The Birthing Moon

I lied! I’m back! Turns out February was a much busier month than I’d anticipated. So I’m posting one more story here before I transition the blog to a new platform.

This story was originally written as a submission to Night Sky Press. They had a neat premise: they provided writers with a planet—Orcanus—its geography, climate, animals etc., and all submissions had to be set on that planet.

I recently re-read my submission from over a year ago and it was…bad. But I liked my idea, so I decided to radically revise it and share the results with you! If anyone from Night Sky sees this, please don’t be mad, it’s fan fiction!

Enjoy The Birthing Moon!

EB

***

I left the nursing cave whenever I could. Stuffy, it was always filled with the most boring chatter, the same conversations over and over for six long years.

Though there was always something I could do—do stretches with my charges, fill out health reports, study—if I had a spare moment, I would always slip out to main square and peer through one of the small windows carved out of the deep red rock that dominated our home caves, to stare out at the heat-blasted desert and the twin suns above.

I liked to imagine myself alongside the travellers, sailing across the desert landscape on their solar bikes, visiting far-away mines, or encountering the few above-ground tribes that thrived under magnificent mountain overhangs hundreds of feet long. Some travellers even went off world and brought back new trade agreements, along with stories and curiousities. I often read the travelogues of our fellow Aventurans, and then the stories from other mines, to the Kleons, entertaining them as they slowly swelled up.

Six years. Did I mention that? We read through many, many books.

Now, my time as an acolyte to Kleodora, our planet’s fair moon, was coming to an end. Unfortunately, this did nothing to alleviate the boredom of caring for the Kleons. If anything, it only made my duties harder to bear, knowing it would all be over soon.

It didn’t help that in the weeks leading up to the solstice the Kleons got more annoying. They were enormous, their bellies like swollen troglobite bladders, and they struggled to stand up, to eat, to breathe.

They required a new set of nutrients in their meals. I had to use a special harness to get them up from their sleeping pallets. We did breathing exercises, and listened to calming music, and all they ever did was complain. We had known each other since childhood, all born under the same solstice, which was unique. Normally a cohort of Kleons included a range of ages. Not this round. I was ready to never see any of them ever again.

The first time I participated in a birthing moon, I was nine years old. I had been chosen as an apprentice acolyte when I was very young. My mentor Anap claimed that he saw the gift in me right away, the moment I was born. Kleodora’s acolytes needed patience, courage and resolve, he would say, and I had all of them, even as an infant. I would tell him later, when he would return from his mining trips that he must have mistaken stubbornness for patience.

After that, I was sent to a school shared by all the communities on the east side of our cliffs to study everything about Orcan reproduction. There were twelve younglings in my cohort. By the time I returned, three years later, five had already been dispatched to the nursing cave. Kleodora had called on them. Anap stayed with me for the first six months, coaching me through all the stages of change as they happened, and then he left to start his life anew, as a miner. He whistled down the hallway giddily when he left and only returned a handful of times in the ensuing years, to tell the Kleons stories of his own adventures, deep underground.

Solstice. Every nine years, our twin suns would dip out of our hemisphere entirely and the full moon would rise. The morning of our four hundred and thirty-first solstice, I woke up at dawn feeling renewed and tingly with pent up anticipation. I tiptoed from my room, an ensuite to the birthing cave, hoping the Kleons were still dead-asleep thanks to the sleeping tea I’d prepared the previous night.

The market cave was bustling. Everyone was preparing for the following morning’s solstice feast. Already the fishmongers and reptile farmers were running out of stock.

“Morning Thium,” said Andyr, already renewing her table display with additional sand moss and karst ferns, “how are our birth bags doing?”

“You can’t call them that,” I chided as she started putting red moss and chalk-spider silk in my satchel.

“Oh, lighten up. You’re just suddenly on your best behaviour now that the big day has come.”

“They’re going to be in lots of discomfort today. And they are producing our next generation. I am just trying to be understanding.”

“Better them than me,” said Andyr smirking. “And better you than me.”

“Well, it’s an honour and all that.”

