When the Moon Vanished

Ten years ago, the moon vanished. From the moon came the tide, from the tide came the ocean, and from ocean came life. Life and the ocean were now fleeting.

For ten years Sheobe would wake to the sound of tinkling bells as his godmother weaved on her loom outside their marauding tent. Such was the case once again. He rolled out of his hammock with a groan and tied on his jaguar pelt skirt. Out in the blazing red sun she worked away. Her tongue hung over her cracked and aged lips, and her silver hair and deep green dress – adorned with gold bells on every border that jingled different notes– was soaked with sweat.

“Good morning, Godmother,” Sheobe said. He held up a hand to block the sun’s glare and better get a glimpse of her work. Another massive scale was nearly complete, this one as purple as the ripest plum. His mouth watered at the remembrance of the fleshy, juicy fruit.

“Good morning, my son,” she said without breaking concentration.

“Ready for another trip to the ocean?”

 “I am.”

 Every year she weaved scales of indigo, turquoise, and algae green, pile them in a cart, and disappear over the horizon, farther and farther with the receding waters, returning with a empty barrow.

“You will be gone many days?”

“If I return at all.”

Sheobe frowned. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“And you should be headed to the temple to pray.”

Sheobe sank to his knees. “Why? It never does any good. Either Coyomettiz is dead, or she does not care for us.”

“You used to believe.”

“The ocean used to crash on the dry dirt where we are now sitting.”

“So, what then, roast like a date as you drown your sorrows like your father has”

Sheobe balled his fists. If his neck could even get any hotter, it did. “He prayed as well and nothing changed.” He paused. “I do not wish to be like him though, or these silent gods and goddesses - if they even exist.”

“They do exist, Sheobe, they always have. Remember?” She turned from her loom for the first time and rattled the bells in a melody as she sang the nursery rhyme he’d heard a thousand times.

“The Sun is the Son of Celestial bodies,

The moon is the daughter of this world.

When the moon rebelled the Celestials commands,

At the earth she was violently hurled.”

“So where is she?” Sheobe threw his hands up. “The night remains black as the crow. And what does all that gibberish mean? The moon didn’t crash into the earth, it disappeared.”

His godmother tossed the last scale into the wheelbarrow. “Things are not always as they seem. But it does seem like I will not change your mind today, so run along and play.”

Sheobe stood, but looking around, it was all so desolate. Whale carcasses rose up as substitutes for trees, fish bones littered the dirt, and heaps of dried algae provided the only dark color in the landscape. What was left of his wandering village were the empty tents and the dark cloth temple in the center where many sank to their knees and prayed. Those who had wandered from the faith huddled on the outskirts, kicking rocks, wasting away the time in anger and regret. Both seemed like terrible choices.

“Can I come with you? If we are all going to die, It has been so long since I saw the ocean.”

His godmother pursed her lips. “You will be surprised at what you see. You will weep.”

“I was born weeping beside the ocean, let it end the same way.”

“Very well. Keep up then, son. Time is melting away.”

They trekked for four days. Talking was hard in the life-sapping heat of the sun, and Godmother’s small water pouch was empty by the end of day two. On the fifth morning Sheobe spotted white specks on the horizon. If they were mirages, they kept getting bigger, and by evening the specks began to take the shape of tents. Rows and rows and rows of tents. A few sea gulls flew over top, a rare sight for Sheobe.

“Stay close,” God mother said.

Soon they arrived. There had to be thousands of tents. People milled about in the cooler evening light, most in hushed tones, with occasional rowdy pockets determined to enjoy their remaining time. The disparity reminded Sheobe of home. He wondered if his father even knew he had left. He pinched his nose as they entered the mass of tents, and the stench of fish and unwashed bodies wafted through the air like a thick cloud trying to suffocate him. Here airflow was restricted, and if there was anything in his stomach, he might have wretched.

Sheobe felt all eyes on him as they snaked through. Voices got louder. They broke from the tents and there it was. The ocean. Or what was left of it. Sheobe frowned. Brown, limp waves rolled up on a muddy shore covered in dead fish and sea snakes. And just on the horizon Sheobe saw the other side, just as crowded. He gulped. The world had really, truly, come to an end. Was this the last water source on earth? Why did Godmother keep returning to this?

A man approached with yellow, crooked teeth, hair going in every direction of both his head and his face. He eyed Sheobe and his godmother up and down as he ran a thumb over the thick dagger in his waistband.

“What do you think you’re doing here, old hag?”

“I have come to see the ocean,” she said, head bowed and hand up in humility.

“Can’t be letting just anyone near the water. Could contaminate it, or worse. I’m afraid this as far as you’re going.”

Sheobe balled his fists but said nothing. His godmother had been here before. He hoped she had a plan. 

