The Star Shepherd

by Dan Haring

  Andra took his hand and squeezed it. The awe on her face made Kyro’s heart skip a beat. Star Shepherding really could be wonderful.

  Chapter Ten

  “Now comes the fun part,” Kyro said, leading Andra back outside after checking through the window that the vissla was gone. To his relief, it was nowhere in sight, and all that it had left behind was melting ice. The only thing standing in the yard was the catapult, illuminated by a single lamppost. His father had rigged it so that its flame burned and snuffed out like clockwork every evening, and tonight it lit their way like a beacon.

  “All Star Shepherds have catapults, but my father modified this one with a few more gears and cogs to make it faster and more accurate.”

  “The influence of his clockmaking skills again?” Andra said.

  “Exactly.” Kyro’s smile fell. But he had more pressing matters at hand, like getting this star back into the sky before that vissla came back and found a way through the stardust barrier.

  He placed the star into the sling.

  “How does it work?” Andra asked.

  Kyro pointed out what each part did. “First, you need to pull that lever there. Then when the red light stops blinking, hit this button here. That will launch the star. Would you like to do the honors?”

  But before Andra could answer, a dark, hulking form lumbered through the trees. Kyro gasped, fearing for a moment that the vissla had returned.

  The reality was just as bad.

  “Andra! What are you doing? Get away from that infernal machine.” Bodin stomped toward them, and Kyro wished he could curl up in the catapult and launch himself into the sky instead.

  Andra went rigid. “Papa, I—”

  Bodin cut her off, grabbing her arm and yanking her toward the village path. “You are in a world of trouble, young lady,” he growled. “You are not to socialize with Star Shepherds.”

  He glowered at Kyro. “And you, boy, what do you think you’re doing with my daughter?” He shoved his finger into Kyro’s chest, and he shrank back against the catapult. Cypher barked and tugged at Bodin’s pant leg, but the man shook him off.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Kyro began.

  “Didn’t mean what? To keep my daughter out all night? Where is your father? I’ll give him a piece of my mind. You two fools have done more than enough damage to our village. I won’t let you corrupt my daughter too.”

  “Papa!” Andra scowled. “I’m old enough to make up my own mind.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  Bodin’s face turned so red, Kyro wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d exploded right there in his yard. “Not while you’re under my roof.”

  Andra clamped her mouth shut, her face nearly as crimson as her father’s. Behind her, dawn crept over the mountains, swiftly encroaching on Kyro’s sector of the sky.

  Kyro’s mouth suddenly went dry. “My father is missing. That’s why I’m watching the stars tonight. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep her out late.”

  Bodin gave Kyro a grim look. “Don’t come near my daughter again. Leave her and our village alone.” He pulled Andra onto the path. She glanced back at Kyro and mouthed, I’m sorry, before the trees closed around their retreating figures.

  The joy that had crept into Kyro’s heart that evening faded like smoke on the wind. He picked up the star and loaded it into the catapult sling with heavy limbs. When he pressed the red button, it beeped and some of the gears turned, but then they slowed to a grinding halt and black smoke coiled out of the base of the machine.

  “Oh, no,” Kyro whispered. “No, no, no.”

  He ran inside the workshop and grabbed his father’s tools, desperately trying to remember how Tirin had fixed the catapult the last time it had broken down. Kyro opened the small door at the base and waved the billowing smoke away from his face. He tied an old handkerchief from his pocket over his nose, but he still coughed. Piece after piece, Kyro went through the guts of the catapult, but soon had no choice but to admit defeat. The machine was broken beyond his ability to fix. At least, before the dawn rose. He sagged against the catapult, head spinning.

  Kyro managed to open the new case containing the star, wishing he could just hurl it into the sky in time. Hopelessness curled around his ankles, slowly working its way into his bones. He had protected it from falling into the hands of the vissla, but it didn’t make a difference. He sank to the ground next to the star, and Cypher pawed at his knees.

  As the light of dawn grew overhead, the star began to wane. Impulsively, Kyro cradled the star’s heart in his hands. The idea of the star dying alone without its brothers and sisters was too much. He didn’t even realize he was crying until Cypher began to lick the salt from his face.

  The sun rose, its rays bursting over the sky. The molten star’s light sputtered out, leaving only a gray rock cooling in Kyro’s hands.

  He had failed this star. He had failed his father, and his mother’s memory. His father was right; he wasn’t ready to watch the stars on his own after all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kyro spent the next couple of days in a terrible funk. Every minute he had between eating, sleeping, and watching the night sky, he worked on the catapult. He had to fix it—and fast—or he wouldn’t be able to save any stars. Two more had already been lost since the catapult broke.

  Last night when a star had fallen, he’d raced from the tower, sprinting through the woods. Halfway to the star, a terrible wail shattered the peaceful night air. It had frozen Kyro in his tracks for a moment, then spurred him to move faster.

  He was sure the sound was a vissla, dark and treacherous as it stalked the woods. He had to reach the star first. Even if he couldn’t fix the catapult in time, he hated the thought of another star dying at a vissla’s hands.

