The Son of Summer Stars ft-3

by Meredith Ann Pierce

  “All around us, our fellows coursed, snorting and plunging, stamping and swirling. Their throb, the tow of their motion overwhelmed us both. She followed me as one lost in a daze. We entered the dance. ’T swept us along, two dreamers caught in currents too swift to swim, too powerful to wake, and we danced the longdance to its end, under the summer stars.

  “Briefly, I think, she cast off her Vale and its Ring of Law, entering wholeheartedly into our joyous rite. Perhaps I delude myself. When dawn broke, blinding the stars, our companions scattered, her lost friend among them. She stood unable to follow, and my hopes ended. She must return to her seaside band, she said. She could not go with me.

  “I stood speechless, realizing at last why Álm’harat’s vision of this mare had never gone beyond the dance. Last eve, which I had thought the dawn of our sweet fellowship upon the Plain, marked its conclusion instead. In dreams the goddess speaks, had spoken true. ’Twas I who had been too lovestruck witless to comprehend. I felt I might die then, the land beneath my heels heave upward, the air became dust, and darkness swallow me.

  “Shaking with sorrow, she bade me farewell, and told me that among her folk, mates pledge for life. I had never heard of such a thing. We have all known a few such blessed pairs, yet I could scarce conceive how one dared hope for such a fortuitous outcome from every tryst, every dancing of the dance. Valedwellers, I learnt, expect to pair for life. Yet she had cast even that most venerated custom aside to join with me for but a night.

  “And night was done. We could not prolong it, though from that day on, both would be forever changed. She would not skip home to put me coldly from her mind. No day would pass that she would not think of me, just as no hour since passes for me that I do not think of her, dream and desire her. Though that moment filled me with unbearable sadness, never once in all my years have I felt regret. The goddess led me to my love for some purpose as yet hidden.

  “Never after have I looked upon all Moondancers as monsters. Warlike and arrogant as a people, perhaps, but this mare that I so briefly loved, and still love, and will love all the days of my life, was not. She was witty, warm, courageous, shy, all traits I can only admire. I trust she, too, has never again thought evil of my folk. Surely the myth that we are all outlaws from the Vale is dispelled from her heart. Perhaps from the hearts of her children. I cannot say, but if Álm’harat joined us for this alone—that we might cast off our peoples’ long enmity—it is enough.

  “I charge you now as you finish the dance: remember my love. For every dark destroyer, other southlanders abide who are honorable and bear us no ill will. Above all, love one another wisely and well, for what you may hope to be a lifelong pledge under Álm’harat’s eyes may endure but an hour. The goddess’s ways do baffle us. The night is brief, but the dance is long. So join and accomplish her rite, all you who so desire. It is part of the Mare’s great Cycle, which turns all the world and the stars.”

  As the singer fell silent, bowing his head, the throng surrounding Jan roused themselves. With sudden snorts and wild whinnies, they reared and pranced. Mares and stallions paired off, mock-battling. Small bands of friends cavorted seemingly for sheer pleasure. Yawning colts and young half-growns cropped grass or dozed, oblivious to their elders’ energetic frolic. Some pairs had already struck off into the long grass surrounding the clearing. Most still chased and chivvied in the river bend.

  In mounting dismay, Jan cast about, aware suddenly that he must find the one named Calydor before he, too, slipped away in this joyous frenzy. Yet, the young prince realized belatedly, he had no inkling where to begin. He could have kicked himself for never having asked Crimson to describe her uncle’s coloring. He spotted the crimson mare suddenly, approaching the star-spotted singer, who stood surveying the crowd. He, apparently, did not intend to join his fellows in completing the dance. Jan trotted toward them.

  “Hail, my child, daughter to my sib,” the dark-blue stallion cried as the young mare shouldered against him with an affectionate nip. “Well met.”

  “Hail, Calydor,” the crimson mare replied above her filly’s delighted squeals, “brother to my sire. I bring you greetings.”

  Jan halted in his tracks.

  “More than greetings alone, I see,” the singer laughed as he nuzzled her sky-blue foal. “You bring a young Moondancer. Turn and acquaint us, if you will, for he stands not three paces from your flank.”

