A Star-Reckoner's Lot (A Star-Reckoner's Legacy Book 1)

by Darrell Drake

  “It is good to practice moderation in all things,” agreed Tirdad, handing over her share of dried fruit. He had been reflecting on their first task together, and his part in it. He felt ill-prepared. “Have all your journeys as a star-reckoner been so . . . all of that?”

  Ashtadukht chewed her date slowly, clearly masticating more than just food. She often meditated on her past, but had never really made an effort in comparing her experiences. She swallowed, and the memories were hard to get down. “Some of it. All of it. None of it.”

  “How do you prepare for something like that?”

  “Training helps.” Ashtadukht negotiated the more tenacious memories—those that refused to yield so easily. “But not nearly enough. Divs are as numerous and varied as there are grains of barley, only outnumbered by the predicaments they’ll put you in. Not to mention the people who’ll stand in your way.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head, dispersing the last dogged remnants of her past. “You’re never really prepared. Our failure illustrates that well enough.”

  Tirdad nodded. “Much like war. You train so that you may live long enough for experience and character to take root.”

  “Father said that.”

  “He did.”

  Ashtadukht drew in a deep breath and shied away from that topic. “I was on my way to Baku when you arrived with the summons. They seem to be having trouble with their wind.”

  “Wind trouble?”

  “Its absence to be more precise. As you well know, it’s typically very gusty.”

  “What does that have to do with a star-reckoner?”

  “Well, the wind keeps the snakes at bay, so the city has become infested as a result of its disappearance. There have been supposed sightings of a div in the nearby wilderness.”

  “I see.” Tirdad cleared his throat. “I would appreciate a warning the next time you plan to . . . consult the stars.”

  Ashtadukht emitted a brief, faintly amused chuckle. “I was too tired to really take in the disbelief of your expression at the time. Thank you for reminding me.”

  Obviously not amused, Tirdad turned a frown on his cousin. “You burned a tunnel into a fortress. That is downright incredible. Anyone would have been astonished.”

  “Fine, fine.” She answered his disapproval with a shrug. “It’s not like I meant for it to end up that way. And I don’t make a habit of actual star-reckoning to begin with.”

  “I am still not entirely certain what star-reckoning entails.”

  “It’s . . . complicated.” Ashtadukht intended to leave it at that, but he was staring at her as if he expected her to continue. She sighed, thinking she’d have to really water it down for an outsider. “Anyone can learn the names and locations of the luminaries. And it’s true that the foundation of a star-reckoner is an intimate knowledge of the windows of the night sky. What sets us apart are the trials we’ve endured, every last one of us, to be able to attune ourselves to the heavens. The celestial theatre is more than the exegesis we’ve been taught by the priests. It’s no metaphor; it’s real, cousin. I’ve felt it—I feel it with every reckoning. The planets and the constellations are in a constant contest.”

  “Ahriman’s assault on the heavens,” Tirdad inserted with a knowing nod.

  “Right. A star-reckoner projects her . . .” Ashtadukht screwed up her face in thought, fishing for the right word. “She projects her mind into those battles. Her soul. Doing so grants a star-reckoner the faintest glimpse of the glory of the celestial theatre. Whether the theatre is the Ram or the Water Pot or some other constellation, we try to consider all the portents—falls, exaltations, conjunctions, aspects, elemental qualities, and well, let’s just say a star-reckoner’s mind is always racing when she draws a lot. Risks are unavoidable, as you yourself witnessed. Even as you’re drawing the lot, you can feel something like a, like an immaterial die tumbling in your head to decide the outcome. An unfavourable roll generally gives your intentions a life of their own, for better or for worse.”

  “That is not very reassuring. How about a gesture or warning?”

  “Oh, of course.” Ashtadukht made an obscene gesture with her thumb, grinned, and roused her horse into a canter.

  • • • • •

  Ashtadukht sucked in a heady lungful of the brackish Mazandaran Sea air. She generally tried to avoid things that reminded her of home, but this smell always seemed to squash the need. It was just nostalgic without all the baggage.

