The Stone of the Stars
Page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Alison Baird
All rights reserved.
Warner Books, Inc.
Hachette Book Group USA, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com.
First eBook Edition: February 2004
ISBN: 978-0-446-50693-9
Book design and map art by L & G McRee
Cover illustration by Steve Youll
Cover design by Don Puckey
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Part One: The Prophecy
Chapter 1: Ailia
Chapter 2: Damion
Chapter 3: The Angel and the Scroll
Chapter 4: The Eve of the Dead
Chapter 5: Visions and Apparitions
Chapter 6: The Doom of the Dance
Chapter 7: Star of Omen
Chapter 8: The Black Knight
Chapter 9: Jomar
Chapter 10: Mandrake
Part Two: The Stone of Heaven
Chapter 11: “To the World’s End”
Chapter 12: At the Back of the North Wind
Chapter 13: The Lost Land
Chapter 14: The Holy Mountain
Chapter 15: Here Be Dragons
Chapter 16: The Queen of Heaven
Chapter 17: The Day of Disaster
Chapter 18: The Dragon King
Chapter 19: The Moon Gate
Chapter 20: The God-King
Chapter 21: The Palace
Chapter 22: East of the Sun, West of the Moon
Chapter 23: Darkness and Light
Chapter 24: The Princess of the Stars
Appendix
Pronunciation of Elensi Words
Glossary of Extra-Terrestrial Words
Glossary of Terrestrial Terms
About the Author
to Clan Baird
of Duck Cove, Pocologan, and St. Andrew’s-by-the-Sea: remembering magical summers, and stories told on the beach
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book has been many, many years in the making, and my debts are numerous. My thanks to Jaime Levine at Warner Aspect, for giving me a chance; my editor Devi Pillai; and my amazing agent Jack Byrne, for finding a home for this tale. Many thanks also to Andre Norton, both for her own inspiring work and for graciously helping a newcomer to find a foothold in a vast and intimidating industry.
Thank you to my English teachers, Susan Smyth and Dr. Margaret Swayze, for encouraging a schoolgirl with a budding urge to write. Thank you Judy Diehl and David Plumb, for being among the first to read the book and for offering your many helpful suggestions. Thank you to all of my writer friends who over the years have lent your support and encouragement to my quest for publication: to Avril and Frances Tyrrell, to Terri Neal and Marian Hughes and Louise Spilsbury and Jan Stirling, to Josepha Sherman and Julie Czerneda. And thank you to my wonderful and supportive family, especially my parents, Violet and Donal Baird. I could not have done this without you.
PROLOGUE
In the beginning were the El, whom the ancients call the gods: the first children of the Maker. They woke in the deep before Earth and Heaven were made, and they beheld the Creation. And when it was completed some of the El chose to dwell amid the stars of Heaven; and they became the Elyra, the high gods. Others of the El chose to dwell upon the Earth, and they became the Elaia, who have many other names: the genii, the faeries, the gods of land and sea. The Elaia delighted in the making of things, in shaping wood and stone and gems and ores: it was they who crafted the enchanted talismans that guided the heroes of old. But before that time, in the very dawning of the world, they fashioned a treasure for the Elyra. It had the likeness of a gemstone, clear as water and cut with many facets, small enough to hold in the hand. Though formed of the stuff of Earth, it shone as though all the stars of Heaven were contained within it, and so it was called the Meraalia, the Star Stone. The Elaia made it to show the high gods that things of the lowly Earth could be as beautiful as those of the sky. And Modrian, who was then chief of the Elyra, accepted the gem and set it in his crown.
But still Modrian cared nothing for the mortal world or for its creatures, and he used the latter as he pleased, for servants and for playthings. At this the gods became divided, some siding with and others against Modrian. But the greater number opposed him, and led by the bright god Athariel they waged war on him and his minions until the stars shook in the firmament. In the last great battle Athariel struck the crown of Modrian with his sword, and the sacred Stone broke loose from its setting. Down to Earth it fell, shining like a shooting star; and it came to rest in the north of the world, on the summit of a mountain that ever since that time has been called Elendor, the Holymount. There the gem remained, long after Modrian was defeated and confined to the Pit of Perdition, which he himself had made for the imprisonment of others.
