by T.A. Barron
At last, she spoke again. “I want to try, Morpheus. I want to find him.”
Instantly, the butterfly’s powerful wings exploded into action. Faster they raced, much faster than before, until soon they were nothing but a vaguely blue blur against the stars.
Kate stole a glance to the rear; Earth was no longer in sight. The Sun itself quickly receded into deep darkness. Now there was no turning back. She turned forward again to see hundreds of new stars moving swiftly toward them. The great glowing arch of the Milky Way slowly submerged into a sea of speckled light, and before her eyes, the sword of Orion compressed into a tight knot of stars.
The ride was amazingly smooth. But for the whirring of the wings and the passage of the starry vista, it seemed as though they weren’t moving at all. Kate slightly relaxed her grip on Morpheus’ neck. Hearing the hum of his wings, but unable to see them anymore, she wondered for an instant if they were still there. Instinctively, she started to stretch her hand toward one of the invisible wings.
“Don’t,” warned Morpheus. “My wings are moving faster than light and they could slice anything that touches them to ribbons. That includes you, Kate.”
Embarrassed, she withdrew her hand. None of my thoughts are private anymore. Not even the stupidest ones.
Quickly, however, she forgot the incident as they raced past hundreds upon hundreds of stars. So swiftly did Morpheus carry her that almost as soon as a star drew near, it had vanished behind them. It was like riding a rocket headlong into an endless meteor shower. Throughout, Kate kept her eye on one glowing red star in the deep distance.
“How many stars can there be?” she mused. “Is there any end to them?”
Morpheus gave no answer except to continue beating his powerful wings.
Suddenly, Kate was aware of a delicate, distant sound that seemed to permeate the silence of space.
“Morpheus! What’s that?”
The antennae quivered uncertainly, as the wavering sound grew stronger. As they sailed swiftly into the sea of stars, Kate strained to hear. It was very difficult to catch more than a few faraway wisps of the slow, low, flowing tones.
Gradually, the swelling sound grew more and more resonant. The beautiful tones seemed to dance through the empty corridors of space, like something that was half music and half starlight. Celebration and peace moved through the melody; Kate had never heard anything so lovely. It felt closer and closer, and seemed to surround them, like the beating of some celestial heart.
A special phrase of Grandfather’s popped into Kate’s memory: mysterium tremendum et fascinans. She recalled the day he had discovered it in a medieval prayer and how happily he had shared it with her, saying it should be reserved only for rare moments of wonderment. O great and wondrous mystery.
She listened, eyes closed, for a timeless moment. Then she remembered another phrase, one from a poem by Wordsworth. Fortunately, she had read the poem in one of Grandfather’s books, rather than at school, or it never would have lodged in her memory. As Wordsworth had entered a beautiful valley in Wales, he had found himself, as he put it, disturbed with joy. How, Kate had then wondered, could joy also be disturbing? It seemed an impossible contradiction. Now, for the first time, she felt a glimmer of understanding. But why did this strange music seem to bring those words to life?
Her thoughts turned to the stars whizzing past her: so many of them, and so beautiful! Could they be the source of the music? She recalled how Grandfather had once likened the story of a star’s life to a great biography of Gandhi, Joan of Arc, or Abraham Lincoln: a compelling tale of birth, struggle, triumph, and violent death. He had said that every star eventually reaches a point where the age-old balance between its own gravity, which pulls inward, and its radiant energy, which pushes outward, will fall apart. If it’s a normal star, like the Sun, it will suddenly shudder and compress down to the size of a moon. But if it’s unusually massive, it could expand and expand like a luminous red balloon until—at last—it will burst and collapse so fast and so far that it will disappear completely, leaving nothing behind but a black hole.
Kate looked at the radiant glow of Trethoniel, still distant but drawing ever nearer, and she shuddered at the thought of any star, not just the Sun, dying in a final spasm that swallowed up all its energy and light forever. How wrong that such beauty should be doomed to disappear forever down some cosmic drain! Grandfather had once said that the gravity of a black hole is the strongest physical force in the universe—so strong that even light cannot escape. Did that mean that the heartlight of the living star is also trapped, without escape? Could it be lost forever to the universe?
