Moons of Hizara

Moons of Hizara

         

         “It’s time to go,” Seka called out to her brother.

         Standing near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the valley below, Zevin took in a deep breath. The sound was mournful-not just a mere gulp of air. It was a heavy sigh. Looking out over the valley, he could see Zok -the blue moon- starting its slow descent below the horizon. It was time. With a hard day’s work in the fields complete, the slow decent of the blue sphere above quickened Zevin’s heartbeat. He hated the damn thing. It had always given him a terrible anxiety; he supposed its subsidence gave all Zok-tar anxiety. He smiled slightly, thinking about the others. When Raz began its setting, the others must have felt the same way.

         “I know, sis. Start heading back to the village. Make sure the house is adjusted and that Dad has found himself something to eat before he goes to sleep. I’ll be along shortly.”

          Seka frowned at her brother. “What’s wrong with you today, Zev? You were quiet all afternoon- you feeling sick?”

         “No, now do as I say. You know I’m a good runner. I’ll make it in time.”

         “Zev, you kno-“

         “Go!” Zevin shouted. He loved his sister greatly, but sometimes she was cautious to a fault. She was also obedient. Hearing the tone of her older brother’s voice, she grimaced, then turned around and started walking back towards the village.

         Zevin was in one of his more philosophical moods today –“deep moods” his father called them. As a child, he had always questioned the way of things. Why was he of the blue? More importantly, why was he the only one who ever seemed to ask that question?

         Day after day, they went about their business, and when Zok’s blue radiance began to dim, they simply accepted fate and went back to their dwellings-making sure all open windows and doors were closed tightly. They made sure no red light –or “red death” as some called it– could penetrate through. Then they slept, and when they felt the call of Zok the next day, they opened the doors and started the long walk to the fields. That was life here on Hizara. An exhausting, eternal schedule dictated by two circles in the sky- one blue, one red. When one rose, the other set.

         “People accept what they think they cannot change.” his mother used to tell him. Thinking back on her, his smile faded. In its place was a sullen frown. He missed her dearly, very dearly. Quickly, he pushed the thoughts of her out of his mind; he had dwelt on her long enough over the past year.

         I would just like to see them once, he said to himself. Surely, someone braved the crossing at least once. How else would we even know their name?

         The elders in his village spoke of the red people –the Raz-tar– like some sort of mythical creatures, like the giants that supposedly lived in the high mountains. Zevin always found this funny. They were people, he knew, just the same as him, the same as his family and friends. The only difference was they felt the call of Raz –the red moon– and could work in the fields during its presence. Zevin and Seka were Zok-tar and their master was the blue moon; the moon of Zok.

         It was always assumed that the Raz-tar picked up the efforts of the Zok-tar and worked and toiled throughout the day-their day, for the moons were the keepers of time on Hizara. It had always been this way since before anyone could remember.

         When the people of his village awoke the next day, they always found the fields in a different state than when they left them the previous day. The work was always further along. If crops needed water on the eve of a Zok moonset, they were always watered by the next Zok moonrise. Even during the harvest season the symbiotic relationship was upheld. On many days, Zevin and his people would awake and their share of the crops would be harvested—set aside neatly in piles. The Zok-tar did likewise, dividing the day’s harvest and leaving some behind for “the reds”—for the Raz-tar.

         Oh, many people had tried to defy this destiny, which seemed inevitable. Many a brave soul had tried to stay and watch the red moonrise of Raz, tried to make the crossing. Their fate was always the same. The people of Zevin’s village usually found them the next day, shriveled and black. Their mouths were always twisted and amiss, as if their last actions were cries of agony. He shuddered just thinking about them– it looked like a horrible death. The image of his mother flickered across his mind.

         The blue moon was almost gone now, and the reality of his situation set in. He turned away from the valley and began to run toward his home.

         One day, he thought, I’m going to see the red people for myself. I’ll find a way. I know mom did it, I know… I have to believe that. As he continued his sprint, a slow teardrop ran down his face.

         When he reached his house, he saw that his sister had closed all the windows as instructed. She was waiting in the doorway, arms crossed, looking at him with a stern glare.

         “Do you know how clo—“ she began to yell.

         “Sorry, sorry! I know, sis. I know.” Zevin said as he rushed past her into the house.

         She followed him inside and closed the door quickly. Zevin looked past her as the entry to the house was sealed tightly. Off in the distance, to the east, the slightest tint of red began to appear.

         One day…









(Author's note: This story was part of a contest and had to be 1000 words or less, hence the quick pace and fast character development.)