Now, the name of that land into which the Star Stone fell was Trynisia: it was a place of ice and bitter cold until the Elaia went to dwell there and by their arts made it green and fruitful. In those days many of the Elaia took mortal mates, and out of these unions came the Elei, the Fairfolk. Being a divine race, they could work many kinds of magic, and their time upon Earth was many times greater than that allotted to other mortals. The Elaia brought the Fairfolk to dwell with them in Trynisia, and instructed them in their arts, and made them wise.
Elarainia, goddess of the Morning Star, looked on the Fairfolk with special favor. Often she descended to the Earth and walked among them in the likeness of a woman, sharing her knowledge with them. And the children of the gods loved her, and called her Queen of Heaven and Queen of Night, for her star shone more brightly than any other. Many of them she took to dwell with her, in her own land that lay beyond the world’s end. And she bade those of the Fairfolk who remained in Trynisia to leave the Star Stone on the mountaintop and watch it well, lest those who still served Modrian should come and take it for their own dark purposes. For the powers of Earth and Heaven were bound together in the Stone, and it was said that it would one day defeat its former master when he returned in might to conquer the world.
So the Fairfolk built a fane upon the mountaintop, called the Temple of Heaven, over the place where the Star Stone lay. The years passed, and a great city was founded upon the summit, a holy city where priests and sibyls and astrologers dwelt: Liamar, City of the Star. Dragons guarded its gates, and gryphons guarded the temple, and in the city were many wonders made by the Elaia and their children: enchanted gems that commanded the weather and the waters, shining stones that gave light in place of lamps, and a magical crystal that revealed to Eliana, queen of the Fairfolk, all the doings of the world. But of all wonders the greatest was the Star Stone. Heavenly spirits attended it, and the temple was a place of awe. At times a bird of fire was seen to rise from the Stone and fly about the temple: the holy Elmir, the Bird of Heaven itself.
Many were the pilgrims who sought the holy city, for in time the Elei sent out sailing-vessels to all the ends of the Earth, befriending the peoples there: and so the Commonwealth was formed, to be the earthly counterpart of the Celestial Empire above, harmonizing Earth and Heaven. But even as the Star Stone was a source of awe and reverence, so did it become a source of strife among men. As the heart of the Elei realm it was hateful to the Elei’s foes, the cruel and warlike rulers who yet worshipped Modrian.
A day came when the sorceress-queen of the Fairfolk, Eliana the Wise, gather
ed her people together and spoke to them thus: “Although he cannot ever leave his prison in the Pit, the dark god has many servants still. Some of these are mortal, and some are mighty spirits, and both shall strike many blows against us. Wars shall rage on the land, and stars fall from their places on high; and darkness shall cover all the Earth for a time. And in the end this land of Trynisia will be but a memory, a tale told to children by the hearth. Then Modrian shall send forth a great warrior to ravage the world in his name. The dark god’s power shall be in this man and shall rule him, limb and mind, so that it will be as if Modrian himself has come again in a new form. All shall flee the prince of the Dark and the dread hosts that follow after him.”
The Elei were filled with fear and sorrow, and begged their queen for words of comfort. Then she spoke to them this prophecy: “Do not despair, for the forces of the light shall also have a champion. The Queen of Night shall bear and bring forth a maid-child, and she shall be called the Tryna Lia, Princess of the Stars. With her mother’s authority she shall reign, throned upon the moon; and she shall summon out of the heavens a mighty host to challenge the enemy. And she shall seek for the sacred Stone of lost Trynisia: for it will give to her the power of Earth and Heaven that alone can defeat the power of Modrian. Whenever you behold the Star of Morning in the sky, remember this and know that there is hope.”
In this way the Elei first learned of the Tryna Lia, the one who will descend to the Earth and make war against their foes. But the hour of her coming was not then revealed, nor does any mortal know when it shall be.
—apocryphal text, circa 1080 N.E.
