The Stargazers (2 page)

Quercus wasn’t her father, but she always called him Papa. It was perhaps out of some innate need to know a father, though she’d never say such a thing to the other women. As far as they were concerned, no Stargazer had a male half. But then there was Quercus, a true anomaly.

Nanny Lily brought him to Ellemire when she returned from the other world. People rumored that he was the father of Lily’s triplet daughters, which would make him Aster's grandfather, but she would never say. Probably because it was because of the established custom for the women to leave the men in other world behind once they had kindled a child, and she didn’t want her daughters trying to follow suit. 

But and as far as Aster was concerned, Quercus was part of her family. She would give anything to hear his stories about life in the World of Man, but save for a few grunts and mumbles every so often, the Quercus was a mute. Aster suspected this was due to a spell that  Nanny Lily had laid upon the man when she brought him here, but Aster never had the fortitude to ask such a thing. Still, he understood everything people told him and he did it without complaint, and that’s all the other women cared about.

“Papa, could you
take
these supplies inside so I could have a few minutes to draw?”

The old man set down the logs he was holding and walked toward the cart to fetch the sacks tied to Safi's back. “Thanks!” She kissed the old man's scruffy cheek before darting toward the stand of hawthorns at the back of the property, skirts swishing around her legs. From the top of the tallest tree, she could get a full view of the Ellemire countryside.

Her sketchbook and pencil waited in the crook of her favorite limb, and she settled against the trunk with her legs dangling toward the thick grasses that were too far down to cushion her should she fall. In the distance, tendrils of bluish morning fog still swirled amid the rows of summer wheat just shy of its peak, and the giant lattice blades of the windmills that drew precious water up from the ground. Beyond the wheat lay the vast tulip fields in rows of red, yellow, pink and white.

It was sad to see so many resources devoted to a flower that was nothing more than a garden decoration, particularly when water was dear. Not a single tulip blossom decorated her home. Stargazer women insisted only on practical magic. “We don't need tulips, dear. That’s why we have you,” her mother once said, her shriveled face looking like a mushroom forgotten in the sun. “You’re all the color and enchantment we need.” Soon Aster would have that face, once she gave birth to her own child. It was the way of the Old Magic.

It seemed cruel to deform the people responsible for safeguarding something so precious to the world. Aster once asked Nanny Lily why their family was given such a responsibility, though what she really wanted to call it was a curse.

Her grandmother recited the tale with the ease that only comes with many rehearsed deliveries. Aster had heard it so many times, she could also recite it by rote, and she whispered it to herself as she began her sketch. “Long before our people, an evil sprite stole the Old Magic from the Eternal Spring and brought it to the World of Man, where they used it to build great cities and empires. But they also to made weapons of death and destruction. Only a tiny seedling remained here, seeping into the Ellemire fabric that eventually sprang our first ancestor. We pass that magic through our blood, generation after generation, growing it little by little until the Great Mother comes to release it again during a time of great need and bring about the next Golden Age. Blah blah blah...” T
he longer she spoke, the harder
her pencil strokes grew until she was slashing at the page, destroying the vision of tranquil beauty she'd originally intended.

“And guess who
this so-called Great Mother
is
, Ast
er? Guess who's supposed
to have some magical baby that will save the world, and guess who will probably still be the most hated person in all of Ellemire once that happens? And guess who will only receive the gift of a bent and twisted spine and sore-riddled skin for her troubles?” She gave up the pretense of draw
ing altogether and just started slashing at
her partially finished landscape until the paper ripped. Tossing the pencil away, sh
e clawed at it, ripping it to confetti, her vision blurring
with hot and angry tears.

They all hated her and she was supposed to save them? Maybe she would leave this world and never come back. Better to let them rot! The bile of her loathing and rage from a lifetime of stares and taunts and filthy rumors rose in her throat, burning like acid as the shreds of her drawing sprinkled
to the ground like sad snowflakes
. She leaned against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes, as if to pass all of her pain into the tree.

“Give i
t to the stars,” she whispered in the start of a calming incantation her mother had taught her long ago. T
racing her hand along the bark of the hawthorn that had borne witness to so much of her anguish
, Aster felt her heart slow gradually
. It wasn't often her rage surfaced, but when it did, she was reminded that there were parts of her that were not all that unlike her Aunt Oleander. The thought repulsed her, but it kept her on an even keel most of the time.

They all
thought Aster was just afraid of losing her looks. “It’s normal to be a little vain, dear, but we’ve have all had to sacrifice for the greater good. You’re no different,
” her mother had once told her. It didn’t make sense. Was Aster
different or was she just like them? Each answer only spawned more questions, and the questions only spawned more anger. She understood on some level why her Aunt Holly had shrugged off her obligations, opting to find solace in the salvia plants that grew in the western hills. But Aster wanted to tell her mother that it wasn't about vanity. She could live with being ugly. She would rather be liked and respected. Her beauty had never served her well
, so why should she cling to it?

Last night they’d all fought again after Aster told them she wanted to wait. “Give me at least one more year. I don’t see why it has to be this way,” she had pleaded. “
It isn’t enough to tell me that it is tradition. Tradition isn’t always good.
”

Nanny Lily’s face was cold enough to chill the room. “We do these things, because to not do them would mean the devastation of our world. Your questions tell of a girl who has been raised in far too much luxury to understand peril.”

Aster wanted to laugh. Luxury? Instead of ballrooms and debutante parties, she slaved her days away in Oleander's potion room. She had only two dresses, both of which were faded, stained, and dowd
y. Even though Aster had
grown and changed in
shape over the last few years, particularly in her chest, Dahlia
only saw fit to alter the dresses rather than make new. Meanwhile, the market folk wandered about with their rich fabrics and magical riding beasts. Nothing about her life in the borderlands resembled that.

