Scribd
Upload
5 views44 pages

Starflower

An excerpt from Starflower by Anne Elisabeth Stengl published by Bethany House Publishers Immerse Yourself in the GOLDSTONE WOOD Saga Winner of the 2011 Christy Award for Debut Novel Finalist for the 2012 Christy Award for Visionary Novel The Black Dogs Are on the Hunt, But Who Is Their Prey? When a cursed dragon-witch kidnaps fairest Lady Gleamdren, the Bard Eanrin sets boldly forth on a rescue mission... and a race against his rival for Gleamdren's favor. Intent upon his quest, the last thing the immortal Faerie needs is to become mixed up with the troubles of an insignificant mortal. But when he stumbles upon a maiden trapped in an enchanted sleep, he cannot leave her alone in the dangerous Wood Between. One waking kiss later, Eanrin suddenly finds his story entangled with that of young Starflower. A strange link exists between this mortal girl and the dragon-witch. Will Starflower prove the key to Lady Gleamdren's rescue? Or will the dark power from which she flees destroy both her and her rescuer?

Uploaded by

Bethany House Publishers
Copyright
© Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
5 views44 pages

Starflower

An excerpt from Starflower by Anne Elisabeth Stengl published by Bethany House Publishers Immerse Yourself in the GOLDSTONE WOOD Saga Winner of the 2011 Christy Award for Debut Novel Finalist for the 2012 Christy Award for Visionary Novel The Black Dogs Are on the Hunt, But Who Is Their Prey? When a cursed dragon-witch kidnaps fairest Lady Gleamdren, the Bard Eanrin sets boldly forth on a rescue mission... and a race against his rival for Gleamdren's favor. Intent upon his quest, the last thing the immortal Faerie needs is to become mixed up with the troubles of an insignificant mortal. But when he stumbles upon a maiden trapped in an enchanted sleep, he cannot leave her alone in the dangerous Wood Between. One waking kiss later, Eanrin suddenly finds his story entangled with that of young Starflower. A strange link exists between this mortal girl and the dragon-witch. Will Starflower prove the key to Lady Gleamdren's rescue? Or will the dark power from which she flees destroy both her and her rescuer?

Uploaded by

Bethany House Publishers
Copyright
© Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd

T a l e s so f fG G l d s t o n n eW o o d d Tale o ooldstoe W o

ANNE ELISABETH ANNE ELISABETH

STENGL STENGL

2012 by Anne Elisabeth Stengl Published by Bethany House Publishers 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Bloomington, Minnesota 55438 [Link] Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan Printed in the United States of America All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Stengl, Anne Elisabeth. Starflower / Anne Elisabeth Stengl. p. cm. (Tales of goldstone wood) ISBN 978-0-7642-1026-6 (pbk.) I. Title. PS3619.T47647675S83 2012 813 .6dc23 2012028885 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the authors imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Book design by Paul Higdon Cover photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

A No te to the Re a der

Starflower takes place more than sixteen hundred years (as mortals count time) before Heartless. There are dramatic topographical differences between the Near World of Starflowers day and that of Unas, and some characters, though living, are not yet who they will become. Even the Prince of Farthestshore is known by another name. . . .

Prologue

Once upon a time, great Etalpalli, the City of Wings, was ruled by a Faerie queen. Her name has long since been forgotten. What is remembered are her youth, her beauty. Her hair was bright as the sun and no less vibrant than the feathered wings sprouting from her shoulders. She was young when she came to the throne, and her heart was tender and full of love for her people. They flocked in the air, their wings a garden of many colors, and lived in the green-grown towers of Etalpalli. In those high places, they found it easy to hear the voices of the sun and the moon singing and would sing back in joyful echo. Once upon a time, the City of Wings was a peaceful demesne full of life. Now it burned. Hri Sora sat up, choking as though shed swallowed her own tongue. Poisonous fumes filled her lungs. Surrounding her on all sides, towers of fire issued thunderheads of black smoke. She stared about, unblinking. Ashes and flying embers lashed the air, but these could not hurt her. Her thin face and form were those of a woman. But her yellow eyes betrayed her true nature.
7

S T A R F L O W E R

The Dark Father stood with his back to her, a shadow, like smoke himself. At first, she thought he must be unaware of her presence. His head turned this way and that as he appraised the inferno surrounding him. The searing air shimmered red. Flames licked at his long black cloak, but it did not catch fire. Hri Sora staggered to her feet, clutching her stomach. Her body was hollow and cold inside. She wondered if she should speak or back away, avoid the Dark Fathers gaze. But he settled that question by addressing her first. That, my darling, was quite the tantrum. She blinked at his broad back and said nothing. He did not seem to expect an answer but shook his head and continued, Dear, oh dear. I wondered if I should say something to you when you started . . . remind you of those vows you made long ago. I shall never return to Etalpalli! His voice became a high, unflattering mimic of hers. Though I die, the City of Wings will live forever. Such a fine sentiment. Im sure you meant it at the time. He shrugged. Hri Sora whirled about where she stood, dizzy with emptiness. Her eyes widened as she looked again at the towering flames, hundreds of fiery tongues tasting a blackened sky. No, she whispered. Oh yes, said her Father. He turned to her. The heat in the air rose so strong that the edges of his cloak floated up behind him in a dark swirl. He was more than seven feet tall, and his skin was white, stretched thin over a skull of black bone. He smiled, his fangs gleaming dully in the firelight. Im afraid its true. You, my sweet, came blazing out of the Near World straight through Cozamaloti Gate and set fire to your own city. Do you not remember? Somewhere amid the roar of the flames came the deeper roar of a tower crumbling. Hri Sora gasped and clutched her head in her hands. I did this? Do you doubt it? Her Father chuckled, rolling his eyes to the burning heavens. You, who once boasted to me that your fire was greater than my own? No, she whispered. Then, her voice a hoarse bark, she screamed. No!
8

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

She tried to walk, to run, but her feet betrayed her, and she collapsed on her hands and knees. The hot embers covering the streets should have burned her skin, but they did not, for she was a dragon, and this was her own fire. Rather than burn, they warmed her, bringing slow clarity to her addled mind. Etalpalli. Her city . . . Her Father laughed outright, the rumble of his voice itself like flames. Then he moved to stand beside her but made no offer to help her to her feet. Instead, he took another slow spin, as though he could not get his fill of the destruction. I will give you this, daughter. Not once have I seen any of my children burn so brilliantly before. You always were special, werent you? My firstborn! She could not make herself rise but remained on all fours like a crawling beast. She, who had once flown to the highest vaults of heaven, into the presence of Lady Hymlum herself! To what depths had she fallen? Closing her eyes, she strove to remember. There had been the pure, hateful, cleansing light of the moon shining in her face. She had unhinged her jaw to swallow it wholethe light, the song, everything. Then came that horrible moment, the tearing across the center of her soul, deep into the core of her fire. The moment when her wings had been stripped away. After that, the fall. Her head throbbed, and Hri Sora forced herself to forget, at least for now. She was too weak in the wake of her last great flaming, the flaming in which, she guessed, she had destroyed Etalpalli. Her memory was full of ashes, and just then she wasnt sure she wanted it to clear. Spitting more ash as she spoke, she demanded, When did I do this? This? said her Father, sweeping a hand to encompass the burning city. About a hundred years ago, I should think. A hundred years? Etalpalli is nothing but ruins now, all the greenery burned away, half the towers destroyed, the others hollow shells full of shadows. What youre seeing here isnt real. Its a dream. Rather, its the death of a dream. Hri Sora forced herself up onto her knees and stared around once
9

