The Stargazers

Aster hurried through Ellemire’s central market just after sunrise,
a
long list in ha
nd for food for which she had no appetite
. It wasn't customary for a Stargazer daughter to procure the supplies for her own departing feast, but she was happy to volunteer just as an exc
use to get out of the house, and the long walk in the cool morning air was helping
to clear her mind. Aunt Oleander, though unbearable on most days, was
being
a downright jackal this morning, screaming and scowling and cursing about. She even threw a bottle of rare dragon's milk at Aunt Holly, and then kicked the poor girl because the glass had dared to shatter.

And why wouldn't Oleander be a grump? Her best slave would be leaving this world tomorrow.
T
hough Aster had been fretting about her obligation for some months, she would not miss the sore shoulders and discolored hands that came with mixing Oleander's unctuous and smelly potions and salves.

It was hard to believe it was finally happening. After years of emotions that ranged from anticipation to dread and tears, she would be ordained with her womanhood and then venture through the Tree of Doors to find her mate, as all of the Stargazer women had done since before even Nanny Lily could remember. She'd grown up hearing tales of her ancestors falling in love with princes and kings, great men who had been as powerful in their world as the Stargazers were in Ellemire. Aster wasn't sure now how much of that was made up to comfort a frightened young girl about the prospect of moving to a strange world by herself, to court a man, kindle his child and then flee, but did she hope in the secret part of her heart that there would be a prince waiting for her on the other side of that door? Perhaps a little.

People stared as she strolled along the dirt-packed avenue, busy even at this early hour. She could hear their broken whispers, mostly from the old ones who grew up hearing about the “Stargazer Curse.”
She of the cursed pink hair. Never look her in the eyes! She will touch you with the Old Magic!
Always the same admonitions about her hair and eyes. Sometimes they spat at her. On a few occasions, she'd felt the blow of soft fr
uit hitting her in the back as she passed by. Right now, an old crone with a large hump in her back forked the sign of the evil eye at her with one wrinkled hand while wrenching away the head of the little boy who had been smiling at Aster with the other.

Aster wished she could gather up the courage to really scare them. Maybe call up some of that Old Magic she supposedly had and knew how to use and curse them all. Perhaps turn a few of the nastier ones into frogs or newts as the old folktales went.

Only problem with that was she didn't know what the Old Magic was supposed to do, or how she was even supposed to use it. What was it about ancient legends and portends that were so vague and mysterious, anyway? You'd think, if it were so bloody important, there would be a highly detailed book or scroll on the subject that left no doubt. Of course, that would be almost convenient, and when it came to the strange magic and religion of Ellemirens, nothing was convenient. And their prophets were apparently quite lazy.

Aster had many more duties to fulfill before leaving, but what she most longed to do was climb her favorite tree and sketch a perfect picture of the only land she’d ever known. Ellemire had never loved her, but she had always loved it. The way the wisps of multi-colored fog twined around the Bas-Magenta trees at dusk. The soft cries of the Vestras coming off the lake at moonrise, the lighted tulips that graced the homes of the nobility, and the way they speckled the hillsides with beautiful globes of pink, blue, and yellow. But her favorite was the Grah Festival, which came after the year's final harvest, where thousands thronged the village streets in woven masks of wheat to pay homage to the grain gods who, at least until recent years, had blessed them with regular rains and strong bounties. Alas, the drought had carried on for two summers now, and many believed Grah was punishing them for something.

Being the guardians of the Old Magic, the Stargazers had taken a lot of that blame, but perhaps it wasn't unwarranted. The Old Magic, at least according to Nanny Lily, was running out. “This is why you must go, child. Ellemire may hate us, but all those who hate do so because they don't understand.” When Aster had replied that she too didn't understand, the old woman said nothing. Just a blank, rheumy stare. That was Nanny Lily's way of telling you that you were a foolish twit, but she preferred you figured it out on your own.

  Most of the market’s vendors were already sitting beneath colorful striped canopies that lined each side of the sprawling market. They were hawking everyday items from fruits, vegetables, herbs, and cured meats to kitschy wares like animated wood carvings, singing flowers, pet fairies in glass jars, shoes that made you dance. And of course there were the potions. Thousands and thousands of tonics
,
ointments
,
and powders that could heal, injure, soothe or excite. That was Ellemire's greatest trade, and people traveled from all over the land to find cures for almost any ailment. That was Aunt Oleander's specialty, and she was probably the most well-known alchemist around, Stargazer or not. Even Aster had to admit her aunt had a keen way of handling ingredients, though the cruel witch wouldn't be nearly as prolific if not for all of the family members who did the hard work of mixing and bottling them.

