Chapter 23: The Sad, Sorry Tale of Chang’e

The moon was persuaded, so he pointed at the evil spirit and shouted “Repent and submit, evil beast!” The Jade Hare rolled on the ground and turned back into her real form.

--Cheng’en Wu, Journey to the West

“What’s the deal with Mr. Attaboy, or whoever?” Fox asked, not for the first time since the vimana ride. It was a long journey to the moon.

“Somehow, Aitvaras got to the bird city before us.” Bennu’s crest and tail were at their lowest. “He convinced the Simurgh not to accept our cure. But with Goldtalon’s…condition, our previous work still matters.”

“We already have four ingredients.” Grace tried staying positive, even though all she wanted was to cry. “Halfway done. Simple enough.”

“‘Simple’ is not synonymous with ‘easy,’” pointed out Schrodinger. Nobody thought to argue with that. “In Yokai-Town, Aitvaras confirmed that Easter’s jailing my friend William Henry, probably forcing him to…ugh…engineer machines.”

“Makes sense I couldn’t find him on Earth,” said Bennu. “He wasn’t on Earth at all.” His friends had to remind him to keep his claws on the steering wheel and eyes facing forward.

 “Then we should have at least one ally on the dream side of the moon,” said Schrodinger. “Someone aware of the fungal threat well before anyone else. I don’t know if he’ll truly need rescuing, but we must move quick. We’ve no idea how long our griffin has.”

“And we’re seriously trusting what a witch said?” Fox’s tone started incredulous, but lost gumption midway through.

“She cooked good gingerbread men, at least.” Blind Diana nodded.  

“Mooooon pretty.” Goldtalon, for one, did not worry after learning he was infected. Certainly, he witnessed the death of Chiaroscuro, but it was not like the griffin considered that could happen to him. Not when there were still so many delicious foods to eat and shiny objects to collect.

“There’s many dreams associated with the moon,” Schrodinger’s eyes peeled like grapes. “Its light acts as a beacon within the Astral, but a blinding force. Grimalkins have enough trouble taking to the air. But there’s a further barrier in space, one whose nature I can’t see right now. Fortuitous we have a vimana protecting us.”

  “Are they usually this junky?” Fox shifted uncomfortably on a metal bench. Whatever aid Ridil provided, her iron allergy had returned. While clearly ill, she refused Grace’s help.

So, Grace used the sword to heal the bruises Granny Spear-Finger left down the length of her arm.

Bennu shuddered. “For once I know something you don’t, Schrodinger the Short, Dark, and Fuzzy. There’s an…emptiness between the dreamscapes of the Earth and moon. It’s not for nothing people say ‘To the moon and back’ to mean ‘More than anything else.’ Creatures swear by the moon, wish by it. My heart breaks knowing not all those hopes are fulfilled.”

He turned his long neck and gazed at each companion in turn. His intensity was such that no one reminded him to watch the Milky Way. Bennu rarely acted serious, but Grace learnt when he did, it was absolutely imperative to listen.

“Whenever beings refuse the wonderful madness called life, giving up their dreams as something impractical, instead of merely impossible, their dead dreams remain. A barrier of fear, despair, and…and regret gets left behind in space. Demons have no trouble crossing. But while I trust my mentor Melek with my next thousand incarnations, I’m ghastly anxious about what we’re riding into.” 

An unseen force smacked the front of the ship. There were no chairs, only a few benches and railings to grip. The invisible turbulence tossed the companions together. Physically, at least. Mentally, the six could not possibly be further split.

On entering the Place of Dead Dreams, something forced itself down their throats, plugging their nostril, and, worse, oozing into their ears. What that something consisted of, they could not see, even though (with the exception of Diana) their eyes worked fine. Their living regrets could be felt and heard, but stayed unseen despite the planetarium lights. Regret, naturally, felt like a mix of oil, molasses, glue, and half-dried concrete. Its sound consisted of whispers.

Whispers reminding them of every promise they had broken, from public vows to ones they swore would stay secret, as they were made privately. Somehow, breaking promises to themselves stung worse than those made to others. They were small promises, too, and thus seemed easily kept, at first. The voices in their heads were so loud, it seemed impossible everyone else could not hear of their failures, surely judging them now in the harshest ways! This is not the spot to detail every misery writhing inside their brains, but some generalities can be guessed without violating the companion’s privacy.

Goldtalon, newest to the world, likely focused on all the meals he wanted, but had to skip because of constant adventuring. Top of that list would be Dodo Clarion.

Bennu’s whispers probably reminded him of all the inspired individuals he met over five thousand years. How he intended to keep in touch, and check whether his muse-work actually made the world a less harsh place than before. A muse was always in demand, however, and by the time he moved to check in on old friends, they had been dead for centuries. If lucky, he could commiserate with their descendants. Too often, though, hard work and sacrifice led to a lonely death in the gutters. He never could amuse a surefire method to prevent newer friends from suffering the same.

