The Star People-CH. I

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CH I:2

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Delicate and pale, they were strewn across the vast galaxy, glowing with a gentle, serene modesty that came from deep within. Slanting rays of starlight penetrated the inky blackness of the dark mantle flung lazily about the slumbering land beneath it. Inhaling deeply of the limited air, she pressed her pale hands against the warm surface limiting her from her birthright, breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to fight with the dark fear of her entrapment. Sighing, she slumped down, gazing from out of the pale, iridescent walls of the star to the only thing in view: something that Yusua had called Earth.4

One day, Shean vowed silently to herself, before she wasted precious years in this prison, she would escape and 'master' would be horribly sorrow for the five years she had already spent here.5

The vague memories of a pretty, delicate face, smiling and always cheerful, lulled her to sleep, the sweet, harmonic melody of the harp and her voice singing a lullaby having the affect on her it would. And yet it was distant, hardly there. The images were so faded that when she tried too hard to grasp them they would fade, like water trickling from her hands: giving her brief glimpses. Slumber, sweet blissful slumber, washed over her...the melody still ringing softly in her ears.6

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Sweat beaded on her forehead, Shahna bolted upright, the vivid dreams sending shivers down her spine as she recalled it. On the surface, there had been nothing about the dream, only the air sad, worrisome air of sadness marring the outward beauty of it, but deep inside Shahna had heard the girl cry in frustration, heard her inner cries of grief. Though it had only been a dream, Shahna was appalled to think that even in her dream realm the serene sentinels peering down from the night sky could serve such a ghastly purpose. Try as she might to suppress the dread in her heart, Shahna could not, and she shivered again, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and pulling up the thin blanket around her knees in a vain attempt to ward off the chill that came to her in the warm, breezeless night.9

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The small trickle of water uttered its soft lullaby. The night was dark, cold, lifeless trees twisted and bleak, shadowing their pallid forms. Mournful cries swept through the silence. And yet he watched them from the cold, iron throne, lips curled into an amused smile. Her people, in such pain…dying, back arched, as they went about the menial tasks. 12

Biting her lip, she turned her head so he could not see her pain. The mocking jeers of his loyal servants drifted to her from where they had her own daughter, scarcely twenty-five, tied to a log, so close to the fire the flames scorched her skin. It was a sacrifice that brought Yusua to tears, almost. Her daughter had been resilient, though. Yusua’s plans had been made, and she would only interfere.13

Fool, she whispered. Fool and fool again! That’s your daughter they’re tormenting…your daughter and yet you watch them slowly kill her? Feeble protests drifted away as fast as she could grab at them, scattering with the wind. There was no excuse. It was her daughter. Her daughter.14

“Let that be a lesson, Yusua. Do not plot against me.” She could hear him all to well, though Yusua did not want to. Nodding her head weakly, she met her daughter’s eyes, scared, now. Whatever courage they had contained had been false, but a mask to shield the fear. With a nod of his head, they released her, laughing as she scampered away, to tired, to weak, to walk properly. Now that she was safe, Yusua did not feel burning humiliation, but rather a rage nothing could quench. He would pay. For all the torment her people had endured, he would pay. And he would die slowly. And painfully. 15

Into the silence of the night, she whispered her vow for vengeance softly. Caution. She hissed. Caution. Then he would die. All that was needed was patience and caution.16

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Shean drifted in and out of a daydream, where her mother was growing old and crooked-backed, fading, crying out in anguish. Shean tried to touch her, to draw her into a warm embrace before she faded, but failed. And then, when her mother was once again a thing of reality, she had been cold, emotionless. A hard and cruel woman that words could not touch. Life had become too hard for her, and she had forgotten her daughter, had become separated with her emotions in order to prevent herself from getting hurt again.19

