Moonlight: The Moonlight Saga

By Ariel Wood

Only five years old, Saria has always wanted to learn to hunt, to help provide food for her simple peasant family living in Castle Town. But one trip into the forest changes her life. Bitten by a werewolf, Saria now turns into a wolf every time the moon comes out, and she must keep her transformation a secret from everyone but her family.

When she is eighteen, the snobby Prince William, son of King Edmund and Queen Abigale, is kidnapped by a huge black dragon during his eighteenth birthday celebration. Saria grudgingly understands shes the only one who stands a chance of rescuing him with her unusual wolf powers.

For the sake of her kingdom, she embarks on a harrowing journey into griffin-infested wilderness, gets lost in dwarven mines, and is led astray by evil unicorns just to save a man she hates. As she risks her own life several times throughout the mission, Saria wonders if she will be able to save William, or if she will be too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491752265

Ariel Wood

Ariel Wood discovered her passion for writing when she was twelve years old and has been weaving tales of fantastic adventures since. She finished her first full-length novel when she was fifteen and has written four additional novels since. Wood and her husband live in Alberta, Canada. For exclusive content, visit her website at tesyrapress.com.

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Copyright © 2014 Ariel Wood.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-5225-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5224-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-5226-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014921380

iUniverse rev. date: 12/2/2014

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

This book is

dedicated to

Everyone who believed in me,

Everyone who didn’t,

My family,

But most of all,

My Prince.

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JUST A LITTLE FARTHER. COME on. I can do this.

I stretch my little fingers, straining to reach for the small practice bow resting on the edge of the merchant’s table. I always wanted to learn how to hunt. I want to be able to provide for my family. Both my parents work as stable hands at the castle, but they don’t get paid nearly enough to fill all our bellies. To the king, we are just peasants. We’re nothing special. If something ever happened to my father and mother, they could be replaced in the stables. He couldn’t care less if we starved. There’s only one thing the king cares about, and that’s his stuck up little brat of a son.

Almost there. I can already see myself creeping through the woods, hunting big game. Which is actually a pretty funny image considering I’m only five. I don’t think about how to haul my catch out of the woods. I only think of how proud my family would be if I could feed us all.

There’s no law forbidding us from hunting for ourselves. If we can afford the weapons and snares, and the butchering of the meat (which most people, like my dad, can do by themselves anyway) then the woods just south of Castle Town are free for us to use. I think it’s mostly because all the snobby rich people are afraid to go in there. They tell rumors to each other about how the forest is full of deadly creatures. They say there are werewolves and vampyres in there, not to mention rogue griffins. Most griffins are friendly; in fact, the king himself has a flock of them that he uses to deliver messages to other countries. But sometimes, if a griffin isn’t handled right as a cub or if they’re just plain mean, they escape and grow up wild in the woods. Rogue griffins are deadly. So therefore the merchants would rather spend a hefty lot of money buying meat from us peasants than go in there themselves. It works out pretty good for families like us. If you can get the meat.

No country owns the land beyond the forest. There isn’t even a clear border in the trees. No one is brave enough to stay there for any length of time.

My father told me that he used to be quite the hunter. But a few days before I was born, he swears to anyone that will listen that he was attacked by a dragon while out hunting. It took his leg clean off. Most people don’t believe in dragons. They say they’re just an old fairy tale and my father’s a daft old codger. But if there’s one thing my father has, it’s the ability to tell amazing stories. He can make anyone smile, or have them leaning forward in anticipation. Once a month he goes down to the Salty Seahorse Tavern and tells stories to the patrons. So when he shambled in missing a leg and yammering about dragons, some of the people believed him enough to buy him a peg to walk on. At home, I joke about how he’s a pirate now. But he tells me not to talk about such things outside the house. Pirates are not a laughing matter.

To the north of Castle Town is the ocean. Sometimes our ships are required to cross it in order to trade merchandise with other countries. Pirates aren’t usually brave enough to attack the king’s vessels, but every once in a while, I hear the warning sirens alerting the captains that there are pirates nearby. Once they even raided Castle Town, and even though that was many years ago, before I was born, I still shiver in bed whenever those sirens go off, afraid that it will happen to me.

To the east, there are lush green farms right up to the edge of the desert. I hear stories that even if you were lucky enough to survive the trek across the burning sands, you would only reach a frozen wasteland. No one knows what lies beyond the snow and ice, because no one has traveled that far and lived.

