Long, long ago, greedy demons came out of the seas and swallowed up cities, green lands, animals, people, rocks, and rivers. Wherever the demons roamed was soon barren wasteland and they were forced to travel from region to region, on and on, across the Earth. One night after eating a forest mountain and drinking a sweet inland sea, the demons were hungry still. Dying birds had whispered of the last mountain cliffs that sheltered a sweet blue lake and bush trees. The demons prepared to cross the Salty Sea to gobble these final delights.

The Moon took pity on the Earth and sang to the demons of hidden delights beyond bright peaks. Dazzled, the demons flew up on silver light beams and, feasting for a month, they ate the Moon. They swallowed every silver beam. In the darkness that followed, the demons lost their way home. Pricks of starlight carried them nowhere. Crashing about in the night sky, the demons barely resisted eating each other or the Moon as it slowly grew back, making something from nothing. The demons needed all the moonlight to return to Earth where new delights awaited them. Just when the Moon was full and fat and bright, greed triumphed, and the foolish creatures devoured the light once more. Look up in the night, the demons are at it every month. The Moon is a hero saving us again and again.

Bal joined the griots, singing:

Warrior, warrior, have you forgotten?

Greed makes even sweet apples rotten

Warrior, warrior sweet enemy mine

Will this be our last time?

The moon acrobats jumped from the red horse into the stilt walkers’ fiery mouths and disappeared. The audience leapt to their feet, snapping fingers and clapping. The demon masquerades took off their masks and bounded from stilts to tower ledges to the stage floor. Moon and fish acrobats revealed their faces also. Anawanama, Zamanzi, and Lahesh players lifted their arms and the audience showered them with flower petals.

Awa sat still amidst the hullabaloo, playing a polyrhythm of conflicting ideas, trying to think a knotted thing apart. The grass terrace was soft and wet under her toes and butt. The buttery raintree scent was intoxicating. Hummingbirds fussed and fought over the best blossoms. Awa tugged Djola’s arm and shouted over the cheering crowd. “What if we or you conjured Mountain Gates around Arkhys City, instead of Nightmare Gates? Not a cure, but a respite, an oasis while rebels work for change?” Djola and Kyrie exchanged glances as Awa continued. “You two must know spells we could use. Lahesh conjure? Something from Vandana’s small bag?”

Bal was thrilled. “I knew the masquerade would give us good ideas.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Awa admitted.

“I don’t trust my hand or my vision,” Djola muttered.

“Good vision takes many eyes looking every direction.” Bal quoted The Green Elder Songs for Living and Dying, and Djola cursed. He’d quoted that song to Awa.