Space was a dark abyss, a lonely, frightening void, that pressed in on her. The faint hum of the star, her prison, filled her ears. When she had been younger, it had lulled her to sleep. It had been comforting, something to soothe the pain and the shock she felt when they had come from her. How did this treatment ‘soften?’ It had hardened her, angered her. She was not weak, not weak and helpless! Why did they expect her to bow down to their wishes and do whatever menial labor they wanted her to do?20

“No,” she whispered softly, firmly. Shean was not that easy as most were to tame. Whispering soft words to console herself, drawing comfort from the sound of her voice, she settled herself on the cold surface of the metal. There was the illusion of always falling through it, of always having it scorch your skin, and yet as she closed her mind out to the illusion, all she felt was its gentle warmth brushing softly against her skin, and the firmness of it. Somehow, freedom would be hers.21

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The plaster was peeling and chipped, revealing the old bare wooden walls. Yellow paint smeared messily over walls and ceiling alike. Black laced curtains ruffled in the soft wind. The wind whispered softly, a gentle zephyr that seemed to sing a lullaby to the faint hum of the skies. It haunted her, the dream. It consumed every waking moment, those eyes always staring steadily at Shahna, piercing her heart. Unnerving and sad, somehow. And yet, last night she had had the dream again. Only this time, a faint rage glittered in the tumultuous sea of sadness, adding flavor to it, and poisoning it.24

Shahna had tried to write the dreams off as her imagination, but if she listened, she could hear words the girl whispered softly coming down to her, a silent plea for help. And she had heard her vow softly to avenge someone for something.25

The bed’s softness seemed to be firm, and yet it surrendered to her as she settled herself down into the warm, comforting grasp of it, pulling the thin blanket up. Night, once more. Shahna prayed softly that she would not have to gaze upon the girl’s tormented face again, as she had the past two nights. The darkness descended around Shahna, the night wind slapping eerily against her windowpane murmuring low warnings to her.26

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Bells let out a golden sigh, delicate threads woven together in a soft harmony. Their beautiful voices drifted into the silence of the dawn, golden rays glittering across their sleek sides. Delicate music was lost in the silence of the morning as they gave a last golden sigh and then dwindled down to a vague echo ringing pleasantly in her ears. The drums beat in a steady cadence, their rhythmic tune shrieking to be heard. 29

The wind still let out shrill, mocking laughter, its cold grasp like so many needles pricking against tender flesh.  All of it was forgotten, though, as the bonfires were lit, vaguely flickering glow of flames scarcely recognizable in the light of day.30

She had not seen the girl the last night, and yet there was an emptiness in her heart as she emerged from the cold shadows of the house, her mother trailing behind. A ragged old woman bent double, something close to lifelong anguish etching sharp lines into the thin, hard line of the mouth. Shahna let a soft sigh of relief wander into the sky. Relief that she had not seen those girl’s boring eyes or heard her desperate pleas for help. Or her overwhelming hatred that had surged like a tidal wave into her veins.31

Shahna had felt it, had become one with the girl. Her name seemed soft, familiar, almost like a lullaby strumming softly. Shean. Like Shahna’s, it did not seem vaguely Earth-like. And yet it was so easy to pronounce, like water trickling softly, whispering in her ear. 32

Her mother tugged sharply on her arm, words hissed into her ear. “Quit dawdling, Shahna! Quit dawdling like a fool! And stop looking like a mad cow stricken with terror at the skies! You know good and well foolishness like that ought not to be put up with on Los’kios!”33

Letting out a sigh, Shahna shook her head. Los’kios. As a young child, she had loved it. Loved to sit around the campfire in the morning, with the soft, spring green grass shimmering under the thin veil of dew, the sun drawn behind a small layer of cloud like a gentle whisper of secrecy. The tales captivated her, so enthralling, so beautiful, so very remarkable. Tales of when man had not used magic, thought it a fairy-tale. Tales of when there had been something called science. When they had built tall towers of glass called ‘sky-scrapers’ that scraped the baby blue of the morning sky, the sun glaring off its depths.34

