Above the Star

by Alexis Marie Chute

  “He knew,” Zeno interjects.

  “You’re right. Arden told Tessa that Ella wouldn’t die. That he had hope. Then he was gone the next morning. His clothes were missing too. And his boots and backpack. There was not even a note, which made me wonder: maybe Arden hadn’t intended to be gone as long as he was. Then the days added up.”

  “You can save her. The girl. The cure is in Jarr-Wya, as Arden knew, and I can take you to it.”

  “How can I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “You can’t. You have two choices. Leave my shop, enjoy the islands, and travel home. Your granddaughter will die in a matter of sunsets. Tessa will despise you for your son’s actions and you will die alone. Or—” Zeno emphasizes the word, leaning forward with both palms on the glass “—you trust me. Simple. You are near death yourself, Archibald. What do you have to lose? You have even more to gain. A healthy grandchild. A daughter in Tessa. Happiness.”

  “You really only see this going one way, don’t you?”

  “To me,” Zeno rests back on his chair, “the answer is clear. What does your intuition tell you?”

  Archie thinks for a moment. Even though he dreamed of reuniting his family, Arden set out on an even greater mission. If Archie can trust this creature, maybe he can finish the work his son began.

  “How will I get back with the cure?” Archie finally asks.

  “Simple. Like I told you, only someone who has been displaced to a world other than their own can make a portal to return home.”

  “But you said that person cannot also operate it.”

  “True. I know one of my kind, a Bangol, who desires this world, or at least I desire it for him. You two will transport back here together; Ella will be saved, and all will be right.”

  “Will we be gone long? In this world’s time I mean?”

  “Time in my world is fluid, water over rocks. It moves sometimes slower, often quicker; it is hard to tell. We must be off. Do you have something of your granddaughter’s?”

  “No.” Archie searches the bottoms of his pockets, but knows he has nothing. “Why?”

  “I thought you would at least come with the child, as I had told your son was ideal if not necessary. Must I always repeat myself? To locate a cure, you need the ailing one, or at least an article of her clothing or another belonging. This possession becomes a talisman, an object which evokes the power of deepfelt emotion, an instrument of desire to succeed in bridging worlds, an aid for channeling your focus in transporting a remedy to one unable to journey to it themselves”

  “The ship! We must hurry to the Odyssey before Ella and Tessa return from their tour!”

  “You said they were on the continent.”

  “I’m sorry, Zeno. No more lies.” Although Archie wonders at the truthfulness of even these words. He also begins to question why Arden broke his promise to take Zeno with him to Jarr-Wya. Maybe his son knew something that he does not.

  “I shall retrieve the Tillastrion,” Zeno croaks, hopping down from his stool.

  As Zeno walks from the counter and through a floral back-curtain, Archie studies him. Zeno is about four feet tall, with short, stubby legs supporting a long torso and disproportionately gangly arms. “If anything, I outweigh him by about a hundred pounds,” Archie says under his breath.

  Oh Archibald, what have you gotten yourself into? Run now while there is time! he scolds himself in his mind and slaps his thighs to stimulate the blood flow, to prompt his legs to bolt, but he finds his body disobedient. Archie senses he must follow through with what Arden had intended, though everything in his well-worn nature screams in protest. There’s a reason—you daft fool—that you like your routine, your comfortable chair, your corner of the city, your safe life! This isn’t you. You’re no hero.

  Zeno emerges from behind the curtain wearing a camouflage jacket that matches his hat, which is also back on his bald, bumpy head. A sack is slung over one shoulder and his hands hold a simple pine box sealed by a rustic brass clasp. “Is that it?” Archie asks, startled by the simplicity of the object. “What’s inside?”

  “No time. No time. We must be off!” Zeno protests. He brushes past Archie and walks out the door. At the last moment before he disappears into the swirl of the storm, which has torn leaf from branch and chases each through the currents, Zeno turns back to stare at Archie with his radiating, buttery eyes. Zeno opens his mouth, usually twisted in a menacing sneer, and says, “The happenings on Jarr-Wya are never truly as they appear. Be careful who you trust, Archibald—even me, though for now our fates are aligned.” Zeno disappears into the rain.