  8.

  Night

  Jan came forward. The thin crescent slip of moon was just setting, sinking curve-downward into distant horizon’s edge. Soon only summer stars would remain to illuminate the dark. The crimson mare turned with a whicker of surprise.

  “There you are, my moondancing friend,” she exclaimed. “I sprang ahead to bring word of you to Calydor, but could not catch him ere his tale. Nor could I spot you afterwards. Behold Calydor, brother to my sire.”

  “Hail, my son, guest to my brother’s get,” the star-strewn unicorn greeted him.

  Jan was struck again by the odd familiarity he felt in the presence of this stallion he had never met before. He and the seer stood the same height, very similar in heft and build. Long-leggèd and lithe, each had a lean, hard dancer’s frame. The dark prince bowed in the way of the Vale, dipping his neck.

  “Hail, Calydor,” he replied. “I seek one of my folk who runs amok, him you call the dark destroyer.”

  The deep-blue and silver unicorn nodded. “Sooth. Be welcome here. Come, let us retire to the riverbank, and leave the dancers to their sport.”

  Dozens of unicorns galloped by, some engaged in nothing more than high-spirited games. Others slept, still others lost in the teasing lead-and-follow of mates at play. Jan spotted the brindled grey stallion loping past, following a mare who whistled at him over one shoulder and plunged away into the grass. The crimson mare stood poised, eyeing her fellows. Jan spied the pale gold stallion standing at Plain’s edge, watching expectantly. Calydor whickered.

  “Go, my child. Enjoy the dance. I will see to Sky. In Álm’harat’s keeping, love wisely and well.”

  With a whistle of gratitude, the crimson mare bowed on one knee and sped away. Her filly hung back uncertain, until the indigo stallion called her. She trotted alongside him as Calydor turned, headed across the trampled grass toward the river’s bank. Jan fell into step. The sound of cool, green waters murmured in his ears. Their dark, wet fragrance filled his nostrils. The seer chose a spot at the crest of the bend. The bank here was steep, the river reeds low.

  “I dreamt your coming, my son,” the starry other said. They stood looking out over the river, the little filly in between. “And well I know of the one you seek.”

  “Your niece says you are a seer,” the young prince replied, “that your folk call you ‘Alma’s Eyes.’ ”

  The blue-and-silver stallion laughed. “No compliment to my powers, I vow. Only a play upon my name.”

  “ ‘Calydor’?” Jan asked. The name was not used in the Vale. “What does it mean?”

  “ ‘Stars in summer,’ ” the seer replied. “My folk call the stars ‘Álm’harat’s eyes.’ ”

  Jan nodded. “And mine. But I did not know you for a singer as well. I am honored, having heard your song.”

  He fell silent, choosing his words. The singer’s tale had moved him strangely, though it had told of a mare breaking the herd’s Law to run wild renegade. He himself had never seen the wisdom of many of his people’s most rigid strictures. Since becoming prince, he had relaxed or discarded a fair number of the oldest and harshest laws. And he had never subscribed to his herd’s ill will against the folk of the Plain: another old hatred that made no sense to him.

  “My mate is a singer,” Jan continued. “Her name is Tek. When I return to her, I will recount your tale.”

  Calydor bowed his head. “Then ’tis you who honor me. But tell me of the one you seek. Though my dreams speak true, rarely do they reveal all. Much mazes me still about that one, who for two moons trampled the Mare’s Back, terr
orizing whomever he met.”

  Jan dug into the riverbank with one cloven heel. The sky-blue filly’s head drooped as she leaned against her great-uncle. The young prince gazed off across river and Plain. Images of stars scattered the water’s dark, smooth surface so that it looked like a river of night sky threading the grassy hills. The moon had slipped below horizon’s edge. Its silver gleam faded.

  “I come seeking my sire,” the younger stallion replied. “My herd acclaims me their warleader, and Korr was once accounted our king. Three winters past, in my absence, he seized power, leading a mad crusade that cost many their lives. At last his fanaticism was condemned for what it was. He has been outcast since, shrieking curses upon my mate and her dam, upon his own mate and child, and calling Tek’s and my offspring abomination. Lately, he railed of some past deed upon the Plain. Now he has fled here, as though so doing can dispel whatever memory from his youth haunts him still. It is time his rampage ceased. This years-long silence must end. It is his silence that has maddened him. If I can but persuade him to reveal this secret he holds, I am convinced he will know peace.”

