The Moon Dwellers

You’ll make a pretty prize for the star dwellers indeed.

From the man’s words, it doesn’t sound like they are star dwellers, unless he is talking about them in the third person. I don’t think so.

A light flashes in the dark. It moves closer.

The man holds the torch in front of my face. It burns my eyes while they try to adjust. I shut them tight, and then slowly open them, squinting for at least a minute. The whole time the man waits patiently for me to get them open.

When I do, I gasp. I know he is the man who spoke to me earlier, the one who killed Rivet’s men. He isn’t wearing his hat this time, and I can see his face, which is what makes me gasp. Half his face is swollen red and bubbling with blisters. Whether a lifelong disease or a fresh scar, I do not know.

“My face got damn near blown off by the heavy artillery,” he growls. “Pretty sight, ain’t it?”

“What do you want?” I ask.

“From you?” he says. “Nothin’. All you gotta do is come with us. I hope I’m not makin’ it sound like you’ve got a choice. ’Cuz ya don’t. Yer comin’. As sure as the sun ain’t shinin’, yer comin’.”

“Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just a guy. A guy fed up with bein’ crapped on by yer kind. For once the damn star dwellers got the right idear. Fight back.”

“But they’re killing your own people.”

“Eh. So they’ve got their target a bit mixed up. But it’s workin’, ain’t it? We’re goin’ to join ’em, and others will, too. So the plan worked, eh?”

My head is spi

“Okay,” the man says.

“Really?”

“Nah, just messing with you. Ha ha ha!” The guy’s laugh is as rough as the stones around us. “Yer my prize, kid. We can use ya. Yer one hell of a bargainin’ chip.”

He leaves the torch nearby and moves off into the darkness. Using my elbows as levers, and by twisting and balancing on one shoulder, I manage to get myself into a seated position so I can take in my surroundings—or at least what I can see of them.

Roc is sleeping nearby, his forehead marked by a puffy, red welt. They haven’t bothered to give us blankets or pillows or anything, so my body is sore and cold from lying on the hard cavern floor all night.

There are several other men sleeping nearby. I am sure there are more, at least a dozen, but the light from the torch only extends in a small sphere. I assume we are somewhere in the Lonely Caverns, most likely not very far in, as the men won’t have wanted to carry our limp bodies for very long.

I have no idea how long we’ve been out, but I hope it wasn’t long, for with each passing minute Adele is traveling further and further away from me.

How twisted are the hands of fate? Pretty twisted, I’d say. Mangled and knobby; old and decrepit. Every time you’re granted a stroke of good fortune, it’s offset by a calamity. Like Adele escaping from prison right when the star dwellers attacked. Sometimes the good luck is even caused by something bad. Like when Adele’s path crossed ours at that exact fateful moment. Had Rivet not been chasing her, perhaps she would have arrived later, and I wouldn’t have seen her. We might’ve missed each other by taking different routes, like two companies of miners passing in the night, unknown to each other.

My father doesn’t believe in fate. He says we make our own fate. So far, he’s been right about that. I sort of believed him until now. But after everything that has happened, I know there are other forces at play. Forces that want Adele and me together, and that will keep giving us chances at it. I hope that force hasn’t given up yet.

Roc stirs in his sleep and then opens one eye, clamping it shut again immediately when the light hits it. He raises a hand to his temple, gingerly feeling around the red bump, cringing each time he touches a raw nerve.

“You okay, man?” I whisper, trying not to wake the other guys.

“I think so. You?”

“About the same. Just a knock on the head. I think it was done gently enough to not cause any permanent damage. I think they want us alive to use as hostages.”

“Hostages for what?”

“They’re taking us to the star dwellers, who will then try to get to my father through me.”

“What’re we go

“Not much we can do. Go along for the ride, I suppose.”

A familiar voice echoes through the cave. “That’s right! There’s nothin’ you can do!” Each of the men around us awakes with a start, some of them jumping up and grabbing weapons, looking for someone to fight.

“It’s just me, you idiots,” the voice says, as a figure steps into the light. It is the guy with the burnt face. “Time to move,” he says.

“Move where?” I ask.

“None of yer damn business,” he says.

With impressive speed, the men get packed and move out. I ask for water but am denied. They do, however, unbind our feet so we can walk easily. Our hands remain tied in the front. I smile when they don’t bother to retie them behind our backs. In the front gives us lots more room to maneuver in the event that an opportunity arises.

But no chances for action come up today. Our march feels endless, especially with no water to quench my burning throat. Roc and I are separated—sandwiched in between two guys each—so we aren’t able to talk to each other. When I do risk a question to one of my guards—a simple Can I stop to go to the bathroom?—it is answered with a rough jab to the abdomen with the end of his rifle.

Not a good day.

Twice we hear echoing voices bouncing off the walls from somewhere in the cavern. We stop suddenly and everyone strains to listen for more sounds, trying to discern who it might be or what direction it is coming from, but all we get is silence, and it is near impossible to determine where the sound originates from. I wonder if it’s Adele and her friends, somewhere in front of us in the caverns, moving by some twist of fate in the exact same direction as us. Or it might be Rivet with a new troop, replacing the men who were killed by our captors. Whoever it is, they stay out of our way and we out of theirs.

I don’t know the Lonely Caverns well, but from studying Roc’s map I know enough to realize we are sticking to one of the four main tu

At the end of the day’s march, my legs are on fire and my wrists rubbed raw by the constant chafing of the tight ropes that bind them together. My mouth and esophagus are so dry I can’t swallow. My head started really pounding halfway through the day, and it is all I can do to ignore the urge to collapse and curl up into a ball. I am sure Roc’s day hasn’t been much better than mine.

Thankfully, they sit us down together while they prepare the evening meal, probably because we are easier to guard if we are in one place. Roc looks like hell, his face pale and his eyes barely open, and I wonder if I look any better. One of the guards finally shows mercy and gives both of us two gulps of some kind of liquid that tastes like dirt. It’s the best dirt I’ve ever tasted, and I would drink the whole bottle if they let me.

Speaking is difficult, but I don’t know whether we’ll get another chance, so I use my recently moistened tongue to lick my chapped lips and attempt a few sentences. “You go

Roc manages a tight smile and says, “It’s nothin’ compared to all the chores you make me do around the palace.”