  Chapter 5

  Archie stares into the perfectly round yellow eyes and they stare back. They betray no emotion, and cast their own light even when closed, glowing beneath the thin layer of rough, dirty-gray skin. Zeno has no eyebrows or eyelashes, maybe no hair at all except for the thick brown matted patches on his chest and on the tops of his hands. Archie refrains from imagining what is concealed beneath the human clothing the Bangol wears with the discomfort of scratchy wool. There are silver-white mounds growing out of Zeno’s face along his cheekbones and beginning again at his temples, arching down the back of his neck.

  “They are stones,” Zeno says. “My race, the Bangols, are of the earth. Clay and stone and soil.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Only when young. The stones grow outward like teeth, breaking the skin, slicing it from the inside. For some, the stones never stop their conquest. They grow and grow until their hosts resemble massive, unmoving flowers. Inwardly they destroy the brain, crushing it as if it were ripe fruit.”

  Archie and Zeno sit on a torn seat in a derelict cab, which scrapes along the angled roads of Arrecife. Zeno speaks freely, ignoring the driver who slid shut a plexiglass window after Archie’s instructions, muffling him to his passengers though providing little actual protection from the creature he stares at in the rear-view mirror. The Bangol clutches the wooden box. The muscles in Archie’s fingers tingle, aching to touch the object he has read so much about in Arden’s notebooks. “Every Tillastrion is unique, fashioned with desire by the hands of its maker,” Zeno says. As if knowing Archie’s thoughts, Zeno croaks again in a coarse voice, “Not yet, Archibald Wellsley. Don’t you want to save her? Then do what I say and only what I say.”

  Turning to look out the fogged window, Archie sees his own reflection. His white hair is damp from the downpour and worry deepens the wrinkles creasing his skin—and yet his eyes sparkle with the possibility of hope, though not hope itself.

  On the other side of the island’s rolling hills, with orange and shrub-freckled flatlands, floats Marina Lanzarote, where the Atlantic Odyssey is moored. “Almost there,” Archie says, not looking back at Zeno, though he can see the creature’s lemon-colored light illuminating all the filthy crevices of the cab better left in shadow.

  “Your son did not listen to me, so he died,” Zeno tells Archie. “If you want to save her, I will bind us together by the wrists before we operate the Tillastrion. It would not be worth sacrificing your hand to cut us loose. Soon we will see Jarr-Wya. Even now I can feel it.”

  Chapter 6

  The cabbie grumbles in Spanish when he unfolds the twenty Euros Archie tosses in his direction. The complaints are abruptly silenced as Archie swings shut the taxi door and hustles to catch up to Zeno, who already approaches the Atlantic Odyssey. “Stay behind me,” Archie warns the creature as they ascend the plank to the main deck. A ship attendant greets the passengers a few paces ahead of the suspicious pair. Archie nods as they pass the unsuspecting young man who welcomes them aboard. “This way,” Archie directs Zeno into a set of sliding doors toward the maze of inner hallways.

  “Oh, good heavens!” a portly woman wails, steadying herself on the glossy railing of the grand staircase. Nearby passengers and busy cruise staff turn curiously toward the commotion where Zeno has mistakenly bumped into the opera singer, Lady Sophia, as he surveys the ship. “Dear sir!”
Lady Sophia shrieks at Archie, her jowls jumping as she speaks, “please keep your grandchild in tow!”

  Archie looks around for Ella, confusion wrinkling his brow, before realizing the woman is referring to Zeno. Standing nearly two feet taller than the creature in her soaring high heels, all she can see is the top of Zeno’s hat.

  “Someone, keep this woman in tow!” Zeno retorts loudly in his deep, raspy voice.

  Lady Sophia’s face morphs from injury to shock. “¡Madre mía! Good heavens—your eyes!” she yelps in her Spanish accent and faints onto the wide staircase.

  The cruise director, Valarie, recently returned from touring the Biosphere Reserve at Timanfaya National Park, runs up the stairs two at a time to kneel, panting, beside the groggy singer. “Oh my, Lady Sophia! I am terribly sorry for whatever has transpired here. I will address this promptly!” To the gawking passengers, she adds, “Nothing to see here folks! Have a lovely afternoon!”

