Soul-Star

This story doesn't seem to fit in anywhere. It's too long to be a short story, but too short to be anything else. It has some fantasy elements, but it's definitely not overtly fantasy.

Chapter 1

                Fíafel was kneeling beside the small pile of sticks and scraps of cloth, striking his flint and steel together and muttering in frustration. “This wood is too wet.  Nothing’s catching,” he said.

 “It’s been raining for the past three days,” Áris grumbled.  She was sitting against the back wall of the cave, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms crossed on top of them.  Her quiver and bow were propped up against the wall beside her. “If you want some dry wood, go out and find it yourself.”

Míriel sat cross-legged near the entrance of the cave, just out of the reach of the rain, her elbows on her knees and her chin resting forlornly on her hands.  Áris was usually ill-tempered, but ever since they had gotten lost from their parents and taken refuge in the cave, she had become even more so.  Míriel knew that she felt responsible for the safety of her younger siblings, and every day they spent trapped here was another one spent in anxiety and unassuaged boredom.  There was nothing they could do, though.  The rain had been coming down incessantly for three days, obscuring everything around them and preventing them from going out and searching for the other travelers from their village.  They had food in their packs, though, and no shortage of fresh water.  The best thing to do was to wait here until help came to them.  But Áris hated waiting, and even Míriel, the patient one, was beginning to wish for a change of scenery.

Míriel heard Fíafel finally throw his flint and steel to the ground, cursing in some language that he had probably made up.  Her twin brother was normally just as patient as she was, but three days in the cave with nothing to do had finally made him snap.  He dug his fingers into his disheveled blond hair, vehemently kicking the stack of kindling until pieces of wood and scraps of linen were scattered across the cave floor.  Míriel turned her head to watch her brother’s tantrum.  Áris had lowered her head until her forehead rested on her arms, her dark auburn hair falling around her like a curtain and hiding her at least from the sight of Fíafel’s rage.  After a few minutes, the boy had ceased to kick the wood and instead paced slowly back and forth, his head down and his eyes to the floor.  Finally he stopped at one end of the cave and slumped down against the wall, resting his forehead on his knees in an imitation of his older sister.  He sighed loudly as Míriel turned her gaze back to the entryway of the cave. 

The rain was stilling coming down at the same unchanging rate.  Míriel watched it collect in large drops that fell from eaves of the cave and splashed down in little puddles before her knees.  Then she stared out into the bleary grayness of the forest, making out just a few of the stark, black shapes of nearby trees that soon vanished into the mist beyond.  Slowly Míriel’s eyelids began to droop, and the blurry woods before her eyes and the murmur of raindrops in her ears blended into the softness of sleep.

 

Míriel awoke with a start.  Áris and Fíafel were asleep behind her, Áris with her head and arms still resting on her knees, Fíafel fallen over and curled on his side against the wall.  At first Míriel could not remember why she had woken up.  Then she realized that something was missing - the pattering sound of water against stone and leaves was gone.  The rain had stopped.  At first Míriel was overjoyed - she could wake up Áris and Fíafel now, and they could finally go out and start looking for the other villagers.  Something made her hesitate, though.  She felt as if there were some unseen presence nearby, very close, watching her.  Míriel strained her eyes into the thick mists that shrouded the forest before the cave, unable to make out anything in the pale grayness.  Suddenly, her heart stopped.  There, no more than twenty feet from the entrance of the cave, stood a black shape, shorter than the trees, that had not been there before.

“Áris!” Míriel hissed.  Áris’ looked up suddenly, her piercing green eyes meeting her sister’s light blue ones.  “There’s something out there!”

Áris stood slowly, drawing her quiver over her shoulder and fitting an arrow to the string of her bow.  She paced carefully towards the entrance of the cave, the short knife at her belt flashing as she moved.  She stopped at Míriel’s side and pointed her weapon in the direction of the shadow.  Míriel crouched beside her sister’s legs, shaking with uncertainty and fear.

Suddenly, the dark shape moved.  In what seemed like an impossibly short amount of time, it was standing before the entrance of the cave.  Áris took a step back, startled, and Míriel shrieked and scrambled backwards in terror.  The shadow loomed like the shape of a tall man, draped completely in a black, hooded cloak.  As Áris fumbled to readjust her aim, the shadow raised its arms and pulled the hood back from its face.  “Do not shoot,” it said.

Áris stayed her arrow, but kept the bow raised, though Míriel could see the shaking in her sister’s arms that betrayed the grim expression of bravery on her face.  The shadow simply stood there, gazing down into Áris’ eyes.  Very carefully, Míriel crawled back to her sister’s side in order to get a closer look.

The shadow was indeed a man - a very tall man, dressed completely in black boots and pants and a cloak that hid most of his form.  His skin was pale, yet at the same time dark - it was gray, Míriel realized, gray like cold stone or winter clouds or the frozen pallor of death.  The man had straight black hair that swooped down in a widow’s peak from his face and fell to his shoulders, and thick black eyebrows that loomed menacingly on his prominent brow.  His features were extremely angular - his nose was straight and sharp, like the blade of a knife, and his chin and cheekbones seemed as hard as if they had been hewn from rock.  His ears, too, were strange - they were thin and pointed at the tips.  Strangest of all, though, were his eyes.  They stood far back under the shadows of his brow and shone with a cold, piercing yellow light.  As Míriel crept carefully forward, those eyes suddenly moved to her.  Míriel tried to shrink back from the man’s terrible gaze, but she seemed frozen in place, as if a chill wind had suddenly entered her body and turned her blood to ice.

“Who are you?” Áris’ sharp voice snapped the man’s attention back to her and released Míriel from its awful spell.   Míriel breathed heavily, hugging her arms around her thin body in an attempt to warm the icy chill inside her.  She saw Fíafel beginning to stir on the other side of the cave.  She wanted desperately to go to him, but at the same time she couldn’t move from Áris’ side.

“I am Nameless,” the man replied, his voice soft and smooth and dark.

“That’s stupid,” Áris retorted.  The shaking in her arms had calmed a bit, and her voice grew stronger as she regained her courage - or maybe she was just good at acting. “You have to have a name.  Who are you?”

“That is not your concern,” the man replied.  He turned his gaze over to Fíafel, who was now awake and sitting upright, his mouth gaping and his blue eyes wide with horror as he took in the menacing stranger towering over his sisters.  Míriel saw a shudder course through her brother’s body as he endured the same freezing stare as she had a moment ago.

“If you touch either of them, you’re dead,” Áris snarled.  The man’s eyes returned to her again, and Míriel ducked quickly behind her and crawled to her brother’s side.  Fíafel was shaking uncontrollably, his eyes still fixed on the dark stranger’s face.  Míriel wrapped her arms around her twin and comforted him as best she could in her own terrified state.

“You would not find me so easy to kill,” the man said.  In an impossibly brief instant, he was standing behind Áris, who whirled around in shock, unable to believe the speed at which he had moved.  “I do not wish to harm you, though.  You are lost, and I wish to help you.”

Suddenly, and almost in spite of herself, Míriel spoke.  “We’re from the village of Niavenna,” she said.  “We were traveling with our parents and some of the other villagers to Lílëu, to celebrate the Autumn Festival, but we got lost while we were exploring in the woods, and it started raining and we couldn’t find our way back, and we were freezing cold and slipping in the mud, so we found this cave and we took shelter in it and we’ve been here for the past three days.”

Áris glared at her younger sister, furious that she had revealed so much information.  The man, however, ignored Áris and spoke again.  “Your parents had already crossed the Great River when they discovered that you were missing,” he said.  “They tried to return to you, but the rain swelled the ford to a mighty flood and prevented their passage.  Any who would try to traverse it now would perish.  There is no other way to cross the Great River, except the Mountain Pass, but that itself is a long and treacherous way.  Yet I can guide you there and bring you back to your family.”

Áris didn’t even take the time to wonder how this stranger knew who or where their parents were.  “There is no way that we are going with you,” she snapped.  She tightened her grip on her bow, her hard green eyes no longer flinching as they met the stranger’s cold yellow ones.

“You are wise to say so,” the stranger replied, “yet for you there is no other choice.  Winter is closing in.  You cannot remain here for long, and you cannot cross the River by yourselves.  Nor can you return to your village alone, for the road is long and perilous for those who are young and unaccompanied - even one as valiant as yourself.” The stranger’s voice was still cold, yet his tone was not mocking.  Áris, in spite of herself, found herself considering his words and relaxed her bow just a fraction of an inch.  “You have two choices,” the stranger continued.  “You can refuse my help and attempt the Mountain Pass on your own, which I would not advise, for it too is full of danger, even for those who know it well.  Or, you can choose to trust me and take me as your guide.  Even if you do not believe that I seek to help you, is it not better to have your enemies in plain sight than to give them leave to hunt you as they may?”

Áris considered this for a moment, yet never did her gaze leave the stranger’s eyes.  “And how do I know that you won’t just kill us the moment I lower my bow?” she asked.

“Believe me,” the stranger replied softly.“If I intended to kill you, I could have easily done so already."

After a long pause, Áris finally lowered her weapon, her eyes still warily trained on the man’s face.  Fíafel, meanwhile, had finally summoned his courage and stood at her side.  He frowned up at the dark stranger, who loomed a good three feet above his head.  “What are you?” Fíafel asked.  “You definitely don’t look human.”

The stranger’s eyes darkened.  “No,” he replied, “I am not human.  I was created long before the first of the mortal race were born, and I have endured many ages beyond the count of man.  I am a creature of shadow, the offspring of darkness, born in sacredness yet cut off from all that is holy.  The stars and the Moon alone can I bear, for the light of the Sun will bring me agony and death.  I am like nothing you have seen before nor will ever see again.”

“Well, my name is Fíafel, and I am a human,” Fíafel replied, apparently unimpressed by the stranger’s dramatic words.  “I am nine years old, and I am not afraid of tall, weird people with pointy ears.  This is my sister Míriel.  We’re twins, but I was born three minutes before she was, so I’m the older one.  This is our sister Áris.  She’s fourteen years old and perpetually annoyed with the world.  And with us.”

“’’Áris,’” the stranger replied.  “That is ‘Fireheart’.  And ‘Fíafel’ - ‘Sunray’.”

Áris looked puzzled.  “Nobody ever told us that was what our names meant,” she said.

