Third Starlighter

by Bryan Davis

  “I can see it now,” Adrian said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Frederick will give each of the children a thorny branch, and they’ll take turns whacking Drexel until he understands what it feels like to be a slave.”

  “Right! That’ll teach him!” She took in a breath to say something else, but it died on her lips. Then, her head drooped.

  “Regina?” Adrian lifted her chin with a finger. “Is something wrong?”

  “Um …” A tear sparkled in her eye. “Never mind.”

  Adrian studied her forlorn expression. This girl was so deep, so introspective. “Okay. So I suppose we’ll just stay here until Frederick comes back.”

  Wiping the tear away, she sniffed. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

  He caressed her cheek. “Are you tired?”

  She nodded.

  With a hand at her back, he guided her to the bed. For some reason, the straw was damp in one spot, as if someone had bathed there. He swept fresher straw into place and helped her lie down. After covering her with the deerskin, he slid his hand into hers. “Frederick must have taken a different path to the spring. That’s why we didn’t see him on our way back.”

  She touched her chin with a finger. “To hide the traps, probably. They would be too easy to see the way we went.”

  “So now,” he said, gently pushing her eyelids closed, “you can dream about Frederick and Marcelle washing in the spring. When they’re finished, maybe they’ll play with the children and splash around.”

  Smiling, she nodded again. “I can see it already.”

  “Me, too. They’re laughing and singing, and they’re getting soaked.”

  “I wish I could be there with them.” She pulled Adrian’s hand up to her chest and held it there. “Why did the water heal my tongue and skin this time but not last time?”

  As her thumb kneaded the back of his hand, he watched its rhythmic motion. “Well, I’m not sure, but from what you told me, I think you have to apply it yourself.”

  “Oh …” Her reply was like a stretched-out hum.

  “Still, I can’t figure out why it didn’t heal your eyes. That’s why I asked you to wash them yourself.”

  “It’s really strange. I feel like I can see some things in my mind instead of through my eyes, sort of like memories, but I could see with my eyes for a while.”

  “Yes, I know, but we were on the other side of the portal, and we were invisible to everyone else. Would you trade your ability to be seen for an ability to see?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her lips pursed, the thumb-to-hand massage continuing. “Why do you have to wash yourself?”

  “I don’t know how it works. Only the Creator knows.”

  She opened her eyes and turned her head to the side. “I think I know.”

  “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

  “When I do something bad, I’m the only one who can say I’m sorry. No one can do it for me.”

  “That’s true.” Adrian watched Regina’s wandering eyes. There was so much going on in her mind. Again, it would be best to draw her out, let her make her own conclusions. “What does saying you’re sorry have to do with the healing water?”

  “Well …” Her grip on his hand tightened. “Isn’t saying you’re sorry like healing a wound?”

  “Definitely. The words I’m sorry are just about the most healing words someone can say.”

  “Okay.” She turned her face toward him, though her eyes didn’t quite line up with his. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” He cocked his head. “For what?”

  “For saying what I did … about Drexel.” Her lips quivering, she turned away again. “I don’t want anyone to know what it feels like to be a slave.”

  “You didn’t say that. I did. I guess I’m the one who should be sorry.”

  “But I agreed with you.” She shook her head. “You don’t know what it’s like to be a slave. I do.”

  “I see.” He pressed his lips together. She was right, of course, but there was no need for such a burden to fall on her shoulders. “Well, Drexel didn’t hear you, so he wasn’t offended.”

  “But you heard me.” She clenched her eyes closed. As her body shook gently, tears seeped through. “Now I know why my eyes weren’t healed.”

  “Oh, Regina!” His own tears welling, Adrian passed his hand across her bristly hair, the only visible sign of her cruel captivity. She had been liberated, rescued, redeemed. And now blindness remained as a constant reminder of the toil and misery.

