Dark Star

Fathomless, colorful eyes surveyed the patch of dandelions at her fingertips; like tiny golden balls of velvet. The soft yellow tufts waved in response to her breath as she lowered her face close. The scent of a heavy summer sun on a fresh rain filled her nose as her lips curled into an impish grin. The late afternoon carried a lulling song of crickets and cicadas, chirping and chirring in a hypnotic rhythm that matched her breathing. A muse never needed to sleep, although Storm found herself sighing and stretching her arms and her delicate wasp-like wings. Reclining onto the damp grass, she closed her eyes and her whole world buzzed and hummed. Absently laying there, allowing her long wild white locks to tangle in the weeds, her skin tingled as the warm air danced over her like a protective blanket.

A crunch of the grass behind her suddenly interrupted her reverie and her eyes shot open. Drawing a quick breath, she sat up and looked behind her.

“Who’s there?”

The deep chuckle caused her pale flesh to prickle slightly, along with the hairs on the back of her neck. She swiveled around on the ground to face the visitor. Holding herself up on her arms and hands, her gaze travelled from a pair of sturdy brown boots that were unusually clean, to a pair of finely tailored silk black trousers and matching tunic. The man was built, if for nothing else, just for Storm to stare at openly and admire the well-defined muscles and expanse of chest beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Meeting his dark blue gaze, heat burned at her cheeks and he must have noticed because he grinned, brushing a strand of his jet black hair from his face. He extended a hand.

“Alastor, M’Lady. I did not mean to startle you.”

Storm continued to gawk, briefly looking at Alastor’s hand she quirked a brow. Leaning forward she sniffed his fingertips and when she was satisfied she greeted the man’s hand gesture by nuzzling her face in his palm.

“I am called Storm.” She murmured. He smelled like burning amber, and before the scent had time to delight her senses completely, Alastor gave a start and pulled his hand away. Storm exhaled with a pout; a warm tingling like steam lingered on her cheek where his hand had been. He squatted down next to her. Wafts of that heady amber smell drifted into Storm’s nose and she smiled, lowering her eyelids lustily. Alastor blinked.

“Well, Storm,” He cleared his throat pausing and drew his gaze over her body, “I have been watching you and I could not help but notice you have certain gifts.” Storm nodded her whole being suddenly filled with a rush of air and a grin spread on her face.

“I am so glad you noticed!” She plucked one of the Dandelions and gently placed it on his knee. “Her name was Niam. She said she wanted to sacrifice herself for the cause of great friendship.” Storm sat back on her heels and captured Alastor with her swirling eyes. Holding onto her knees, the energy around her rocked her back and forth as she waited, licking her lips.

Alastor looked at the plucked flower and then at Storm. She saw his brow furrow, like he didn’t know what to do. Humans never knew how to handle these things. Pressing her lips together she hopped closer to him and reached for “Niam.” He stooped there perfectly still, watching her like a cat would a mouse.

“Here. I’ll fix it for you, Sir.” She took the flower and stood, tucking the yellow puff carefully behind his ear. Her knuckles gently grazed his cheek, which felt like sandstone and radiating heat. His chuckle was like a trickle of warm water running down her spine and she shuddered, her wings vibrating for a brief moment. She was only a head taller until Alastor stood, straightening his powerful legs. The top of Storm’s tangled mess of hair was lucky enough to dust the man’s collar bone. She beamed brightly as her eyes surveyed her handiwork. He flourished a bow keeping his gaze locked on hers.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture of friendship you have offered; I have come to request something specific. Perhaps something a friend may do for a friend.” He sighed and folded his hands behind his back. The corners of his mouth fell gloomily and drew Storm’s attention. Her features softened and her wings wilted behind her. The emptiness was unmistakable.He continued to explain, gesturing with one hand. “You see, My Dear Lady, I am growing old and sickly--” he balled his fist and coughed into it, “--and I would love nothing more than to have some companionship and some lovely singing in my last days.”

Storm inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with her hand as her eyebrows climbed up toward her hairline. Her small squeak was muffled until she dropped her hand to reach for his. She brought his hand to her cheek with both of hers and spoke desperately.

“Oh my Dear, Dear Alastor, Sir! I will do it. I will come and sing for you and tell you stories about the Dandelions.” She inhaled raggedly as tears welled in her eyes. Alastor eased his hand from her grasp, pressing his lips together. Was he smiling? Or grimacing? Was he in pain? Storm let out a soft squeal. “Alastor! Oh I’m sorry! I hope I didn’t hurt you, Sir! I could ease your pain a little.” She reached her hand towards his chest and he swiftly snatched her fingers just inches from his heart and brought them to his lips. Storm gasped and her eyes snapped to her fingers before sliding up to his heavy lidded stare. As a muse, her empathic ability was bombarded. She expected to feel pain, but instead her face and body felt as if she were standing in front of the sun.

