In Counsel With Stars: Book 1

The noise that cracked through the dawn sky awakened the heart of the forest. For 400 years she’d slept, undisturbed—though not for lack of attempt to stir her. Tales of her slumber wafted through the ages like a sweet smell demanding to be tasted, and taste it is just what the nearing villagers did. Men and women, young and old, visited her secluded cave in the high mountains. Some came in large groves while others braved the beast as lone warriors, their sharpest sword prepared to slay the beast if she so much as stirred. After all, what joy can be had in a battle won where only one opponent is awake? But much to their dismay, she never awoke. The only sign that she had not died in her everlasting rest was the heavy breathing that shook the mountain to its core, sending boulders toppling down the sides occasionally killing unaware adventurers mid-quest.

As legend had it, the dragon’s slumber was a result of a war that waged on centuries ago. After being near-mortally wounded in battle and setting three-fourths of the village ablaze, she fled to the rocky haven to recover, and, essentially, fell victim, comatose to her wounds. It was said that whoever could wake the beast and honorably slay her, would not only avenge the many lives she stole all those years ago, but would also be named Eternal King or Queen of the humble kingdom. He or she would immediately entitle their family to a seat of nobility that could not be broken or altered, and create a royal bloodline, indefinitely. Naturally, all classes leapt for the chance.

And while it seemed that no method would ever resolve the issue of the sleeping giant, here the forest was, hiding, quaking as the weighty red foot steps stalked out of the cave. She yawned first and then stretched back on her hind legs. Her thigh was still incredibly sore from where the archer’s bow pierced through her scaly flesh. Her rest had been well, presumably, if one judged by the markings on her face from where her paws and the rocks had imprinted. But she was a bit discombobulated: What had awoken her? As she rolled over to her side, contemplating another nap and the answer, she jumped up, roaring in agony. A sharp slab from the mountain’s rocky interior had inserted itself in the exact space where her unhealed scar was. She, like the rest of her species, healed impeccably slow and the scar tissue was still oozing pus when the 20 ton monster pricked herself. But it was such a prick, that reminded her of the events of that day and reignited the flames of hatred that lived within her. She let out another, more intentional, more angry roar; this time, warning the creatures and people below of her terrifying return. It was because of what occurred 400 years ago that she sought revenge on the village people and whoever, or whatever, had awoken her.

Beneath the mountain, the noise, the reason for this awakening, stirred as well. He, similarly, stirred in anguish, but for another reason. He sent up another beast awakening noise that echoed through the forest. Mr. Mole, on his daily walk from the stream, discovered him first. The very old, very blind and very hard of hearing creature smelled him from miles away, and while he was repulsed by the awful stench protruding from the noise, it was a curious smell he found himself aimlessly drawing near to. Upon bumping into the noise, however, he discovered it to be far more amiable than the stench would suggest. The noise was not just a noise as he previously thought. Instead, judging by the noise’s soft, spongy, hairless disposition, he was quite certain it was a man of some kind. A small man, but a man nonetheless. Maybe a dwarf who’d had his tongue removed? Still, it was wise to be sure before interacting with the noise. After all, poisonous man or half-man species were quite common in those parts and Mr. Mole already had far to many encounters with things he should not have touched but did.

He chose to leave the noise and find the Stygian. She was a generally wise creature and would not have to touch the noise to discern what it was. She could simply fly over it and let him know if it was safe to touch or not. She was sleeping when he found her, as nocturnal creatures tend to do during daylight, and it was a fantastic sleep. She’d embarked on a rather riveting journey that night, chasing a jackalope through tall pines and glistening rivers for hours. He was quite stout, so she didn’t actually need to chase him for as long as she did, but her mother had always said scared meat was more tender. Besides, she enjoyed the scenic route. She was rarely ever able to be so close to the stars, and they seemed to be hanging particularly low that night, almost as though they were coming down in search of something. But such a fantastic trip left her weary and in need of every hour she could get before her next expedition. So when, Mr. Mole appeared at her doorstep, knocking loudly and persistently, it’s no wonder she contemplated skipping the night's hunt and eating him instead. Mole is a tough and flavorless meat, but she was willing to endure this if it meant permanently silencing the interruption. Her mind swiftly changed, however, when he explained his reasoning for being there.

“A soft noise?” She inquired

.

“The noise is not soft. The creature that makes it is,” he elaborated

“And you would like me to do what? Eat it?”

“Maybe. After you tell me what it is,”

“And what do you think it is?”

“A dwarf maybe. It smells awful, but it laughs so I think it’s quite amiable,”

She thought for a moment. Her sleep was important, but now, she too was curious about the noise.