Schrodinger’s regrets were no doubt more academic in nature. He fussed over all the books he could not finish reading—even with nine full lifetimes. There were writings he could not get to because he never learned the languages they were written in. There were rare volumes whose only copies were destroyed. The worst were books people planned to write, but never got around to. How many were those? They could not have all been trash.

Fox proves a much harder rock to crack. If she regretted anything, it would be from the days she was known as Tatum Esther Levinson. That girl—for she was someone else now—lived in a world of rules: what she could or could not eat, what she could or could not wear, what she could or could not think.  Even when so young, Tatum found them arbitrary, and therefore stupid. She was meant to find out their purposes later. But before age twelve, a hail of stones started falling on anyone coming close.

Diana…there is not enough time nor space to even begin checking off the items in her itinerary of regrets. The direction to every route she could take in life looked equally terrible, so it had made sense to not move anywhere.  

Grace heard only one whispered phrase, over and over. Tone differed, as did volume, but the words remained the same. Just the question “How could you leave Grandmam?”

Bennu lurched from the driver’s seat. The vimana was left with no one piloting!

But when it was constructed, William Henry must have put in an autopilot feature. The ship was unbothered by the invisible filth filling the companion’s orifices. It traveled forward.

 It seemed like the whispers would never abate. Yet upon flying through that wall of despair, the voices deadened somewhat. (But never went away.)

“It’s just me,” Diana moaned with a shake of her blind head. “My thoughts belong to me. Think of something else, make yourself something else.”

Grace nodded. Unlike with water, there was nothing in her ears she needed to shake out.

“Hjckrrh!” shouted Goldtalon. He was hardly alone in marveling at a view which made full moons on Earth seem like circles drawn on yellow paper with chalk. Never was a visual distraction so welcomed.

“What’s the moon like up close?” Diana tried feeling her surroundings. She and Fox were tangled under a bench. “It’s not globby and irregular, like it always looks whenever I see it? Boo, to see the moon up close would make a great subject for a poem…but I can’t.”

“Why not?” asked Grace. “I mean, the poultice probably fixed your eyes.”

“See the moon, first. Then decide whether it’s poetical.” Bennu was back to steering. He coughed up cinnamon, and was not the only one to have gotten sick.

“What if they’re not healed?” Diana scratched at her wrappings.

“Oh, come off it.” Fox pushed her friend, making Diana stand. “If you’re not healed, Grace uses Rid-o again. Or, we pluck more feathers. At least try to see if you can, well…y’know.”

After several false starts due to slipping hands, Diana peeled off her bandages. She blinked and squinted until finally adjusting to the medium light of the planetarium. She ducked under a model planet, wobbled into a metal railing and fell on top of Schrodinger, who was inspecting a clockwork mechanism. In other words, she was back to normal. 

Grace never realized Diana’s eyes could be so blue. They were usually red.

Melek Panoptes had not lied when saying the vimana could get them to the moon and back. At least, not the first half. With a bump or eight, it landed on the lunar surface. Bennu pushed a lever. The side door slid open. Air entered the cabin. Freezing air, true, but they would not suffocate, as would happen if they sojourned to the physical version of the moon, not its dream counterpart.

Nobody wanted to be onboard until the sick-smells aired out, but no one could decide who should take the initial step. Either Fox of Diana stumbled out first. (“Stumble” is actually generous. They tripped and rolled.) Grace was first to step onto the moon.

Goldtalon’s heavy eagle head bumped into her back. He stretched his wings and legs, a bit more like his old self. If he truly was infected, he had not given up completely. He bolted into a dune, muttering “Hjckrrh! Shiny! Dig glowing treasure!”

“Treasure” would be the icy crystals embedded in the sand. The entire landscape possessed its own gleam, enough to see by.  

“We got past the Place of Dead Dreams in one piece.” Schrodinger retracted his front claws, gathering glinting sand under them. “Or rather, six pieces. Let’s keep from dividing any further. There’s any number of potential dangers on the way to our enemy’s stronghold. One that’s known is her personal army of moon rabbits.”

“Moon rabbits?” Fox pulled out one of her raised eyebrows kept in reserve. “An old-timey pagan bunny is one thing, but enough to form an army?”

Schrodinger lacked humor. “Perhaps you’ve looked at the full moon and seen a face: dark craters for eyes, a curved line between for a nose, a long uneven gash below for a mouth. But the so-called ‘Man in the Moon’ is only seen on Earth’s northern hemisphere. Those living on the south literally see things from a different angle. Civilizations like China or the Aztecs have looked to the moon and seen, not a man, but a rabbit. Perspective shapes Astral, like jackalopes being created from misidentification.”

“Anyone notice how when the moon’s depicted in art, it’s only shown two ways—crescent or full?” asked Bennu. “But it spends most of the month as an uneven gibbous. Waxing when it seems to be getting bigger, waning, when it seems to shrink. It’s an optical illusion, depending on how much sunlight it can reflect without the world blocking it. The physical moon doesn’t change, or disappear if we can’t see it. But on the dreaming moon, anything might appear, including,” he sighed, “rabbits.”