“There are few now who remember,” the stranger replied.  “They are the words of a very ancient tongue.”

Míriel had been hiding behind her brother the whole time, but finally her curiosity got the best of her, and she spoke.  “And what does my name mean?” she asked.

The stranger’s eyes darkened again, and seemed to grow deeper, as if some ancient, mysterious shadow of grief lay behind them.  “’Míriel’,” he whispered.  “’Soul-star’.”

The stranger blinked, and the shadow in his eyes quickly passed.  “Come,” he said.  “We must move now, while the Sun is hidden yet reigns still over the world.  I cannot endure the full light of day, but it is unwise to wander these woods in the night, for fell things creep beneath the trees in the dark.  Hurry now.  Collect your things.”

Míriel and Fíafel obediently donned their short brown cloaks over their grey tunics and pants and put their knapsacks on their backs.  Áris adjusted her own cloak, a darker brown that draped itself over her burgundy garments, and arranged her bow, quiver, and pack over her shoulders.  She made sure that her knife was within easy reach in her belt - just in case this stranger tried anything funny. 

As the group prepared to go, Míriel had one more question.  “Excuse me, sir,” she said, addressing the stranger, who stood before the entrance of the cave.  “What’s your name?”

The stranger stared off into the trees for a long moment, as if debating whether or not to reveal himself to this child.  Finally he sighed.  “Gideon is my name,” he said.

“And what does that mean?” Míriel asked.

“Once it was only a name,” Gideon replied, turning his head towards her.  “Now it means ‘Suffering’.”

 

Chapter 2

                Áris glared sulkily at Gideon’s tall, straight back as the foursome marched along the bottom of a narrow ravine.  The sun was still concealed behind a thick layer of clouds, but evidently Gideon was still afraid of getting burned - or maybe he just didn’t want to be seen.  Áris hated being down in this ditch - the walls were steep and made of smooth, hard stone, offering no easy means of escape.  The heavy rains had formed a fast-moving stream that flowed along the bottom of the gully, but it was off to one side, and the low, sandy bank beside it made for relatively easy going.  The twins were walking side by side, in between Áris and Gideon, the top of their heads barely reaching the height of Gideon’s lower back.  Áris had debated with herself over whether to put herself between them and the stranger, in case he should try anything, or to bring up the rear and keep them all in her view.  In the end, she decided on the latter, and so far everything had gone fine, although her hand kept straying down unconsciously to the hilt of her knife.

                Míriel trotted along beside her brother, watching the rapid movement of the little stream as it bubbled and chattered down its pebbly course beside her feet.  She looked up at the thin strip of gray sky that stretched itself far above her head.  She wished it weren’t so gloomy down here - but then again, Gideon had said the sunlight would kill him.  Míriel’s eyes turned to the black-cloaked figure before her.  He was very intimidating, she had to admit, and at times downright terrifying, yet at the same time Míriel felt that he could not be all that bad.  He had offered to help them, hadn’t he?  And he hadn’t tried to hurt them, yet, even though, based on how fast he could move, Míriel was sure that he could have.  He was just so dark and silent.  Maybe he would lighten up a bit if Áris stopped being so grumpy.

                Walking to his sister’s left and the closest to the ravine wall, Fíafel was also absorbed in thoughts about the stranger.  How did he move so fast?  What was with his eyes and his ears?  Where had he come from? Was he really “immortal”?

                Overcome by curiosity, Fíafel trotted up several paces until he was even with the Gideon.  The tall figure ignored him, but Fíafel, undaunted, broke the heavy silence.

                “Gideon, sir,” he began. “You never really answered my question.  What are you?”

                Gideon continued to stare straight ahead, his back rigid and his stride unchanging, as he spoke.

                “I told you already.  I am a creature of shadow.  That is all you need to know.”

                “Well, that’s not good enough,” Fíafel retorted, undeterred.  “Are you a vampire?  Will you drink our blood?”

                Gideon’s eyes narrowed in disdain.  “Such things do not exist,” he said.

                “Are you a were-creature, then?”

                “No.”

                “A ghost?”

                “Not in the way that you think.”

                This piqued Fíafel’s interest.  “What do you mean by that?” he asked.  “What kind of ghost are you?”

                Gideon was silent.

                “Come on,” Fíafel groaned. “Why won’t you tell me?  Do you have unfinished business on earth?  Are you some sort of cursed spirit?  Are you a demon?”

                At that, Gideon froze.  He whirled around suddenly, stooping low so to bring his dark face directly before Fíafel’s shocked white one.  His eyes blazed with a terrible light, yet as Fíafel watched, the pupils expanded and filled the spaces of the eyes until they were nothing but empty voids of utter blackness.  Gideon spoke, and his voice was laced with icy venom.

                “Yes, I am a demon,” he hissed.  “I am a spirit trapped within an immortal body, a beautiful form possessed by an unholy ghost.  I am the Blessed, and I am the Accursed.  I have no heart.  My soul is gone.”

                Gideon drew back, and the awful emptiness receded from his eyes until they were as they had been before.  His gaze remained on Fíafel’s face as he spoke again, but this time softly and without malice.  “Lower your bow, Áris,” he said.

                Míriel turned her head from where she had shrunk back against the stone wall in terror and saw Áris standing with her bow drawn and pointed directly at Gideon, her eyes wild with fear.  She did not put down her weapon until Gideon turned his head and looked directly at her.  Then she lowered her bow and returned her arrow to its quiver, rattling the rest of the arrows as she did so with the uncontrollable shaking of her hand.

                Gideon turned back to Fíafel, who was still standing as if petrified, his pale face turned up towards Gideon’s.  Gideon reached towards the boy with his hand, and instantly Fíafel unfroze.  He sprang back in terror and cowered with Míriel against the ravine wall, huddling against his sister so as to be as far from the menacing stranger as possible.

                Gideon let his hand fall slowly back to his side.  “I will not hurt you, Fíafel,” he said softly.  “I am sorry that you had to see that.” Without another word, Gideon turned and began walking slowly up the ravine again.  The children hesitated for a moment, but finally, reluctantly, they fell into step behind him.  They had no other choice.

 

                Several hours passed in utter silence.  Fíafel did not speak a single word again, but stayed very close to Míriel, his eyes trained on the ground.  Once in a while, he would sneak a furtive glance up at Gideon’s back, but then he would quickly turn his gaze back to the sandy ground beneath their feet.  He did notice one thing, though - Gideon did not cast a shadow, nor did he make a reflection in the brook beside their path.  This intrigued Fíafel immensely, but he dared not address the stranger again.

                Finally they stopped to rest.  Night was falling fast in the world outside, and already deep shadows were beginning to fill the ravine.  Gideon chose a wider part of the gully to be their camp, where the walls were not so steep or tall and a wide patch of sand stretched out beside a shallow pool in the stream.  There he left them for a moment to collect firewood after instructing Áris to keep watch.  When he returned a few minutes later, his arms full of dead brushwood, he saw Áris standing rigidly in the center of the sandy area, her bow drawn and her arms taut, with her younger siblings huddled around her legs.  Gideon said nothing, but set down the wood and began to scoop out a pit for the fire in the sand on one side of the clearing.  He then began arranging sticks and logs within the depression he had made.

                Fíafel, still insatiably curious but warier this time, moved slowly away from Áris until he was sitting directly across from Gideon.  Gideon ignored him.  Fíafel swallowed, summing up his courage, and spoke in a tiny voice.

                “I have a piece of flint and some steel in my pack, if you want it,” he said.  “I’m not sure how useful it will be, though.  With all this rain, it’s going to be impossible to light anything.”

                “I do not need them,” Gideon replied.  He put one more branch into place and crouched before the pit, holding his palms over the stack of wood.  He whispered a few words and then snapped his fingers.  There was a spark, and some unseen scrap of tinder caught fire, and in an instant the entire pile of sticks and logs was ablaze.

                “Whoa!” Fíafel exclaimed, scrambling back from the heat of the flames.  “How did you do that?  Was that magic?”

                “There is no such thing as ‘magic’,” Gideon replied.  “To some there are accorded more powers than others - that is all.  Come here, Áris and Míriel,” he called, addressing the girls who still waited outside the ring of firelight.  “Do not remain by yourselves in the dark.” The two walked slowly over to the fire and sat down beside Fíafel.  Míriel situated herself snugly between her siblings, yet she looked directly across the fire at Gideon, staring unflinchingly into his pale yellow eyes.

                It was Fíafel again who broke the silence.  “I’m starving,” he moaned, rocking back and forth as he wrapped his arms around his grumbling stomach.  “Can we eat now, Áris?”

                “Yes,” Áris replied.  The twins both removed their water skins from their packs.  Áris hadn’t trusted either of them with the food, so she turned to her own pack to get it.  Gideon watched her intently as she counted pieces of hard, flat bread and weighed a bag of dried berries in her hand.

                “How much do you have left?” he asked.

                “Not as much as I had thought,” Áris replied, her brow furrowed as she stared at their meager provisions.  “Enough for another two days, tops, and that’s if we eat sparingly.  And if we’re only counting us three,” she added, looking up at Gideon with narrowed eyes.

                Gideon thought for a moment.  “Save it for when we cross the Mountain Pass,” he said finally.  “I will find food for you here.” He rose and turned away from the fire, vanishing into the darkness.  He returned seconds later with something large and dark in his hands.  As he stepped into the firelight, Áris saw that it was a thick section from a dead tree branch.

                “Are you crazy?  There is no way we can eat that!” Áris exclaimed.  Gideon glared at her as he sat down but said nothing.  Instead he held the log in both hands and closed his eyes, bowing his head as if in intense concentration.  As the children watched, the substance of the log seemed to swirl and bend, morphing and changing color and form until suddenly Gideon held not an old piece of wood, but a loaf of crusty bread.

                “Wow!  That was amazing!” Míriel exclaimed, her eyes growing huge in wonder and delight.  “How did you do that? Can we really eat it now?”

                “I Remade it,” Gideon replied.  “Yes, you may eat it.” He broke the loaf into three equal pieces and gave one to each of the children.  The twins both received theirs with enthusiasm, while Áris eyed hers with distrust.

                “Don’t eat it,” she ordered her siblings.  “He didn’t make any for himself.  It could be a trick.”  But Fíafel and Míriel were already stuffing themselves with the bread, which was delightfully chewy and fresh after the hard, stale rations they had been consuming for days.

