The Soul of a Star

The golden afternoon light filtered through the mid-autumn leaves that clung to the branches of the north Dryada Forest. A chilled breeze sent some floating to the ground to join those that already blanketed the forest floor.

Niamh found this country to be beautiful in its simplicity, but boredom bloomed because of it. She sighed and contemplated where she might travel next. A constant quandary that had fewer new options as the centuries passed, but somehow, an infinite number as the land and people constantly changed with them.

The last town west along the base of the Helterra Mountains lay only a day’s walk away. Niamh wanted new travel clothes, the fashions having long since changed since her last major purchase. She considered finally venturing over the mountains themselves. She’d been following the foothills west for weeks now. Behind them, the mountain peaks were treacherously high. Each brooding summit tempted Niamh to use her power and rediscover the land beyond.

She sighed again at the futile thought and closed her eyes as the clouds began to turn pink. Rumours ran wild in this part of the continent, of what may lay past the impassable. Tales of barbarous kingdoms crawling with immortal peoples and giant winged reptiles bled through the northern towns the closer to the mountains she travelled.

Many tried to enter through Torsten’s Pass, named after the first to commit himself to the endeavour, unsuccessfully. Some spent their entire savings on a Boulder Plains stallion to make the journey, expecting to be rewarded with glory and riches. But even the horses, bred for rocky terrain, never made it far.

Niamh knew they were all wrong, and mad to try. There was nothing left over the mountains but ruins of an age long forgotten.

The growing sound of crunching leaves invaded her thoughts and she popped open an eye.

It was strange, people weren’t known to wander far from the merchant’s road a few miles south. It’d taken Niamh a couple of hours just to find the tiny glade to rest for the night. She was fond of the sweet-smelling autumn flowers that adorned the browning grass and didn’t wish to be disturbed. After a leisurely feline stretch, waking her sedated limbs, she propped herself onto her elbows to scan the trees.

As the clamouring neared, Niamh made out two figures, half-clad in armour, en route to pass only some metres in front of her. She held her breath as a burly man and young girl darted past, snapping branches in their haste. Both wielded swords and despite the metal, ran with ease. Almost out of sight, they stopped to catch their breath, completely unaware of her presence.

Satisfied that they were going to move on, though somewhat slighted that she was to be left with boredom again, Niamh rested her head back onto her pack and reserved herself to watching the sky change colours. Every night and every morning the world showed her again why she sought it out. A perfect painting twice a day of soft pinks, flaming oranges, and deepening violets. The tall white flowers stood at the edges of her vision, at odds against the russet canopy.

Choosing to leave the travellers to their business, Niamh thought that she may just avoid the north again and head south instead. The dark-skinned people of the jungles of Bremari Tsi’s magical talents far exceeded the weak tricks of the north. Or perhaps the beaches of the Airamfield Islands instead?

Unfortunately, half of the continent was ruled by those craving the destruction of the other. Balance of the fickle alliances tipped through the decades, but Niamh made a point of removing herself from such matters. She only wished to see the world and unobtrusively help, when possible, before it finally moved on without her.

A heart-wrenching scream ripped through Niamh’s silence.

Millenia of training brought her soundlessly to her feet. Another cry sounded - not the girl – and was followed by a bright purple magical light. It glimmered through the brown and green trees, pulsing like a haphazard heartbeat before swelling to ascend on the forest, crashing against Niamh as the trees shuddered as one.

Finally interested, Niamh flung on her pack and headed towards the armoured duo. Just beyond the small clearing, she picked up a pebble, passing it between her fingertips. The dull light reflected off its smooth amber surface. She’d regret using such a lovely stone.

She moved through the trees to where the glow originated. She found the girl fussing over the large man lying unmoving on the ground, the metallic tang of fresh blood in the air. Drawing closer Niamh saw the slice ripped in the man’s leg. The girl tried desperately to stop the deep red flow. A female body lay dead beside them.

Niamh snapped some twigs underfoot to announce her presence. Before stepping again, the tip of a rapier was at her throat.