S T A R F L O W E R

more. The hot air caught at her hair, whipping it across her face. She licked her lips slowly and reached up to touch her cheeks, her nose, her mouth. Im still a woman, she said. Yes. You took She struggled with the memory, not wanting it to come. But it forced its way in at last. You took my wings from me. That I did. And your dragon form. Am I no longer a dragon, then? The Dark Father sneered down at her. Of course you are! Do you think any but a dragon could do something like this? Long ago, in the heat of her first flaming when she was newly reborn, Hri Sora had burned away the last of her tears, along with her former name. Her heart was gone, replaced with this raging furnace. But somehow, as she looked upon this destruction, dream though it was, she thought her heart must break should she still possess one. She wished for the relief of tears. For a moment, she saw Etalpalli as it once was, the high towers covered in green vines, the air filled with the wings of her people, their plumage bright and flashing. They were certainly glorious, said her Father, as though reading her mind. All your former subjects. Such beautiful wings! I can see why you couldnt allow them to live. They had still boasted wings when she no longer did. I killed them. They put up a fight, said her Father. But you were in quite the rage when you returned. Though you walked the ground like a mortal woman, your fire blazed to the sky and burned their wings. They fell like shooting stars at your feet. How she hoped that memory would not return, not yet! Hri Sora forced herself to stand, trembling. What a despicable thing was this womans body. Much too weak to support the fire inside her. No wonder she had lost consciousness for a hundred years. Let me wake up, she said to her Father. Why? he asked, chuckling again. Dont you like this dream of yours? It is your finest victory! Let me wake up. I have work to do.
10

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

He turned a cruel, devouring smile upon her. What kind of work can a wingless dragon possibly pursue? Her mouth opened, but no words came. Her mind suddenly crowded with images, with hate. Her Father watched her face, reading more of her thoughts than she liked, so she turned away from him. What happened to you? he asked. I dont know what you mean. When you fell from the heavens. I took your wings to punish your idle boasting, and you plummeted so hard and fast, I thought sure youd die your third death then and there! Obviously, I was mistaken. You landed in the Near World and werent heard from for ten mortal years at least. What happened to you during that time in the mortal realm? I dont remember, she snarled. You burst back through to the Far World so suddenly, it took everyone by surprise. Even those cursed Knights of the Farthest Shore had thought you were gone for good! But no, back you came and, of all things, dragging two children behind you. He shook his head, a forked tongue flickering between his fangs. Fancyme, a grandfather! Ugly little brutes they are, too. Certainly not a brood of which to boast. Ive found uses for them, however. Theres always more room in my realm. They are mine. She bit the words out. Yes, yes, the little monsters are quite devoted to you, said he. Ive sent them out on several errands, but they always want to return to you, sniffing about and making sure no one comes too near. He shook his head at her. But they cant reach you here. Not in your dreams. Let me wake up, she said again. Let me wake up so that I may . . . so that I may find . . . Find what? She chewed her lip with dagger teeth, drawing lines of dark blood. Flames burned the back of her throat. None of your business, she said at last. All your business is my business, said her Father. You have a look of revenge about you. Dont try to deny it; I know the signs. Its best not to think of it now, however. You are nothing without your wings. Oh, you can flame bright enough to destroy this whole city of yours. But
11

S T A R F L O W E R

thats just it, daughter. It was your city. Your demesne. Yours to keep or devour at will. Now its gone, and you have nothing. I have my children. For what good they do you! Hri Sora turned to him then, planting her feet and throwing her head back. He towered over her, but she was still his firstborn, and she met him eye for eye. Her lank hair swelled behind her in a cloud, and her fists clenched at her sides. The fire in her eyes dominated every womanly vestige. She was a dragon, through and through. Give me back my wings! And let you challenge my authority again? He swept his gaze across the crumbling ruins, then back to her. Not likely. Give them to me! Why should I? Youve done your worst, Hri Sora. Youve earned yourself a place in history, both in the annals of Faerie folk and the legends of mortals. You have no need of wings or flame now. But she did. Somewhere in the world was a dark hut where a man liveda man she had been unable to kill even when her flame was hottest. She remembered him now, though she wished more than anything to forget. She remembered those years of crawling about in the mortal dust when she had always been meant to fly! Amarok. She whispered the name like venom. My dear one. Whats that? said her Father. Hri Sora did not answer. She drew a long breath, sucking flames down into her lungs. I must have my wings, she said. I must. But I will not tell you why. In that case, said he, I do not care to give them back. Everything has a price, she said. Name it! In the jet-black depths of the Dragons eyes, flames flickered. He looked upon Hri Soras stance, took in the smoldering fire ready to burst from her breast. She was a beauty, he thought, or had been when he first turned her. A shame, really, that shed puffed herself up so! Nevertheless, she had done more to strike terror of his name into the hearts of all peoples in all worlds than had any of his other children.
12

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

His firstborn . . . his prize. Even the Knights of the Farthest Shore had failed to quench her flame. There is a price, he said slowly. Tell me! He could make her do anything now. She would be willing to dive into the Final Water, to swim to the Farthest Shore and set fire to that unreachable realm if he asked her. Wretched fool! But he could get some sport from her yet. I want, he said, the Flowing Gold of Rudiobus. Her flaming eyes did not blink. She neither moved nor spoke for some time. At last she said, It is hidden. Most definitely. Kept safe by Queen Bebo. Indeed. She who is oldest and strongest of all Faerie queens. The same. Hri Sora shook her head slowly. No one knows where it is. No one knows what it looks like. It is the chief treasure of King Iubdan Tynan, and no one else has even seen it! A fine addition it will make to my Hoard. Dont you agree? The dragon woman blew a spurt of flame. What you ask is impossible! Who can penetrate Rudiobus without a call? Who can take from Bebo and Iubdan what they wish kept secret? The specter smiled. There is one other who knows the secret of Rudiobus. Or so rumor would have it. Who? Lady Gleamdren Gormlaith, Queen Bebos own cousin, highly favored in the courts of Rudiobus. Of all Iubdans merry subjects, it is said she alone knows the truth behind the legends of the Flowing Gold. Hri Sora considered this. It is well, she said. But one must still penetrate the boundary protections that Bebo herself established. No one can enter Rudiobus uninvited. To even set foot in Gorm-Uisce Lake without leave would be death. So much for the power of the firstborn, said the specter with a mocking laugh.
13

S T A R F L O W E R

She snarled at him, spewing drops of blood from her lips. If only she might tear him to pieces here in the nightmarish remains of her demesne! But he was without substance, no more than a shade. No fire of hers would ever harm him, she knew. There was nothing left, then: No power without her wings; no city to call home. Only the hideous memory of former fires and that burning, driving lust for revenge. Such a pathetic creature she was, reduced to this form. Unless . . . Hri Sora smiled. This form was pitiable, but her mind was still good. And dragons command many powerful enchantments. An idea took root, and her smile grew. Perhaps a soft and vulnerable woman was not so soft and vulnerable after all. Very well, Father, she spoke in a fearfully gentle voice. I swear to you, I will do the impossible. I will get you this gold and make myself worthy in your eyes once more. Thenflames flickered in her throat you will give me back my wings. Idle boasts, said he. She roared. Her womans face twisted almost beyond recognition, and fire fell from her bleeding lips. Wake me up! The Dragon laughed at her. Then he put up one hand and snapped his fingers. The dream vanished.

14

Part On e

harp rocks tore at the girls bare feet as she ran. Her aching body cried out for relief, for rest, but she dared not stop. Water lapped near her. Now, at high tide, the ground on which she ran was no more than a narrow stretch of pebbled beach with ocean extending forever on either side. Behind her were the mountains, but she would not look back. She could still hear the howls echoing and reechoing from peak to peak until she thought she might go mad. She fixed her gaze forward, struggling to see through the thick fog that rose up from the ocean and threatened to smother her. Yet the Path was firm beneath her bleeding feet. The Wood watched her approach, its gaze curious and hungry. She stumbled along the isthmus, crossing the bay from her own land to the greater Continent of the north. The Wood grew thick here. She had no choice but to pass into its welcoming arms if she wished to continue her flight. The mist was so heavy she could not see two steps ahead. But she felt
17

S T A R F L O W E R

when the ground softened, the sharp rocks of the isthmus giving way to moss and crackling leaves. Her arms reached ahead as though to push the mist away; from her wrists dangled rough cords that chafed her skin. She caught a glimpse of gold. No more than a glance, like the fleeting burst of sunshine through storm clouds, vanishing in an instant. Yet she turned to that sight, her eyes wide and desperate. For a moment, she stood as though blind. Then she saw it again, this time a form as well: slender legs, a shining coat, a powerful body disappearing into the shadows of the Wood. Perhaps she dreamed it. It did not matter. Where else could she turn now that the world she knew was shattered? A sob choked her, and she stumbled to her knees. How desperately she wished to lie down, to close her eyes, to will away the visions in her mind. But the howls were still too close in her memory, so she forced herself up and staggered on blindly, pursuing that distant golden form. The Woods dark arms encircled her as she plunged headlong into its domain. She felt no alteration as she stepped out of the mortal world into that place without Time, for her mind was spent. But a voice without words spoke to her heart in a language she scarcely understood. She followed the voice, propelled by an urgency beyond fear and all human need. It sang to her as she fled: See the truth, my child. See the truth and speak!

