The Salt of 138

A worn, gnarled finger pointed out towards the portal of the cold, steel window frame—towards the lethargic, white motes that fell. The moon light caught them like crystals, glistening like stars. “You wouldn’t believe that long ago that snow used to be cold. Icy cold, but ah, you’ve never felt that before. Been a long time since we’ve had a true winter.”

“Then what would you call that?” said Caleb Cranston. His young eyes darting to the window.

Mari Pol grinned, the firelight bringing the lines framing her eyes into stark relief. “Well, for you, little one, you can call it snow. But my snow wasn’t warm. It didn’t taste like salt—it would quench your thirst. It didn’t burn when it caught in your eyes either—it’d may have been refreshing.”

Her smile broadened as she regarded Caleb. She then reached for the heart-shaped locket, a brass trinket that had long lost its luster. Opening the bauble, she revealed to the boy a picture within. The firelight illuminated a miniature scene—of a man, a woman, and a young girl, all standing atop a white hill with trees capped in layers of white stuff as well. “Now, that, Caleb—that was real snow. Imagine a real snowflake falling on your cute little nose. Then suddenly, you feel this light prickle that makes you happy and giggly. That’s how a cold snowflake feels. Like joy.”

“So, not like this?” Caleb wiped a sweaty sleeve across his forehead.

“You may be used to it, but this is what we’d call hot weather back when.” Mari sighed. “Perhaps it’s best that you never knew the world before. I couldn’t have been older than you children before the old snow went away.”

Sera Cranston raised a hand, waving excitedly. “But what made the old snow vanish?”

“So full of questions,” Mari chuckled, clapping her hands together. “At this rate, your father’s going to wonder where you two are dawdling about. Then he’s going to get cross with old Mari.”

“But we don’t have to pray to the moon again, not for a while,” Caleb shrugged. “So, there’s time, right?”

Mari’s grin faltered before she tilted her head and reasserted her smile. “Oh, but I’m afraid not. Your father is expecting us at Menhir Hill, and we really cannot delay. Otherwise—”

“Where does the moon take us?” Sera pouted. “You keep telling that story, but all the moon does is grow, and then we have some light for the grownups to go hunting while we do the praying here.”

A low, reverberating thunder trotted through the dark night. That eternal night. The fluttering snow lilted about as if recoiling from the sound before continuing their lazy descent. The already acrid air became heavier as a dry, searing breeze swooped through the hollows of the house, tossing against the empty angles of the spartan shelter before eventually subsiding. Salt stung at Mari’s eyes. While the children seemed unconcerned by the winds, Mari had to wince, tears pooling before she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. It was the only way to measure the hours—that breeze.

Mari sighed. “One day I’ll explain it to you. But you’re not quite old enough. But everyone eventually learns. Now come.”

The door ground on salt-encrusted hinges. Despite the windows being no more than square cutouts in the walls of the shelter, with nothing to hold back the heat and the salty flurries, stepping outside felt a lot worse than being inside. How many years had Mari been here? In this unending night, preaching moon tales, inhaling salt?

She smiled as she waved a beckoning hand to Sera and Caleb, guiding the children out and to walk in front of her. Similar, box-like structures of sheet steel stood in a quiet series of semi-circular formations, each roof capped white—creating their tiny community of just twenty-six.

Once there had been many more. Mari had spent years guiding this community, growing it with instruction and years of hard wisdom. But the moon gets what it demands. And times had been tough for the past twenty-some cycles. Too many gone, too few to grow the town now. The moon had gotten greedy over the decades.

“Bunny!” Caleb called out, pointing out towards the salt dunes ahead. A trio of rabbits, grey in the moonlight slowly wandered, likely searching for food that they’d never find.

“Dinner, more like.” Mari forced a chuckle. “Your father will likely have already caught some. Once we’re done visiting Menhir Hill, it’ll be feast time again.”

The walk had taken a little over an hour, a stinging draft blowing across the rolling dunes as the three reached a large, monolithic block of metal that sat at the crest of one such hill of salt: The Menhir.

A multitude of figures awaited at the Menhir. Tall figures, small ones, adults and children, it was the whole town. Caleb ran ahead to embrace another of the children, Thom. All the children gazed about themselves, some in curiosity, others in confusion. But most of them chattered with amongst themselves. The adults, however, all stared grimly at Mari’s approach. One of the town’s women, Brenda Chapman, strode towards Mari, her expression agitated.

“You called everyone, Mari. The last ascension had only just passed, why again and why not just a handful? And the children, why the children? They’re supposed to pray at home when this happens.”

“The moon’s demands have not stopped growing,” Mari spoke in a hushed tone as she ushered Sera along to join the rest of the children. “I’ve spoken as much as I can to the moon, but it demands more, and we don’t have enough adults now. Our town will be ascending—prematurely, it seems.”

“There has to be a way that we can delay it. Hide, maybe?”

