More Than The Moon

I first met her on the bluffs overlooking the ocean. The biting gusts from the water were a brutal revelation—rarely breaching the forest at my back, much less the village tucked away in the embrace of the tall, dark trees. I was unaccustomed to such unpleasantry, though it was always cold on the island, the murky gray pallor of the sky omnipresent and the blue-tinged grasses wilted and numb. I wasn’t supposed to be out this far; the Ordnung warned that the ocean loosened a person’s mind, made it wander where it ought not. But I had wandered after a small, vividly colored bird that was perched on a low-hanging branch, and any day without rain is a day to be outdoors, no matter what the village thinks. I liked to imagine the sky reached somewhere far beyond the trees, and that one day, I might reach it.

The first thing I had realized was that she was indecent. Sanguine and too large, her knee length dress had slipped off one of her shoulders, probably a hand-me-down. Her customary cloak the village swore by—to shield against the impending winter—lay discarded in a dark heap of cloth. She was barefoot, too, and I could only imagine the scolding she would receive upon her return to the village for such misconduct. She laughed suddenly, a bright, pealing noise that echoed far louder than I had anticipated. There was a fluttering behind me, and the vibrant bird took off, spooked by the noise. I watched it until it was a mere speck, most likely headed back to its homeland—certainly not here, in this gloomy, isolated land. With no other creature to focus on, it dawned on me that I recognized her from the schoolhouse, two years ago. Her sister had passed, fallen off a cliff or lost in the woods, if I could remember correctly. She hadn’t been the same since, my mother had once commented over dinner, a quiet girl turned strange and wild. 

She had stepped closer to the edge then, and I remembered the rumors of her impending insanity. Drawing away from my cover within the trees, I approached her quickly, noticing how her toes were almost hanging over the side of the cliff. I feared one misstep could easily send her tumbling into a watery grave. Her arms had been extended, as if trying to hug something that I was unable to see. 

“What are you doing?” I asked loudly, the wind carrying my words away. She looked at me then, deep, green eyes and a distant gaze scouring the horizon, soon moving to critique my face. 

“Wishing,” she called back, facing the water again. I had never seen anybody so carefree. She didn’t appear to be insane, though there was a quality to her that I had never seen before in any of the villagers. I scoffed, not to offend her, but because the notion was so childish. “What for?” 

She shrugged. “Anything.” We stood there for a moment, deafening silence between us, watching the waves crash against the cliffside. 

“I wish to explore, go beyond the island.” Her eyes were closed. The wind caught in her dress and pulled, hard enough that I stepped closer without thinking. Her toes curled over the stone, white with cold. Nobody spoke like that; we weren’t supposed to want to leave, but I felt it—a sharp and sudden feeling that was uncomfortably familiar. “More than anything?” I replied, treading in dangerous territory.

“More than life,” she laughed, her eyes bright with wonder. “More than the moon.” 

I smiled, but chose not to reply. She knew we shared the sentiment. We stood there, listening to the sounds of the water below us, until the sky clotted and the clouds turned dark with impending rain. I raised my head to examine the sky. “The ceremony is tonight,” I spoke more to the clouds than to her. It felt easier—less confrontational. “I still have to bring firewood to the pit.” Maybe I expected more of an answer from her, but she just tilted her head to the side. I waited for a moment, just to see if she would end up giving me an audible response, but the clouds broke open in a cold downpour. A bright laugh cut through the air as I turned my head away from the sudden onslaught, watching her shriek and twirl in the rain. I smiled at her, my hair already damp and sticking to my forehead. “Do you want to come with me to get the kindling?”

Her smile dimmed as she shook her head, wet hair clinging to her cheeks and neck. “Not really.” She kicked aimlessly at her cloak, soaked and muddied on the ground. I unclasped mine and gave it to her, adjusting the fabric around her shoulders. It brought her smile back, and my mouth twitched upwards with pride. I stepped away, giving her a small wave before heading back toward the village and into the woods. 