It was a night that would have gone down in history even without the events that followed. Every night, the merry Faerie folk of Rudiobus Mountain found excuses to dance and sing and dance and sing some more, so that in itself was not unusual. But not every night marked the birthday of Queen Bebo . . . which was especially momentous considering the queen was so ancient that no one, not even her husband, would dare guess her age. The idea that she should have a birthday at all thrilled her subjects. They considered it so brilliant an occasion that they could bear to celebrate it only once every hundred years.
18

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Bebo sat in splendor beside her raven-haired husband and watched with a smile while her subjects danced in her honor. She wore an ancient crown of goblin work (wrought in the ages before goblins forgot their craftsman skills), and a veil of delicate silver covered her hair. The queens cousin, Lady Gleamdren Gormlaith, stood beside Bebos throne, a jeweled goblet in her hand, ever ready to serve. She kept her eyes downcast, but a not-so-demure smile curved her lips. She was aware of how many doting swains turned their gazes her way, how many hearts beat in desperate hope that she might bestow favors upon them: a smile, a glance even. And oh! to think she might grace one of their number with a dance! Lady Gleamdren was the most desired woman in all Ruaine Hall. And she knew it well. The young bucks pretended indifference. They shuffled their feet and elbowed their friends ribs. They talked in loud voices of exploits in the great Wood beyond Rudiobus, hoping their voices would carry above the pipers playing and strike Lady Gleamdrens ears. A few even vowed to themselves that, before the nights end, they should ask to take a turn about the dance floor with Queen Bebos fair cousin. But Gleamdren, slyly peeking out from beneath her lashes, missed one particular face in the crowd. Her smile slowly melted into a frown and her covert glances became more and more pronounced. Lum love me, she whispered. Where is he? Yet she could not find the one she sought. He stood in the shadows just outside the reach of torchlight and lanterns. One of the side passages leading from Fionnghuala Gate into King Iubdans central hall provided darkness enough that a man might prowl there beyond the gaze of searching eyes. The people of Rudiobus wore green. From the queens apple-green gown to the rich forest tones in her husbands robes to the olive jerkin worn by the lowliest imp, the kingdom of merrymakers were a verdant garden of emerald and spring leaf, moss and teal. This man wore scarlet. The Merry People of Rudiobus were rarely seen without smiles, and so it was with this man. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, waiting to burst across his pale, angular face. But his golden eyes were serious.
19

S T A R F L O W E R

He watched the shadows of the dancers winging across the walls of the mountain hall. He smelled the richness of the fresh-hung pine and holly boughs festooning the rocks and littering the floor. He heard the sounds of ageless voices raised in song. He saw how every man in the room turned eventually to gaze with longing upon Lady Gleamdren Gormlaith. But she would have none of them. She looked for him. He knew it with a confidence common only in his kind. He lived ever assured of the ultimate desirability of himself. Who would not crave his presence, nor vie for his esteem? He himself admired no man more, for was there ever such a handsome, a quickwitted devil as he? We are alike, you and I, my lady Gleamdren, he whispered to himself as he watched that fair maid scan the crowds, her face sinking into deeper frowns when she failed to see his. The Flower of Rudiobus. Thats what they call you. Any man here would give his right hand for your pleasure! The smile, which had been tugging at his mouth for some time, finally won out. He grinned, and his eyes shone even beyond the torchlight. You, my sweet, should be my wife. A fine sight, eh, poet? The scarlet man did not startle at the gruff voice that suddenly spoke behind him. He turned, his eyes narrowed, and icily replied, The queens birthday is always a fine display, which is nothing new. It holds little interest for me. Little interest, you say? The speaker took a step nearer to the poet, entering the light of the nearest torch. He wore a moss-green doublet that would disguise him from hunting eyes should he venture beyond Rudiobus Mountain, and he carried a lance. His appearance was stocky, broad-shouldered, and powerful, opposite of the scarlet mans in every way save for his shock of yellow hair. In that aspect, the two might have been brothers. Perhaps they were. But they, like all the men and women of Rudiobus, were so ancient in their immortality that none could remember their heritage. Youre blind, my friend, if you can find no lovely face to light an interest in you. Fine sentiments, Captain Glomar of the Guard, the scarlet man said. I was unaware that your kind entertained feelings of the higher order.
20

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Glomar ignored this last with masterful stoicism. Setting his lance momentarily aside, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his face cast into shadows by the torch. If none other can touch your heart, theres one I think who might. His eyes were bright as he gazed across the hall. Aye, shes the image of what every lass ought to be; thats what I think. Im going to pretend I havent the least notion what youre talking about, the scarlet man said. And Id advise you to take advantage of my pretense and sneak away now. Glomars sandy eyebrows shot up. Dont tell me youve not noticed for yourself! Noticed what? That lass! What else? Which lass, Glomar? There are a hundred and more ladies careening across the floor as we speak. Ah, but only one so far as I can see, answered Glomar, settling back comfortably to continue his long-distance admiration. His voice, though rough as dirt and rock, was almost wistful. I dare you to find a maid alive who can rival Queen Bebos cousin. The scarlet man was not surprised. Why should he be? Who beside fair Gleamdren could have caught even stony Glomars eye? Nevertheless, momentary jealousy surged in the scarlet mans breast. Had he been a cat, the fur on his back and tail would have stood on end. As it was, his lips drew back in something like a snarl, and he turned on the starry-eyed captain a look that might have pinned the poor man to the wall. But before Glomar saw, the snarl melted into a smile. You should ask her to dance, good captain. Glomars face paled noticeably even in the shadows, and his eyes went hollow and round. Ach, no! That I could never! Nay, I would not dream to so much as step in her slim little shadow, much less ask to hold her hand in mine! Im not much of a dancer in any case. Wise, then. Wise, indeed, nodded the poet. He too leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Though in breadth he could never equal Glomar, he stood a half head taller at least. The better to look down upon the captain. Youd never have a hope with her.
21

S T A R F L O W E R

Glomar sighed. Dont I know it. Then he glared up at his companion. Nor can any man in Rudiobus hope to be fair Gleamdrens match! The scarlet man shrugged. I could dance with her. If I wished. Glomar snorted. I could, the scarlet man said, smooth as butter. Anytime I choose. Ask her, then. Im always game for a joke. Im not so much in the mood. Not in the mood? To dance with that vision? Glomar barked a laugh that caught the attention of several of the nearest dancers, who turned startled faces toward the darkened passage. You amuse me, friend. Are you a bard or jester? Not in the mood, my eye. Ha! Youre more a coward than all the rest of your kind together, arent you? The scarlet man opened his mouth to give a reply, but fortunately, King Iubdan chose that moment to cry out in a voice that instantly silenced the music and the laughter of the revelers. Where is my Chief Poet? he bellowed. His tones were round and rich as plum pudding, and his eyes, though black, were the merriest in the room. Where is Bard Eanrin? Send him up to me at once! Make way, you dancers, and find my poet! The scarlet man stepped away from the wall, smoothing down his yellow hair, then jamming a jaunty red cap in place. Anytime I choose, he hissed in parting before springing from the shadows, leaving Glomar behind in the gloom. The crowd made way for the scarlet man as he crossed the dance floor, his golden face beaming with smiles. He approached the thrones of his monarchs and swept a bow made all the more dramatic by the flourish of his gold-trimmed cape. Ah! There you are, Eanrin, said the king. Greetings, most noble Iubdan Tynan, Dark Man of the Merry People, Lord of Rudiobus, who sits enthroned above all in fair Ruaine Hall! cried the poet, his hand raised in salute. And most illustrious queen, he continued, turning a gaze of adoration upon Iubdans wife. Fair Bebo, who walks among the stars and sings with the Spheres to the cheer and gladness of the Far World. My best wishes upon the anniversary of your birth!
22