If that wasn’t enough, Alastor placed a slow lingering kiss upon the tips of her delicate fingers and said, “My nivalo kitsuk Ar’rn… I’m afraid that it is too late for some things.” He let her hand slip from his grasp and turned his body away from her to pace a few steps. Storm stood there gaping. She had the ability to regulate her own body temperature, however, just then her spider silk tunic was feeling heavy. My nivalo kitsuk Ar’rn. She repeated in her mind a few times. It meant: “My lovely little Storm” in the ancient Keaya’varian tongue. Storm could recall certain pieces of knowledge given to her on her creation day. The old Elven language was one of those gifts. No one ever spoke that way anymore, save for the elder Elves, yet those words sounded so elegant rolling off his tongue, and Storm felt his smooth voice travel from her porcelain tapered ears to her rapidly beating heart. If she could’ve floated out of her tall black boots, she would have. Instead she remained transfixed; staring like a milksop.

Alastor folded his arms across his chest and glanced over his shoulder at Storm.He gave her a small grin and let it fade before he continued.

“My current condition is quite terminal. There is no cure, so I can only hope to make the most of my time here.” He turned to face her completely; his lips painting a thin somber line across his face. He waited for a few moments, watching her. His eyes roamed her features. Storm assumed he was searching for more of an answer and she was just about to open her mouth to respond when Alastor suddenly closed the distance between them. A brief second of lucid thought told her she should run but something about being so close to him; the scent of amber, the warmth, his voice, it all compelled her to stay right where she stood. He cupped her face in his hands and she knew right away she was as helpless as a kitten. She swallowed hard as her heart felt as though it might punch right out of her chest. She felt his hands trembling as they tightened slightly; his eyes penetrating. She could not look away. She really didn’t know if she wanted to. He spoke in a rough whisper.

“So I have your promise then, Dear Ar’rn?” Storm nodded and licked her lips.

“M-hm.” He softened and his hands relaxed a bit. He smiled gently and brushed the thumb of one hand over her lips.

“Good girl.” He whispered again, “Then I will meet you here on the morrow at the same time, Okay?” Storm nodded again.

“Yes, Sir.” She said quietly. She closed her eyes and a chill lingered all around her as she no longer felt him standing near her. She rubbed her arms in a vain attempt at soothing the cold empty air. She opened her eyes just in time to see Niam drifting in a lazy circle to the ground below. Alastor was gone without a trace.

Deep within the Everwood between the cover of two Uzerdo trees, the village of Avri’la could easily be mistaken for a clearing with not much else aside from the trees, moss, and flowers. Storm knew better. This was her home. Her eyes kept changing hues as she stared off through the trees at nothing in particular. She was holding fast to the wilted Dandelion and humming. Her path was suddenly blocked by an imposing bronze skinned muse folding her arms across her chest and staring down her nose at Storm. Even though her posture was stern, Storm could see the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile and the light causing her dark mahogany eyes to squint in amusement. The bronze muse swiftly snatched Niam from Storm’s finger’s and asked,

“Just where have you been, Dearest Storm?” She waved the sagging, floppy blossom under Storm’s nose, who squeaked and giggled being drawn back into the present moment. She reached for the flower and the taller muse held it just out of her grasp.

“Sparrow!” Storm hopped a few times as the other giggled waving her long willowy arm above her shorter companion’s wild white tresses. Looking up at Sparrow’s soft smile and exotic tilted eyes, Storm was reminded of a rare bird with a prized worm she knew she had won and was not about to let it go. Storm sighed and dropped her arms, folding her hands in front of her.“Okay, Dear Sparrow. You have bested me.” Storm closed her eyes and lowered her head hoping to contain the grin she felt creeping around the corners of her mouth. She began to surround herself with an intense feeling of longing and sorrow. She opened one eye to peer at Sparrow who started to back away.

“Oh, Come on! That’s not fair!” Sparrow’s brows knitted together and she placed a protective hand over her heart. Storm lifted her chin and stopped her emotional assault. She sighed and then grinned wide skipping a little before holding onto her friend’s forearms conspiratorially. The events of meeting Alastor bubbled and swirled inside of her mind and she had to let it out.

“I met someone.” Storm leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone. Sparrow gasped and smiled a bit, listening as her friend continued.“A human. I think he might be from Roanesti.”

“A man?! Oh Storm! You ha- “

Sparrow squeaked as Storm reached a hand up to cover her mouth.

“Shhh! I don’t want anyone hearing…I’m meeting him tomorrow.” They both looked upward toward the powerful boughs and limbs of the trees. Storm could just barely make out the small dwellings of the village and from where she stood with Sparrow, all the others looked like small bees making honey in a hive. She looked back at Sparrow and gave all of the details about the mysterious man she met amongst the Dandelions and by the time she was finished Sparrow’s eyebrows were raised and she was wearing a small frown. Storm matched her expression and asked, “What, Sparrow? What is it?”