Mari scoffed. “You think I haven’t thought of that? There’s no end to the darkness around us—you’ll simply find yourself back here if you walk far enough. The only way out is through the moon—whether or not we like it.”

“Then we escape through it. When we ascend, we escape.”

“Brenda, you’ve never seen how it works. If you’d seen what I’ve seen, you’d choose to stay. But we don’t have that choice now.”

Brenda snatched at Mari’s wrist, tugging her closer. “You must be joking. You used to tell us stories of how you and the rest of the First were placed here by the moon for safety. The sacrifices were for the sake of the rest—why would the moon demand all of us, if it was trying to ensure our ultimate survival from the world’s end?”

Mari had run out of tears decades ago. So—she laughed. “Brenda—there are trillions of us. Hundreds of trillions of us—grown and bred, spread across the stars. We’re not dying out. If they have a choice in the matter, we’ll never die out.”

“Who?’

The dark, starless sky groaned. The moon, pitiless in its gaze, visibly shuddered for all to see. With another, loathsome moan, like the plaintive grind of rust on rust, the pale and featureless moon yawned wider. At first, it was slow, but seconds later it hastened until it seemed to swallow half of the pitch-black expanse above. The children began to cheer, but the adults quietly embraced them as well as one another. Only Mari stood alone as Brenda ran to the arms of the others. For a long moment, Mari gazed up, remembering the first time she had seen this sight: a shivering child—stripped and soaked in cold, disinfectants before coated in a dusting of that salt, she was unceremoniously dropped from the moon and onto the powder soft dunes. The years of despair as tens of thousands waited for the moon to retrieve them, unaware of what awaited them beyond. But then came the offer:

Give us your future, and you shall have the option of remaining.

Mari had given up everyone.

For 383 years, Mari had been giving up everyone. All to stay in the dark. The light, that moon was a cursed thing. And now, everyone left would see.

Three long and wide shadows reached across the enlarged globe, like digits that grasped at the moon’s edge only it looked wrong. They were not reaching around the moon—they were reaching out from the moon’s edge, downward into their dark world until the fingers were joined together at a thin base. Like a hand. No—it was a hand—cyclopean and inhuman, crusted with thick callouses, and bluish grey in hue. The hand’s massive fingers stretched out until it overshadowed the entirety of Menhir Hill.

Mari had barely the time to turn and move, taking three steps away, the sounds of disbelief and horror beating against her back. She was thrown forward as the very world beneath her feet heaved. The hand with its colossal digits plowed into the salty dunes, enveloping the entire hill and everyone atop it. Salt snow geysered, rising with the screams. The air gusted outwards, buffeting Mari in a hurricane of salt dust. Just as quick, the winds reversed, pulling her forward until she fell to her knees.

Gazing up, she watched as the huge, clenched fist rose with its catch. Rivers of salt poured through its grip until it crested and disappeared over the lip of the moon from whence it came.

Mari sat herself up before pulling her legs in, hugging her knees, gazing upwards still. This would be it. The end of her centuries-old tenure as the stock overseer. There was nothing to watch over now. When they had sent her a message through the concealed communications bead embedded in the base of her left ear, she had been detailed her final hour, and how much time she had left.

What better way to end it than to think of the days before it all? She thought it right to tell it to the Cranston children. Maybe they’d be okay up there. Maybe she’d see them, or maybe she’ll never see any of them.

The moon shuddered once more as the hand returned. It had come for her.

“I was supposed to be spared.” She didn’t know if they could hear her when they weren’t in active conversation with her, but she tried anyways. “You said I’d be spared so long as I did what you asked.”

The hand closed.

“I was supposed to be spared.”

Xthuleb reached down into the fry oven, grabbing a fistful of seasoning along with the remaining Sapio Fry before placing it into the Medium-sized Sapio carton with the rest. For finger food, they were rather cute—they made the strangest mewling sounds, jumping up and down against the carton’s sides. They sounded like his pet hriitree lemur, but much smaller of course.

Sad—he had planned to buy himself a Large carton and bring them home for a snack for him and his mate, but business is business.

“Xthu! Xthu! Where’s those fries?” Xthuleb’s manager, Kkrooma, called out, poking his oblong head through the kitchen door. His neck spiracles were flaring, huffing in frustration.

“Kkrooma, we’re out. This barely filled it. You better get another order in—but we’re going to be out for a while.”

The manager’s six eyes rolled in opposing directions. “Uukt! They’re all going to be up our asses for two weeks then. No call off’s until we get our new stock in. Get moving, Xthu!”

Xthuleb shook his head as he shuttered the circular opening to the fry oven, shrinking the access cavity back to its original position. Small enough to prevent much from getting in, big enough to allow some light for—well, no one now.

He took the salt-dusted carton to the order window and placed it on the counter, ringing the bell once.

“138, order up! Extra salt!”