The Light of the Midnight Stars

by Rena Rossner

  For a moment, I think that I’m a ghost and this is heaven—that I’ve passed on to the world to come. I remember hearing my father talk about this world—a place of endless light where there are seven palaces—each one housing different aspects of creation. I wonder which palace we are in.

  I hear a voice and open my eyes. Theodora.

  “I can see all your thoughts,” Theodora says.

  I swallow hard. “Are you dead too?”

  “Dead?” Theodora laughs. “No, not dead, very much alive. Though I suppose this is a kind of heaven, being beside you. We’ve set up camp for the night.”

  “I think I dreamed of him again. Guvriel.”

  “I’ve heard you say his name in your dreams,” she says.

  “I don’t think I will ever be able to forget him, but I want to try.”

  “I don’t expect you to forget him.”

  She puts her arms around me and covers us both with blankets. Through the window of the carriage as we journeyed, all we saw were endless forests covered in snow. I see the same landscape now through a sliver in the tent flap. It matches the way I feel inside. He won’t ever find me now. The words creep like frost across my heart.

  “Tomorrow we will reach Lovech, the home of Ivan Alexander,” Theodora says. “I will present you as my handmaiden, my closest confidante who will remain by my side at all times.” She threads her fingers through mine. “Let there always be truth between us.”

  I chose her. I chose this rather than stay back in Curtea. But as we ride farther and farther away from any hope that Guvriel might keep his promise, I’m not sure it’s what I want at all. At some point, I thought I wanted to wrap myself in a prayer shawl like my father’s students and spend the rest of my life devoted to study and prayer.

  Except that path was never open to me.

  “In a way,” I say cryptically, “I think that you and I are very much alike.”

  “Oh yes?” Theodora grins and turns to her side. “How’s that?”

  “Once, I wanted to be a boy more than anything.”

  “Really?” She cocks her head.

  “Yes, but I don’t want that anymore. When you have no one to teach you, you must find a way to teach yourself. But it’s not easy,” I say.

  “No one said it was,” she replies.

  “I have to figure out who I am without him, and who I am with you. What kind of power I want to have. It’s all very confusing with no scrolls to read or anyone to guide me.”

  “I cannot help you find those things, draga mea, but I can share my journey with you.”

  “I’d like that,” I say. “I’m trying to look towards the future.”

  I remember the story Theodora told me about smoke-walkers and her father, the great Black Dragon of Wallachia. It’s clear that what I know about Theodora only scratches the surface of who she is and what she can do. Yet she knows nothing about me. I promised her there would be truth between us, but I can’t even begin to explain the world I come from to her. When I was with Guvriel, I knew who he was and what he believed. Where he came from, who his parents were, and their grandparents before them, all the way back to King Solomon himself, and from there back to Mount Sinai where all Jewish souls once stood. It is an unbroken chain of tradition that my family is now actively engaged in breaking.

  How do I explain to her how what we once believed governed every minute detail of every aspect of our lives—from what we ate to how we farmed, how we treated our neighbors, how we worshiped God—and the specialness that was my family—my father, our direct connection to the divine via His servant, the great King Solomon himself. The things my father and my sisters could do, the way we once looked at the world. The books upon books that we studied. The scrolls we read from and memorized. The Talmudic debates and the Mishnaic formulas for life as we knew it. How much respect I had for it all despite how much of it was barred from me because of my sex. And the persecution of our people for our belief in our faith—our survival in exile from our Holy Land and how we are fleeing, always fleeing from one Black Mist to another.

  It is why we only marry Jews. Who else could possibly understand what we’ve been through? Is this really the life I want? Or perhaps, like back in Trnava—the life I want is not one I get to choose. Maybe life is a result of what happens to me, not what I’m able to change in the world.

  Once, I had simple dreams. I wanted to learn everything I could about myself and my abilities, and on the way I found love in the form of Guvriel who could give that to me—that and so much more. He was smart and playful, a boy on his way to becoming a man and, most importantly, he was everything my father wasn’t. I had a future. It was planned out and it was good.

  I see his face before me now clearly—it doesn’t merge with Theodora’s anymore. He looks as he did the first time I really saw him. His mischievous smile, the dimple on his left cheek, his long glorious red sidelocks that swung in perfect curls as he tossed his head in laughter, the way he twirled them absentmindedly when he was thinking, or walking me to town on the way to Mária’s house. The last time I saw him he was serious. Frightened. We all were, but in that moment, he was a Solomonar like my father, destined to lead. Our union felt right, blessed by the stars under which we first met and the forest that kept our secrets… and now I’ve lost all of that. How do I explain it all to her? How do I even begin?

  “I’ve lost you,” she says.

  “What?” I shake my head. “Sorry.”

  A cloud darkens Theodora’s face, blocking out all of her light.

  “Nobody should be bound to a life they don’t want.” She turns away from me. “I wanted you to be free to marry who you please, to live a normal life… That was why I tried to stay away from you. I cannot help what I am, the things I desire. But you can be free.”

