Every year on All Hallow’s Eve, stardust fell from the three floating islands, but no one collected the silver and golden motes except for me. Those in the starry kingdom above did not tolerate trespassers, but I’d been gathering stardust for ten years now without incident. I figured others stayed away because of all the bones.
Directly beneath the shadow of the largest island, surrounded by encroaching trees, lay a path of darkness. The slim trees bent over like the fingers of a withered hand, reaching but not quite long enough to scrape against the ground. The sight of that sacred land, covered in coal-black dirt and white bone, was enough to create vivid nightmares.
Ten years did not dispel the creepiness of the area, and I shivered at the gate, reminded of my first night when I was eighteen. I hadn’t been alone then, like now.
Gathering my courage and determination, I swung open the gate and marched inside.
Bones crackled under my booted feet, and I flinched, unease creeping up my spine like cold, dead fingers.
I placed five buckets in a circle and stepped back, lifting my face to the sky.
One. Two. Three.
The floating islands appeared like dark blobs in the frosted moonlight, shielding the night’s light from beaming down onto the earth. I hated this place and, not for the first time, I wondered why the Masters in the kingdom above ate so much meat. Did they have to dump the bones here? Why not elsewhere? I’d found chicken bones and cow bones, even goat horns. Who ate goats? There were other bones, bigger and longer, but I tried my best not to look at them, as Grandmother had instructed.
Gather the stardust, but don’t look down.
Stardust had magical properties, useful for healing a range of ailments. Each year, I gathered it and worked it into the tinctures I made for the people of Terrin.
Sure enough, I’d timed my entrance perfectly. Light glittered in the air, extinguishing the darkness, and I drew in a deep breath. The creepiness of the boneyard was worth it for this glory. Stardust rained down around me, glowing brighter like fireflies, except it was all colors: gold, silver, white, even red, a collection of dust filling each bucket.
I’d always been curious about the origins of stardust, but my grandmother told me not to question the magic, to just enjoy it. All the same, I had questions. Spreading my arms, I turned around slowly, grinning like a loon.
Something wrapped itself around my ankle and yanked.
I screamed, and I did the one thing I was never supposed to do.
I looked down.
Another scream tore at my throat, but I slapped my hands over my mouth to keep it inside. My eyes bugged out of my head as I stared at a hand: a human hand with short nails and dirt underneath them, attached to an arm.
I swallowed hard. People whispered tales of bodies coming back to life and the undead springing out of the ground on a night like tonight, an eve where bargains could be made between the living and dead.
I followed the arm, which was attached to a shirt covered in that coal black dirt, and I found a body struggling out of the bracken.
Long, stringy hair followed, and then a moan. “Help me.”
My heart pounded so hard, I thought I’d pass out.
I’d woken the undead.
Somehow, on a starlit night, the bones had put themselves together and come alive.
My gaze darted to the gate, which was far away, and my buckets weren’t even half full. I needed magical remedies to meet my own needs for the coming year, and stardust made all the difference.
Instead of running, I had to deal with this problem. “Who are you?” I snapped, fear making me angry. “I warn you, I’m armed.”
I wasn’t, but it was the only warning I could think of.
The fingers uncurled from around my ankle and burrowed into the dirt. As the moonlight shifted, I made out a man crawling from under bones, covered with leaves and mud. He collapsed onto his back with a groan and lay sprawled out at my feet. As the stardust brushed against his skin, I got a good look.
He wasn’t dead, just very dirty, and instantly, my mind raced. This wasn’t magic – this was foul play. His shirt was ripped open, as though he’d been stabbed, but I didn’t see any blood. His clothing hung loosely on him. At first, I thought it was torn, but on closer inspection, it appeared rotted. How long had he been in the boneyard?
He was big, too. Long limbs, thick muscle, and his face!
He had deep-set eyes, sharp cheekbones, a high forehead, and a trim beard covering his pointed chin. Thick, black hair trailed in a tangle to his waist.
I bent to study the side of his head, and sure enough, pointed ears confirmed he was no human. He must be one of the Masters, the beings who lived in the floating kingdom above. They came down to Terrin every year for the tithe, clothed in splendor that mirrored the stars. I’d seen them from afar, wearing masks, and wondered what their faces looked like beneath them. Now, I knew.
I stepped back quickly, almost bumping into my buckets. “What are you doing here?”
“Help me,” he murmured again.
One of the Masters was lying wounded at my feet. I could, should, help him, perhaps gain honor or some kind of blessing from the Masters for helping one of their kind. Why, then, did fear grip me?
Spinning on my heel, I dashed to the gate where I’d left the wheelbarrow. My stardust buckets were surprisingly heavy once full, and I needed to get them through the forest and back home. The man and the buckets would never fit, but at least I could take him home and return for the stardust. Healing him would be quick work; then, I’d send him on his way and request a favor, maybe some sort of blessing for my work. I had to think of what I wanted.
My humdrum life was fine, but not exciting. I’d long ago given up the idea of a husband and babies – I was too old. Once a woman neared thirty years, she was no longer considered young and fertile in Terrin.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been such a recluse. Grandmother encouraged me to get out more, go to the gatherings and celebrations in Terrin, but instead, I’d wandered into the wood to forage or read. So of course, it was my fault I didn’t have friends. Sometimes, when I went to market, I heard the children whispering about the odd wild woman who lived in the forest, which was me now that Grandmother was dead.
My lifestyle used to suit me just fine, but more recently, a restlessness hummed beneath my skin. Talking to the birds that came for breadcrumbs and scolding the raccoons and possums who stole fruit and tiny trinkets was getting dull. I kept waiting for something to happen, to change, but each day arrived the same, with requests for healing potions or other demands on my time. Grandmother enjoyed the work, but I was beginning to begrudge it. The problem was, I didn’t know what I wanted. Maybe, when I healed the Master, he might give me an idea of what to wish for.
