The Stargazers

by Allison M. Dickson

  THE STARGAZERS

  By

  Allison M. Dickson

  Smashwords Edition

  The Stargazers

  Copyright © 2012 by Allison M. Dickson

  http://www.allisonmdickson.com

  Cover Design and Illustration by Florence Sorensen

  http://www.designdoohickies.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or any available ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All persons and places in this book are fictional, but certain geographical landmarks have been borrowed to fill the spaces. For instance, the burial mound featured in the story is based on the same one located in the town I grew up, Miamisburg, OH. The town of Miller’s Glenn itself is based a great deal on the size and scale of Miamisburg as well. Only there is no Quick Lube on the main avenue of the downtown area, and the ice cream parlor there is called 3 Dips instead of Double Dips

  Works by Allison M. Dickson

  Short Stories

  Aria

  Dust

  Vermin

  Under the Scotch Broom

  Liar’s Tongue

  George’s Tonic

  Taste

  Singularity

  A Concealed Hand

  Abner’s Wisdom

  A Debacle of Donuts

  Epilogue

  The Shiva Apparatus (Coming Soon)

  Novels

  Scarlet Letters: The Tale of the Vampire Mailman

  The Stargazers

  The Last Supper (Coming Soon)

  To my mother Lisa, whose wisdom gives me strength, and who always makes the flowers grow.

  -1-

  Aster hurried through Ellemire’s central market just after sunrise, a long list in hand for food for which she had no appetite. It wasn't customary for a Stargazer daughter to procure the supplies for her own departing feast, but she was happy to volunteer just as an excuse to get out of the house, and the long walk in the cool morning air was helping to clear her mind. Aunt Oleander, though unbearable on most days, was being a downright jackal this morning, screaming and scowling and cursing about. She even threw a bottle of rare dragon's milk at Aunt Holly, and then kicked the poor girl because the glass had dared to shatter.

  And why wouldn't Oleander be a grump? Her best slave would be leaving this world tomorrow. Though Aster had been fretting about her obligation for some months, she would not miss the sore shoulders and discolored hands that came with mixing Oleander's unctuous and smelly potions and salves.

  It was hard to believe it was finally happening. After years of emotions that ranged from anticipation to dread and tears, she would be ordained with her womanhood and then venture through the Tree of Doors to find her mate, as all of the Stargazer women had done since before even Nanny Lily could remember. She'd grown up hearing tales of her ancestors falling in love with princes and kings, great men who had been as powerful in their world as the Stargazers were in Ellemire. Aster wasn't sure now how much of that was made up to comfort a frightened young girl about the prospect of moving to a strange world by herself, to court a man, kindle his child and then flee, but did she hope in the secret part of her heart that there would be a prince waiting for her on the other side of that door? Perhaps a little.

  People stared as she strolled along the dirt-packed avenue, busy even at this early hour. She could hear their broken whispers, mostly from the old ones who grew up hearing about the “Stargazer Curse.” She of the cursed pink hair. Never look her in the eyes! She will touch you with the Old Magic! Always the same admonitions about her hair and eyes. Sometimes they spat at her. On a few occasions, she'd felt the blow of soft fruit hitting her in the back as she passed by. Right now, an old crone with a large hump in her back forked the sign of the evil eye at her with one wrinkled hand while wrenching away the head of the little boy who had been smiling at Aster with the other.

  Aster wished she could gather up the courage to really scare them. Maybe call up some of that Old Magic she supposedly had and knew how to use and curse them all. Perhaps turn a few of the nastier ones into frogs or newts as the old folktales went.

  Only problem with that was she didn't know what the Old Magic was supposed to do, or how she was even supposed to use it. What was it about ancient legends and portends that were so vague and mysterious, anyway? You'd think, if it were so bloody important, there would be a highly detailed book or scroll on the subject that left no doubt. Of course, that would be almost convenient, and when it came to the strange magic and religion of Ellemirens, nothing was convenient. And their prophets were apparently quite lazy.

  Aster had many more duties to fulfill before leaving, but what she most longed to do was climb her favorite tree and sketch a perfect picture of the only land she’d ever known. Ellemire had never loved her, but she had always loved it. The way the wisps of multi-colored fog twined around the Bas-Magenta trees at dusk. The soft cries of the Vestras coming off the lake at moonrise, the lighted tulips that graced the homes of the nobility, and the way they speckled the hillsides with beautiful globes of pink, blue, and yellow. But her favorite was the Grah Festival, which came after the year's final harvest, where thousands thronged the village streets in woven masks of wheat to pay homage to the grain gods who, at least until recent years, had blessed them with regular rains and strong bounties. Alas, the drought had carried on for two summers now, and many believed Grah was punishing them for something.

  Being the guardians of the Old Magic, the Stargazers had taken a lot of that blame, but perhaps it wasn't unwarranted. The Old Magic, at least according to Nanny Lily, was running out. “This is why you must go, child. Ellemire may hate us, but all those who hate do so because they don't understand.” When Aster had replied that she too didn't understand, the old woman said nothing. Just a blank, rheumy stare. That was Nanny Lily's way of telling you that you were a foolish twit, but she preferred you figured it out on your own.

