The Edge of Twilight

Dusk, in certain ways, was a strange concept to Will. It wasn’t as if it didn’t make sense; he knew the earth orbited around the sun and so the sun seemed to circle around the sky and when it crested Will’s horizon and disappeared while the earth spun . . . the sky got dark again. He understood that dusk was one of the most powerful time-between-times. He also knew how the length of the sun’s cycle depended on the season because of Earth’s tilt, and he even knew how the stationed constellations shifted with those seasons—like any Starcatcher would.

No, it was the feeling of dusk that felt strange, and its entity that made Will wonder. He didn’t like the uncertainty that stained dusk’s corners, the variety that dusk chose to paint with on its shadowed canvas. And it seemed as though it was a being separate from the prince that was the moon and the king that was the sun, but it was without a celestial body to place a name to. That was what Will hated about dusk. What was it? What could he call it? Where could he find it? It was a small feeling, one he could hardly place a finger on. But any true Starcatcher despised the uncertain, the uncategorized—anything unknown about the heavens could be dangerous, for all he knew, and dusk was one of those things.

Though he understood dusk, he understood there was something about it that felt strange—uncertain, untamed . . . unearthly. But despite the uncomfortable flutter in his gut that he felt towards the twilight, the Starcatcher called Will needed to feel it strongly that night. If he wanted to succeed, he had to accept dusk, embrace it—even call it home.

Glancing at the sky as he hurried down the neatly paved street, Will took note of the position of the sun: thirty degrees in reference to the angle of the horizon, light fading at two shades darker a minute. Stars are at a minimum. I’ve still got time.

It was a brisk walk he was taking, but he couldn’t risk running and seeming suspicious. He clutched his Skynet tightly, one of the precious star-stones in it for good measure. Hopefully any Astronomers who saw him thought he was going to the woods to shatter the stone—and hopefully none guessed that the stone was a part of Carina’s brother. Pitch-black lamp posts and eggshell-white observatories passing by, wide lenses gleaming at the top, Will headed to the treeline ahead, eyes darting around to make sure no one was following him. He nodded once, satisfied, and slipped into the forest.

Will carefully trekked through dense foliage, hoping he would be able to watch the sky from the rendezvous point. Following the path he knew so well, across the creek and following the pattern of stationed Orion, he approached the cedar tree under where the observed Westward Star would be with caution. Though he only had until midnight, when the lamp posts turned on and guarded the streets with burning bright lasers—maybe he’d be able to see a post from the meeting place—he had to be careful. Any wrong moves and Carina or himself would be caught, or worse. If she didn’t get the star-stones, the Astronomers would prevail against their resistance. If Will didn’t return inconspicuously, the Constellations would have no spies on the inside. And if midnight came too soon, they would die by the hand of the ever-watchful Astronomers.

It had been five days since they’d last spoken; granted, the conditions were undeniably unique, but time was still running out at its usual, inconveniently constant rate. For Will, though, it had felt like millennia. He smiled at the thought. Carina knew what millennia felt like.

“Will?” her voice called meekly, and he spotted her behind a rocky outcrop nearby.

Rushing to her with a strangled cry, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely. Then he let go, searching for signs of worry. “You’re alright? Nothing hurts, nothing happened?”

“Just a cut on my neck. The Astronomers nicked me when I escaped.” When he pulled back her dark hair to inspect her skin, blue tattoos hiding any injury, she grasped his hands and held them instead. “I’m fine. I promise.”

For a moment, as he stared into the sparkles in her brown eyes, the Starcatcher thought he was a stargazer.

Carina’s smile faded. “We have to hurry. Did you bring them?”

“Of course.” Digging into the silver-lined pockets of his Catcher’s robe, he brought out six gem-like stones and fished the seventh out of his Skynet. Their aquamarine glow would give away their position and their mission, so Will opened his hand and placed them into Carina’s with haste, closing her hand with his own.

“You did the right thing, whether you think so or not.” Gingerly placing the star-stones into a pouch, her eyes lit up when she looked back up at Will. “We’ll go to Stonehenge when you’re ready.”

He could feel his face flushing, and he looked to the sky again. Five degrees in reference to the angle to the horizon. Stars are coming out. Time is passing quickly. “If you hurry, the stars will be aligned. You could do it tonight.”

“Will, I don’t want to do it without you. I’ll wait until you can escape, too.”

“Carina, the time-between-times is now. Dusk is almost nightfall. You should go—awaken the Constellations while you still can.” He gently pushed her, refusing to meet her hurt gaze. “I’ll return to this place when I can escape.”

“You mean if, Will,” she replied firmly. Carina glared at him for a moment, but her face softened. She shook her head. “I’ll go get my sisters and brothers tonight. But only if you promise me you won’t stay.”

“I—”

“I know your position in the resistance as an insider is valuable to us...but you’re valuable to me, too. And not just as a Starcatcher, Will.”

Will’s ears burned, and he looked to the ground. He hated that Carina perceived him so well and he could not fathom her, like any Starcatcher would. It was why the twilight made him feel strange, why the Big Dipper Carina now held in her pouch made him uneasy. The uncertain, the uncategorized, the unearthly . . . those things could be dangerous. But, unlike dusk and unlike Dipper’s star-stones, there was something about Carina’s immeasurableness that he couldn’t keep away from—and it was something he adored and held dear like a secret treasure, unlike anything or anyone he’d ever known. Part of him didn’t even want to know her completely someday, to revel in not being able to comprehend her.

Who would have ever guessed a Starcatcher would catch the last surviving Constellation—sister of the Argo Navis—and fall in love with her?

“Go, Carina,” he said before he could change his mind. It was almost too dark to see properly. They were on the edge of twilight now, and midnight would come sooner than later. “I promise. I’ll be here for you when you return.”

She came close and claimed his mouth with hers for a moment, warmth flooding into Will’s body. Then she broke away, started to run, and the warmth vanished. A chill raced up his spine. He shivered.

Was this the right thing for a Starcatcher to do? Could he trust her with her brother, the Big Dipper? Would the Astronomers ever find out he took the seven star-stones? He hefted the Skynet in his hands. Will didn’t want to find out what they’d make him do to prove his loyalty if they even got suspicious. Besides—even if going against the Astronomers was wrong, he was redeeming himself for what happened to Carina’s sister Vela.

He shook his head, starting his walk back to his observatory. The twilight was making his thoughts cloudy. The Astronomers weren’t in the right. Shattering star-stones—killing Constellations—was never the point of Starcatching. Astronomy meant seeking knowledge of the stars, but the knowledge the Astronomers had found shouldn’t have resulted in death.

Will emerged from the forest, a sense of calm overcoming him at the thought of returning to Carina, to her touch, to her.

But dusk had clouded his thoughts. He wasn’t thinking about how the king that was the sun had already set. He wasn’t thinking about how the darkness of night, had overtaken the streets, save the prince of the sky that was the moon. He’d been so distracted that he hadn’t thought of how quickly the earth spun into night on its orbit around the sun, or how in the spring days start becoming longer, twilight being delayed until later hours. Had the true Starcatcher not taken any heed of the degree the moon had risen to in the sky also? Had Carina’s presence been enough to make him feel as though time had stopped for him, or had it been the strange feeling of twilight that he’d clung to that made Will lose track of time?

Death was also a concept that made Will uneasy, as it would with any Starcatcher. It was uncertain as to what would happen afterward, uncategorized as to what facet of “life” the absence of life could fit into, unearthly as to where death would take one . . . and ungodly as to how fate played its conceited games after the edge of twilight.

The lamp posts suddenly flickered to life.

And the Starcatcher called Will’s life flickered out.