Early morning shoppers trotted by on their mounts. While most rode standard horses, the more well-to-do owned Ro-Hawks, exotic magical hybrids. They were fierce looking creatures that had the heads and elongated bodies of horses, but were covered in sleek black feathers. Some of the owners liked to customize the colors, or enchant them with luminescence so that they glowed. Majestic as they were, Ro-Hawks were also known for randomly turning on their masters by gutting them with their razor-sharp talons. Aster much preferred her old brown gelding,
Safi
, who was hitched nearby.

After purchasing a clean and plucked goose, a basket of apples, and a bag of flour (that was particularly dear, given the grain shortage), Aster focused on securing the most important item on her list: chocolate. Aunt Oleander’s instructions had been clear. “If you show up here with your dumb cow’s face and not a lick of chocolate, you’ll have a might spot of trouble, Miss.” Her aunt used chocolate for many of her potions and as coating for her pills, but everyone knew the real reason she wanted it was for her daily afternoon snacks. Of course, it would have meant death to anyone who pointed that out.

As the ill fates would have it, the chocolate man was also Aster’s least favorite market vendor. Fernby Larex was a short and corpulent thing, with a large brown mole between his eyebrows that looked like a third eye. Being the only chocolate man in the village, he took every opportunity to make her visits revolting, usually by being as disgusting and ghoulish as possible.

As she drew toward his booth, he glared at her and sucked a huge ball of phlegm into the back of his throat and spat it over the low sidewalls of his booth. The gob of greenish yellow slime splatted a few feet from her shoe. “Lovely,” she muttered through clenched teeth and then forced a smile. “Hello Mr. Larex.”

“Ah, surprise surprise. Ze Great Mother back for more chocolat for her wicked witch aunties, yes yes? I hope you come wis many many crowns, for ze prices have risen high high this week.” He then stuck his pudgy index finger far enough up his nose to tickle his brain.

Aster suppressed her gorge and kept her eyes trained on his. Her violet gaze made most of the villagers uneasy. “I need three stones of cocoa powder, six bars, and some nibs. And I expect the price you negotiated with me last time we purchased.”

Ferby’s eyes grew wide and he wiped his digging finger on the front of his shirt. “You can’t just get ze same prices you got last time! Ze cost of cacao changes daily daily, especially during zis terrible terrible drought! It's zix crowns per stone. No more no less.”

Aster sighed. She'd expected this to happen, because it happened every time. “Mr. Larex, I just overheard you bargaining with Merna Toadstool when I was purchasing my goose just two booths over, and you sold ground cocoa powder to her for three crowns per stone. My aunt Oleander is easily your biggest customer, and she’s been paying you at least four and a quarter.”

“Zat’s exactly right right! She buys ze most of my cacao. Supply up, prices down. Supply down, prices up. Tell your aunt she should buy less less chocolat if she wants prices low low!” He spat again, this time near a cauldron that held an enormous vat of melted chocolate.

“Okay, Mr. Larex. I’ll be sure to tell Ellemire’s premier potion and poison maker that you refused to sell her cocoa at a fair price. I’m sure she’ll understand completely. But just in case, you might want to watch what you put in your mouth. Or up your nose.”

Fernby’s bushy eyebrows, and the mole between them, rose as Aster spoke. Her last words hung in the air between them as the bustle in the market slowed to a trickle. Somehow their little exchange had attracted an audience. “You make your point big big, Great Mother. It just zo happens I have come into a large cacao zurplus zis week.” As he turned away to fill the order, there was a low grumble amid the spectators, and when Aster turned her eyes on them, they quickly dispersed.

Five minutes later, Aster slung a large sack of cocoa powder, bars, and nibs (all of which she purchased for the miraculous price of one and a half crowns per stone) over her shoulder. After securing it to Safi, she rode away from the village toward the quiet borderlands, feeling the burden of people’s eyes and gossip slowly fading from her back.

An hour later, she arrived at the small A-frame cottage she would call home for only one more night. The sun was at the perfect spot for her drawing, and she’d have just enough time before meeting Aunt Oleander in the potion room for her last day as the insufferable woman’s apprentice. Papa Quercus, the family's handyman and Nanny Lily's companion, was at the fire pit stacking a large pile of wood for the bonfire. Tomorrow night, she would burn all her childhood possessions upon it. It was her least favorite part of the sending off ritual.