Stardust

“Now then, how far is it, to your star? D’you know that?”Tristran had not given the matter any thought, hitherto, but he found himself saying, “A man could walk, only stopping to sleep, while the moon waxed and waned above him a half a dozen times, crossing treacherous mountains and burning deserts, before he reached the place where the star has fallen.”It did not sound like the kind of thing that he would say at all, and he blinked with surprise.

“As I thought,” said the little hairy man, approaching his burden and bending over it, so Tristran could not see how it unlocked. “And it’s not like you’re the only one’ll be lookin’ for it.

You remember what I told you before?”

“About digging a hole to bury my dung in?”

“Not that.”

“About telling no one my true name, nor my destination?”

“Nor yet that.”

“Then what?”

“How many miles to Babylon?” recited the man.

“Oh. Yes. That.”

“Can I get there by candlelight? There and back again. Only it’s the candle-wax, you see. Most candles won’t do it. This one took a lot of findin’.” And he pulled out a candle-stub the size of a crabapple and handed it to Tristran.

Tristran could see nothing in any way out of the ordinary about the candle-stub. It was a wax candle, not tallow, and it was much used and melted. The wick was charred and black.

“What do I do with it?” he asked.

“All in good time,” said the little hairy man, and took something else from his pack. “Take this, too.

You’ll need it.”It glittered in the moonlight. Tristran took it; the little man’s gift seemed to be a thin silver chain, with a loop at each end. It was cold and slippery to the touch. “What is it?”

“The usual. Cat’s breath and fish-scales and moonlight on a mill-pond, melted and smithied and forged by the dwarfs. You’ll be needin’ it to bring your star back with you.”

“I will?”

“Oh, yes.” Tristran let the chain fall into his palm: it felt like quicksilver. “Where do I keep it? I have no pockets in these confounded clothes.”

“Wrap it around your wrist until you need it. Like that. There you go. But you’ve a pocket in your tunic, under there, see?”Tristran found the concealed pocket. Above it there was a small buttonhole, and in the buttonhole he placed the snowdrop, the glass flower that his father had given him as a luck token when he had left Wall. He wondered whether it was in fact bringing him luck, and if it were, was it good luck or bad?Tristran stood up. He held his leather bag tightly in his hand.

“Now then,” said the little hairy man. “This is what you got to do.

Take up the candle in your right hand; I’ll light it for you. And then, walk to your star.

You’ll use the chain to bring it back here. There’s not much wick left on the candle, so you’d best be snappy about it, and step lively — any dawdlin’ and you’ll regret it. Feet be nimble and light, yes?”

“I. . . I suppose so, yes,” said Tristran.

He stood expectantly. The little hairy man passed a hand over the candle, which lit with a flame yellow above and blue below.

There was a gust of wind, but the flame did not flicker even the slightest bit.

Tristran took the candle in his hand, and he began to walk forward.

The candlelight illuminated the world: every tree and bush and blade of grass.

With Tristran’s next step he was standing beside a lake, and the candlelight shone brightly on the water; and then he was walking through the mountains, through lonely crags, where the candlelight was reflected in the eyes of the creatures of the high snows; and then he was walking through the clouds, which, while not entirely substantial, still supported his weight in comfort; and then, holding tightly to his candle, he was underground, and the candlelight glinted back at him from the wet cave walls; now he was in the mountains once more; and then he was on a road through wild forest, and he glimpsed a chariot being pulled by two goats, being driven by a woman in a red dress who looked, for the glimpse he got of her, the way Boadicea was drawn in his history books; and another step and he was in a leafy glen, and he could hear the chuckle of water as it splashed and sang its way into a small brook.

He took another step, but he was still in the glen. There were high ferns, and elm trees, and foxgloves in abundance, and the moon had set in the sky. He held up the candle, looking for a fallen star, a rock, perhaps, or a jewel, but he saw nothing.

He heard something, though, under the babbling of the brook: a sniffling, and a swallowing. The sound of someone trying not to cry.

“Hello?” said Tristran.

The sniffling stopped. But Tristran was certain he could see a light beneath a hazel tree, and he walked toward it.

“Excuse me,” he said, hoping to pacify whoever was sitting beneath the hazel tree, and praying that it was not more of the little people who had stolen his hat. “I’m looking for a star.”In reply, a clod of wet earth flew out from under the tree, hitting Tristran on the side of the face. It stung a little, and fragments of earth fell down his collar and under his clothes.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, loudly.

This time, as another clod of earth came hurtling toward him, he ducked out of the way, and it smashed into an elm tree behind him. He walked forward.

“Go away,” said a voice, all raw and gulping, as if it had just been crying, “just go away and leave me alone.”She was sprawled, awkwardly, beneath the hazel tree, and she gazed up at Tristran with a scowl of complete unfriendliness. She hefted another clod of mud at him, menacingly, but did not throw it.

Her eyes were red and raw. Her hair was so fair it was almost white, her dress was of blue silk which shimmered in the candlelight. She glittered as she sat there. “Please don’t throw any more mud at me,” pleaded Tristran. “Look. I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s just there’s a star fallen somewhere around here, and I have to get it back before the candle burns out.”

“I broke my leg,” said the young lady.

“I’m sorry, of course,” said Tristran. “But the star.”

“I broke my leg,” she told him sadly, “when I fell.” And with that, she heaved her lump of mud at him. Glittering dust fell from her arm, as it moved.

The clod of mud hit Tristran in the chest.

“Go away,” she sobbed, burying her face in her arms. “Go away and leave me alone.”