Memories of Moonlight

          Cool darkness, like comforting black water, enveloped me as I ran through the field behind my house. Dark clouds hung low across the sky, blotting out moon and stars alike. My bare feet touched the ground rhythmically, barely resting on the ground before they were airborne again. I was flying, flying as fast and as far as I could.

          It wasn’t that my life at home was horrible; it was just the house, and the feelings inside it. Every breath was like trying to draw water into the lungs, the oppressive air smothered words spoken so loudly they could be shouts. Old secrets and hidden sadness were what kept that house the way it was, no matter how many ways we tried to make it cheerful.

          So I was escaping, if just for a little while. The first breath of fresh air I drew into my starving lungs made me want to run as fast as I could, so I did. I knew mother wouldn’t come looking for me. She had learned long ago my night wanderings were nothing to be concerned about. In a way, I believe she understood it was the only way I could ever receive peace, the only way I retained my sanity.

          That night I ran longer than I ever had. The field had come to an end, succumbing to the pressing forest, and yet I kept running. Finally I collapsed beneath a large tree, my chest heaving. As I lay breathing in the scent of the earth the oppressive clouds shifted, allowing moonlight to slice through the darkness. My breathing sounded loud in the quiet forest, abrasive and harsh to the surroundings.

          While trying to calm my beating heart I saw a figure detach itself from the shadows on my left. Quickly I sprang up to face it, feeling my heart race again for a different reason. I could feel my muscles tense, preparing to run or fight. The figure drew closer, pausing slightly before stepping into a ray of moonlight.

          I heard an intake of breath and realized it was my own. The man in front of me was the most dangerously attractive person I had ever seen. His attire was nothing special, much the same as my own really: jeans and a t-shirt. That face though, was positively haunting. Everything about him was intoxicating. His expression was a bemused smile, as if my surprise amused him greatly. Past that smile, however, was everything and nothing. Looking in his dark eyes it seemed as if he had experienced every emotion, been submerged in all feelings of the human heart and then some even deeper.

          Lost in thought, I failed to realize he had come closer until he was about a foot away from me. Startled I quickly stepped back to widen the distance. Putting his hands in front of him, he gestured that he meant no harm. “Please don’t be frightened. I’ve been waiting for you. I just want to talk.” The voice that came from him was deep and full of warmth that made me want to trust him. It sounded so unique, and yet familiar in a way that made my heart skip a beat.

          Working hard to keep the tremor from my voice I addressed him in what I hoped was a fearless tone. “Who are you, and what do you want? Do you really think I’m going to trust a stranger who’s been stalking me?” I could hear the outrage and fear in my voice and winced inwardly.

          He moved closer again, closing the distance once more. I found I couldn’t move, my eyes had found his and they rooted me to the spot. The next words out of his mouth both shocked me and made my heart leap with an excitement I did not understand. “My name is Deryk, and I am here to remind you of your past.”

         Before I could respond to his puzzling comment Deryk had stepped so close our bodies were almost touching. The body heat radiating from him was tremendous. I felt as if I had just stepped in front of a roaring fire, so hot it could rival the sun; yet harmless because Deryk willed it to be. Before I could process these sensations I felt my eyes shifting to his almost involuntarily. We locked gazes, and the last thing I heard was a whispered “I’m sorry,” full of remorse.

         Suddenly it felt like I was being pulled inside Deryk’s mind, into his memories. Almost simultaneously I experienced the joyful pleasure of love and the bitter pain of loss. I bore witness to birth and death over and over, always different and yet startlingly the same. Voices of people I had never met filled my head, melding together into a symphony of sounds.

         Ice and fire ran through my veins, making me unbearably cold and hot. Light and darkness streaked across my vision, torturing my eyes till I feared I might go blind. I could feel air and earth all around me, each fighting to cover the most of my body. The pain was excruciating and I think I screamed. Then just as suddenly as it started, everything stopped; there was only sweet nothingness to fill my head.



         Rough shaking was what awoke me, under the same tree I had collapsed under the night before. Opening my eyes I saw the soft colors of early morning filling the sky; pinks and oranges, yellows and blues all mixing and intertwining. Dew covered the grass and I realized my clothes were slightly damp. Looking up I was confronted with my father. Worry was written across his weather-beaten face, and the sadness that never left his gray eyes seemed more pronounced than usual. “What happened to you last night?” He asked hoarsely. “You never came home, had your mother and I worried sick!”

