The moon was bright that night. Though hidden behind a curtain of light gray fog, it radiated softly, like a bright white river stone in murky water. But then, the moon was always bright on Mo'olí, named The Island of the Moon by the ancient men who first walked on its shores. Even as a thin crescent, the moon sent feathers of light through the small ornamentally shaped openings in the roof of the cave. From her seat on the low stone-carved stone seat, Eoluna watched the thin moon slowly waltz across the sky. She held out her hand, moving it from side to side across a ray of moonlight. It danced across her pale skin, catching now and again on the simple shell attached by wax-dipped seaweed on he wrist. Hypnotized by the milky moonlight, Eoluna replaced her hand to her side and looked up again.
On a night such as this she could lose herself in the dark flowing sky. She could sit in this cavern all night, watching the light and shadows shift across the walls, illuminating first one corner, then the next, reflecting off of dull sea stones and intricately woven seaweed braids, laced with pearls.
This cave was the holy temple of the island, complete with two high stone alters on either side of the low stone throne she was sitting on. It was said that when the chief was on his deathbed, he would be laid on one of these altars, and his chosen heir on the other. As the chief’s final breath escapes, so does his spirit and knowledge, and hey fly to the second alter to inhabit the heir. Eoluna had never seen such a thing done, had only heard about it in stories whispered by the midwives, but her father had gone through it once. He had been the young heir to the late chief Konoih, who was hailed for first establishing contact with the mainlanders. Now, her father was in his middle age, a tall and muscular man with deep-set and warm eyes, large calloused hands and long pale hair. He was strong and wise, just like his grandfather Konoih. Eoluna had never met her grandfather, the father of her father, as he had died during a flood many springs ago, building up the village barricades bravely with the other men.
She sighed as she looked up, noting the crescent was barely visible now, almost through with its journey. Thinking of her grandfather's death always saddened her, for she knew her father could not live forever. He had no heir. As his father produced but a single child before he died, the chief Hekemo had no siblings, and therefore no nieces or nephews. Women could not become chief. In holy ceremonies, seven priestesses always served to cleanse the chief’s power as he prayed, their female nurturing balancing his male strength, guiding the prayer to the gods. A female chief, no matter how powerful and wise, could never send proper prayers to the moon god, as they would have no balance. It had once been attempted to maintain seven priests and a female chief, but the moon god did not hear their prayers that year. The thin mountainous soil of the island bore little vegetation and the waters brought few fish, and many of the tribe starved. It was a year no one wanted to repeat.
Eoluna had one choice, and once choice only because of this. Her path of life was predetermined as follows: she would marry, produce a male heir, raise him, and all before her father died. Being already fourteen, she had exactly a year left to find a groom, or let the people of the moon, the Nonole, perish. She had never accepted this fate. True to her name, Eoluna was like a stormy moon, temperous and stubborn. She loathed the idea of having to live to mate, but never spoke of it to her father. Only her intense love for him stilled her mouth.
She closed her eyes as the first red rays of the sun burst through the ceiling. She had no chores or obligations today, and planned to sleep the day away in her secluded hut. Her thoughts weighed her down presently, and she sighed, trying to meditate to lessen them. For all of a minute she sat silently, until a loud thump startled her.
"Really, 'Luna, you spend way too much time in this stone mousetrap for your own good!" A loud teasing voice completely broke her concentration. She opened one eye and saw Chonji getting up from where he had jumped through the ceiling. She sighed in annoyance and scowled at him, one eye still closed.
"If my father hears you talking this way about the Stone Temple, he'll skin your scrawny hide," she pronounced. Chonji, laughing slightly, hopped to the stone seat and hugged her tightly.
"But you won't tell him, will you?" Smiling, despite her best efforts, she hugged back.
"No," she said, trying to sound exasperated, but merely sounding giggly. "I never do tell him of your foolish words." Chonji grimaced, his pointed nose wrinkling.
"I never do tell him of your foolish words," he mimicked, sounding remarkably like Herb Mistress Temka, the old, plump, formidable-looking woman who lectured youngsters about the somber ways of life if they put a toe outside the relm of what she called "respectable." Eoluna repressed a giggle. Chonji, a fisherman's son, would have been her first choice for a mate. They had been best friends since they could walk, being practically joined at the hip. There were no class systems on Mo'olí, and she could have picked the son of the lowest scum on the island if she wanted, but Chonji was out of the running despite all that.
There were several reasons. The heir must be a pureblooded Nonole, for one. And Chonji, as the father, would pass down impure blood to the heir, were she to mate with him. Chonji's father had married a mainlander, a kind, short woman from Tagerbon by the name of Narona. Her eyes, though the same pale sea green as the islanders', were the only likeness she had to any of them. She was raven-haired and tan, while every islander on Mo'olí had very pale skin, despite the hot sun, and even paler blond hair, straight to Narona's curly. Chonji had inherited her hair, though it was only slightly wavy, and he was skinny and somewhat weak-looking like her too, wherein lay the second problem. As the sire of the heir he would have to be strong, and while Eoluna knew his tough wiry muscles held plenty of strength, he had not the broad shoulders of a chief. He was wise, yes, his youth diluting it with an inclination to mischief, and he was brave. It his appearance had only been more fitting, Eoluna would gracefully resign herself to her fate. But alas, he would be as fit for the heir's sire as a pair of clams would be for dancing shoes.
Chonji watched her thoughtfully for a moment, no doubt guessing what she was thinking about, and then suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the seat.
"You've been sitting here all night, haven't you?" He poked her shoulder, his version a scolding gesture if she'd ever seen one.
"And if I have?" She raised her eyebrows at him, flicking away his finger. He grinned, shrugged, and pulled her towards the stone steps leading to the ceiling.
"Well, that's too bad, because it just means you're going to the beach with me on tired feet!" He prodded her unceremoniously until she began to climb the steps in front of him, and skillfully dodged the kick she aimed for his midsection.
"Now, now princess, that's no way to behave. You worry way too much about this whole I'm-the-queen-bee, I-have-to-find-a-male-specimen-to-reproduce-thing. I'm going to make you have fun today if it kills me." He waved his arms dramatically, and Eoluna rolled her eyes.