                “Try ih, Árrif,” Míriel exclaimed, her mouth full of bread.  “Iff’s rearry guh!”

                Áris still looked askance at Gideon, who met her gaze evenly.  “Again, Áris,” he said. “If I wanted to harm you, I would have spared myself the trouble of coming all this way.”

                Finally, Áris’ growling stomach got the best of her, and she took a tentative bite.  It was surprisingly tasty, and she quickly downed the rest.  It was strange to think that she was eating something that minutes before had been a worm-ridden log, but nothing about it could convince her that, now, at least, it was anything but authentic, delicious bread.

                “Why aren’t you eating anything?” Fíafel asked, addressing Gideon.

                “I do not require food, nor water,” he replied.  “You should fill your skins here, though.  This may be the last clear stream we encounter before we reach the mountains, and that is yet a day away.  Then it will take us three days to cross the Mountain Pass, if we move swiftly.  The springs in the mountains are fickle, and it may be that we will not find fresh water again until we reach the other side, four days from now.”

                The twins went obediently together to fill their skins in the pool, returning quickly afterwards to the safety of the firelight.  Then they spread blankets from their packs upon the sandy ground and lay down, wrapping their woolen cloaks about themselves for warmth, their faces to the light and safety of the fire and their backs to the black wall of night beyond.  Gideon watched as Áris collected large stones from the bank, drawing her knife whenever she wandered too far from the light of the fire, and arranged them in a short wall around the twins’ side of the fire so that they wouldn’t accidentally roll into it while they slept.  Satisfied with her work, Áris turned and saw that Gideon had moved so that he was now sitting with his back against the ravine wall, looking out across the fire to the other side of the gully.  She gathered up her bow and quiver and sat down tentatively beside him.

                Gideon continued to stare straight ahead as he addressed her.  “There is no need for you to keep watch, Áris,” he said in a low voice.  “I do not require sleep, as you do, and my eyes can pierce the darkness much better than can yours.” 

                “Well, too bad,” Áris retorted.  “There is no way I am leaving you here unattended after what you pulled on Fíafel earlier today.”

                Gideon gave a short, exasperated sigh.  “The boy was asking too many questions.  He was delving into matters that are better left untold.”

                “Well, what did you expect?” Áris asked.  “He’s a kid.  He’s curious.  And he acts like a downright idiot at times, if you ask me.  But he’s not stupid.  He’s perceptive.  He told me that you don’t cast a shadow, or a reflection.  And Míriel’s not afraid of you anymore, though how that’s possible I have no idea.  Her own shadow can make her jump.”

                Gideon said nothing.  Finally, Áris huffed and crossed her arms in exasperation.  They sat there together, their backs against the stone ravine wall, Áris watching the flickering dance of the fire and Gideon staring off into the darkness beyond.  After a while, Áris rose to put more wood on the fire.  When she got back, Gideon’s head was tilted back, his yellow eyes gazing up at the starry sky far above.  He stayed that way for a long time, unmoving, until finally Áris couldn’t stand it anymore.

                “You know,” she said, “you’re going to be pretty bad at keeping watch if all you’re going to do is stargaze the whole night.”

                Gideon’s head turned sharply towards her, and his eyes momentarily glowed with anger as he answered.  “Do not speak lightly of the stars,” he snapped.  Then the fearsome light faded, and his voice softened.  “They are more than you know.”

                Áris had jumped backwards at Gideon’s startling reaction to her words, but now she crept warily back and settled down beside him again.  She waited for a long moment, then finally threw her hands up in frustration.  “Well?” she exclaimed.  “You can’t just say something like that and not offer any explanation.  What do you mean?  Why are the stars so important?”

                Gideon sighed in exasperation, his eyes once again on the night sky.  “My secrets are not something that I share lightly,” he said, “especially with insolent children.  I had thought you learned that.”

                Áris suppressed her indignation at this remark with some difficulty.  “What do stars have anything to do with your ‘secrets’?” she asked, an edge of annoyance creeping into her voice.

                “They have everything to do with them,” Gideon replied simply.

                “Uggh!” Áris groaned.  “Are you ever going to actually come out and say anything, or just keep dropping subtle hints and expecting me to be content with them?  I’d like to know something about the person I’m entrusting with our lives.”

                Gideon was silent for a long time.  Finally he sighed deeply.  “If I tell you these things,” he asked softly, turning his head so his pale yellow eyes met Áris’ bright green ones, “will you finally trust me?”

                Áris paused for a moment before answering.  “I guess that depends on what it is that you tell.”

                “Very well,” Gideon replied.  “I will tell you the significance of the stars.

 

                “An ancient race of immortal beings used to dwell upon the earth, created long before the birth of men.  These creatures were dark and mysterious, frightening, perhaps, to human eyes - but they were also strong, and beautiful, and good, for they knew not the ways of hatred and malice.  Their lives were defined by their great capacity to love, and nowhere was this more apparent than in their ceremony of marriage.  Anána le Miriél-la, it was called - the Feast of the Soul-Stars.  For these beings did not have hearts of flesh, but brilliant orbs of golden light within their chests - and these hearts of light were also their souls.

                “When a man and a woman of this people were to be wed, many months of preparation took place.  Both fasted for three days before the ceremony.  On the third day, they were dressed in white garments, and at twilight, were led by their families to a great open clearing under the stars.  There, they were greeted by the eldest member of the community, who presented them with a pair of long, silver knives.  Each took a knife and walked alone to a small tent located on the edge of the clearing, one on either side of the space.  There, unaccompanied and unaided, both man and woman removed their white robes, lay upon the ground, and drove the daggers into their own chests.  They rent flesh and cleaved bone, cutting ever deeper until they came to the spaces in which their hearts were kept.  Then, both man and woman reached into their own bodies and drew out their hearts.”

                Here Gideon paused and looked down at his listener’s face.  Áris’ eyes were wide as she listened to the stranger’s tale, unable to utter a word.  Finally, she spoke.  “Did it… hurt?” she asked softly.

                “Yes,” Gideon replied.  “There was great pain, but also great joy.  For true love does not come without joyful sacrifice.  And no greater sacrifice is there than that of a husband and wife, who give themselves completely to each other in love.

                “After they had performed this deed, the man and woman bound their own wounds with cloths and donned their white garments again.  These beings possessed great power and were quick to heal, and the wounds of the marriage knives did not cause them lasting pain nor lessen their strength.  However, they left great scars upon the chests of both, serving for eternity as reminders of their great love for each other.

                “Their wounds bound, the man and woman emerged from their tents on either side of the clearing, each with a silver knife in one hand and a shining ball of light  - their hearts, and their souls - in the other.  Their faces were wan from the trials they had just endured, but the joy of their smiles as they strode to meet each other was beyond description.  They reached each other in the center of the clearing, and, each one gazing into the other’s eyes, thrust together the hands that held their hearts so that the two shining orbs of spirit and light were forged into one beautiful, brilliant star.  This star they released as they clasped their hands together, and it flew from the earth and into the darkening sky, where it took its place among the lights of Heaven.  Then, holding their joined hands high above their heads, man and woman turned to greet the cheers of their friends and kinsmen with the newlywed joy of husband and wife.”

                Gideon had kept his eyes on the stars as he finished his tale, but now he turned his gaze back to Áris.  She was staring at some faraway place in the darkness, her brow furrowed, with a thoughtful expression on her face.

                “Do you understand the importance of the stars now?” Gideon asked.  “Or is this tale too shocking and strange for you to accept?”

                Áris was silent for a moment.  “No,” she said.  “I mean, yes, it’s strange, and shocking, but - it’s also the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”  She stared up at the starry sky, finding new wonder in the millions of tiny points of light that shone above her head.  Suddenly, a thought occurred to her.  “Gideon,” she asked, “where is your star?”

                A shadow seemed to pass before Gideon’s eyes.  “I have none,” he replied softly.

                Áris turned and looked at him, but Gideon’s gaze was once more on the sky above, and he would say nothing more that night.  Áris sat there beside him, her faced lifted towards the heavens, turning the words of the story over and over in her head until finally she succumbed to the call of sleep.

 

Chapter 3

                Áris awoke with a start.  She was lying on her side, her face resting on the cool, damp sand beneath her.  The ravine was filled with the gray half-light of the time just before dawn.  Looking across the ashy remains of the fire, Áris could see the sleeping forms of the twins, huddled side by side beneath their cloaks.

                “It seems as though you now trust me enough to let me finish the watch on my own,” Gideon said.  Áris sat up abruptly and whirled around to face him.  He was sitting in the exact same position he had been during the night, only now his eyes were directed away from the sky and towards the girl beside him.  If such a thing were possible, he might have looked amused.

                Áris scowled at him.  “You should have woken me up,” she said.  Inside, though, she was cursing herself.  How could she have been so stupid?  This man was a stranger, and he was dangerous, no matter what beautiful stories he might tell.  She had put their lives completely in his hands when she fell asleep.  Áris vowed that it would never happen again.

                “Wake up!” Míriel felt herself being rudely shaken and registered her sister’s irritated tone as she gradually pulled herself up from the depths of sleep.  Beside her, Fíafel was undergoing the same abuse.  He groaned and pushed Áris away as she shook him roughly back and forth.

                “Wake up already, Fíafel,” Áris said sternly.  “You’ve slept too late.  We need to go.”

                “Well, good morning to you too, sunshine,” Fíafel grumbled, finally sitting up and rubbing his eyes.  Míriel, now wide awake, turned and looked at Gideon.  He was standing beside the ravine wall, looking intently to the east.  Míriel followed his gaze and saw the first rays of sun beginning to creep over the far edge of the ravine.

                Gideon turned his head to face Áris.  “We must go now,” he said.

                Áris looked down at her brother.  “Come on, Fíafel!” she exclaimed.

                “Okay, I’m coming.  Relax,” Fíafel muttered.  He quickly rolled up his blanket and stowed it in his knapsack.  Míriel’s blanket was already folded and in her pack, which she had put on her shoulders.  She watched as Gideon drew his cloak more tightly around his body and pulled the hood up so that it overshadowed his face.  Then, seeing that the children were finally ready to go, he turned towards the ravine wall.

