Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

Eldest Uncle rose and came to her, unrolled a blanket, and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled, because she didn’t know how to tell him that she wasn’t cold.

The old man padded to the warriors, and they began the familiar routine of leavetaking: taking a last sip of mahiz, tucking away leaf-wrapped journey bread, tightening the ropes on the baskets they carried before slinging them over their backs.

Anna got to her feet. The lady stood. In the moonlight, Anna saw tears on the other woman’s cheeks.

“What are you looking at?” Anna whispered.

The lady’s voice was slightly hoarse. “The stars. See, there. That is the Scout’s Torch, almost overhead. It’s faint because of the moon’s light and the haze. To the west, there, the Lion’s Claw is almost gone, and to the southwest—do you see it?—the blue star marking the Dragon’s Eye. In the east—well—hard to see. It’s hazy, and the moon outshines everything. The three jewels are barely visible because of the light. And to the south, the Serpent. There, that one—do you see it?—that is the Serpent’s dreadful red eye.”

“That’s a lot of stars.”

“Only the brightest are visible. But to see them at all!” She faltered, wiped her eyes, and with her head still canted back, staring into the heavens, she spoke in a low voice. “They’re so beautiful. It’s been so long since I have seen them. Or held my daughter in my arms.”

They walked for several days and nights, their journey punctuated by long rests during the heat of the day and by an ongoing and protracted argument between the lady and Eldest Uncle in which Blessing’s name was spoken many times. This much Anna understood. Of the rest, nothing.

At intervals, watchtowers guarded the approaches. They stopped at these places for supplies. The lady walked among them without fear, and they stared at her and spoke to her; Anna, they stared at but ignored.

They came at length to a place where the White Road bent southward to intersect with the sea where the shoreline was cut by a pair of chasms opening deep into the rocky wasteland. A fort spanned the road. No guardsman seemed inclined to question Eldest Uncle. They deferred to him as to a noble lord, and let the party pass without question, although it seemed every Ashioi guardsman felt obliged to comment at length and with much laughter as the little group set out into wilderness.

After this, they marched along a dusty road for five days—or six or seven; Anna lost count. Her feet were caked in grit. When she moved her hands, dirt ground softly between the skin of her fingers. Her face was masked with dust. Her hair itched all the time although she kept it pulled back in a tight braid and covered by a linen cloth knotted at the back of her neck.

One time they saw a party of about a dozen mask warriors walking east, some limping and one bundled up in a fetal position and carried on the back of one of his companions. The lady pulled a hood over her face and melted away into the scrub brush grown along the side of the road, and so it was that they met the group and spoke at length with them while the lady hid. There was some discussion of Anna. She could tell by the way the newcomers indicated her by lifting their chins as they looked at her. Eldest Uncle’s authority carried them. Soon enough, the other party made their farewells and set on their way, east toward home. When all was clear, the lady emerged from the brush. They continued their journey, stopping for a long rest in the midday and for increasingly long rests at night as the moon dwindled and faded to nothing but a sliver at dawn.

The next morning, they came to a substantial village garrisoned by a contingent of Ashioi mask warriors, Ashioi farmers and craftsmen, and a few human workers who stared at Anna from the fields as she passed them on the road. Many gathered at the gate to ask questions as they came in, but Eldest Uncle fended them off with his usual good nature and greeted a woman carrying a chubby baby on each hip. She greeted him warmly, and spoke to the lady with more reserve but with evident interest. Anna thought she had seen this woman before, but she wasn’t sure. It was difficult for her to distinguish one face from another because they looked so different from the people she had grown up with or even from the swarthy soldiers devoted to Lord Hugh. Others crowded around, so many faces that she had to look away for fear of drowning.

Pushed to the edge of the group and ignored but avoided by all, she followed as they settled into a council held out on the open common ground, where a post stood. Mats were rolled out. The lady and Eldest Uncle and the other woman sat facing each other. Many clustered behind, crouching or standing to listen. Drink and food passed around the circle as the three in the center began to speak. The lady had a habit of accompanying her words with spacious gestures, as though her hands talked. Eldest Uncle spoke with his hands resting on his bare thighs. The other woman mostly listened, asking a question now and again and occasionally responding to a comment from one of the three persons kneeling behind her, two men and a woman who hovered like servants or children. At last she turned to one of these attendants—a noticeably attractive young woman who wielded a fierce gaze—and an object changed hands. She held it out. It was round, formed out of polished metal, like the sun.

ady’s voice was slightly hoarse. “The stars. See, there. That is the Scout’s Torch, almost overhead. It’s faint because of the moon’s light and the haze. To the west, there, the Lion’s Claw is almost gone, and to the southwest—do you see it?—the blue star marking the Dragon’s Eye. In the east—well—hard to see. It’s hazy, and the moon outshines everything. The three jewels are barely visible because of the light. And to the south, the Serpent. There, that one—do you see it?—that is the Serpent’s dreadful red eye.”

