The Brightest Star in the North

by Meredith Rusu

  “But…it’s a lecture about blood moons,” Carina insisted. “This could be it—the clue that helps us find the map and the Trident of Poseidon!”

  Lady Devonshire sighed heavily. “Carina, of late you have become more and more obsessed with finding the Trident and less so with minding the heavens. Do you still wish to study the stars?”

  “Of course!” exclaimed Carina.

  “Then focus on the science,” said Lady Devonshire. “The map is a legend. Galileo himself was uncertain of its existence. Our search is for truth, not for treasure.”

  Carina was about to retort, but for once, she held her tongue. Over the past four years, she’d learned that their attitudes toward finding the Map No Man Can Read were very different from each other. Carina felt that searching for the map was scientific. The mere fact that it led to a legendary treasure did not make it any less worthy of pursuit. Even the fact that Earth orbited the sun had been considered myth not all that long before. The map could be found through science; Carina was certain of it.

  Lady Devonshire, however, did not feel the same way.

  “But,” Carina pleaded weakly, “it’s blood moons.”

  “Promise me you will not attempt to sneak in,” Lady Devonshire directed. “Do I have your word?”

  Carina nodded begrudgingly. “I promise.”

  * * *

  Carina broke her promise.

  That Saturday, the comb-over wig made a reappearance, along with a spare university uniform and jacket.

  Carina disliked going against Lady Devonshire. But she just couldn’t stay away from a discourse on something that could possibly open up new doors in their search. It would be foolish not to attend, even unscientific. She was sure Lady Devonshire would understand once Carina came back with new findings.

  The crowd for the lecture was unusually large. Carina had no difficulty blending in. If there was one thing she had learned about university students, it was that they were all extremely self-absorbed. Short of something unusual (like a student in a comb-over wig challenging the professor about the Galilean moons), they couldn’t be bothered with anything that didn’t directly impact them or their studies.

  A distinguished-looking man in naval attire approached the lectern. He was young, Carina noted. Probably not more than twenty-five. His uniform was polished and his skin tan. Except for an unruly mop of brown hair, everything about his appearance was impressive.

  “Greetings,” he said, opening his discourse. “My name is Charles Swift, and I’ve traveled here today from the island of Saint Martin in the Caribbean. My father is G. W. Swift, Esquire, the owner of Swift and Sons Chart House there. I have spent some time in the Caribbean and amassed a good amount of knowledge on the connection between local lore, legend, and the applied science of astronomy. It is upon those topics I’d like to focus our discourse today.”

  Carina listened with fascination as Charles Swift discussed the study of astronomy on the islands. She was amazed at how much of it seemed rooted in legend and folklore: myths of the stars’ effect on people’s actions; tales of celestial events guiding sailors to their demise; even overarching fear of witchcraft.

  How absurd! she thought. Do the people there really believe this nonsense?

  To his credit, Charles Swift did not seem particularly swayed by the supernatural implications of astronomy. But then again, he didn’t seem to refute them, either….

  “Which brings us to our discussion of blood moons,” he said suddenly.

  Carina perked up. That was what she had been waiting for.

  “Now, the blood moon, of course, is caused by the earth’s shadow falling across the moon during an eclipse, giving it a bloodred color,” he explained. “Though to the more superstitious on the islands, a moon tinged red is the harbinger of death and destruction. Others believe it is all-revealing, akin to the mythical third eye. There is even a saying on the islands that ‘all truths shall be revealed in the light of a blood moon.’”

  “All truths…” Carina mouthed. Those were nearly Galileo’s exact words. That couldn’t be a coincidence! Perhaps the light of a blood moon is what will allow the map to be seen in the stars! she realized.

  Carina could barely contain her excitement. She waited until the end of the lecture, after the student body had applauded politely, to make her move. Quickly, she slipped through the crowd up to Charles Swift.

  “Excuse me,” she said in as deep a voice as she could muster. “I just had to tell you, I found your talk fascinating.”