“It’s all nonsense, of course,” finished Schrodinger. “But nonsense is our business.”

While Grace and Diana listened, Fox bent to pick up a hunk of foreign stone. She levitated it a moment before letting it “thump” to the ground. She tried tossing another, the way stones are skipped on water. With less gravity than Earth, it flew like a discus.

“Is it just me?” Bennu shivered from the top of his crest to the tips of his tail. “Or is everyone else chilly?”

Grace exhaled. Her breath was visible. Yes, the place was cold. She felt grateful for new clothes. Whole, and unmarred by carnivorous trees or skunk spray. Along with the green dress, she had a coat and sneakers. The other girls got trousers and jackets from O, bland but utilitarian. Fox had a new cushioned coat, but the same goggles, which kept fogging up.

The unfortunate animals were stuck with their natural fur and/or feathers.

It was agreed they should head in some direction, but nobody felt sure where. Grace would accept the counsel of Utlunta until it proved untrustworthy, keeping eyes out for a garden where the ingredient furthest from Ostara’s fortress could supposedly be found. Approaching the goddess was something you worked up to.

The surface of the moon was not only very cold but also sandy. Deserts on Earth can be notoriously drafty at night, but the lunar desert nearly crossed into tundra. At least no wind or precipitation bothered them.

The mostly silent walk gave Grace time to mull over the many difficulties spilled into her lap these past weeks, months—she had no consistent way of counting time! When the Aniwye attacked Fort Stone, she saw ice and sand on the other side of his gate. Winds blew then, but she realized he must have come from all the way out here.

Schrodinger interrupted her thoughts. “Notice our footsteps aren’t the first ones here. Plenty of mad people vacation on the moon. Gods, too.” 

Prints, presumably from heavy boots, ranged the place. All agreed it was best to head back to the vimana. Even with self-illuminating ground, the rough, uneven landscape allowed plenty of shadows to pool. Anyone—anything—could hide among them.

Maybe spending time without sight sharpened her ears. Maybe those with naturally keener senses, like Goldtalon, were distracted by “treasure”. Regardless, Diana heard the barking first.

While not as big or bad as Utlunta’s grandson, this canine was no slouch. His appearance was more in line with a monster than a floppy-eared mutt waiting for rescue from the pound. His eyes were the size and color of red stoplights. The rest of him was the black of 3 A.M., when all lights turn green. He was tall, too, matching Diana’s height, plus half. She was powerless as the beast bore down on her…

A quirk about dogs (shared by more than a few species) is that their degree of viciousness is often inversely proportional to their size. A small dog typically proves an aggressive terror, while a larger pooch makes a dear companion. How friendly, then, would a giant dog be?

…Diana had removed her bandages only to have her eyes coated with slobber. First, she screamed “Help! I’m being devoured by a hound of Hades!” but eventually settled into a giggling fit. The huge black canine instinctively knew which places proved most ticklish. The rest of Diana’s friends looked on. Even Goldtalon broke from treasure hunting. Schrodinger hissed, preparing to spring, but everyone else realized Diana was only in peril if it were possible to die laughing.

“Aiken Drum, Aiken Drum! Where’d ya’ go?” queried a voice from over a ridge. When Grace saw the man attached, the only word she could think to describe him was “dark.” Literally everything about him was dark. His hair, his skin, his nails, his teeth, even the whites of his eyes, somehow, were dark. He was not black in color like the dog. Rather, his color was that of fading, as in aged photographs.

His clothes, naturally, were also dark. He wore a hat in the style of Davy Crockett, the racoon tail hanging down his back. His jacket and trousers were tanned hide, the latter kept up by a snake-skin belt. On his back was strapped a kind of primitive sickle. Instead of a metal blade at the end of its wooden handle, it had the jawbone of a donkey. His heavy leather boots kicked icy grit as he trailed the huge dog.

While not appearing old in the sense of having excess wrinkles, he held himself with attitude of someone eroded by time, as illustrated by how thin he was. But for being three-dimensional, he might have been a shadow. 

“Greetings, fellow pioneers. Welcome to the Traveling Garden of Nod!” The dark man smiled, though nobody could tell. He pulled from his belt a yellowed branch that was, comparatively, vibrant. Closer inspection proved it to be bamboo. “Oops, forgot introductions! I’m called Adamson.”

No one spoke. Only Diana had an excuse. The dark man saw, and called the great black dog to heel. It brought its massive bulk in line with its master.

“Hello, Mr. Adamson,” Grace finally said. There was the unspoken fear that Adamson might be one of Ostara’s agents.

“You say this is a garden,” Bennu tried for small talk. “Is this all you have?”

“Well…” Adamson twirled a hand. The gesture of uncertainty. “Honestly, I feel it’s all that’s needed right now. We prefer traveling light. Besides, it was a gift from Kaguya. Her father’s the god Tsukoyomi. I’m a farmer by nature. Inherited the occupation from my father, who had’ta invent it.”