         I turned to look at my father, feeling dazed. What had happened the night before? My brow wrinkled as I tried to remember what I had done. Memories of running into the forest played across my mind. Then I had lain under the tree completely exhausted. Had I fallen asleep and dreamed of the stranger Deryk? It felt as if I had. There certainly was no evidence of his presence. Quickly I glanced around, looking for footprints. Imprints of my father’s farm boots and my bare feet were the only marks I could find on the ground.

         Deciding that I must have dreamed the events of the night before I looked back at my father. His eyes were still locked on me, searching my face for an answer. Shaking my head I stood up, feeling the stiffness in my limbs. “I’m sorry dad. I must’ve fallen asleep after my run. It won’t happen again.”

         At my words the worry on his face turned to anger. “It won’t happen again?” He thundered, making me wince. “That’s it? You’ll just brush it off like that? You just can’t do that! Have you forgotten was happened to Jenny? After what… what happened you can’t be careless like this. We can’t… your mother and I can’t loose you too.” My father’s anger had all but fizzled out when he mentioned my sister. Three years had passed since her mysterious death, and yet he still couldn’t talk about it. He had become paranoid, treating me like fragile glass.

         While I could partly understand his worry, it still frustrated me to no end. I too mourned the loss of my sister, but I had promised myself I wouldn’t let her death make me afraid of dying. In some way I didn’t understand I had never feared death, just accepted it. Because of this my father had always kept me close, fearing I wouldn’t be careful with myself. The day Jenny died, when I was fourteen, he limited my freedom even more. The basic rules were always straight home after school, friends only once a week, never go outside without telling someone first. He was suffocating me so much I took to running at night. By then he had gone to bed, and mother was more lenient with my freedom.

         Stepping closer to my father I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I really am sorry Dad. I won’t scare you again. Why don’t we go back to the barn and start the morning chores?” A slight nod was the only response I received, and that didn’t surprise me. My father felt he had let too much emotion show, and as a result he had to show as little as possible afterwords. At least, that’s what he believed. Now he would go back to being rough and detached, brushing off any and all efforts to be comforted.

         I’ve known a lot of people who shy away from barn work. Mucking out stalls, moving hay, milking the cows, they see all these chores as too physical, too menial. For the most part I feel the same way. That day, however, I took comfort in the well-known routine. The rhythmic squirting of the warm milk into the bucket, the way the fresh hay smelled, everything that teased my senses put me more at ease. Eventually I could forget about the strange night I had had, and my confusion. My father seemed to be helped by the farm work as well. I knew he liked the steady routine, the safety it promised in its consistency. Eventually he stopped being rough and was only distant, as always.

         The last chore was finished with a kind of reluctance I’ve never known myself to have before. For some reason I could not fathom, that day seemed different than most, like every moment meant a little bit more. Before I rolled the barn door shut I gazed back into the barn, taking one more breath of the dusty air that smelled of horses and hay. Smiling slightly to myself I made my way back to our old blue farmhouse. Large houses were never something my parents had liked, so when we inherited the farm the old place wasn’t added on to, even though everyone said we should. The truth was my parents liked it the way it was, untouched and unspoiled.

         Walking up the old wooden porch steps I opened the screen door. It squeaked on its hinges as it swung back into place, just as it had for years. Stepping into the front hall I noted the kitchen lights were already on. There was the delicious smell of waffles floating through the house, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten much dinner the night before. Shaking my head I turned away from the kitchen door and walked instead towards the stairs that lead to the second floor. Hungry as I was, the lecture I knew was waiting to accompany breakfast was best avoided

         Quietly as possible I crept up the stairs, avoiding the middle pars as they often creaked. The upstairs hall was just as plain as the rest of the house: off-white walls in need of a new coat of paint, scratched wood floors, and bare walls. Walking swiftly I reached the door at the end of the hall and almost threw it open. Allowing a sigh of relief to escape my lips I stepped inside and closed the door behind myself

         Of all the rooms in our house mine felt the least oppressive. Warm green paint covered the walls, making the room light up and appear larger than it really was. The room was exactly square in shape, the furniture consisting of my small twin bed in one corner with a nightstand next to it, a dresser next to the large window, a small bookshelf, and a wooden chair sitting in another corner.

         None of these things were what brought my room to life, were what made it so wonderful. The reason for my love of this room was located in the middle, commanding the attention of all who entered. It was a piano. Years of almost complete isolation had caused me to beg my parents for something to do in the long hours I spent alone.

         Finally they relented, purchasing a black baby grand piano. At first I had protested, saying this was not what I had wanted, that I had meant I wanted more freedom. My mother had responded by saying that music was freedom, freedom to create whatever I wanted. She had then left me to battle out my problems with the instrument on my own.

