced Corbin against the wall.
But when Corbin’s back touched the bricks, he snarled and went limp. Matt lost balance, stumbled forward. His nose struck Corbin’s forehead. Bone crunched. Corbin kicked Matt in the knee. He started to fold, refused to let himself. Caught Corbin around the waist with one arm. An elbow crashed into his shoulder, and again.
“Ellen, get down from there!”
“No,” she said.
“We are going home. Now.” So loud, so shrill, his voice was almost breaking. “You listen to me.”
“Stop it,” Claire said.
*
The demon that rode Umar made him blend with alley shadows and observe the Market Square, the gathered congregation of this little goddess, lending her their faith so she might perform miracles.
A girl stood on a dais before them, and the Lady of the Moon was with her. Through her ran a path to the goddess’s heart, to freedom. All he had to do was seize her, and drink.
The demon tensed Umar’s legs to run.
Then the shadows turned jade.
A thin man stood in the alley mouth. He wore a gray goat’s beard and mismatched clothes, and behind him—or in place of him, as if he cast a brilliant shadow or were himself the shadow cast by a greater form—rose an ibis head in green. The thin man’s cheeks were wet.
The mind the demon rode named the figure: “Hasim.”
“Do not speak my name,” Hasim said, “with his tongue. You debase it.”
The demon made Umar move, fast.
Hasim’s light moved faster. The ibis struck. Its beak passed through Umar’s chest, but did not pierce. It clutched the demon like a frog and drew it screaming from Umar’s body into the strange cold world where these fleshlings lived. Exposed, about to die, the demon fled—seeping through small holes in this alien world back to its own.
Umar opened his eyes. Hasim’s light stung them. They embraced, and kissed. Umar’s shoulders heaved once, a sob that strangled itself.
“It hurt,” Umar said.
“Not anymore.”
*
Claire, dependable Claire, the iron prop on which Corbin leaned, advanced upon him, full of rage. He released Matt, and sought the wall for support.
“Claire,” he said. “Ellen doesn’t know what she’s doing. We need to help her. Where’s Hannah?”
“Hannah,” Claire said, “is safe with Mr. Adorne’s family. Ellen is where she needs to be. We are not yours to order. We aren’t your kids anymore. You haven’t let us be for a long time.”
“Claire, the girls don’t know. The moon, she’s lying to you all. They need help.”
“I bought your line, Father. I helped you too damn much. I held all this together for you. I shored you up and I kept my sisters weak.”