A Necklace of Fallen Stars

by Beth Hilgartner

  But Malni sensed her aunt's disappointment. "Aunt Vana," she began, but Vana interrupted her with a quick, gentle smile.

  "Oh Malni, you are very like your mother. She could never understand why I chose the lowlands over her wild places. I was always afraid of the mountains; they have such tempers—the storms, and those awful, brooding silences. She said once that I wanted to fill the emptiness, and that it couldn't be done. I never really understood her, we were never very close. But I see you are like her; you would like to listen to the silences."

  "I'm sorry," Malni tried.

  "Oh no. You mustn't be. Our loves are far apart, 'tis true, but neither of us is at fault. Now if you'll just let the seamstress measure you, then you'll be free."

  Malni spent the rest of the day in the garden. It was a quiet, green place, surrounded by high stone walls. There were stone benches beneath trees, but Malni preferred to sit on the low branch of a willow, staring into the tangle of leaves and branches.

  "Goodness," Mavran's mocking voice interrupted her, and she looked down to find him smirking at her. "Have you lost your wits, too? You look just like Chala, sitting there and staring at nothing."

  "Oh, go away, Mavran," she said sharply.

  "I won't, Savage!" he sneered, grabbing one of her ankles and trying to pull her off balance.

  With her free foot, she struck out at him, suddenly and hard, hitting him in the nose and knocking him down. He cried out, then got up. There was blood on his face. With a withering look at his cousin, he stalked back to the house.

  After a few minutes, Aunt Vana appeared in the garden with her son. His face had been washed and he'd changed his shirt.

  "Malni," said Vana quietly. "I think you should both apologize and cry friends. There has been enough baiting and bickering."

  Malni's chin went out stubbornly. "I won't apologize. I'm not sorry. Mavran started it, and as far as I'm concerned, he got what he deserved."

  Vana nodded, but Malni was not so blinded by her anger that she didn't see the hurt in her aunt's eyes. Suddenly, Chala's warning came back to her; she was being cruel through her pride.

  "I'm—I'm sorry," she said.

  "No, Malni. Don't," Aunt Vana stopped her. "It would only be words now. I'm sorry you feel the way you do, but there's no help for it. Come along, Mavran." Malni stared after them for a long time. Part of her longed to follow after them, explain that she wasn't holding a grudge, that it was just her temper, and make them believe her. But her pride was stronger, and she didn't move. The sun went down and the moon rose. Alone in the garden, Malni stared at the white orb, nearly full, and suddenly it seemed to her she heard a voice, a high clear voice, singing. She listened, unable to stir, while the voice ran on and on. Smooth, beautiful, it sang of the seasons and years, brave warriors and fair princesses, all the things it had seen since the ages began. It seemed to Malni as she listened that she would never forget its song, but when at last the voice ceased, she found the words slipped away from her like water through her fingers. And though she ran for a quill and paper and tried to capture them, the lines she wrote seemed halting and lame to her own ears, a fragment with only the barest hint of the real beauty.

  Through the next few days, Malni carried the quill and paper with her always, for she now found many things that spoke to her, and she had learned that her memory was not trustworthy. But even with the paper and pen there, it always seemed to her that something eluded her. It seemed that she nearly could capture what she had heard, but she could not find quite the right words. It was frustrating and tiring, but she never lost heart entirely. Finally, when she could bear it no longer, she went in search of Chala.

  Malni found her where she always sat, beneath the maple.

  When Chala saw her, she smiled and took the girl's hand, gently pulling her to sit beside her in the grass.

  "You've been long away, child," she said gently, "and you have grown much."

  Malni laughed, casting an eye down her figure. "I have not noticed."

  "No," Chala replied seriously, "You would not. It was not your shell I meant, little one, but your heart. Why did you come?"

  "Because I have been trying to see the wind, and I cannot—only shadows. Once I heard the moon singing, but not enough, nor clearly. I could not write it all down. Please, Chala, you must teach me more."

  Chala sighed and there was great weight and sorrow in the sound. "You have heard the moon? Then it is stronger than I had thought. You are young, Malni, and you have a gift. Perhaps you will make it blossom, but you must do it for yourself. I cannot teach you any more, nor guide your thoughts and steps. You must chase the shadows and whispers yourself, or deny them utterly. Neither way is easy, nor can I tell which you would be happiest walking. Perhaps there never will be happiness for you."