  The star-strewn unicorn listened in thoughtful reserve. The little filly leaning against him had closed her eyes.

  “I judge you to be sincere,” he answered quietly. “No deception shades your voice. Your folk and mine share a long history of enmity, but I see no reason for you and me to perpetuate it. Ask of me what you will.”

  Jan sighed deeply, and then drew breath, hopeful yet cautious still. “Has Korr harmed any of your folk?”

  “Frightened, mostly,” the other replied, tossing his head. “By and large, the injuries he dealt were flesh wounds. We are a fleet and wary folk.”

  Jan nodded, relieved. “Did those who brought news of him to you recount any of Korr’s words?”

  Sadly, the star-specked unicorn sighed. “Only curses and threats. Those who encountered him called him crazed: violent and inconsolable. Who proffered peace and strove to reason with him suffered worst.”

  Jan watched the river flowing, swirling the reflected stars. He felt as though Alma’s eyes watched him both from heaven and from below. He said to Calydor, “Do I glean rightly that your folk have driven him from the Plain?”

  The other nodded. “Dream reached me four days past that a band of young stallions and mares came upon him at a watering place near Plain’s edge. He flew at them. At length, they succeeded in driving him from their midst. He struck off into the Salt Waste bordering our grasslands.”

  Inwardly Jan groaned. Pursuit of his sire, which had seemed at first a matter of mere hours or days, now promised to stretch on from weeks and months into a season or more. His heart ached to be reunited with his mate and young, but he could not turn back. Korr must be halted and, if at all possible, healed.

  “Where may I find the spot at which he left the Plain?” the young prince asked.

  Beside him, the blue-and-silver stallion nodded. “’T lies to north and east, ten days’ journey from this spot.”

  The little filly beside him had lain down on the riverbank. Calydor joined her. Jan folded limb and couched himself as well. His ears swiveled to the snorts and playful whistles of the Plainsdwellers. The drum of heels and their romping cries told him the games and impromptu contests continued. The younger voices were dying down. Other sets of heels, always in pairs, beat away through the grass, accompanied by breathless laughter. Jan was reminded of his own courting rite with Tek beside the Summer Sea.

  And yet, so it seemed, these celebrants had no thought of pledging themselves for all eternity under Alma’s eyes. Whatever vows they spoke would last but the night, to lapse or renew daily, exactly as they pleased This baffling custom troubled Jan. How could young know their sires if their parents parted after a tryst? Nonetheless, he realized, Crimson knew her sire. Her brother, the pale golden stallion, knew his sire as well—at least, so Jan had gathered, that his differed from the crimson mare’s.

  That, too, astonished him, that brother and sister might share but a single parent. Though he could scarce conceive not being pledged to Tek or—more unimaginable still—breaking that pledge, the freedom the Plainsdwellers knew was breathtaking. He could hardly envision such lives as theirs, forever free of the constancy of kings and Law, the touchstone of eternal vows. With a start, Jan woke from his thoughts. The blue-and-silver stallion was speaking.

  “Rest here the night, my son. You are weary, having pressed hard these many weeks in pursuit of your sire.”

  Jan nodded heavily, head drooping, eyes slipping shut. His limbs ached. His ribs throbbed, his spine sore where it flexed. He was weary, but less in body than in spirit. He wanted this business with Korr to be done. He wanted to learn the dark secret that drove Korr mad. Only then, he was sure, might he and his mate and young be free of it. Korr, too, and all the Vale. The young stallion roused himself and reached to taste the rushes at the riverside, aware only now that in his haste to reach the Gather, he had not eaten since noon. The stallion beside him watched.

  “You wear a feather in your hair,” he remarked at length, “as many of my people do. I have never seen a Valedweller so adorned. Does it signify your rank?”

  Jan tossed his head and felt Illishar’s green feather slap gently against his neck. In the years since he and the gryphon had sealed their first, tentative truce, it had never worked free. He took it for a good sign. The tender rushes filled his belly, warm and sweet. He turned to Calydor.