  He took a deep breath, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack. “There’s a saying in the Code. Afflictions are stripes for the valiant, those the Creator chooses for a great purpose. He catches their tears in a crucible and grinds their bones within. With each cry of pain that rises, the Creator weeps, adding his own tears. Then, when the mixture is prepared, he pours it out, and there stands a warrior, hardened on the outside and tender on the inside, for he has endured bitter trials, and he never forgets the tears, either his own or the Creator’s.”

  She blinked, saying nothing, yet her expression probed for more.

  “That means you’re one of the valiant ones. Your blindness, even your slavery, might be the grinding of your bones that has prepared you to be the Creator’s warrior. And your sorrow over what you said proves that you haven’t forgotten the tears. You are tender inside, exactly the kind of warrior the Creator needs.”

  She sniffed again. “You think so?”

  “I know so.” He caught a tear with a fingertip and brushed it from her cheek. “You’re an inspiration to me.”

  Her lips trembled into a smile. “I am?”

  “You are. It seems that every moment I’m with you, I learn something about love and endurance. If I were to be put in the crucible you endured, could I have withstood the pain? Would I still love the Creator after my bones were crushed? It’s hard to know.”

  “I hope you never have to, but if you do, I’ll try to help you.” She pulled his hand up to her mouth and kissed his knuckles, letting her lips linger. “So never leave me, okay?”

  “Never?” Adrian wiped his own tear away. “I’ll tell you this, to stay with you, I will fight all the beasts of the wild and plunge the darkest of depths. The only thing that will be able to separate us is death.” He poked her ribs. “Or if you get married to some lucky young man.”

  She giggled and pushed his finger away. When she settled, she faced his direction again. “I’ve heard about getting married. It must be wonderful.”

  “My parents think so. I hope to take you home and introduce you to my mother. She always wanted a girl. Maybe you could live with us, and you could learn what being married is all about.”

  “And I would be your sister?” Her mouth dropped open. “Wow!”

  “It would be a great honor to be your brother.”

  After a moment’s pause, she took his hand again. “Do you want to get married?”

  “I do. … Someday.”

  “You should marry Marcelle. She’s about your age, right?”

  “She is. We’re the same age. We were best friends as children.”

  Her brow arched up. “But not anymore?”

  “Let’s just say that we drifted apart for a while, but we’re close friends again now.”

  “So you will marry her?”

  Adrian laughed. “I haven’t even asked her. I’m not sure if she’d say yes.”

  “Well, I think there’s only one way to find out.”

  “And what if she says no?”

  “Then you won’t get married, and it would be the same if you didn’t ask her at all.” She let out a yawn and smacked her lips. “It’s like something Frederick said to Orlan yesterday. You’ll never hit a target unless you shoot at it.”

  “That’s true, Regina. I’ll be thinking about it.” He pressed her palm down on her chest and patted her hand. “Now go to sleep. There’s nothing to fear.”

  Sighing, she pulled the deerskin up and closed her eyes. “Not
as long as my big brother’s around.”

  Adrian’s throat tightened, reducing his voice to a bare whisper. “That’s right.”

  Soon, her breathing settled to a steady rhythm, a sign of approaching sleep. As if dreaming, she spoke with her eyes closed, more of a murmured thought than lucid speech. “Adrian? What’s a crucible?” Then, her breaths became even once again as she drifted off into true sleep.

  Adrian gazed at her pursed lips, the source of so many profound words and now a probing question. What was a crucible?

  He looked at the open door, the path to the world outside. Starlight. A world of cruelty. A land of broken bodies and broken hearts, where little girls who should be dancing and singing find only backbreaking marches and cries of agony. Starlight. A crucible. Yet, was it the Creator’s crucible?

  Letting his mind wander, Adrian drifted back to Major Four, to Mesolantrum, to the Enforcement Zone behind the governor’s palace. Images of punishment flashed one after the other—his friends suffering in the pillory for believing in the dragon world; political prisoners living out their days in the dungeon because of their convictions; and finally, the widow Halstead burning at the stake for having vision that saw beyond what the blind fools in the palace could see.