  "What do you mean?" Malni asked. "Why not?"

  Chala met the girl's eyes. There were tears on her lashes and when she spoke, her voice was low and husky. "Because of the pain, Malni."

  "Pain?" she repeated. "Do you mean the frustration of knowing in your heart what you would say but never finding quite the words? Do you mean the hurt of reading the things you write and knowing them to be flawed?" Chala, nodding, said that also there was a greater pain, that Malni would never be quite like other people and that differences were often hard to bear.

  "But if I deny it," Malni persisted, "how can that also harm me?"

  Chala smiled sadly. "But can you deny those things, Malni? Can you close your ears to the world now that vou have heard the moon's voice?"

  Malni was silent, for she knew she could not, even if she wished to. "But," she said at last, "the magic of the moon's song, surely that is worth any risk." Chala nodded but did not speak. Suddenly a movement caught Malni's eye. She turned and saw Mavran standing over her. Though his face was pale, he maintained his mocking smile. But his eyes were cold and angry and, Malni saw, afraid.

  "Well," he said softly but with bitterness, "you were clever, Chala, clever indeed; but you have missed your footing at the last. Magic is a black art, Savage, and death is the risk you've run. Perhaps they will spare you—you are young—but you, Chala, they will burn."

  "Do not do this thing, Mavran!" Malni pleaded. "Chala has never harmed anyone."

  "She is a witch," he said dully, the mockery gone, leaving only the fear, cold and dark and terrible in his eyes. "Come away, cousin." He caught her by the wrist, but she pulled free, crying, "Chala is my friend!"

  "She has entrapped you, enslaved you!" he shouted.

  "No, Mavran," Malni said quietly. "She has set me free."

  He begged her again to come away, but Malni only shook her head. Mavran turned and fled up the hill.

  "Perhaps they will not believe him," Malni said, without real hope. But Chala shook her head and said they would, and that the townsfolk would come, bringing stones and torches, because they were afraid. Then Chala added gently that she must go. Malni's face lit with hope. "You can escape them? Where will you go?" Chala put her hands on Malni's shoulders. "I must go where they cannot follow. I must set my spirit free."

  "What do you mean?" Malni asked, the hope going cold within her.

  "You have guessed, child," she replied softly. "Oh, Malni, do not weep for me."

  "But—but it is my fault," she said through her grief.

  "No, child. I knew. It was my choice, my risk. But, little one, do not weep. I do not fear death; I welcome it, rather. Think! When I leave my shell behind, my spirit will be free to join the dance I have watched all my life!" Malni looked up at her, and then asked her why, if she had longed for death, she had lived on for so many years.

  Chala smiled gently. "I was waiting for you, for a spirit that needed a call. You told your cousin that I have set you free. So, too, have you freed me."

  "But it is senseless," Malni protested. "I will explain to them. They will not harm you, Chala, once I have told them." Chala shook her head and told the girl that they would not believe her. At that, Mal
ni began to weep. "Why not?" she cried. "I am just like them. I—" But she stopped, for she knew that it was not so. "Why?" she ended.

  "I do not know, Malni," Chala said sadly. "That is one of the questions to live for." She reached out and, clasping Malni's hands, bade her farewell.

  Chala kissed Malni's forehead, then lay down on the grass. She closed her eyes and folded her hands on her breast. A small crease formed between her eyebrows as though she were concentrating very hard, and her hands tightened. Then, suddenly, all the tension eased out of her, her lips parted, and she exhaled in a long sigh of contentment. She lay still, with such a look of joy, of peace, on her face that it took Malni a moment to realize that Chala was dead. Malni waited beside her friend until the people came.

  "How's this?" cried the first. "She's dead!"

  "Would you choose to die by fire?" Malni asked quietly.

  "Why," said one of the others, "this one's but a child! Surely she is too young to be deep in the coils of the witch. What did she teach you, girl?"