“Fine,” she said after awhile, “I will follow you from above and tell you what it is if you promise to never visit me again,”

“I swear on my eyesight,” Mr. Mole smiled.

The pair ventured back into the forrest together as promised. The Stygian scoured the forrest as she navigated the lower parts of the terrain. Jackalope and rabbits had gathered in groves on the western side, possibly to mourn the death of their friend. They looked quite delicious. Her form cast a protective shadow over Mr. Mole as he relocated the noise. It was no longer making any sounds, but it was still just as smelly.

“Here it is!” Mr. Mole exclaimed when he found it.

She landed gracefully and looked around the creature, pondering the being for a long time. Then, finally, she sat back on her legs and smiled, pleased with her answer.

“It is a bear,” she said confidently.

“A bear? Without hair? Or claws? And I’ve yet to meet an amiable bear!” Mr. Mole argued.

“It is a bear,” she said firmly, “a new species of hairless bear. Consider it. It cannot be a dwarf, it’s too big. It does not talk any real language, which narrows it down to being a bear,”

“Centaur offspring don’t talk.” Mr. Mole stated factually.

“Yes, but centaur offspring have hooves,” The Stygian asserted, “I don’t know why you insisted on waking me up if you were just going to argue with me!”

“I’m not arguing, I’m simply questioning your logic on whether or not--"

A far more sinister noise interrupted their conversation. Too preoccupied in their own curiosities and desires, the pair neglected to notice the strange parting in the trees. Hollies that once stood straight up, now leaned awkwardly to the left and right and a hot mist had begun to encapsulate them. She hissed, growing weary of the arguing animals, and ceased to camouflage; she must have been silently waiting, pondering the noise herself, for hours. Her bright exterior slowly reemerged, crawling up her illustrious red tail, sliding onto her ivory plated back, trickling down her long reptilian legs, dripping on her black claws, wrapping around her long, bruised neck, and exposing her horned head, sharp golden eyes and snarling white teeth.

“It is a man,” she interjected, rising up from her stooped position and towering over the small animals, “A small and undeveloped man, but a man nonetheless. I believe the villagers call this... a toddler… and it has awoken me.”

“It… it will not hurt you, Chrysanth,” Mr. Mole trembled.

The dragon laughed a deep and wicked laugh.

“No, it will not hurt me,” she hissed, “but I will hurt it,”

The Stygian lunged forward pulling the noise out of harms way as the dragon crushed the space the toddler once sat in with a single black claw.

“Run!” She ordered Mr. Mole as she pierced her talons through the cloth wrapped around the noise’s abdomen. She dragged the heavy toddler behind her and flew low to the ground as fast as she could. The noise squealed with glee as she dodged boulders and fire brands. If she stayed low, the dragon would struggle to see her, keeping them both safe. Mr. Mole was several feet ahead of them, smelling out a clear path. He figured, that if he could get them, at least, to the water’s edge, they would all be safe.

The large beast behind them, however, was cunning and relentless. She was not one to chase small creatures through forests they knew far better than she. Instead, she encircled the group, breathing fire on every tree, bush and patch of grass in sight. She entrapped them, and any creature unfortunate enough to be near them, in an enflamed circle. Centaurs and deer, minotaurs and cougars raced from their homes attempting to avoid a slow and fiery death. Winged animals took to the skies while flightless beasts held close to one another for, what seemed like, the last time. The Stygian and Mr. Mole stood back to back, certain of their demise. She looked at the world around her; her home had been engulfed in flames and now, she and her only friend would be too. She sympathized with the noise, it had to be difficult being the target of such a vengeful monster, but her options were clear.

“I’m sorry,” the Stygian whispered to the noise. Realizing there was no way of escape for all three of them, she released her grip on the toddler and grabbed Mr. Mole. She lifted him high into the air and perched them both on a river oak, too wet to be caught by flames.

“Where is the noise?” Mr. Mole demanded

“I could not save you both,” she whispered fighting tears.

As the flames consumed the forest and the dragon rescinded, satisfied, she looked on, sure she made the right decision but devastated at her choice. Though she did not know the creature well and the incident was clearly his own fault, he was a life— a stupid, unintelligible one at that. When she was once infantile and unintelligible or still in her eggshell prison, she was guarded and kept safe. And while it seemed like Mr. Mole held far more value to the forest, she couldn’t help but feel guilty for not protecting someone else’s offspring. She left him to die and had not thought long about the decision.

The forrest continued to burn, sending a bright star-like glow through the heavens. The sounds of the animals below screaming for help could be heard from miles away. And the tears of those who could not help, but wanted to so very badly, were enough to fill an ocean.

Then something curious happened.