  When he found the crater, the star and its soft ebbing light awaited him, and his relief was palpable. He grabbed it and took off. The keening in the woods nipped at his heels all the way to his yard, along with the familiar snap of cold.

  Kyro’s breath caught in his throat as he crossed the line of stardust and turned to face the vissla as it emerged from the tree line. The huge, shadowed creature writhed and screeched, as ice crept over the forest floor toward the yard, forming a silvery blanket that stopped right at the stardust. Cypher whined next to Kyro, gingerly shifting his feet because his paws were so cold.

  A surge of terror and an undercurrent of pride coursed through Kyro’s veins. He held the star in his hands aloft, and the vissla’s screams pierced the night. The star’s light seemed to grow and fill up the yard and forest, and Kyro threw up an arm to protect his eyes. Then the shadow creature let loose one last howl before the light consumed it.

  The star returned to normal, but the vissla was gone. The icy blanket beneath his feet receded, melting into the leaves. Kyro could hardly believe it had worked.

  That night, Kyro hadn’t been able to send the star back into the sky, and it had fizzled out in his arms, but at least he had kept it out of the shadow’s clutches. And the star had been able to do its job one last time before it was gone forever. That was some comfort, but not enough. It only fueled his determination to fix the catapult.

  The next day as dusk began to fall, Kyro woke to a sharp rapping noise. Curious, he hurried to the front door, but found no one there. Only when he stepped outside did he notice the note taped to the door.

  Kyro pulled it down, and his eyes raced over the words.

  A meeting of the Star Shepherd Council will convene tomorrow at dusk at the Council’s tower in Daluth to discuss Tirin’s abandonment of his sacred duty to the stars over the village of Drenn. Tirin must appear before the Council to explain his actions, or he will be labeled a traitor and banned from shepherding the stars.

  Kyro swallowed the words’ bitter taste. His father was still missing. Not a single sign to let Kyro know he was alive. He had t
o believe his father was all right, but now even the Council had gotten wind of his disappearance.

  Star Shepherding was the only thing his father loved; it was why he had left Drenn and his son behind, however foolishly. Kyro crumpled the note in his hand.

  He was mad at his father, but the Council’s declaration made him far angrier. He would have to go to Daluth in his father’s place. Somehow, he must convince the Council to let Tirin remain a Star Shepherd.

  The memory of his father at his mother’s bedside flashed through his mind. He had been wrecked by her passing, and the stars were the only things that brought him any light. If he lost the stars too…

  With renewed determination, Kyro threw open the door to the workshop, marched across the field, and set to work. The lamp his father had crafted to light up as the sun disappeared hummed behind him and illuminated his way. Furious energy tingled through his limbs as he crawled inside the huge catapult. He’d fix this machine, then head for the Council meeting tomorrow and show them everything was under control. He could even tell them he had captured a vissla. His father hadn’t abandoned his post; he was chasing a lead while leaving the stars in his son’s capable hands.

  But Kyro needed to fix that catapult if he wanted to prove it.

  This time he finally found the problem: a gear, buried deep in the inner workings, had come loose and was stuck at an awkward angle. He quickly freed the stuck, broken gear and set a new one into place, then sat back on his heels to examine his work. If his father were here, would he be proud? Tightness spread across his chest, and he scrambled out of the machine.

  It didn’t matter what his father might think; he wasn’t here to see. He was off on some wild-goose chase, and Kyro was alone. There was no one to help him now, not even the villagers—his father had seen to that.

  Kyro took a deep breath, then closed the panel and dusted off his hands. Now to see if this worked.

  He grabbed hold of the lever and yanked it down. The gears moving in unison sounded like music to Kyro’s ears. When the red light blinked, he pressed the button and the catapult shot its imaginary cargo into the sky.

  Relief flooded Kyro’s bones. Cypher pawed his knee, and Kyro ran a hand through the dog’s fur. “Let’s go home, boy.”

  When he entered the workshop, he saw the crumpled note from the Council where he’d left it on the table, and the anger he’d felt earlier reared its head. How dare they question his father’s devotion to the cause? It was his whole life.

  Kyro threw the note in the fire. It sparked once, then burst into ashes.

  He made his way up to the tower and settled into his father’s chair. Cypher jumped up and licked his face, tail wagging. Kyro laughed despite himself.

  “Down, boy.” Cypher whined, then curled up on Kyro’s lap to snooze.

  Kyro had only been watching the stars in the cycling chair for an hour when someone knocked at the front door again. Could the Council members have changed their minds? Or did a new note await him downstairs? He set Cypher on the chair, the dog only lifting his head for a moment before returning to his dreams. When Kyro opened the door, his heart soared.

  For a second time, Andra stood on his front steps.

  “Hi.” She waved. “Need any help watching the stars tonight?”

  Her hopeful expression made Kyro’s heart bounce against his ribs. He held the door wide to let her in, then frowned. “But your father—”

  She placed a hand on Kyro’s arm. “My father is wrong. And overprotective. Your father isn’t even here. You shouldn’t have to shoulder this responsibility alone. Not when you have friends willing to help.”

  His cheeks flushed, and he stammered, “Th-thank you.”