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Many thanks, Eanrin, said the queen with a graceful nod. But Iubdan shook his head and bellowed, No, no, no! What do I keep you around for, bard, if not for barding? I wont accept wishes to my queen spoken thus. You must ballad, Eanrin! You must versify! Poet Eanrin gave another bow, less hearty than the first; when he stood again, his face was full of woe, and many a lady in Ruaine put her hand to her heart at the sight of such tender feeling. I fear, my king, said he, that a song is not within me this night. You see before you a man broken. And though I would fain I didnt ask you to feign, said his sovereign, his dark eyes snapping. I require that you perform your duty, Chief Poet, and perform it in proper spirit. It is Bebos birthday, and she must have a song. Pray, my Dark Man, said Bebo with a kindly smile, do not tax the poet. If he has no song in him When have we known our good Eanrin not to have a song? Iubdan cried, then quickly added in a gentler tone, Pardon my interruption, sweet one. But my Chief Poet will earn his keep! I put it to you, Eanrin. Can you dredge up a song? The poet raised melancholy eyes to his kings face and replied, I can, my king. Then sing for us, will you? Sing in honor of your queen! Eanrin placed a hand to his heart and turned to Bebo. But his gaze strayed, if but for the space of a heartbeat, to her cousin standing just behind the queens throne. And Lady Gleamdren lowered her gaze to the goblet in her hand and blushed most prettily. Queen of my heart, Eanrin said, a tremor in his voice, to you I dedicate this ode, composed spontaneously here at your feet. Bebo gave a gracious nod. Gleamdren raised an eyebrow, and the corners of her mouth twitched in expectation, but she schooled her face into a frown a moment later. A lady must take care how much she reveals. The poet, unaccompanied, lifted his arms and sang. His voice was so sweet and so golden that he needed no instrument to fill it out, and his song carried to all corners of Ruaine Hall, into every cranny of that vast cavern, even to places where the torchlight could not penetrate.
23

S T A R F L O W E R

Hers the voice, the look. Obey And sing a humble, longing lay! Within the Hall of Red and Green Behold my sweet, my love, my queen. With merry song and manic pleasures, Light of foot in lyric measures, First pursue and then retreat. Bright upon their fiery feet, Within the circling dancers meeting In time to ancient drums a-beating Solemn strains, her homage must declare. Where falls her glance, the Graces honor pay. I would behold the luster of her hair And seek the arms of Lady Gleamdren! A gasp rushed through the hall. The last echoes of the song died away, leaving the merrymakers wide-eyed and openmouthed, and Captain Glomar looking much more like a badger than he had a moment before. Queen Bebo hid either a smile or a frown behind her hand, while her cousins face was a conflict of blushes and scowls. Only Iubdan laughed. He threw back his head and howled so loudly that even Poet Eanrin had the sense to look abashed. When he was quite done, Iubdan cried, So thats how it is, bard? And here I thought you were singing as fine an ode to my queen as ever I have heard! Forgive me, Your Majesty, said the poet with a bow. Did I misspeak? Indeed you did. Where we should have heard the name Bebo sweetly sung, we heard instead that of her cousin. Dont tell me this was a mistake? If mistake it was, said Eanrin, turning to fix his gaze upon Lady Gleamdren, it was a mistake of the tongue, not of the heart! Can I help it if the words that burst from my lips are the truth I feel most keenly? Iubdan guffawed again, and this time much of the court joined with him. Even Bebo no longer tried to disguise her laughter. But more than a hundred pairs of fists clenched, more than a hundred jaws set on edge as the young men of Rudiobus turned angry eyes upon the poet. Not
24

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

least among these was Glomar, who took up his lance and squeezed it nearly to the point of breaking. Gleamdren, however, refused to look at the poet, who stood, hand upon heart, gazing up at her. I thank you, good poet, said Queen Bebo at length, stilling the laughter with a wave of her hand, for bringing such jollity to our hall. I look forward to another song when next my birthday is celebrated. Then she bade the musicians take up their playing again, and the dancers returned to the floor. Iubdan rose and offered his hand to his queen, and they joined the others, whirling away in time to the music. Their removal to the floor left Gleamdren momentarily alone behind the thrones. She fixed her gaze upon the dancing monarchs, refusing to look even when Eanrin climbed the stairs and bowed in a fine impression of humility. Her face was fetchingly flushed. Fair lady, the poet began, please allow me to Not another word! Gleamdren said, holding up a hand. Your impertinence does you no credit, Bard Eanrin. Though really, I should be surprised by nothing you say or do. But good Lum! Must you embarrass me so in front of all the court? I never meant to embarrass you, sweet maid, the poet protested, his hands outstretched in supplication. I intended nothing other than to sing the praises of our queen! But my heart must always dictate my tongue, and my heart said I care little for your heart and its fool notions, said Gleamdren with a pretty toss of her head that indicated quite the opposite. She was flattered, and Eanrin knew this. Youre a dragon-kissed fool, Eanrin, thats what you are. And tonight youve proven it to everyone. Here she tempered her words with a smile. It was a subtle dance, this art she practiced, and she was a skilled dancer. She must discourage her beaux just enough to keep them interested, not enough to drive them away. The poet smiled in return. Oh, come now, Gleamdren! he said. I know you cant mean that. You were watching every darting shadow for a sign of me. Admit it! She turned up her nose. I admit nothing. But she gave him a sidelong glance that spoke volumes.
25

S T A R F L O W E R

He leapt at the bait. Not one man in this room is your equal. He took a step nearer and reached for her hand. Not one man, save me. She avoided his touch with an Oh! and gave him an arch frown. He ground his teeth in a smile and spoke softly. Enough of this nonsense, fair Gleamdren Gormlaith. You know you are bored to tears by all these fools vying for your attention. What have they to offer you compared to me? I am the Chief Poet of Iubdan. Youre a silly cat, Eanrin. He slipped a hand about her waist. She pursed her lips, struggling to frown when her whole face longed to smile. She dropped her gaze to her goblet once more but did not resistat least, not too muchwhen he drew her to him. I will go down in history, he whispered. The greatest bard of all time. The prince of poetry! She rolled her eyes and gave a little shrug. For what that is worth! Every song could be yours. He bent his head to whisper in her ear. Her white-blond hair tickled his nose and smelled of pine needles. It was an exciting scent. I shall dedicate my work to you. Every song I write. Every lyric stanza . . . yours! What say you to this? Is what you sang just now an example of things to come? she asked, turning her face suddenly up to him. Her nose bumped his, and he drew back, startled. Then he leaned in to kiss her. No! No! she cried with a laugh and backed out of his grasp, tossing her head. Such bosh and nonsense! What girl wants all that romanticized drivel dedicated to her? Throughout history! People will get silly notions about me. Theyll start to say Im some sort of famous beauty. Insignificant me! She was fishing for compliments, but Eanrin was no longer feeling generous. Come now, dearest of my heart, he growled. Give us a kiss, wont you? Oh, Eanrin, said she, still laughing. A kiss you will never have from me! Her glance said otherwise. A dance, then? said the poet, emboldened by that look. This reel is your favorite, I know. Give me your hand, Gleamdren, and well show these beggars what dancing is!
26

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Gleamdren blinked at him, long and slow. Then she turned, swept down the steps, and grabbed the arm of the nearest unengaged gentleman, declaring in a voice of honey, Ill not dance with you, Eanrin, for I have already promised this dance to She turned to discover the identity of her new partner. Who are you? Captain Glomar of the Guard! gasped he, his face full of the beautiful terror of a dream come true. Yes, you then, said Gleamdren. Glomar stared down at the little white hands clutching his arm. A flush swept over his face, as red as Eanrins cape. Why . . . why, my lady! Im not much good at dancin. But you have promised to dance with me, havent you? said she, gazing up at him in such a way that he would not have contradicted her for the world. Without another word, Glomar swept her into his arms, dragged her across the floor, flung her in a twirl, caught her at the last second, and hurled her again. Gleamdren was out of breath and gasping within moments. But her face fixed into a smile that was intended less for Glomars pleasure than for Eanrins misery. And every man in Ruaine Hall saw the Chief Poets disgrace. Eanrin stood, his mouth agape, his heart beating strangely in his breast. This must be what jealousy felt like. Best to remember it; a poet must be keen on his emotions, able to dredge them up at a moments notice. Gleamdren cast him one last dogged smile, and her eyes flew wide as her arm was nearly wrenched from the shoulder. The poet could bear no more. He turned on heel and stalked from the hall.