“No, Kate.” Morpheus did not wish to leave such a question unanswered. As the strange music washed over them, growing stronger by the second, he explained: “Energy can’t be lost completely from the universe. It may be transformed into matter, and back again into energy, but it never totally vanishes. If an electron and a positron collide, they may annihilate each other, but they will still leave behind two photons—brand new particles—with exactly the same energy as before. And what is true at the tiniest level of the universe must also be true for a star. Even a star as big as Trethoniel.”
“So the energy of a star that dies might show up somewhere else? In some new form?”
“Perhaps,” answered Morpheus, his pulsing wings glistening with starlight. “Your physical body was made of material once manufactured inside of a star. So who can tell? Perhaps some of the energy of a dying star finds its way into the heart of a young girl on a distant planet.”
“But what if the whole star gets sucked into a black hole?” demanded Kate, still distraught. “Nothing can get out of there—no light, no heartlight, no anything! Could all that life just vanish?”
Morpheus waved his long antennae gracefully, as if to comfort the hazel-eyed girl seated on his back. “Nothing totally vanishes, Kate. Life doesn’t disappear forever. It only evolves.”
“… as part of the Pattern that Grandfather always talks about,” Kate heard herself thinking. But she wasn’t comforted. The haunting music now seemed more disturbing than joyful.
Suddenly, Kate realized that the great glowing mass of Trethoniel was upon them. Imperceptibly, Morpheus slowed the beating of his wings. Like a flower slowly unfurling, the swirling nebula surrounding the star opened into the spiraling veil she had seen on Grandfather’s monitor. There, in the center, sat the magnificent star itself, encircled by a necklace of gleaming planets.
“Trethoniel!” cried Kate. “Is that where the music is coming from?”
“Mysterium tremendum et fascinans,” said Morpheus in answer.
Soon the great wings ceased beating entirely, and the travelers coasted in open space, illuminated by the shimmering light of Trethoniel and caressed by its music. At once, Kate understood that Trethoniel was not only a star, but also an entire system of planets, moons, and clouds of incandescent gases—as well as the spiraling nebula that wrapped around them all. How many times larger than the Sun’s own solar system this star’s realm must be, she could only guess. She looked in wonder at the luminous circles of light at the outermost edge of the nebula, sparkling like spherical rainbows decked with dew. The entire system seemed to whirl around itself like a dog that had chased its own tail since time began, and would continue to chase it as long as time lasted.
Then, abruptly, the music of Trethoniel faded away into silence.
“Where did it go?” cried Kate. She found herself clutching Morpheus’ neck. “It was so beautiful! Why did it stop?”
“I don’t know,” answered Morpheus, sounding worried.
Kate shook her head. “And how—how will we ever find Grandfather in there? Trethoniel’s system looks as big as a galaxy! He could be on any one of those planets—I see three or four at least—or somewhere on the other side where we can’t see him, or even inside the star itself!”
“Or,” added Morpheus grimly, “he could be in none of those places.”
&nb
sp; Kate’s eyes fell from the radiant star to the butterfly ring upon her hand. She caught her breath. A large slice of the left wing was already gone!
Before she could even think the command, Morpheus beat his great wings again. Together, they sailed into the realm of Trethoniel.
V
The Darkness
As if called by an inaudible voice, the great butterfly began beating his wings in a graceful rhythm. Steadily he carried Kate into the open arms of Trethoniel’s spiraling nebula. As they entered the shimmering, shifting layers of light, Morpheus began to glide. With great swoops from side to side, they sailed deeper into the star’s system, and nearer to the great red star itself.