“Who are you?” The girl’s voice was steady. Tears had streaked trails down her dirt-stained face and striking green eyes bore into her, clear and focused. Her hair was equally as filthy, dirt and leaves tangling the almost white strands.

Unruffled, Niamh peeked around her at the unconscious man. His hair and beard were like golden honey. A lost memory tugged at the back of her mind and apprehension grew.

The girl’s eyes shifted behind Niamh, bringing her attention back as they both sensed the lethal energy. The girl slammed Niamh into the ground and held her down as the tree behind them was blasted to splinters.

“Stay down,” she whispered. “When you get the chance, run!” She surged up, battle ready, facing her opponent.

A man walked into the space, casually inspecting the tree stump. He stood tall and strong, emanating dominance. His hair was dark and his formal tunic and trousers impeccable.

But it was his eyes that shocked Niamh’s core. As he turned and smiled towards the girl, she saw they were red. It was a good thing she was already on the ground for she would have collapsed as the memories flooded her mind.

“My, love,” he purred with charming malice.

Niamh shook her head and pushed herself to stand. It wasn’t the time to dwell.

“You don’t believe I’ll be as easy to kill as my dear cousin, do you? Though,” he gestured to the bleeding man, “I confess, she seems to have managed something.”

The girl grimaced, tightening her grip on her rapier, a light glow spreading to sheath it.

“I’ll ask once, my love.” The man stopped a step away and lowered his face to hers. The casual humour now absent in his eyes. “Where is the Star Soul?”

Niamh’s mind emptied; her heart raced.

The girl cried ferociously as cold purple flames burst around her rapier. She slashed at the man, missing as he dodged with a dancer's grace. Again and again she attacked, unable to land a hit.

Irritated, the man extended a flat palm, shooting a burst of red magic to hurl the girl into the tree by Niamh, her flames extinguished.

She glanced up at Niamh with pained eyes. “Why are you still here?”

As the man began to approach, the girl refocused her attention and extended her hands, causing him to hesitate for just a moment. Niamh felt the magic energy in the girl’s soul extend from her palms. A barrier, like the purest lilac, encased them in a dome, caressing every nerve with a warm embrace. The girl stood and worked to solidify her magic.

The man smirked, placed his hand on the dome and pushed. It only took a second for the barrier to burst and launch the girl back through the trees again as Niamh stood her ground. She took her eyes off the man for just a moment to inspect the peculiar girl, seeming only about eighteen. For the first time, with her hair splayed like a halo, Niamh saw her ears. All of the anxious feelings became shatteringly clear, instincts screaming at her to run from this place, from this girl.

The girl with the pointed ears.

Her mind raced with a cacophony of questions. Ones that needed answers.

She placed a hand on her chest to ground herself. Weighing the amber pebble in her hand she pondered how much power to put behind it. She needed this man gone, but quite enjoyed the forest. Loosening a breath, she stood between the two inconceivable people.

“Please,” the girl whimpered behind Niamh. She cradled her shoulder as she tried to stand. “Go.”

“Step aside,” the man hissed, unamused by Niamh’s sudden interference. “Consider me merciful, but I will not ask a second time.”

“I don’t doubt you.” Niamh nodded.

“The artefact I seek is beyond your provincial understanding.”

Niamh feigned offence and pouted. “Oh, but I have what you seek.” She couldn’t keep the smirk from her face as she wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Hello,” she cooed.

It took him a few seconds longer than she would have thought to come to the realisation. She was about to spell it out for him when his eyes gradually widened, stumbling back just a step.

“Impossible,” he growled through clenched teeth. “The Star Soul, last relic of the Ancient Realm, is a woman?”

Niamh winked at him. “Evidently so.” Finally, pebble balanced on her thumb and forefinger, she pulled barely a drop of power and flicked the stone at the man.

A satisfying clap like thunder sounded. The pebble broke the air, slamming into the man with the force of a hundred cannons. He did not cry out as he flew backwards, smashing through trees that collapsed from the shockwave, and vanishing mid-air by teleportation.