                “Follow me,” he said, and with three great strides, he bounded up the embankment and vanished into the edges of the forest beyond.  The three children followed more slowly, for although the slope of the ravine wall was less severe than it had been elsewhere, it was still quite steep and difficult to climb without legs as long as Gideon’s.  Finally they made it up, and after crossing a short distance of open grass, entered the forest beyond.  Gideon was waiting there for them, standing far back from the edge of the wood.  He remained beneath the protective shadow of the trees, but the children stopped at the eaves of the forest and turned to watch the sun rise over the mist-enshrouded lands before them.  Far away to their right it rose, an enormous ball of flame sending off brilliant rays that swept across the landscape and mingled their fiery light with the red and golden hues of the autumn leaves.

                “Wow,” Míriel whispered.  Fíafel nodded in agreement.  Áris stood silently for a moment, watching the light spread over the hills, then abruptly turned away.  “Come on,” she said.  “Let’s go.” Fíafel followed obediently, but Míriel was more reluctant, casting one more glance of longing over her shoulder at the wonderful sight beyond.  Then she turned and ran to catch up with her brother and sister.  Míriel looked up at Gideon’s face as they joined him under the shadow of the trees.  It was sad that he couldn’t witness the beauty of the sunrise.  She couldn’t imagine living her whole life without ever seeing the sun.

                “Where are we going?” Áris asked.  Gideon pointed to a narrow track, barely visible amidst the fallen leaves, that wandered off into the forest before them.

                “This trail will lead us to the foot of the mountains,” he said.  “But we must move swiftly, and remain watchful.  Evil things dwell within these woods.  Follow me.”

                With that, Gideon started down the trail, the children falling into step behind him.  They had to go in single file, for there was no longer room for even the twins to travel side by side.  Míriel walked directly behind Gideon, and Fíafel behind her, with Áris once again bringing up the rear.  The shadows grew ever darker as they wound their way deeper and deeper into the forest.  But Gideon kept his hood drawn up, for every now and then a thin shaft of light would pierce the dense canopy of leaves and find its way to the trail below.  Míriel was not afraid as they walked through the shadows, for she was comforted by the presence of the tall, strong stranger in front of her and her brother and sister behind.  Still, something about the forest made her uneasy.  She often heard rustling in the underbrush, uncannily close to the trail, and sometimes it seemed she saw dark shapes flitting swiftly between the trees.  For one awful moment, she thought she saw a pair of baleful red eyes staring out from the shadows beneath a nearby fallen log, but when she looked again, they were gone.

                Fíafel had also noticed the strange shapes moving about them as they walked, and indeed, he knew that they were more numerous and more eerie than Míriel could guess.  He had seen several pairs of the sinister eyes, and heard the low, malevolent hiss that accompanied them.  However, Fíafel trusted Áris’ skill with her bow and her knife, and he sensed that few things in this forest, if any, would dare confront Gideon.  Right now, his mind was focused on more important matters - namely, the loud and incessant growling of his stomach, reminding him that he had been awake and marching for nearly two hours without even a mention of breakfast.

                “Can we take a break now?” Fíafel asked, his hunger giving his voice a whining edge.  “I’m starving.”

                “That I doubt,” Gideon answered without turning around or breaking his stride.  “But we are nearing a place where you may rest for a short time and eat.  If you lack the strength to make it until then, perhaps Míriel can carry you.”

                Fíafel abruptly stopped complaining, and Míriel giggled.  It took a moment for Áris to process what had just happened.  Wait a minute, she thought.  Did he just crack a joke?

                After a few more minutes of walking, Gideon left the trail and led them to a small glade just a little ways away.  Here the sun shone down strongly, and Gideon was careful to keep to the shade around the clearing’s edge.  Míriel ran across the grass and climbed onto the sunlit trunk of a tree that had fallen against its neighbor in a storm and was now suspended sideways across one edge of the glade.  Fíafel followed her up and sat beside her, while Áris sprawled out on a sunny patch of grass in order to rest her aching legs.  Míriel scooted sideways along the trunk until she was right next to the place where Gideon sat on the ground, sheltered by the shadows of the trees.  “Are you going to turn more wood into bread for us to eat?” she asked eagerly.

                “Yes,” Gideon replied.  He turned and searched behind him until he found a reasonably sized length of wood.  Then he held it tightly in both hands, closed his eyes, and repeated the same incredible transformation as the night before.  Gideon tore the bread into three pieces and handed two to Míriel for herself and her brother, tossing the third one over to Áris.  All three wolfed down the food without hesitation, even Áris, who was now too hungry to care whether or not it was safe.

                “This is amazing,” Fíafel said as he ate.  “How do you do it?”

                Gideon sighed.  “It is difficult to explain to a mind so young,” he replied.  “But I shall try.  Everything upon the earth is made of tiny, innumerable pieces - like grains of sand all joined together, only much, much smaller, so small that individually they are impossible to see.  Some of these pieces are the same, and some are different.  Many things share the same kinds of pieces, but in different combinations or arrangements.  Such is the case with wood and bread.  When I Remake the wood, I rearrange the pieces so that they form not the substance of wood, but of bread.  However, this can only be done with things that were once living, and the food that it creates does not last long.  That is why we must rely on what you have with you to get us through the Mountain Pass.”

                “Which is enough for two days,” Áris added, “and you said it would take at least three.”

                “Yes,” Gideon replied.  “Enjoy what you have now, for soon it will not be so plentiful.”

                Míriel was chewing contentedly on her last bite of bread, swinging her legs and looking up at the enormous trees that ringed the edge of the clearing.  Suddenly, she lost her balance and began to fall backwards off the log.  In an instant, Gideon’s arm had shot out to steady her.  As he did so, his hand came into the sunlight, and as soon as Míriel had regained her balance, he withdrew it quickly with a sharp hiss.  Míriel looked at him in surprise and concern.  There was a large red mark like a burn on the back of his hand, but as she watched, it faded rapidly and disappeared.

                “I’m so sorry, Gideon!” Míriel cried.

                Gideon clenched his injured hand and then opened it, twirling his fingers as if to assess the damage.  “Do not worry,” he said.  “I heal swiftly.  But now we must continue on.  Let us go.”

                They made their way back to the narrow trail and resumed their journey through the forest.  They traveled for the entire rest of the day, taking several more breaks so that the children could rest and eat.  The sun was beginning to set as they approached the end of the woods.  To Míriel’s great relief, the spooky noises and shadows in the underbrush had all but disappeared as they walked.  However, Gideon seemed uneasy.  At times he would stop and look searchingly into the trees behind them, his head tilted slightly as if listening for some faraway sound.  Áris strained her own ears to listen as well, but whatever Gideon sensed was beyond her range of hearing.

                The sun had just set as they emerged from the forest, leaving behind its last glowing traces of orange and red in the sky.  Before them, no more than half a mile away, towered the cruel black stone of the mountain range.  The mountains were steep-walled and strange among their kind, having no foothills to speak of, no gentle transition between them and the flat land all around.  It was as if some giant had constructed a huge wall of jagged stone and placed it directly upon the earth to obstruct any who might dare to traverse his realm.

Gideon removed his hood and turned to face the woods they had just left.  He stood very still, listening intently.  His eyes narrowed.  “Do you hear that, Áris?” he asked.

Áris listened hard, and for the first time she heard the faint sounds of baying and howling in the distance.  “Wolves,” she said.  But these sounds were different from those of the wolves that she knew.  They were wilder - fiercer, and more frightening.  And they were coming closer.

“Yes,” Gideon replied.  “But these are no ordinary creatures.  Did I not tell you that fell things lurk within this forest?  Such are these wolves.  They are vicious and have no fear of man, and they will not hesitate to attack and kill.  And they move swiftly.  We must run.”

Filled with trepidation at this news, Áris called to her brother and sister, and together they took off running towards the mountains.  But they still had a long way to go, and their legs were tired from hours of walking.  Meanwhile, the savage howls of the wolves grew louder as the creatures came rapidly closer and closer.  When the children had almost reached the foot of the mountains, Áris stopped and looked back over her shoulder.  She saw a pair of enormous gray shapes emerge from the edge of the forest, followed by another, and another, and another.  They were too far away to distinguish clearly, but the very knowledge of their presence filled her with a terrible dread.  The huge wolves lifted their muzzles to the sky and let out an eerie, wailing howl that froze Áris’ blood.  Then they bounded forward and began to run towards the mountains at an incredible speed.

“It is too late to flee now,” Gideon said, coming to stand beside her.  He reached beneath his cloak and, to Áris’ utter astonishment, withdrew a long, keen-edged sword.  The blade was nearly as long as Áris was tall, flat on one edge but wickedly curved on the other, and it was black and etched with hundreds of crimson runes.

“How long has that been there?” Áris exclaimed in shock.

Gideon ignored her question.  “Take your brother and sister up the path into the mountains,” he said.  “You will find a small passageway not far in where you will be safe.  Wait for me there.  I will come soon.”

“But…”

“There is no time to argue,” said Gideon fiercely, turning his head to face Áris.  A fierce light burned in his yellow eyes.  “You must go now.  Hurry!”

As Áris turned and ran swiftly to catch up to the twins, Gideon unfastened his cloak from around his neck and cast it to the ground beside him.  He stood there alone upon the open field, his black-clad form silhouetted against the dying light, wielding his terrible sword and facing unflinchingly the menace that raced to greet him.

Áris caught up with Fíafel and Míriel just as they reached the trail that led into the mountains.  It was a steep and narrow path issuing from great crack cut into the rock, and several times Áris had to steady her brother and sister as they stumbled up the gravelly slope.  Once they had made it up the initial ascent, the going was a bit easier.  As they turned a corner and entered the fissure of stone, Áris heard a wild, bloodcurdling cry, like the voice of some otherworldly demon, rising up from the plain behind her.  She did not know who or what had made such a terrible sound.  She didn’t think she wanted to.

After stumbling for several minutes through the dim ravine, Áris found the hiding place that Gideon had told her of.  It was another narrow passageway of stone, branching off from the main route, barely wide enough for Fíafel and Míriel to walk through side by side.  The children entered this cleft and settled down inside it, the twins near the back wall, Áris very close to the entrance.  She sat there anxiously waiting for Gideon to return.  Each second that ticked by in suspense seemed to last an eternity.