         In the beginning I struggled with this new addition to my room. It seemed as if the keys refused to work in harmony with each other. Every note, each chord, sounded ugly and jarring. Many days I would swear off music forever in frustration, but somehow I always went back to that black piano seat. Slowly I began to improve, first playing simple melodies then progressing to more complex pieces.

          Something had clicked in my mind. Finally I understood what my mother was talking about when she said music was a kind of freedom. Through the music I created I experienced so many emotions both negative and positive, all powerful. I traveled across my mind and into my soul, exploring both emotions I had felt and those I had yet to feel, all from my perch on that piano bench.

         It was this short stool that I approached, almost collapsing onto the seat. Effects from the night before were starting to set in. Weariness was pulling at my mind, telling me to sleep. Ignoring my brain I ran my long fingers over the keys, smiling at the smoothness of the ivory under my fingers. The tips of my painted blue fingernails brushed against the black sharps and flats, making a soft clicking noise. Straightening my back I took a deep breath and began to play, striking each key without hesitation. Notes began to string themselves together, intertwining and complicating the song. It transformed from just a combination of sounds to something that could be felt, almost touched.

         “You play beautifully.” His quiet voice made me jump, almost falling off of my seat. Standing quickly I spun around and was confronted by Deryk, and this time I knew I was not dreaming. Once again my gaze was drawn to his eyes. Now that I could see him in the light I realized they were a strange dark-purple color. He had no pupils, instead his eyes gradually got darker from a light violet around the edges to almost-black in the middle.

         I could feel myself being drawn in by his gaze and quickly averted my eyes, backing up until I felt the piano behind me. Seeing him watching me my fear turned burning anger. “What did you do to me last night? Did you drug me? How the hell did you get in here?” I was confused, my mind whirling so fast I felt dizzy.

         To my surprise, he laughed. It was a warm laugh, light and without malice, but it still made me angry. Before I could decide whether I should call my father or just yell at this intruder myself, he spoke. “You overloaded,” he said casually, shrugging slightly. “I realize giving all of it might have been a bit much, but I thought you were strong enough to take it. I guess I was wrong.”

         “Now wait just a minute,” I said indignantly, forgetting what was going on and preparing to defend myself, but he cut me off.

         “You see the thing is, I’m not exactly sure why I’m here. If I could manage without you, I certainly would, but it appears I must have your company. The thing is, Ara, you are all my opposites. Darkness at the core of your soul is as complete as light in mine. Just as fire runs through my veins as blood, water runs through yours. You could have the very air in this room do your bidding, just as I can command anything from the ground.

         “To put it plainly, we are elements. We are what holds this world together, what keeps chaos in check. Don’t ask me how I know all this; I just do, just as I know I need your help. You and I have to train, prepare for whatever chaos might do to upset the balance.” Deryk had stepped closer to me, looking at me intently.

         I shook my head, not believing what I was hearing. “You’re lying.” The skepticism was clear in my voice, and it sounded sharp even to my ears. “There’s no reason for me to believe you anyway. I certainly haven’t seen any displays of ‘awesome elemental power.’” Sarcasm had wormed its way into my voice, covering up any signs of fear.

         “Oh there are plenty of reasons for you to believe me. You’re already changing, and I expect the memories will come back at any time. Don’t worry, your ‘awesome elemental powers’ will soon follow.”

         “Changing? What…” I trailed off, glancing in the mirror behind Deryk. With a gasp I stepped past him and up to the glass, momentarily forgetting I should be keeping my distance. I almost didn’t recognize the face in the mirror, so different from what I had always looked like. Gone was the summer tan from working in the fields, replaced by pale, almost translucent skin. My black hair had remained almost the same, but seemed to have acquired strange shadows intertwining through it. Most frightening, however, were my eyes. They had turned purple, just like Deryk’s. Bottomless purple had replaced gray, with no pupil to assure myself I was still human.

         I turned slowly to Deryk, who was standing behind me. “What have you done to me?” I whispered. Before he could respond I black spots appeared before my eyes. I could feel myself falling, but passed out before I hit the bedroom floor.

         I awoke with sunlight searing my eyelids, making me squint with my eyes closed. Groaning I rolled over and sat up, feeling confused. There was no sign of Deryk, and once again I wondered if he existed at all. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, however, made me believe him. I looked like a stranger, seeming cold and pale. My eyes were glowing softly, a dark purple that moved and changed constantly. It frightened me, and at the same time empowered me. This was the beginning. Of what, I couldn't be sure, but I could feel that life was about to get much more interesting. And dangerous.