Third Starlighter

by Bryan Davis

  Marcelle set her hands on her hips, rattling her chains. “You certainly are an interesting character.”

  “Since you are the same …” Cassabrie curtsied. “I will take that as a compliment.”

  “I suppose it was … in a way. I prefer people who are honest and straightforward.”

  “Then will you go with me?” She walked to the door and knelt. “It’s not hard. All you have to do—”

  Someone banged on the door. “Quiet in there!”

  Covering her mouth with her hand, Cassabrie skulked back to Marcelle. “I’ll lead him away,” she whispered. “That will give you a chance to escape.”

  Marcelle kept her voice down. “But you haven’t told me how to do it yet.”

  “Urgency. A need to escape. You have to feel it deep within.”

  “But I don’t want you to risk your life for me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve done this many times.” Cassabrie hurried back to the door, raised her hands high, and crumbled to the floor in a pile of dust. The sudden fall raised a breeze that swept her remains under the door and out of sight. Several tiny pebbles rolled out with her in the trailing vacuum.

  Marcelle stepped as close as her chains would allow, listening.

  A gasp sounded, then a shout. “What the blazes?”

  Cassabrie’s voice followed. “You can’t hold me in there. I can escape any cell.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The clatter of pounding footsteps erupted, then quickly faded.

  Marcelle took a step toward the door, but the chains kept her in place. She stamped her foot. Now what? Cassabrie left without explaining how to dissolve. She mentioned feeling urgency, but what did that mean?

  Looking at a chained wrist, she imagined her arm crumbling to dust and leaking out of the manacle. Cassabrie said it wasn’t hard, but anything can be hard to someone who has never done it before.

  She sat on the floor. So this wasn’t a dream. Now all the pieces were falling into place. When she traveled from Dunwoody’s escape tunnel through that hole in the pile of rocks, she must have dissolved on her own, and just as the pebbles were swept up in Cassabrie’s flow, her sword went partway along with her transport to the pipeline. At the time, she had been trying to wake up, trying to get in touch with her sleeping self. Was that the key to dissolving? To put herself in a state somewhere in between Major Four and Starlight? Maybe attempting the connection would make her dissolve, but if that were true, why hadn’t Professor Dunwoody mentioned a dissolving event when she made a connection while he was present?

  Whatever the case, she seemed to have no control over the situation, and leaving now didn’t fit into the plans. Staying here and facing the stake remained the best option for raising an army. If the Starlighter gifts were real, she would have to tell a tale that would make every warrior weep.

  She sat on the bench and pounded it with a fist. She could do it. She had to do it. The slaves needed help.

  The door rattled, then banged open. The guard stormed in with a sword gripped in a tight fist. He snatched one of her chains, jerking her wrist. “You’re still here,” he grumbled. “Good.”

  Marcelle glared at his bearded face and watery eyes. “What did you think? That I could fit under the door?”

  He slapped her with the back of his hand. “That’ll teach you to be smart with me!”

  She refused to flinch. “Did hitting a woman in chains make you feel more like a man?”

  “I hit a sorceress, not a woman. I’d like to slit your throat, but Orion would have my head.”

  She growled under her breath. “Not if I were trying to escape. Give me a sword, and I’ll give you a chance to be a hero.”

  “The only other sword around here is a display blade on the wall in the courtroom.”

  “That’ll do.” She nodded at his hilt. “Even if I had a sword as unaccustomed to expert handling as yours, I could shave your beard and trim your nose hairs before you could draw yours from its scabbard.”

  He slapped her again, this time more savagely, and again she kept her glare unmoved. “It’s a good thing you have to wear a gag when they tie you to the stake. No one would want to hear your witchy talk.”

  “A gag?” She blinked at him. “Since when do they gag a condemned prisoner?”

  The guard laughed. “Counselor Leo’s orders. He doesn’t want you casting spells at anyone, least of all him, I suspect.”

  Marcelle let her shoulders slump. Not being able to talk would ruin everything.