  Archie and Zeno withdraw from the crowd and slip silently away, just as Lady Sophia lets out an impassioned moan and exclaims, “¡Hostia! I have never, never in all my life been treated so poorly!”

  Archie peeks over his shoulder as they slink away. Valarie is scanning the passengers for the instigators and Archie hurriedly shoves Zeno into an intersecting corridor before the cruise director spies them.

  “Here, gentlemen,” Valarie calls to nearby staff. “Please, help me escort Lady Sophia to her suite.” The workers drop their errands and heave Lady Sophia’s meaty arms over their shoulders as Valarie lifts the train of the singer’s sequined gown.

  “Did you see those eyes?” Lady Sophia rants. “Those eyes! Those huge yellow eyes!”

  “I do hope this upset will not affect your performance tonight . . .”

  Valarie’s voice fades as Archie urges Zeno down the hallway and into another, longer corridor.

  “You understand why I remain in the darkened spaces of this world,” Zeno says when the pair are finally tucked away in Archie’s cabin.

  Archie leans against the door, catching his breath, one hand resting on his wildly beating heart.

  “You are close to death?” Zeno asks without concern. “At least wait till we travel.” He hoists himself up on a corner of the bed.

  “I believe death is near, as long as I’m in your company!” Archie huffs. Man and creature surprise each other with laughter.

  Their grins disappear quickly, however, at the sound of firm, persistent knocking at the door. “It must be Valarie!” Archie whispers. “She recognized me!” He crouches and runs his hands over his bald, freckled head.

  “Who’s there?” Zeno demands, perfectly mimicking Archie’s nuanced Pacific coast accent.

  “It’s me, Archie. Tessa! Are you all right?”

  Archie’s shoulders slump. “It’s Tess,” he sighs, and peers through the small eyehole. Tessa and Ella stand in the hall, Ella looking bored and Tessa irate. They hold dripping-rain tunics that dampen the floor.

  “Should I bring Ella?” Archie wonders aloud.

  Zeno answers, “She is ideal, as I told your son.”

  “Archie? Are you okay? Let me in!” Tessa demands, banging loudly again.

  “Let her in before she draws more attention!” Zeno warns.

  “Quick, in the bathroom!” Archie points at the narrow door and Zeno slips inside.

  Archie opens the cabin door and Tessa barges in. “I’m relieved you’re here,” she says. “But from now on, we stay together! I’ve been worried about you all day! Are you okay?”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Your face. It’s all red and splotchy—and you’re sweating through your coat. Were you exercising?”

  “Me, exercise? Pah! I just returned from a brisk walk along the coastline. Lovely island, really. Quite damp out there, though. And, as you can tell, I’m a tad bit out of shape, that’s all.” Archie turns to Ella before Tessa questions him further. “How was the reserve? Did you take any good pictures?”

  Ella nods, pulling out her phone. She leans her head on Archie’s shoulder as he flips through her photographs. “Oh, these are great! Well done, Ell!” Archie pulls off Ella’s Mariners cap and kisses her forehead. “I love you, sweetie, you know that, right?” Ella wraps her arms around Archie’s waist. “I would do anything for you, Ell.”

  “You sure know how to make my girl happy. Thank you for that,” Tessa says.

  “She is my world, this girl.”

  “Mine too.” Tessa turns to Ella and smiles weakly. “Can you give me and Grandpa Archie a sec, hon? Here’s our room key. I’ll be two minutes behind you.”

  Once the door closes after Ella, Tessa turns to Archie. “At the park today, Ella nearly lost her balance on the path. She bent over, clutching her head. The headaches are getting worse. I worry we shouldn’t have come on this trip.”

  “You heard the doctors. We’re out of treatment options. So, what do we do? Hole-up at home and let her suffer in the shadows? Or show her the bright beautiful world while we still can? I haven’t seen her this happy in—I don’t know how long.”

  “You’re right.” Tessa smiles faintly. “Thank you, Archie.”

  “You know, I am feeling chilled from the rain today. I think I need to call it a night.”