  “Thank you,” Charles said rather offhandedly. “The islands are a fascinating place.”

  “I’m particularly intrigued by your discourse on blood moons,” Carina continued. “These are rare occurrences, you say?”

  “Indeed,” Charles replied, packing up his papers and parchments. “Though one of the largest blood moons is predicted to be visible on the islands in just a few months. My return ship sails next week. If the winds are in our favor, we will be back in time to see it.”

  “A few months…” Carina breathed. “Fascinating.”

  Just then, a student bumped into her back.

  “Hey!” Carina yelped in her normal voice. Charles gave her a look, and she composed herself. “I mean, hey,” she said more deeply.

  A strange look crossed Charles’s face. “Is…is there something wrong with your hair?”

  “My hair?” Carina asked, reaching up. She gasped. Her wig was out of alignment.

  “Oh, uh, no, no, just a mild condition.” She adjusted the wig quickly. “You know…not enough sun and all.”

  Charles Swift furrowed his brow. “I have been to the university many times, but I have not seen you before,” he said.

  Carina noted with alarm that some of the other professors had noticed her speaking with Charles, and they, too, were clearly trying to place who she was.

  “I, uh, am new,” she said quickly. “Thank you again—splendid discourse! Much accolade, a pleasure to meet you…I have to go.”

  Carina turned to hurry off, but not before Charles offered some parting words.

  “May the stars always guide you home,” he said.

  Carina stopped dead in her tracks.

  “What did you say?” she asked, turning.

  Charles looked up in surprise. “Oh, my apologies. It’s just a phrase from a Saint Martin children’s song. I’m afraid some habits never cease.”

  “A children’s song?” Carina repeated. A distant memory had been jogged at the back of her mind…one she hadn’t thought of in years.

  “Yes,” said Charles. He mulled over the lyrics to the song for a moment.

  “With the sea at your back and the wind in your sails,

  though you be far from shore, you are never alone.

  Simply look north, Carina prevails.

  May the stars always shine and guide you toward home.”

  Carina was speechless. That song…that was the song that appeared in some of her haziest, earliest memories.

  “The children of Saint Martin sing that?” she asked.

  Charles nodded, snapping his bag shut. “Yes, though Saint Martin is a busy port. People come and go from all corners of the world. I suppose the song could be from anywhere. It’s been many years since I’ve sung it myself. But that one phrase has always stuck with me.”

  Carina’s mind raced. She had been aboard boats, and she remembered hearing that song as a child. Did that mean she had once lived in…

  “I need to get to Saint Martin,” she said under her breath. All paths, all celestial events, all stars led there.

  A nearby professor pointed toward Carina. His companion stepped forward.

  It was time to go.

  “YOU DISOBEYED MY DIRECT ORDERS!” Lady Devonshire was furious. “You could easily have been spotted and everything we have worked toward would have come to an end. Again.”

  “But don’t you see?” Carina argued. The setting sun glared red through the observatory windows. “The
key to everything lies in Saint Martin. We must travel there. The blood moon will be visible in a few months’ time. Saint Martin is where we will find the clues we need to read the map and locate the treasure!”

  “Carina, I grow tired of explaining the nature of our work to you.” Lady Devonshire pressed her temples. “We are scientists. We are not treasure hunters.”

  “But Galileo was both!” exclaimed Carina. “Why do they need to be separate?”

  “Because one is rational and the other is a fool’s quest!” yelled Lady Devonshire. “Have you learned so little that you are still a child in this line of thinking?”

  Carina winced. That stung. Lady Devonshire knew her better than that.

  “Have I not learned everything I know from you?” Carina shot back. “We are on a quest for the truth. What makes this any different? There is an astronomical mystery to be solved and we are the only ones with the tools to solve it.” She thought of the diary. Somehow she knew that finding the truth was what her father would have wanted. She needed Lady Devonshire to understand that. “What is the point of learning without applying that knowledge to anything? Have you been locked up in this hall so long that you are afraid to venture out into the unknown?”

