“Please come back to bed, it’s freezing in here.” Arathen heard his lover say, from within the room behind him. She was shivering there, in his bed, whilst buried under all of the silks and furs she could find.
Any moment now...it should be there. He thought.
“I’m starting to think Garret and all the others are right, you know, you’ve gone mad...you’re obsessed.” She said with a half-muffled chuckle.
He had been standing here on the balcony, with both eyes fixed upon the sky for what felt like hours, wrapped only in a thin deerskin cloak. The late autumn air had started to freeze, and when the night-winds lashed out, they could cut to the bone; but tonight, he would not be deterred.
It was a wonderous sight to behold. Across the dark sky, under the night's moon, was an arrow of shimmering stars, surrounded by a purple hue of what most thought to be the blood of Gods.
Perhaps I am mad. The time is right, it’s been there every-
“Yes! Yes! Come see, Sara, now, hurry!” Arathen exclaimed, scrambling into the room and over to his bedside table. He knelt down and began flipping through several scraps of parchment before finding the right one. Almost spilling his inkwell, he reached for the quill resting inside, and quickly recorded the date and time.
One toll from midnight, full moon of Dagfar, 82 Reign of Nolas.
“I am not getting out of this bed, Art! That floor of yours will freeze me solid. Hey! What are you doing?” Arathen had jolted back to his feet and was reaching across the bed, pulling back the mountainous heap of skins.
“Stop! It’s too cold.” She was giggling and squealing, swatting and grabbing at his arms. Finally, he wrestled her free.
“You put up a good fight, but it is for naught, you must come see!” He said, with a half-jesting tone.
“Alright, you win, but this better be worth it.” Sara's slender pale form trembled as she slid out from under the pile of silks. A long, bright red mane draped down, well past her knees.
It’s a wonder she can be cold, with all that.
“Here, this one’s warm enough.” Arathen wrapped her in his own cloak, and fetched an old night-robe for himself.
Though a fire burned in the hearth across the chamber, her words were true, the stone floor seemed ice cold. With an arm around her shoulder, they crept back to the balcony.
Arathen had spent his entire twenty years here, within the Green Tower of the Ringing Castle; and, from here, under the full moon, the view was magnificent. They could see nearly all of his family’s lands.
Cethera, the Kingdom of Bells.
To the west, beyond the green hills, lay the Glittering Sea, shining like an emerald under the night moon. To the north, the winding road from the keep led down, through the capital port-city of Krosnath, and into its harbor. The road was lit on both sides by more than a dozen great braziers; which, at night, from here, looked like some great serpent, slithering down from the castle and into the sea. To the south stood the colossal fir trees of Greywood, which acted as another natural border of the kingdom. To the east, as far as the eye could see, were the farmlands, along with its people; scattered amongst the rolling fields, in their dimly lit homes.
Sara had been here many times, but was always stunned by the view.
“You can see mother’s shop from here, if you look close enough.” She said, clutching the cloak tight across her chest.
Arathen bent down to match her height, turning her to face the eastern sky. In the distance,the wind was twisting through the Greywood, the giant firs popped and creaked. Soon they too were blasted by the cold.
“Look, do you see Yirta's Hammer?” He asked, pointing as best he could towards the constellation.
“Mhm.” She replied, mockingly.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Now, just to the right…” And there it was, that which had haunted his thoughts for the last two moons.
The Black Star.
“What… is it?” Sara asked, uneasily.
“I don’t know. It seems larger than other stars, and it’s now appeared during the last two full moons, at least that’s when I first noticed.”
It was darker than the void between stars, and it was surrounded by a thin golden ring. Its shape seemed to warp and move, ever so slightly.
Just a trick of the eyes. He thought, while swatting strands of red hair from his face.
“The way it gleams around its edge, I think it’s pretty.” She spoke in wonderment.
“Pretty?” The sarcasm was sharper than he intended.
“Do not mock me, Art.” She sniffled, putting a hand out to the stone, as if to balance herself.
“Ah, so it’s fine to mock me, but now that you’re here and you see this for yourself, this is no jest, Sara.”
She turned away from him, her hair a flurry in the wind.
“You say it's no jest, but you’re obsessed with all this… this nonsense.” Her voice was cracked in irritation.
"Before this, it was spirits in the Greywood, and before that it was a mist that swallowed ships whole. Merfolk, wizards and whatever else. I'm sick of hearing the stories. You shouldn’t be thinking about all this, you should be thinking about your family!” She was sobbing now, and wiping her nose.
Thinking about her, she means.
“I’m a warden, Sara. It’s my job to keep an eye on the borders, and to report anything out of the ordinary.” Arathen’s face had darkened, his response was swift and stern.
She thinks us all fools, just like everyone else.
The wardens were once the realms most renown mage hunters. However, their reputation had diminished over the years, as most practitioners of magic had been snuffed out. The order still functioned as a patrolling guard, but their study of the unnatural had mostly ended, save for a few, including Arathen.
“You spend most of your time down at the docks, talking to drunkards.” She was yelling now, and the wind howled with her.
The whole damn castle can probably hear her.
“The docks sit upon the sea, which is one of our borders.” He said, as bluntly as possible.
”And sailors, usually, provide useful information.”
She glared at him.
“And what about up there?” She pointed to the sky. “Did the sailors tell you about that too?”
What is wrong with her?
She looked as if she were in pain, with one hand on her stomach, the other on a guard stone, rocking back and forth as if to ease herself.
The wind sheared at them again, pulling the cloak from her grasp, it floated off towards the city, leaving her completely bare.
She'll freeze if we stay out here.
“I don’t feel-” She vomited, her bile a tempest in the wind, drenching them both.
“Sara, what’s wrong?” Arathen tried to yell over the wind, reaching a hand out to her.
“No!” She screamed, panicking, shaking, and shivering.
“I don’t feel well.” Falling to her hands and knees, she retched again, violently.
Sara clumsily rolled her head back and gazed into the sky, her hair flowing like a red banner in the wind behind, blood and bile steaming down her bruising neck; her breathing erratic, and her bright blue eyes, unblinking, had turned some darker shade.
Yellow?
Her body hung there, horribly, in the air, her knees no longer touched the stone below.
Time seemed to stop, and there was nothing to do but bear witness.
There’s no logic here… I can’t move, I can’t speak. Sara-
“Sara… are you alright?” He finally asked.
She groaned some form of reply, and collapsed onto the cold stone, like a doll being tossed aside by some beligerant child.
The wind was gone, and the night seemed painfully silent. Arathen stood frozen in disbelief. Staring down at his lover’s battered body, noticing the faintest movement.
She’s still breathing.
“Come on.” He picked her up as carefully as he could and started back through the door.
She twitched and murmured, though he could not understand.
“Sara, can you hear me?” No reply.
What will people say? He couldn't think of that now.
He gently placed her back in bed, under all the silks and furs, and ran a hand across her head.
Fever.
“I’m going to get help, do you hear me? You’re gonna be alright.”
She murmured.
Arathen ran towards the chamber door, but just as he left, he turned to glance back through the balcony door, and into the sky beyond.
It’s gone.