  “I think you need a little more darkness,” the guard said. “I hear witches are thrown into the abyss, so you’d better get used to it.” He grabbed the lantern from its bracket and shuffled to the door, muttering, “Fool nightmares. I have to stop drinking that cheap ale.”

  Just before he exited, Marcelle rubbed her smitten cheek and looked at her finger. A thin layer of dust coated the tip. Crumbling and escaping through the crack seemed to be her only chance. If she waited until they tied her to the stake, it might be too late.

  When the door closed, shutting out the light, she lay on the bench and looked up into the darkness. Might Cassabrie return? Obviously she would notice that an inexperienced pseudo-Starlighter hadn’t followed. Maybe she guessed that speaking to the crowd was the best option after all, or maybe she got sidetracked and couldn’t return. Regardless of what she was doing now, her strident counsel had been piercing.

  Marcelle sighed. How should she apply it? If she could connect with her body again, maybe she could let Adrian know that she was all right and tell him what was going on here on Major Four. If death really awaited with no chance of raising an army, at least maybe she could say good-bye. And maybe the process really could help her dissolve into dust and give her a way of escape at the execution stake.

  Closing her eyes, she slid a hand inside her tunic and caressed the manna mirror’s smooth wood. When she was little, sometimes Mother let her take it to bed. It always brought peace and calm, allowing her mind to settle and think pleasant thoughts.

  Where might Adrian be now? Was it nighttime on Starlight? Even if so, it still could be daytime there, depending on where the dragons’ village happened to be in the planet’s rotational cycle. In any case, if she could connect again, she would soon find out.

  After letting her mind drift for a few minutes, she opened her eyes. She sat in shallow water with her legs straight out. As little hands propped her up, two girls scooped water and poured it over her legs. One girl dipped a cloth and washed her face, while yet another girl with a cloth reached under her tunic and swabbed her abdomen and chest.

  Marcelle blinked at her familiar face. Shellinda? Yes, Shellinda was here, the girl who escaped from the cattle camp.

  Her legs and arms numb, Marcelle sat still and watched. A boy to her left held a lantern near Frederick, who sat in the water washing his leg. “Keep it up, girls,” Frederick called. “My bone’s healed, and every wound is closing up. It has to work for Marcelle soon.”

  Gathering her strength, Marcelle forced out, “Frederick.”

  “Marcelle?” He leaped to his feet and splashed over to her. “The water’s finally working! Praise the Creator!”

  Shellinda withdrew her cloth and patted down Marcelle’s wet tunic. “I knew she’d be okay!”

  Shaking her head, Marcelle took in a deep breath and spoke again. “My spirit … is in … pri … prison.”

  “Your spirit?” Frederick took the facecloth and mopped her brow. “Just relax. Shellinda told me what you went through. It will probably take you a while to recover.”

  “No!” She dodged the cloth. “I am … on Major … Four.”

  Frederick spread out an arm. “This is Starlight, or Dracon as we called it. But we’ll get you back to Major Four as soon as we can.”

  “I … I am … not here.”

  Frederick squinted. “Not here?”

  “My … my spirit … is in … Meso … Meso …”

  “Mesolantrum.�
�� He smiled as if talking to a child. “I wish we were there, and we’ll get there eventually, but not until we free the slaves.”

  “Have to … stop Leo.”

  “Who is Leo?”

  Marcelle slowed her respiration and concentrated. Explaining who Leo was would take too much effort, and trying to convince Frederick that she was really in a prison cell in Mesolantrum wasn’t going to work, but maybe another strategy would.

  “Where … is Adrian?”

  “I’m not sure. According to the children, he was coming here with Regina and then going back to my cabin. He and I must have missed each other. Since we’ve been here for hours working on you and my leg, he should have arrived at the cabin long ago. I left him a message, so everything should be fine.”

  Again she struggled to speak. “I have … a message … for Adrian.”

  “What message is that?”

  “Tell him … I love him.”