Kate saw hundreds of objects, large and small, circling the star. In addition to the ones she had expected—planets, moons, asteroids—many strange and lovely formations danced around the star in stately orbit. Some seemingly solid forms were not solid at all when they were seen up close. Some were branching and bent like delicate ferns; others were pinnacles of clouds, whirling and swirling; still others looked like complex geometric crystals. She noticed one formation that resembled a gigantic snowflake, as large as a house. It sparkled like a great jewel as it slowly twirled in space. She wished Grandfather could see this; she could imagine the light of discovery in his eyes. Or had he, perhaps, already seen it?
Morpheus banked to the right to avoid a tangle of holohedral crystals that seemed to be swimming in tight formation, like a school of minnows. As the red light of Trethoniel glistened upon them, Kate wondered if there could be new forms of life here, life totally unlike anything on Earth. She knew how Grandfather would answer her question: Only God knows the answer to that one, Kaitlyn. But if you keep asking …
“Look there,” said Morpheus, his antennae pointing to a creamy white globe emerging from a billowing mass of colored clouds in the distance. “It’s Trethoniel’s most remote planet.”
“It looks like a big snowball,” observed Kate. “I had no idea a planet could be so white.”
She checked the butterfly ring. Nearly half of the ornament’s left wing had disappeared, as had part of the left antenna. How fleeting would be her glimpse of Trethoniel!
As she gazed over Morpheus’ broad wings and looked about herself, Kate’s thoughts drifted momentarily from her search for Grandfather and the plight of the Sun. She was sailing inside a sanctuary, a slice of the universe all but unknown to earthbound observers. She knew that many great scientists (including the members of the Royal Society) would kill for the chance to see all this. How ironic that such an experience should be wasted on a girl who couldn’t even stand science class.
“Wasted is a strong word,” admonished Morpheus, as he banked to avoid an orbiting asteroid. “Maybe there is some aspect of Trethoniel that you can appreciate better than anyone else.”
Kate furrowed her brow. “But I’m not a great scientist or a great anything!”
“That is true,” answered Morpheus with a wave of his antennae. “You are just plain Kate. One day, perhaps, your great qualities will rise above your great insecurities.”
“How can you say that?” she demanded. “You barely know me! You don’t have any idea what a dunce I can be.”
“I know you better than you realize.” Morpheus turned his head and observed his passenger closely. “You, Kate, could change the course of the stars.”
“Me?” Her gaze fell. “I’d be lucky to change the course of an asteroid! I can’t even get Grandfather to eat regular meals, for heaven’s sake! How could I possibly make a difference to a star?”
The butterfly shook his antennae in discouragement. “I’m coming to the conclusion that it would be easier to make a difference to a whole galaxy of stars than to convince you you’re anything special.”
“Just help me find Grandfather,” said Kate testily. “That’s enough for me.”
As the gleaming white planet disappeared into a collection of clouds, a new formation, shimmering in the stellar breeze, caught Kate’s attention. It resembled a kind of curtain, a curtain made of thousands of lavender-tinted icicles. She heard them tinkling gently as the winds passed through them, and the soothing sound helped her mood to pass as well. The lavender curtain glowed invitingly and billowed outward, as if in greeting, as they sailed by.
At that very moment, a vague and shadowy form was gathering itself deep within the bowels of the star. When seen from far away, it resembled a sinister cloud, darker than the foulest pollution ever to belch forth from any smokestack. So huge was its expanse that it could, in repose, obscure a large section of the star from view.
As it drew itself together, the dark form began to knot and tighten until, finally, it had condensed itself into a long, snakelike body—a body so dense that not even the powerful light of Trethoniel could pierce it, a body so black that only one name could describe it.
The Darkness. It was the ultimate void coalesced into a creature. Wherever The Darkness appeared, light withdrew; even as it slithered through space, it erased any light in its path.
The writhing shape of The Darkness lifted itself toward the unsuspecting travelers with frightening speed. Like a vast entrail of emptiness, it gleamed coldly in the starlight, a long and twisting mass with no discernable features save the single red eye, more a swirling electrical storm than an organ of sight, that glowed like an ember in its darkest place. As The Darkness streaked toward the travelers, waves of negative energy crackled around the red eye.