  “I will never be free.” I chose this. My soul chose this. There are no wrong choices. Perhaps everything is both a curse and a blessing. Yet it’s still the choice I’d make again. Justice, justice you shall pursue, it says in The Book of Devarim. But it is truth I want, just like Theodora.

  “I know what you’re thinking, ‘Why did I make this choice?’ ‘What have I gotten myself into?’”

  “My thoughts might wander, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not confident in my choice.”

  She turns back to me. “When I nearly lost you, I felt for a moment what you must feel all the time. Such emptiness I didn’t think anything could ever fill it. I don’t ever want to feel that pain again. But you are not well. You are not thriving. And I can’t help but blame myself. If you wish to leave—I won’t keep you.”

  It’s as though a crack has formed in Theodora’s armor, and I realize something—she may be wearing a dress, but it’s still armor. And now, I’m the cause of the crack in its veneer.

  “My body is weak,” I say, “but it’s not my body which suffers. I don’t think I ever properly mourned Guvriel—not only him, but the loss of everything he represented—my home, my religion, our way of life. I need to tell you more, but I’m tired.” My hands have turned to ice, as though my body is finally allowing itself to feel the grief that’s been sitting like a rock at the very center of me.

  “So warm yourself by my fire,” Theodora says.

  But I need to speak about Guvriel; I need to get this out. And not just in my sleep. Tell his story, a voice says.

  “You don’t look well.” Theodora puts her hand on my forehead. “Maybe you should rest…”

  “No.” I take a deep breath. “I want to tell you about him.”

  She lays her head on my chest. “Then I will listen,” she says.

  I take a deep breath.

  There was once a red-haired boy who fell in love with the daughter of a scholar. Her father was a leader in his community, known for having special powers that came from the great King Solomon himself. He was revered and cherished by Jews and non-Jews alike. Able to read the position of the stars in the sky to predict the future. He spoke to animals in their l
anguage, saw things through their eyes, could change his form to theirs. He knew the property of every plant and herb, and could call on the rain and the clouds and command them to take form. He rode a white dragon made of cloud—a serpent with wings and a long tail and the head of a horse and the mane of a lion, its breath so cold it froze the water in the clouds. He and his wife had three girls and each one was gifted with their father’s abilities.

  But the middle child felt dwarfed by the perfect, easy way her older sister had with plants and her ability to heal others, and she grew jealous of the way her younger sister was always looking at the stars, making predictions and gaining all of their father’s love and attention.

  She met a boy in the woods one night in the form of a fox, and he taught her truths about herself and the things she could do. It was the first time she felt seen as worthy, valuable, talented.

  The red-haired boy was attracted to her intensity, to the spark of fire within her. He asked her to marry him. Her father approved of the match, but not the timing. He hoped that marriage would cure her of her strange behavior, the tendency she had to set things on fire, but his eldest daughter wasn’t married yet. And so, the couple had to wait.

  They were engaged, though they could not yet marry.

  The girl’s mother apprenticed her to a weaver in town, something to keep her hands occupied, but her longing for her fiancé only grew. She began to fear that she would never marry. That she would never be anything other than the middle sister shadowed by the wondrous things the others in her family could do. She dreamed that someday people would flock to her. That they would call her the Holy Maiden. That dozens would turn up to hear her pray and speak words of Torah on Shabbat afternoons. They would beg her to bless them. But it was all just a dream that would never be.

  Soon her sister married.

  But then tragedy struck.

  Her sister’s husband was killed. Their family had to flee. The girl was torn from her fiancé’s arms before she ever got a chance to be with him. He swore he’d come for her. But he never did. And all her dreams were shattered.

  She vowed never to marry if she couldn’t be with him.

  Some say that you can see her still, wrapped in a prayer shawl, swaying to words that only she can hear. When the winds pick up and start to howl at the window, some say that mournful sound is her, forever mourning the loss of her true love.

  “But that doesn’t have to be your story,” Theodora says, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. “You may not be able to change how it begins, but you can change how it ends.”

  I stare into her eyes. “I think I’d like to try,” I say.

  Anna

  14 Nisan 5123

  With both of my sisters gone, things have settled into a routine.

  I am mistress of my own house now, my own farm. We are close enough to my parents that I’m able to visit once or twice a week, but far enough away that I feel free in a way I’ve never felt before. There are no eyes watching me. No community judging every move I make.

  The days are long and hard, but fulfilling. The land is rich and green. I’ve started clearing room for a garden outside. Each day I do a little more. My hands are slowly remembering the things they used to do, awakening together with the soil as it thaws from the long winter. Ground aching, beneath the snow, for release.

  Tonight would have been the holiday of Passover. We would have been preparing all day in the kitchen, chopping and baking, setting the table. Instead, I gathered bitter herbs from the fields and placed them in our stew.

  For the first time in a long time, I wanted to remember.

  I didn’t speak of it to Constantin, but as we ate supper, I recited the verses we would have said. In every generation a person must see himself as if he himself left Egypt. The words have never felt so true. Have we reached the Holy Land? Or is Curtea yet another encampment in the desert? I told Constantin that all I want is to put down roots somewhere, but what he doesn’t know is that my people are cursed to always wander.

