I reach toward the dark, where stories shimmer just beyond knowing…
Somewhere between shadow and glow, I'm learning the language of the sky…
In the hush between stars, I feel the pulse of something waiting to be found…
I stand in the space between… where everything begins… and nothing ends.
Beneath these words, a girl's face flickers into clarity. Only part of her shows, just below the eyes is half a pale face framed by brown curls. Her name, Isla, speaks this poem.
Then she fades.
The world bends around another shape now.
The silhouette of Joren seated atop a low grassy hill, his knees are drawn to his chest, arms propping him up. The sky above is impossibly vast, yet this young stargazer knows all the constellations above. He doesn't know it yet, but those stars will be more a part of him than he realizes.
✦ ✦ ✦
The Village – Early Morning
The saloon was always quiet before the day crept in. A long beam of dusty sunlight filtered through the slatted windows, catching the slow drift of dust. The saloon's warped floorboards groaned slightly with each breeze, like the building was an old drunk talking in his sleep.
Outside, sitting on a crooked bench beneath the awning, was a gruff man who looked perpetually crabby. Todd, the owner of the saloon "The Broken Spoke" sits with a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his mouth as he stares at the morning with narrowed eyes. He didn't speak much, just watched and smoked.
Inside, Joren swept slowly, as if the broom might carry his tiredness with it. Joren was up again stargazing far too late into the night before his morning shift. His shirt clung to his frame, stained with last night's dishwater. Seventeen, with sharp cheekbones and unruly dark hair, he looked like someone a little too familiar with bad sleep and worse luck. Still, he moved methodically, cleaning up caked dirt and spilled drinks from yesterday's customers.
Late Morning – The Saloon
The saloon had filled up with large crowds and louder voices. Wood creaked under the weight of travelers, farmers, and dust-covered laborers piling into the bar like floodwater. A tinkerer bragged about his wind-powered plow. Two caravan guards were arguing about a lost game of cards. One man boasting to three women about his swordsmanship skills was trying to have a good night with at least one of them.
Joren moved through them all like water and was refilling mugs, clearing plates, offering what passed for smiles. His thoughts drifted as his hands worked, lost in what he planned to do after work. "Hey," Todd barked from behind the bar, dragging a rag across the counter. "Take your break, kid, Mira just came in."
Joren nodded, grateful, and slipped through the kitchen, past hot pans and the ever-present smell of burnt onions, to the back alley behind the saloon. He dropped onto an overturned crate. "Okay," he muttered, exhaling. "Once I'm finished with work today, I need food. Bread and soup sound soooo good. I hope they still have the rye kind…" He rested his knuckles under his chin. "After that, I'll check in on Elira. She said something about those astronomy maps coming in today, the Southern coast ones."
He paused, glancing up. The clouds above had thinned since dawn and the dust blew through the streets as if it was alive. It was only Tuesday after all, so he had plenty of work to do this week.
Evening – The Village Square
The café was quiet today. Just a few older folks sitting near a merchant's stall, and a trio of elderly ladies cackling about stories from ages ago. Joren sat at a two-seated table outside, tearing a hunk of crusty bread and dipping it in potato broth. The world was brighter than it had any right to be when it came to delicious food, every bite brought a sigh of relief and enjoyment to an otherwise mundane day. He took his time just enjoying the day, and some bread. Once finished, he departed for Elira's shop.
Elira's shop wasn't really a shop. It was a crooked, moss-covered cottage perched on the edge of town like it had wandered too close to the village and decided to stay. Its roof was a little worse for wear but fixed upon the top was a domed skylight for seeing the stars and the small, fenced garden out front seemed to be in bloom more often than not.
Joren pushed open the creaky door. The bell above it gave a soft, familiar chime. Inside, the air was warm and thick with scent: dried elderflower, ink, old paper, and something metallic and sweet that he could never quite name. Books teetered in odd piles, half-shelved. Trinkets from distant coasts glimmered on cluttered tables and hung from the top of shelves. Above it all, a golden skylight cast sunlight like honey across the room.
"Elira?" he called, stepping lightly over a stack of atlases. From a back room a woman emerged. Her platinum hair tied back in a braid, sleeves rolled high and donning a wool sweater with a light vest gave her the appearance of a women in her 40's. "You're early," she said, arching her brow.
"You said you might have those maps from the southern coast," he said with an excited grin painted across his face. "The ones that charted the Sea of Velen." "Ah. You know I just got them a few hours ago." She smiled, vanishing momentarily into the back room. Joren took a seat by the fire. A teacup steamed gently beside him, already poured. She returned and took a seat in a fabric chair across from him at a small round table filled with charting paper.
They talked for over an hour about stars, myths surrounding divinity portraits, and things Elira claimed weren't real but spoke of with such vivid detail that Joren began to doubt the difference. Finally, she handed him a worn map tube tied with red twine. "For your research, just make sure it doesn't leave my shop" she said with a playful smirk. "You better head back home to help Hazel with your duties, she is nice enough to provide you a room so don't go slacking on her."
Night – The Barn
The air inside the barn was thick with old wood and summer dust. Faint shafts of light leaked through the gaps in the roof, turning the hayloft's gloom into something soft. It wasn't much, but it was home.
Joren tossed his satchel onto a wooden dresser, careful not to knock over the metal lantern Hazel had left him. He dropped onto his bed, legs aching from standing all day. His thoughts were still adrift in the new star chart he just recieved. He placed the scroll tube onto his desk next to his notebooks full of star charts and navigation techniques sailors relied on.
The maps inside were impossibly old, they were drawn by an astronomer who vanished nearly fifty years ago, if Elira was to be believed. Sea-worn legends whispered about constellations seen only from the cliff's edge unless you were on the sea. It detailed constellations that resembled an eye. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. "I'll look at it tomorrow," he whispered to no one in particular. The barn gave no reply, only the creaking sigh of wind brushing against the outer walls.
He drifted off.
.....
It began with a sound. Just barely a whisper, not quite a thought. A feeling that commanded his attention without speaking slipped into his mind. Joren sat up, not fully awake. He rose quietly, stepping down the worn ladder and onto the cool earth. The air outside was different, it was still. The kind of stillness that made you feel like you were trespassing in your own world.
The voice guided him. It didn't make sense; this path he had never taken, and yet he knew exactly where his feet were taking him. The woods parted around a low ridge that dipped into a gully hidden by ancient stone and moss. There, nestled in the small mountain, was a cave no one had ever seen before. The light poured from within, gentle and steady and inside something waited.
Joren stepped past the vines and bushes obstructing the entrance. The air in the cave was warmer than outside, filled with the hum of silence and something deeper. The stone walls shimmered faintly with veins of some glowing mineral, or perhaps stardust trapped in stone. He walked through the winding passage.
At the end of the labyrinth of a cave stood a Portrait. It was a mural far taller than any man, surrounded by a small amount of stone that jutted out from the wall. On its surface swirled moving shapes: constellations, planets, galaxies. It all felt as if it were meant for him and him alone. He stared, unable to look away. He was entranced by this mesmerizing portrait that he felt natural to call the Supernova portrait.
Then the light moved and swirled. Not outward, Inward. A stream of radiance poured from the Portrait into him. He didn't scream. There was no pain, only the sensation of becoming something vast. Then, darkness took over Joren as he fell back into slumber.