The Moon Dwellers

Goodbye, Adele, I think, I wish I could’ve gotten to know you.

* * *

Adele

My death is painless. For that I am thankful. The sword makes a weird clanging sound when it contacts my body, like I’m made of metal. Weird. I feel myself being shoved back, tripping, falling to the ground.

I feel fine.

I open my eyes, wanting to see what really happens when you die.

I hear the shriek of metal on metal so I turn my head to see what is happening. Tristan! I’m not dead. He saved me and is battling my attackers, cutting them down, defeating them one by one. I watch in awe until there is only one left, who takes a cheap shot at Tristan’s back. It looks bad, but Tristan reacts well, getting back in the fight.

Then suddenly he is down, on the verge of death, a fish about to be shot in a barrel. “No!” I manage to scream.

Out of nowhere his friend appears, holding a sword in front of himself awkwardly, like a jouster with a long spear. Although the maneuver appears amateurish, it gets the job done. His sword pierces the guy through the back, causing him to drop his sword, which is pointed tip down, right over Tristan’s fallen body.

The sword falls like a guillotine. At the last second Tristan roars and rolls sharply to the side, the sword thudding dully on the stone. His friend kneels beside him, his face white.

I scramble to my feet and head for Tristan, but stop when I see movement out of the corner of my eye.

Amidst my own battle, I forgot about Cole, who was wi

Cole hits him in midair, but Rivet’s forward motion is too powerful, knocking him to the ground.

I want to help—have to help; to freaking do something, anything—but I’m frozen in place, shocked by what is happening.

In one swift motion, Rivet swings around Cole’s back, clamps his arms around his head, and jerks it violently to the side.

I’ll never forget the image, never forget the crunch of breaking bones. Precious, life-giving bones.

“Oh God, please no,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. Not him. Please not him. Take me. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s had enough. Oh, Cole. Not Cole. Beautiful Cole. Please come back.

I hear a wailing, an eerie, awful pealing, that sounds more animal than human. I realize it is me. The sound is coming from my throat, unrequested, but appropriate.

I know I’ll never get over this moment, will never cope with the loss I am feeling, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do something about it. For him. For Cole.

No plan, tears streaming down my cheeks, I stride toward Rivet, whose bloodied face is filled with satisfaction, his eyes gleaming, his lips twisted into a deranged smile. With both arms outstretched, he flicks his fingers back to himself, as if to say C’mon! It is u

He could use one of the weapons hanging from his belt: his sword, his gun, his razor-sharp dagger. But that isn’t Rivet. He lives for the challenge. He stands with his fists clenched, snarling as I approach.

The few times I’ve fought before, I’d used fast, powerful strikes, ending the fight as quickly as possible. This time I try the same tactic.

I aim a kick at Rivet’s groin, but he dodges it with unexpected speed, catching my leg in midair and swinging a kick of his own toward my head. I try to duck, but it is difficult with him holding my leg. Adjusting the arc of his attack in mid-kick, Rivet’s foot slams into my ear. Fierce pain shoots through my skull as Rivet releases my leg and lets me tumble to the ground. My head is ringing and I’m seeing stars.

I look up, and between the flashes of light that disturb my vision, I see Rivet standing over me.

Now he has his knife out.

* * *

Tristan

My attacker is a strange creature, growing a sword from his stomach. At least that’s what my mixed up mind thinks. That is, until I see the spot of blood widening around the blade. He drops his sword.

It is headed straight for my head—my eye, to be more specific—but I’m so shocked I just watch it fall. In my distorted mind it looks beautiful, like a falling star, sprinkling magical stardust on everything in its path. Subconsciously, I know it is a deadly sword, and the stardust is just the reflection of distant lights on the broad side of its steely blade.

Awe battles reason.

At the last second, reason makes a surge and I spin away, narrowly avoiding being impaled by the star, which, of course, is really a sword.

A rough hand pushes my attacker to the side and he falls away. A face appears. My friend—my beautiful friend. Although he looks as white as a ghost, Roc is gri

“You look injured,” he says, kneeling down and inspecting the gash on my leg.

“A flesh wound,” I say. “Where is she?”

Roc cranes his neck and then moves aside, points at a fleeing figure, moving quickly away from us. Adele, her long, black hair billowing behind her, runs like the hounds of Hell pursue her. With my eyes, I follow her path to its likely destination and see Rivet watching Adele charge right at him, goading her with his hands, standing overtop a fallen figure. The big, dark guy. Adele’s friend. Oh no.

Based on the crumpled body, the sneer on Rivet’s face, and Adele’s mad dash toward Rivet, I suspect her friend is dead. She isn’t ru

I hope her friend isn’t dead, but if he is, I certainly don’t want to add Adele to the list of people dead by Rivet’s hand. Ignoring the intense pain that courses through my leg and back, I push to my feet and chase after her, limping badly.

Adele is like a raging beast, attacking Rivet immediately with a kick similar to the one she used to knock me down. He is more ready for it than I was and easily catches her leg and punishes her with a vicious kick to the head. Dread fills my heart as I see Rivet remove a knife from his belt.

I swat away the dread like a pesky mosquito. Nothing can stop me. No amount of pain, no distance, no obstacle can prevent me from getting to her, killing Rivet, saving her.

Or so I think.

My brother appears from the side, seemingly arriving out of thin air, traveling through some crack between dimensions. He is flanked by a dozen men. There isn’t time to ask questions. The whys and whos and whats can come later. I lower my head and charge between two of the men. They are big and strong. It is like hitting a stone block. My feet keep moving, churning, trying to push them out of my way. I am screaming something—I have no idea what—but they won’t move, won’t relinquish their grip.

One of the guys twists around behind me and locks my arms behind my back.

Adele is already dead. Too much time has passed since Rivet pulled out the blade.

It is over, all over. All is lost. My mother. Adele. Roc will be imprisoned—maybe worse. My life is over.

Killen is in front of me, saying something. I can’t hear, don’t care to hear. Nothing he can say will matter to me. All of our childish kicks under the table, our childhood fights, were nothing compared to this. He is no longer my brother in any sense of the word, blood included.