  Frederick drew his head back. “Really? That’s a new development. I thought you two were rivals … well, friendly rivals, but not … um … involved.”

  “Tell him,” she repeated.

  “Okay. I will.”

  “And tell him … I will … bring soldiers.”

  Frederick smiled, again using the kind of smile adults give to daydreaming children. “Well, I hope you do. We could certainly use that.”

  “Cassabrie … will help.”

  “Cassabrie? Who is Cassabrie?”

  She shook her head. It would take too long to explain the situation with the opening of the portal. “How do I … find the cabin?”

  “No need to explain, Marcelle. You should rest.”

  She forced a shout. “Tell me!”

  “Okay,” he said, lifting a hand. “If it will calm you down.”

  As he paused to rewet the cloth, Marcelle listened to the peaceful sounds. In the background of flowing water, the children whispered excitedly. Something above crackled, making her look up. A network of intertwined branches constructed a ceiling. An animal, maybe a squirrel, was probably skittering around up there.

  Frederick partially wrung out the cloth. “Do you know where the river flows into the barrier wall?”

  She nodded.

  “Then I’ll explain the easiest way to find the cabin from there.” He dabbed her forehead and cheeks as he talked. “If you follow the river southward and upstream, it splits into two smaller streams. One goes east toward the mining mesas, and the other continues generally south and into the wilderness, running parallel to the western part of the barrier wall. Eventually, you will go past the end of the wall. At that point, the western side of the stream is a horrific swamp, creating a natural barrier to keep slaves from venturing westward, so a wise traveler will stay on the eastern bank. Actually, either side is hazardous because of snakes and poisonous vines, but a good sword will hack those obstacles out of the way.”

  As Frederick paused again to wet the cloth, the crackling sound repeated. This time, Marcelle kept her head still as she tried to find the source. With the boy’s lantern providing the only light, the entire ceiling looked like a mottled pattern of shifting shadows. One shadow stayed constant. The size of a large cat, it appeared to be crouching, ready to pounce, but with so many people around, it was likely not a danger.

  “The stream will divide once more,” Frederick continued, again dabbing her face. “From that point, follow the left-hand fork until you see a moss-covered log that bridges the stream. Turn left away from the log and walk until you reach an embankment where you’ll have to climb the vines to get to the top. There, you will see a narrow path that runs through the woods to the southeast and leads directly to the cabin. This path is also a haunt for various beasts, but … ” He reprised the condescending smile. “I doubt they will be a concern for armed soldiers.”

  Marcelle dodged the cloth again and glared at him. “I will … bring them. … You will see.”

  “I know you would if you could.” He grasped her wrist. “Let’s see if you can stand.”

  He hoisted her to her feet, then slowly released her. She wobbled, her legs shaking. After a few seconds, everything turned black. A falling sensation followed along with excited chatter. The only words she could pick up were Frederick’s.

  “It’s okay. I can carry her back now. My leg’s fine.” Then all fell silent.

  Marcelle blinked open her eyes. Darkness still shrouded her vision, but now the wetness was gone. She was again lying on the bench in the prison cell.

  She rose to a sitting position, making her chains clink. At least now she knew the way to the cabin. That’s where Adrian probably was, and since Frederick left him a message, he wouldn’t be worried.

  Heaving a sigh, she lay back down. Morning would come soon, as would her execution. It would be best to try to sleep, but with no real body, was sleep necessary? Probably not. This shell of dirt she wore didn’t seem tired. Maybe it would be better to come up with an idea to persuade Orion to remove the gag order. If he acquiesced, then she would have to be ready for her speech.

  What words might set hearts on fire? What would get potential soldiers to shed their skirts and become men? Shame? Ridiculing cowards? Making them fear doing otherwise?

  She shook her head. Fear motivates to action only until a greater fear arises. Shame fades from red to white in the face of danger. The fiery breath of a dragon burns away all memories of ridicule. Negative energy never lasts.