“Sure, sure. And pulling silk out of a spider’s ass is my life’s passion. Though,” she added, “for Kleodora, I’d do it for the rest of my days!” she let out a dramatic sigh, throwing her head upwards in mock devotion. I chuckled along with her, shaking my head.

“You’re going to turn me into a heretic.”

Andyr winked. “You can be whatever you want in a few short hours.”

“On that note, I should probably get back. The moon waits for no acolyte.”

“No, she does not. See you at the feast Thi,” said Andyr.

“That’s too much pressure Thium,” Samar complained.

I stood and adjusted my position, kneading at Samar’s back and hips. I’d been at it for hours by now, giving massages to all five of my charges. Every one of them had different problems. My technique was off, I was too rough, I wasn’t going deep enough, it was too painful, my hands were too cold.

All my Kleons were afflicted with stiff joints. I should have forced them to walk around more, brought them to the moss gardens and led them in stretches. But Amun and Ceri would have whined, Yttri would say they deserved more of Aventura’s meagre food stores, and if pressed, Anosia, who was carrying twins, might cry. It just hadn’t seemed worth it at the time.

A bell chimed at the door.

“All right everyone, if you could please do some stretches while I’m gone, I’ll ask Erb to come in and play something calming. You all need to be rested and ready for tonight.”

I ignored the grumpy muttering and opened the door to Eya, our chief miner.

“Ready?”

“Moons and stars yes,” I said grabbing my satchel from a hook by the door, not even looking behind me in case there were any last-minute requests. Eya chuckled.

“The moon’s calling can be agonizing. You should not be surprised at our Kleons’ moodiness.

“They’ve been this way since entering the nursing cave. I grew up only hearing their complaints. How will they manage when they take on their new lives?”

“I managed,” said Eya

“Your cohort was different,” I said. “The years were harder. There was more at stake.”

Eya said nothing, so we walked in silence until reaching the stairway from the central cavern up to Aventura’s balconies, where the astronomers made predictions for the miners’ day ahead.

“They’ve already started dipping,” said Thuli, Aventura’s head astronomer.

I bowed in response.

“It’s an honour to meet again.”

“It’ll be me bowing to you if you can pull off six births, young acolyte.”

“We all will,” agreed Eya and I tried not to blush in front of them.

Thuli was right; the suns were already fast descending. I pulled the red moss and chalk spider silk from my bag, along with a jug of the purest waters from deep in the Oran crystal caves. Some of my home clan miners procured the water for me, taking time out of their ever-frantic search for, chiralites, aventurines and, of course, orcanite. They knew that even the promise of a good payout could not outweigh the importance of this evening—or the reputational blow the clan would take if I did not succeed.

The sky turned pink and glittery orange as the suns descended behind the high Vanta cliffs, bathing the balcony with a warm glow. Sunsets were so rare, and the fear of burning in the heat of two suns so constant, that I stopped my preparations and pulled off my gloves and headscarf, letting the light warm my skin. The sudden shift in temperature meant that down in our valley, fog was already forming in thick clouds. Despite the task ahead, I couldn’t help but smile at the novelty of dusk.

Before the sky could transform completely from orange to red to deepest blue, I formed five mounds of moss and silk, then carefully poured water into each one and drank what was left. The wind picked up. The mounds shivered in the breeze. Just when I thought maybe I’d mistimed the offering, I gasped. Kleodora was rising, fiery in the last light of the suns, full and imposing. I closed my eyes and whispered a series of prayers passed down for generations, from acolyte to acolyte, until I could no longer stand the cold air. The water inside my offerings was already frozen. We had until it evaporated to get the Kleons up to the salt flats, birthed, and back to the safety of our caves.

The final prayer was to the suns. Come back, but not too fast. As much as we all griped about the oppressive heat and dust, the frigid chill of evening was hardly a better alternative.

“You took your time.”

“Do you want to survive the night?” I snapped back at Anosia, though not without noticing the swelling in the Kleon’s face and hands.

Anosia muttered something in response that I didn’t hear.

“The travelers are here already,” said Samar. “They knocked while we were napping.”

“Fine, fine. Alright,” I said, clapping my hands, feeling like our cohort teacher. “Everyone, time to get up. I’ll come around to help.”

“I cannot wait for this to be over,” growled Amun as I helped her to stand.