  The road to Baku, a busy port city snug with the seashore, had been a long one fraught mainly with the regular hazards of travel. As far as Ashtadukht was concerned, boredom ranked high on that list. Tirdad had brought along nard for their breaks in travel, and the board game had certainly livened up the trip a bit. But he would win more often than not. That just left her irritated. For the sake of friendly competition remaining friendly, they had quickly learned to play sparingly.

  With Baku in sight, Ashtadukht felt relieved. She had become accustomed to travelling alone, not with a watchdog in tow. It wasn’t that Tirdad was bad company. He’d been good friends with her brother, so that naturally made him a childhood friend for her as well. She just preferred her privacy and solitude.

  “I thought we would never arrive,” her cousin said as he pulled his mount, now a mule, next to hers.

  “Well, let’s get down to business now that we’re here. The missive is months old now, so we should contact the authorities. The situation may have changed, or the div may have moved on.”

  Half of their uncertainty was elucidated upon nearing Baku: the area was rife with snakes. Heaps of those that had been beheaded had been amassed outside the city gates. After making their way through the still-thriving port, they met with a very grumpy, perpetually insulted official.

  The pair were informed that the div was last seen in the Arran foothills, but that this was before the wind had ceased blowing. The descriptions were unreliable at best—from enormous bubbles to a three-headed chassis with feet to a headless fish. The only real answers he gave were many scowls and a crude idea of the area. Mostly, he just yammered on about the insult of their taking so long to arrive. Ashtadukht inquired about the div responsible for her husband’s murder, but the official was too caught up in his own troubles to offer any help. He answered by waving them away. She figured the leads he offered would’ve been dead ends anyway.

  Afterward, a guide brought them some days out to the general vicinity of the last sighting and left them there, not too keen on having anything more to do with divs or star-reckoners than was absolutely necessary.

  “What now?” asked Tirdad.

  “We search. If we can find a trail, we can track this div.” Ashtadukht took a look around. “The trouble is in finding the trail to begin with. The guide said the last sighting was up that hill, so I suggest we start there.”

  “We should keep to the higher ground,” added Tirdad. “It is a better vantage and less likely to be ambushed.”

  “Agreed,” said Ashtadukht. “Be ready for anything.”

  They scaled the tussock-covered rise, sure to keep watch for signs of activity, and discovered a forest that started mid-way down the opposite side. It spread like a waterway in and around the adjacent hills, leaving the upper reaches bare.

  “Do you see anything?” asked Ashtadukht. She shielded her eyes and squinted against the afternoon sun.

  “A game trail, but nothing that would indicate something large has been through here. Do divs defecate?”

  “When they choose to eat.”

  “Choose?”

  “I think they eat for pleasure, not sustenance.” Ashtadukht scanned the edge of the trees. “Maybe the div used the hilltop as a vantage while navigating the woods. Some are intelligent.”

  Tirdad brandished his sword and started for the trees.

  “What’re you doing?” asked Ashtadukht.

  “Going in.”

  “It could’ve set traps.”

  “We will n
ot know either way if we just linger up there. Is this not what star-reckoners do? Search for divs in dangerous places?”

  Ashtadukht sighed and plodded down behind him. “I don’t like when you’re assertive. I—no, check for traps in the brush before you enter. I’m the star-reckoner here.”

  Tirdad used his sword to prod the grass at the edge of the forest. “I am checking. And be that as it may, the longer you twiddle your thumbs on that hilltop the less sunlight we have.” He continued his search a moment longer then etched a line into the nearest tree. “It looks clear.”

  “It usually does until it isn’t.” Despite her grim appraisal, Ashtadukht took the lead. They wove through ironwood and chestnut-leaved oaks, over mainly uneven terrain that ran at a high grade, with Tirdad slicing a notch into every other tree. There were signs of Arran red deer, tur (which neither could identify beyond it being goat-like), and much more worrying, brown bears. But no indication that something foreign had been in the area.