Diana stood. “Can just one branch really be called a garden? I always thought there must be multiple plants to make one.”

Adamson rose to his full height. A shadow growing longest at sunset. “That attitude’s defeatist! Why, from one tree can come hundreds of seeds, and once I make the moon a green, lush place, I can return home. For now, the only consolation during my exile in this unsolid land is my dog.”

Being mentioned, Aiken Drum’s tail started wagging. 

“You sure that’s not another punishment?” Schrodinger edged away from the hound.

“In a certain…recipe we’re making,” said Bennu, “One ingredient involves a wandering dog.”

“Freedom wanders with a dog whose home is unsolid (4 locks. Add to base with 2nd pan),” Schrodinger recited from memory. “We haven’t found what’s goes in the pans yet, but it seems we’re on the right celestial body.” 

“Utlunta said an ingredient could be found near greenery!” Grace did not intend to shout, but her voice easily traversed the void. “Guess she expected the Garden of Nod would already be completed…” She glanced at Adamson from the side. “Uh, sorry.”

The companions introduced themselves, outlining their goal in coming to the moon. Schrodinger was used to explaining, but others chipping in based on their unique perspectives. When it came to describing Goldtalon’s sickness, Grace whispered the awful details. It felt unbearable to speak about it openly.

Adamson whistled. “Well, I’m sure Aiken Drum’ll be fine with a minor haircut. But first, I so rarely get a second opinion, much less six.” He strode across a frosty dune, gesturing to a loose pile of rocks. “I’ve got a good feeling about this spot. You folks think it’s a decent space to begin my garden?” His sepia face gazed expectantly. “It’s taken centuries of traveling to find it.”

“I’d say location’s less important than when it’s planted,” reasoned Bennu. “Every crop has an ideal season, though I’m not sure how seasons work on the moon…hmmmm.” He shook his head, like he was trying to get water out of his earholes.

“If you keep waiting, though,” said Grace, “You’ll never find the right place or right time for your bamboo.” She appraised the shoot Adamson wrung between his hands. “The stalk looks kinda sick, actually. I think I can fix that, once you plant it.”

Adamson fussed out positioning the plant “Just so” amongst the rocks. There was apparently some order no one but he could see.

Grace touched Ridil to the bamboo’s end. In a storm of red sparks, roots developed straight away, aggressively anchoring into the stones and luminescent soil.

Adamson bent to touch the bamboo, then suddenly tried to uproot his work!

Either the shadowy man was weak or the plant was stubborn enough to survive. The stick remained in place. Sword magic had turned it from faded yellow to dark green. Already, small buds grew along what sufficiently charitable souls might call a “sapling.” Adamson clapped.

“Hooboy!” He plopped down, removing his cap to wipe his brow. At the center of his dark forehead was a white scar shaped like a seven-pointed star. “Just with that, Grace, you’ve brought the beginning of the end to my exile!”

“That makes one of us,” mumbled Bennu.

“Can we have the hair of your dog now?” Fox had been tapping her foot for quite a while.

Schrodinger arched his back. “Preferably without being bitten.”

Aiken Drum tilted his head sideways. Glowing red eyes might usually seem threatening. The dog’s gaze was simply curious, though.

“I don’t know if that spanky enchanted sword of yours is any good for barbering.” said Adamson. “I’ll snip a couple locks for you myself.” He called his dog to heel again and unslung his bone sickle.

Goldtalon gazed at the tool’s end. Granny Spear-Finger would not have conjured a bony horse if it was not his favorite food. Grace called him to her, which he did without complaint.

“During my youth, we didn’t have fancy tools of stone or metal,” Adamson explained. “For farming, I had to repurpose a donkey’s jawbone.”

“You killed the donkey?” asked Diana. “Plus the racoon that made your cap?”

Adamson laughed. “No, murder hadn’t been invented when the donkey died. Animals ate each other, but there wasn’t any cruelty to it. Saber-toothed cats needed food same as plant-eaters. My hat came from Azeban the Aged, called ‘Racoon of Aeons,’ because of his immortality. Eventually—’bout once an epoch—his pelt gets so dirty, someone has to skin him so he can finally regrow it.”

“He regrows his skin?” asked Grace. “Like a snake?” She knew they should gather the hair quickly and get back to their ship. The confrontation with her invisible regrets left her claustrophobic, however. Her friends probably felt the same.

“Exactly.” Adamson handing over several locks of Aiken Drum’s hair, which Grace dutifully stored in her bag which she brought. “Azeban claims it doesn’t even hurt. Hair’s already dead cells, like nail clippings.”

“To a subject more pressing to my group,” began Schrodinger, “As a longtime resident of the moon, you must have had run-ins with Ostara?” Night vision helped him make out the miserable look on the man’s face. “Anything you could tell us about her or her palace? We’ll probably be sneaking in there soon.”