We were a sorry bunch waddling out to the cave entrance. Every Kleon grunted at the effort and I cursed myself yet again for letting them get lazy.

The sky was now pitch black, patterned with clusters of stars and the streaks of our neighbour galaxies. Our retinue of Aventura travellers were waiting for us, adorned in their thick coats and gloves, as was Eya.

“You’re not coming with us surely,” I said.

“No, I just came to greet our Kleons, who will bring our next generation into the world, and thank them for their service.”

No complaining for our chief of course. Instead all five Kleons attempted to bow. Anosia could only nod their head, so swollen was their belly.

Our retinue of travellers coaxed the Kleons on their padded litters.

“Will that one survive?” said Eya, gesturing at Anosia.

“If they’re nice to me.”

“Thium!”

“Sorry,” I said. “You have my word. I will bring every one of them home.”

“Good. I wouldn’t expect anything less,” said Eya giving me what I’m sure she thought was a reassuring smile, though it just made me anxious to get the night over with.

“Where are the miners tonight?”

“Most are back with us. I checked with Chirea and Ooci, their people are also out of the deeper caverns. There’s one group that insisted on staying out. There’s a promising vein they’ve been following for weeks. The team lead is convinced they’re close to the source of some deep orcanite structures.”

“I hope it’s worth it.”

Eya clapped a hand on my shoulder.

“With five Kleons out, it had better be. Let Kleodora guide you, acolyte.”

“I will follow her path.”

And with that, Eya turned and disappeared into the darkness of the caves.

In my memory, the trek up to the salt flats that vaulted our cave home was not so agonizingly slow, nor the wind so desperate to cut through my many layers of sweaters and scarves. The fog was no match for the angry winds that whipped up sand and stung any exposed skin. We didn’t climb far before the valley was clear and open to the night sky.

I seemed to be the only one shivering from the cold. As we made our way up the slow zigzag of stairs carved into the cliff-face, I could tell some of the younger travellers were beginning to regret their thick scarves and eye masks. Sweat trickled down the sides of their thick dark glasses. It was no wonder—they were carrying all our supplies in addition to the litters—yet they could hardly stop to remove their excessive clothing now. The stairs were wide enough, but it was far too risky to lower one of the Kleon’s litters just to relieve a sweaty brow. As for the Kleons, they were swelled up and emitting their own heat like small furnaces, in preparation for the final release of new life. I imagined one or two hadn’t even registered that we’d left the stuffy air of our caves.

It was all I could do not to pester the travellers for stories of where they had come from. It was customary for travellers to return at least every nine years to assist with the birthing moon, though parties would occasionally return soon. But up to this point, I had scarcely encountered them.

I contented myself with listening in on their conversations as I walked back and forth between the teams of four carrying each Kleon above their shoulders, checking in on their conditions.

“Thi, I think I’m gonna be sick,” said Anosia when we were about half-way up the cliff face.

She did look a bit green. I pulled a packet of anti-nausea chews from my bag.

“Take two of these. They’ll make you feel better in no time,” I said, patting her swollen hand while it grasped the side of her litter.

“What happens if it doesn’t work?” she quavered.

“Give it twenty minutes, alright? Your team will call me if you’re not feeling better.”

I looked to one of her litter-bearers for reassurance.

“Absolutely. Calt here, I’ll keep track of the time Kleon.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

He smiled.

“My pleasure. A Kleon is not an easy charge. You’re doing a noble service.”

“Oh, they’re not that bad,” I demurred.

Calt laughed.

“Don’t pretend. I was a Kleon myself nine years ago. In fact, not to brag,” he now lowered his voice, “but I was the one who insisted that when we struck a trade deal with Reniffe, we get access to their medicinal herbs. I don’t mind taking credit for that chew you gave your Kleon.”

“You’ve been to Reniffe!”

“I have indeed young acolyte.”

“Thium I need you!” cried Samar from up the stairs.

I gave Calt a quick nod and then jogged back up the stairs to the front of our party. Samar was holding tight to their belly and breathing heavy.

“What’s happening?” cried Samar.

“The birth process has started. It’ll be alright, take short breaths, the pain will pass.”