Westward of Castle Town is a marshy bog that leads right up to the neighboring country of Cardonia. Our country, Lilliath, is currently at peace with Cardonia, but in the past, it wasn’t always so. We used to have violent wars with them right up until about a hundred years ago when the king and queen of the time made peace with the Cardonians. I once heard that we were at war with them because the elves live in Cardonia. The people of Lilliath hated elves and wanted them all dead, but when our armies tried to enter Cardonia, the Cardonians fought to keep them out. No one from Lilliath ever saw the elves. We don’t even know if they truly exist.

I take a deep breath. My fingers are about to close around the small bow when suddenly the merchant picks it up and hands it to a man standing across the table. I sigh. Judging by the man’s clothes, he too is a peasant, and he’s probably buying that bow for one of his children. I have a rule. Never pickpocket the peasants. They work hard for every coin that they earn, and when they buy things, they deserve to keep them. That bow is now off limits. Darn. So close too.

I’ll have to settle for some bowstring and arrows. I grab one small length of bowstring and three arrows, then creep quickly into the alley before anyone can spot me. The merchant might not even notice such small stock missing from his wares. Maybe it’s a good thing I couldn’t steal the bow. This is much safer.

Once out of sight of the market, I walk straight and tall towards the forest. I tell myself that once I get out there, I will simply find a good stick and make my own bow.

But when I reach the edge of the woods, I freeze. The sun is starting to go down and the shadows are thickening. Somewhere in the distance, I think I hear a howl.

I don’t have to do this today. I could come back another day. But if I don’t face my fear, there’s a good chance that I never will. There’s a chance that I will always be standing on the edge of the woods looking in. I may always think of doing it tomorrow, and then the next tomorrow and the tomorrow after that. No. I have to do this today. Right now.

I step forward and a branch snaps under my foot. The sound makes me jump, but despite that, I keep walking forward until I’m far enough in I can’t see Castle Town anymore. Yeesh, it really is dark in here. And cold. And… gulp… creepy. I can’t help but shiver.

But then I shake myself from my frightened stupor and start looking for a good bow stick. What do I need to look for in a bow? Something curvy, I guess. Oh, there’s one! That dead branch beneath the weird tree over there would be perfect!

I pick up the stick and examine it. Nicely curved. Putting the string on it, I notice that it sits a little loose, but I don’t think it will make any difference. The bow’s a little big for me too, and when I put the arrow on the string and try to aim at a knot in the tree in front of me, the bottom edge of the weapon trails against the ground. I pull back, ready to fire, but then the bow snaps in two. The arrow falls to the ground, but one of the pieces of the bow shoots forward and hits the tree with a hollow thump that rings through the forest around me. Grumbling angrily, I throw the rest of the bow to the ground. This is going to be harder than I thought.

A hearty laugh that bursts out from behind me makes me jump. I turn to see my dad leaning against a tree. Even with a pirate leg he can still walk pretty quietly. You can’t make a bow like that, little Saria.

I can see that, I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest. He steps away from the tree and hobbles over.

Let me show you how it’s done. He pulls a handmade stone knife from his belt and starts cutting small green branches off the tree that I was aiming at.

I walk over, looking up at his work with interest. What good will those teenie weenie little branches do?

He holds one of the green twigs out so I can see it better. Alone, it is nothing but a teenie weenie little branch. Grabbing a second branch and holding it next to the first, he continues, But together these teenie weenie little branches make one big strong bough!

Staring closely at the miniscule twigs, I state, You’re gonna need a lot of branches.

He laughs in his deep, happy way. I love his laugh. Yes, we are going to need a lot of branches. Here, hold the ones I cut.

It takes him a while, but finally we have quite a few of the little branches. Now what? I ask.

Using his knife, he begins to peel away some of the bark from the tree. He gathers the sap hiding underneath on his blade, then rubs it in the pile of branches. Holding them tightly in one hand, he pulls some string out of his pocket with the other and ties the ends together. When he’s done, it simply looks like a very sappy stick to me. It’s all straight and not curvy. How is that supposed to shoot an arrow?

He must see my skeptical look, because he holds up the stick. When we get home, we’ll make a mold for it to make it bend. Then all it takes is some careful shaving and you’ve got yourself a mighty fine bow!

Taking the very sappy stick in my hands, I hold it out, pretending that I’m hunting. Once again he laughs and moves to stand behind me. You’re holding it wrong. Stand with your back straight, your legs parted to about shoulder width and your knees slightly bent. There! Perfect. Now don’t hold the bow in front of yourself like that. You hold it to the side.