27

he Path at her feet was narrow indeed. The mortal stumbled through the Wood. Once or twice, she still thought she glimpsed the golden form running ahead of her. Strange guide though it was, it was the only guide she had, and she forced her bruised body to follow. But her mind was so tired, full of clashing images and sounds. Her fathers face, pale for loss of blood. Moonlight on stones like teeth. Run! The girl gasped, her mouth twisted in a silent scream. The trees drew back from her as she continued her flight. They dared not interfere while she walked that Path, no matter how they might wish to. She took no notice of them. How long had she fled now? Had it been one night, or days and weeks of this nightmare? And always the howls pounded her memory. Suddenly, the howls vanished. A new voice spoke from the gloom.
28

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Come to me, pretty maid. The girl stopped, swaying where she stood, on the verge of collapsing. Slowly, as though she dared not hope to find what she sought, she turned her head to the left. Between the trees a river sparkled like a ribbon of pure light and sweetness. Her thirst was overwhelming. Even the snarls faded from her mind, replaced by the Rivers inviting babbling. Come to me, pretty maid, it said, though she heard only the sound of water. Her feet left bloodstains on the moss and rocks as she hastened down to the Rivers edge. A glint of gold shimmered in the tail of her eye, shining even in the Woods oppressive shadows. She ignored it. Falling to her knees on the bank of the water, she plunged in both hands. The water stung her wrists where the harsh cords had bitten into her skin. Drink deeply. Drink. The water flowed about her arms, fresh and alive. She cupped her hands and lifted the cooling liquid to her lips. She drank. She drew a long, shuddering breath, then fell upon the bank, one arm extended into the water, the other upon the shore. Her black hair covered her face, and the River ran its fingers through the ends of it, pulling, pulling. Sleep deeply. Sleep, said the River. From the shadows of the trees, a fine, narrow face watched with solemn dark eyes. The shape was that of a hound with a coat of white-gold luster. But the eyes shone with an angelic light, or a light of a higher order still. Unhurried, he approached the girl and looked down upon her sorry state. He saw the Path she had walked and would later walk again. He saw how the twisting and winding of this Path would baffle her. The shining one bent his head and placed a kiss upon the girls forehead. Then he turned and loped into the forest, vanishing as though he had never been. The girl slept where she had fallen, her thirst unsatisfied.

Eanrin sat on the banks of Gorm-Uisce Lake, which lay at the base of Rudiobus Mountain and reflected both the mountain and the stars
29

S T A R F L O W E R

above. On such a night, with all the Merry Folk dancing in the Hall of Red and Green, the lake was a lonely spot. The voice of Fionnghuala Lynn, the waterfall gate into Rudiobus, was distant enough to be no more than a murmur. The only living soul within calling distance was the guardian of Fionnghuala, who would recognize a poets need for solitude and leave him in peace. Eanrin stared across the still waters to the far shore, where a dark forest stood. Woe is me, for I am undone, he whispered. He quite liked the phrase and thought hed round it out with a lyric stanza or two. Woe is me, for I am undone . . . Unfortunately, he had no more. What rhymed with undone? Homespun. No. Bludgeon? Poetry be dashed! he snarled and clenched his hands into fists. What in the name of Lum, Hymlum, and the entire starry host is wrong with Lady Gleamdren? Neither the lake nor the stars seemed inclined to answer. Eanrin frowned. Obviously, the first fault lay with Gleamdrens womanhood, he decided. Had he not already written a score of popular verses on the fickleness of women, on their temperamental, unpredictable natures? That much, at least, was no surprise. But he knew without a doubt that Gleamdren wanted him. She must! They were so alike, she and he. She, with her beauty and her pretty ways, bidding every lad to join her entourage even as she simultaneously repulsed romantic advances. If hers was not a heart akin to that of a true poetdesperate for notice, still more desperate for solitudethan whose could be? Why then does she resist me? Eanrin sighed, casting his gaze to the heavens, which offered no sympathy. So he took a comb from his pocket and leaned out over the lake. It was quiet enough beneath him to make a fine mirror, and he began smoothing his hair. With his mind so unsettled, a good grooming was the only recourse. He slicked his golden locks into place and slicked them again, the rhythmic motions soothing until he found himself better able to think. Patience, Eanrin, he told himself, tilting his face above the lake to get a better perspective on his features. Patience is all you need. A turn
30

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

or two about the dance floor should be enough to settle this business. Once Glomar has shown the lady his paces, she will be sick to death of him and longing for my return. The poets smile broadened at this thought. By pure comparison, how could he fail to shine the brighter in his ladys esteem? And he had time. His merry life had extended more centuries than he could remember and would continue, so far as he could imagine, for many centuries still. He need not hurry. Though I wait a thousand years and more, he whispered to the stars, I will yet win the hand of Lady Gleamdren Gormlaith. This I vow upon the crown of the moon, upon the scepter of the A chilling howl trembled on the edge of the night. Eanrin startled and fumbled to catch his comb before it was lost forever beneath Gorm-Uisces glassy surface. He stood and backed away from the lake, his eyes fixed upon the dark line of forest across the water. The sound must have drifted from the worlds beyond, from the Wood Between or even the Near World of mortals. Such a cry, so lost and so horrible, had never been uttered in Rudiobus. The guardian of Fionnghuala emerged from behind the waterfall and trotted along the lakes edge to stand beside Eanrin. She was a golden mare with a scarlet tail, a beautiful and solemn animal. Her name was rfhlaith, and she spoke to Eanrin in the language of horses. Did you hear that? Eanrin nodded. The Black Dogs, he said, and trembled. I know them when I hear them. That was the cry of the Black Dogs. Are they come to Rudiobus? Not they. Their prey. Her nostrils flaring, the mare tossed her head to indicate the far shore of the lake. The white light of Hymlum above, which had been bright only minutes before, had vanished behind a cloud, and the poet could discern nothing on the far shore. Some poor soul they pursue has fallen on the edge of Rudiobus. But not entered, said Eanrin quickly, as though to assure himself. No one can enter Rudiobus uninvited. Not even Death or his minions. rfhlaith stamped a hoof, splattering Eanrins shoes with silver droplets. Youre right, kings poet, she said. Quickly, on my back!
31

S T A R F L O W E R

Why? The Black Dogs are terrible. They always run down their quarry in the end. But they may not enter Rudiobus, and perhaps we can offer their luckless victim shelter. Its not our business! Eanrin protested. No, agreed rfhlaith. But we can make it so. On my back, at once. Eanrin nearly argued. But his eyes lit suddenly with an insatiable curiosity. Who might the Black Dogs pursue that would think to turn to Rudiobus and the Merry Folk for aid? The poet licked his lips. He had never glimpsed the Black Dogs. Word of them had first come to Rudiobus in the last century, and he thought them a dreadful tale, but one he was unlikely to encounter. According to rumor, they chased only those upon whom they were set, pursing their quarry without flagging until they ran it down. But no one would set the Black Dogs upon Iubdans Chief Poet. It would be a safe enough venture to take a peek beyond Rudiobus. I suppose I should investigate anyway, he said. My duty to the king and such. With that, he scrambled up on the golden mares back and held on to her mane as she leapt out onto the warm waters of Gorm-Uisce. She did not swim, for she was herself so light, so airy, that she could not sink. Her hooves left spreading ripples where they glanced on the waters surface. The water was dark without the moon to shine upon it, and darker still the nearer they came to the far shore, where the trees swallowed all light. The forest beyond the lake marked the edge of Rudiobus. Although many boasted of it, few of the Merry People actually walked the shadows of the forest beyond the lake. To pass amid those trees was to pass into the Between, the thin realm of existence that separated immortal Faerie from the mortal world. The undying folk of Iubdan Tynan avoid proximity with mortality. But Eanrin was more daring than most of his kin. Always eager for some inspiration for new songs with which to delight his king and queen, he had explored deeply into the treacherous Wood. He had learned which Paths he might safely follow, and which he would do well to avoid. So it was with little care or concern that, when rfhlaith drew close to the far shore, Eanrin leapt from her back to dry land, avoiding wet32

