by J. A. Comley
Sobs racked her body. She felt like she had been torn apart. Words from her aunt's letter sliced through her, “unwanted orphan”, “she never existed”.
“Unwanted orphan,” Starla murmured.
Davan had said the same words earlier. She shook the ugly words from her head and brought up her mother's words instead. Clearly, she had been wanted, loved. So why had they given her up? Slowly, anger at Father Joe's betrayal began to fade. The pain she had felt when Raoul read out Mariette's letter faded, too, as her tears ran dry. She felt empty. Above all, she felt lost.
Aimee was fast asleep on her perch when Starla finally pulled herself from the floor, her muscles stiff and in pain. As if in a trance, she lit the candles by her dresser. The reflection in the mirror seemed to display her inner feelings. Angry red cuts and numerous purple bruises marred her arms, neck and face. Through the shreds of silk and satin, she could see a few more wounds on her legs where even her petticoats had ripped. Her hair was entirely disarrayed, red-gold strands and fraying ribbons sticking out at odd angles. Slowly, she began to remove her tattered bridesmaid dress. It had been so beautiful. As she turned to her corset strings, she noticed a deeper cut along the swell of her left breast.
Concentrating on one task at a time, she worked methodically through all the information she had learnt this evening. She kept her thoughts cold, like it was someone else's life she was examining. It wasn't her mother's tears that stained the back of the picture. She washed her body, and brushed the thorns, twigs and leaves out of her hair. While she tidied her appearance, inside she built herself up. What had made her angry, she steered into determination. What had hurt her, she channelled into a plan. She wouldn't give up. She would find the truth.
When she took stock of herself again, she was dressed in a grey cotton night dress she had sewn herself. Light-grey with loose sleeves, an embroidered pattern of purple daisies outlined the tear-drop neckline, single pocket and hem. It was her favourite. Her hair was now clean and mostly dry and neatly braided down her back. In her hands was the shawl from the picture. Wrapping it around her like armour and also to prove she hadn't completely forgotten propriety, she summoned her new found strength and headed back to the kitchen.
Her slippered feet made no noise as she returned. Father Joaquin was still in the same chair, his head in his hands. Mia was huddled in Guy's arms while he was gazing out the window towards their home by the stable yard. Starla felt half a smile lift her lips as she saw that Raoul was still there, too. Standing in the doorway, looking out over the dark grounds of the church. Turning back, as if drawn by her gaze, he was the first to see her, his brown eyes full of compassion, his smile promising comfort and love.
She felt her heart rise a little as he made his way to her. The others, alerted by his movements, had their eyes locked on to Starla.
“I'm so sorry,” Father Joe said straight away, his expression tortured.
“I have a few things to say that cannot wait until morning.”
Starla's business like tone took them all by surprise. She knew her eyes were red-rimmed and her face still pale, but the steel in her voice rang true. Raoul stopped mid-way to her, concern painting his face. Father Joe looked like he was preparing himself for news of a death and Mia's crucifix was clutched in one shaking hand.
“I can see you all realise your error in lying to me and how you thought no real answers would somehow be worse. I can see you are sorry. But I cannot and I will not do what you did. I cannot give up.” Starla took a deep breath. She had thought about this all carefully, she was sure. “I am leaving. Tomorrow.”
“Starla! No one anywhere in the known world could identify your family, or make sense of those words. You can't just go,” Father Joaquin protested.
A flood of interruptions drowned out the rest of his sentence as the others found their voices again. Starla waved her hands for silence, her emerald eyes as hard as the stones they resembled.
“It may have suited you all to stop looking but I will keep looking until there is nowhere left to look, until there is no one left to ask.”
The thought of travelling the world alone was mildly terrifying, but she hoped Pierre would at least be willing to provide her with some contacts. He was well-travelled after all.
“I'm coming with you,” Raoul said before anyone else could voice another protest. He came closer, only a pace away. “Starla, I was here this evening because I had come to ask Father Joaquin's permission to marry you.” He stopped, slight blush colouring his cheeks even as his eyes grew more intense.
Starla stopped him before he could ask the question. Her decision about this had been made upstairs, too. “Raoul, I can't marry you. I … need to do this.” She changed her sentence half way through. His presence here tonight had been a gift. She didn't want to hurt him but, by the look in his eyes, only total honesty would work. “I can't be your wife. I don't—” She shook her head, not knowing how to word her feelings, hating the pain that had already blossomed in his eyes.
“Starla, please, it has been a difficult evening. And you are angry with me. At us. But not Raoul. Don't take it out on him,” Father Joe interjected, watching them, as if willing them together.
“You need not give me any answer tonight, Starla.” Raoul took another step forward, mere inches between them. The pain in his eyes was replaced with determination. “I love you Starla. You do not need to do this alone.” His gaze was so intense. She had never seen him so bold.
“Please, Raoul. Understand what I am trying telling you.” She tried to step back but found the kitchen counter barring her path.
“I know you love me too.”
“Yes, I love you, too, Raoul, but not in the same way. As a brother, Raoul. Please understand that.”