She looked at the now flattened line of trees. Perhaps she had used a little too much. But glad to be rid of the man, Niamh placed a hand on her chest, turning to focus on the girl.

The girl stared dumbfounded at her with those emerald eyes, never shifting as Niamh knelt beside her. “Are you alright? Let me see your shoulder. It must hurt.”

The girl’s head snapped to her fallen companion. She barrelled past Niamh, taking her position at his side. She pulled a long hairpin from within her metal-plated bodice and with an expert flourish, tied her hair back in a bun with a single hand. Her magic began to pulse around the bearded man’s wound, brighter now as the sun had sunken below the treeline.

“What’s your name?” Niamh warily stepped towards her as she continued to heal. “I’m Niamh.” Still no answer. “Why is that man attacking you? A child–”

“I am no child,” she finally stated. “They knew we sought the power to stop them…but only we knew we searched for a young lady.” She sighed as her power faded and looked to Niamh. “One difficult to find.” She stood suddenly, grasping Niamh’s hand with her uninjured arm. “Please, Lady Niamh. Lend us your power.”

Shocked for the third time, it was Niamh’s turn to stumble back. “What?”

“I am Princess Thaya of Nameria, beyond your northern mountains.” Niamh looked away at the confirmation she dreaded. “Annergard has amassed an army and–”

Niamh stopped her with a raised hand. “Let me guess. Some evil kingdom somewhere has created an army and is threatening another. And some king, your Father perhaps, has decided that he must retaliate in kind with a greater power. I’ve heard it before.” She made to leave, to get as far away as possible, to not think about people across those mountains, but the girl grabbed her by the sleeve of her coat.

“There’s more. A prophecy.” She hesitated. “About you and the Syfren Stone. To find it and–”

Niamh pulled her arm back and turned again. “Again, I’ve heard it before. Not very exciting as far as prophecies go. I try not to dwell on it too much.” She certainly did try.

Thaya shook her head. “Our chronicles, the Library of Estrid, extend further.” Niamh halted at that. “Return with me, I beg you. If only to see for yourself. And perhaps you’ll permit me to change your mind.”

Niamh faced the princess and assessed her. She stood strong in her metal. Her emerald eyes stark against the devastated autumn forest, the indigo and burnt orange sunset deepening behind her. It seemed she would not leave without gaining what she needed. Going so far as to learn the language of this country. Her hair was a tangled mess in its bun, pulled away from those pointed ears.

Fae. They marked her as a people that should no longer have existed, coming from a place that should no longer have existed. She spoke of her prophecy. A myth that should’ve died out with them though continued to haunt her.

Looking to the sky, Niamh placed her hand to her chest to where the Syfren Stone hung on a chain. To know more about her prophecy, she had never considered such a thing. Or that a man with those red eyes would still live. After all she’d done.

Eternity passed as she regarded the stars blinking into the sky. She could name all the constellations, old and new. Perhaps it was time to see them from a different view.

Thaya continued to watch her. Princess Thaya. There was no denying her intense hopeful look. No denying the ancient prophecy and a world that needed saving.

Again, a forgotten voice whispered.

Niamh let out a deep sigh. The beaches would wait until the summer. “Mountains it is.”

- - - - - - - - -

The air was impossibly clear, the early-winter wildflowers were impossibly alive on the treeless hill slopes, and the girls’ ears were still impossibly pointed.

Niamh was staring again. She’d originally counted nine rings in the princess’ ears but that morning she had caught a glimpse of a tiny stud hidden in her left helix. A violet gem just below the delicate arch of her pointed ears that still caught Niamh off guard.

“We need to find a proper healer, Kerrick,” the female - not girl - snapped. “You must rest.” She didn’t turn to her knight as she led their strange trio further along the narrow road of the foothills. With each straight-backed stride she made, a too-empty pack bounced on her back.

“We need to push on, avoid the crowds who would recognise you, and get to the library,” Kerrick argued from beside Niamh, limping against his make-shift crutch. A husky cough between laboured breaths betrayed his attempt at a strong defence against his mistress. The cooling alpine air did nothing to dry the sweat beads on his brow. “Please, Princess Thaya.”