“I can vouch that the nursery stories aren’t true,” responded Adamson. “Trust me, I’m the original Man in the Moon!” He suddenly yelled, spreading his arms. When the group merely blinked awkwardly (except Goldtalon, who did not blink anymore) he continued at his normal volume. “Okay, the entire moon isn’t made of cheese. But Ostara’s palace, Mooncry, is. It covers a swath of land that just keeps expanding. With the stink, plenty of former neighbor-gods have moved away.”

“A cheese palace?” despite all the scary things Grace had encountered, and hard tasks she had been set, this bit of absurdity broke the levees of a laughter dam. “How many cows would she need to milk to build that?”

“The palace was actually made from the milk of one cow,” Adamson answered with total solemnity. “Audumla, who easily fed the frost giant Ymir Pan’Gu in the old times.”

“We’ve heard of him,” said Grace. “And traveled through his brains.”

“Weirdly, sailing through a giant’s brains seems less weird to me than a cow being so huge.” Fox returned to skipping stones, almost hitting a figure floating in the air.

It did not matter that the woman had no wings or equipment to support her. Unlike Fox’s stones, which still paid lip service to gravity, the lady never made contact with the ground.

“Dear neighbor!” Adamson pulled his coonskin cap over his forehead. “Chang’e, you’re the first person I wanted to show the Settled Garden of Nod!”

In adventuring, Grace had seen any number of strange, glowing things. Even Schrodinger’s eyes, which she had mostly gotten used to, sometimes felt disconcerting. But this woman—Chang’e—managed to pull off the look without seeming too eerie. Her clothes also glowed, the same mix of white and blue. They were silky, jewel-encrusted garments more lovely than anything even O wore. The woman herself was perfectly made up, with black hair framing an oval face atop a neck as nearly thin as Bennu’s. While nearly transparent, Grace knew from experience she was not a ghost.

Chang’e exhaled deeply after coming to hover above Adamson’s growing bamboo. It became a sigh. She neither smiled nor frowned, but a steady drip of tears flowed down either of her white cheeks so regularly, they might have been drippy faucets.

“Why are you crying, ma’am?” Diana put a warty hand over her eyes to deal with the sudden brightness.

 “Child, it’s rude to ask a lady something like that,” chided Adamson. “Everyone has their burdens. It’s all very personal.” Aiken Drum barked in agreement.

“Well, I think crybabies need to stick together. Or cry on each other’s shoulders at least.” Diana fumbled with the supplies in Grace’s bag. At last, she pulled a tissue free, which she tried handing to the brilliant lady.

Chang’e’s porcelain lips lifted near imperceptivity around the corners. She refused the tissue, instead dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief from her robes. Only then did she speak. It was like she had her own musical accompaniment. “Crybaby.” Bells tinkled. “I suppose I will always be a child, since I’ll never age. I’ve nonetheless had plenty of time in my life to pre-plan excuses for lachrymosity during any occasion, from births to wakes. I’m only really myself when mourning.” 

“Happiness is the worst.” Diana lowered her hand. “Nothing makes me sadder, since I know my good mood won’t last forever. Soon enough, I’ll be miserable again!”

“Young lady, you speak to my sorry, broken heart.” Chang’e still did not touch the ground, but she bent her legs, so it seemed like she was sitting in the air. “Though I sincerely doubt anyone here would wish to hear the source of my sorrows.”

“We’re happy to listen, ma’am,” Grace finally said after a long pause. “My friends and I need to sit and rest awhile, anyway.”

“Very well, if I must.” While “swooning” is usually a verb only appearing in melodramas about fragile, sensitive old women who need something called “smelling salts”, there is no other word to describe what Chang’e did. All while still floating.

“Pay no mind to her hemming and hawing,” said Adamson. “She loves telling this story.”

“Oh, don’t spoil it, Man in the Moon.” Chang’e only continued once the bells around her died down. “Okay. Today is my wedding anniversary. I was first to come to the moon. Imagine me here, all alone. Without a single decent companion. Granted, I still don’t have any decent companions. The dog doesn’t count, and there’s the whole issue with the rabbits—glad they’re leaving soon.

“Point is, I was once a goddess, as was my husband, Yi Ullr: greatest archer of all time. First to put a bow and arrow together, actually. Before him, arrows didn’t travel very far, and nobody even knew what bows were for. He became a hunter, and…wait, I should explain something first. The sun once had nine brothers. Though mortals can’t look directly at the sun for long, if you could, you’d see his true form is a giant, three-legged crow.”

“It bears pointing out,” interrupted Schrodinger, who was trying to take a nap in the sand, “This is but one myth among many. A story kittens are reared on is that the sun is a god named Ra, married to Bast, the mother of all felines. Cats lie in sunlight as a way to greet our father.”

Bennu laughed. “You could also imagine the sun as a ball of plasma large enough to easily engulf and annihilate every planet at the same time.”