“I do understand, Starla. I have always understood.” His eyes filled with the all too familiar sadness but he did not move back. Instead he reached down to stroke her cheek, earning a startled squeak from Mia and a disapproving grunt from Guy. “But I need you to understand that it has always been and will always be you. And sometimes, the way you look at me,” he shrugged, “I believe there is hope. I will go with you to every corner of the world. We will never stop until we find out the truth.” His eyes had grown intense again as he spoke, a melting chocolate colour that she could feel herself getting lost in, broken as she was this evening.
“But your father, the vineyard, they need you,” Starla whispered, cheeks aflame as he still didn't step back and she felt her resolve waiver.
“Arnou will be home for every harvest. Father shan't need me,” Raoul said with certainty. “Now, I shall return home and get things sorted before returning in the morning,” he said, stepping back and addressing the room at large.
Starla's green eyes grew soft. Here was a man who had never lied to her and was willing to travel anywhere to help her settle her life. All he wanted in return was for her to be his wife. Why did that feel like such an impossible request?
The others started at suddenly being addressed. They had all been trying to fade into the walls of the kitchen as he and Starla had been speaking.
“Father Joe, a list of where you or your friends have been, as well as names of people spoken to will be of great help to Starla and me.” He waited for Father Joe's slightly bewildered nod before continuing. “Guy, Mia, perhaps you would be willing to lend my family one or two of your elder sons should my father need assistance while I am with Starla? Especially if Arnou is unable to work at harvest.”
“Of course,” grunted Guy.
“Yes, dear, anytime,” Mia murmured, her eyes on Starla.
“Then I bid you all a good evening,” Raoul said, nodding to the room and taking Starla's hand.
Holding her hand firmly, he led the way outside, ignoring Guy's threatening half growl. The moon lay at its apex, full and bright.
Just out of view of the kitchen, he stopped and turned to her. His dark eyes scrutinized her face in the pale moonlight.
“I k
now you are reluctant,” it sounded as if the word caused physical pain and Starla flinched, “but I promise you that I will always be there for you. I promise that I will respect your wishes whatever they are. I will not rush you into anything.”
Starla only managed a nod as he stepped in, too close again. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She was free to step away now but found that she had no real desire to. He had never betrayed her. He was willing to look, and never stop looking, for her family. She should give him what he had wanted for so long. Perhaps, in time, her love would grow into something new.
“Promise me, Starla. Promise me that you will not leave without me.” He released her hand. She could move away, stop him. She could say no. Or she could place a hand on his arm and accept his offer.
“I promise,” she whispered. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess again. She had decided. She had. Yet she did not want to do this alone. He was the only thing she was still sure of. She took his hand back. “Thank you, Raoul. Perhaps with time.”
A soft flame seemed to come alive in his eyes. Slowly, his lips closed over hers. The kiss was so gentle.
When they broke apart, Raoul's face was split by a huge smile. He added a more formal kiss to her hand, “See you tomorrow, mon amore,” and he turned from her, disappearing lightly into the night.
Starla stayed hidden in the shadows until she felt composed enough to re-enter the house. That was not how she had planned anything.
Why did Raoul have to be so determined?
Sighing she walked briskly back inside. No, she couldn't blame him. She had wanted an ally, a friend to help her, but it seemed instead she was to get a husband. She shook her head.
Mia looked her up and down the second she was back inside and Starla knew there was a comment about indecency crying to get out.
“Can you forgive me, Starla?” Father Joaquin said. “I asked Mia and Guy to keep silent. They have petitioned me every year to tell you the truth. But I had … I have no answers for you. I didn't want to be the cause of more pain.”
Starla shook her head sadly. “I trusted you, Father. That trust is not just going to miraculously return. Forgiveness? Yes, I have forgiven all of you. But I am still hurt, still angry.” Still broken. Still lost.
A faint smile lightened his face a little. “I hope, in time, you can look on us as you once did. We will do what we can to help you search. I never should have stopped.”
“Thank you. Good night,” Starla managed, scooping her baby bracelet off the table.
“We shall discuss young master Monge and his intentions in the morning. Before the two of you leave,” Father Joe put in as Starla turned to the stairs, sounding a lot more like his old self.
Starla nodded once without turning. She could feel her cheeks burning as she returned to her room. How had today become so turned around?
***
Sleep evaded Starla as she lay in bed, staring up at her ceiling, twirling her baby bracelet round and round her fingers. The sounds of the others had died away hours ago. Sighing, Starla got up, put the bracelet in the night dress's single pocket, fastened the two buttons that kept it shut and re-lit the candles by her washstand. Aimee was awake, too. Fetching an old lantern from on top of her wardrobe, Starla placed one of the candles from the stand inside.
“Come on, girl,” Starla said to Aimee, opening the window for her pet.
Cold air billowed through and Starla wrapped her shawl around her once more and looked around for her worn leather boots that should have been returned. She slipped them on before creeping down the stairs, sneaking past Father Joe's room. She paused in the kitchen, looking over the faces of her family. Feeling the crushing ache building again, she swept out of the kitchen door.
The fruit grove to the north of the church was still dark, although the grey light of pre-dawn was beginning to show on the lawns in front of the chapel. Reaching the edge of the grove, Starla hung her lantern from a branch and looked out over the still, dark hills.