“That’s a lot of stars.”

“Only the brightest are visible. But to see them at all!” She faltered, wiped her eyes, and with her head still canted back, staring into the heavens, she spoke in a low voice. “They’re so beautiful. It’s been so long since I have seen them. Or held my daughter in my arms.”

They walked for several days and nights, their journey punctuated by long rests during the heat of the day and by an ongoing and protracted argument between the lady and Eldest Uncle in which Blessing’s name was spoken many times. This much Anna understood. Of the rest, nothing.

At intervals, watchtowers guarded the approaches. They stopped at these places for supplies. The lady walked among them without fear, and they stared at her and spoke to her; Anna, they stared at but ignored.

They came at length to a place where the White Road bent southward to intersect with the sea where the shoreline was cut by a pair of chasms opening deep into the rocky wasteland. A fort spanned the road. No guardsman seemed inclined to question Eldest Uncle. They deferred to him as to a noble lord, and let the party pass without question, although it seemed every Ashioi guardsman felt obliged to comment at length and with much laughter as the little group set out into wilderness.

After this, they marched along a dusty road for five days—or six or seven; Anna lost count. Her feet were caked in grit. When she moved her hands, dirt ground softly between the skin of her fingers. Her face was masked with dust. Her hair itched all the time although she kept it pulled back in a tight braid and covered by a linen cloth knotted at the back of her neck.

One time they saw a party of about a dozen mask warriors walking east, some limping and one bundled up in a fetal position and carried on the back of one of his companions. The lady pulled a hood over her face and melted away into the scrub brush grown along the side of the road, and so it was that they met the group and spoke at length with them while the lady hid. There was some discussion of Anna. She could tell by the way the newcomers indicated her by lifting their chins as they looked at her. Eldest Uncle’s authority carried them. Soon enough, the other party made their farewells and set on their way, east toward home. When all was clear, the lady emerged from the brush. They continued their journey, stopping for a long rest in the midday and for increasingly long rests at night as the moon dwindled and faded to nothing but a sliver at dawn.

The next morning, they came to a substantial village garrisoned by a contingent of Ashioi mask warriors, Ashioi farmers and craftsmen, and a few human workers who stared at Anna from the fields as she passed them on the road. Many gathered at the gate to ask questions as they came in, but Eldest Uncle fended them off with his usual good nature and greeted a woman carrying a chubby baby on each hip. She greeted him warmly, and spoke to the lady with more reserve but with evident interest. Anna thought she had seen this woman before, but she wasn’t sure. It was difficult for her to distinguish one face from another because they looked so different from the people she had grown up with or even from the swarthy soldiers devoted to Lord Hugh. Others crowded around, so many faces that she had to look away for fear of drowning.

Pushed to the edge of the group and ignored but avoided by all, she followed as they settled into a council held out on the open common ground, where a post stood. Mats were rolled out. The lady and Eldest Uncle and the other woman sat facing each other. Many clustered behind, crouching or standing to listen. Drink and food passed around the circle as the three in the center began to speak. The lady had a habit of accompanying her words with spacious gestures, as though her hands talked. Eldest Uncle spoke with his hands resting on his bare thighs. The other woman mostly listened, asking a question now and again and occasionally responding to a comment from one of the three persons kneeling behind her, two men and a woman who hovered like servants or children. At last she turned to one of these attendants—a noticeably attractive young woman who wielded a fierce gaze—and an object changed hands. She held it out. It was round, formed out of polished metal, like the sun.

The lady stared, rendered speechless by this apparition. At length, she reached for it, and it was given into her hands. She turned it and spun it and held it at arm’s length and laughed and cried and at length gave it back. And spoke an Ashioi word that Anna knew.

“Yes.”

After this, as the council broke up and the lady walked away with the other woman, deep in conversation, Anna found herself in a backwater, unwanted and forgotten. When she wandered to the gate, no one stopped her or called after her. She walked through the gate and crossed the plank bridge fixed over the ditch. A square guard’s tower rose at the northeastern corner of the palisade. There, a mask warrior with his mask pushed up onto his hair spotted her but looked away as quickly, uninterested.

She could run. She could escape.

She laughed, because it was better than crying. Would she never be able to go home?

A trio of young people—two boys and a girl—came walking up the road carrying buckets half full with water over their shoulders. They were born of humankind, as she was, with sweetly familiar features although they were dark-haired and with complexions neither as pale as Wendish nor as reddish bronze as Ashioi, but with a dusky olive cast. Southerners. Aostans.