“It’s not time yet!”

I looked up at the sky. There was Kleodora, bright and swollen herself, looking so close I swore I could reach out and touch her.

“I never wanted this, why did it choose me, I can’t do it!” Samar wailed.

I could hear moaning and grunts of pain from the others too. Letting Samar squeeze my hand, I called out to the lead traveller, Zoïs.

“Can we move any faster?”

“This is a fine pace, we’ll be up on the rise in no time.”

“Don’t worry acolyte, this is the way. No need to rush. Kleodora is just preparing them.”

I nodded, trying to feel reassured, racing through my schooling and preparations in my head.

We arrived on the salt flats just as the moon was reaching her apex. I heard the collective gasp of the Kleons and watched in renewed astonishment as their bellies seemed to almost glow in the moonlight.

The travellers lay down their litters, and while I checked on each Kleon, noting the thinness of their belly skin and the swelling of their faces and extremities, the travellers began setting up the wind break and yurt that would protect us over the ensuing hours.

Despite their wails of pain, all five of the Kleons appeared to be in good health. Anosia’s eyelids had sealed shut due to the massive swelling, but I had read about this as a possibility for twin pregnancies. I cooed reassurances to her, holding her hand, and took a moment to look around.

In the distance, I could see other tents being erected by other clans. I self-consciously checked my birthing pack for spider silk earplugs, already anticipating the high-pitched screams of Kleons birthing over miles of desolate flat lands that constituted our people’s nesting site.

“It’s up!” cried someone from behind me.

The yurt was dark brown, made from a dried slime mold found in our underground pools. It was remarkably durable despite its flexibility. When tightened between the yurt’s glass fiber poles, it was a rigid as sun-bleached wood.

Travellers streamed around the Kleons and helped them over to the tent. Inside they had already put out soft cushions and blankets for after the birthing. Soon all five Kleons were lying down on travel pallets. Yttria was being fanned by a particularly attentive traveller. The others had their eyes closed and were panting. They were almost unrecognizable now, their faces distorted, their limbs blown up like the water-gorged leaves of succulents. I knew it was all normal, all according to Kleodora’s plan, but I felt a shiver of fear at how alien they appeared, nonetheless.

“What do you need from us acolyte?” asked Zoïs.

“Right,” I said, my breath quickening. I looked up. The wide skylight at the top of the yurt was half full of the moon.

“I need two of you at each Kleon, to hold them down when the moon hits their sacs. I have some extra earplugs if you need them!”

Just as two travellers got to her side, Samar started to shriek. I frantically shoved the earplugs in and ran to her. The sac atop their belly was translucent. I looked up. They were already being hit by moonlight.

“I need two to pass around water, two more ready with cloths to wash the newborns. The rest of you, you’re on watch outside!”

I wasn’t sure I had been heard over Samar’s screaming, but there was movement around me. I hoped at least that they had been debriefed on required duties by Zoïs before arriving.

“It’s killing me!” screamed Samar. Their eyes were now open, bulging from the pressure in their head. It had nowhere to go—that was my job.

As fast as I could, I took out my blade of orcanite and let the moonlight glitter across its edge. A mineralogical marvel, orcanite was a crystal structure of mythic origins and properties our miners were still learning about. It was the reason we’d immigrated to this planet in the first place, thousands and thousands of years ago. One thing we did know: there were deep-cave microbes that loved it, and gave the stone antibacterial properties, enabling the safe excision of our young from their hosts. The moon burned the skin of Samar’s birth-sac. Now entirely transparent, I could easily cut around the child. With a gentle and long-practiced stroke, I sliced the sac and released the infant from its cocoon, releasing a gush of liquid. Then, I gently cut away the already shrivelling blood vessels and nutrient veins that had fed it up to now.

The first Aventuran I had ever birthed. I held it for a moment in wonder.

“Acolyte, keep moving, we can take it from here,” a traveller bellowed, ripping me from my trance.

I was shoved aside. One of the travellers began massaging Samar’s legs and arms, to re-circulate her bodily fluids and lymph. The other wrapped the baby in a blanket and yelled at a water bearer to get moving.