Suddenly, Áris heard footsteps on the stone path below, and Gideon appeared around the corner, his sword in one hand and his black cloak in the other.  He was breathing hard and had a deep gash across his right cheekbone, from which dark red blood was flowing freely.  As Áris watched, the wound swiftly healed itself and vanished without a trace.  Gideon’s clothes, however, were not so lucky.  The sleeves and top part of his tunic were badly torn, leaving his chest and arms largely exposed.  Gideon put his sword back into the long black sheath that hung from his belt.  Then he refastened his cloak around his neck and drew it over his body, effectively covering all that had been exposed in his encounter with the wolves.  He had been too late, though.  For in the moment before the cloak came down to cover Gideon’s body, Áris had seen a long, vivid cicatrice curving across the left side of his chest, gleaming white against the gray pallor of his skin.

“Gideon!  You’re okay!” Míriel cried, running up from the back of the passageway to meet him.

“Yes, I am fine,” Gideon replied.  He looked up at the sky, where the stars were already beginning to emerge.  “We will go no further tonight.  Rest now, for here you will be safe.”

Both Fíafel and Míriel heaved huge sighs of relief.  They quickly removed their blankets from their packs and lay down upon them on the ground.  In seconds, both were sound asleep, not minding in their exhaustion the chill of the night air or the hardness of the stone beneath them.

Meanwhile, Áris had positioned herself upon a small ledge of stone that stood out like a bench from the wall of the passageway.  Gideon turned to look at her as she sat there with her knees drawn up, her bow and quiver close at hand.  “Sleep, Áris,” he said.  “You cannot go on this long without proper rest.”

Áris was unmoved.  “I’m going to protect my brother and sister,” she said with defiance.

Gideon’s eyes blazed with anger.  “Have I not yet proven my worth in your eyes?” he asked, his voice hard.  “What more must I do to earn your trust?”

Áris said nothing, but remained where she was, unflinching.

“So be it, then!” Gideon snapped.  “Stay awake if you will not let go of your foolish stubbornness, and suffer all the more for it tomorrow!”  With that he turned his back to Áris and sat down in the entrance of the passageway, his enormous shadow filling the space.  Áris looked quickly away from him and up at the small patch of stars shining above.  She understood Gideon’s anger, but at the same time she still couldn’t bring herself to trust him completely.  He was too unpredictable and had too many secrets.

Áris’ mind wandered to her parents as she sat there, alone with her thoughts.  She could picture clearly her mother’s face, pale and drawn with worry, and her father, who wouldn’t let any outward sign of anxiety show but inside would be just as filled with distress.  Áris wished she could reach out to them somehow and let them know that she and Fíafel and Míriel were all right.  She wondered what her parents would think of her decision to let Gideon be their guide.  They would probably disapprove, considering some of the things that he had said and done.  But there had been no other option, and Áris was being careful.  She hoped her parents would be proud of her for sacrificing her sleep in order to watch over her siblings.  At least, they had better be, because it was awful.

Chapter 4

                Somehow, Áris managed to remain awake the entire night.  She watched the coming of dawn through the gap at the top of the passageway with bleary eyes.  But although the sky lightened and the shapes around her became easier to see, the fissure was still filled with shadows, and no ray of sunlight pierced directly into it.  Gideon rose and walked over to where Áris was sitting, his hood pulled back, for he did not need it.  He stopped in front of her and stared at her for a moment.  The expression in his pale yellow eyes was unreadable.

                Finally, Gideon spoke.  “Wake your siblings,” he said.  “It is time for us to go.”

                Áris unbent herself slowly and stood, grimacing from the stiffness in her legs.  She walked with some difficulty over to where the twins were sleeping and shook them until they awoke.  The two had slept soundly through the night, but now they too felt the effects of the previous day’s long march as they stretched their sore, tired legs.  Gideon allowed them a quick breakfast of bread from Áris’ pack, and then they left the narrow cleft in the rock and returned to the mountain path.

                They traveled for many hours through the winding passageways of stone, listening to the echoes of their footsteps against the rocky walls and the eerie whistling of the wind high above their heads.  The path was narrow and uneven, cut directly out of the bare, black stone.  It wandered through the bleak crevices of the mountains, sometimes climbing steeply up, other times plunging down into some dark, menacing chasm.  There were many passageways branching off on either side, and other times forks in the road where the two ways were so similar that the children would never have known which one to follow.  Nevertheless, Gideon guided them with surety, and every turn and deviant path they took ultimately brought them farther west, ever nearer to the Great River.

                The travelers walked in single file, Gideon leading, Áris behind as always.  The hours passed with dull, tired monotony, for the children were all too weary to speak, and Gideon was maintaining his characteristic silence.  As the time passed, Fíafel began to grow bored and to long for something to occupy his mind.  There was nothing to look at down here - no plants, no animals, no water, not even a change in the coloration of the stone.  Besides, it was so shadowy in these mountain paths that he probably wouldn’t have been able to see much anyway.  Fíafel amused himself by looking up at the thin strip of blue sky high overhead.  He was watching for clouds, trying to guess their shapes from the small glimpses he caught of them.  Suddenly, his foot caught on an upturned lip of stone, and he fell forward onto the rough surface of the path, striking his leg against a sharp edge that lay beneath him.

                “Fíafel!” Áris cried in alarm.  Míriel and Gideon, who had been walking in front of them, turned and saw her struggling to help her brother up.  There was a large gash across Fíafel’s left shin, and it was bleeding hard.  His face was pale with fright and pain.

                In an instant, Gideon was at Áris’ side.  He helped her guide her brother to a small ledge of rock jutting out from the wall, where Fíafel sat down slowly, his limbs shaking.  Áris knelt anxiously before her brother and examined his wounded leg.  The cut was long and deep, and blood continued to pour from it rapidly.  Áris felt a bitter panic beginning to rise within her.  They had to bind this wound somehow, and fast, before Fíafel lost too much blood.

                Áris felt a hand on her shoulder.  She looked up and saw Gideon standing beside her, motioning for her to move out of the way.  Áris did so obediently, and Gideon crouched down in front of her injured brother.  His yellow eyes looked searchingly into Fíafel’s blue ones.  The boy was in great pain and fear, so much so that he was trembling uncontrollably, yet he was making a valiant effort to appear brave and to keep the tears from his eyes.

                “Do not worry, Fíafel,” said Gideon gently.  “I am going to heal you.”  Carefully he rested his fingertips on either side of the wound and closed his eyes, bowing his head in concentration.  Slowly he began to draw the edges of the gash together.  Fíafel inhaled sharply in pain, yet as he watched, the sides of the cut began to knit themselves back together, and the discomfort lessened and finally vanished as the wound healed itself completely.  Beside him, Míriel gave a small gasp, her eyes wide with wonder.  Áris felt a wave of relief flood over her as she saw that her brother was going to be okay.

                Fíafel looked up at Gideon.  “You - you didn’t turn me into bread, right?” he asked timidly.

                For the first time any of them had seen, the corners of Gideon’s mouth drew back into a tiny smile.  “No,” he said.  “I did not Remake you - I simply aided your body in repairing itself.  But speaking of bread, I believe that now would be an excellent time for you to rest and eat your midday meal.”

                Gideon drew back and sat against the opposite wall of the path, facing Fíafel.  Míriel climbed up onto the ledge with her brother, and Áris took a seat on the ground beside them.  She took a slice of flat, dense bread from her satchel and broke it into three pieces, handing one to each of her siblings.  Míriel took a large bite out of her portion and made a face.  “The bread you make is way better than this, Gideon,” she said after swallowing with difficulty.

                Áris scowled at her sister, but inside she couldn’t help agreeing.  After eating fresh, chewy-soft bread for the past several days, the lack of taste and texture in her rations was rather disappointing.  “Why couldn’t we have brought some wood up here with us for you to make bread out of?” she asked.

                “The process of Remaking something depends on the energy present in the object’s immediate surroundings,” Gideon replied.  “If the object is removed far from the place where it originated, it cannot be successfully Remade.”

                Fíafel was leaning forward, listening with interest, but Míriel’s attention had turned to her urgent need to drink after forcing down the hard, dry bread.  She removed her water skin from her pack and began to take long, greedy gulps.  Gideon, however, noticed and quickly stopped her.

                “Be sparing with your water,” he said.  “What you have may need to last you for another two and a half days.”

                 Míriel frowned but obediently returned the skin to her pack, then turned to face him.  “Why don’t you ever eat or drink anything, Gideon?” she asked.

                “I do not need to,” he said.

                “But if you don’t need to eat,” Fíafel interjected, “how come you can turn wood into bread?”

                “An astute question,” Gideon replied, his eyebrows rising slightly in admiration.  “I suppose it deserves an answer.  Very well.  There was a time when I did need food and water, and the power of Remaking was indeed very useful then.  But my body is different now, and I neither can nor desire to partake of such things anymore.”

                “Was your skin always gray, then?” Míriel asked.  “Or your eyes yellow?  Or your ears pointy?”

                “Yes.  I have always been this way,” Gideon said.

                “How long have you had that scar on your chest?” Fíafel asked.

                Gideon’s eyes blazed.  “Enough questions,” he said darkly.  “If you are finished with your meal, we must continue on.  There is a long way yet to go.”

                The children reluctantly stood and shouldered their packs, and the four resumed their long march.  Fíafel was now careful to keep his attention on the ground in front of him.  They traveled for many more hours, stopping once to eat again, until beyond the rocky walls around them the sun went down and night fell across the earth. 

Finally, they reached a place where a small gap branched off from the main path and led to a wide, round space, still ringed on every side by steep walls of stone, but open to the star-filled sky above.  There the twins sat down immediately and rested their aching, exhausted legs.  Míriel looked up at the huge full moon that shone brightly above her head.  “Mother and Father will be at the Autumn Festival by now,” she said forlornly.

“No,” said Gideon softly, gazing up at the stars.  “They will be near the River, trying to find a way to return to you.  It will not be difficult for us to find them.”

“I wonder what they’re going to think of you,” Fíafel said.

Gideon looked down at him.  “There is no need to worry about such things at the moment,” he replied.  “Now you must rest.  Go to sleep.”

