The Shadow of Our Stars: The Tales of Evinar

by Alexander Richter

  “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

  “Quiet!” Quinn demanded to Violet. “I wanna see how thick-headed these blokes really are! If you ask me, they look like a pair of sullen little boys, bossing us around as if they own us.”

  The burly suspects accepted and pulled weapons of their own. They grimaced like wolves about to eat a wounded lamb. This would be too easy for them, but Quinn held her ground. She confidently accepted the odds. She didn't take dirt from anyone. The hungry wolves would find that out soon enough.

  “Is everything alright here?” asked a drunken chap as he passed by.

  “Piss off!” Remus grunted as he waved his sword in the man's face.

  “A demonstration of combat?” he declared loudly before Remus’s companion knocked him unconscious.

  “I’ll make this sweet,” the sword in Remus’s hand began to glow a radiant purple.

  Quinn’s eyes flared in fear. These weren't just any normal swords. Their edges were impregnated with some kind of enchantment, perhaps peppered poison. Her little dagger seemed no match for what was against it now.

  “I’ll do what you ask, please… just don’t hurt me,” Violet said as tears welled from her eyes.

  “Shut up!” And with a badly aimed throw, Quinn’s dagger nestled its sharp nose into one of their thighs. “Run!” she called to Violet, who was horrorstruck with what her eyes had witnessed. But without a moment of hesitation, she did as Quinn said and ran as if her life depended on it.

  A tea kettle rose to a boil while the grease from a cast-iron sizzled and popped with rosemary and fennel spiced sausages link. They were cooking unattended. The interior of the caravan was unexplainably spacious. The architecture was as much an illusion as the outside. After exploring numerous doorways, Abbott discovered that the inside held two bedrooms, washrooms, and a small kitchen. Hardly logical that all this would have fit inside such a petite wooden figure, but yet, somehow it did.

  A shelf of undusted books caught Abbott’s interest. I wonder what they read, he said while his curiosity peaked. He removed a book from the shelf and used his sleeve to dust off the cover. These weren’t ordinary books with ornate, swirly lettering or abstract images. These books were homemade and hand-bound, a much older way of bookmaking.

  The book cover was the color of ripe blueberry. It was bleek in appearance, except for a bit of gold inlay around the corners. The pages inside were as thick as a loaf of bread and were filled from top to bottom with scribblings of what looked like an unidentifiable language. Abbott attempted to compare the letters to English, but even then, he could not decipher them.

  He fanned through the parchment. There were pages and pages of colorless illustrations: flowers and maps, symbols and animals, numbers that resembled historical moments or events. Brilliant, he thought.

  Towards the back of the book, there were a few pages clumped together. Around the edges, they were closed with a ruby wax seal. Abbott ran his finger over a monogram a K. He wondered why they were sealed. Abbott searched about. He was still alone. Eager, he broke the wax and watched as it flaked away to the wood floor.

  The first several pages were empty, but then he stumbled over an inked picture of a woman, or at least that’s what he assumed. Her name was listed as clear as day in English, the Weeping Woman, and there was a map with a plot of land-titled, “The Vail” documented on the adjacent page. What’s the Vail? Is it in England? And why can I read this page and not the rest?

  The hidden pages were like gibberish to Abbott, but he wanted to understand them.

  One thing was evident in the final pages of this volume, it was not finished from being written. They were inked just days ago. Abbott could tell because of the fresh inkblots, and by the way, the wax seal looked, which may have been reapplied time and time again.

  “What are you doing inside my caravan at this hour?” said a voice that scared Abbott into dropping the book face down and hitting his head on the low hanging ceiling. It was showman, Martin. He was dressed in his nightly attire with a bedtime cap resting over his head. “How did you even find me?”

  Abbott could not find the words in his mouth. He was caught red-handed.

  “I—I—m looking for Quinn,” Abbott said, resting one of his shaking hands against his side. “We met just after your performance.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. How did you find me? Are you a stable boy?”

