Jupiter Rising
This story was a writing exercise born out of a writing prompt on Twitter. It was written with media like Mushi-shi and Frontier in mind, as well as places like the Far Northern United States and into Canada. I had a blast coming up with some of these names, and I hope you enjoy them as well!
That night was as thick as the puffs of smoke emanating from whatever he had rolled into his cigarette. I could hear the slightest smacking sound over the dying, crackling embers of the fire, as he puckered his lips and drew. “Start from the beginning”.
“I’ve been waking up shivering”, I said, “almost as soon as I drift off, every night, for almost a month. My heart races, and my wife says the last few nights, my lips and fingers have begun to turn blue and icy to the touch.” I paused as he blew smoke from the side of his mouth and over his shoulder.
He shrugged the large wooden box off of his back and began sifting through various tinctures and vials. The dim light of his cigarette reflected in his eyes as he peered at me from under his hat. “Continue”, he urged, waving a weathered hand.
“Right.” I blew into my hands, rubbed them, and then resumed. “At first we thought I was ill, so my wife contacted our town’s physician, hoping that he might have an answer. He spent the night at our house, observing my condition and recording my vitals. He could find nothing amiss other than my wakefulness and temperature drops. On the third night, I woke again and complained about how brightly the moon was shining on my face, when he stopped me. He asked me to repeat myself, and so I did. He tilted his head, scrunched his face, and told me that the moon had waned. I was astonished because I could plainly see the full moon and its beams streaming through the windows and I told him as much. He continued to insist that their were no moon beams and suggested waking my wife if I didn’t believe him. I agreed, but much to my dismay, she too told me that their was only a half moon. I spent the rest of the night periodically checking to see if it would change, but there it remained, full and bright, until sunrise. The next morning I met the doctor and my wife at our table. He told me I was suffering from hysteria and prescribed rest, free from agitation until my body was able to handle whatever — . ”
He held up his finger as he drew the last few puffs and flicked his cigarette into the fire. “Hold on, I’m going to need another one of these.” I sat, lips pressed together, as he carefully rolled and lit another. He took a deep draw and let the smoke escape into the wind and over his shoulders again. “Alright. So, I’m guessing you didn’t rest?”
“Well, no”, I replied. “It didn’t work, and even so, I couldn’t afford to stay home from the mill. So the next morning I went to work.”
“Yes, so I heard from the townsfolk. They say you were falling asleep on the job, even around town, and would wake up screaming at the moon.”
“Okay, it was fine at first, but after three more restless nights and another day of working until evening-”
“Right, right, not blaming, only confirming, friend”, he said, hands raised.
“Sorry.”
“It’s alright.” He rolled his jacket up on his shoulders and leaned forward onto his box, “So, explain to me why you think a Spiritualist is gonna help you.”
I cleared my throat and began, “Well, when my dad worked as a trapper in the north, he would come home with all sorts of crazy stories. One that I remembered was about the Lune de la Morte. If a trapper was going to die soon they would see a moon hovering over them at night. The nearer their day the brighter it would be, until finally their day came”, I trailed off.
“I’m familiar. It drives them mad to the point of death and then devours their souls.” He knocked the ashes from his cigarette and stared at me. “So, you think that is what’s doing this to you?”
“Yes sir.” I muttered.
“Well…”, he began, “I’ll be damned if you aren’t on the right track. Hysteria isn’t usually this consistent or lucid, and what you’ve described is reminiscent of another case I worked like this back in the Dakotas. Let me lay your situation out for you. The story the trappers tell isn’t quite right. Do you know what lights the moon?”
“Well…the sun.” I answered.
“That’s right. Spirit and nature aren’t as different as your good pastor might have you believe. The spirit that I believe you are seeing is called a Geraa, and it tends light up when a Jupiter-Ror is approaching. And this”, he said pulling a small dirt filled vial from his box, “is soil that has been in the path of a Jupiter-Ror as it devoured energy.” He held his cigarette in his mouth and flung the dirt from its vial and into the air. Half a dozen moons nullified our fire’s light with brilliant white beams shining through the smoke and trees.
“Did you see that?!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, I did.” He said, smiling fondly at the creatures. “The Geraa won’t harm you. When they light up like that it’s similar to instinct or reflex in response to the Jupiter-Ror. They can’t help it, and as far as any spiritualist knows, they may not even possess enough sentience to know they’re doing it. They’re kind of like warning lights for the spiritual world.”
“But…then why do I wake up freezing?” I asked.
“That’s the not so great part, pal. Rors absorb energy. They usually tend towards excess spiritual energies, but if one grows large enough they may draw other types of energy. A Jupiter-Ror is a Ror that has become so large that it has begun to attract the physical energy of those few unlucky enough to end up in it’s path.”
“Like a gravity?”, I asked.
“Yes, a lot like gravitational pull, except the Ror’s are drawn to the energy, not the other way around. Unfortunately for you, you happen to be in it’s path. When night comes, and especially when we sleep, the veil between the physical world and the spiritual becomes thin. That’s when the Jupiter-Ror begins pulling your energies to itself.”
“And the closer it gets, the colder I am, and the brighter my moon becomes?”
“Yes”, he nodded.
“I’ll just leave town until it passes then.”
“I’m afraid not”, he interjected, “spiritual paths don’t work like that.” He leaned back and deep, concerned creases formed on his face. “Your place in the spirit world often doesn’t move because your physical location does.”
“Then what can I do?”
He clenched his jaw and sighed. “If I’d been here sooner, I could have brought something of greater spiritual energy, maybe drawn it away, but from the timeline you described the Jupiter-Ror will begin it’s pass any night now. Once it arrives, it will continue to pass through your area for about thirty days.” He tossed his cigarette on the ground and mashed its body with his boot. “And when that happens it will kill you.”
Five days ago I spoke to the Pinville townsfolk about a man who claimed the moon was trying to kill him. Three days ago, I sat fireside with him and learned that he was not hysterical, but was being plagued a Geraa reflecting a Jupiter-Ror. By the time I had arrived however, the Jupiter-Ror was a day and a half-out at best. I didn’t arrive with enough time to make a return trip with the necessary supplies. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done for him, and so I had the displeasure of delivering the bad news. I told him he was going to die.
Since then, I have stayed the last two nights at Fourrufort. Today, while preparing to depart, I overheard a parishioner speaking to the town priest about Pinville. He said that while he was lodging there, he was woken up by a commotion. When he went outside, he said the local church was ablaze with orange and white flames shooting from its windows. Considering my recent trip, I couldn’t resist and asked him if they had caught the culprit. He said no, but that they suspected a man who had recently taken ill, because he disappeared that same night along with his family. While the parishioner fancied the white flames as divine judgment upon the Anglicans, I’ve chosen to take a more optimistic view. I’ve chosen to believe that the orange and white flames were simply the result of a man discovering the burning potential of the faith.
Editor’s note: Taut, short story. I loved how it subverted the ‘signs you’re about to die’ trope.