  As she lay quietly, the image of Adrian appeared, again struggling against his chains at the crystalline stake. Another image followed, Adrian in battle in the forest on Major Four, using a pair of swords while combating Darien and his lackey simultaneously. What empowered him to fight with such passion? What transformed him into a raging bull?

  Cassabrie said that love drives Adrian; love is the fuel for his fire. But how does a woman get a man to find the fountain of fire within? Could mere words kindle the flame? Or must he see the danger for himself? Yet, if she showed the people images of brutalized children, fear of her so-called sorcery might douse the flame.

  She blew out another sigh. Whatever lay ahead, she had to be ready for the performance of her life.

  * * *

  ELEVEN

  * * *

  ADRIAN paced the floor in darkness, keeping his footfalls quiet for Regina, who slept peacefully on the bed of leaves. He strolled to the open door for the twentieth time and looked out, listening. Birdcalls filled the air with nighttime twitters, and a wolf howled in the distance, but no human sounds found their way to the cabin. Traveling with so many children, Frederick couldn’t possibly keep them quiet.

  Stepping out, he looked up at the sky. Trisarian shone brightly, painting the surrounding clouds yellow. What time might it be? Close to midnight? It didn’t seem reasonable that Frederick would be gone so long, not with all those young children in tow. And with Drexel lurking out there like a crafty dragon, who could tell what trouble might be afoot? Even with Frederick’s trapping skills, Drexel wasn’t likely to be snared. He was too wary, never trusting anyone.

  He walked back to Regina and stooped next to her, barely able to see her sleeping form in the darkness. Wearing her feather hat again, she seemed as content as could be. It was a shame to wake her up, but there wasn’t much choice.

  Just as he reached for her shoulder, she shot up, knocking her hat off. “Drexel!” she shouted.

  He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly. “Don’t worry. It’s me, Adrian. Drexel’s not here. He’s not anywhere close. I would have heard him.”

  She heaved shallow breaths, her heart beating so rapidly, it pounded against his chest. “Not here,” she said, her voice pulsing with her breaths. “At the healing trees. With Frederick and Marcelle. But Frederick doesn’t know he’s there.”

  “Don’t worry. It was just a bad dream.”

  “Are you sure?” Her breathing slowed. “It seemed so real.”

  “Of course I’m sure. You don’t even know wh
at Drexel looks like, or even Frederick or Marcelle or the other children.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I could’ve made them up in my mind.” She nestled into Adrian’s arms, her head resting against his chest. “Marcelle was really pretty in my dream, though. And strong, too. She has muscles like a man’s.”

  “That’s right. Did you get to feel her muscles while she was sleeping here?”

  “Maybe. I don’t remember.” She reached up and touched him under his nose. “Drexel had this strange mustache. It had curls on the ends, like a—”

  “Curls on the ends?” Adrian stiffened. “How could you know that?”

  “You mean he does?”

  “Tell me Marcelle’s hair color.”

  “I don’t know. It was too dark.”

  Adrian tried to imagine the scene Regina had conjured in her mind. What element could prove that it was more than a dream? “Did anyone say anything? Frederick? Marcelle?”

  “They both did. Frederick talked a lot, but Marcelle didn’t say much. She was still sick. She mentioned you and someone else with a strange name.”

  “A strange name? Do you remember it?”

  “I think so.” She paused a moment. “Cass … Cassa something.”

  “Cassabrie?”

  “That’s it. You said it.”

  “We have to go.” Adrian rose, setting Regina on her feet. “It’s obvious you saw something real. No one else would know that name, not even Frederick.”

  Regina felt for her hat and put it on. “Who is Cassabrie?”

  He took her hand and walked her toward the door. “She’s a Starlighter, someone who can tell tales she hasn’t seen.”

  “Like I just did?”

  “Maybe.” When they exited, he checked the sword at his hip and looked at the sky again. “I’m beginning to think you might be one, but Cassabrie can also make the tales come to life around her, like ghosts showing what happened. I didn’t see any while you were dreaming.”