  “No—I’m not. Quinn revealed your trick… with the arrows— magic arrows…to me and that’s how I found you.”

  Martin's face went blank as he searched for an appropriate response. “She revealed what exactly to you?”

  He couldn’t lie, and he wouldn’t. His nose would curl up, and his speech began to stutter. It was the Creator’s way of keeping him honest.

  In an effort to keep with his morals, Abbott went over his conversation with Quinn about the arrows and magic but omitted from telling Marty about the stone. It wasn’t a lie because Marty did not ask about it. For all he knew, it was just a skipping stone that held a certain memory for him.

  Martin plopped his bottom onto a lounge chair, taken back by Abbott’s story. “You’re highly intelligent to find me here,” he complimented with a chuckle, “but you have some nerve breaking into a man’s home to rummage through his daughter’s belongings. Have you any sense of common courtesy?”

  Abbott protested, “All I want is what your daughter took from me. It doesn’t seem fair. It was never my intention to steal from you, only to take back what was mine.”

  Martin's glare pulled the truth right from Abbott's mouth. He was compelled not to lie.

  Bewildered and joyous, Martin offered Abbott a cup of tea and a hot sausage to repay any hard feelings his daughter may have caused.

  “You have questions, I assume,” Martin’s hand motioned to the face-down book. Truth was, Abbott had a lot of questions. But were they really worth asking? He did not know. All he could think about was the stone and the potential of unlocking a magic ability that would help his sick father.

  “What language is it written in?” Abbott asked, playing with the facade. “It’s not in English.”

  “Ah, a fine question,” Martin said grinning behind his teacup. “A trick nonetheless! It’s not English like you are accustomed to, it is the language from my home. But perhaps none of what will transpire from my text will make sense to your eyes even if you could read it. If you tap the spine three times with your thumb, you’ll be able to read it just as clear as day. An exquisite touch I added when I crafted the darn thing. But you wouldn’t know where my text speaks of. It has been many lunar cycles since your people have visited.”

  “Visited? What do you mean?”.

  “Well to of Evinar of course.”

  “Evin-what?”

  8

  Raindrops rolled down Billy's blotchy cheeks as he walked with his dampened spirits to nowhere. As predicted, the night came to an end with rain. The guests of Woolbury rushed to pack up their markets and head inside their elaborately painted tents. But Billy embraced the chilled sensation running down his skin. He was so close to having what he always wanted. Violet was his for the taking, but he'd twined it up. He was empty-handed now. The rain reminded him of that.

  Whilst he proceeded the pathways of Woolbury in deep reflection, Billy heard heavy footsteps trailing from behind. A commotion was headed straight for him. He saw Violet with another woman rip past him at a furious speed.

  “Violet!” he cried cluelessly.

  “Get back here!” yelled one of the men in pursuit, a knife in hand.

  As if instinctual, Billy propped out his boot, just nearly clipping the assailants. Like a toppling runaway carriage, the men fell over each other, cursing. It was never polite to chase a lady, under any circumstances.

  If it wasn’t for Violet’s wailing, they may have escaped into the darkness. But her voice was shrill and unique. Billy followed the echoes floating throughout the rain. If anyone was to save her, it mo
st certainly would be him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Violet grabbed Quinn by her arm to slow her down. They stopped behind the cover of a stone wall. “Throwing weapons at people? They could have—”

  “Killed us? Exactly why I did it” Quinn said, taking back her limb. “I’ve just saved your life, you don’t need to be a little brat about it.”

  “A brat?” Violet was called many things in her life, but never a brat, but it was the very way she was acting whether she wanted to admit it or not. “Who did you think you are? Miss Rugged and War-like? If you’d had any sense, you’d of just reported them to the village patrol.”

  Quinn let out a sarcastic laugh. “Those aren’t the sort of men who’ll listen to what you’re dreary-eyed patrol have to say. They’d have killed them all the same.”

  “At least we wouldn’t have had to go through that terrible experience.” Violet’s voice broke. “My dress is absolutely ruined. Who will want to court me around now looking like this?”