  Adrian sighed. Major Four. A crucible. Perhaps as much of an affront to the Creator as any other.

  He rose to his feet, strolled to the door, and surveyed the dense forest. Beyond the trees, dozens of children like Regina still toiled in their slavish crucibles, some maimed, some crippled, all barely hanging on to life, a tiny flame within providing a spark of hope that maybe tomorrow their rescue would come. … Maybe tomorrow.

  Looking up, Adrian whispered. “Don’t let them suffer another night. Let today be their tomorrow. I am your warrior, gladly pressed into service to stay here and protect this little angel, yet my arms ache to charge out and destroy her oppressors, to set her brothers and sisters free. I ask you to take my sword and cut loose their bonds, even if I cannot be there to swing the blade. Use the tracking skills you have given me to lead them to safety, to lead them here. To lead them home.” Adding a sigh, he pushed the door open wider. “I will be waiting.”

  * * *

  TEN

  * * *

  MARCELLE paced in a circle around an iron ring embedded in the stone floor of the courtroom’s holding cell. Chains attached to the ring led to more chains fastened to manacles encircling her ankles and wrists, providing enough slack to wander three steps in any direction. A lantern sitting on a wall mount to the right of the door cast her shadow on the opposite wall. The dark, undulating copy of herself mimicked her pensive stride.

  After making at least a hundred orbits while mulling over Dunwoody’s escape plan, she sat heavily on the bench at the back of the cell. Dawn would arrive in only a few hours. Life or death rested on Dunwoody’s fragile promises. He would try to locate Gregor, assuming he escaped from the Tark guards at the infirmary, and they would conceal her sword in the kindling and wear earplugs to avoid her hypnotic effect. Then, if her storytelling failed to persuade the crowd, he would rescue her at the last moment with help from unnamed members from the Underground Gateway. And as if that promise wasn’t brittle enough, his assurances that the storytelling would again conjure pitiful images that would enflame the crowd now seemed thinner than the eggshells back in the trunk.

  She shook her head. It wouldn’t work. It couldn’t work. Her best chance now rested on the idea that this was all the dream of an injured sword maiden who couldn’t stay awake longer than a few minutes. If only she would rouse herself and end this nightmare!

  She stood and glared at the ceiling. Shaking a fist, she shouted, “Wake up, Marcelle!” but only the rattling of her chains replied.

  Sitting on the bench again, she closed her eyes and concentrated. That always seemed to be the best way to get in contact with her real self. Still, the fleeting images of facing Drexel and talking to Frederick might be the dream, while this cell and these chains were the true reality, a nightmarish gauntlet of unfathomable horrors. But how could that be? A bloodless body of dust and dirt couldn’t be real.

  “Do you need help, Marcelle?”

  She opened her eyes. Cassabrie stood inches in front of her. Wearing her now-familiar blue cloak and white dress, she crouched and wrapped Marcelle in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry I left you here for so long. I had much to do on Starlight, but now I have come to give you guidance.”

  Marcelle pushed her back. Cassabrie smiled, her hands on her knees as she stooped, each hand missing a ring finger. “How did you find me?” Marcelle asked.

  “It wasn’t difficult. The entire village is gossiping about your imprisonment here. I heard that the dungeon is empty, so I searched the palace. When I saw the guard outside the door, I assumed you might be here, and I was right.”

  “How did you get past the guard?”

  “Oh!” Cassabrie looked back. “He was asleep.”

  “Asleep?”

  Laughing softly, Cassabrie faced her again, her hood shading her sparkling green eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. He snores quite loudly. I think he’ll get in trouble if—”

  “Forget the snoring! How did you open the door?”

  Cassabrie looked back again. “I didn’t open it. I passed underneath it.”

  “Underneath?” Marcelle looked at the gap under the door, a space less than an inch high. “Okay, that settles it. This really is a dream. No one could fit through a—”

  “No one except me …” Smiling, she pointed at Marcelle. “And you.”

  “Me?”