Amun and Ceri were similarly ready when I arrived to them, and their own bodies began to redistribute their fluids easily afterwards.

Two left. I could see the finish line. This was going fine. I jogged over to Yttria, bathed in moonlight and whimpering.

“Yttria, can you hear me?”

A violent screaming response gave me permission to start the cut. The birth-sac sliced easily, but their connective veins were still pumping strong. Not good.

“Don’t massage yet!” I bellowed at the travellers who’d tried to get started on the fluid redistribution. If they did that before the baby was out, it would deplete Yttria beyond capacity and overwhelm the child.

I pulled out some bandages and spider silk. This was not ideal, but I didn’t spend the last six years twiddling my thumbs. There were four veins out of fifteen still active. I let out a breath. It wouldn’t be too bad.

I wrapped the spider silk around each vein and pulled hard across, cutting them as cleanly as possible, then swaddled Yttria’s now bloody torso in gauze who had blessedly passed out. I handed the child on to a traveller, the novelty of the experience already lost on me. Yttria’s inhuman shrieking was still ringing in my ears.

“Kleon we need you!”

I was already running now to Anosia, my last Kleon, looking worse for wear and sounding like a dying animal.

“What took you so long?”

It was Calt, sweaty and looking a little bewildered. I probably didn’t look much different.

“Complications with the last one. What’s wrong?”

Calt pointed upwards in response and I let out a curse. Kleodora was halfway out of tent’s skylight. I hadn’t taken that long, had I? Already, I could see the sacs of Anosia’s twins were re-thickening.

“No, no, no,” I muttered.

The birthing blade was sharp. It would still do the job. Had she not been on the verge of abandoning me, I might have prayed to Kleodora.

“Anosia, this is going to hurt,” I said instead, then pushed the blade through the sac around the barely present shadow of one child, then the other.

The sound was unbearable. Anosia let out a roar so loud I felt the ground shake. But there was no time to try and soothe her pain. The infants were now joining in the chorus, their small bodies tense and red with excess blood. I took the knife, and with none of the deftness I had offered Yttria, I cut each child from their veins and handed them off to Calt and his companion.

I was not finished with Anosia, however. Her screams had turned to panicked sobs.

“Everything is going to be alright,” I said over and over again.

There was barely enough gauze to wrap around her, but I managed to staunch the bleeding for the time being. The poor thing was still bloated up and I was reluctant to massage her back to form in case it restarted the bleeding. It would have to wait.

The good news was, all the babies were now free of their Kleons and wailing along with them, showing off their lungs. I whispered thanks to Kleodora, just as she left the sky light. The tent went dark.

“Torches!” yelled Zoïs.

Within seconds, there were dots of light throughout the tent, creating a dim glow. I left Anosia to rest a few minutes and went back to check on the others.

“Thium, what’s happening!” cried Samar.

They looked plump and red-cheeked, the blood veins on their belly all shriveled, slowly turning into feeding nipples.

“This is what happens when you fall asleep during my lectures on post-excision!” I said above the din.

“I’ve given enough to that little parasite thank you very much, I don’t need it sucking anything more out of me!”

“It won’t be for long,” I tried to assure them. “I few sun cycles, that’s all. Then they’ll be eating normally, and you will get to return to your normal body.”

“I can’t stand it,” said Samar, tears welling up in their eyes. “I can’t stand that stupid cave, barely leaving. Just a sack of blood with no other uses. I just wanted this to be the end.”

A wave of guilt came over me. I held Samar and let them cry. Had I really never guessed that they hated the confinement as much as I did? I suppose I’d assumed they really had thought they special. That the complaining was arrogance or superiority, not genuine frustration.

The others were being helped up by their travellers. The babies were now each tightly swaddled on various fronts, hooded from the wind.

There wasn’t much more for me to do. I helped Samar up. They brushed the tears from their face.

“Shirkers in the sky!” cried someone from outside.

I knew it had been a possibility. But this whole trip I’d managed to keep them out of my mind. Of course the shirkers had come, the leathery-winged bastards. The Kleons’ screaming was loud enough to wake up the whole planet.

“Samar, help me get everything packed,” I said. We both began frantically stuffing bedding into bags, taking down poles and cajoling the Kleons back onto their litters.

