Rat was particularly protective over Tyten whom he worshipped from afar, and he wanted to impress the princess with his knowledge.
“Perhaps you don’t know the story of Tyten?”
Damselfly was busy watching the court proceedings yet she could not deny that she was curious to hear a new story.
“Tell me,” the princess demanded.
“Tyten wanted to be a great warrior ever since his youth. He was blessed not only with strength and discipline but also golden hair that was complimented by cerulean blue eyes. Tyten was so concerned over becoming the greatest warrior Thronegarden had ever known he visited a soothsayer. The fortune teller revealed that Tyten would indeed become a great warrior though he would be undone by love.”
“How can someone be defeated by love?” Damselfly asked.
“I don’t know,” Rat responded. “However, he believed the sage’s prediction and ever since then he has spurned any romantic advances towards him. Living a solitary life dedicated solely to his duty.”
Damselfly studied Tyten carefully from her vantage point. She was too young to understand the soldier’s physical attraction, although she could see how the other women in the room snatched glances at him when he was not looking.
“That was a good story, thank you,” Damselfly acknowledged. “Maybe I can tell you one in return.”
No one had ever sung Rat lullabies or told him stories. He picked up a few by listening to Pilgrim or sometimes Robin when she spoke to the birds like children and he was grateful to the princess for offering.
“Yes, please.”
Damselfly scrunched up her face in concentration, trying to decide on what story to share. Old Nana had given her a large anthology of tales that she could repeat by heart. “Have you heard the story about The Children of the Moon?”
“No,” Rat answered.
Damselfly knew her father had banned anyone from telling this story, but she did not think it would be dangerous to tell Rat.
Children of The Moon
Come listen close while I tell you a tale,
Of the Children of the Moon,
It began on a dark night with the wind blowing a gale,
Warning of the approaching misfortune.
A humble farmer who has seen in many a harvest,
Waits patiently, while his wife is in labour,
He wrings his hands while hoping for the best,
Time passes slowly so every minute feels like an hour.
With no new born cries,
The farmer’s hope fades,
At the first sign of the sun rise,
He kneels and prays.
The man asks for the moon to offer his protection,
In return he offers to create a garden of mercurial beauty,
To make it his life’s mission,
To design a place that reflects the love of a happy family.
The moon took pity on the man,
Shining down on the land he gave of his light,
Showing the way as a new life began,
The man bowed his head feeling the blessing and knowing everything would be all right.
As the wind started to settle,
A sign of trouble from afar,
For someone had been watching the domicile,
A cold and jealous star.
Envious of the moon’s power the star covets,
His elevated position in the night sky,
This farmer’s joy will soon turn into regrets,
As the star also answers the man’s cry.
I am the Evening Star performer of many a miracle,
Yet I see you making a deal with the moon on a promise,
Perhaps you did not know the moon is my rival,
I can grant anything he can, anything you wish.
The farmer wanted nothing more than to greet his newborn child,
So he considered the star’s offer and refused,
The jealous star became haunted and wild,
You have offended the Evening Star, a crime you stand accused.
For all the farmer’s hasty apologies,
He only made matters worse,
The jealous star ignored the man’s vows and guarantees,
In his anger the star bestowed a curse.
Although the moon has blessed your first baby,
Your second will be cursed by your sins,
You wish for a larger family,
Well, I will grant you twins.
For the moon is a fickle master with two sides,
He may be mysterious yet I know,
The moon has two faces, one he hides,
A face for private and one for show.
Your children will be born with the moon’s mark,
So you know my words are true,
One will be fair the other dark,
One will be a gift while the other will be the death of you.
The farmer found himself alone where he stood,
Hearing a distant cry like a bell might toll,
Wondering if what he had seen was real and what it might mean if it should,
Holding on to the hollow sound that was neither lamb nor foal.
As the star had predicted children there were two,
Both with a tiny little crescent,
The mark of the moon meant everything was true,
One born good the other bad, but both innocent.
Damselfly had sung the story of The Children of the Moon, which left Rat transfixed for several moments; the princess had a beautiful singing voice, which could make even Buttontail forget about his fear or hunger. Damselfly barely noticed their reactions as she was distracted by the beginning of Blakast’s trial below them.
“Blakast, you stand accused of high treason. How do you plead?” Librarian Scroll posed.
The usurper failed to respond. Instead, he seemed to be suffering an internal dialogue that would burst out at irregular intervals like incoherent babbling.
“Note the accused is unresponsive,” Judge Vale ordered.
“Bring forward the evidence,” Scroll demanded.
A group of clerics cautiously brought forward a locked strongbox. Soldiers remained close as the