When she had asked a storyteller what ‘glass’ was, he had just shrugged. Her mother had slapped her sharply on the hand, whispering a harsh warning to not pretend to care about such meaningless questions. Besides, her mother had hissed later, Los’kios is not about marveling in the wonders of the ancient world! It is of studying their mistakes, studying man’s rise and fall of greatness so that the past mistakes are not made again! Now, she pretended to understand that, but secretly, she still thrilled at the idea of gathering knowledge of the ancient world.35

They had actually been so gifted as to have been able to actually fly into space. And in the sky. Like birds, she whispered.36

The log was smooth and cold beneath her as she settled herself down, making sure her eyes held the proper look of awe and respect as she listened to the storyteller. “Great metal birds winged in the skies. Great metal birds that carried death, dropped flaming shards of metal and explosives that rained down and brought an end to whole nations. Their children, however much they attempted to give them education, were undoubtedly spoiled rotten brats. Their manners were not up-to-date, and they could do nothing for themselves, even in the last days when most everyone was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that only the fittest would survive in the land of intense heat. Almost a hundred years after it, supposedly in the year 3050, men wandered from the farthest reaches of the world. 37

That was almost a thousand years ago. Now, we are strong, though not even close to what they had become. But we now know the necessities of living. No child born with any abnormality is allowed, for abnormalities eventually made things worse.  It is a common fact that such children are called the Shadon. Every year, people with increasingly complicated abnormalities are being discovered. But we are, at least, a functioning people again. Magic is keeping us alive, so they say, magic that the Shadon cast in pity on us as they dwell in the shadows. Just watching our every movement.”38

Her mother paid rapt attention, nodding in approval. Like always, there was so many lessons cluttered in to the story he told, and yet everyone missed the history, only taking in the lessons. They were pitiful, so intent on merely living that they did not care how they lived, only that they did so. Biting her lip, Shahna forced herself to clear her mind. Forced herself to focus on the darkness of her mind, on the silence she woven around herself.39

‘An abnormality!’ Her mother’s harsh whisper had stung when she heard it the first time. How old had she been? Maybe only eight or nine. Shahna had not really cared much about the Shadon Children, but when she had listened more intently that Los’kios, she had felt with frightful certainty that she was a Shadon. Her abnormality was just one of hose that let her hide it. She had been a short, petite little girl, but even then she was quiet and reserved. They had been quite surprised when Shahna had asked, in her quiet little voice, how you could tell if someone was Shadon Child. Her mother had slapped her then, hissing sharp warnings in her ear.40

The silence and blankness of mind evaporated with the teasing memory. Sometimes, it was sharp and painful, etched into her memory with a stunning brightness, other times distant and murky, slipping as she tried to capture it. Always, though, she could hear her mother’s voice. One sharp and heavy with reproach, but still her mother.41

Shahna’s mind wandered back into reality. The storyteller had finished and food was being passed out to the odd couple hundred people grouped around the fire. Reality, bleak, plain, boring reality.42

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Shean slept fitfully, tossing and turning. Sometimes, the cold surface seemed to yield to her weight, to open up so that she fell to the blue and green planet so far below. Other times, it seemed to be hard, a cold iron sheet of metal that enclosed her on all sides, scarcely allowing her to breathe. Always, though, when she was drifting in and out of the realms of slumber, there seemed to be flames, flickering in their wavering pattern, torching skin, filling eyes, clouding vision. 45

In her dreams, she saw a girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen staring at her with frightened eyes from beside a flickering fire. In that flash, she saw the girl’s memories flash, strange words almost seeming familiar to Shean. Los’kios and Shadon. But she heard and saw and was in the girl’s whole life in a brief second. A world where Shadon, the few of her people that were earth-bound, were detested. Yet a world that seemed blissfully happy compared to what Shean knew. And a stunning realization drifted through her mind as she stared, awake, now, into the darkness of space. Shahna was a third Kahliyan, a Shadon!46

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