From their perched spot in the tree, the Stygian could see a black spot that she identified as the noise—the toddler— who was eerily quiet as the flames covered him completely. But instead of burning, as expected, he began to glow. At first it was a soft glow, like a firefly in a partially lit cave. Then it was an intense glow, one that far outshined the sun and the fire. The noise shot its rays into the sky illuminating the entire forest and blinding any who dared to look directly at them. It came with a powerful and refreshing gust of wind that extinguished the flames and the light of the sun completely, leaving behind a thick darkness that comforted the forest.

“What happened?” Mr. Mole asked in a hushed voice

“I don’t know,” the Stygian whispered back.

A soft breeze was the only noise that could be heard. Not even the trees dared to rustle, for fear of what might happen. They sat in darkness for for some hours, or minutes, it was hard to tell when the sun had been completely silenced. But then, as if on cue, the stars began to twinkle, and in response, the toddler began to glow too, gently this time. The trees rustled again and if one were very quiet, they could hear the other forest dwellers returning to their singed homes. The Stygian once again lifted Mr. Mole and lowered him onto the cool ground in front of the toddler. She watched as it giggled and glowed. It’s little light flickered on and off in perfect cadence with the stars above, which, again, seemed lower than the night before. And then, the Stygian understood.



“Oh no,” she gasped, “oh no no no no no,”

“You’re frightening me,” Mr. Mole said trembling again.

“It’s far worse than we imagined, friend” she said, her voice shaking alongside his, “this… thing… is not a bear or a man or any other creature we’ve met before. It is… a star and it should not be here.”

There is one creature, and one creature only, that is wiser than the Stygian. He is hard to reach as he is is quiet and spends most of his days in deep thought in the Secret Valley. But on a tumultuous night like this one, he could be easily found stalking through the forest, ensuring all was in order. He was first attracted by the light the toddler omitted, but after discovering his feathered and blind companions, he thought further inquiry was necessary. They bowed low before him, upon his approach. He was, after all a king.


“Ari,” the Stygian explained, “we’ve found a star and Chrysanth seeks to destroy him,”

“How does a star get here in the first place?” Mr. Mole asked frantically.

The majestic lion encircled the toddler. If he was indeed a star, which, judging from the glow, was likely, then the consequences of his falling far outweighed the consequences brought on by an overgrown serpent. It was not something he could tell the duo, but the star leaving the sky, in this form, was out of order. If the heavens were out of order, then the earth would be as well. His mere presence would cause wars, famine, plagues and far worse. And since he came to the forest first, then the forest would be destroyed first. Chrysanth was the least of their problems.

“He must go back,” Ari said finally.

“I cannot fly that high with him!” The Stygian protested, “What bird could? He is incredibly heavy!”

“Then you need to bring him to the Eternal Waters,” Ari advised, “Do not touch or go into the waters yourselves, you will die. But he needs to go back tonight— before the light of the moon expires and the sun never rises again.”

“The Eternal Waters?” Mr. Mole echoed

“Forgive my crass candor,” the Stygian said, annoyed, “but have the Eternal Waters moved recently? Because previously, I thought them to be located within the smokey mountains which are conveniently perched above the high mountains where Crysanth lives. The same Crysanth who nearly killed us all. How are we supposed to get him there?”

“There is a narrow path through the back of the mountain,” Ari instructed, “It is steep, but you will reach it before day break if you leave now. And be quiet as you pass through the high mountains. It won’t be long before Chrysanth realizes what’s occurred.”

Reluctantly, the Stygian took hold of the toddler and nudged Mr. Mole in the direction she was to go. In truth, if Ari could return the child himself, he would have. His innate nobility longed to complete the quest for them and save them from the inevitable. But to restore order, sacrifices would have to be made and his purpose was in the forest. Ari knew knew a dark truth pertaining to that Smokey Mountain: many had gone up, for various vain reasons, but none had ever come back down.

The journey through the high mountains was the easy part. Sharp jagged rocks, poisonous spiders and the bodies of the slain adventurers who’s come to kill Chrysanth did not scare Mr. Mole… mostly because he could not see them. The Stygian felt as though she’d seen far worse. She found the spiders to be a delightful snack, jagged rocks were harmless if one simply avoided them and the bodies, well, full grown humans really meant nothing to her. It would have been sad seeing a fawn or even an aqrabuamelu—ugly as they were— with their heads and spines caved in like the travelers’. But humans were different. She bore no attachment to them. She did not understand their loyalties or priorities. And outside of the one who was crawling beside her, who had recently proved to be less than human, she did not know if they were truly friend or foe. Humans very rarely ventured into the deep forest. It was like an unseen barrier existed between the village boarder and the forest’s that only disappeared when the prospect of war, or slaying a dragon arose.