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

ting his feet as much as possible. A strange thing happened the moment he stood upon that shore. While neither he grew nor the mare shrank, suddenly he towered above her, and she was so small that she might have fit into his hand. For he no longer stood in Rudiobus, and height and girth could keep no rigid hold on him. But these alterations on the fabric of reality were as commonplace as breathing to Iubdans bard, and he took no notice. Ill just have a look, he told the mare. He took two strides into the shadows of the Wood and left behind the realm of his birth. The trees themselves did not change in the Between. The lake had vanished; Eanrin could no longer smell it behind him, nor the scents he always associated with Rudiobuspine sap and rock and the heady scent of laughter, which only a nose as keen as his might discern. Stepping from the darkness of night into the gloom of tree-shadowed midday gave the poet momentary pause. The Wood was lit in half-light. Perhaps above the woven branches a sun shone brightly. No one could say for certain. Eanrin took a deep breath, glad to be once more in the Between and the thrill of danger it offered. Fire lit his spirit, and he took three steps. Then he drew up short as a foul stench assaulted his nostrils. It was a wonder he had not noticed it the moment he stepped from Rudiobus. It was the smell of a dying body. It was the smell of mortality. The poet made a face, his lips drawn back from his teeth. The Black Dogs must have been set on the trail of some poor mortal who had wandered foolishly from the Near World into the Wood. He cast about for the source. She lay fainted beneath an old caorann tree. Did she know how close she had come to Rudiobus? But of course not, how could she, ignorant, dying beast that she was? Her hair covered her face in a tangled snarl, and some of the caorann berries had fallen in it, like drops of red blood. From where he stood, Eanrin could not tell if she breathed. The poet stood a while regarding her, struggling to keep from gagging. If there was one thing he hated, it was obligation. He knew, now that he had seen this creature lying in such a helpless state, he should feel obliged to help her. The Black Dogs could not be far off. If they came
33

S T A R F L O W E R

upon the mortal lying thus, they would rend her to pieces and carry her spirit down into the Netherworld. But really, Eanrin muttered to himself, is that any of my business? rfhlaith would expect a report, as would Iubdan and Bebo, who, even in the midst of celebration, must have heard the voices of the Black Dogs baying. They would even now be standing by Fionnghuala Lynn, awaiting news. He had best investigate, at least discover if the woman lived. He approached her, placing his feet gently so as to make no sound. She did not stir. Even as he drew near, he did not think she breathed, she lay so still. No features were visible beneath her hair. Ragged, colorless garments covered her body, and what little he could see of her skin was just as colorless. She was slight, gaunt even. He put out a tentative finger and touched her shoulder. He hissed, drawing back quickly. A blister swiftly developed on his fingertip. Something was wrong. His nostrils flared as he drew another long whiff of her scent. She absolutely reeked of humanity. But why would her skin burn? He stepped back, and his heart raced. Did she suffer some dreadful fever? It was not unlikely here in the Wood. Humans reacted strangely to many of the plants or beings dwelling here. She may have caught a burning curse or some disease, neither of which would affect Eanrin. He had no reason to fear, he told himself again and again. Yet he could not still his beating heart. What if she wore a glamour? He raised his gaze to the caorann tree under which the woman lay. These trees were known to protect against witchcraft and enchantments. It was said their berries would reveal the truth of all but the deepest spells. If this woman was a witch wearing a glamour to disguise her true nature, lying beneath the caorann tree would be a mistake. The berries fallen in her hair would swiftly dissolve her spell. Only one creature, so far as Eanrin knew, could cast an enchantment strong enough to deceive the caorann. Everything in him told him to flee. But his curiosity was so intense that he stood unmoving. After all, he had never seen a dragon. There were many known to stalk the worlds of Faerie. The most infa34

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

mous, of course, was the Flame at Night, scourge of the mortal realm, who had once been a Faerie queen herself. But there were possibly hundreds of other minor dragons, or so the rumors had it. His eyes as round as moons, he approached the woman again. Once more he put out a finger but did not touch her right away, trying to feel the heat emanating from her body. The air was cold all around her. Had he imagined the burning? But no, his blistered finger was no lie. Frowning, he touched her again, lightning fast. Nothing. Licking his lips, Eanrin rested his finger on her shoulder for a longer moment before drawing back. Still neither heat nor sign of life. He grabbed her shoulder fully, and she did not burn him, nor did she move. Not a dragon, then, he decided. He must have been mistaken. Perhaps she did indeed suffer from a curse that made her sometimes burn to the touch? Stranger things had happened in the Far World. Eanrin felt beneath the tangled masses of hair to find the strangers neck. There was no pulse, none at all. He took hold of her shoulders and rolled her over into his arms. Her face lolled to one side, half covered in her long hair, which was as colorless as the rest of her. He put an ear to her mouth and nose but could discern no breath. Are you dead, then? he asked and received no answer. He had rarely been so near to death. It did not frighten so much as fascinate and simultaneously appall him. You appear remarkably dead-ish, at least. Perhaps I should just leave you here to the Dogs. He realized, suddenly, that he had heard not a single note of the Black Dogs baying since he stepped into the Wood. Odd . . . Should they not be even now bearing down upon their prey? He sniffed the air but could catch no scent other than the dominating smell of mortality. Shivering, he looked down at the woman again and brushed the hair back from her face. She was strangely beautiful. Too beautiful, he thought, to be mortal, despite her lack of color. Rather like a sketch before the pigment had been added, every shadow and contour perfectly defined but unfinished. There was a hardness to her lines, however, a certain set to her jaw and about her lower lip as well, which should have detracted from her beauty.
35

S T A R F L O W E R

Somehow it didnt matter. She was beautiful enough to make his heart lurch. But was she even alive? He could picture Fionnghuala Lynns falls alight with torches as the Merry People awaited his return. Iubdan would be anxious for news, and Bebo hardly less so. Eanrin needed to make a decisioneither bear the woman back across the lake or leave her here. How can I bring a corpse into Rudiobus? he whispered. If corpse you are, that is. He shook his head, setting his jaw. No, I cannot do it. Death cannot come to Rudiob-AYIEE! The strangers hands had come up and clasped about his neck. He leapt to his feet, screaming as though bitten by a snake. If hed been a cat, the fur on his tail would have stood on end. As it was, he lost his cap in a brief struggle to loosen her hold and danced several paces away. Dragons teeth! he bellowed. Dragons teeth and wings and tail! You nigh unto scared my whiskers off, woman! The mortal lay in a heap, supporting herself on her elbows, breathing now in rasping gasps that sounded as though they would tear her lungs to shreds. With an effort, she raised her face. Her eyes pierced Eanrin. Help me! she gasped. Then, with a moan, she collapsed once more. Dragons teeth, the poet swore again, his voice venomous. He approached on tentative feet, sniffing just in case some trace of a spell had escaped him before. The caorann tree waved its branches gently, as though trying to reassure him. But he knew better than to trust any of the trees in the Wood. They were deceitful devils when they got the chance, even the caorann on occasion. Kneeling but hesitant to touch her again, he said, Gentle lady, I thought you were dead. She was still but for the faintest rise and fall of her chest as she drew breath. Setting his jaw, Eanrin reached out and took her in his arms. She was so thin that he expected no difficulty in lifting her. To his surprise, she was far heavier than her size would indicate, and he struggled to stand upright. Yet she moaned piteously in her semiconscious state, her arms draped across his neck. She smelled sweet to him suddenly. He put his nose into her hair and
36

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

drew a long breath. All the prettiest scents of the world danced alluringly through his senses. I should put you down, he whispered, but his arms would not obey. I should leave you here. Youll do me harm if I bear you in. I know youll do me harm! But his heart would not believe his head, and his arms clutched her close. He heard the Black Dogs voices. The darkness of their baying rolled across the Wood, dragging shadows with it, dousing lights. Eanrin turned, his face pale as a ghosts, expecting to see their great bodies bearing down upon him, teeth flashing, eyes blazing. Instead, he saw something far more dreadful. He was a hound, but he was not black. Where he stood, the shadows of the trees drew back, and light fell in a bright aura upon his white-gold coat. Tall and slender, with a long, noble face, he stood on delicate feet and gazed at the poet from out of the Woods depths. He made no sound but took a single step forward. Eanrin screamed. In that instant, his decision was made, though he did not make it for himself. His feet moved in a surge of terror and, still clutching the woman tight, he sprang back across the borders into Rudiobus.