  “No one cares what you look like,” Quinn said bluntly. “Men don’t care about your clothes, just what’s underneath them, don’t you know that?”

  “That’s preposterous! How outrageous of a statement! Look, I don’t know where you come from, but that’s not how things work here in Woolbury. Men have manners when it comes to women.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, my dear,” Quinn said, peeking behind the wall to see if they were clear. “But do not be surprised when you realize I’m right.” She balled her fist up and looked ready to strike.

  “Whoa— whoa! It’s just me, Billy. Are you alright?” he said while heading straight for Violet, who looked in a state of daze and shock. Quinn immediately rolled her eyes in protest.

  “Oh, thank heavens you’re here,” Violet said, plunging into Billy’s arms like a melting piece of butter. “You’ve come to save me from her!”

  “I’ve just saved you!” Quinn gritted her teeth. “You… little…”

  “What’s she done to you?” Billy said.

  “Saved her life!”

  “More like almost killed me!” Violet yelled, waiting to see what Billy would do about it.

  “I wish you the best of luck, you little—” Violet’s ungratefulness and innocence bothered Quinn. If she only knew who those men were and where they were from, Violet would have been on her hands and knees thanking her. From the moment that man sat at the bar, Quinn knew his motive. A scar hidden just above the collar of his coat, the three arrowed moon, the marking of the Vailïc. She’d heard her father mumble enough times while penning his thoughts onto paper to know what people resided in that place. But a question remained— why would they have traveled from that world into this one?

  Quinn tugged on the stone in her pocket to make sure it was still there and decided to return to her caravan. Violet’s ungratefulness exhausted every bit of her for the time being, and her cloak was soaked. Besides, she still needed answers about the stone. Her father would most certainly know them.

  She lurked in the shadows.

  The night had gotten out of hand— fast.

  Quinn had a habit of making enemies wherever she lingered, whether it was a product of her blunt speech or her asinine decision making, it didn’t matter. Where the wind blew Quinn, trouble followed. Her father, Martin warned her about that. It would be her demise if she didn’t stop inserting her nose into people's business.

  The Vailïc soldiers would tear this village apart looking for her. She understood that. A knife to the thigh was a signed death warrant under their hands.

  Paranoia slithered in.

  From cover to cover, jumping shadow to shadow, Quinn swept towards the stable under a fountain of droplets. Without her knife, she was defenseless. Why didn’t I think before throwing it? I had no choice, the inner dialogue continued, but maybe there was. Ara could have helped, but only if she called. Asking for help was not a language Quinn spoke all that often. It was a weakness to her.

  A grumbling hark sounded from the other side of the stone cottage where Quinn hid.

  “I want to kill her,” the Vailïc said. “Her knife, it won’t budge from my leg.”

  “You will, but we need to find the boy,” the voice sounded like Remus. “It’s him she wants.”

  “I want to burn this place to the ground.”

  Quinn listened closely, stepping inside a gardening hut filled with clay pots and wooden trowels. “Ara?” Quinn lowered herself to a whisper. “I can’t believe I’m asking this… I… no, I’ll be alright… okay nevermind, I need your help.” A thumping in her chest rose rapidly as the Vailïc stepped in front of where she was hiding. This wasn’t like the other situations she’d put herself in. This time, she lacked the confidence to make it out alive. There was no escaping and no extraordinary plan she’d concocted. “Ara, please help me.” Quinn sunk deeper and deeper into the dark, holding her breath, and shaking from the cold.

  “Hold tight,” the voice of Ara rang through her head. “Was sleeping. I’m a bit groggy, but did I hear you say please?”

  Ara’s sarcasm came as a relief.

  Quinn trembled while she looked through a knot in the shed door.

  “Boy…sacrifice…Lilith needs em alive,” were the words Quinn pulled out under the rain.

  “You know what to do,” Ara said. “The stables are just over that ridge of houses. Your father is inside. You’ll be safe there. I'll handle them.”