“Yes,” said Chang’e, “Well after the sun was just a ball of fire, but before Egyptians worshipped it as Ra, a week on Earth lasted ten days, instead of seven. Each brother-sun got a day to shine while the other nine rested. Ultimately, this saved energy, as opposed to one sun burning constantly and eventually wearing itself out. The whole system was ruined, however, when one day the ten suns came out at the same time. Maybe it was meant as a prank, or they decided the weather was too chilly, or they just thought the world was too dark for people to read without straining their eyes. Whatever. The brothers stayed in the sky not just days, but weeks, then months.

“Earth became much warmer than the animals were used to. To keep from overheating, Wooly Mammoths shed their coats, which is why modern elephants are practically naked. Glaciers and land bridges melted; the Ice Age came to an end. With no cool nights to balance things out, plants burned. The land itself soon followed. If the ten suns weren’t stopped, there’d be nothing to eat, nowhere to live, and nobody alive to complain.

“Hyperion, the god who jealously guards the lights in the sky, tasked Yi to get rid of the extra suns. Because it would take more than regular arrows to reach that high, my husband plucked some feathers from Garuda, the king of birds. With these, Yi shot the brother-suns from the ground below. Nine were felled, but the last of the three-legged crows, named Helios, was chased into the west. Of all the brothers, he wasn’t that bright, and thinking Yi’s still after him, he keeps running that same direction. Originally, the suns could rise and set in whatever directions they wanted, as long as heat was distributed evenly.

“Anyway, the world was saved. Elephants, humans, and the rest made do with the altered environment. That should have been the end of it. But Hyperion was angry at Yi for killing his suns, who were also his sons. Even though he told my husband to do it in the first place! Not only did Hyperion strip Yi’s immortality away, he also took mine, even though I didn’t do anything! We were kicked out of Heaven, forced to dwell amongst humans. Yi started teaching them how to improve their tools, but I couldn’t stand that rough world of hunters, gatherers, and dirt. So! Much! Dirt!

“Eventually, I discovered a potion brewed from magical fruits. If Yi and I both drank half, we could fly back to the world of the gods. But I was selfish. Angry that Yi put me in this position to begin with. So, I drank it all in one sitting. I just wanted to go home and see my family! Right away, I started floating—with this kind of ticklish feeling. Too fast to slow down, I rose right past Magonia, Garuda’s city, and Heaven. After casting away my hopes which turned into regrets, I landed on the moon, and have been stranded ever since. Oh certainly, other travelers come up, but do any offer a buoyant immortal a trip home? No! They’re too selfish to think of others.” It was like the faucets in Chang’e’s eyes were twisted on, because her tear trickles became jets.

“Miss Chang’e,” said Grace, “My friends and I came here looking for eight ingredients to a special cure. We already have five, the last from Aiken Drum, and if…when it’s finished, we’re taking our vimana back to Earth. If you know where you want to be dropped off, there’s enough space in the ship for you…”

She looked to her companions. Diana, Bennu, and Goldtalon all nodded, Diana being the most vigorous. Fox rolled her eyes. Schrodinger made the growl of one giving up on sleep after a serious but failed effort to fall into it.

“But first, could you help us find any of the last three ingredients?” Grace hoped a smile would counterbalance Chang’e’s bawling.

Instead, Chang’e started croaking. A noise worse than anything Diana made. Her breath smelled of peaches and apples. “No!” she barely managed to choke out, “A side-effect of drinking too much potion is whenever I encounter hope or positivity, I become a hideous monster! I lose a leg, too. Really throws off my balance.”

“Boy, this isn’t pretty,” claimed Adamson. “Take it from the Man in the Moon, you don’t want to see this!”

First, Chang’e’s skin loosened, to accommodate her sudden explosion of new mass, which ripped her bright silk robes to shreds. Pearl ornaments scattered on the ground, to be frantically amassed by Goldtalon. One of his eyes remained glazed, but the other had a fixed intensity. 

Every bone in Chang’e’s (admittedly underused) legs cracked till they had the consistency of wet noodles. They spiraled together, melting into one limb. Her arms expanded, webbing growing between once-delicate fingers. The rest of her expanded, too, like she was turning into a blimp or hot air balloon. The cool blue aura around her shorted out. New skin, covered in green warts, made Diana’s blemishes look like a mild case of acne.

Before the eyes of Adamson, his dog, and the companions, Chang’e transformed into a bloated, three-legged toad. The monster proved as hideous as the lady had been beautiful.

“It was legless, but the scroll had a tadpole drawn next to an eternity symbol,” brought up Bennu.

“Sorrow in lament of ever-young frog (16 scruples, mix, strain. Keep in 2 separate pans),” Schrodinger quoted effortlessly.

“Utlunta mentioned something like this kept one of the ingredients,” said Grace. But how do you hold onto a lament? They were spoken or sung, as during a funeral. Laments could not be touched, or mixed with objects in a pan.