I do as he says, but it looks weird to me. But dad, this way I have to turn my head to shoot. Wouldn’t it be easier to hold it out in front?

Ah, but if you do that, you have much less power behind your arrow. He moves my arms to demonstrate what he means. Out in front, you can only pull back to your chest. Out to the side, you can pull all the way back to your cheek and that’s where you get the most power.

He stands back and watches as I pretend to pull back on the bowstring. But how am I ever going to shoot out of a tree sideways? I complain.

You have to learn to shoot straight before you shoot crooked Saria, he laughs.

I sigh, but continue to practice my shooting form anyhow. I want to prove to him that I can be a great hunter someday, and that I can shoot straight.

Lookie here! he exclaims, watching me practice. We’ve got a right fine little hunter here already. He laughs once more and lumbers slowly towards me. I’m a big bad bear and I want to hunt you!

I squeal in delight and run away. Not if I get you first! when I’m far enough away from him, I turn and pretend to shoot him with an arrow. He staggers and falls to the ground in mock death. Yes! Another great catch for the mighty hunter Saria!

Suddenly I hear a low rumbling behind me. Now what could that strange noise be? I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It sounds similar to some kind of sound the stray dogs in Castle Town might make, but it’s deeper and more threatening. I’m torn between backing away and moving closer to investigate. I really want to know what’s making that sound. No, I don’t want to know. I have to know!

I have only taken one step towards it when my father shouts, Saria, get away from there now!

Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I start to say, Awww, but da— I never get to finish.

There’s a vicious howl and a flurry of frenzied barking behind me. I’m about to turn to look, but dagger sharp teeth catch in my neck and I choke as blood squirts everywhere. Fire! I’m sure teeth of fire just bit me! It burns so much I want to scream, but no sound can escape my lips. My jaws are agape, but nothing comes out. There’s a gut wrenching sound as a heavy foot lands on my arm and snaps it. I can’t see what’s attacking me, but I see my father lumbering towards me. He’s coming as fast as he can, but I don’t think it’s fast enough. This beast that is tormenting me is dragging me into the bushes. My father only has one leg; I’m a gonner for sure.

But then he raises his knife above his head and throws it. There’s a smack and a yelp, and suddenly the teeth are gone from my throat. But even though the teeth are gone, the fire remains. My father reaches me and lifts me off the ground. I can see a dark wolf-like creature running off into the woods on two legs, the moonlight above us turning its back to silver. There’s a black stone blade sticking out of its neck.

Turning away from the beast, my father begins to run lopsidedly back towards Castle Town. Every step jars me and sends the fire shooting through my body. Put it out! I shriek. Dad grits his teeth and keeps running. Daddy! Put the fire out! It’s burning me!

He chances a quick glance down at me. Hang in there, Saria. I’ll get you home, just you hang in there. I grip his shirt in my small hands and scream. I can’t believe he doesn’t see the fire! I’m being consumed by it. How can he simply ignore it and keep running? I want him to stop. I want the pain to stop. I want to end it all. It hurts so much…. I want to die.

But I can’t die. The pain is too real. It keeps me awake. Even when I close my eyes, I still can’t slip away into the heavenly cold that is death. No, the burning fire keeps me chained here in this agonized body.

The lopsided run changes in sound and moves faster. We must be in Castle Town now. Hurry Daddy. Get me home. Then maybe you can put the fire out.

He doesn’t stop to turn the handle when we get home. He simply throws his burly body against the door and it smashes open. Oh Daddy. Why would you do that? We don’t have the money to fix it. I know it hurts, but it will probably kill me anyway and then you’re daughterless and you have a broken door.

I open my eyes to see my mother jump to her feet. She takes one glance at me and starts running for the door. I’ll get the doctor! she exclaims in a voice quieted by fear. My father blocks her path.

No! He’ll just tell us to kill her! I don’t understand why he would say something like that as he lays me down on the table in the middle of the room.

Why? Mummy breathes. Why would the doctor say such a thing?

Daddy lowers his voice and steps back. Because, Lily. She’s been bitten by a werewolf.

Mummy covers her mouth with her hands. Oh no, Garth! It can’t be true! Not our little Saria. I won’t let them kill her!

Then we can’t let anyone know about… he trails away and puts a hand on her shoulder as he searches for the right word. …her condition, he finishes.

My mother chokes back a sob. Can’t let anyone know? How are we going to hide the fact that she turns into a furry beast every time the moon is full?