  Lady Devonshire’s face grew tight.

  Uh-oh, Carina thought. She knew that look. All further argument was about to be shut down in three…two…one…

  “This discussion is over,” Lady Devonshire said firmly. “You have allowed your emotions to get the best of you. You believe that finding your treasure will bring you to your father. It will not. He abandoned you, and there is nothing to be gained from this fool’s quest but regret. Perhaps if you do not understand that by now, then you are not capable of learning it.”

  Lady Devonshire sat down at her desk and began writing. “You will meet me in my sitting room tomorrow morning to discuss your future.”

  Carina sucked in her breath. “What do you mean?”

  “You are nearly nineteen years old.” Lady Devonshire appeared to be writing a letter. “You are now of the age when it is crucial to determine permanent establishment. You cannot remain at Hanover Hall indefinitely. It is time we find a path suited to your talents.”

  “Suited to my…” Carina started. Her temper bubbled over. “We have one disagreement, and you decide to send me away? What kind of arrangement is that?”

  “One that I believe indicates how deeply invested I am in you.” Lady Devonshire sealed her letter with a wax stamp. Carina could read the address on the front; it was to Lord Willoughby. “I only desire what is best for your future.”

  Carina set her jaw. “With all due respect, I do not believe you know what that is anymore.”

  * * *

  Later that night, in her room, Carina looked through the window at the stars. The sky was clear and the moon dark, allowing the distant bursts of light to twinkle at their brightest.

  They blurred in Carina’s vision. She knew she had Lady Devonshire to thank for nearly everything she had accomplished in studying the stars. But this—this was too much. How could Her Ladyship not see how crucial traveling to Saint Martin was? How important it was, if not to science, then to her?

  Carina sniffled and brushed away her tears. She knew what she had to do, but for one of the rare times in her life, she was hesitant to move forward.

  If I go, I will be on my own again, she thought miserably.

  The truth was Carina had grown fond of Hanover Hall. And of Lady Devonshire. The woman wasn’t particularly warm. But it had been nice to feel like she belonged—somewhere.

  “But this isn’t my home,” Carina said to herself grimly. “And my destiny lies across the sea.”

  Carina gazed around her room—at the nice furniture and the well-made dresses peeking out of the armoire. Perhaps while she had sought clarity at Hanover Hall, her true path had been obscured. Her quest was not just for science, but for the truth—the truth of who she was, and of her birthright.

  “Lady Devonshire is right. I cannot stay at Hanover Hall. It is time for me to follow my destiny.”

  Quietly, Carina moved to the writing desk at the corner of her room and pulled out a sheet of paper. Her hand shook as she penned the letter. But she needed Her Ladyship to understand, at least somewhat. The woman would likely not believe her thanks. But maybe she would with time. And who could say? Perhaps Carina would be back one day.

  She signed the letter the way that seemed most fitting:

  May the stars always guide you,

  Carina

  Then Carina got to work. She stuffed her most important belongings into a travel bag—just enough that she would not be weighed down. Of course, the diary rested in her satchel at her side.

  In the darkness of the estate halls, Carina slipped toward the sitting room and placed her letter under the door. Lady Devonshire would receive it in the morning with her tea.

  Carina shuddered. There was finality to placing that letter under the door. And there was no turning back.

  She had a ship to catch.

  * * *

  Several weeks later, a lone vessel crashed through the waves over the Atlantic. Sea-foam splashed, spraying the deck at the bow with mist. It was nighttime, and the full moon dipped in and out of sight among long clouds, casting eerie shadows on the deck of the ship.

  Only one shadow was out of place.

  Carina stepped up to the bow, looking out over the ocean. A cloak was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and she wore a hat pulled down low over her forehead.