  Malni rose to her feet. "Nothing, if you mean, what did she teach me of spell-casting and cursing, hexing and healing. That was not Chala's way. She tried to teach me to see into the heart of things, to see beyond seemings into the true beauty. And for that she died. I do not understand." There were tears in her voice.

  "Perhaps I should hate you all," she went on, quietly, "but I cannot. I can only pity you, you unhappy folk. I do not weep for her, for Chala, because I know she is at peace and happy where she has gone. But for you, for you I grieve; for all of you who will never hear the whispered music of the stars, nor dream of the colors in the wind. It is a dull, gray life you lead."

  She turned and began to walk slowly away. They watched her, for they did not understand, but there was an aura about the girl that they could not intrude upon. As Malni walked up the hill, a gentle breeze ruffled her hair. Suddenly, her breath caught in wonder, for she thought she could see a shifting dance of colors in the wind, distinct, far away, and only for an instant.

  ***

  When Kaela's voice stopped, the room was still. The princess and her ladies seemed pensive, as if still lost in the tale. Finally Princess Amana managed to shake the mood enough to thank Kaela for the story.

  "Is it," she began tentatively, "is it really like that? Do you see the colors of the wind? Or Kippen, do you hear the moon's singing?"

  Kippen sighed. "Yes, in a manner of speaking." He looked at Kaela oddly, sadly, then shrugged. "I cannot say whether I truly hear the music, or if it is simply in my heart, imagined. My master, Elyngar... I wonder what singing he heard in his heart that made him play the way he did."

  Princess Amana and her ladies rose to leave. "You are both welcome to stay as long as you like. Tell the steward to make up rooms, and, well, the evening meal will be served soon. Kippen knows the way."

  Then they disappeared into one of the inner chambers of the princess's wing.

  Chapter Ten

  It was a grim place, the dungeons, dim and damp and filled with the stench of misery. And though the princesses' and Nansa's cell was not one of the deepest, dankest ones, it was not comfortable. The cell was small for three people, and contained only a bare stone bench and three worn, moth-eaten blankets. There was a slit in the outside wall, three inches high and perhaps a foot long, that let in a little light and less air. Through the barred cell door they could see one of the flickering, smoky, pine torches and hear the voices of the guards.

  The guards themselves were rather puzzled and sympathetic; they brought the captives morsels from their own dinners rather than see them eat the poor, dry bread that was the standard prison fare. One soldier even smuggled them a flask of wine, for the water was stale and unpleasant. But all the same, as Nansa remarked, it wasn't a place to call home.

  "Will he ever let us out, do you think, Melina?" Tamera asked at last.

  Melina reached over and squeezed her sister's hand reassuringly. "I don't know. But he must come to his senses. Lord Talmot was right, you know, about the people not standing for it."

  Tamera suddenly grew almost fierce. "It's that cursed Stafgrym! He has Father under some sort of spell!"

  Nansa spoke up. "Perhaps it's so, Princess Tamera. But, if I may be bold enough to ask, why's he shut you up as well? Weren't you rather hoping he'd catch Princess Kaela?"

  "Yes, Tamera," Melina agreed, "why did you stick your neck out for me?"

  Tamera hung her head. "I had heard talk of a treason charge, but truly, Melina, I didn't believe Father could really kill Kaela. I thought it was nothing more than a bluff. And as for Kaela, I thought," she stumbled over her words, "that—that Kaela—well, that marrying her off was the best thing for her. No. That's not true," she interrupted herself. "And I can't lie to you any longer. It was true, what you said to Father about his people not loving him. They don't love me, either, not the way they love Kaela—or you. You're so kind and good and sweet—and intelligent; everyone loves you. And Kaela: for all she's so headstrong and wild, the courtiers admire her and the commoners nearly worship her. But I'm just the middle daughter; no one ever takes any notice of me—or even likes me much. I know it sounds spiteful, but I wanted Kaela to marry that horrible Gavrin, because I thought it would break her spirit, make her bitter, maybe, so she wouldn't have room to be loved. Envy is a vice, I know, and I envied her. But I didn't think she would really run away; or perhaps I wished that she would, I don't know. But I didn't wish her death, Melina; and I couldn't watch Father sentence you.

  "I hope Kaela escapes," Tamera ended, then began to cry. "There! I've said it, and it's true: I hope she gets away!"