  The snake infestation hadn’t reached this far. That seemed to Ashtadukht to indicate that while the div may have something to do with the wind’s disappearance, the snakes could have simply been a consequence of its cessation—as the locals believed.

  The pair travelled in wary silence for an hour before Tirdad waved Ashtadukht over. “This is getting us nowhere,” he said. “We cannot track with no signs to track by.”

  Ashtadukht drew one side of her mouth taut and pondered the point. “Well,” she offered at length, “I could try star-reckoning after sunset. I usually have more of a lead to go on. If not, I spend all the time it takes to find the div I’m looking for. Or use star-reckoning. Sometimes both.”

  “No star-reckoning.”

  “That’s like me telling you to never use your sword. For cutting trees or cutting down foes.” Ashtadukht looked away from his glower and in doing so spotted something peculiar in the brush. She walked over and squatted over three empty bird nests.

  “Have you found something?” asked Tirdad.

  “I don’t know. Some vacant nests. But these aren’t the type you’d see from birds that lay their eggs on the ground.”

  “They could have just fallen off the branches.”

  “Maybe, but would they have arranged themselves in a neat triangle after doing so?”

  “It is possible.”

  Ashtadukht glared over her shoulder. “Come have a look.”

  Tirdad came to stand over her. “They look like nests to me.”

  “You really aren’t helping, cousin.”

  “I just do not see the significance. There has been an increase in snakes. It could be snake related.”

  “Really? You’re willing to go that far in your argument? That some, some fastidious or artistically inclined snake is slithering around eating bird eggs then arranging the nests in some sort of . . . shrine to its murders.”

  “I was thinking more of a snake fellowship.”

  Ashtadukht huffed and got to her feet. “Now I’m certain you’re just being difficult.” She turned her back on his grin and headed farther into the forest. There, some dozen trees later, she discovered another trio of nests in the same shape. “I’ve found more,” she called.

  “That is strange,” Tirdad conceded after catching up to her. “Do you think the div is responsible?”

  “It’s the only clue we’ve come across.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Beats me. We should check for more, though.”

  They canvassed the area in a widening spiral that eventually crossed another group of nests. While this one had no more clues than the first two, it did establish a curved line along the base of a hill. Daylight was growing scarce, but they pressed on and managed to find another along the way.

  When night descended and blanketed the forest, it was the heavy sort of night brought about by a new moon. At that point, they did what little they could to continue along the general course while staying within reach of one another. It took another hour of navigating by keeping the higher part of the hill on their left before they came to the edge of the woods.

  A line of fire illuminated the nearest ridge, which was marvellously coloured with strands of vermilion, white, and grey that seemed to caper along its side.

  Ashtadukht and Tirdad knelt low. Neither really suspected it was a campfire, but they also had no idea what it was. They both knew that fire distorts distance, and that the ground they’d have to cover between here and there could be treacherous by starlight.

  “I don’t want to ignite a torch for fear of giving ourselves away,” whispered Ashtadukht. “Do you see any movement?”

  “Only the fire.”

  “We’ve come this far. Give me your bow. You lead; I’ll follow within range.”

  Tirdad handed over his combination bow and quiver case. “It is a stubborn draw.”

  Ashtadukht removed the bow and slipped the case over her shoulder. “I’m a stubborn woman,” she replied as she nocked an arrow. “Lead on.”

  He sheathed his sword to prevent it from catching the light of the fire and crept forward, keeping a low profile as he did. Ashtadukht shadowed him some fifty paces back. She thanked Ohrmazd for her favourable condition this day, as she did every day that she could crouch without complaint from her back and knees.

  The distance wasn’t quite as far as she’d first thought, but the approach was nerve-racking nonetheless. This made her disappointment all the more striking when Tirdad waved her over. It wasn’t that she particularly minded coming out of it unchallenged, but the adrenaline rush she’d experienced along the way would have liked some release. “It’s just fire,” she said. “And it reeks.”