37

anrin stood once more upon the banks of Gorm-Uisce. The Wood was behind him, but he felt the protections of Rudiobus all around, the boundaries set in place ages ago by Queen Bebo. Nevertheless, he stood scarcely breathing, his limbs all atremble. Then he squeezed his eyes tight shut and bowed his head. He would not think of it. He would not remember it! That vision was unbearable, unthinkable, and he would not allow himself to dwell upon it. Better to have seen the Black Dogs! With a shudder that shook his whole body so that he nearly dropped his burden, he at last opened his eyes again. He found the woman gazing up at him, her face solemn and unreadable. Eanrins mouth was dry, and his voice croaked when he spoke. Youre safe now. I will take you to my king. Death may not come to Rudiobus, and neither will his Dogs. Wordlessly, she buried her face once more in his chest. Eanrin carried her, staggering to the waters edge. rfhlaith waited there, still tiny as a mayfly.
38

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Is she the victim? the mare asked. Eanrin nodded. Iubdan would wish to offer refuge. Put her on my back. Eanrin, for once in his life, obeyed without a word. The magic (if magic it must be called) worked again. When he stepped forward to put the woman on rfhlaiths back, their sizes altered without ever seeming to change. The woman did not shrink; rfhlaith did not grow. Yet each fit the other perfectly. Eanrin sprang up behind the woman and put his arms around her to keep her in place. The mare cantered smoothly back across the lake. Eanrin said nothing. His heart beat too fast, and his head still whirled with terror. Several times in his absentmindedness, he almost lost hold of the stranger and allowed her to slip into the water. He knew what he had seen. He only wished to the Spheres Above that he had not! Perhaps he could forget. Perhaps he would not be forced to remember. . . . At last rfhlaith passed through Fionnghuala Lynn to where Iubdan, Bebo, Gleamdren, Glomar, and all the court of Rudiobus, having heard the awful voices of the Black Dogs, had gathered to discover the source of all the excitement. Queen Bebos delicate veil covered her hair and glinted in the torchlight, and she lightly held Iubdans arm. What have you there, poet? demanded the king as soon as Eanrin and the mare appeared. A mortal, said Eanrin, his voice subdued. He looked at the woman held before him and thought, What a fool I was to have thought otherwise. She is so obviously what she is. How could I have suspected a glamour? When Eanrin seemed unwilling to tell his tale, rfhlaith explained what she knew. As she spoke of the Black Dogs, a hush settled on the crowd, broken a moment later by a rush of excited babble, like birds chattering their morning chorus. Black Dogs! How tremendous! The stuff of one of Eanrins exotic tales! Meanwhile, Gleamdren stepped forward and put her hands up to help the woman off the mares back. Careful, darling, said Eanrin hastily. She might have died while crossing, and you shouldnt be touching death. The stranger moaned before the words had quite left the poets mouth.
39

S T A R F L O W E R

Gleamdren gave Eanrin a withering glance and assisted the stranger to the ground, supporting her with gentle hands. The people of Rudiobus looked upon her and gasped. What a pretty creature! said Queen Bebo, pressing a hand to her heart. And mortal? exclaimed the king. A princess of the Near World, perhaps. And pursued by the Black Dogs! Such a dreadful fate. Especially for one so fair, agreed his queen. All those gathered murmured their agreement. Can she speak, Gleamdren? Can she tell us her story? Eanrin hopped off rfhlaith but hung back. Ordinarily, he would have stepped forward and demanded his fair share of the attention. After all, the mortal was his find. But his limbs felt weak, and his stomach roiled with the too-near terror he had just experienced. It was all he could do to stay on his feet. When Bebo turned to him and repeated her question, he murmured only, Not much. She said help me, or some such nonsense. That is all. Gleamdren gave him a quick glance. She had never known Eanrin so restrained. Her lips thinned. Then she turned and whispered tenderly to the stranger, There, there. Can you talk, then? The strangers eyes, which had been half closed, suddenly opened wide. Colorless yet beautiful, they rolled as she struggled to take in all the assembled people, the laughing faces wearing unnatural expressions of concern. Wh-where am I? she cried in a voice rough with mortality. Then she moaned and buried her face in Gleamdrens shoulder as though it was all too much to bear. The Dogs . . . Hymlums light! exclaimed Iubdan, his own dark eyes snapping with something between sympathy and anger. How could those brutes chase this little mite? We must learn what goads them! No, said Bebo softly. Not tonight, my Dark Man. Can you not see how close she is to fainting? The poor thing is spent. Let us allow her a sound nights rest before we ply her with questions. Aye, that is wise, agreed her husband. Lady Gleamdren, can you find accommodations for our guest? Gleamdren nodded. I shall put her in my own bed. Shell rest easy enough there and hear nothing of those monsters while she dreams.
40

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Eanrin gasped. All in a rush, his own fears vanished, and he stared at his lady, at the stranger, and back again. Gleamdren, my sweet, he said, stepping forward and putting a protective hand on her shoulder. We dont know anything about this creature. We dont know what she might have done to provoke someone to set the Black Dogs on her. They dont chase without reason, you know. But though the words spilled quickly from his tongue, no one paid him heed. Gleamdren shrugged off his hand and, with nothing more than a withering look, ignored him. She walked away with the king on one side and the queen on the other as she assisted the woman back through the caverns of Rudiobus. Glomar trailed behind, and all the rest of the court, sparing not so much as a glance for the crimson poet. He found himself at last standing alone beside Fionnghuala Lynn with the kings mare. He turned to rfhlaith. I tell you what, my friend, something about this puts my hair on end. She whuffled and shook her ears. Do not mistrust Master Iubdan or his lady. Would they allow evil into Rudiobus? Eanrin did not hear. He watched the torchlight vanishing up the caverns, his heart sinking. The last thing in the world he wanted was to become tangled in some mortals affairs. But he had brought the creature into Rudiobus of his own free will. Whatever happened next, he could no longer extricate himself. With a curse, he left rfhlaith and the waterfall, sprinting after the crowd.

The colorless woman opened her eyes to the warm glow surrounding her. The room was full of gold. Gilding on the bedposts and walls, golden threads in the bed curtains, a gold frame surrounding a mirror of pure watershe closed her eyes again and turned away from that. The last thing she wanted to see was her own reflection. When she raised her lids again, there was more gold. The gold of candlelight shining on the white-gold braid draped over the shoulder of a Rudioban maiden.
41

S T A R F L O W E R

Flowing Gold. So. Youre awake. Lady Gleamdren sat on a chair near the bedside, her eyes narrow, her arms crossed over her chest. Its about time. The colorless woman opened her mouth, but her throat was raw and she found it difficult to speak. Then she gasped, a tearing sound in her chest, and cried out, The Dogs! She sat up in the bed, her long hair falling about her shoulders like a shawl and partially covering her face. But one bright eye gazed out from between the limp strands. The Black Dogs! Are they near? Nice show, that, said Gleamdren, twisting her lips. Id almost think you were truly frightened. The stranger blinked. As an afterthought she took another deep, shuddering breath. How long have I slept? Dont give me that. You havent slept at all. The woman swallowed. The counterpane was heavy, and she pushed it back. Even it was quilted with golden thread on gold-spun cloths. Who are you? she asked the maid. Lady Gleamdren Gormlaith. As if you didnt know. A smile touched the womans mouth, tugging at its corners. I did not know. But I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Less pleased am I! Gleamdren hopped up from her chair and strode to the bedside. Youre wearing my nightdress. Did you know that? The woman looked down at the soft green gown embroidered at the neck with dark leaves and, sure enough, more gold. She said nothing but picked at the rich collar. And do you want to know why youre wearing my nightdress? Gleamdren persisted. Because every glamour-dazzled fool in Rudiobus has gone and fallen in love with you. Every one of them! Do you think Ive a single suitor left this night to think of me? As she spoke, her hands touched her own face as though to assure herself that she was still as pretty as shed always been. Her mouth formed a hard line as she brandished her fists the strangers way, and the woman drew back a little from her. My only choice, Gleamdren continued, was to offer you my bed and my gown. Display my sweet-natured heart, you know. At least then,
42

