I'm such a bad updater blajfskdfjas. Also a word to the wise: don't ever put two unnamed characters of the same gender in a scene together. IT IS TERRIBLE.
When the wagon broke down, the farmer knelt down by the broken axle while his son stood looking at her. She stood apart from them, curling her toes into the dirt road and looking around. Trees on either side of her. Road in front. And behind – forest, hills, mountain. She didn't look back. She didn't want to see it.
At last, the farmer sighed and turned to her. "Well, we're still some miles from Eschen. We can fix this, but it'll be a while. You might go quicker on your own."
She nodded her head and then hesitated a moment more. Pursed dry, cracked lips together. "Th – thank you," she managed to get out. Glanced down at the compass. The arrow pointed straight ahead, so she started walking. And walking.
The day passed in a haze of blue sky, brown road, green trees. She felt sweat drip out of her skin and slip down her back. Later it dried in the breeze that ruffled her hair, made her dress flutter about her body like it was made of – butterflies.
There was a fork in the road when she heard the clip-clop of horse hooves again. She turned to look. It was a woman – girl, maybe. White horse, pale hair, bright. She blinked a few times and turned to the left, stepping forward.
The horsewoman-girl only just noticed her, pulling back on the reins right before she would have passed by. "I almost didn't see you there!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry if I kicked up any dust at you."
She looked up and then back down at her own clothing. She wasn't concerned with dust. That should have been obvious.
The pale young woman – girl, she decided – glanced at something in her hand, turned her head around a bit, back at her hand, and down to her again. "I'm Lydia," she said at last, giving a faint smile. "Where are you headed? What's your business?"
The sun was making her head hurt. She licked her lips a few times to feel the moisture. "Forward," she said at last.
"Forward," the girl repeated. "Well, that – that's a good destination, I suppose." She gave something of a laugh.
She was thirsty, but it didn't matter. She kept walking. Walking. Walking.
"And – you said your business was...?"
She blinked. Stepped. Blinked. Everything was so bright. Bright sun. Bright road. Bright girl. "My – my star."
"Your star. Your star," was repeated back to her. "Do you – do you mind telling me what your name is?"
Her name. She managed turning her head to look at the girl. No one... no one had asked her name. In – in forever. She had no reason to tell anyone, but... "Charlotte," she said.
"Charlotte." The woman smiled. "That's good. It's nice to meet you, Charlotte."
She said nothing. The road was blinking at her now. She kept... walking. One foot in front of the other. Just stumble a little farther. Blink. Step. Blink. Blink.
When she woke up, the girl – Lydia was looking anxiously into her face. She felt wet. She moved a hand to touch her face and hair, and it seemed that she'd had water dumped on her head. She sat up and inched away.
"Oh, good, you're awake," Lydia said. "I think you're just dehydrated. And maybe tired to death. Here, drink this." She handed Charlotte a cup of water, which she looked at for a moment before raising it to her lips. It was cool and slipped down her parched throat like a refreshing waterfall. When it was gone, she handed it back to Lydia, who took it with a smile.
They were by a stream. The white horse was tethered to a tree nearby.
"Now, why don't you tell me again where you're going," Lydia said.
She shook her head, started scrambling to her feet. "No time. My – my star."
"Yes, you said," Lydia said, getting up as well and following her as she took her first steps, following the stream. "But I don't understand. How can a star belong to you? And where are you going to... find it, if that's what you're doing?"
She shook her head again. No time for talking. Just – star shining brilliant in the dark sky that hid her personal ruins, shining shining and falling, cascading downward to her. She should have caught it then and there, but it fell too far away; she couldn't reach that far, but she had to get there had to had to
"I'm not trying to bother you," Lydia cut into her thoughts, still walking at her side. "It's just... I'm looking for someone – like you're looking for your star, and I thought maybe you... could help."
Something in the forlorn voice made her turn her head to face the girl just her own age and eyes with matching desperation. Something of the hardness of mountains slipped away maybe in that moment, and she found her rough, seldom used voice asking, "Who?"
There was a moment of silent walking before the girl answered. An acknowledgement, maybe, that they were walking together and leaving the white horse behind – it didn't matter compared to star person search.