Dahlia had looked sadder, her voice quieter than Lily’s had been. “Perhaps that is my fault. You have not experienced as mu
ch pain because I couldn’t allow it
. You will face so much as an adult. I wanted you to have a happy childhood. But darkness is coming, dear. I feel the magic
in this world
waning with every passing day. The prophecy leaves little room for doubt. It’s unfair that it all hinges on you, but none of us asked for this. We’ve all sacrificed for you, and now you must take your turn.”

That was it. The prophecy held sway over them all, and no one was ever to question it. The only Stargazer who might have seen things her way was Aunt Oleander, but the woman’s cruelty made her difficult to approach.

Aster didn't have enough in h
er to try
another sketch. Surely her oppressive aunt would already be in the potion room. She could see Oleander tapping her wooden spoon on her calloused palms as she waited for her peon to show up.

Aster
set aside the paper and climbed down from the tree, making her way around the side of their small cottage to the large expansion jutting from the back. It was the biggest room in the house, built by Papa Quercus not long after Aster had been born.

Inside, Oleander was ranting at Aunt Holly, who stooped her shoulders as the taller woman snarled, scarlet patches blooming on her alabaster face. “I don’t care if the dumb bat’s teats are falling off! We don’t take money on delivery! She sends the crowns first and then she gets her cream. You get that?”

“Y-yes, Oly, but I just thought since it was for our dear friend—”

“She isn’t
my
dear friend. I don’t
have
any dear friends, and neither do you! None of us doe
s. She’s a wily, conniving parasite
trying to get something for nothing. And you’re going to get a pestle shoved up your arse if you don’t get out of here!”

Holly’s whole body quivered as she turned to leave. She caught Aster’s gaze with her watery eyes and sniffled. “Hiya, sweet girl,” she said in her regular quavery whisper. Years of smoking and chewing the addictive weeds had robbed her of her voice, in more ways than one.

When Holly was gone, Oleander’s jade eyes turned on Aster and a familiar pit of dread yawned open in the younger girl's belly.

“There she is. Miss Prettyface, my next favorite idiot in the entire world. Late as usual.” She tossed Aster a bag of blue gentiana flowers to grind into a paste, which would eventually be added to a potion to treat skin fungal ailments. “You think family is exempt from having to show up to work on time, do you?” In a whirl of black cloak, Oleander turned toward the row of cauldrons that lined the back wall, and Aster trudged toward her usual station, tossing the bag of flowers beside the old stone mortar. Her shoulders were already aching just thinking about the task ahead.

“I was at the market getting your chocolate. I don’t see that I’m late, Aunt.”

The witch continued as if Aster hadn’t spoken. “Or maybe it's because you're leaving tomorrow, and you deserve special treatment. Your problem is you think you’re too good for hard work, like the rest of this useless family. But you and I are only ones with straight backs, at least for now. You have no excuse for sloth.”

“Yes, Aunt.” Aster hoped the words had come out bathed with a satisfactory amount of syrup.

“Or I suppose you’d rather be flitting around in bubbles, gifting ruby red slippers to lost little girls, like they do in that silly story they love so much over in that other world.”

“I don't know this story you speak of, Aunt.” She did, of course. Ellemire even had its own satire of the story called the Warlock of Nodd. But it was just bait Aster refused to take.

“Well, I have fifty orders of fungal tonic to fill this morning, and even daft twits such as you should know we have no time to waste.” 

Aster said nothing and set about her work. Oleander would only get worse if they ate up even more of her precious time by arguing. Every witch had one special ability, but Oleander had two: making potions and making misery. Aster decided she was only going to focus on the potions. It was her last day in Ellemire and she'd already had one breakdown. Time to make the best of what was left.

“I’m
so
excited about your party tonight,” Oleander said. She vigorously stirred something that smelled like rotting feces. “Maybe after you’re gone, I’ll hire a girl who can hold more than a single thought in her airy head. Or crush those bloody flowers a little faster. Get a move on.”

Aster focused on her mortar in silence as she imagined grinding her aunt’s face into the purple muck.

-
2
-

After the day’s potion making, Aster trudged back to the house with purple hands and an aching jaw from gritting her teeth. Nanny Lily was in the kitchen making preparations for tomorrow's feast, or rather, she was directing Dahlia and Holly to perform the duties she no longer could. A mixture of delicious smells, from herbs and celery to baking bread, swirled about the room, and Aster spied an enormous cake being assembled on the counter by the window. She didn't think she'd have the appetite to eat, but her stomach grumbled.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked.

Nanny Lily shooed her away. “Nay, child! Tis enough you went to the market. You have plenty of your own work to do upstairs, I wager.”

Ah yes. Packing and sorting. She would carry but a small bag through the Door. The rest was set to burn on the bonfire. “I suppose I do.”

“
No suppose about it, Missy. It
must be done.” Nanny Lily's voice was brittle and low, but it carried far in the close quarters.

“I will be up in a bit to help you,” Dahlia called.

“Yes, Mother.” Aster thought of all the stuffed animals still lying on her bed. They had been her only friends in life, and the thought of rendering them to ash put a lump in her throat as she made her way up the narrow stairs to her room.

She had two piles going on her bed: things to take and things to burn. The burn pile was much bigger. She was contemplating a suitable hiding place for them in the woods when a knock sounded at the door, followed by her mother carrying in a stack of folded clothes—the too-tight pants and close-fitting shirts that would be Aster’s wardrobe on the other side. Apparently the homespun shirts and long skirts would not do where she was headed. Dahlia and Nanny Lily had spent months making the clothing on a new enchanted loom that had cost the family a small fortune. Oh how Oleander had gnashed her teeth at that! But after Nanny Lily had offered Aster up for double duty in the potion room to make up for the expense, Oleander relented.