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Azmar glances up. “I haven’t seen them in a while.”
“At this pace, we both will. Would you ... Could I have a piece of paper? To map them?”
He eyes me for a beat. “Yes.”
I’m so pleased that I fail to watch where I’m going and trip on a root. Azmar grasps my upper arm to keep me upright. I want to lean into him, and not just to help me walk, but I don’t, and he releases me.
We’re just past the dead trees when he says, “Why doesn’t the sun shine in Cagmar?”
I glance at him, confused at the question. “I don’t know. Why?”
His lip twinges ever so slightly. “Because it’s already full of beams.”
It’s a terrible joke that makes me gawk. It’s out of character and it’s awkward, but I love it anyway.
Or maybe I just love that Azmar wanted to show me that he isn’t always so serious.
Chapter 14
Night falls sleepily as we approach the Empyrean Bridge. I stare up at the wide expanse of sky. It feels like looking at a childhood portrait—nostalgic andmine. I trace the hundreds of budding stars, seeking out the South Star first and offering it a silent thanks. I search for the queen and the oak, but neither has risen above the horizon yet. After pulling my gaze away, I spy Homper’s shadow far ahead. I would not have seen it if it hadn’t been against the whiteness of the bridge itself, which leads me to wonder how well trollis see in the dark.
Azmar walks about five feet to my right, ensuring I don’t get lost while in a world of my own. I smile at him, but it might be too dark for him to see.
When dust gives way to wood under my feet, I hesitate, again peering up at the night sky. Moments later something brushes my arm. I think it must be moth wings at first, but it’s a curled half sheet of paper.
“Thank you, Azmar,” I whisper, accepting it and a charcoal pencil. I draw a circle on the paper and section it into four equal parts, marking the axis with the South Star. I utilize a lot of guesswork as I try to make my chart look like the almanac. All the while, Azmar waits patiently, a presence as still and calm as the barren trees. He is marked by Ura, through and through.
“Why do you copy them down?” Azmar asks as I work.
I place a careful dot on the paper. “To learn.”
He hesitates. “Their movements?”
“That’s part of it.” Another delicate dot marks the tip of the constellation Ceris, the mother. The rest of her hides behind the horizon. “We’re all part of the cosmos, and understanding the cosmos can help us understand ourselves. Or, I like to think so.”
Finished, I hand back the pencil and stare upward. Take a deep breath, hold it, release. “When I look at the stars, at the universe, I realize how very small I am. And how very small others are. Small people, small problems, and none of it really matters in the great vastness of it all. Somehow, that makes me feel better. Somehow it encourages me to be ... bigger.”
Azmar considers me silently. I only ever shared that idea once before, with Andru. Thought of him pings sharp in my chest. He had the opposite view. The universe made him feel small, too, but instead of being encouraging, it instilled in him a sense of worthlessness.
I’m hesitant to turn in, though Homper has already vanished into the city. Today has been a good day. Yes, I have a new wound to nurse, and yes, we were attacked ... but the rest of it was good. The stars make for a happy end to it all.
I point to a cluster of them peeking just over the horizon. “Territopus.” Azmar follows the line of my arm. When he doesn’t respond, I add, “It starts with those two stars close together, then goes up to that bluish one, and down. It’s a scorpion. Its tail points to Mirras.” The fourth planet, the snake. One of the few that I’ve been able to find with unaided eyes. It looks like a tiny star with a faint red halo.
A soft hum radiates from Azmar’s lips. “Ours adds on a cone.” He indicates several stars above. “The warrior. He’s holding a club.”
It takes me a second. “Oh! It does look like that. More than a scorpion.” I scan the sky. “I never realized there might be different interpretations of the stars.” The very idea sends an excited chill through my skeleton. I point again. “That one is Swoop, the spoon.”
He finds the six-star constellation. “Here, it’s Makog, the spider.”
“It looks nothing like a spider.”
He shrugs. “I did not name it. But above is the web.”
The dozens of stars above the constellation cluster so closely it’s nearly impossible to draw lines between them. I can see it as a web, a great, tunneling web full of prey. A spider, just like me. Just like Unach. “A spider that eats stars.”
We point out a few more, some completely different, others similar, and I repeat each trollis interpretation in my mind so as not to forget. We have one constellation with the same name, a set of twelve stars simply named “the arrow.” It points north.
“I use that one the most.” I lean against the bridge, the wood still warm from the sun. “That, and the South Star. I never got lost if I could see the stars.” I always made sure I knew how far and in what direction the next township was, just in case. And I always ended up needing the information, until I ran out of townships and the old bard’s song was the only hope I had left.
