(WP) The Savior of Moonlight
“Remember, my love, if you’re ever in trouble, just hold out your hand, palm out, and you will get the help you need, no matter where you are.”
My mother had said that from the time I was a little boy, and I didn’t think much of it, until the night that I drank a bit too much and decided to walk home. I didn’t hear them until they almost on me, and by then, it was too late.
A blow to the back of my head, the metallic, bitter tang of blood in my mouth where I’d bitten through my lip. Drunken laughter and the stink of cologne.
“What an idiot! What kind of person walks through this neighborhood at this time of night? He’s got no sense.” Someone said, punctuating the insults with a few kicks to the ribs that had me coughing.
“Why are you complaining?” Someone else asked, laughing. “His bad luck is our gain.”
My eyes streamed as more blows rained down on my body; even after I curled up in the fetal position, they didn’t abate.
I remembered my mother’s words, and in desperation, I unclenched my right hand and held it up, palm upturned toward the moonlight.
**
I was blinded by a sheet of silvery, white light, and I gasped, closing my eyes against the intrusion. Maybe it was the drink, and the agony from being beaten nearly to death. Maybe I was just hallucinating. But from my vantage point on the blacktop, I saw a blurred, outlined silhouette, and around it were the prone, sedate bodies of the thugs who had attacked me.
Could it be that the moon had heard my cry for help?
“Don’t try to move, child, you’re gravely injured,” The shadow spoke, and it certainly wasn’t in any language I’d ever heard, but somehow, I still understood it.
“Who are you?” I choked out, spitting out some loose teeth as I did so. They landed at the thing’s feet, glimmering in the light it emitted like tiny, misplaced pearls.
“Silly, foolish boy,” It said, and I could’ve sworn that I heard laughter in its strange, melodic voice. “You’ve known me all your life, Jericho. Remember those myths that your mother told you when you were little? They’re real, child. But hidden from those who are unworthy.”
Did that mean that I was worthy to gaze upon a being older than time itself? It seemed too good to be true. Perhaps the thing could see the incredulity on my face, because it laughed again, the sound like bright bells.
“It was your mother, really. She asked me to watch over you.” The being’s voice was fading, and before I finally lost consciousness, it took the form of a lithe, beautiful woman with long, white curls, and her eyes were a sparkling, beguiling lilac. She looked like an illustration rendered in a storybook. “And how could I say no to a woman who has paid tribute to me for all her life?” She smiled at me, kissing my forehead so softly that I wondered if I’d imagined it.
When I awoke the next morning in the hospital, I was almost certain I’d dreamed up the whole thing. But the pain was indeed real, and on the inside of my forearm, a bright violet rune was etched, the skin raised and angry at the fresh wound.
**