The Royal Academy archives, Maurainia
Part One
THE
PROPHECY
1
Ailia
“. . . AND THE EVIL DAYS CAME that Queen Eliana had foreseen,” Ailia recited, spreading her arms in a wide sweeping gesture. “Modrian, still prisoned in the Pit, commanded his servants to assail the world on his behalf. The evil spirit Azarah obeyed, snatching stars from out of their places in the heavens, and casting them down upon the Earth below. Some lands were burned, and others drowned in the sea, and the moon’s face was marred and darkness fell over all the world. Even the blessed isle of Trynisia did not escape the day of destruction. Then those Elei who still lived fled the ruin of their realm: some went to dwell in Eldimia, the land of the goddess of the Morning Star, that lies beyond the world’s end; and others went to live in the mortal lands, where in time their race dwindled and died. And so the Elei have all vanished from the world. But their sorceress-queen promised them long ago that the triumph of their enemy would not last forever. The Fairfolk who fled to Eldimia shall return again, and their ancient Commonwealth be restored, when the Tryna Lia comes to rule the Earth.”
She and the village children were—or rather, should have been—gathering kindling in the thin belt of woodland that Ailia had named the Enchanted Forest. Most of Great Island’s timber had been felled in bygone ages for firewood and lumber, leaving behind only forlorn and isolated copses like this one. Its wind-worn trees bowed inland, and huddled together as if for shelter. Yet as Ailia told the story, the little wood was altered in the eyes of her listeners: its stunted trees seemed to grow taller, the green shade beneath them deeper. And Ailia too was transformed as she spoke, becoming in turn each character she described. Standing straight and regal before them, she seemed, in the dim otherworldly light that was half of her making, to become the Faerie Queen Eliana; and when she spoke of Modrian the Fiend her voice became a hissing whisper, and her audience grew pale and still.
It had been Ailia’s intention to ease the tedium of their task by telling stories. But as soon as she began the tale both she and the children completely forgot the kindling. They saw only the Fairfolk and their sacred gem, and the holy city on its mountaintop, and the fiery rain of falling stars. When at last she finished they all sat in silence for a while. The spell was lifted, and the children saw before them only a girl who looked slightly younger than her seventeen years, slender and of medium height. Her clothing was as plain as theirs, a white linen blouse under a tight-laced brown bodice and skirt, with a frayed old apron tied at her waist. Yet still there was something different about Ailia, something that was not quite like other people. Perhaps it was her eyes: they were so very large, with irises that in the shade seemed dark gray but in the sunlight showed a purplish cast, the color of the small pieces of amethyst the children sometimes found lying among the rocks. The hair that fell loose about her back and shoulders was oddly changeful too. Under the trees it was fawn-colored, and seemed dark in contrast with the pallor of her face; but when she stepped out of the shadows, the sun, streaming through the nebulous outer layer of flyaway hairs, made it look almost like spun gold.
The youngest child in the group was the first to find her voice again. “Tell us another story, Ailia! Tell us about the time the Stone was stolen,” she begged, fastening doe-brown eyes on the storyteller.
Ailia raised her left arm and pointed to the southeast, where the slate-blue sea showed in narrow panels between the tree trunks. “Once upon a time, in the days when Trynisia still prospered, there was a king in far-off Zimboura whose name was Gurusha, and it was said that his father was an evil demon in mortal guise. He commanded the Zimbouran people to worship a god called Valdur, who demanded terrible sacrifices, and all the while he plotted the end of the Commonwealth. Every new-knighted Paladin in Maurainia had to make a sea voyage to Trynisia, to pray in the Temple of Heaven before the Star Stone; and so Gurusha dispatched a group of warriors to steal the holy gem away. They entered the temple by stealth, disguised as pilgrims, and seized the Stone and slew the knights who guarded it. Fleeing back to Zimboura, they presented the Star Stone to King Gurusha, who placed it on the forehead of the idol of Valdur.”
The children had heard this tale many times before. They knew of the holy war waged by the old Commonwealth against Zimboura, with its terrible battles fought far away beyond the sea. They knew the combined forces of Maurainia and Trynisia had won the final victory. Yet still they hung on Ailia’s every word.
“King Brannar Andarion of Maurainia went himself to the palace of Gurusha, and called the Demon King forth to do battle. And Gurusha answered his challenge. He was dreadful to look upon, and his immortal sire’s dark power was in him. But Andarion too was no common man, for his own father was of the faeries. The two kings met in single combat, and Gurusha mocked Andarion as they fought. Then the Maurainian king waxed wroth—”
“He waxed what?” interjected one of the older girls.