I began to run once I reached the wall of trees, rain splattering my clothes as I made my way through the untamed forest. Grabbing the spliced logs from behind our pine-planked cabin, I carried them to the village square; a muddy patch of grass surrounded by a ring of cabins. The crackling orange hearth blazed in the center, illuminated in the cold mist. I tossed the wood into the center of the pit, watching gold sparks sizzle and fly. The rest of the village was beginning to congregate, dark cloaks crammed together around the dancing flames. I found a place beside my mother, closer to the back of the throng. Four of the five elders, with long gray beards and leather books in hand, were muttering to each other, pacing near the fire. A hush fell over the crowd when the oldest one raised withered hands, speaking in a hoarse and raspy voice. I wasn’t listening- it was his usual speech, after all: commencing the ceremony and offering prayers to the divine in order to alleviate the incessant rain that the island has been plagued by for years. Instead, I was focused on a slight disturbance near the villagers on my left.

The girl from earlier was being steered through the crowd by one of the elders, a hand on her arm. Our eyes locked for a moment, and I noticed her tear-streaked face, before I lost her in the sea of cloaks. Rising onto my toes, I tried to find her again, but my mother put a hand on my shoulder. “Jakob,” she whispered, her gaze hard and reprimanding. Uneasy murmurs drifted amongst the villagers—speculations about her diminished sanity, if this would be an insult rather than a gift, and muffled sobs from a woman who resembled her mother. It felt hard to swallow, and the drum of rain filled my ears, drowning out my surroundings. I had never been allowed to attend the ceremony before, as children were forbidden from the ritualistic traditions until they became of age. The aftermath of the ceremony was never talked about, an unspoken rule that had predated my parents by generations. I had never known what to expect. 

The elders’ voices lowered, slipping from prayer into something older and heavier. The fire dimmed, then flared again, casting warped shadows that stretched too long across the mud. I caught glimpses—bare feet slick with rain, the edge of a sodden dress, dark hair clinging to pale skin—before the crowd shifted and swallowed her whole. Someone began to sob openly now, a female voice, and no one stopped her. 

Two of the elders took her by the arms and led her forward, away from the shelter of the crowd and closer to the fire’s edge. Her head was lifted, eyes bright despite the rain, lips parted as if she were still laughing at some private joke the rest of us would never hear. 

I tried to step forward. I don’t remember deciding to move, only the sudden pressure of hands on my arms, my mother’s words sharp in my ear. “Don’t,” she hissed, her fingers digging into my sleeve. Among us, the villagers bowed their heads. The chanting—I wasn’t sure how long it had gone on for—but it ceased all at once. The fire cracked, sparks bursting upward like startled birds, and then the rain grew thicker. Heavy droplets splattered onto the ground, a loud, roaring downpour. A collective exhale passed through the crowd members in the front. The elders closed their books. The fire was extinguished from the rain. The ceremony was over. No one looked toward the center of the pit. I saw her cloak—my cloak—lying abandoned in the mud, trampled and forgotten.

I left before the square had fully emptied. By the time I reached the forest, I was filthy with mud and out of breath. The rain was relentless, soaking through my clothes as if the sky itself was grieving. I ran blindly, branches clawing at my face, my vision tunneling as I stumbled through muddy patches and freezing puddles. By the time I reached the cliffs, the storm was in full fury, waves hurling themselves against jagged stone.

The wind howled, tugging at my wet clothes, stinging my face with salt and rain. I stood where she had stood, toes near the edge, arms limp at my sides. I imagined her arms spread wide, her whimsical spirit, not falling, not sinking, but leaving. Slipping past the borders of the island. She had wished to go beyond. 

Lightning split the sky, and for one dangerous moment, I leaned forward, heart hammering, the thought burning bright and terrible in my chest: if this is the cost of a wish, would I pay it?

I tried to recall the sound of her laughter on the wind, bright and wild, carrying more life and vibrancy than the rest of the village ever knew. She had always been different- not broken, not mad, only unwilling to stay where she had been placed.

“More than the moon,” her words echoed in my mind.

She had wanted more than this mundane life could give, more than the island, more than the rules that bound us. I stood on the bluffs overlooking the ocean, wondering if her wish had been answered, and if it had been worth the price.