  “Do you need your blood pressure meds? I’ll get them for you.” Tessa puts her hand on the bathroom knob but Archie shuffles between her and the door.

  “No!” he says too hastily. Deliberately lowering his voice an octave, he adds, “I just need a rest. I promise I’ll be in tip-top shape for our stop tomorrow on that island . . . oh bother, whatever it’s called.”

  “But you’re going to miss the cruise show tonight. Lady Sophia! The world-renowned soprano! The ‘darling of the stage’ as she’s been called.”

  “Oh brother, that old cow?” Archie waves his hand dismissively. “For as big as her voice may be, her ego is even bigger. I saw her earlier on the staircase. Someone bumped into her and she made a huge fuss, as if she were the queen of England. I’ll pass. I’d rather order dinner into my room and read my Canary Islands guide book, if it’s no bother to you.”

  Archie latches the deadbolt behind Tessa when she leaves, then steps into the bathroom. Zeno is sitting on the floor, surrounded by the contents of Archie’s toiletry bag. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Why do you have so many pills? Really! Your doctors merely guess at what people in my world learn from infancy.” Zeno tosses a pill bottle he failed to open into the sink, where it clatters to rest near the drain. “Let’s proceed.” The Bangol jumps up and leads the way out of the bathroom. “You let the girl go,” he adds.

  Archie stares at Zeno a moment before answering. “I can’t put Ella in danger. She is so pale. I will risk my life, but not hers.”

  Zeno pulls the Tillastrion from under the bed. “Your granddaughter is fading quickly,” he says. Archie nods thoughtfully. “Her spirit is strong and blue, like busy streams, dancing and jumping and crackling—but her body! It is gray, like ash rising on the breath of fire. It soars now but soon it will fall.”

  Archie feels his age in every corner of his body. “What I wouldn’t give to change places with her. Ella deserves a life. A good long, full life.” Archie shrugs off his wish for Ella to experience milestones, mistakes, crossroads, heartaches, and all the joys of living, as he focuses on his mission. One day at a time, Archie tells himself. Let’s get through today and see what the Tillastrion may bring tomorrow, he repeats in his head.

  “Tell me, what makes this child so special that she has such a hold over you?”

  “Where do I begin?” Archie smiles, looking off as if he does in fact have a porthole to stare through. “She is a thoughtful girl. She listens, really listens, and hears more than the words you say. After my wife died—Ella’s Grandma Suzie—I said I was okay, but I wasn’t. Ella knew. Though she had no idea how to ease my grief-stricken heart, she helped in the only ways she knew how. One time I told her mom that my
pillow was too flat, it was hurting my neck. Of course, Tessa told me to fold it in half and that I’d be fine, but when I went to bed that night, something was different. I didn’t know what at first, but then I found Ella’s pillow, still in its pink floral pillowcase, beneath my own. She was eight then. She has always taken care of me, that girl.” He shakes his head fondly.

  “And her laugh—oh, if you had heard it! It was the kind of laugh that makes your heart feel lighter, actually physically lighter, and you cannot help but to smile with your whole face all lit up. I hope I will never forget the sound of Ella’s laughter.” Archie wipes tears from his cheeks with his thumb.

  “I peered through the door. She looks like your son, apart from her hair. That feature belongs to that Tessa woman, in all certainty.” As Zeno says these words, his eyes begin to radiate more brilliantly and Archie squints. Zeno unlatches the wooden box. “We’re almost ready, Archibald Wellsley. Do you have something of the girl’s?”

  “Yes!” Archie announces proudly, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Bending low, he picks up an object lying on the floor beside the bed and holds it up: Ella’s Mariners hat. “I tossed it there when she wasn’t looking. I hope this will work.”

  Zeno nods. “Now, join me here, and let me bind our wrists.”

  Archie hesitates, hoping Zeno doesn’t notice. Suppressing the alarms flaring in his head, Archie quickly sits on the duvet beside the small creature, who pulls fraying twine from the breast pocket of his jacket and loops it around their two wrists, tying a triple knot at the end. Then Zeno places the Tillastrion on his lap, the lid now open, and Archie peers inside.