“You just met this man. You seem awfully attached.” Sparrow’s frown deepened as Storm began to protest.

“I will be careful. I’ll be out amongst the Dandelions!” Storm beamed a smile up at her friend hoping to offer some comfort.

“I’ll go with you.” Sparrow said. It was more of a sharp command rather than a suggestion. Storm could see some of their mother in the other muse just then. A council member with the expectation of obedience. Storm and Sparrow were not sisters in the traditional sense as they were created in two very different ways. A muse can be brought to the world naturally through birth after being conceived from a male and female, as was Sparrow; or a muse can be created by ritual through a process involving ten female muse. Storm technically had ten mothers and Sparrow’s mother just happened to be one of them.

“Well…okay.” Storm relented. “But you have to hide. I don’t want him thinking I don’t trust him.”

“Agreed. He will never know I am there. At any rate, let’s ascend so we can feast and drink and ponder the night sky!”

Storm smiled as she felt a warmth inside her heart that radiated out to her extremities. She always enjoyed the nights she spent with Sparrow studying the stars in her observatory. Sparrow had a gift understanding what the stars had to say just as Storm had a gift in listening to the flowers. Sparrow stretched her feathery wings and held out a hand to Storm as she clung to a vine hanging from one of the trees with the other.

A muse’s wings were largely ornamental, although they served some practical assistance. A muse could hover short distances or use their wings to climb the face of a mountain or tall tree. The Village of Avri’la was well protected because the only way you could get there would be to fly or climb a great distance. The dwellings were located high into the canopy of the two Uzerdo trees on platforms that stretched between them. Some structures were built into the trees and some were built out from the trees and stacked upon one another. Every home and shop were elaborately decorated with fancy tapestries and pillows. The muse favored all things that were aesthetically pleasing and almost always had every luxury available. The observatory was no exception.

The structure that housed the observatory was on the highest platform in Avri’la, sitting just above the canopy of the trees. A translucent shell arched over the expanse of the polished wooden planks of the floor, maintained by several crystals around the perimeter of the circular area. The crystals held old magic. They were also a source of light when the environment became too dark. The use of crystals was one of the only ways to sustain a spell for ages. Storm was unsure how long the observatory had been in Avri’la, but it was her favorite place to spend an evening with her best friend.

As the pair entered the dome they had a fine selection of lavish pillows to lounge on. Storm chose a light blue satin pillow with flame-colored flowers embroidered across the surface. Draping her small frame over the fine material, she inhaled the scent of lavender and mint that had been circulating around the small area. Sparrow checked each source of the relaxing aroma; two clay potpourri burners on either side of the circle, then she joined Storm on the pillows to gaze up at the darkened night sky. A table stood low to the floor between them, set with two wine goblets and a bottle of last summer’s Dandelion wine. Maybe the wine would come later. Storm was simply enjoying laying there. She looked up into the night sky and watched the stars appear like someone poking holes with a pin in a dark sheet of parchment. To her, the stars were just little dazzling sparks of light in the night sky. Her gaze wandered over to Sparrow who studied the vast expanse above them with fierce concentration. She had a crease marring the center of her smooth bronze forehead between her eyes as her chestnut hair tumbled around her shoulders. Storm could tell that it wouldn’t be long before she had something to say about it. Sometimes Sparrow would nod and smile like she was holding a secret with the celestial ornaments, but other times she had news.

“Are they saying anything to you, Sparrow?” Storm idly wound a strand of her white hair around a finger as she wondered, secretly wishing that there would be some sort of message about her encounter with Alastor. Storm froze as Sparrow’s gaze slid to her and a small grin crept upon the bronze muse’s lovely features. She knew. Blushing, Storm looked away and giggled.Sparrow’s eyebrows shot up as she instantly picked up on the feelings that Storm was experiencing. All muse were strong empaths.

“Storm! Meadow-lark would have you bound and hand fasted by the next day’s end if she could--“Sparrow sat bolt upright on her pillow and stared up at the stars. As Storm watched her friend, she could feel something. It was like a strong cord inside of her that had been there all along was suddenly severed. Storm clutched her belly and stared at Sparrow who had almost an identical reaction. Storm choked back a sudden urge to cry and watched a tear slide out of her friend’s eye.

“Sparrow! What’s happened?” Storm sat up and watched Sparrow rise and rush out of the dome. She felt like hot and cold; like she had been submerged in a boiling kettle and then dunked in ice water. Storm had to follow. She had to find out what this crippling aching feeling was inside of her.

Sparrow left an aura of death and pain trailing behind her all the way down to the village center. She was heading into the council chambers. Storm arrived just in time to witness Sparrow tear the pretty silk veil away from the door and march inside. There was a total of four council members present. Sparrows’s eyes took in the grim faces and her unasked questions were starting to puzzle together.

“Where is Meadow-Lark? Where is my mother?”