Chapter Text
The camp was better at night. Celliers lay on his back in the open-air cell and let himself relax. Every part of him ached, and he knew that the pain wouldn't let him sleep. Still, it was good to have some rest, now that the guards had finished with him.
The stars were clear and bright here. Celliers watched the moon through his eyelashes. It was still not half full, a pale crescent drifting above the treetops. The night air was cool in comparison to the day. Perhaps it was the heat that made them all so crazy? He knew it affected him badly. People shouldn't come out here he thought hazily, plucking at a blade of grass with his fingers... not out here where the heat rose tempers and the surroundings were unfamiliar... green fields swam behind his eyelids, and the flowers of his garden at home. The lilac would have flowered by now.
God, to go home! Would he ever see it again? Suddenly the thought that he might die here gripped his heart with a visceral pain. He didn't want to die out here, not here, not without seeing home again one more time.
“Just to see the flowers bloom” he said aloud.
Someone cleared their throat.
He looked up sharply. Just beyond the bars, Yonoi was watching him intently, one hand on his sword hilt. No, not watching, staring. Did the man ever do anything but stare? His handsome face was like marble in the moonlight. His dark eyes shone.
“What were you doing?” said Yonoi softly. His hand didn't move from the sword hilt. Was it possible he was afraid? With the bars between them?
Celliers realised he'd been muttering to himself. He grinned in embarrassment, pushing himself up on his elbow. A spark of inspiration struck him “Just talking to the moon, Captain” he said waving a hand at the sky. “What, you never do that?”
“The moon?” said Yonoi, mystified. He glanced up. “Yes, the moon is very beautiful tonight. But I'm not in the habit of talking to it.” He crouched down by the bars, bringing their faces nearly level. His expression was a strange mix of fear and curiosity, mixed with something bone deep. Celliers tried to identify it. Longing? Or repugnance? How weird to be stared at like a caged animal. The silence stretched out, uncomfortably.
“Well, the moon was a prisoner too, once” he said at random. The unwavering attention was getting to him. An instinct whispered in the back of his mind that the best thing with this man was to try and repel him. He gave Yonoi a crazy grin, showing jagged teeth. “Maybe she'd have some sympathy just now. Even advice.”
“Do they sometimes pray to the moon in your country then?” said Yonoi seriously. He sat down cross-legged in the dirt. Damn, he really did want to talk.
Celliers dropped his eyes and shrugged. “Not really. I was thinking of an old story. One that's still told in Lincolnshire.”
“Lincolnshire” said Yonoi, tasting the new word. “Is that your home?”
“I've lived there.” Silence fell between them again.
“Tell me this story, Major Celliers” said Yonoi. “I wish to know more of your country.”
“Why?” said Celliers.
“Know thy enemy.”
“Is a fairytale the sort of thing the army needs intimate knowledge of?”
“No competent officer dismisses knowledge of any kind” said Yonoi.
“You sound like you're quoting a handbook, Captain. Is that your preferred bedside reading? No wonder you want a change.”
“Stop being insolent. Just tell me the story.”
Celliers looked at him warily. Yonoi picked a speck from his uniform fastidiously and nodded at him to begin. He really was going to stay. How to put him off?
“Isn't it rather late for you to sit listening to a story?” he tried. “You have a lot to do. I'd go to bed.”
“I have trouble sleeping. Begin.” There was steel in his tone.
A rebellious urge to refuse rose up in him. But his bones ached. If he didn't give Yonoi what he wanted, was he in for another beating? Probably. With a sigh, Celliers rolled onto his back and stretched out. Yonoi sat quietly as Celliers talked, his soft voice rising and falling in the quiet night.
“Once upon a time, long ago, the moon decided to see the earth. She had watched from afar for thousands of years, but she had never seen the earth close up, only the fields and mountains. And so one night, she wrapped herself in a cloak of darkness and fell from her place in the sky.”
She landed in a bleak, desolate bog. If you don't know the word, Captain, a bog is a piece of wetland, where not much grows. All around her was mud and desolation, reeds and twisted trees with bent branches. Only the stars shed any light, apart from that which fell from under her cloak. She was amazed how terrible the earth was, if this was what it looked like.”