Both their voices drop too low for me to hear as they discuss me. Me, a werewolf? No… it can’t be true! But maybe it can. It would explain the fire. And the fact that the smell of my own blood is making my mouth water. It makes me think of fresh, raw meat, still steaming from the kill. It makes me hungry. And that makes me sick in disgust.

I clench my fists by my side and try desperately not to scream. It hurts so much. How can it be possible to feel this much pain and still be able to keep on breathing? How can I possibly survive this? I don’t know what’s happening anymore when suddenly everything goes black.

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I wake to the cheerful sound of morning birds. There’s a bright yellow sun shining in the window. I’m lying on top of my bed. My parents must have carried me in here at some point. They had changed my clothes too.

Feeling better at the moment, I ponder about our house, my mind wandering idly to the subject. I like our little house. We’re lucky to have it. For peasant standards, it’s huge. It’s got two bedrooms; one for me, and one for my parents. It even has a bathroom, but we only bathe once a month because it’s a big job to heat enough water to fill the wooden tub. The kitchen and the table are all in the front part of the house. The king gave us this house when my parents started working for him in the castle stables.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. I don’t hurt anymore. Maybe, just maybe, it was all a dream. Maybe I never tried to steal that bow. Maybe I never went into the woods. But have the birds always been so loud? And have the smells always been so strong? I can hear the mice crawling underneath my floor, and the wing beats of the birds as they fly past my window. The stench that surrounds me is horrendous. It smells thickly of dust and waste. But there’s a faint, tangy-sweet scent too. It’s the scent of blood.

When I stand, my legs feel different. They look the same, but they feel stronger, as though I could scale the walls of my house and leap from rooftop to rooftop without any trouble at all. My arms are the same way. In fact, my entire body feels like it’s pulsing with barely restrained energy. Curious, I place my hands under the edge of the bed and lift. The heavy wooden bed comes off the floor as easily as picking a leaf up from the ground. I’m even able to let one hand drop away and balance the bed in my other. Okay, so maybe the bite wasn’t a dream after all.

I put the bed down carefully and walk over to the old cracked mirror in the corner of my room. It looks like me standing there. There’s my shoulder length, fiery red hair, all tousled from my sleep. Some dried blood is matted into the ends, but other than that it looks normal. But there’s a faint crescent indent where the bite in my neck was. And my eyes are no longer brown. They’re yellow. The kind of piercing yellow that makes you feel trapped and hypnotized. The kind of cold eyes that prey sees before it falls to the claws of a hunter. No. The bite was definitely not a dream. I really am a werewolf.

Suddenly I remember that my arm was broken. I quickly examine it, but it looks fine now. No sign of a break.

In the corner of my eye, I glimpse a bow leaning against the wall. Walking over, I pick it up. It’s the same one my dad and I started. But it’s finished. The sap is dried and it’s been beautifully carved. It no longer looks like a sappy old stick. The string is taut and ready to be fired. How long did this take to make? How long have I been sleeping?

I want to leave my room, but uncertainty glues my feet to the floor. What kind of monster am I now? I don’t know much about werewolves other than something happens to them at the full moon and everyone is afraid of them. What if some of my new monster instincts kick in during the day too? What if I walk out into the rest of the house only to attack my parents?

I feel my eyes begin to burn with tears. Why? Why did this happen to me? Plenty of peasants venture into the forest, and they never get attacked…. Mind you, I don’t think many go in at night. For obvious reasons. But if my father had thought it would have been any more dangerous at night than it was during the day, he wouldn’t have let me stay in there. He hadn’t mentioned a word that we should leave. So that means that werewolves rarely come around here. But if that’s the case, then why had there been one that night?

I angrily wipe the tears from my eyes. I won’t let myself be a monster. I will never be like that horrendous beast that bit me. I won’t even let anyone know what I am.

Taking a deep breath, I try to be brave. I will leave my room and find my parents. Hopefully they haven’t left for work yet.

It turns out they haven’t. They’re both sitting quietly at the table, eating stale bread. I notice that the bread has hardly been touched, and they both look slightly thinner. Uh oh. That’s not a good sign.

Mummy? Daddy? I say, but my voice is so unfamiliar it scares me. It’s smoother than it used to be. It’s like verbal silk and honey mixed with moonbeams. Strange description, I know, but really, my voice sounds strange.

They both jump up when I speak and their chairs clatter to the floor. For a moment, we all just stare at each other. My mother is the first to move. She runs across the room and drops down on her knees to hug me tightly.