Suddenly, Morpheus felt a tingle of foreboding in his antennae. From the corner of his eye he could see the dark shape approaching rapidly. He swerved sharply and started to climb away from Trethoniel, beating his wings with all of his power.
“What’s going on?” shouted Kate, caught by surprise. “Where are you—”
Her question was interrupted by the sight of the frightening form snaking toward them, leaving a trail of impenetrable blackness in its wake.
The Darkness coiled its fearsome tail and prepared to throw it like a mighty whip. With a searing explosion of negative energy, the tail lashed out, eliminating all the light in its path. It struck at precisely the spot where the travelers would have been but for Morpheus’ quick change of direction. The whiplike crack of the tail sent powerful shock waves racing outward, demolishing the lavender curtain of crystals and several other formations floating nearby.
The shock waves crashed into Kate and Morpheus, sending them spinning through space. A hail of splintered crystals pounded them like a torrential rain.
“Help!” cried Kate when, for an instant, her legs lost their grip on the butterfly’s back. She started to pitch to one side, as fear seized her. “I’m going to fall!”
“Hold on!” commanded Morpheus, wheeling around and dipping one wing like a rudder to regain his balance. “I won’t let you fall!”
As the butterfly righted himself, Kate’s panic ebbed only slightly. “I thought you said I couldn’t fall off!” she exclaimed, grasping his neck tightly with her arms.
“This creature must be made of some kind of anti-light!” cried Morpheus. “And it’s strong enough to separate us.”
“Then get us out of here!”
At that instant, the terrible tail struck again. With the weight of a massive moon, it smashed into a large asteroid floating just behind Morpheus. The asteroid exploded in a violent blast, throwing them into an uncontrolled spin. They tumbled through space like a leaf in a hurricane.
“Help!” screamed Kate in terror, as she started to slide off her perch. Her arms and hands clung desperately to Morpheus’ broad neck, but the shock waves from the explosion knocked them upside down, then sideways, then upside down again.
She was slipping!
“Hold on!” cried Morpheus, working his wings desperately to halt their spin.
She tried to hold on to the morpho’s neck with all her strength. Her heart pounded like a thundering drum. But the tighter she squeezed, the more she slipped to the side. Her fingers dug into
the black fur covering the butterfly’s body. With a final effort, she reached for one of Morpheus’ slender legs …
Too late! She slid off the butterfly and fell headlong into the swirling mists.
She screamed—but the whirling winds screamed louder. Wildly she flailed her arms and legs.
Down, down, down she plummeted, like a sack of stones. So fast was she spinning that she could not see the floating crystals whizzing past her, nor even the great mass of Trethoniel itself coming closer and closer.
Nor could she see another shape, dark and sinewy, racing toward her. The red eye of The Darkness pulsed with desire as it drew nearer, approaching fast.
“Help me!” Kate shouted as she tumbled downward. “Morpheus!”
“I am coming!” the butterfly called, as he dove headlong to catch her. He rocketed past clouds and crystals like a shooting star. Then, to Morpheus’ great horror, the serpentine form of The Darkness expanded at the end nearest to Kate, as if it were opening a cavernous mouth.
Morpheus beat his wings with all his might. Never before had he flown so fast! Now she was within his reach—even as the shadowy shape closed in from below.
With a crackling of negative energy, The Darkness closed itself about Kate, just a fraction of an instant before Morpheus shot past.
She was gone!
Suddenly, Kate felt herself completely embraced by darkness: damp, cold, and stifling. Her fall had been broken. But by what? At first the coldness reminded her of the ghost in Grandfather’s lab—but this coldness was different: It was far more powerful, penetrating, and frightening. The ghost had been a chilling breeze, but this was more like an Arctic blast.
“Morpheus!” she cried, but the word could not pass beyond the heavy darkness surrounding her.
Gradually, Kate perceived something new. An eerie reddish glow began to flow toward her from all sides. And as it flowed it throbbed, like an aching wound. As irresistible as lava streaming down the cone of a volcano, the glow pressed upon her, trying to smother her.