The twins were unconscious almost before their heads hit their blankets.  Áris remained standing beside them, staring wordlessly at Gideon.  He stared wordlessly back.  Finally Áris removed her own blanket from her satchel, spread it out on the ground, and lay down next to Míriel.  She was too tired to argue anymore.

Despite her weariness, however, Áris could not fall asleep.  The openness of the stony cavern offered little protection against the cold, biting wind that swept across the mountains.  Winter was coming, and although they were not far from the milder lands below, snow was already beginning to creep down the mountainside from the peaks above.  Beside her, Míriel shivered.  Áris tried her best to spread her own cloak over the two of them, but it was thin and offered little comfort, and Fíafel was suffering from the cold, too.

Áris snuggled close to her sister and tried to forget about the chill that pervaded her arms and legs.  Suddenly, she felt a large, thick length of fabric being spread across her body.  Áris opened her eyes slightly and saw Gideon bending over them, draping his large, black cloak over her and her siblings.  The scar on his chest gleamed white through the jagged tears in his shirt.  There was a shadow over Gideon’s eyes, as if there were some enormous, inexpressible sadness concealed behind them, betrayed only by the dimming of their pale yellow glow.  Gideon turned away once the cloak was arranged and stood facing the gap that lead to the main path.  The long, black sheath of his sword hung exposed from his belt, gleaming in the moonlight.

Áris closed her eyes again, her amazement almost overpowered by exhaustion.  The cloak had not been warm when Gideon laid it over them, but it soon began to trap the heat of the children’s bodies, and in a short time Míriel’s shivering had ceased.  Áris felt herself slipping under the warm tide of sleep.  Her last thought before she drifted off was, I guess I trust him now.

 

Chapter 5

                Áris awoke rather abruptly the next morning.  It took her a moment to determine why - the warm cloak was gone and was once again draped over Gideon’s shoulders, as if last night’s gesture of kindness had been merely a dream.  It hadn’t been, though - Áris was sure of it.  But in any case, it was not something Gideon was interested in discussing.  His attention was focused on the rim of the stony cavern, where the sky was beginning to lighten with the coming of dawn.  Wordlessly, Áris rose and rolled up her sleeping blanket to put it in her satchel.  Then she woke Fíafel and Míriel, giving them each a handful of dried berries for breakfast.  Áris ate little herself, even though she was very hungry, and even more thirsty.  She looked at the food they had left with dismay.  Only two thin pieces of bread and half a handful of berries remained of their supplies.  Her water skin was almost empty too, as were the twins’.  Gideon had said it would take at least two more days to cross the mountains.  She hoped that they would move fast.

                They left the chasm before the sun had fully risen and continued up the rocky, winding path.  Áris noticed that, even more so than before, they seemed to be climbing higher. They could not have been more than halfway up the side of the mountains.  Still, the air was colder here, and thinner, and hiking upwards on the rough path was becoming more and more difficult with every step.

                The twins were faring no better than their sister, being younger and unaccustomed to such strenuous travel.  Míriel was trying hard not to breathe too heavily and let her exhaustion show.  Fíafel was staring at the ground, focusing on lifting one foot up and setting it down in front of the other.  After a while, though, he became aware of a splashing sound in the distance, like a large volume of water rushing quickly through a rocky channel.  The noise grew increasingly louder until finally they turned a corner and came face to face with its source.

                They were standing at the edge of an enormous chasm that cut deep through the center of the mountain range.  The rocky peaks loomed high on either side, casting the gorge into shadow, but the children could clearly see the great torrent of fast-moving water that surged down from the heights to their left and flowed quickly to the distant edge of the mountains, where it plunged over the cliff with a violent roar.  A mere twenty feet above this formidable current was stretched a tiny bridge of stone, no more than a meter across and with no railings to speak of.  Its surface was rough and uneven, and wet from the spray that came up from the river below.

                “Ohh..” Fíafel moaned softly, his voice trailing off into silence.  He edged closer to Áris and clung tightly to her arm, not wanting to look upon the path before them yet unable to tear his eyes away.  Fíafel was deathly afraid of heights.

                “This is the meeting place of the headwaters of the Great River,” Gideon said, raising his voice to be heard over the tumult of the water.  “From here it flows down from the mountains and travels north until it empties into the Black Lake.  It will be even stronger on the plains below, for there it is fed by other rivers and swollen by the rains.”

                “Umm…” Fíafel said hesitantly, “Is there any other way to cross it?”

                “This is the only way,” Gideon replied.

                Fíafel’s face went white, and he clung more tightly to Áris.  “Don’t worry, Fíafel,” she said.  “We’ll go across together.  You can hold onto me the whole way.” Fíafel nodded, and Áris felt slightly relieved.  But now Míriel was alone, for they could not all three walk across the bridge side by side.  Míriel looked searchingly between Áris’ face and Gideon’s.  In response, Gideon extended his hand towards her.  Míriel reached for it, but then paused and cast another questioning glance at her older sister.

                “Go with Gideon, Míriel,” Áris said.

                Míriel reached up again, and her small, pale hand was enclosed gently in Gideon’s gray one.  Gideon led her carefully over the narrow bridge, his black-cloaked figure towering nearly twice as tall as her tiny form.  They reached the other side without faltering and turned to watch Áris and Fíafel come across, going much more slowly and timidly than the pair before.  Fíafel kept his eyes locked ahead, his jaw rigid and his face white, while Áris concentrated on the rough path beneath them and steered them away from any uneven patches.  As soon as they were safely across, Fíafel let go of Áris and ran to Míriel, hugging her tightly and trembling uncontrollably.  Though she didn’t dare show it, Áris was also relieved when they left the roaring, violent waters behind them.

                After crossing the river, the path became even more narrow and twisting, so much so that at times Áris lost sight of Gideon and Míriel, who were only a few meters in front of her.  She was walking behind Fíafel, urging him to catch up with the others, when they came around a corner and entered a place where the path suddenly widened.  Míriel was standing motionless in the middle of the open space.  Gideon was several meters down at the far end, his head tilted back and his body rigid with shock.

                An enormous rockslide had come down some time ago from the upper regions of the mountains and filled the passageway with hundreds of massive stones.  The wall of rock filled the entire space, reaching up two hundred feet in a sheer boundary that could not be scaled.  There were no gaps or tunnels through which they could pass.  They were utterly trapped.

                Áris felt a sick, icy feeling fill her stomach.  For a long moment she was unable to speak.  “What are we going to do?” she finally cried.  Gideon gave no response, but only bowed his head.  “We can’t go all the way back - we’re running out of food and water, and soon it will be too cold for us to survive out here,” Áris continued, her voice rising in panic.  “And our parents are going to be worried sick - ”

                “Do not tell me how they feel!” Gideon roared.  His words echoed off the steep walls of the chasm.  Áris jumped and took a step back, stunned at his outburst.  Gideon half turned towards her, his eyes to the ground.  The torn fabric of his tunic hung down and exposed the great scar upon his chest.  “I know it well,” Gideon continued, his voice much softer this time.  “To lose your child… to be overcome by dread, not knowing, fearing the worst… and then to find her…”  Gideon’s voice trailed off and he buried his face in his hands.  Then slowly he raised his head to look at Áris, and his eyes had been consumed by blackness once again.  “Finally you will know, Áris,” Gideon said, his voice low and dark.  “You will know the truth, and judge me as you will.

                “I was a father once.  I had a wife, and a young daughter.  She was small - no bigger than Míriel.  We lived deep in the forest with a group of our own kind.  In those days I could eat and drink, and laugh, and bear the light of the sun - and I was happy.  I loved my daughter, and my wife, and our soul-star shone brightly in the night sky.  But one day, I went out into the forest to go hunting alone.  I was gone for the entire day.  Evening came, and I wished to continue on, for I had not caught anything yet, but a sudden, deep sense of foreboding drove me back to our village.  I ran in haste for many miles, the feeling of dread growing stronger with every stride, but I was too late.  For when I returned, my home was gone.

                “A nearby settlement of humans had learned the location of our village.  We had always been careful to remain hidden from them, for they were distrustful and ignorant, and their actions twisted by malice and greed.  Though we had never threatened them nor caused them harm, they were suspicious of our kind from the little they knew of us.  So when they found the place where we lived, they destroyed it.  They burned our homes and slaughtered all who dwelt in them.  By surprise and sheer strength of numbers they overpowered our defenses.  Not one of my kindred escaped the massacre - except me, who alone had been gone when they attacked.

                “I stood frozen in shock when I reached the edge of the village, unable to comprehend the sight before my eyes.  Slowly, as if in a trance, I walked through the bloodstained ashes, grieving at the sight those I had known and loved, their faces twisted into masks of terror and pain as they lay upon the cold ground where they had fallen.  Suddenly, I was filled with a terrible dread, and I began to search frantically for my wife and daughter.  I found them near the outer edge of the village, in the ashes of what had once been our home.  Their bodies were mutilated and burned almost beyond recognition, but I knew them.  I stood there, unable to move, unable to breathe, feeling as if my entire body were being ripped apart.  Slowly a black hatred began to well up inside me.  I turned away from the bodies of those I loved and strode to the edge of the village, where I found the disordered prints of scores of human boots.  It was easy to follow their chaotic trail through the forest, and at last I came unseen to the edge of their village.  It was late at night, but a large fired burned in the center square, for they were celebrating their feast of Midsummer’s Eve.  I crept silently through the shadows, watching their victorious revelry with hatred and disgust.  I came unnoticed to the edge of the firelight and drew my black sword from its sheath.  Then, I attacked.

                “Like a wolf amidst sheep I ravaged among them, striking them down where they stood.  Old and young, strong and weak, parents and children - none did I spare.  Some tried to fight back, but I quickly overpowered them.  Some tried to flee, but they were no match for my inhuman speed.  I killed all those in the square and then attacked the ones asleep in the houses, breaking down doors and murdering them where they lay.  All the while I shrieked in bitter rage, and my voice along with their screams of agony and cries of ‘demon’ and ‘monster’ rent the night.  I did not rest until every last one had been slain.  Then I stood there beside the dying fire, the blood dripping down from the blade of my sword, thinking only of the ones I had lost.  No tears did I shed for them - only blood.  So much blood.

