The Stargazers

by Allison M. Dickson

  In the parlor, she found Larkspur curled up in front of the wood stove. “Hey there. Lying down on the job, I see.”

  The cat gave her a “what do you care” look, and stood up to stretch his enormous gray body before joining her. She stepped out into the night and closed the front door for the last time. Taking a deep breath, she summoned the fiery dragon again. “Do your work,” she whispered and sent it in through the open window where Nanny Lily used to cool so many fruit pies. Aster didn’t look back, even when she started to smell smoke and feel the heat on her back. When she reached the lake again, she handed the white sheet to Holly who draped it over Iris’s body.

  Holly shook her head. “She looks beautiful. I hate to cover her up.”

  Aster looked at Quercus and nodded. He stepped forward and lit the pyre’s kindling with the torch he’d assembled. They stood in solemn silence and watched Mama Iris disappear behind a wall of flames.

  After Aster finished with her prayers, she turned to the others. “I have one last thing to do. I can do it alone if you want to head back through the door.”

  Holly placed her hand on Aster’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything alone ever again.”

  Aster led them through the small copse of trees at the very back of their property to the ring of stones surrounding an ivory-colored slab with dozens of runes and symbols carved into its top and base. She’d been born on that slab, had received her destiny on it, as had all the other Stargazers before her. Nanny Lily and Dahlia had shown her the Giving Altar when she was a young girl, and she had avoided it since, afraid of its power. The ancient quartz was about to see its last drop of blood.

  She stepped up to the altar with the cauldron in her hand.

  Quercus cleared his throat behind her and drew a long knife from the inside of his jacket.

  Even now, the man couldn’t find the ability to speak. But he didn’t need to. His bushy gray eyebrows hung low over his eyes. This was, after all, one of his daughters who was about to die. “No, Papa Quercus.” She placed her hand on his wrist. “I won’t need the knife.”

  Taking a few steps toward the Altar, she was seized by a bit of that old lingering doubt. She turned back to the others. “Is this right? This is what we’re supposed to do, right? To return the Old Magic to Ellemire?”

  Quercus stepped to her and patted Aster’s head with one of his big calloused hands. Holly echoed his sentiments with a solemn nod of her head. Even though she had been the biggest recipient of Oleander’s abuse, she was crying. Perhaps they were tears of relief, of letting go.

  Removing the cauldron lid, Aster plucked the toad from inside and set it down on the quartz. A circle of bluish-white light enveloped it, freezing it in place.

  The toad didn’t look distressed, but it glared up at her with yellow eyes, and Aster thought she could feel its thoughts.

  Do it now, or I’ll find a way out of this to make you pay. I’ll never die if you don’t kill me. Or are you too much of a coward to kill a wee little froggy?

  Again she felt that deep certainty of what she must do. She hovered her hand above Oleander, and the blue light from the alter shot upward to form the shape of a long blade. It had no weight, but the life of it thrummed all the way up her arm, its contours fitting perfectly into her hand. “Let it be done.”

  She brought the blade of light down through the Oleander’s amphibian body.

  There was no blood, no sickening squelch, no scream. Instead, the toad disintegrated into billions light particles that held its shape for a split second before exploding upward in a radiant column. High in the sky, veins of light burst outward from the column like spider web, traveling as far as she could see. The stars grew brighter and drew together into a swirling pattern that reminded Aster of the galaxies she’d viewed through Bryon’s telescope on that wondrous night when she fell in love. The world was awash in hues of white, blue, red, and yellow. The moon’s face had become a rainbow.

  The stars moved together tighter and tighter, until they gathered into a solid point so dense and full of energy that Aster wondered if it might destroy them all. Then it exploded into a brilliant white nova, lighting the world like a million sons. Aster shielded her eyes with her arms as a great gust of wind blew the hair back from her face. A great cacophony of birdsong erupted around her, threatening to burst her eardrums. Wolves howled, babies cried. The world came awake in the night, and Aster felt their fear and wonder surging through her, even more powerful than the light itself.

  It can’t take it! It’s too much! Grah save me!

  A runnel of hot blood flowed from her nose, as well as out of her ears as the swell of Old Magic, exponentially greater than what she had channeled earlier in the forest, ran all around and through her, bringing her to her knees before the altar like a penitent. She wept with the beauty and pain of it, certain she was to die right here.

  And if this is to be my last breath, what better way to take it…

  Then, as quickly as it appeared, the force of the Old Magic began to wane, leaving its imprint on Aster’s eyes, heart, and spirit. The din of animal song gradually went silent, leaving behind a few errant peeps and barks as the night became night again.

  Aster looked up from the altar to see the Magic falling from the stars like diamond dust, covering the land in a delicate blanket of healing light. She gripped the edge of the altar and pulled herself up. Her legs, though shaky, held her as well as they ever had. She turned to see the shocked faces of Holly and Quercus, whose faces were still branded with awe. Quercus’s face was wet with tears.