  Most of the market’s vendors were already sitting beneath colorful striped canopies that lined each side of the sprawling market. They were hawking everyday items from fruits, vegetables, herbs, and cured meats to kitschy wares like animated wood carvings, singing flowers, pet fairies in glass jars, shoes that made you dance. And of course there were the potions. Thousands and thousands of tonics, ointments, and powders that could heal, injure, soothe or excite. That was Ellemire's greatest trade, and people traveled from all over the land to find cures for almost any ailment. That was Aunt Oleander's specialty, and she was probably the most well-known alchemist around, Stargazer or not. Even Aster had to admit her aunt had a keen way of handling ingredients, though the cruel witch wouldn't be nearly as prolific if not for all of the family members who did the hard work of mixing and bottling them.

  Early morning shoppers trotted by on their mounts. While most rode standard horses, the more well-to-do owned Ro-Hawks, exotic magical hybrids. They were fierce looking creatures that had the heads and elongated bodies of horses, but were covered in sleek black feathers. Some of the owners liked to customize the colors, or enchant them with luminescence so that they glowed. Majestic as they were, Ro-Hawks were also known for randomly turning on their masters by gutting them with their razor-sharp talons. Aster much preferred her old brown gelding, Safi, who was hitched nearby.

  After purchasing a clean and plucked goose, a basket of apples, and a bag of flour (that was particularly dear, given the grain s
hortage), Aster focused on securing the most important item on her list: chocolate. Aunt Oleander’s instructions had been clear. “If you show up here with your dumb cow’s face and not a lick of chocolate, you’ll have a might spot of trouble, Miss.” Her aunt used chocolate for many of her potions and as coating for her pills, but everyone knew the real reason she wanted it was for her daily afternoon snacks. Of course, it would have meant death to anyone who pointed that out.

  As the ill fates would have it, the chocolate man was also Aster’s least favorite market vendor. Fernby Larex was a short and corpulent thing, with a large brown mole between his eyebrows that looked like a third eye. Being the only chocolate man in the village, he took every opportunity to make her visits revolting, usually by being as disgusting and ghoulish as possible.

  As she drew toward his booth, he glared at her and sucked a huge ball of phlegm into the back of his throat and spat it over the low sidewalls of his booth. The gob of greenish yellow slime splatted a few feet from her shoe. “Lovely,” she muttered through clenched teeth and then forced a smile. “Hello Mr. Larex.”

  “Ah, surprise surprise. Ze Great Mother back for more chocolat for her wicked witch aunties, yes yes? I hope you come wis many many crowns, for ze prices have risen high high this week.” He then stuck his pudgy index finger far enough up his nose to tickle his brain.

  Aster suppressed her gorge and kept her eyes trained on his. Her violet gaze made most of the villagers uneasy. “I need three stones of cocoa powder, six bars, and some nibs. And I expect the price you negotiated with me last time we purchased.”

  Ferby’s eyes grew wide and he wiped his digging finger on the front of his shirt. “You can’t just get ze same prices you got last time! Ze cost of cacao changes daily daily, especially during zis terrible terrible drought! It's zix crowns per stone. No more no less.”

  Aster sighed. She'd expected this to happen, because it happened every time. “Mr. Larex, I just overheard you bargaining with Merna Toadstool when I was purchasing my goose just two booths over, and you sold ground cocoa powder to her for three crowns per stone. My aunt Oleander is easily your biggest customer, and she’s been paying you at least four and a quarter.”

  “Zat’s exactly right right! She buys ze most of my cacao. Supply up, prices down. Supply down, prices up. Tell your aunt she should buy less less chocolat if she wants prices low low!” He spat again, this time near a cauldron that held an enormous vat of melted chocolate.

  “Okay, Mr. Larex. I’ll be sure to tell Ellemire’s premier potion and poison maker that you refused to sell her cocoa at a fair price. I’m sure she’ll understand completely. But just in case, you might want to watch what you put in your mouth. Or up your nose.”

  Fernby’s bushy eyebrows, and the mole between them, rose as Aster spoke. Her last words hung in the air between them as the bustle in the market slowed to a trickle. Somehow their little exchange had attracted an audience. “You make your point big big, Great Mother. It just zo happens I have come into a large cacao zurplus zis week.” As he turned away to fill the order, there was a low grumble amid the spectators, and when Aster turned her eyes on them, they quickly dispersed.

  Five minutes later, Aster slung a large sack of cocoa powder, bars, and nibs (all of which she purchased for the miraculous price of one and a half crowns per stone) over her shoulder. After securing it to Safi, she rode away from the village toward the quiet borderlands, feeling the burden of people’s eyes and gossip slowly fading from her back.

  An hour later, she arrived at the small A-frame cottage she would call home for only one more night. The sun was at the perfect spot for her drawing, and she’d have just enough time before meeting Aunt Oleander in the potion room for her last day as the insufferable woman’s apprentice. Papa Quercus, the family's handyman and Nanny Lily's companion, was at the fire pit stacking a large pile of wood for the bonfire. Tomorrow night, she would burn all her childhood possessions upon it. It was her least favorite part of the sending off ritual.