  Melina put her arms around the weeping girl and held her. "She will," she crooned. "She will. Kaela's a quick one. She'll elude him—and he's lost his crystal, remember."

  "Well," said Nansa quietly. "I hope the King repents before he —" she lowered her voice, "—before it's too late."

  ***

  Stafgrym slept like one dead. All that day and all the following night he neither stirred nor murmured, until at last he awoke a little before dawn. The first thing he did upon waking was to consult his magic globe. The images it showed him were not comforting: the pair dismounting from Alyngon's back; fording the Samtali; Alyi; a group of people about a fire, listening to Kaela's story; the baron; then, the globe went dark. Stafgrym ground his teeth, for he had recognized the Marachor arms. His quarry was many days' journey away. He went off then, back to the castle in search of breakfast, and after that, the King.

  It wasn't until after the noon meal that the King would consent to speak with Stafgrym. He looked very annoyed when Stafgrym was ushered into the east parlor. His gray eyes were cold and steely and he frowned angrily at the wizard.

  "Where have you been these three days and more?" he rasped. "I ordered you to find my daughter! I had not expected you to accept defeat so tamely."

  "I am not defeated, Your Majesty," Stafgrym replied coldly. "I have—"

  "You have failed!" the King interrupted fiercely. There was a hint of something besides anger in his eyes and voice, something rather like relief. "You had Kaela, nearly, in the pass, and you let her escape! And for three days you have done nothing! I call that failure!"

  "I have not done nothing!" Stafgrym shouted, and fumbling in his robes he produced the crystal globe. "I have reclaimed it from the sea so that I might more swiftly find your treasonous daughter." By this time Stafgrym had regained composure, and his last words sounded smug.

  The King frowned fiercely. "Why am I to believe you will succeed at all when you came so near to her and let her escape? How am I to know that you are not simply trying to escape your punishment?"

  "And if you do not capture your daughter," Stafgrym asked, "what then? What of your other daughters, shut even now in the dungeons?"

  "They will go free," the King began, but Stafgrym's cruel, mocking laughter interrupted him.

  "How can you dare to do that?" he demanded. "The seeds of sedition ha
ve been sown in their hearts, and the imprisonment has undoubtedly watered them. They will never be sweet and biddable again—they will never trust you! Why, even Princess Tamera turned on you when she found what stern stuff you are made of, when she found you could not be easily twined around her little finger! They are beloved of your people, more so than you. Do you dare to let them loose on the kingdom?"

  "I shall tell them I have repented," the King said, but doubt and fear were in his voice and eyes.

  "You can't," Stafgrym sneered. "Why, if you should release and forgive them, those like that Lord Talmot will think you are afraid—as if his silly threat could touch you! And Duke Gavrin might even be moved to rebellion should you forgive Kaela. After all, he has been slandered dreadfully; the common folk make him into an ogre. If Kaela is not punished he will be offended. Can you afford that?"

  The King's face was pale. "Then no matter what I do, there shall be strife and rebellion. I—"

  "Oh no, Your Majesty," Stafgrym smirked. "You mustn't be troubled by Talmot's threat. Or, if you are, simply execute him! You must handle this with an iron hand; there is no room for sentimentality, nor mercy."

  The King bowed his head. "Melina was right! Why did I ever try to force my will upon Kaela? I knew she would never marry Gavrin. I should have—"

  "You should have curbed her spirit long ago!" Stafgrym snarled. "Now, you have no choice."

  "I will repent—" the King answered, but Stafgrym interrupted.

  "And lose your kingdom and your life as well!"

  "But I—" the King sounded bewildered and childlike. "I don't want to kill Kaela or—"

  "Find your strength, man!" Stafgrym snapped. "Kaela is a treasonous snake, and her sisters as well are guilty. If you let sentiment interfere now..."

  Stafgrym lowered his voice, confidentially. "But listen, I can bring Kaela back, dead. Then you can hint that you might have forgiven her. Perhaps that will serve to lessen your subjects' anger, or at the least, direct their wrath at me. After all, they will have many years to forget their outrage before I ascend to the throne of Visin. It is your only hope, don't you see?"