She looked back on him. “Remember, things are not always as they seem.” She stood straight and faced the gross man. “You look hungry. Why don’t you take the boy and let me pass through.”

Sheobe choked, and for a moment was convinced that he must have heard her wrong, but the man smiled wide like a wildcat. “You wouldn’t be worth my time anyway,” he said. “We have a deal.”

“Godmother!”

The man lunged forward and grabbed Sheobe by both shoulders. He screamed and tried to wrestle away, but a swift blow to the throat sent him staggering to the ground where warm mud smashed into his hair, and the ground punched the air from his lungs. The man dragged him up by his hair. It felt like driving nails into every inch of his scalp.

“Sun’s going down, so we’ll keep you nice and fresh until morning,”

Before he could drag Sheobe away Godmother rattled on toward the ocean with her wheelbarrow. She drove straight into the ocean. The weaved scales tumbled out the front and floated on the surface for a moment before soaking up as much as they could carry and then sinking. Godmother turned her back to the sea and winked at Sheobe. 

Before Quezota burns this world

Her new body she must weave.

But water is the mother of life

And soon the ocean will leave

She collapsed backward. The crash washed waves over her and she sank like the scales. Then a shockwave burst below the surface and the waves leaped towards the shore in giant heaps of foam. Silver sparks splattered in every direction, then blinding beams of moonlight shot to the sky.

The cannibal released Sheobe to cover his eyes, and in that moment Sheobe sprinted toward the light. White foam curled all about, and then every scale Godmother had ever weaved floated to the surface, no longer thread, glowing like moonlight on the water. A great gust of wind began to swirl, scooping each one in its arms and stacking them one over the other in a serpentine pattern. Higher and higher they went, forming a tail, a body, and the cunning head of a viper. Some threads formed into a waving beard and vibrant plumage on the back, Foam hardened into a set of ivory horns, teeth, eyeballs, and nostrils.

The great sea dragon swirled above the center of the ocean. People clambered out of every tent and hovel. All eyes turned to the beast that Sheobe could not believe he was seeing. Even the knife of the man ready to eat him seconds before buried itself in the sand as he fell, prostrate.

“My sons and daughters.” The voice exploded over the ocean and the sky boomed with thunder. Wind snatched every last tent and flung it out of sight. “Do not fear. Your goddess has returned.” Lightning split the sky and every hair on Sheobe’s body raised in static terror.

“Banished for coming to your defense yet risen again having broken from captivity. I will never forsake this good earth I was born to protect. I am Coyomettiz, and this is my people.”

Coyomettiz plunged toward the ocean. Many rushed to the shore while others cowered in fear. Sheobe felt fastened to the mud where he stood. The dragoness hit the water with cosmic force, and from this great plunge came rolling waters. Waves crashed on shore and sent man and beast spilling over like pins.

Sheobe took a deep breath and plugged his nose before the monstrous wave shoved him backwards. He tumbled head over heels and banged off innumerable objects in the dark waters. Up was down, down was sideways, and his lungs burned as the he rolled. When the corners of his vision turned red, and the weight of his head seemed to come off his shoulders, he careened onto dry ground.

He sputtered and staggered all about, trying to orientate himself. The best he could do was sink to all fours and close his eyes until the spinning stopped. All around he could hear the others. Weeping and worshiping their deliverance. A rush of wind blew his hair back and tugged at his eyelids. He could feel the magnificent presence before he opened his eyes. Giant green ones stared back just inches from his face. Warm breath washed over him.

He shuddered despite his best efforts, and the lump in his throat was so great he thought he would cry.

“Hello, son.” Coyomettiz’s voice was loud, and yet oh so comforting, like a cool blanket wrapping around his body, invading his nostrils, hugging his heart, and whispering in his ears.

“You came back,” was all Sheobe got out.

“I never left.”

“I doubted you. But now I believe.”

“You were human. And you were right. I disappeared. But not out of choice. When Quezota, the Sun god, tried to sacrifice Earth to the Celestials, I said no. I was born of Earth, and created to protect and serve her. For that they cast me to humanity. I walked among you for ten years until I could reconstruct my body.”

Sheobe leaned forward in an awkward hug atop her snout. His emotions, strung out on the edge of cliff, tumbled over and he wept.

She let him be still for a moment and then raised him to his feet. “Now I must go, but I will not leave you.”

Sheobe stepped back, wiping hot tears away. Coyomettiz rose above him, coiled her massive body like a whip, and with a crack like an earthquake, she bolted into the sky amid a streak of white light. For a moment all was calm and all was black in the heavens above. Then a giant spark lit up the sky.

The moon had returned. Sheobe thought the crescent looked much like a resting sea dragon. It began to spread, and soon a full moon shone down with warmth only a godmother could bestow. The foamy tide lapped at Sheobe’s feet.