“I don’t need to be carried,” Samar insisted when their travellers tried to urge them on.

I smiled. Samar was the biggest complainer of all of them, but before Kleodora had called, they had been my closest friend. Both of us had wanted to travel. I hoped that when they were back to normal, a young woman who was fiery and funny, we could leave together and put our nursing cave days behind us.

The tent was coming down fast, but that also meant we were now more exposed to the shirkers above, who were waiting for an easy target.

“Get moving,” I urged Zoïs, who was coordinating the party carrying Ceri, Amun and Yttria. “Samar, go with them, here—” I passed them a long steel blade from my satchel.

“It won’t do much against a shirker, but you’ll feel better for having it.”

Samar nodded, then they followed the party out, leaving myself and five other travellers to bring down the rest of the tent and Anosia, who was still lying on her bedding, breathing hard.

“Do you have anything to brace her onto the litter? I asked Calt as we folded a section of the tent.

“We’ve got three straps, I think.”

I grabbed the straps from Calt’s pack and went to help get Anosia onto their litter. They were still swollen—no doubt another side-effect of twins—but more lucid than I’d seen them that night.

“Why does it hurt so much?” she moaned.

“I wasn’t fast enough for Kleodora,” I said. “So, we had to do some harder cuts. You’ll heal though. Don’t worry.”

I wrapped them in a blanket, not that it mattered much. Anosia was still burning hot. Then, I pulled the straps over their chest, ribs and shins, careful to avoid the wounds on their belly.

The tent was now down, poles and canvas folded. I marveled at how fast the travellers were able to dismantle everything and shove it into their large backpacks. I saw with selfish relief that we were not the only ones still on the salt flats. All the way down along the cliff edge were other tents in a state of disassembly. Three shirkers circled up above.

“Okay, let’s move,” said Calt.

I followed Calt at the rear and we walked as fast as we could towards the stairs.

“Incoming!”

“Get down!” I screamed.

Everyone fell to the ground and I looked around wildly for the shirker that had been called out. But it wasn’t one of us who’d made the call.

I looked over to see a shirker diving at the birthing group east of us and catch a Kleon from their litter.

“Run!” cried Calt.

The group rose and started to run, practically in one fluid movement. My orcanite blade was still in my hand, the hilt crushed into my palm. I would not lose Anosia. I would not lose any of them.

Now, having seen the success of their pack-mate, another shirker decided to try its luck, its huge wingspan blotting out what was left of the moon’s light. It let out a shriek from its terrifying black beak and dove right for Anosia.

Instinct took over. Nine years of preparation. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d wanted to. I sprinted towards Anosia’s litter, faster than I’ve ever run before. The shirker was coming in from the side, for the greatest chance of success. Calt turned towards me, and, with eyes wide and terrified, bent down, his hands in a stirrup.

I could see the shirker out of the corner of my eye.

I pressed down as hard as I could on his hands, praying he would take my weight, and leapt into sky—catching the shirker right in the face with my whole body. The beast flailed with me still holding on for a few seconds, before it swung its head violently, tossing me to the ground. I fell hard on my side. The wind was knocked out of my lungs. I could see the shirker was also on the ground, no doubt just as disoriented as I was. Then it righted itself, and with a massive flap of its wings that threw salt and sand into my eyes, it flew back into the sky.

I tried to look around but could see nothing in the ensuing sandstorm. It took a few more seconds before I could crawl upright, choking, with my eyes shut.

Then, a hand grabbed mine.

“Almost there!” said Calt.

Blind, I let him guide me to the cliffside and down the first flight of stairs. We paused and I wiped the silt from my eyes. Anosia and her travellers were further down. Safe. I let out a groan of relief.

The rest of the climb down to Aventura took seconds. Or that’s what it felt like. As if I blinked and suddenly we were at Aventura’s entrance, dawn already breaking behind us.

The Kleons were nowhere to be seen. Already back at the nursing cave, our lovely little prison, though not for much longer. Instead, Eya was there, in front of a gaggle of Aventurans, no doubt waiting anxiously for news that everything had been a success and they could begin their celebrations properly.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” I heard Calt say from far away.