“He got very angry,” explained Ailia, “and pierced Gurusha to the heart with his sword.” She snatched up a stick from the ground and made a thrust with it. “Then the minions of Valdur were filled with dismay—”
“What’s a minion?” the girl asked again.
“Elen Seaman, would you please stop interrupting! It makes me lose my place in the story.”
The other children glared, and Elen subsided. “They laid down their arms,” Ailia went on, “and sued for peace. The Paladins went to the chief temple of Valdur, and destroyed it; and King Andarion declared that the god of the Zimbourans was in truth an evil fiend, none other than Modrian himself in another guise, and his worship was banned.” Ailia let fall her stick-sword. “And so the war was ended, and the Stone returned to its rightful place in Trynisia.”
“What a tale!” breathed Lynna, the youngest girl. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it—where the Fairfolk came from, and whether there really was a Star Stone.”
“I’ll wager there wasn’t,” Elen Seaman scoffed. “Papa says“—her face took on a lofty and learned expression—“Papa says the Elei just made up those stories to impress our ancestors.”
“Where was Trynisia supposed to be?” asked Kevan, the carpenter’s son.
“It lay far away, to the north,” answered Ailia. As she spoke those words, she felt a little thrill and her heart yearned northward,
for a far-off land of jeweled palaces and bright cities surrounded by ice and snow. “Far, far away,” she repeated. “No one is sure how far. And Eldimia, the land of the Morning Star, was farther still—beyond the world’s end.”
“The world hasn’t got an end,” Elen interrupted again. “It’s round like a ball, my papa says. There’s no edge you can go beyond, or fall off of. And my papa is a sailor, and he’s sailed all around the world, so he should know! And all that rot about gods and goddesses, when you know there’s really only one God, and One Faith. None of this is true.”
Ailia sighed. “It’s only a story, Elen.” She would never have confessed it to these children, but deep within she longed to believe in it all: not just the Elei and their ancient wars but the magic, and the flying dragons, and the precious Stone that fell out of Heaven.
“I wish there were knights nowadays,” remarked Kevan. “They’d stop King Khalazar and his armies! Ailia, are the Zimbourans going to go to war with us again? Some of the foreigners down by the harbor say so.”
Ailia looked again to the far-off horizon behind which Zimboura lay, unseen yet threatening, like the approach of night. She shivered: and for an instant the old stories no longer seemed so remote. ”Of course not,” she said with an effort. “There hasn’t been a war in hundreds of years. Now, you had better get your kindling, you lot, and so had I.”
She went back to picking up fallen branches. What, she wondered, would she do without these children to tell stories to? Beyond the little copse the landscape was bleak: fields that grew nothing but hip-high grasses, great whalebacks of granite that thrust up through the thin soil. The little houses of Bayport village clustered together at the sea’s edge: with so little arable land available, most of the Islanders had to support themselves by fishing.
This is a terrible place, she thought with a shudder. Why have I never noticed it before now? But in her childhood everything had been different. In those days Great Island was not Great Island at all, but the magic isle of Trynisia, or the faerie-land of Eldimia, or Maurainia in the golden age of Brannar Andarion’s reign: whatever she had imagined it to be. And Ailia, together with her cousins Jemma and Jaimon and the other barefoot village children, had lived a long idyll of make-believe: had been kings and queens, knights and wizards, had fought dragons and won wars. There were no myths or legends on the Island. The hardened and bitter exiles who first arrived on these windswept shores were preoccupied with survival, and in its sparse and stony soil romance never took root. At least, it did not until that day when, inspired by a collection of wonder-tales from the Old Country that she had found on her father’s bookshelf, Ailia took it upon herself to address the lack. She made up a local mythology in which every tree, knoll, and boulder had its origin in some fabulous feat of yore, and told the tales to her delighted playmates. The great submerged rock outside the harbor that daily endangered the fishing boats was a petrified sea monster, transformed by a hero with a magic talisman; a gnarled old crabapple tree with pure white blossoms had sprung from a magic apple brought from faerie-land; and so on. In her thoughts many features of the surrounding landscape still went by the names she had invented for them—the Mermaid’s Rock, the Ogre’s Cave, the Enchanted Forest.