  In the satchel she clutched by her side was the diary. She pressed her hand to it and could swear she felt warmth emanating from the ruby through the satchel’s fabric. A comforting warmth, like a beacon in the night.

  Carina gazed out at the shadowy sea before her and smiled.

  She was sailing to Saint Martin—and to her destiny.

  “CARINA SMYTH, YOU ARE AN orphan born of the devil—accused of practicing witchcraft! Before you die, do you have anything to confess?”

  The elderly priest stared down his nose at the girl behind bars. Carina grasped the cell gate tightly, her hands wavering near the lock.

  “I confess that I am not a witch,” she said, her eyes steely. “That I am a woman of science. I confess that I have survived on my own, with nothing but a diary from a father I never met and a quest for the truth of who I am. I confess that I will die before I give up this search. And I confess that while we have been talking, I have picked this lock.”

  Carina flung open the cell door and ran for her life.

  Stunned, the priest stood with his mouth gaping before finally coming to his senses. “Stop! Witch!”

  Carina bolted up the stone steps of the crumbling prison cell and out into the busy village streets.

  She was definitely not in England anymore.

  Coaches with sun canopies rumbled past, kicking up dust in the sandy streets. Naval officers patrolled the main stretch, gold uniform buttons glinting in the light. Genteel women carrying parasols perused the shops and shielded themselves from the glare of the sun.

  Stretched out before Carina was a bustling, thriving island town teeming with enterprise and people far too busy to notice the nineteen-year-old girl in the tattered dress with a chain dangling from her wrist.

  This was the Caribbean island of Saint Martin.

  Carina looked sharply from left to right. She needed to find a way to blend in, and fast. She had been on Saint Martin for several weeks, and though the island itself provided an idyllic backdrop of palm trees and tranquility, the people there did not match it.

  When Carina had arrived, the first thing she’d done was ask a soldier for directions to Swift and Sons Chart House. The soldier had scoffed. What business did a girl have looking for Swift and Sons Chart House? So Carina had calmly stated that she was a woman of science and had spent her life studying the stars.

  That was her first mistake.

  Her second was to assume that the people there coul
dn’t possibly be superstitious enough to sentence her to hanging for witchcraft.

  They were.

  After weeks of dodging and hiding, having skirmishes with the local authorities, and eventually being caught and tried, Carina was running out of time. The blood moon was fast approaching, and if she was going to do what she had come to Saint Martin to do, it was now or never.

  But first she needed to escape.

  Carina ran straight for a thick crowd of people gathering in the center of the town square. Two soldiers were hot on her trail.

  “Stop that witch!” one of the soldiers cried behind her.

  Luckily, there was too much commotion for anyone to hear them. Everyone in Saint Martin had turned up for the unveiling of the new Royal Bank, promised to be “the most secure banking institution in the Caribbean.”

  Carina bobbed and weaved among men and women, smacking into elbows and parasols. The two soldiers chasing her were losing ground. She was about to zip out from the crowd and into an alleyway when…

  “Stop right there!”

  A young soldier nervously blocked her path. He was either new to patrol or actually afraid of Carina’s “witchcraft” abilities.

  Without missing a beat, Carina spun around him and ducked under a nearby wagon. The soldier blinked. He had not even seen where she’d gone. Carina crawled under the wagon and popped out on the other side.

  By that point, the two other guards had caught up with the young soldier. They panted for breath and looked this way and that. But Carina was nowhere to be seen.

  Carina watched from behind the wagon as the officers turned and came face to face with their superior, Lieutenant John Scarfield.

  “I—I’m sorry, sir,” one of the officers stammered. “That witch escaped her chains.”

  Scarfield’s face turned blistering red. “You’re telling me”—Scarfield grabbed the soldier by his shirtfront—“that four of my men have lost one girl? Perhaps this is why I was denied a fleet of my own, why I’m docked in Saint Martin instead of fighting wars in West Africa!”

  Scarfield angrily threw the soldier to the ground.