  “Nay,” he laughed. “It commemorates a peace.”

  The seer’s eyes widened, then smiled. The little filly slept slumped against him, limbs folded, chin tucked. She reminded Jan intensely of his twins before they had been weaned. Their horns must have sprouted by this time, breaking the skin and spiraling up. They would be butting into everything now, scrubbing their foreheads against bark and stone to quell the itch young horns always suffered. Beside him, the singer gazed at his grand-niece with the fond absorption Jan recognized in himself for his own young.

  “The mare of which you sang,” he began, uncertain quite why he was asking—and yet the singer’s tale had stirred his curiosity, piquant and strong. “You never forgot her?”

  The star-strewn stallion whickered softly, as though thinking back on a memory both rueful and dear.

  “How could I?” he breathed. “She was extraordinary. Never after have I been able to view your folk simply as savage warmongers, suppressed by tyrants and imprisoned by laws—but as a tribe not wholly unlike my own, despite very different ways.”

  Jan snorted. “High time my folk abandoned the worst of our old ways,” he remarked, “and adopted new.”

  Calydor laughed. “How strange you are. A warleader who celebrates peace. A Moondancer who eyes tradition askance.”

  The dark prince shrugged. He had long since left off wondering at himself.

  “But the mare,” he continued, “who consorted with you, then returned to the Vale—I have not heard of her. She must have guarded her daring well. In Korr’s time, and his father’s time, and the time of the queen before him, such a mare would have been cast out had her deeds been discovered.”

  The older stallion nodded. “I named that very danger in urging her to remain with me, to no avail.” He sighed. “Had any way existed for me to go with her and join her folk, I would have. But I could not. Your Law barred me.”

  Again he sighed, more deeply now, as though resigned.

  “Well, ’tis done. One cannot walk another’s path, nor halt the turning of the stars, only live and seize what joys one may. I loved this mare. I would do so again, even knowing the outcome.”

  Jan felt an inexplicable sadness rise up in his breast. He thought of Tek. Could he ever have so resigned himself to part from her for the rest of his days? The wound was deep enough simply being parted from her for the present.

  “You never saw your love again?” he asked Calydor. The other shook his head. “Perhaps she dwells yet within the Vale.” Jan frowned, calculating. “Sh
e would be about the age of my dam.”

  “Aye,” the star-thrown stallion murmured. “Sometimes I wonder if she will ever break free and return to the Plain, as she vowed to do, when the unnamed task that called her back to the Vale was done. She bade me dismiss her from my thoughts and not to wait for her. Yet I have never forgotten and have waited the years, in hope that one day we once more may meet and dance the longdance to its end.”

  “The wait may not be much,” Jan suggested, unsure why the matter should concern him so. “If she lives, this poppy-maned mare will travel among us when we leave the Vale next spring and trek to the Hallow Hills.”

  The seer glanced at him. “I have not dreamed of that,” he whispered. The night breeze stirred. “Your Vale is hidden from me. The goddess conceals it. I know not why.”

  Calydor fell silent, gazing off across the river of stars that flowed below them. The soft lowing of far-off oncs haunted the air. The singer’s ears pricked, listening. He remained still so long that Jan began to wonder if their conversation were at end. At last the other drew breath.

  “After I lost my love, after she turned from me and struck out for the distant sea, I dreamed of her one final time. Álm’harat granted me that. I saw her not as she had once appeared, but older, a mare in prime rather than one just entering the first blush of her youth, still hale and fair, but one who has borne her young and seen them grown. I beheld my beloved traversing the Mare’s Back. I dare to hope therefore that I will see her again, that the promise of our first love may yet be fulfilled, to run shoulder to shoulder all the rest of our days across the wide and rolling Plain.”

  The broad veldt had quieted, the sound of revelers long stilled. No more contests or further sport occupied the dancing ground.

  Many of the Plainsdwellers had returned to lie beside their young. Even those yet roving the long grass had hushed. Jan caught only an occasional rustle, a snort or stamp, a breathless whicker. A breeze sprang up, combing the grass, its touch pleasantly light along Jan’s back.