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

when the novelty of you has worn off and youre long gone from Rudiobus, my suitors will still remember the kindness of Gleamdren. The smile on the womans face grew, and in her eyes, fires danced. I am sure rumor of Lady Gleamdren Gormlaith already flies across the worlds. Rumor of her beauty and of her favor in the court of Iubdan. Gleamdren looked mollified. Well, its all Eanrins verses, you know, she said modestly. They do have a way of getting about, his being Iubdans Chief Poet. Not that I give him the time of day, mind you. Im not such a fool as that. You give a lad an inkling of favor, and suddenly he forgets all that undying passion of his! Best to string them alongbut you distract me. Indeed, such was not my intent. The counterpane fell back as the woman slid her legs around and over the edge of the bed. Did you have something more to say to me, Lady Gleamdren? I want you to kidnap me. What did you say? I want you to kidnap me. Gleamdren set her jaw. Im not a fool, you know. I did not fall for your little glamour. The woman said nothing. She stared into the maids eyes, momentarily uncertain. Im not the sort to fall in love, Gleamdren continued in a most practical voice. So its not in my nature to fall for glamours either. Not even a spell is going to make me love someone so unconditionally! No, when I saw you, I felt neither love nor pity for you, no more than that silly Eanrin did, Im sure. But unlike Eanrin, I stop and think about things now and then. So when you were brought inside and even Bebo was taken in by your great beautythough, I must say, I dont see whats so great about it. Even with enchantments, youre far too scrawny to be beautifulI thought to myself, Who could possibly deceive even my queenly cousin? Not another Faerie, surely. Bebo is older than all of them. No enchantment of the Far World would get past her eye. Then I thought, well, what about a witch? Not a mortal witch, of course; those poor hags and silly sorceresses couldnt begin to deceive even Eanrin, much less my cousin! Perhaps a Faerie witch, then. But
43

S T A R F L O W E R

even Vartera, the Witch Queen of Arpiar, couldnt get past Queen Bebos protections. And she tried! Lum love you, how she tried, so desperate to find the Flowing Gold was she! Everyone wants the Flowing Gold. And every gold-hungry witch and monster of the Far World has tried to take it at least once. But you . . . Gleamdrens stream of prattle died away as she smiled knowingly upon the colorless woman. You did what even Queen Vartera could notyou deceived Bebo. You wheedled your way into Rudiobus, extracted promises of safe haven from the king and queen. You are more than a mere goblin witch, arent you? What, then, the woman whispered, am I? A dragon. The candles all about the room flared, then sank on their wicks. The warm glow vanished, exchanged for a dull redness. Gleamdren and the stranger gazed at each other. And slowly the glamour unraveled. Hri Sora sat on the edge of Lady Gleamdrens bed, clad in her soft green nightgown. Her skin was stretched too thin over her frame, and in places it broke, revealing cruel scales beneath. These were black with a red-hot iridescence that was painfully beautiful to behold. I thought as much, said Gleamdren with a satisfied smirk. You smelled burnt like a dragon, not dead like mortals do. So tell me, dragon, are you looking for the Flowing Gold too? I am, said Hri Sora. Her voice rasped between her sharp teeth. Of course you are. I know where it is; did you know that? I did. And you will tell me. Gleamdren laughed outright. Her laugh was artificial, as though shed forgotten long ago what a real laugh was supposed to sound like. She wiped one eye with her thumb and turned a smile upon the dragon. Oh, honestly! Do you really think thats how its going to work? Im not about to just tell you a secret like that, older than the foundations of the world! Youre going to have to kidnap me. Hri Sora hissed and fire gleamed in her mouth. Tell me what I want to know, and there will be no need for kidnapping. What? And spoil all the fun? I think not! No, no, its much better that you steal me away to . . . wherever you live. I do hope theres a good
44

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

high tower there. Its proper if you lock me in a high tower. Thats how these things are done. The dragon rose from the bed. Fire burned through her skin, and the green nightgown caught and smoldered at the neck and sleeves. Tell me what I want to know. The heat of her words melted the gilding on the bedposts, on the walls, on the mirrors frame. No. Sorry. Kidnapping it must be. Are you not afraid? Why should I be afraid? I have scores of suitors, and theyll all come to rescue me. Can you imagine how romantic that will be? Much more so than epic poetry. Ive never been kidnapped before, but Ive always rather liked the sound of it! So yes, why dont you just spread your wings like a good dragon and carry me off? Hri Sora gnashed her teeth. Fire fell from her lips, setting the counterpane ablaze. Even Gleamdren had the sense to take a step back, blinking rapidly. But Hri Sora reached out and took hold of the front of her dress, dragging her so close that Gleamdren thought her nose might melt away. For the first time that evening, a flutter that might be akin to fear stirred in Gleamdrens breast. Ill carry you off, little maid, snarled the dragon. Ill lock you away fast and far. And believe me, you will tell me what I wish to know, or you will die. Dont . . . dont make a fool of yourself, Gleamdren gasped, still trying to keep her voice light. The people of Rudiobus dont die. Perhaps not. Fire surrounded the dragons tongue as she spoke. But you can be killed. Gleamdren opened her mouth to speak but found she had no words. That thrill of fear shed known for the first time only moments ago returned suddenly, paralyzing her. She went limp in the dragons grasp, made no struggle as she was caught up in two powerful arms and borne to the window. It may have been some spell. It may have been the overwhelming poison of the dragons breath no longer disguised by an attractive enchantment. Either way, Gleamdren found herself unable to move, unable to speak, unable to so much as cry out for help. The dragon flung wide the casement, and the fire of her hair and her
45

S T A R F L O W E R

eyes lit up that dark street within the mountain, angry red light bursting through every window and startling all sleepers into instant, panicked wakefulness. Then she roared in a powerful voice that carried not only throughout all Rudiobus Mountain, but also across the lake, into the Wood and the worlds beyond. The language was one never before spoken in the land of the Merry People, and it would never be heard in those halls again. Yaotl! Eztli! War and blood. Fire and terror. The words cracked rocks and broke hearts even as they sped through the passages and pierced the boundaries of worlds to fall upon the ears of those to whom they called. Then the baying began. The voices of the Black Dogs filled the ears of every man and woman living in the mountain. Called at last from within, those awful hunters burst through boundaries heretofore unbreakable, sped across the water, and hurled themselves like a hurricane wind through the gates of Fionnghuala Lynn. No one dared stand in their path as they hurtled forward, dragging a vicious dark Midnight in their wake. Gleamdren saw them within a moment of the dragons call. She glimpsed huge bodies; she glimpsed flaming eyes all tangled in a snarl of sounds and shadows and raging winds. Her hair whirled about; even the fires of the dragons hair were threatened with extinction. But the dragons claws clutched Gleamdren by the shoulder, and she was dragged through her window and mounted on the back of a black body she could not see with all that assailed her senses. Then they were gone: Dogs, dragon, maiden. Vanished from Rudiobus so quickly that no one saw their passing, not even Iubdans mare standing dumbstruck at the gate. But the baying of the Black Dogs echoed through the byways of Rudiobus for hours afterward. And when the echoes at last died away, the heavy darkness of Midnight lingered for hours more.

All this while, the girl in the Wood slept on the Rivers edge, and it pulled at her hair with its wet and wanton fingers. Her sleep was deep
46

Anne Elisabeth Stengl

indeed and troubled as only enchanted sleeps may be. In her dreams she lived again and again that dark moment when the moon vanished behind a cloud. When a looming shadow appeared between two jutting stones. She heard the wolf howling in a voice so like those of the Black Dogs that it may almost have been the same.

47

You might also like