  Tirdad shrugged. “Better that than a group of bandits.”

  “. . . Right.” Ashtadukht returned his bow, and leaned in to inspect the fire. “Curious thing. I don’t see any fuel.”

  “It is not a div, is it?”

  Ashtadukht said nothing.

  “Well?”

  “No.”

  “You do not seem confident.”

  “Divs aren’t fire. I just thought—” Ashtadukht thought it was a stupid question. “Nothing. Why don’t we camp for the night instead of bumbling around with a torch?”

  Tirdad started back toward the trees. “Fine by me, but I am not sleeping here.”

  • • • • •

  The next morning came to Ashtadukht with all the rejuvenating oomph of an onager’s hooves. She rolled miserably onto her stomach and hid her face in her sleeve.

  “Not today,” she groaned. “Of all days.”

  “What about today?” asked Tirdad from somewhere beyond her dampened senses.

  She peeked one eye out and spied the toe of his boot. Dirty as it was, it still managed to look tidy. He was very much like her father in that way. Vaguely, some half-memory wherein her father went on about the need for a military man to have order in everything itched at her brain.

  Ashtadukht groaned again and fought the temptation to go back to sleep. She pushed herself off the ground, and her joints ached terribly as she struggled to find a comfortable sitting position.

  “One of those days?” asked Tirdad.

  “Yes.” Her head throbbed, and the bright gaiety of the morning sun only made it worse. Ashtadukht felt around for her sacred girdle, which had somehow slipped under her bedding, tied it three times around her waist, and secured it with four knots. She recited the morning prayer while tugging at her girdle; it always felt too tight.

  “Truth is the utmost good. Truth is contentment. The man who gives himself unto truth is content.” She blew out a sigh and put her feet beneath her, though they were vehemently against it.

  “Have you done any scouting?” she asked.

  “I have not.”

  “Why?”

  “You do not expect me to leave you here while you rest, do you?”

  “I guess not.”

  Never mind that she had managed to sleep alone, often in the wilderness
, without incident for years. No use mentioning it, though: Ashtadukht knew his duty came first. She rummaged through her pack for her waterskin and drank greedily. When she’d finished, she wiped her mouth and grabbed her pack.

  “Let’s get going then. I don’t feel like breakfast.”

  “Do you have anywhere in mind?”

  Ashtadukht peered in the direction of the still-flickering flames. The landscape on this side of the forest was mostly barren, with the exception of the odd bundle of bushes, tussock, or squat tree.

  She nodded toward the nearest ridge, whose colours swathed its slopes like the rippling banners of an approaching army.

  “We’ll cover some ground that way and see if we come across anything, but I don’t want to venture too far. If we don’t find any clues before noon, we’ll head back and see if we can’t locate more nests to get a better idea of this div’s direction.”

  “Assuming the div has anything to do with the nests at all,” added Tirdad.

  “Right.”

  Ashtadukht proceeded around the lower side of the ridge, persuaded by her complaining legs to avoid the steeper, more direct path. Surmounting that hill granted a view of the next couple ridges: one stretched just past the foot of theirs, and the other intersected the latter somewhere behind its zenith. Ashtadukht decided she’d rather be herded by the terrain than battle it, so she chose a path down to the valley shared by the three.

  It was in this valley, after traversing a family of displaced boulders, that she came across some peculiar rock engravings on the side of one of them.

  “What do you think it means?” pondered Tirdad. “Is there a beast nearby?”

  “I haven’t the slightest. It looks—” She tilted her head. “It looks like a beast in a gorge. And it’s breathing at the . . . my guess is that those are people.”

  Tirdad shrugged. “Beats me.”

  He drew his fingers along the lines surrounding the beast. “Do you think these represent the perimeter of this valley? They meet in the same place.”

  Ashtadukht fingered the cuff of her sleeve and deliberated the petroglyphs. “That’d make more sense than a gorge. It seems as if the beast is emerging from the juncture of the hills farther up the valley.”