Saria! she sobs into my shoulder. You’re alive!

I want to hug her back, but I’m so stunned by this reaction that my arms just hang limp by my side. Of course I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be?

She pulls back to look me in the eyes. Her lip quivers as she sees the yellow rings that have replaced the brown. Saria… don’t you remember?

Yes. I mean to speak strongly, but it comes out as a whisper as I remember the intense pain. I remember every moment… up until I fell asleep. How long have I been sleeping?

For a month. The voice is my father’s. He stands by the table looking at me with his eyes somber, but he doesn’t come closer. His face is more serious than I’ve ever seen it. It’s almost like all the laughter has been stolen from it, and that makes me feel my heart crack a little.

A month! Wow. I didn’t think I was out that long.

Yes. We told King Edmund that you were extremely ill and that we wanted to take some time off of work until you were better. Wiping the tears from her eyes, my mother tries to stop crying. He was going to fire us right then and there, but Queen Abigale stepped in. She told us that we could take as much time as we needed and that there’d still be room for us when we came back. Mummy sighs. She’s such a nice lady. It’s a shame she doesn’t deal with more public affairs.

My father huffs angrily. It’s because that dog Edmund doesn’t let her.

Scolding him over her shoulder, Mummy replies, Garth! That’s no way to talk about your king! True or not!

Daddy just growls under his breath and looks away.

Daddy? Is something wrong? He’s hardly spoken at all since I woke up and normally it’s a real trick to get him to be quiet.

I’m sorry Saria. Looking closely, I think I can see tears shining in his eyes. I should have been more careful. This never should have happened.

Stepping out from under my mother’s hands, I walk over to look up at him. Daddy. I wait until he looks down at me before I continue. You have nothing to be sorry for. If you hadn’t thrown your knife into that beast, I would be dead. You saved me. I open my arms and he lifts me up for a hug.

Burrowing in his beard, I can feel his cheeks are wet with tears. My little angel, he murmurs. You always know just what to say.

I laugh quietly. It’s what I’m here for Daddy.

I feel his chest move in a chuckle, and for the first time since I was attacked, I feel better. Daddy always laughs. Seeing him so serious scared me.

Suddenly I notice that my butt feels a little more breezy than usual. Looking down, I see there’s a hole in my pants. I look back up at Daddy. What exactly happened while I was asleep? I ask.

My mother walks over and strokes my cheek with one hand. Well… every night, you turned into a half-wolf.

I don’t understand. This isn’t how werewolves are supposed to be. Every night? I thought werewolves only changed at the full moon. And what happened when I changed? Did I do anything?

No, you just continued sleeping, Daddy says. And we don’t know why you changed like that, but on the full moon the change was… he trails off.

Different, Mummy finishes.

They don’t say anything else, so I ask, What kind of different?

My mother and father glance at each other, then finally my mother explains, You became a full wolf.

Daddy puts me down. I feel more confused than ever. What kind of werewolf am I? I’m not supposed to change every night, and when I do change, I’m supposed to go on a rampaging killing streak. What makes me so different?

I don’t know how to answer any of my questions, but I do know that my parents need to work. They’ve probably had to survive on bread given to them by friends for the last month.

Mummy, Daddy, I’m fine now. You need to go to work before the king decides not to hire you back.

Mummy holds her hands tight to her chest. Saria, are you sure? We could stay a little longer if you like.

I shake my head. No, you have to go. I’ll be okay. I’ll just rest today.

Daddy takes a deep breath. Okay. But just to let you know, King Edmund will probably make us work late so we’ll miss your… He has to ready himself before he finishes, change.

That’s okay, I tell them. Secretly, I don’t want them to be around when I change, just in case I become a real monster.

It takes them only a few moments to be ready for work. I stand alone in the middle of the room and wave as they leave. The moment I can’t hear their footsteps anymore (which is quite a while with my new hearing) my legs won’t hold me any longer. I slip down to the floor with wet eyes. I’m scared. I’m lonely. I wish I could curl up and sleep and forget all about this. But no matter how tired I am, I know I won’t be able to sleep. I’m too anxious for what the night will bring. My stomach heaves and I have to work hard not to throw up.

Despite all the nerves, I realize I’m hungry. Starving in fact. Well, that makes sense really. I haven’t eaten anything for a month. I try to eat the leftover bread on the table, but it tastes terrible. I never used to hate the taste this much. It’s not the fact that the bread is stale; I’m quite used