"Well – it's sort of complicated," Lydia said at last. "I've never met her. But I have to find her, because... she's the only one that can make things better, see."
Charlotte shook her head. She did not see.
"It's – the whole kingdom is ripping at the seams. You've heard something of it, I'm sure. Everyone has."
Charlotte glanced at her.
"The rockslides in the mountains. The forests all falling over. Cracks in the palace. Lately fires, I've heard. Something has to be done!"
"What can... one girl do?" Charlotte asked in her cracked voice that didn't like to talk much.
"Well – I don't know about that either. It's a sort of complicated... thing, but – it's not just one girl. I'm here too, you know! I'll help her in any way I can. I want her to know that. That's why I wanted to find her, myself. Rather than... Anyway, you're looking for a star! I'd say one girl can do a lot."
They looked at each other, and again there was an acknowledgement. That Lydia will not go back for her horse. That Charlotte will not walk too fast and lose her among the brambles. They will walk, for the moment, together.
When the sun began to sink through the horizon and the air finally cooled their skin instead of heating it, Charlotte took out her compass, checking that she was still walking the right direction. Lydia took out her own small object that turned out to be a compass itself.
Through a glance, Charlotte saw that Lydia's compass was nearly identical to her own; she saw Lydia taking in the similar – same markings. She didn't look to see where Lydia's arrow was pointing, and Lydia showed the same courtesy. They just slipped the items back into their pockets at the same moment.
When the stream veered away, they kept walking straight and soon came out of the wooded area, onto a road leading into a village. Though it wasn't dark quite yet, there was no one outdoors, and the streets already sparkled.
Charlotte smirked – this was what the farmer was talking about, the way villages sprinkled their doorsteps.
"That's funny," Lydia said from beside her. "It all looks sort of – glimmery, don't you think? I didn't know the stone they built these villages out of would sparkle so much at sunset."
Charlotte smirked a little more at Lydia's naivety. Villages did not sparkle, whether at sunrise, sunset, or midday. Only... in snow, sometimes. Like at the top of the mountain so much of the year.
They kept walking. Then, as they reached the village, something strange happened. Some of the sparkles seemed to lift from the streets and steps in front of the houses, rising into the air in tiny golden flecks. They came toward Charlotte as she stepped through the streets, curving and spiraling toward her as if they had minds of their own.
Lydia stepped back as the flecks floated to settle on Charlotte's skin and wrap themselves around her arms like bracelets or ropes, with the ends stretched out in front of her. "What's happening?" Lydia asked.
Charlotte had no answer. She just looked at the fairy dust – and then out of the darkening twilight came the creatures themselves. At first they seemed themselves to be only specks of dust, then slightly larger orbs of light, and at last as they grew closer formed shapes of tiny bodies with arms and legs... and wings.
They weren't like butterfly wings. They were lighter than that, iridescent and nearly see through as they fluttered onto her arms and up her shoulders, landing with a weight no greater than a raindrop. Some stayed in front of her, fluttering, grasping at the ropes of dust that wound their way around her. Come with us, Charlotte. Come with us. Come with us.
They tugged on the ropes around her arms, and she felt wind blowing at her back, pushing her forward, forward. She hesitated, glancing next to her. "Lydia," she said.
The fairies made some humming noise that was apparently approval as they moved to land on Lydia also, who looked apprehensive as if she might like to swat them away like any other irritating insect that might land on her. "Charlotte, what's happening?" she whispered as the fairies pulled at her hair and pushed on her arms until she was close to Charlotte. Several of them lifted her arm while several others lifted Charlotte's, and then one flew around and around and around them, and when it was finished there was a thread of dust like the others on Charlotte's arm but this one binding them together.
Charlotte shook her head. She could hear them whispering some more. Now, Lydia. Lydia. Charlotte. Lydia. Come with us. Both of you. Come.
She had no choice but to follow as they pulled her, dragging Lydia along next to her, the two of them stumbling down the dirt road through the village. Gradually their steps grew smoother and then – they weren't stepping. They were gliding.
She looked to Lydia's eyes the same moment Lydia looked to hers, and then they both looked down at their feet which weren't touching the ground but just floating above.