Thaya halted at the use of her heavy title. With a gloved hand gripping her rapier hilt, she turned on her heels and stomped straight to glare up at the Fae male who still amassed almost twice her size. “You. Are. Sick.”

Niamh watched each fixed on the other, unrelenting.

Loosening a shuddering breath, Thaya lowered her gaze to his leg. “The blade she used was poisoned,” she whispered, shoulders drooping. “You should have healed weeks ago. And Lady Niamh has already done more than I thought possible. You need to rest.”

Kerrick’s eyes softened at Thaya’s concern, something Niamh had witnessed many times over the last month of travel. As Thaya reached up for him Niamh wandered along, feigning the sudden urge to be very interested in a powder-blue flower poking up through the gravel.

They assured her that the rugged path was only used by the grazing cattle. The travellers that visited the southern trading hub at the bottom of the track had no interest in crossing the ominous mountains. The town was where all roads crossed in this part of their lands.

Tucking her nose into her scarf Niamh placed a hand on her chest and looked ahead to the mid-morning sun.

It had been like this for almost a month. Thaya and Kerrick at each other’s throats during the day and in each other's arms through the night. They had taken Niamh up a hidden mountain path. She could feel the shift in power in the mountains, and she needed to find out why and how any of this was possible.

They were running out of time.

“I’ll go,” she announced and spun to face them. “We get to the end of the foothills by nightfall, correct? I’ll sneak in as the town sleeps.”

Thaya shook her head. “The Market trades through the night. Our light,” she demonstrated one of their abilities with an outstretched gloved hand glowing brightly despite the sun, “and our sight keeps our activities extended. And you…” she trailed off as her eyes slid to Niamh’s round ears.

Niamh waved her off. “What’s one more traveller with a hood drawn in the cold? I’ll go, find the healer, and meet you in the east by dawn.” Before they had the chance to argue she spun on her heels, gravel crunching under her boots, and headed further along the unfamiliar road.

They continued in silence until the sun hung low in the sky. Despite being north in the winter, this side of the mountains was warmer than Niamh expected, almost balmy.

As they finally reached the top of a rocky crest the world dropped away and opened before them.

Niamh’s breath caught in her throat. The valley that stretched below was a forest of fire, the orange sun setting red and gold leaves burning. At the base of where they stood was a huge clearing. Trade roads emerged from the thick trees and hills in each direction to converge through a bazaar made of stone buildings and thick canvases.

The Southern Market.

Niamh had visited trade towns and marketplaces, cities and ports of all the continents, but was never immune to the pull of a town on the crossroads to new places. Of the promise of hot meals and warm beds. Even with the distance, Niamh could feel the hum of the crowds on her skin. Her soul yearned to be amongst a new culture, to discover the hidden alleyways and story houses, despite her efforts to distance herself.

But the smoke nullified her wanderlust. A pillar of grey stained the far eastern sky. She knew by the size that it came from a large army, one unbothered by the attention such bonfires would create. Her companions finally came alongside and stared out to the smoke.

“Annergard. We cannot detour,” Kerrick said gravely.

Thaya pulled her eyes from the grey and the town in the army’s path to look up at him. She took his hand between hers and a conversation passed unspoken between them. She nodded.

It wasn’t that Niamh owed these Fae anything, but with that simple movement she decided to break one of her self-imposed rules, already broken too many times. She told herself that it was the responsibility weighing on the princess, one she knew all too well. That it was this burden that pushed her to action and not the sight of the lovers' sacrifice that touched the hollow spot in her chest.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” she said, looking into their deceptively youthful faces. “I will heal him properly.” Once again Niamh turned from their confusion and took the lead down the winding track, hand to her chest.