“Magic isn’t exactly literal,” Schrodinger responded when Grace asked. “Remember the basement of the Ambrosius Institute? Diana read us a dark poem, and it actually made the room darker.”

Diana somehow nodded and shook her head in one motion. “Maybe gain a token of Chang’e’s mourning? Like her tears?”

“Yeah, as if magic tears are a thing.” If Fox had been drinking something, the liquid would have shot out her nose. “We might as well collect her burps.”

Chang’e put one of her three paws to her wide mouth. “I’d happily offer tears. But I’m sorry, it’s simply unbecoming for a lady to burp.” She started floating away.

“Please ma’am,” Grace pleaded. “Goldtalon—my griffin—is real sick. You probably haven’t heard, but there’s a horrible fungus. It takes away creature’s minds till they’re zombies. If my friends and I don’t finish putting the cure together, he’ll di…peris…his head’ll…” 

“Explode.” Fox finished what Grace could not.

“There are other infectees, as well,” added Bennu. “Hundreds, at least. Even if some refuse our help, I think it’s imperative we try saving as many as we can.” Since exile, his crest and tail flagged. Now, his train spread fully. Controlled bursts of purple flame punctuated his words.

“Oh…that does sound serious.” As a toad, Chang’e’s facial expressions were hard to read. Still, tears built in the corner of her eyes. The same eyes as the woman. She deflated a bit, almost touching ground for the first time. “My husband risked his place is Heaven.”

Her voice, too, was the same, even if it no longer came with tinkling bells. “Did he complain? No, he lived with mortals, and died with them, teaching them better ways to survive. I think I can spare a bit of embarrassment. But…. nobody look, okay?”

From her bag, Grace pulled out a glass jar, a little wider than her palm. Chang’e duly brought it to her mouth, which nearly spread the whole length of her head. For a second, the girl worried the container would be accidentally swallowed hole. Then, she was forced to look away, but heard murmuring. While never making out exact words, Grace felt sadness in the monster’s voice. Unlike when Chang’e appeared gorgeous, it was not a haughty, self-pitying tone, but one of humility, even remorse.

When the jar dropped into her hands, and quickly screwed shut, Grace observed a pink gas eddying inside. She had little idea what a “scruple” amounted to, or if this was enough to make sixteen, as the formula called for. They could always acquire more if Chang’e joined their travels later.

The bloated toad practically popped. All the excess air that made Change’e’s skin tight like a drum gushed out. Like Mr. Aitvaras’ transformation without ash to irritate lungs. Her back leg split in two. The others were restored to delicate human arms. Green warts receded. The blue aura returned. Chang’e appeared exactly as when the companions first glimpsed her, except for the obvious difference she was naked.

Grace’s concern had nothing to do with modesty. “Ma’am, aren’t you cold?”

To this, Chang’e laughed. Bells resounded. “I have plenty clothes I can slip into. Find me when your quest is done. I’ve got a ticket on a vimana, even if it’s to a place of hunters, gatherers, and dirt.” The naked, glowing woman floated the same way she came.

Fox dusted off her trousers. “Plenty of dirt here, too.”

“Good thing,” said Adamson. “Otherwise, the Garden of Nod could never be planted. If only I could water it…”

Bennu melted some ice for him. Fox kicked up some rocks, then held out her fists so they floated in a row like stepping stones.

Grace meant to suggest they return to their vimana and search out the last ingredients, but she was muffled by an unforeseen earthquake. A ‘moon-quake’, she revised. She was not worried. They had acquired two ingredients in one sitting, and natural quakes never lasted long.

But the source of the continuing din was not natural.

“Oh, come on.” Fox slapped a palm to her face.  “How’d anyone get one of those up here?”

Grace hoped this was a mirage, or glamour spell. Anything other than what it appeared to be: a dented, rusty, but still very functional tank. The kind her father called a “panzer.” The metal behemoth pounded straight towards them on treading wheels. A glinting dust storm followed in its wake. A massive gun barrel—size of a cannon—lazed in their general direction.

“They’re brought up piece-by-piece under the direction of a nasty trapdoor spider,” said Adamson.  Unlike the others, he did not seem especially surprised. “Very dangerous creature, I hear. Literally heartless.”

There was no time to mention the Djieien had recently been defeated. The panzer stopped, but its gun roved from Bennu to Schrodinger to Fox to Diana to Adamson to Aiken Drum to Grace before finally stopping where Goldtalon collected stray pearls. Grace moved in front of the oblivious griffin.

The tank’s hatch opened. Grace got her first look at one of the rabbits native to the moon.

It was twice as large as the fattest earthly hare. Every part of his body—ears, eyes, whiskers, buckteeth, belly, paws, tail—shined silver. Apparently, lots of things glowed on the moon. Except Adamson.