They were in a cloud of fairy dust now – a golden haze surrounding them and all throughout flew the tiny winged creatures, each surrounded by an orb of their own light in all the colors of the rainbow. They danced as they flew – twirling and bounding through the air, creating patterns out of light and dust, and the sound of their laughing and whispering was like the wind.
Now and then, the fairies and golden dust would part, and Charlotte could make out the scenery they were flying over. The tiered shapes of pine trees here, sloping rooftops there. Grass tickled her feet as they sailed over a tall meadow.
"This – this is incredible," Lydia whispered after she seemed to have finally faced the fact that her feet were not on the ground. "Have you done this before?" she asked.
Charlotte shook her head. "Never," she said, and in Lydia's eyes she felt the sameness again – this time not of desperation, but wonder. She smiled, and Lydia smiled back.
Gideon stood with his back to the city, staring into a wide meadow as the sun lowered into the clouds. His fingers wrapped around the handle of his lantern, the star faintly glowing inside. He had an hour, maybe, before sunset.
If you're so sick of it, why don't you just get rid of it? Thomas had asked him – the final remark of their all-day argument.
They'd walked up and down the streets, through the marketplace, he'd even tried scaling the palace wall just to prove a point. It was a painful point to prove, he'd discovered, after falling to the ground from five feet above.
But it was true. He was no hero. A hero could scale the wall. A hero could save the kingdom.
If you're so sick of it, why don't you just get rid of it? Thomas asked. And that was what he intended to do.
He lifted the lantern to eye level for one last look at the bright orb that captivated him that night, nearly a year ago – it seemed so much longer – now.
He'd been at the pub. In those days, he still did what he liked best at the pub, just sipping and listening to the half formed stories of the local lunatics. Then once his mates had lost track of him, he'd slip out to the meadow, make up his own ends to those stories. They usually involved himself saving the day somehow.
He shook his head now. It was a delusion he'd had since childhood. That he was somehow more important than everyone, that it was up to him to singlehandedly save the world.
Of course, he'd been a bit too old for hero stories by the time he found the star. But the meadow was still his favorite place to think. Considering whether to buy this, sell that, and succeed! Like life was one giant game he was going to win.
And then lying on his back, he saw this star just fall out of the sky. Shot from the heavens, leaving a streak of light behind it, and then it just floated there above him, bobbing slightly in the breeze.
He'd tried to grab it, but – it didn't quite work that way. He couldn't ever seem to touch it. Maybe it darted away from him; maybe it just... wasn't made of anything touchable.
In any case, he was determined to have it, so he caught it in his lantern instead. Thomas had said once that maybe stars weren't meant to be caught. Maybe he ought to have left it free. But... it was so beautiful. He'd never seen anything so beautiful, and he wanted it to be his own. He felt like it already was. It fell down in front of him; it fell down for him.
And it let him play hero every night, just like he'd always wanted.
The thing was, he didn't want it anymore. He looked at the thing, glowing there in the lantern, and considered it leaving him. Would it fly back into the sky? Or zip through the night to some other, more qualified human? Or... just stay there, bobbing in front of him?
His fingers were on the tiny door, ready to let it out. He'd sleep tonight like a normal person, instead of living some double life in a far off world. In the morning he'd feel fine, rested, normal. Not like he'd lost everything. Not like he'd ever had anything or done anything worthwhile.
He pursed his lips together, looked out into the meadow, wide and empty.
He still couldn't shake the idea that the falling star was somehow linked to the other catastrophes in the kingdom, that he was on the verge of... finding something out. He didn't know what, but something. Something great. Something worthwhile.
He looked at the sun, sinking through the sky. Back at the star, twinkling in its lantern.
"Hang it all!" he yelled, dropping his arm back down, still gripping the lantern. He let his breath out and began marching back to the city. "One night," he said, glancing down at the star. "I'll give you one more night, and if something doesn't change by tomorrow, I am getting rid of you, I swear it. No more nostalgia, no more chasing my life dreams. We're through. You hear me?" He looked back down from his path to the star, which of course was not answering him. He sighed. He was talking to a star. That was what it had done to him. He'd lost it completely. Well, one more night couldn't do much more harm than that.