  Andra grinned and stepped inside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about watching the stars.”

  Kyro tilted his head toward the tower. “Do you want a turn first?”

  Her eyes widened. “Can I really?”

  “Sure. But you’ll have to kick Cypher out of the chair.”

  Andra laughed. “I don’t mind sharing.”

  “Then you’ll be his new best friend.”

  The dog had no qualms about curling up next to Andra. She set the chair in motion, and soon Cypher was fast asleep. Andra’s eyes filled with delight as the chair took her from telescope to telescope, showing her every section of the sky.

  “I’m always sleeping at night, and I never really considered how lovely the evening sky is before,” Andra admitted. “But this is like a whole new world.”

  “If you look closely, you can see some of the stars grouped together. They’re called constellations. I like to think they’re families of people who gave a piece of their hearts to the stars together in the sky to keep us all safe.” Kyro had never told this to anyone except his father.

  “Inseparable families. That’s so nice,” Andra said.

  A wave of sadness swept over Kyro. “Except now they’re not as inseparable as they once were.” He sank into a nearby chair, while Andra continued her watch.

  “You keep watch every night,” she said, leaning forward. “And you rescue the stars. It isn’t your fault someone is stealing them.”

  He rubbed his palms on his knees. “I wish I was as good at clockmaking as my father. He never finished my training. When things break down here, I can’t always fix them in time.” The tightness from earlier crept back over his chest like a dark, vicious hand squeezing his breath.

  “But that hasn’t happened recently, has it?”

  “The other night, just after your father took you home. The star we rescued… The catapult broke down, and I…I couldn’t save it. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong in time. I held it in my hands as its light faded.” The backs of Kyro’s eyes burned, and he looked away from Andra.

  The chair stopped, and before Kyro knew it, she was at his side, flinging her arms around his neck.

  “It isn’t your fault,” she whispered in his ear. “Your father shouldn’t have left you alone. I think you’re doing a fine job without him. Mistakes happen, and there are many more stars that you have saved and will save. You’re doing wonderful work, Starboy.”

  Kyro didn’t dare blink for fear that his eyes would overflow. He wondered if Andra knew how much he’d needed to hear her words.

  She released him and squeezed his hand. “Let’s take this next watch together.”

  Andra led Kyro back to the clockwork chair. It was big enough to fit both of them snugly, even with Cypher snoozing across their legs. The chair began to move, and they settled in for their watch.

  Andra clung tightly to Kyro’s hand, and he clung back. A glowing warmth filled him from his head to his toes, as though he were a star flying back to his own home in the sky.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kyro and Andra nestled in the chair under the telescopes, keeping watch far into the night until the morning stretched its arms in the farthest corner of the sky. Soon the watch would be over and Andra would have to sneak back home before her father discovered she was missing.

  But just as they had both resigned themselves to that idea, a brilliance lit the sky directly above the watchtower. They sat, frozen, as an entire constellation plummeted to the earth.

  Andra gasped. Alarm flared over Kyro. How could they possibly transplant that many stars in the little time left before dawn?

  He raced down the stairs, dragging Andra with him. Cypher lifted his head, curious, then went back to dreams of chasing mice. The pair burst out the door, and stopped short. The yard beyond the watchtower was dotted with a dozen smoking craters.

  Empty smoking craters.

  And yet not a single vissla was in sight, and the stardust circling the yard remained unbroken.

  Kyro stumbled toward the nearest crater, reminded of that terrible night he and his father had discovered the stars were missing. It had happened agai
n. But as Kyro waved away some of the smoke, something in the bottom of a crater caught his eye. He hopped down into it, and gingerly picked the thing up.

  A severed hook.

  Kyro sagged against the edge of the crater, cradling the hook in his hands. Andra dodged between all the other craters dotting the yard, but returned with hunched shoulders and a handful of hooks just like the one Kyro held. She sat next to him, her warmth doing nothing to stem the chill creeping over him.

  Awful understanding slid through his gut. The slice through the burlap casings and now this severed hook. Kyro had never even seen one before. No one had, as far he knew. The Elders’ magic had fixed the hooks in the sky, making them unshakable. They weren’t ever supposed to fall.

  Kyro’s brain reeled, his breath suddenly short. The stars weren’t merely being stolen; they were being cut down. It was undeniable. Before, it could have been anything. The vissla, the villagers, the stars spontaneously combusting—but here was irrefutable proof. The hooks had been sliced off. Someone had done this on purpose.

  And now all these stars were lost.

  His father had only been gone a short while, and already Kyro was failing to keep up their Star Shepherding duties. The Council had maps of all the stars in the sky. His father had one of their sector hanging in his workshop. The missing constellation over the tower would forever mark them as failures. What would he tell the Council now? He hung his head and dizziness swept over him, the hook slipping from his fingers.

  “All those stars,” murmured Andra, her voice cracking. She wound her fingers through Kyro’s hand. They watched, tears glimmering in their eyes, as dawn broke across the sky and the stars faded from view.

  Wherever the fallen stars had ended up, it was too late for them now.

  “Come on,” Andra said, pulling Kyro up by his arm. “Let’s get you inside.”