  “My heavens,” said Holly in breathless whisper. “Your face, Aster. Your beautiful face.” Aster touched her cheek with uncertain fingers. Smooth skin. Her hands were no longer the knotted and twisted copies of her mother’s, but the long and slender ones she’d always had. The few remaining brown spots were fading before her eyes.

  “What is this gift?” Aster asked. She felt a faint disappointment. For a short while, she was able to forget her youth and everything that had spoiled it. How easy it would have been to hide inside a crone’s body, never risking love or hurt again.

  Holly appeared to sense this and stepped forward. “It’ll all come back in good time. Only this time, when you’ve lived your whole life.”

  Her aunt’s face had grown younger as well, but something about it looked lighter and more vital. Unburdened by difficult years of loneliness and salvia. The two women embraced, and for the first time, Aster felt a part of her family. “Let’s go home,” she said.

  -30-

  It was approaching dawn when Aster, Holly, Quercus, and Larkspur returned to the Oasis house. Quercus, having come from this world, still had the hang of driving, and Aster didn’t have to do much by way of navigating either. She’d traveled this road more than once, and hoped never to again.

  Instead, she soothed Holly, whose anxiety mirrored Aster’s own the first time she rode in a motor carriage. A car, she reminded herself. If she was going to live here, she’d better start sounding like it.

  Sheriff Kennedy’s car wasn’t anywhere in sight, but she had a feeling he would be around soon. She would have to face the horror of what had happened last night, and she was ready for whatever might come of it. Aster opened the door to a house abuzz with voices, laughter, and the smell of good cooking.

  Ruby jumped up from the couch and ran to them, her face alight with joy and relief. She fell into Aster and hugged her right. “You’re beautiful again.”

  “Don’t remind me,” said Aster with a grin.

  “You shouldn’t be sad about it. In about twenty years, you’ll be old and wrinkly and wishing you still had that skin.”

  “Only twenty? My goodness, child. You’re breaking this old woman’s heart!” Nanny Lily was standing in the dining room with a platter of pancakes in her hands. They were the same old and spotted hands Aster remembered, but her fingers were no longer bunched and twisted. Her spine was also straighter. She looked like a woman who ha
d seen all her years with natural grace.

  Aster was still trying to take it all in when Dahlia entered from the kitchen, and at the sight of her mother, she nearly fainted. Her mother’s formerly gray curls were a shiny auburn. And she was tall! She’d never known how tall her mother actually was. A few wrinkles creased the skin around her eyes and mouth, but she was the woman from Sheriff Kennedy’s picture all over again.

  Aster ran into her mother’s arms, suddenly thankful she could run again. “Mom, I can’t believe it. I just…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, and instead ran her fingers through her mother’s curls. It was remarkable.

  “It about scared me to death when it happened. I still can’t believe it.” She hugged Aster close. “But I thank you. I thank you so much.”

  Tonya joined them from the kitchen with pitchers of orange juice while Cynthia and the other girls set the big table. “Aster, why didn’t you tell us how awesome your ma and granny were? Later on, we’re going to give each other facials and break out the Ouija board.”

  Aster introduced Holly and Quercus to the rest of the household and then joined Ruby back in the living room. “Do they know about Ivy?”

  Ruby shook her head. “Not yet. Everyone seemed so happy… I figured we could tell them everything once it all settles down. The Sheriff called. He would be over to talk to us in a little while. But I was thinking… Maybe we could go back together to take Bryon’s car over to his dad’s. He deserves the truth. From both of us.”

  Her eyes welled up, and Aster pulled her into a hug. It seemed there was always a supply of tears at the ready, and there would be a lot more of them in the days ahead.

  When Aster pulled back, she held Ruby by the shoulders. “Let’s try to live in this quiet moment while we have it. We’ll handle the rest as it comes. Together.”

  Ruby nodded. “We can try.”

  The bright chime of silver on glass grabbed their attention. Nanny Lily, seated at her usual place at the head of the table, motioned for them all to sit, and Ruby and Aster walked to the table hand in hand. After Ruby sat down, the only chair left was at the other head of the table. Aster paused to consider the meaning of this before she took it.

  Lily raised her glass of juice. “To a new home and new beginnings. And a new coven of our own. Aster, my dear, would you do the honors this time?” She tilted her head toward the candles running down the center of the table.

  Aster lifted her hand and called the wicks to life with tiny flames. The other girls gasped and squealed in astonishment and Aster smiled. She supposed there would always be a little magic left in the Stargazers. For the little things.

  About the Author

  Allison M. Dickson lives in Dayton, Ohio and is a prolific author of contemporary horror, fantasy, and science fiction. Her work has appeared in several publications, both in print and online, and she has an extensive ebook library with bestselling titles that include short stories “Dust,” “Vermin,” and “Under the Scotch Broom.” You can learn more about her life and her projects—past, present, and future—at her website, www.allisonmdickson.com. You may also find her rambling on Twitter (@msallied), or on Facebook (facebook.com/authorallisonmdickson).