                “The morning came bearing a mantle of somber clouds, and the gray light revealed to me what I had done.  I let my sword drop to the ground and fell to my knees, my hands covering my face, unable to bear the sight of the destruction I had wreaked.  I stayed there for a long time, overcome by grief.  I had acted unthinkingly out of bitter anger - righteous anger, but with an unrighteous end.  For grief cannot be assuaged by hatred, and death cannot return the dead to life.  So I learned, and learned too late.

“Finally I rose and walked to the edge of the village.  There, with a shovel I found in a nearby barn, I dug a large pit.  Then I went back to the square and into every one of the houses, and one by one I carried the bodies of those I had slain to the grave and rested them gently inside it.  When all were there, I buried them together.  At that time the clouds parted to reveal the sun, and I learned that I could no longer endure its light.  I took shelter in a nearby cave, and there I carved the names of all those I had killed into the blade of my sword.”

The blackness had receded from Gideon’s eyes, but they were shadowed with sorrow as he drew his sword and examined the runes etched into it.  “Names that I gave them,” he said.  “‘The little girl with the silver hair’.  ‘The old man who tried to fight’.  ‘The mother who tried to hide her infant child.’ When the runes were carved, I filled them in with red ink.  Then, under the cover of night, I left the human village.  I returned to what was once my home and buried the bodies of my kin.  A hard thing it is, to surrender one’s dearest friends to the earth, and harder still it was to bury my wife and my child.  There was no one there to share in my sorrow, no one to ease the pain of so terrible a parting.  When all was finished I left the village, traveling as far and as fast as I could, for I found I was not hindered by hunger or thirst or weariness anymore.  Thus I came to these lands, and I have dwelt here alone for many years since.

                “I could have ended myself that day.  With nothing left - not even my star in the sky, for it had been destroyed through my wife’s death and the blackening of my soul - I might have taken my own life gladly. But I could not, for I was afraid.  I was afraid of what would happen to me, stained by the blood of so many innocent lives - for not all those I slew had been the murderers of my kin.  So I continued on, an immortal ghost haunted by sorrow and remorse, enduring the unceasing pain of my past.

“I have no hope of forgiveness, for no deed can atone for what I have done.  Yet still I hope that, through whatever good I may do while I yet live, I can in some small way make recompense for the evil I have wrought.”

Gideon fell silent and looked one by one into the children’s eyes.  Áris and Fíafel were standing as if turned to stone, their lips parted in shock.  Tears were streaming down Míriel’s face.  As Gideon’s eyes met hers, she turned and ran sobbing back up the way they had come.

 “Míriel!” Áris cried, turning and chasing after her sister.  Áris ran frantically up the twisting path, stumbling and hitting the rough walls on either side.  She emerged from the passageway just as Míriel made it to the thundering chasm of the river.  The young girl, blinded by her tears, ran unheedingly onto the narrow bridge.  Her foot caught suddenly on an upturned edge of rock, and without even making a sound, Míriel tumbled over the cliff and was gone.

 

Chapter 6

                “MÍRIEL!”  Áris screamed, staring frozen in shock at the place where her sister had been just a second before.  The sound of rapid footsteps echoed from the passage behind her, and suddenly a black blur sprinted past Áris’ shoulder.  Gideon tore off his cloak and let his long sword clatter to the ground as he ran to the edge of the chasm.  Without hesitation, he jumped over the edge and dove into the raging water below.

                Áris ran out onto the bridge and looked frantically down at the churning river.  Far downstream, she could see Míriel’s tiny form being tossed helplessly back and forth by the merciless current.  Gideon was swimming towards her with powerful strokes, fighting the chaotic rapids and crosscurrents of the water.  Finally he reached her limp body and clutched it tightly to his own.  But now they were both trapped in the middle of the violent stream, rushing powerlessly towards the waterfall at the end of the chasm, for the walls on either side were smooth and sheer and offered no means of escape.  All Gideon could do was fight to keep them upright as they sped towards the thundering cataract ahead.

                Fíafel had appeared on the bridge at Áris’ side.  “What do we do?” he cried.

                Áris looked at her brother, her eyes wide.  “We have to follow them.  We have to jump,” she said.

                Fíafel nodded and swallowed hard, staring down at the foaming rapids below.  Áris removed her cloak and satchel and dropped them, along with her bow and quiver, on the bridge.  Fíafel did the same with his cloak and knapsack.  Then Áris reached out her hand to her brother, who clasped it tightly.  Áris looked into Fíafel’s eyes, and they were wide and round and filled with utter terror.

                “We’ll go on three,” Áris said, feeling a sharp pang in her heart as she imagined what her brother was feeling.  “One… two… three!”

                Together they leaped from the edge of the bridge and fell rapidly towards the raging water below.  Their hands were torn from each other by the force of the impact, and for a moment Fíafel was seized by panic as he was blinded by the swirling water around him and disoriented by the current that seemed to tumble him in every different direction at once.  But by sheer luck his head broke the surface and he drew in a huge breath, and seconds later he felt something grab his arm and turned to see Áris gasping at his side.  She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her chest, and he put his own arms around her neck and hung on for dear life.  Fíafel could feel Áris’ legs kicking beneath him, frantically trying to keep them away from the harsh walls of stone on either side.  He turned to look downstream and saw the plume of spray rising up from the waterfall, which they were already approaching at an alarmingly rapid rate.

                “Áris!” Fíafel cried.

                “I know!” she shouted, her voice nearly drowned out by the din of the cascading water growing ever louder before them.  “Just hang on to me!  Feet first!  We’re going to be okay!”

                Yet as they drew near to the thundering cataract, a terrible fear seized Áris’ heart.  Maybe she had been wrong.  Maybe this was the end.  Maybe they were both going to die, and it would all be her fault.  But it was too late now.  They were at the edge.

                With one last powerful kick, Áris pushed off from the rocky bottom of the river and managed to keep them upright as they passed over the edge of the cliff and plummeted towards the water below.

 

                Gideon and Míriel had gone over the waterfall and were now coursing rapidly down the main body of the river.  Thankfully, the pool directly below the falls had been very deep, and the drop had been short enough that they had not been hurt.  But now Gideon had to fight to get them to the bank of the river, which was even stronger now than it had been before.  His arms were still around Míriel, who hung beside him semi-conscious, her own arms wrapped around his neck.

                Gideon carefully let go of Míriel’s body.  “Hold on to me, Míriel,” he said sternly.  “Do not let go.” Gideon began to stroke with his arms and kick with his powerful legs towards the western bank of the river.  It took a long time, and the whole while they traveled further and further north, away from the mountains.  At last they came to a place where the river widened and the water was shallower and calmer.  As he struggled to stand against the still swift-moving current, Gideon felt Míriel’s hold around his neck begin to loosen.  He caught her just as she was about to be swept away, and with slow, arduous steps he fought the immense force of the water and carried her to shore.

                Gideon set Míriel’s body upon the dry, yellowed grass at the edge of the river.  She lay there without stirring, limp and lifeless.  No breath escaped her lips.

                “No,” Gideon said hoarsely, closing his eyes and laying his fingertips upon Míriel’s chest.  “Come back, Míriel.  Come back.” As he knelt there, Gideon could feel the light of the sun overhead beginning to sear his flesh, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and focused all his attention on the tiny figure before him.  Suddenly, a spasm coursed through Míriel’s body.  She opened her eyes, rolled onto her side, and vomited up a large amount of water.  Then she lay back down again and looked up at the shadowy figure who knelt above her.

                “Gideon,” Míriel said, smiling weakly.  “You saved me.” Slowly she lifted herself up until she was sitting, and her face became serious.  “I don’t care about what you said back there,” she said.  “I don’t care what you did.  I…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze was drawn to the back of Gideon’s left hand, which was beginning to redden and blister.  “Gideon!” she cried.  “Your hand!  It’s burning!”

                “I know,” Gideon replied sadly.  Angry patches of red were beginning to appear on his face and chest, as well as his arms and legs, for his clothing, torn nearly to shreds by the wolves and the river, offered little protection now.  He closed his eyes and bowed his head as his entire body was consumed by searing pain.

                “MÍRIEL!”  Míriel turned her head in surprise and saw Áris and Fíafel running towards them along the bank of the river.  They were both soaking wet, and there was a small scratch above Fíafel’s left eyebrow, but they were otherwise unharmed.  Áris sprinted ahead of her brother, knelt down, and threw her arms around her sister.  “Míriel, you’re okay.  Thank goodness, you’re okay.”  Tears were streaming down Áris’ face.  Fíafel came just a few seconds after and locked his twin into an overjoyed embrace.  They knelt there for a long time, all three together, oblivious to everything around them.

                Finally Áris pulled away from her siblings.  “Where’s Gideon?” she asked.  Then she saw him standing a little further down the bank, facing northward.  He was trembling uncontrollably.  Suddenly, Gideon fell to his knees.  A loud groan escaped his lips.

                “Gideon!” Áris cried.  She and the twins rose quickly and ran to his side.  Gideon’s eyes were closed and his teeth were clenched together.  He groaned again in pain.  His skin was now covered in large blisters, and with every passing second the fiery redness spread further across his flesh.

                “Gideon!” Áris cried again with alarm.  “We have to get you out of the sun.  We have to find shelter.” She whirled around in a circle, searching frantically for a place of refuge from the burning light.  They were in the middle of a vast open plain of grass.  The mountains behind them were the closest haven to be seen, and they were now over a mile away.

                “No,” Gideon gasped.  “It is too late.” A shudder ran through him, and suddenly his body arched violently and he fell back onto the grass with a scream of pain.  Gideon began to writhe uncontrollably upon the ground, and the shrieks of agony that he could no longer contain burst from his mouth.  “Áris!” he screamed.  “Turn them away!  Do not let them see this!”

                Áris hugged her brother and sister tightly to her body, burying their faces in the fabric of her tunic.  Both were trembling with shock and terror. Míriel was sobbing loudly, while silent tears streamed down Fíafel’s face.  Áris herself could hardly stand to witness Gideon’s torment, yet she could not tear her eyes away.  She watched the wounds on Gideon’s body grow deeper, exposing his collarbone and the bones in his hands and knees.  The burns across his limbs and torso darkened to crimson and then to black.  His eyes remained screwed tightly shut as more screams and convulsions of pain wracked his body.  A huge red lesion began to form on the left side of his chest, bleeding outwards at the edges and wrapping around his raised white scar.  The wound deepened, boring into Gideon’s chest, and his agonized spasms became even more violent and his shrieks even more unbearable to hear.  Míriel pressed her hands against her ears and buried her face farther into Áris’ clothing, wailing and crying as she tried to shut out the sounds of Gideon’s torture.