  Quinn peaked the hut door open slowly. The hinges screeched in protest. It was now or never, she told herself. Ara would distract them.

  The rain halted. A dense layer of fog drifted in, setting the town into a game of chess. If Quinn made the wrong choice, she'd face elimination. She was the queen, Ara was a faithful knight, set out to protect her while she fled, and the Vailïc were the pawns sent by a faraway enemy.

  Quinn’s ears started to deceive her. Even they could not determine whether the sounds entering them were the product of mere imagination or fear.

  “Ara?” Quinn asked.

  “I’ve lost them. They were just over—”

  Quinn’s heart stopped. WHAT! But before she could process the thought, she felt a meaty hand grab the back of her neck, forcing her to the ground.

  “Got ya!” Remus said in a grumble. His grip was so strong there was no way Quinn could get free of it. She wiggled and punched, but it did her no good.

  “Let me kill her now,” his accomplice said.

  “Not now!”

  “But my leg—”

  “Shut up! You’ll get your chance but not before I get mine.”

  Quinn eyed the mark above his collar. Seeing it again put another wave of terror through her bones. “Ara!” she roared.

  “I’m coming!” The owl's wingspan opened overhead as she landed on the nest of Remus’ head. Her beak pecked viciously away at his skull, sending bits of hair flying in all directions.

  “Ouch!” His grip loosened on Quinn’s neck, and she took off again like a fox into the night.

  “Get this bloody thing off me!” Remus’s accomplice dropped a fist over his head right as the bird leaped away into flight. It left Remus, unconscious in the mud, and bleeding like a cracked fruit.

  Abbott's understanding of the hidden world around him illuminated a spark in his imagination. “So these worlds coexist but are separate from each other?” he questioned, his eyes full of confusion.

  “And they always have,” Martin said with a slight smirk. “For as long as anyone can remember. There has been here, and there has been there. Quite a marvel is it not?”

  “But then why don’t people in Woolbury know about it? If there are things that can solve our problems in Evinar, wouldn’t be in our best interests to be made aware?”

  Martin rifled through his brain for an answer. “You honestly think people don’t know about it? Pfff, people know about it, your village council knows about it! Why do you think they have this celebration every year? The Hunt. It’s all part of t
he tradition, but it's a tradition that fades as time goes on and less remember the truth behind it. Your council sees our kind as outcasts and a threat to their perfect society. If you ask me, things are a lot better where I come from than they are here. A lot less, dull”

  “Then the hunt is intended for what? To bring both sides together?”

  Martin released a chuckle and nodded. “Of course! It’s what was intended. It’s no secret, the Waxy Caps aren’t from your world. They are from mine! We planted them here so that a person smart enough to find them— would. And they would find much more than anticipated. They would find Evinar! It’s a welcoming gesture no less. The key to a hidden lock!”

  “But only a person of royal blood or fairy blood can consume them? You’d turn into an animal if you did.”

  Martin waved his hand in a sign of dismissal. “A lie— a lie to wart off the wrong kinds of folks. I made it up myself haha. Quite amusing, right?”

  “So anyone can find them?” Abbott asked, stitching the narrative together.

  “Precisely, anyone.”

  “But then, why do you bother coming here, if Evinar is painted to be a far better place, wouldn't you rather stay?”

  “An interesting query.” Martin poured himself another cup of tea and watched as the leaves settled to the bottom. “Why would I not? It amuses me watching your world slowly trudge behind ours. Although you have fancy mechanical inventions, we have magic and far more. We are all somewhat intrigued by how it all works!”

  Abbott’s opportunity arrived. He blurted out the words before prefacing his question, “Is there healing magic in Evinar?”

  Martin searched through the maze in his eyes. “Is a loved one sick?”

  An answer wasn’t required. Martin saw the lines on Abbott’s forehead, they gave him away immediately.

  “It is possible,” Martin said with a deep breath. Abbott noted it was the same answer Quinn revealed earlier in the night. “But terribly difficult. I’ve tried before but was unsuccessful. It’s very unnatural.”