  Author’s Afterword: YA or Nay?

  I had the best of intentions when I sat down to write The Stargazers. I wanted to write a harrowing coming-of-age story about a young girl struggling to separate herself from some rather gruesome apron strings, and I think I accomplished that. But something went awry along the way, at least when it came to my intentions matching the outcome.

  First of all, I really wanted to write a book that was more on par with Stardust, Neil Gaiman's quirky and fun contemporary fantasy. And I ultimately failed at that, but more on that later. But (and this was probably my biggest mistake), I also thought that if I wrote it as a young adult book, it would appeal to a wider audience. That, and I was curious to see if I could pull off a YA book, since I hadn't attempted one before. Turns out I failed at that too. There were definitely certain elements that didn't fit the genre, and because of that, it ended up straddling an already very blurry line between Young Adult and Young-at-Heart Adult.

  In the story, Aster has to face a lot of injustices and tough issues that span between two worlds (the story traverses between her world of Ellemire and present day Earth). Such issues include teen pregnancy, bisexuality, sexual assault, human sacrifice, saving the world, and defeating a nasty foe who also happens to be her aunt. It's a lot to heap on anybody, let alone a kid, and there were many instances throughout writing this book that I found myself either unable to or at pains to make Aster suffer anymore than she already had. I suppose it was because I was thinking of my own daughter. My hat’s off to those writers who are more courageous (or perhaps sadistic?) than I.

  But it wasn't those things that just barely disqualified this book for the YA genre. After all, there is a lot of edgy fare put forth for teens these days, and mine isn't even close to being the edgiest. However, there were some technical concerns that gave me (and some agents who'd considered it) pause. Google the topic of what makes a story YA, and you will be hammered with dozens of theories put forth by dozens of authors and industry experts. There were a few common threads, though, the biggest one being that the story should be told exclusively from the point of view of the main character, in a voice that is distinctly teenage. Makes sense, I suppose.

  Some 85% of YA literature is told from a first-person perspective. I purposefully avoided this, because I prefer to tell fantasy in the third person. But that's not a fatal flaw by any means. One need only look at the One Series to Rule Them All about a young boy wizard to know that YA doesn't explicitly need to be in the first person.

  But then comes the dagger to the heart. One (save for maybe one or two scenes across the entire Harry Potter series) that even JK Rowling managed to avoid. And that's the one of exclusivity. She stayed with the protagonist's point-of-view all the way. Alas, I did not do that, instead choosing to alternate points of view between Aster and that of her evil aunt Oleander. And, well, Oleander is decidedly not of the teenage voice. Indeed, she's quite the foul witch.

  I considered taking the Oleander bits out entirely. After all, with some minor editing, I could have told this story exclusively through Aster's eyes. But I just didn't want to. I so enjoyed writing the villain of this story from within the confines of her nasty little head, and I think in doing so, it provided some depth and suspense that it might not otherwise have had. And it was in that moment I realized that this book was not cut out for this particular market. And maybe I'm not either.

  Once I decided that The Stargazers wasn't a young adult book, it also opened me up to going a tad further with some elements of the story that I’d felt uncomfortable with before. While I still never achieved the Stardust-esque story I'd originally wanted to, I was satisfied with what I had. It was the story that wanted to be told, and given my beliefs about the writing process and how I think authors are guided by the story rather than vice versa, I am content with that. It is different from my other work in that it's brimming with a lot of feminine themes. You won't find any middle-aged widowers here. I would still slap it with a PG-13 rating, though it's definitely putting a toe on the R line in some parts, particularly in the language category. Also, in final edits, I decided to make Aster eighteen rather than sixteen, just because that made it easier for me to explore the darker confines of the story.

  I know that probably sounds silly to you, and you can even rail at me for pulling my punches. Read a book like The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub (or even The Shining or It) and you'll know that there is no limit to the horrors to which you can expose a young child in fiction. But I still didn't want someone too young for this story. Aster is in many ways a very personal character. In some ways, she is me. Her uncertainties and struggles for independence and self-determination mirror a lot of what I went through at her age and beyond, and I think others can relate to that as well. Maybe some wil
l think I didn't push the envelope far enough, but I'm satisfied that Aster has plenty enough on her plate, and I don't think I'm spoiling it by saying that she doesn't exactly get through this tale unscathed.

  But herein lays the beauty of independent publishing. Maybe traditional booksellers would have trouble deciding whether to shelve The Stargazers in the same section as The Hunger Games and Twilight, or to put it into the adult sci-fi/fantasy section, but here I am placing it into the hands of you dear readers in the hopes you will judge it for what it is. Not a YA story or an adult story, but just a story. A story about a young girl faced with difficult choices and a lot of roadblocks standing in her way. I hope you like it, and as always, you have my deepest gratitude for believing in me enough to be reading this right now.

  Allison M. Dickson

  March 11, 2012