  I know I’m violating the laws tonight, writing these words down. On holidays we don’t write or light fires or do any kind of creative work, and yet here I am. But this is the first time in months that I’ve cared, and that feels like something too. Something worth remembering.

  Constantin and I have spent every night together since the night Stanna left. He hasn’t been called to duty yet; he was denied the request he made to go with Theodora as her private guard. I had mixed feelings at the time. On the one hand, I wanted him to protect my sister. On the other, I didn’t want to be alone. In the end, it wasn’t his choice to make. Basarab ordered him to stay here. It means we are getting to know one another, sharing secrets and pleasures. It means that he’s safe.

  I bake him corn bread dotted with strawberries—echoing the words I once said in the forest in a kind of forced jest—If I were ever to marry again, I would bake my husband strawberry bread every day… to keep his lips and cheeks pink and his heart red and full so he could stay young and brave and mine forever.

  At night, I watch the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps, I trace his lips with my tongue. I am safe and we are healthy. Let him be young and brave and mine forever, I pray. I feel my belly swell each day. I have everything I could possibly want. Yet the shell of my heart is dry, brittle and empty. I cannot light a fire without remembering; I keep letting the hearth grow cold.

  We are all bound with one chain of darkness.

  —The Book of the Solomonars, page 78, verse 3

  Evil comes in many forms and fires start in many ways. And sometimes life doesn’t play out the way that we expect it to. In times like these, we have to make a choice. In the end, we do what we must to survive, even if we don’t understand the choices we make. There are many different kinds of resistance. Sometimes resistance means letting go.

  Stanna

  The first few weeks in Lovech are a blur. When we arrive, we’re met by servants who cart trunks of clothes and belongings upstairs. Ivan Alexander is out hunting. I think Theodora expected him to be waiting for her—to ride out and meet our carriage—but perhaps it’s better this way. We get a chance to settle in first.

  We are shown to drafty rooms where a fire has been lit in the hearth but hasn’t quite warmed the rooms yet. Theodora announces that I will share her room, and no one else. I spend most of the day attending to Theodora together with the servants. I stand by as they bathe her, arrange her hair, dress her, and prepare her to meet her intended.

  The wedding is to take place in a few days. Basarab and Marghita will be in attendance, along with Nikolas and Laptitza, Constantin and Anna. I’ve never stayed in a room this lavish. I’ve never seen so many servants. I wonder if this is what Hannah felt when she went with Jakob to attend to the duchess. And then I feel guilty for not asking her more about what it was like. Perhaps I could have prepared myself better. I must force myself not to stare doe-eyed in shock at all the finery around me.

  A knock sounds on the door to Theodora’s chamber.

  “Prince Ivan Alexander wishes to meet you,” one of the guards says.

  Theodora says, “Yes, I am ready.”

  “You too,” he says, looking in my direction.

  I look behind me, but there’s no one there.

  “Me?” I say.

  “Yes, you too. The prince wishes to meet every member of his household.”

  My eyes meet Theodora’s. She nods.

  When we enter the chamber of Ivan Alexander, he is seated at a desk. I follow what Theodora does, except I bow my head and curtsy when I stand before the prince. “My lord,” she says. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

  “My lord,” I say.

  “Well met, my future bride. I trust the journey wasn’t too long or difficult?”

  “It was uneventful,” Theodora says.

  “You are Stanna?” He turns to me.

  “I am, your grace,” I say.

  “Step out of the shadows and let me see
your face,” he says.

  I step forward and look up.

  “This is your handmaiden?” he says to Theodora.

  “Yes, she is my trusted confidante,” she replies.

  “I’ve been told that you’ve requested that she always be by your side—do you not trust the security in the palace?”

  “I am but lonely, your grace, and Stanna reminds me of home. She keeps me entertained.”

  He looks at me with newfound interest. “Very well. Perhaps Stanna might find time to entertain me as well,” he chuckles, which turns into a deep belly laugh that sends chills down my spine.

  I see that he is handsome, but there is an edge to him. Sharp like the blade of a knife. I’d grown so used to hating him—hating that he was taking Theodora away—forcing her into a marriage she doesn’t want, that I saw his face in my mind as old, gnarly and wrinkled. I couldn’t imagine him otherwise. But his hair is dark and thick, his forehead broad, his face long and lean. He has a mustache and a short beard, his cheekbones prominent, his eyes brown and warm but striking in their depth. He doesn’t miss a thing. He sees all of my thoughts. I am clearly a curiosity. Something he wants to understand. Who am I and why am I here? I keep asking myself the same questions.

  “I heard you made a miraculous recovery,” he says to me.

  “Your future bride nursed me back to health,” I reply.

  “I did not know she was skilled in the healing arts,” he says, looking at Theodora with appraisal.

  “Neither did I, your grace,” I mumble.

  “No need for titles between us.” He flaps his hands at me. “I want my wife to feel comfortable here, and if a trusted maid from home is what she needs—then so be it. I wanted to meet the one who has found so much favor in her eyes.”