                Suddenly, Gideon’s body went rigid, and his screaming stopped.  His eyes snapped open.  They were ablaze with a powerful and beautiful golden light, such as they had never shown before, as if some long-forgotten life had been suddenly rekindled within them.  Gideon was staring straight up at the sky, his gaze unflinching, bearing witness to some faraway vision that only he could see.  “Here I am,” he whispered.  Then the light in his eyes faded, his body relaxed, and he was gone.

                “NO!” Míriel screamed, tearing herself from her sister’s arms and falling on her knees beside Gideon’s lifeless form.  “Gideon!”  Míriel wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably.  “He was good!” she cried.  “I know it!  He saved me!  He was good!”

Fíafel was still clinging speechlessly to Áris’ clothing, his face pale and his eyes wide and wet.  For a long time he stood there, frozen with shock, unable to move.  Yet slowly he relinquished his grasp on Áris’ tunic and walked over to Míriel.  Fíafel knelt down beside his twin and wrapped his thin arms around her tiny, shaking shoulders, comforting her in the only way he could. 

Áris stood there alone, neither speaking nor shedding a tear, struggling to comprehend what had just occurred.  She couldn’t believe it - it had all happened so fast.  She could only stare in shock at Gideon’s body, which been marred horribly by the burning torment it had endured.  Yet slowly, Áris found herself realizing that there was still something inexpressibly beautiful about it - that this suffering had come from an act of compassion and a desire to protect.  Gideon’s words from three nights before echoed in Áris’ mind: “Yes, there was great pain, but also great joy.  For true love does not come without joyful sacrifice.”  What joy there had been in Gideon’s sacrifice, Áris did not know.  But surely there was beauty here, beauty in the broken body of an immortal being who had freely chosen death because he had never truly lost the capacity to love.

As Áris watched, Gideon’s body began to dissolve into a fine, silvery-black ash.  Míriel and Fíafel looked up in wonder as the powdery dust was lifted by a sudden wind and vanished into the air.  The children were silent for a long time, staring up at the space of sky into which the remains of Gideon’s body had disappeared.  Finally Míriel spoke.  “What do we do now?” she asked forlornly.

Áris was silent for a moment.  She turned her gaze northward, where in the distance she could make out the blurred gray line that marked the edge of the forest.  Her voice was quiet but determined as she answered.  “Gideon said that he would get us across the River, and he did,” Áris said.  “Now we’re going to find Mother and Father.”

 

Chapter 7

                Several hours had passed since the children started their trek northward, following the edge of the Great River and drawing ever nearer to the dark tree line ahead.  Míriel was walking very close to Áris’ side now, and Fíafel beside her.  None of them spoke as they marched across the long miles of dry, yellowed grass.  Míriel’s eyes remained lowered to the ground before her, while Fíafel watched the turbulent brown water of the river as it rushed along beside them.  Áris was looking ahead, squinting against the bright light of the sun.  Suddenly, she spotted two figures in the distance, pale gray against the darker tones of the leafless trees behind them.  The figures were traveling side by side along the edge of the river, moving in the children’s direction.  Suddenly, the one on the left stopped as if in surprise, then bounded forward again with incredible speed.  The other figure quickly followed.  Áris strained her eyes toward them in apprehension.  Then she was flooded with joy and relief as she recognized the gray forms.  Finally, they had found their parents.

                “Míriel!  Fíafel!  Áris!” their mother cried as she ran towards them, the skirt of her dress flying wildly behind her.

                “Mother!” the twins shouted simultaneously.  Their mother knelt to the ground, her arms outstretched, and embraced her two youngest children as they came running to meet her.  She hugged them tightly to her chest, her cheeks wet with tears as she buried her face in their hair.

                “You’re safe.  Oh, you’re safe,” she whispered.  Their father had arrived just a second behind her, and instantly he drew Áris into a tight embrace.  He let little of his emotions show in his expression, but Áris could feel his body shaking with relief.

                “Áris,” he said.  His voice was thick with unshed tears.

                “Hi, Father,” she replied, her own voice breaking at the wave of emotions that swept through her.  The two of them knelt down beside the other three, and their mother turned to enfold Áris in her arms while their father hugged the twins to himself with shaky but joyful laughter.  They stayed like that for a long time, each member of the family embracing one another, silent tears of happiness flowing down their cheeks.

                At last their mother drew back.  “We were so worried about you,” she said, her voice full of emotion.  “We didn’t realize you hadn’t returned until after we had crossed the River.  We tried to get back, but the ford was too flooded - we barely made it across the first time.  And the rain kept coming down so hard.  We wanted to stay by the River, but the others convinced us to come to Lílëu to wait out the storms.  As soon as the rains stopped we came back, and we’ve been searching along the River ever since.  I was so afraid” - she bowed her head as more tears came to her eyes and choked her words - “I was so afraid that you had tried to cross the River while it was flooded.  We didn’t know… I’m so sorry.  So, so sorry.”

                “It’s okay, Mother.  We’re fine,” Fíafel said.  “And don’t worry - we’ve got enough brains to know not to try to cross the Great River when it’s been raining for days on end.”

                Their mother smiled wanly.  But suddenly, she noticed the cut on Fíafel’s forehead, and the smile vanished.  “Fíafel!” she cried.  “What happened to you?”

                “It’s just a little scratch, Mother,” Fíafel replied.  “I’m fine.  Really.”

                “But how did you get across the River?” their father interjected.  “It’s still too dangerous to cross, even at the ford.”

                “We met someone in the woods,” Míriel said quietly.  “He led us through the mountains.  He protected us, and gave us food.  We wouldn’t have made it without him.”

                “Well, where is this man?” their mother asked.  “We must meet him, and give him our thanks.”

                Míriel said nothing.  Her gaze dropped to the ground, and she blinked back tears.  There was a long moment in which no one spoke.

                “He’s gone,” Fíafel said quietly.

                Their mother looked into her son’s eyes, and to her wonder she saw a great sadness lying within them.  She turned her gaze to Áris, and something about the look on her older daughter’s face convinced her that this was a matter better left unspoken.

                “Well, the important thing is that you’re safe,” she said.  She rose and took the twins by the hand.  “Now, let’s get you three to Lílëu.  The Autumn Festival is still going on.”

 

                Many hours later, Áris was sitting alone on a wide expanse of grass, staring up at the night sky.  They had arrived in Lílëu a few hours before and immediately been greeted by an exuberant horde of friends and neighbors, all expressing their happiness that the children had safely returned.  The three of them had been glad to receive such a warm welcome.  Yet at the same time, all was not quite well.  There had been a feast that evening in the Great Hall - more of a big wooden lodge than anything - for all the citizens of Lílëu and the visitors from Niavenna.  Fíafel had been uncharacteristically quiet during the dinner, failing to ask the ten thousand questions he usually did, and Míriel had inexplicably burst into tears at the sight of a nondescript loaf of bread.  Áris had found herself unable to answer the questioning glances of those around them.  Nor, despite her exhaustion, could she fall asleep when they had all gone to bed.  So here she was, sitting alone outside the large cabin where the Niavennan villagers were staying, staring up once again at the cold light of the stars.

                Suudenly, Áris heard the sound of the cabin door being opened and softly shut behind her, and the quiet swish of bare feet through the dewy grass.  She didn’t need even need to turn her head to know who it was. 

                “I can’t sleep,” Míriel said, sitting down on Áris’ left.

                “Me neither,” Fíafel added as he took his place on her right.

                “I was having trouble falling asleep too,” Áris replied.  “Some of the men from our village snore incredibly loudly.”

                Míriel laughed softly at Áris’ joke, but she soon fell silent again.  A long moment passed.  “I wish Gideon were here,” she said finally, her voice quiet and forlorn.  “He was always so sad.  Maybe, if he were here with us, he could have been happy.”

                Áris did not answer.  She was staring off into the darkness, pondering her sister’s words.  She herself had always found Gideon frightening, and mysterious, and at times dangerous.  But never had she thought of what might lay behind his dark persona.  Áris tried to imagine what it would be like to carry that much sorrow, and guilt, and loneliness hidden inside.  It seemed like an impossible burden to bear.  Áris lifted her head and looked to the sky again.  Yes, Míriel was right.  Gideon had been incredibly sad.

                Suddenly, Fíafel pointed to the north.  “Look,” he whispered.  A new star had appeared in the sky, larger and brighter than those around it, and shining with a warmer light as if tinged with gold.

                “Over here, too,” Míriel said.  Two more golden stars had appeared to the west, one the same size as the first, the other below it and slightly smaller.  Áris looked back and forth between the second two stars and the first one.  It took her a moment to realize what was happening.

                “They’re moving,” she whispered in awe.

                The two stars in the west were traveling towards the one in the north, moving slowly at first but gaining speed with each passing second.  The first star, too, was advancing to greet them, flying swiftly across the dark sky.  Áris’ eyes grew wide as the stars rapidly approached one another.

                “They’re going to hit each other!” Fíafel cried.

                Suddenly, all three stars collided at once, and the night was split by a burst of brilliant white light.  Áris closed her eyes against the blinding radiance, and a sudden vision came to her mind.  She saw a woman and child, gray-skinned and dark-haired, running to meet a familiar figure, whose golden eyes shone with joy as he embraced them.  The figure laughed as he scooped up the child and held her tightly to his breast, then pulled the woman close and gave her a long kiss.  As soon as it had come, the vision faded.  Last to leave Áris’ mind was the image of Gideon’s face, freed now from all shadow of grief and shame, shining in the light of his enormous smile as he embraced his wife and cradled their child in his arms.

                Áris opened her eyes and looked up.  The three stars had been fused into one radiant point of golden light that glimmered brightly against the darkness beyond.  Áris smiled to herself as she put her arms around her siblings’ shoulders and drew them close to her.

                “I think that he is happy now, Míriel,” she said.

                Míriel nodded silently, smiling as well as she rested her head against Áris’ shoulder.  Fíafel leaned closer to Áris’ side.  The three children remained there for a long time, their arms around each other, gazing at the soul-star that hung above their heads and lit the night with brilliant joy.