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the fire lights were ignited;
An unquenchable flock without number,
piercing the black cloak of the sky.
They shone through the ages,
a lasting gift from the Highest.
The crystalline constellations rested
when the Burning Star drew nigh.
I roll the word ‘dawn’ across my tongue like an unfamiliar fruit, uncertain whether I should sink my teeth in. But it tastes sweet there, like new beginnings and life. ‘Fire lights’ piercing the sky, however, leaves me perplexed. My lungs deflate. Is this supposed to make sense? I read the rest of the poem again and again, and each time, I am more confused. I glance upward, and there is only inky blackness.
My eyes land on the illustration’s Atsunic description and translation—Istilatum Ideralis: Burning Star—and what must be the earliest memory I possess ignites in my mind’s eye.
I felt scared for some reason, alone in my bed and awoken by a loud noise. The blankets I wrapped around myself were heavy, and I tripped on them as I walked down the hallway. My parents were talking loudly. Their voices made me want to cry.
Mada found me and made all the yucky feelings leave. She gave me a big cup, and I squeezed it tight so I wouldn’t drop it.
When she bent over, her soft hair tickled my cheek. She whispered in my ear, and it made me giggle.
“I’m so glad the Highest gave me my little star girl.”
Star girl.
My hand travels to where my collar bones line up, only to find the necklace not there. I close my eyes and let out a sigh.
Right. It is now in the possession of a scared boy with curious green eyes.
I could never shake the image of that other poor, hungry scavenger my father and I met in the overturned market the day Sola Vinari began again. Crossing paths with a second needy child was like a chance to reach out and make something right, even though I had nothing to offer but the jewel from my neck.
Although I am frustrated I no longer have it to compare to the image, I can’t make myself regret the act of generosity.
Besides, there’s something more important staring me right in the face.
Istilatum ideralis is the term the girl at the market booth used to identify the pendant’s shape. This book has translated the Atsunic word as “star”—not that it means anything more to me. But it cannot be a coincidence that, in one of the few memories I have of my mother, I recall her coining me “star girl” as clearly as if she was whispering it into my ear at this very moment.
A gust of wind shakes the treetops, causing a commotion of wings and melodic chirping to fill the skies.
I don’t grasp how all this links together, but the longer I think about it, the more my tumultuous heart pants for the peace that understanding brings.
Didn’t the merchant girl mention something about things that lay outside the Vale? It struck me as an odd phrase that day, thrown into even bolder relief when she seemed mortified that such a thing had escaped her tongue.
Perhaps it wasn’t chance that made the pendant fall, that led my hand to pick it up. A chill spreads down my arms and legs. Perhaps Elyon really is working things together for a purpose I could never even imagine.
A peace overwhelms my heart, however brief. But enough to assure me none of this is a coincidence.
Pushing myself up and brushing away dust from my dress and tears from my face, I grab the book and lantern and slip out of that place of security.
I need to find the girl from the marketplace.
“How dare yeh!”
In the middle of a crowded market, painfully bright with the presence of new sola brossa, that single voice is all I hear. My fingers go numb when I recognize who it belongs to.
Jeering laughter rings out, and I force my way between a multitude of shoulders. I pull up short and raise a hand to my mouth.