“They're out there somewhere. Someone must know,” Starla said to the emptiness. “And apparently, to find them I have to get married,” she groaned to no one. She thought of Raoul's promise not to push her, yet she knew they would never leave here unmarried. How long would he be content to have a wife who treated him as a brother?
Sighing, she looked up to the sky. She recalled children's tales of wishes being granted if they were told to the stars. Perhaps …
Feeling a little foolish, she closed her eyes and wished that she might find the answers that had eluded Father Joe. That she might find the answers to the void in her heart. Nothing happened.
Of course not. The feeling of loss reared up again.
Growing up, naming constellations had been one of her favourite past times when she felt alone and worthless. She decided to try that now, anything to dull the ache in her heart. But when she began, it wasn't constellation names that came to mind. It was her mother's words.
Call your Star.
Come home.
She closed her eyes once more.
“Please, take me home,” she whispered into the night. “Take me to my family.”
She opened her eyes to the same empty night. Somehow feeling disappointed, she began slowly to lower her eyes to the ground.
A bright light flashed across the horizon.
“A falling star!” she exclaimed.
Suddenly, the night sky transformed. The glowing light of the falling star was increasing and Starla realised the star was falling towards her. With growing speed, it hurtled straight for her, the other stars fading out of sight.
Instinctively, Starla dove for cover behind the fruit trees. The bang as the star hit the ground left her ears ringing and sent dirt flying everywhere. Starla got to her feet slowly, eyeing the smouldering crater suddenly open before her. Back at the stable yard, Guy's dogs began to bark. Edging towards the shallow crater, Starla was transfixed by the slowly pulsing light of an object inside.
Carefully, she moved to scoop it up, only to drop it, startled, as Aimee landed on her out-stretched arm. Getting her breathing back under control, Starla reached out again, this time with her other hand. As her fingers made contact again, the fading light began to grow. It was hot, but not enough to burn. The star felt hard and smooth as she ran her finger over it and lifted it up, trying to make out the shape concealed by the brightness.
The white, pulsing light seemed to surround her. A faint music swirled through it into the air around her, its rhythm beating against her skin and reverberating in her bones. Distantly, she heard something shatter. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the Star and the feeling of familiarity it bore.
It rose from her hand, hovering before her eyes. Aimee was frightened, her claws drawing blood, but seemed unable to fly away. Starla began to feel a spinning in her head, her body becoming light as air as the light pulsed bright and the music chimed louder. With a final surge of blinding white, it was over. Darkness closed around her.
In the chapel's fruit grove, a single, brilliant white shawl fluttered to the ground in the fading moonlight.
Chapter 3
The Guardians
Birdsong flitted in and out of Starla's mind, half dream, half real as she slowly awakened. Opening her eyes by increments, Starla was stunned by how bright it was. It must be well into the day.
“Must have fallen asleep in the fruit grove,” she muttered, memories from the harrowing night trickling back.
I have to find Pierre before he leaves. His contacts will be useful.
Rolling onto her knees, Starla waited for her eyes to adjust. Then her pulse started racing frantically.
Starla stared around at strange surroundings, eyes wide, throat suddenly dry. It seemed to be a forest of sorts but the trees were thin and grew impossibly tall. Though what really had Starla transfixed was that each tree seemed to shimmer, turning slowly from a glittering white to any colour imaginable, now blue, now indigo, now purple. The leaves high up in the canop
y shone a spectacular gold.
“A dream. Must be a dream,” Starla said, aghast, her fingers gliding along the dark sea-green of the grass. It was soft as feathers and rippled in a light breeze.
Getting to her feet, Starla became aware of all the small aches and pains from the wounds she had sustained the night before.
“Come on, this can't be real. Wake up!” she told herself, the beginnings of panic in her voice.
The sound of rustling leaves sent Starla's heart into over-drive. A small bush of silver leaves caught her eye as something in it moved again. She backed away slowly, casting about for a weapon of some sort. Though the bush was far too small for a person to hide in, there was clearly something moving inside those leaves. Without warning, something small and brown shot from the bush and landed squarely in front of her. Starla's panicked scream escaped her before she recognised the small bundle at her feet. Then all thoughts of flight or fight vanished.
“Aimee! Oh, no. No. Aimee?” Starla cried, kneeling beside her little sparrowhawk.
One of Aimee's wings lay at an odd angle and many of her feathers were charred.
“I think my … wing is … broken,” the little bird wheezed.
Starla rubbed her temples, flopping onto her bottom.
“You just spoke.” Her voice was slightly off key. “Definitely a dream. Any minute now the chapel bells will ring and you won't be hurt and we won't be here.”
“You understood me?”
Aimee wriggled painfully to her feet, swaying slightly.
“No. I … you can't talk and I am dreaming,” Starla said, leaping to her feet. She began pacing a tight circle, the panic rising thick in her chest. “Or crazy.”
Last night has unhinged me. It was just too much at once.
Aimee was eyeing her curiously, head cocked to one side.
“Starla? Starla! Fine, pretend I'm not talking, but this place is very real. And I am badly injured. You're not dreaming or crazy. We need to find help.”