A medic peeled away from the crowd and sat me down on the cave floor.

“Anosia, lost lots of blood,” I mumbled.

“I think it was just the beak,” said Calt. “I thought the tail might have swiped the Kleon, but apparently it just missed.”

“Very lucky,” murmured the medic. “We’re low on our poison antidote.”

I managed to look down at the bloody wound running down my left leg. Ah. That would explain why I couldn’t put much weight on it, why Calt had in fact been half-carrying me down the stairs…

With that, all my adrenaline well and truly sapped, I promptly passed out.

Three days later, I was back in the nursing cave. This time with the added headache of six new babies. Amun’s son wasn’t feeding well. Anosia was still in a delicate state and had to be constantly monitored for infection. And just when you got one child to sleep, three others began to howl.

I regretted my earlier anticipation for the full moon. This was so much worse than five whiny Kleons.

We were in the throes of midday feeding when there was a knock at the door. I left the Kleons to their work. It was Eya.

“If you want to come in and see the new litter, you’ll have to wear a mask and use the cleaning spray,” I warned.

After my valiant efforts, I wasn’t going to let one of the babies die of cave cough.

Eya just smirked at my impertinence.

“I came to see you. Can you step out?”

I closed the door behind me, and we walked down the corridor in companionable silence to one of Avenura’s large moss parks. Eya sat at a bench and gestured that I do the same.

“We will hold a proper celebration for your remarkable bravery in two sun cycles, since you missed the full moon feast. There may even be some outside dancing. The astronomers are predicting some rain.”

I blushed with pleasure. I was wondering when I might enjoy some hard-earned glory.

“We would do it sooner,” Eya continued, “but unfortunately I just received word that our mining party, the one that insisted on staying out on the full moon, they’re dead. An Oocian team found evidence of a cave-in near where they were tunneling.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“How could they be so stupid!” I yelled, standing up.

All my hard work, and for what? We’d lost a good team of miners to hubris, when we were already struggling with low numbers. All the communities were. Now we’d have fewer miners, which meant less to trade with other planets it was the worst thing that could have happened—

“Acolyte. We cannot change it now. I’m telling you this because I have a proposition for you.”

I gawked at her.

“You can’t make me become a miner. That’s the deal, I’ve given my whole life to Kleodora, I’m allowed to choose whatever I want next!”

Eya just chuckled. How had I never noticed how patronizing our chief could be?

“Sit down. I have no intention of making you a miner.”

Reluctantly, I sat and immediately began stroking some orange moss perched atop the rockface from which our bench was carved.

“You are brave and clearly have a knack for adventure,” said Eya. “One of our travellers happened to mention a new mission he thinks you would be well suited for. It’s to the Euhedral sea. There’s a laboratory there, shared by all Orcan communities. Apparently, there’s some promising research on certain mineral compounds only found near the sea that could be valuable in new, safer tunnelling technology. They’re asking for more personnel and I’ve put forward that Aventura is happy to supply some. What do you think?”

“You need to ask? I’d go in a heartbeat. But—”

“Good. I’ll bring another acolyte out of retirement. Some of them—” and at this she gave me a sly look, “actually liked taking care of our precious Kleons.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I take care of them very well thank you very much, whatever my feelings were about the position.”

“It’s settled then,” said Eya getting up. “Your celebration will be also a send-off.”

She let out a long sigh.

“You better get back to the nursing cave. I have to go plan a funeral.”

I walked back to the nursing cave in a daze. What to do now? Nothing and everything. I’d have to pack, find old geology textbooks and study up on laboratory techniques. I’d have to find Calt and tell him the good news, though I had a suspicion he might have been behind the whole thing. The thought filled me with glee.

But when I opened the nursing cave door, all that vanished from my mind. The Kleons were a mess. There was spit up everywhere. Several babies were wailing and Anosia was crying too, her teats red and cracking.

“It’s like they’re trying to rip them off!” she cried.

“I know, I know. I’ll get some salve,” I said.

Adventure would have to wait. I’d brought the Kleons this far. I could handle the nursing cave a little while longer. I was, after all, Kleodora’s acolyte, and my duties were not over yet.