Trundling the wheelbarrow to the entrance, I paused. The wheels would get stuck between all the bones, so I needed the Master to gain enough strength to make it to the gate. I eyed his long body with a sigh. He was probably too heavy to push through the forest along the rutted path. I was strong, but not that strong.
He was sitting up when I returned, eyes closed, face lifted to the stardust falling upon him like a healing rain. He’d taken off his shirt, or the rags had fallen off him. His pants were in terrible shape too, but I’d seen plenty of naked bodies, and the idea of his nakedness did not intimidate me.
“I have a wheelbarrow,” I announced. “If you can make it to the gate, I’ll take you back to my cottage and heal your wounds.”
Golden eyes bored into me. “Thank you,” he croaked.
I should have brought water, but I’d forgotten to bring a water skin on my night of labor.
He groaned again, holding his side as he rose to his knees and reached for me.
I gave myself a little shake to keep my courage and prepared for the stink of him. Grandmother never talked much about it, but sick people had a distinct odor. Wounds smelled terrible, especially festering, rotting ones, like the ones I expected him to have.
He slung an arm around my shoulder and leaned rather heavily on me. Nothing but the scent of earth filled my nose. That, and something distinctly masculine. Strange.
“Do you recall what happened to you?” I asked as we stumbled across bones to the wheelbarrow.
“Aye,” he croaked. “Trouble.”
Vague. “Do you have a name?”
“Drazhan. You?”
“I’m called Asira. You’re lucky; I’m the Stardust Collector for Terrin, and a healer. You’ll be back on your feet in a day or so.”
“Asira. My savior.”
I grunted in response and helped him into the wheelbarrow. He spread across it with a sigh, arms and legs hanging out. I scowled at how difficult my return journey would be, then glanced back. I’d have to return for the stardust later, but I still snatched one bucket and put it in his lap. “Stardust will help you heal.”
Then, summoning all my inner strength, I started the slow journey back home.
* * *
My cottage sat in a clearing in the wood, only an hour’s walk from the marketplace, but I preferred the appearance of being on the outskirts. I’d left a light in the window for my return, and I parked the wheelbarrow beside the door. I’d take it around back to the barn later.
“We’re here,” I announced.
Drazhan opened his eyes and groaned as I swung open the door to the cottage. The faint whisper of leaves fluttered along with the scent of lavender.
Embers glowed in the hearth, and I poked at them as I considered what kind of remedy to make for Drazhan. I’d have to examine him to see what injuries he had, but first, I filled a cup with water and returned to him in the wheelbarrow.
“Here, this will help.”
He eyed the cup skeptically. “What is it?”
“Just water, for now,” I said, grabbing the half-filled bucket of stardust. While he slept, I’d return for the rest.
With a shaking hand, he gulped down the water and dropped the cup over the side of the wheelbarrow. I scowled as I retrieved it. Rude.
“Let’s get you inside,” I muttered as I helped him to the table.
He lay back, chest rising and falling while I lit candles to examine my patient. Try as I might, I couldn’t find any wounds or scars. The skin on his chest, albeit dirty, was clear. Was it internal?
I brought him more water and this time, he propped himself up while he drank, his hands steadier. His golden gaze lingered on me, and even though I wasn’t one to be uncomfortable, I recalled that I hadn’t brushed my hair this morning or bothered to change after spilling a potion down my dress. I must look a sight, even though the one judging me had been buried alive.
To busy myself, I poured stardust into jars, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. “What happened to you?” I asked Drazhan. “You don’t have any wounds, at least not that I can see.”
When he spoke, his voice was less rough. “I…I…it’s hard to remember. I recall being stabbed and then…it was dark, so dark, with so many bones. I got lost in a sea of nothingness and then you, or perhaps it was the stardust, woke me.”
I leveled my gaze at him; it wasn’t uncommon for people to forget something terrible that happened to them. Probably better that they did, but he was a Master. He should recall what happened to him. “I didn’t see any stab wounds.”
He pressed a hand to his chest, then peered down at his filthy body. “You must have healed me.”
I frowned. “I did nothing, aside from bringing you home and giving you water.” My arms were still burning from pushing him through the forest, and I felt quite grumpy about that.
“All the same, you have my thanks.”
I didn’t want his thanks, and I didn’t like the way my body glowed under his praise. To keep from looking at him, I put the stardust on the shelf and started making him a tincture. “You need to rest. I’ll make you a drink, and then I have to go collect the rest of the stardust.”
He lay back and folded his hands over his chest. Perfectly dirty hands, with long fingers. I shouldn’t be staring at his chest, or the way his muscles rippled, but his eyes were closed, and he didn’t notice. In all my days of mending wounds, I’d never seen such a perfectly toned body.
He spoke again, jerking me out of my thoughts.
“I’m quite dirty, and I’m lying on your table. I apologize for that.”
“Stop apologizing,” I snapped as I put the kettle over the fire.
He was silent while I finished the mixture and brought it over to him. Propping himself up again, he drank it down with a sigh. “You are very kind.”
“I’m not kind. I am just doing my job,” I told him honestly.
“All the same,” he said.
“Sleep. It’s healing, since I don’t know about your injuries. In the morning, see how you feel, and we can go from there.”
“Thank you, Asira.”
I watched as his face relaxed; I knew he’d have good dreams. As for me, I had a long night ahead of me. Leaving the stranger on my table, I picked up the wheelbarrow and headed back to the boneyard.