Still, she found this journey difficult for many other reasons. She was essentially the guardian of two creatures who were in need of much guarding. Mr. Mole could smell the Eternal Waters and proved to be a brilliant guide up the mountain, but she found herself pushing him away from falling rocks, and jumping in his path to quickly swallow spiders who’d planned to kill him. These tasks were in addition to monitoring the toddler, who she liked far more when he was just a noise. He could crawl and walk a bit, which was nice, but he was not proficient at either. Maybe it was her motherly instincts or just her sense or duty and morality, but she found it far better to fly next to him or behind him or hold on to his cloth wrapping if he was going to crawl or walk, for fear of him toddling right off the mountain. The toddler seemed to be indestructible, but if Chrysanth had found him once, she would find him again and she could not risk having to begin the journey all over again.

It was a particularly silent trip up the mountain, with the Stygian in her intricate thoughts and Mr. Mole singing songs in his mind to pass the time. But when he’d run out of songs to think after an hour or so of climbing, he began observing. His nose mostly inhaled the smell of the cool waters, but he could smell other things too. Like the poison of the spiders the Stygian continuously snacked on. He would never know how such a small creature could eat so much—or why she would want to. He could also smell the absence of things.

“She’s not there,” he whispered as the trio passed the cave where Chrysanth once slumbered.

One could accurately assume Chrysanth had grown weary of that place. She’d spent centuries in the cramped hobble, hoping to heal, only to awaken to the same wounds that almost destroyed her. She would probably be sleeping elsewhere tonight.

“Why does Chrysanth hate the noise?” Mr. Mole finally asked.

“She hates all men,” the Stygian responded solemnly.

Stygians lived for thousands of years unless killed. But with a lack of natural predators, and hunters far more interested in a dragon than a bird, she, like most of her species, had been here for quite some time.

“I was there, you know,” she said to Mr. Mole, “the day of the great war. And she was not always like this. She was never sweet or kind or amiable, but she wasn’t like she is now,”

The storyteller painted a grandiose picture with her words. The imagery seemed to appease the toddler who had grown weary of the trek and begun whimpering and entertained the mole who hummed background music at appropriate intervals. She, herself, was growing tired of walking and needed a distraction to carry her through the last few miles, and so, to pass the time, she told this true tale:

She was but an eggling when the villagers moved into the forest. The space they now occupied was once a lush, green valley with rivers of sweet waters that flowed for miles and harmonious creatures both big and small. All creatures of the valley submitted an offering to it, which contributed to the harmony they so highly treasured. The trees produced sweet maple leaves and delicious fly agarics while the bees pollinated and purified the river waters with traces of honey. The bears were excellent fisherman and the dung beetles maintained the grass’s beauty and clean fragrance. And while Ari maintained order, as he always had done and always would do, the most esteemed producers where the dragons. None, other than them, could produce fire. The forest had never seen a harsh winter because of them. When the snow would begin to stick and layer, it was the dragons who would melt it all away and keep the forest warm. Offspring lived the longest in these days and all was, by any account, well.

And then the villagers came. For months, they watched the valley, coveting her gifts, until they’d decided that coveting was no longer enough. They’d been there long before, but they’d stayed to their side of things until then. The dragons caught their eyes most intensely. Some were tamed, lured in by shiny gold chains and exotic foods, while others rebelled. Those who rebelled were treated like the rest of the forest. While the dragons were being groomed for human servitude, the forest was being poisoned. The bees were killed first by some sort of gas they released as the forest slept. And with the bees gone and gases raining down like morning dew the water became unclean. The trees did their best to cleanse the air, but that only lasted a short while. They needed lumber for their building and killed the trees next. Any who dared fight back were met with destruction. The forest was not meant to war and, therefore, were not equipped. They were slaughtered if they were seen in daylight; most of them became food for the invaders, including the minotaurs and elves.