Their progress downward was slower than she would have liked but the distance was shorter than she expected. The steep decline meant they almost skidded along smoother sections. As soon as flat ground appeared they all but ran east, determination renewed by the looming army, Niamh under Kerrick’s arm urging him on. They followed the common road into the forest as far as they dared while knowing the army lay ahead. The brisk movement kept them warm against the chill of an early-winter’s night and when Niamh began to carry Kerrick more than he was himself, she veered them into the trees.

She knew they saw just as well, if not better, in the dark than she did. Finally, they came across a clearing just big enough for the three of them.

“We need a fire, Princess,” she said as she propped Kerrick against a tree. She pulled the bedroll from his back, flattening it and laid the knight down. The filtered moonlight illuminated the strain the excessive movement had caused.

Thaya shuffled around and created a collection of twigs, before removing her gloves and setting her fingertips alight with an amethyst flame. No flint or further wood needed if she so wished it. She set the twigs alight and came to Kerrick’s side. The fire reflected the sweat continuing to roll down his contorted features.

“His fever’s worsened.” The choke in Thaya’s voice held back her unshed tears. She pulled her pack around and extracted a rag to dab his face.

“I need a cup and the wine.” Niamh pulled off her own pack and unsheathed the knife at her hip. The princess hadn’t moved. Niamh lowered herself and softly squeezed the female’s shoulder. “Thaya,” she pressed lightly. “The wine.”

Without question, Thaya rustled in the bag as Niamh rolled up her left coat and tunic sleeves. Goosebumps spread as the wind caressed her exposed forearm. Thaya held out the travel-worn cup and flask of wine, with eyes widening at the sight of Niamh hovering the knife over her arm.

“Pour it,” Niamh instructed, and Thaya followed. As the liquid hit the cup, Niamh pulled the blade across the edge of her arm. She hissed through her teeth at the sting and nodded towards the cup of wine. Thaya held it out again and Niamh hovered the cut above it. Blood trickled to mix into the red liquid. “Make him drink.”

Thaya didn’t hesitate at the order. She tilted Kerrick’s head, brought the rim to his lips and tipped its strange contents. Niamh wrapped a rag of her own around her cut, secured it just enough, and pulled her warm fabrics back down.

Long minutes passed as the last of the liquid was drunk, colour already beginning to seep into Kerrick’s face. The strain lifted from his breaths as he fell asleep.

“I trust you understand why I don’t make a habit of this healing method.” Niamh let the slightest of warning tones into her voice.

Thaya nodded. She moved to feed the fire with fallen wood and when it caught, the purple tinge of the flames faded to gold as she withdrew her power. Taking up her spot by the fire across from Niamh, she warmed her hands. The metal in her ears caught the light and glistened like tiny stars.

High above, the leaves rustled as silence stretched between them.

“Her soul will darken when she consumes the stars,” Thaya recited, stone faced, staring into the burning wood. “The Stone of Syfren will hold her until his blood is spilled.”

A shiver ran down Niamh’s spine. She did not require the nostalgia. She placed her hand to her chest where the Syfren Stone hung, the movement pure reflex.

“Yours is a story told around many campfires, Lady Niamh. Along the roads across many of these lands. I asked you to lend me your power in exchange for those words, and more. To read the chronicles that extend your prophecy. Would you like to hear them now?”

Niamh contemplated the offer, struck by the largeness of it. “No,” she answered simply.

“Why? I–”

“Because it’s already happened,” she snapped, harsher than intended. “Because he already–” she stopped herself, the hole inside her ached.

Perhaps it was the realisation that none of what the princess had informed her of on their journey had been false, or that the looming army drowned any high spirits, or simply that the cut on her arm itched as it stitched itself back together. She drew a deep breath and looked at Thaya, innocent to her sudden temper.

“We already lost, Princess. My light consumed the stars that night and this stone is no more than a memory. I am glad that your ancestors somehow survived.” She stared back into the dancing flames. “I truly am. But what is written is no longer prophecy. It is a legend. I’ve already been in these lands and already fought that evil and it cost me everything.”

Thaya said nothing, giving Niamh the space to speak or not. She had been like that the entire trip across the mountains. Understanding and kind to a fault. Most times Niamh felt guilty that she found it slightly annoying, knowing it wasn’t a scheme to win her favour. But she was grateful for it now. Thaya was the epitome of what she used to be. Of what she should still be.