No sooner had the moon taken in the scene, than the dark inhabitants of the bog realised she was there. They leapt out of the night and overpowered her, all the evil things that hide in darkness. And no sooner was she helpless, than the Bog King in his crown of bone rose out of the stagnant water.”
Now the Bog King had loved the moon from afar. He loved her with the greedy, bitter love that all dark things feel for the light. He asked her to marry him and be Queen of the Bog. She told him she couldn't leave her place in the sky, couldn't leave the rest of the world lightless. 'I need you' he told her. 'I need you more than the world outside. Be mine, I'll be kind to you, I promise.''
Yonoi shifted where he sat. Celliers glanced at him. The man lit a cigarette and pulled, the ember a tiny red star in the dark. Seeing him look, Yonoi held out the box.
“Go on.” Yonoi's mouth was tight. Celliers took a cigarette and the other man tossed him the lighter.
“But the moon refused him” said Celliers. He lit and lay back, breathing in the smoke and letting it out. It passed in a cloud over the starlit sky above him, dissipated into haze. “She didn't want to be Queen of the Bog. She didn't belong with him. And so the King chained her, and trapped her under a rock by the waterside and had a Will-o-the-Wisp stand guard. That's a kind of evil spirit like a living candle flame. And he told her she could suffer until she said yes. He didn't care what it took to keep her with him.” He heard Yonoi exhale softly.
“So the world was left without a moon” said Celliers. “And all things were wrong in the world for a long time, especially around the bog. All the dark things of the world started to come out at night, now there was no moonlight be be scared of. They preyed on travellers after dark, crept up to houses at night. A person trapped outside after sunset was as good as dead.”
But one night, there was a stroke of luck. A traveller, running from the things that hunted him, wandered into the bog. He stumbled by chance on the trapped moon, still wrapped in her cloak of darkness. As the evil things closed in on the traveller, the moon rose up. With a huge effort, she shook her head free of her cloak. Dazzling light shone from her face, frightening the monsters away. The traveller saw the path to freedom and escaped, and the moon sank down under the stone again.”
The next day in the town, he told his story. The townspeople were frightened, but they knew they had to help. They went to the village Wise Woman. 'Go to the bog after dark. Look for a cross, a stone and a candle. You'll find the moon there' she told them. And so the whole village set out that night, with only lanterns to light their way in the haunted dark.”
And they found her. Under a tree the shape of a cross, guarded by a flickering flame, they found the moon trapped under a rock. And they lifted it off her, and she broke her chains, and she cast off the cloak and filled the night with her light. She flew into the sky, free and shining, and the dark things of the bog ran back into hiding.”
“And to this day” said Celliers “the moon shines brightest over Lincolnshire, in gratitude for the rescue. And they say that the Bog King has not stopped longing for her. On nights of the full moon he stands among the reeds, looking up at the bride his heart still aches for.”
Yonoi was very silent. He sat with his hands cupped around the cigarette, eyes down, expression thoughtful. Celliers watched him, disquiet stirring in his gut. What was he thinking? Had he even been listening? At last Yonoi looked up at him. His face was clear and strangely boyish, his expression grave.
“Thank you for the story” he said quietly. “It was... moving. I think... I would like to hear another from you.”
“I'm tired tonight” said Celliers. His whole body ached for sleep.
“Yes” said Yonoi. His voice was oddly gentle. “You should rest after that beating. Although it was your own fault. And I must go to bed. Tomorrow night then?”
“Tomorrow night. Hell, why not?” Dark fog was filling his brain now. Yonoi rose and gave him another long look, his jaw strangely tight. “Sleep well, Major Celliers.” He paused. “Try not to antagonise the guards again.”
“Do you think saying that is the novelty that'll change my behaviour?” Celliers grinned like a rabid fox.
“Stubborn men get the treatment they invite.” Yonoi's voice was stone.
“The treatment they deserve, you think.” Yonoi nodded. “Well, keep thinking that, I don't care.”
As he turned away, Celliers caught a faint whisper, almost no more than a breath. He looked up but Yonoi was leaving, his straight back retreating into the night. Celliers relaxed again and frowned, thinking over the last comment, whispered aloud to no-one.
“And what did the Bog King deserve?”