The dragons hid in caves, preferring to protect their species through fear rather than risk extinction. It was not until the first dragon’s head rolled into the newly reconstructed valley that things changed. The head belonged to Crysanth’s grandfather, her mother’s father, who was not in the valley at the time of his slaying. He was old, having lived for thousands of years, and rested by the Wicker pond—a place thought safe for the displaced creatures. But when they beheaded him, and the once majestic creature rolled into the center of the town they’d built, and the townsfolk cheered, it was made painfully clear that despite all attempt to oblige and remain peaceful, the humans that moved in knew no laws and would do as they pleased at the forest’s expense. That night, the war began. The forest took cover while the dragons set the outermost parts of the village ablaze. They avoided the valley, feeling they could still save it from the invaders, a decision that would prove fatal for all but one. While the dragons fought fiercely, they were no match for the armory stored in the valley. All but Chrysanth perished and she fled to avoid certain death and heal from the blow her leg suffered. The humans, found fault in the dragons and vowed to slay the last one, honorably at least. The forest, however, taught their children to stay far away from the village, remembering the bloodshed it caused. It was likely, the Stygian thought, others heard the noise before Mr. Mole and Chryanth, but knew better than to help a human, even a small one. Maybe the size of the human, or what Chyrsanth thought was a human, is why Chrysanth did not immediately act on her discovery—she wanted vengeance, but she was unsure if she was truly a monster.

The time passed swiftly and they approached the Smokey mountain without incident. The waters released a cool mist that seeped into their fur and feathers and dampened them. The Stygian hated being wet, but there was something tranquil about the mist emitting from the deep, dark waters. She looked up into the night sky and for the first time, noticed a space where a star, or collection of stars, seemed to be missing. She looked to the toddler, pleased to be rid of him, but a bit pensive; she’d grown accustomed to his babbling over the short while and wondered, who would she protect now that he was gone? No sooner had she though this, than did Mr. Mole almost trip into the waters, prompting her to quickly draw him back with her talons. She laughed to herself, she would always be needed.

“How odd!” Mr. Mole exclaimed, “It was like I tripped over nothing, nothing at all!”

The Stygian smiled at the assertion at first, but when it dawned on her, she began to tremble slightly. Smelling the realization, Chrysanth, once again, unveiled from her camouflaged form.

“Bring me the child,” she growled, “and I may spare you both,”

The Stygian stood in front of both Mr. Mole and the toddler. She anticipated dying, but was no longer afraid of it. She’d lived a long time and had seen much, this would be noble way to go.

The dragon discovered her fire was useless on the mountain top. Whether because of the high altitudes or the heavy mist, each breath she attempted was immediately extinguished. Mr. Mole instinctively dug a hole in the lush soil and hid the toddler and himself in it while the Stygian fought off the dragon. The Stygian proved to be a worthy opponent, dodging swats from Chrysanth’s massive paw and landing a few sharp beak pecks in and near her eyes. But when a misdirected wing flap sent the Stygian’s wings in between the jagged teeth of the dragon, it seemed all was lost. She spiraled to the ground and landed with a thud near the water. She looked up into the night sky, pleased with herself. It was normal for one to be mortified with the outcome of a quest, but she had done her best and had gone further than most birds would ever go. As Chrysanth towered over her preparing to sink her claw into the Stygian’s breast, she focused her eyes on one star that seemed to be growing brighter. And in like cadence another began to glow, then another and another until the entire sky omitted a bright white light angled at the four of them. Chrysanth looked up, maybe out of curiosity or sheer annoyance, but the sky blinded her and sent her toppling into the waters. She struggled to stay afloat and clawed at the air for something, anything, to keep her from drowning. It weighed heavy on her and like unrelenting hands in a nightmare, drug her down into the deep center. The Stygian chuckled to herself: what a fitting end.

“Is it over?” Mr. Mole asked aloud.

Through heavy breaths the Stygian responded, “It’s over my friend,”

“Then why don’t I feel like it’s over?” Mr. Mole asked.

With what strength she had left, she turned to view them. The toddler had crawled out of the mud and was now sitting in the center of the waters laughing. The same deep waters that had consumed Chrysanth now appeared shallow and brought glee to the glowing toddler. She turned her gaze to Mr. Mole who, too, had left the hole, but was covered in mist and beginning to disintegrate and glow himself.

“How do you feel?” She asked cautiously.

“Tired mostly,” he chuckled, “I know what Ari said… but I think I’m supposed to go,”

“I think you should go,” the Stygian breathed out, “I think that’s why you had to come. So you could go.”

He nodded in agreement and twiddled his nails a bit. “And what of you?” He asked.

“I’ll… see you soon,” she remarked.

The toddler cooed and splashed again as Mr. Mole joined him in the pool. For him, too, the waters were shallow and welcoming. The Stygian watched on as the stars profusely twinkled and her friends began to intertwine with the mist. As it softly escaped the waters surface into the night sky, so did they, until they were nothing. And in that place, where the stars were missing, two new bright ones appeared.

Her journey’s reward would be much different. The mist had wrapped around her wing and seeped into her lungs, healing her. Twice, she tried to leave the mountain, but it would not let her. She was to guard it, as she had done Mr. Mole and the toddler. Her life had lead her to this moment and she, while startled at first, she could not be more pleased.