Niamh stretched out her legs and arms to loosen some of the tension she’d unintentionally caused. “Long story short, Princess. You are the descendant of the good, Annergard the descendants of the bad. Decisions were made and prices were paid. I decided to raise the Helterra Plateau into the Helterra Mountains. They harness a fraction of the magical energy from the surrounding lands to stay impassable. Until now. And I need to find out how to fix it. If Annergard has done something to change the magic, then I will join you. Against my better judgement.”

Thaya contemplated all Niamh had shared. “Is that why you travel? Why you avoid being a player in kingdoms’ conflicts, only aiding people under false names or under darkness? You fear history repeating itself. Of being hurt and hurting others.”

Niamh only stared into the fire.

“From what I’ve learned about you this past year, Lady Niamh, through the chronicles and around this continent, is that you live for the people. Even against your better judgement.” Thaya moved to lay by Kerrick, pulling her blankets over them.

Niamh watched the flames a little longer, added some wood to last another few hours, and finally rested feeling just slightly lighter than she had in years. Perhaps allowing herself companions was not as detrimental as she thought.

- - - - - - - - -

The dawn was strikingly still. The kind of stillness that Niamh knew too well and was never fully prepared for. She felt the coming conflict like a bug on her skin or itch in her mind that she could not scratch. She woke Thaya and Kerrick. They too felt the shift in the air and packed quickly, quietly, and followed Niamh without instruction.

They moved through the trees, easier now that Kerrick could carry himself. Though still limping, he no longer required the crutch and stood tall without the poison spreading through his veins. They walked remarkably silent through the scrub, each having lived long enough to learn the skill.

It wasn’t long until they heard the steady beating of thousands of feet on the ground. The clanging of metal bodies and indisputable sound of war horses on the march. The trio had hoped that Annergard’s army would wait until the shrill of winter had passed before bearing down on the Southern Market and taking the resources they needed to pass across the mountains.

They had been wrong.

They had walked further into the forest than Niamh realised the night before, and a small panic began to rise in her chest that they would not reach the road in time. She led them into a run. They burst through the trees and into the middle of the great eastern road.

Niamh knew they were all that stood between the army and the city of travellers. From their last correspondence, Thaya surmised that her men were still almost a day north. Too far to come to the city’s aid.

Black and red banners came into view.

Niamh watched as Thaya and Kerrick removed their packs and cloaks, discarding them amongst the treeline. They drew their swords, a purple glow sheathing them as the princess rallied her power. Niamh realised she would go down there, killed before the real fight had even begun, to save one town.

Black and red-clad soldiers and horses crested the hill a hundred metres away, unwavering at the strange trio standing before them. Cries began to sound and a few drew their swords. The first arrows flew toward them but embedded into tree trunks on a lilac-tinged wind.

Niamh watched in honest surprise as Thaya and Kerrick moved to take up stand in front of her.

In front of her.

Again, the small act of kindness and sacrifice lighted something inside Niamh.

She stepped calmly between and beyond her friends. For she would call them that, and this was her place. In the middle of the road in a kingdom she would one day explore. Between a power-hungry army and a town of travellers. No longer would she stand on the side of history and watch the world evolve and live beyond her reach.

And no matter what happened, she would not allow the past to repeat.

A commander had been called, riding to the front of the force. He bellowed at his men in a language Niahm never thought she’d hear again, trying to find reason for their slowed pace. He gazed out and trotted towards the woman moving towards him, no fear in her face.

He was not stupid, Niamh discovered. Or misinformed. Recognition flared in his red eyes of the princess, the hulking knight by her side, and the woman who had been their mission to the southern lands. He only cried out one last time to his men, yanking his stallion back behind the front lines.

And when the loose gravel stones started to rise from the road, and the tips of her dark hair began to hover and stream around her; when the immense glow of her darkened soul spread to her upturned palms and she smiled.

They ran.