The rabbit stared at Grace with empty eyes, then opened his mouth wide enough to make a workable beartrap. The first sound from him was a feminine giggle. “Hello! This is Ostara, greatest of the Vanir (by default), sovereign of the moon, grower of verdant things, commander of zombies, and future ruler of the planet Earth. Okey-dokey, my scouts detected a foreign vimana, so I’m leaving this message with my henchbunny to tell you illegal trespassers to go back where you came from. Look forward to the time when I control your minds, freeing you from the headaches of free will. ‘kay, bye.” The rabbit’s jaws snapped shut.

Grace fingered Ridil’s handle. She waited for another companion to respond to the somehow pre-recorded message. Even Adamson could have said something. Instead, she swallowed whatever was stuck in her throat and said “My friends and I already came this far.” Her knees requested permission to knock together, but she stood firm. “We’re seeing it through to the end, which means we need certain…well, certain things. We don’t want to fight, though.”

“But we will!” Bennu moved to stand beside Grace.

“Hard.” Schrodinger sharpened his claws on a stone, tossing up stray ice shavings.

“And dirty,” added Fox. Though being near so much iron made her ill, she stood before the panzer with the others.

“I’d prefer surrendering,” admitted Diana. “Uh…but only if everybody else wants to.”

Other than Goldtalon screaming “Hjckrrh!” while clutching his pearls, there was no response in favor of that plan. Diana set her expression to something aggressive. Well, aggressive for her.

“Oh darn,” said the rabbit in a different, male voice. “Y’know, there wasn’t really a threat in the boss’s statement. It was kinda implied, though…” He pointed a paw square at the friends. The gun fired! The aim was a bit too high, however. The companions half-ducked, half-got-knocked-to-the-ground.

 Schrodinger was on his feet first. As running to the vimana seemed like a good idea, the others quickly followed his lead. Grace led Goldtalon, who relinquished his pearls upon being asked. Adamson vowed to protect the Garden of Nod. Great, black Aiken Drum stayed beside his master, howling at the tank.

But the war machine was not concerned with smashing a single bamboo plant. Its cannon pivoted in the direction of the flying ship. As if to compensate for its failure a moment ago, the second blast struck its mark with a huge explosion. In seconds, the companion’s only plan for evacuating the moon was broken into minute fragments.

The runners changed course, coincidently the direction Chang’e came from. Bennu complained Schrodinger fled too slowly, and took the tabby in his skinny legs. With no small amount of straining, the phoenix successfully lifted him.

Meanwhile, Goldtalon carried Grace and Diana on his back. While unable to show off his flying tricks, he proved just as competent when it came to stark survival. Diana gripped Grace’s waist as firmly as possible. Grace tried not to cringe at the slimy touch.

“Let me try something.” Fox’s hands were fists. The new stepping stones she levitated were big enough to support her body weight—not that she stayed on them for long. Her typically impassive face scrunched in concentration. Fists contorted into claws. She managed to skip across the stones without slipping on ice. 

“I only just got my eyes back,” said Diana. “But since when can you do that?”

“Gravity’s weaker here.” Fox took a moment to shrug, then put her concentration back on moving forward.

But to where? Fox’s stone-riding saved Goldtalon the effort of carrying three people. Though the tabby was not nearly as fat as when Grace first saw him, Bennu still struggled to hold onto Schrodinger. They moved at the pace they could, but if anyone got too far ahead, they never left their lagging friends behind.

Tank rumbling continued behind them, occasionally backed by random guns being fired. This made for solid motivation, until the group almost crashed into Chang’e’s house. The boudoir looked as well put together as its owner. It also floated with absolutely no regard for gravity.

“You can’t be here!” Thin trickles of tears ran down either side of Chang’e’s oval face. Blue veins stood out. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to help, but I’m no fighter. Always relied on my husband for that…” This set off a bout of keening.

“Am I that annoying when I cry?” Diana whispered in Grace’s ear. Grace decided not to reply.

Chang’e sniffed. “Other gods might help. It could be a fair fight against Ostara. Maybe find Khonsu. He can provide you extra time if you beat him in a game of checkers. Five days max. Plus, Artemis probably still has Yi’s original bow and arrows. Maybe I…” At the blast of cannons nearby, the boudoir shot into the dark above.

Grace and her friends remained in the dark below. Out of sight, she thought she heard Chang’e ask “Is that vimana ticket still available?”

Tanks are powerful. Brutal vehicles applying brutal weaponry to brutal conflicts. But they are not particularly agile, and they have issues tracking a small group on uneven terrain.

Bennu’s normally violet plumage muted. Even his multicolored tail dimmed to blend with the surroundings. Fox kept low while skipping stones, hiding behind dunes where possible. Actually, cover was not especially hard to find among the mounds and valleys. For now, shadows were their allies.

But then Goldtalon paused to rest in a crater. The group heard rumbling not just from the direction they had fled, but every other direction.  It was impossible to gauge the number of panzers, but there were surely enough that if the original failed in tracking them, others might.

For the present, they were hidden. Diana suggested they sleep awhile—just to be more ready and alert when they finally got to Mooncry, and had to face their most powerful enemy. No one had the energy to argue against that plan. All but one felt too sleepy.