  Cassabrie sat next to her and rubbed her back. “Oh, Marcelle, the shock from the Reflections Crystal has surely purged your brain of the memories you need to understand your state. You are not dreaming. Don’t you remember what I told you when we arrived in this world? The crystal drew your spirit out of your body, so you’re a spirit who has created your body from the materials of this world, and if you return to the Northlands, you will again be a spirit unless you reunite with your physical body.”

  “I remember, but that could also be part of a dream.” Marcelle laid a hand over her chest. “No one can exist without a heartbeat, without vital fluids. I can feel moisture in my mouth and eyes, but I don’t have blood or sweat.”

  “Then try to go further back in your mind. Do you remember when you and Adrian first saw me? I was in this state, cold and pale. The soldiers thought me dead because I lacked a beating heart. Then my body dissolved into the dust that formed me. Later, I reconstituted into the same state I was before, again without color or circulation.” Cassabrie got down on her knees, took Marcelle’s enchained hands, and looked into her eyes. “You were awake then. You weren’t dreaming, just as you aren’t now.”

  As Marcelle returned her stare, the memories began flowing. This cadaverous girl with two missing fingers indeed did crumble and reconstitute before her eyes. That wasn’t a dream. Yet, couldn’t a real event reoccur in a dream? Of course. But the fact that a bloodless girl without a heartbeat actually once existed in reality worked to destroy the best evidence that this was all a dream. “Okay, you’ve shot me down. I’ll have to think about it. But tell me why you’ve come.”

  “I told you that I would leave the portal open, but that proved to be impossible. Magnar has come to this world, and—”

  “Magnar?” Marcelle tapped the bench with a finger. “Magnar is here on Major Four?”

  As Cassabrie nodded, her hood slid down, revealing her bright red hair. “If he learns of that portal and passes through it, our troubles will multiply, so I closed it. When you return there with an army, if it isn’t open, be patient until it is. One way or another, I will make sure it opens as soon as possible.”

  “So you expect me to risk my life gathering an army, march them through the forest while they’re all grumbling about why they’re following a dead woman to a dragon planet they don’t really believe in, and then when we get there, you want
me to wait until you decide to show up?”

  Cassabrie smiled. “Yes. That’s exactly right. I’m glad your faculties are returning.”

  “What do you expect me to do? Entertain them with that dissolving-to-dust trick you do?”

  “Oh, Marcelle,” Cassabrie said as she laughed, “you’re so funny!”

  “Funny?” Marcelle glared at her. “I’m serious. You have no idea what it’s like for a woman who tries to lead military men. It’s difficult enough when I’m one of the best swordplayers in the land, but getting hardened soldiers to believe me when everyone thinks I’m some kind of witch? Impossible!”

  “Then you’ll have to come up with some other form of persuasion. Perhaps the governor—”

  “The governor’s the reason I’m here!” Marcelle shot to her feet, dodged Cassabrie, and began pacing in a circle again. “You see, I turned myself in to the governor because I thought it would give me a chance to speak to a lot of people at once. A teacher of mine said that when I told a story about the cattle children, they came to life around me, like moving ghosts.”

  “How strange!” Cassabrie sat on the bench and stared at Marcelle. “That is a Starlighter’s gift, and you are not a Starlighter.”

  Marcelle stopped pacing. “How do you know? If I’m doing what a Starlighter does, what else could it mean?”

  “I admit that I am perplexed. Your hair is somewhat red, and your eyes have a greenish hue, which means you might have Starlighter genetics. But since you were not born in my world, I don’t think you can be a true Starlighter, though I don’t understand how you could conjure the manifestations, especially since we aren’t on Starlight now.”

  “Adrian told me you were able to create images here. You showed Frederick rescuing one of the cattle children.”

  Cassabrie pulled her hood back over her head. “I had never exercised my gift here before, so I was unsure of what I could show him. I looked into the matter later and learned that I can show what occurred on Starlight wherever I am, as well as what I can remember from my own mind or what I am able to pull from the minds of those around me.”