  Quercus wasn’t her father, but she always called him Papa. It was perhaps out of some innate need to know a father, though she’d never say such a thing to the other women. As far as they were concerned, no Stargazer had a male half. But then there was Quercus, a true anomaly.

  Nanny Lily brought him to Ellemire when she returned from the other world. People rumored that he was the father of Lily’s triplet daughters, which would make him Aster's grandfather, but she would never say. Probably because it was because of the established custom for the women to leave the men in other world behind once they had kindled a child, and she didn’t want her daughters trying to follow suit.

  But and as far as Aster was concerned, Quercus was part of her family. She would give anything to hear his stories about life in the World of Man, but save for a few grunts and mumbles every so often, the Quercus was a mute. Aster suspected this was due to a spell that Nanny Lily had laid upon the man when she brought him here, but Aster never had the fortitude to ask such a thing. Still, he understood everything people told him and he did it without complaint, and that’s all the other women cared about.

  “Papa, could you take these supplies inside so I could have a few minutes to draw?”

  The old man set down the logs he was holding and walked toward the cart to fetch the sacks tied to Safi's back. “Thanks!” She kissed the old man's scruffy cheek before darting toward the stand of hawthorns at the back of the property, skirts swishing around her legs. From the top of the tallest tree, she could get a full view of the Ellemire countryside.

  Her sketchbook and pencil waited in the crook of her favorite limb, and she settled against the trunk with her legs dangling toward the thick grasses that were too far down to cushion her should she fall. In the distance, tendrils of bluish morning fog still swirled amid the rows of summer wheat just shy of its peak, and the giant lattice blades of the windmills that drew precious water up from the ground. Beyond the wheat lay the vast tulip fields in rows of red, yellow, pink and white.

  It was sad to see so many resources devoted to a flower that was nothing more than a garden decoration, particularly when water was dear. Not a single tulip blossom decorated her home. Stargazer women insisted only on practical magic. “We don't need tulips, dear. That’s why we have you,” her mother once said, her shriveled face looking like a mushroom forgotten in the sun. “You’re all the color and enchantment we need.” Soon Aster would have that face, once she gave birth to her own child. It was the way of the Old Magic.

  It seemed cruel to deform the people responsible for safeguarding something so precious to the world. Aster once asked Nanny Lily why their family was given such a responsibility, though what she really wanted to call it was a curse.

  Her grandmother recited the tale with the ease that only comes with many rehearsed deliveries. Aster had heard it so many times, she could also recite it by rote, and she whispered it to herself as she began her sketch. “Long before our people, an evil sprite stole the Old Magic from the Eternal Spring and brought it to the World of Man, where they used it to build great cities and empires. But they also to made weapons of death and destruction. Only a tiny seedling remained here, seeping into the Ellemire fabric that eventually sprang our first ancestor. We pass that magic through our blood, generation after generation, growing it little by little until the Great Mother comes to release it again during a time of great need and bring about the next Golden Age. Blah blah blah...” The longer she spoke, the harder her pencil strokes grew until she was slashing at the page, destroying the vision of tranquil beauty she'd originally intended.

  “And guess who this so-called Great Mother is, Aster? Guess who's supposed to have some magical baby that will save the world, and guess who will probably still be the most hated person in all of Ellemire once that happens? And guess who will only receive the gift of a bent and twisted spine and sore-riddled skin for her troubles?” She gave up the pretense of drawing altogether and just started slashing at her pa
rtially finished landscape until the paper ripped. Tossing the pencil away, she clawed at it, ripping it to confetti, her vision blurring with hot and angry tears.

  They all hated her and she was supposed to save them? Maybe she would leave this world and never come back. Better to let them rot! The bile of her loathing and rage from a lifetime of stares and taunts and filthy rumors rose in her throat, burning like acid as the shreds of her drawing sprinkled to the ground like sad snowflakes. She leaned against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes, as if to pass all of her pain into the tree.

  “Give it to the stars,” she whispered in the start of a calming incantation her mother had taught her long ago. Tracing her hand along the bark of the hawthorn that had borne witness to so much of her anguish, Aster felt her heart slow gradually. It wasn't often her rage surfaced, but when it did, she was reminded that there were parts of her that were not all that unlike her Aunt Oleander. The thought repulsed her, but it kept her on an even keel most of the time.

  They all thought Aster was just afraid of losing her looks. “It’s normal to be a little vain, dear, but we’ve have all had to sacrifice for the greater good. You’re no different,” her mother had once told her. It didn’t make sense. Was Aster different or was she just like them? Each answer only spawned more questions, and the questions only spawned more anger. She understood on some level why her Aunt Holly had shrugged off her obligations, opting to find solace in the salvia plants that grew in the western hills. But Aster wanted to tell her mother that it wasn't about vanity. She could live with being ugly. She would rather be liked and respected. Her beauty had never served her well, so why should she cling to it?

  Last night they’d all fought again after Aster told them she wanted to wait. “Give me at least one more year. I don’t see why it has to be this way,” she had pleaded. “It isn’t enough to tell me that it is tradition. Tradition isn’t always good.”