Margaret Weis - Elven Star

“Now, Cal,” Paithan called in conciliatory tones. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh—”

A door slammed.

“Actually, you know, Lenthan, old fellow,” said Zifnab, gesturing with the chicken leg, which he had picked clean, “we won’t be using your rockets at all. No, they’re not nearly big enough. We’ll have a lot of people to transport, you see, and that’ll take a large vessel. Very large.” He tapped himself thoughtfully on the nose with the bone. “And, as what’s-his-name with the collar says, it’s a long way to the stars.”

“If you will excuse me, Quindiniar,” said the elven astrologer, rising to his feet, his eyes flashing fire. “I will be taking my leave, as well.”

“—especially since it looks as if dessert’s canceled,” said Aleatha, her voice pitched so that the astrologer would be certain to hear. He did; his collar tips quivered, his nose achieved a seemingly impossible angle.

“But don’t worry,” continued Zifnab, placidly ignoring the commotion around him. “We’ll have a ship—a big sucker. It’ll land right smack-dab in the backyard and it’ll have a man to fly it. Young man. Owns a dog. Very quiet—not the dog, the man. Something funny about his hands, though. Always keeps them bandaged. That’s the reason why we have to continue firing off the rockets, you see. Most important, your rockets.”

“They are?” Lenthan was still confused.

“I’m leaving!” stated the astrologer.

• , “Promises, promises.” Paithan sighed, sipped at his wine.

“Yes, of course, rockets are important. Otherwise how’s he going to find us?” demanded the old man.

“He who?” inquired Paithan.

“The he who has the ship. Pay attention!” snapped Zifnab testily.

“Oh, that he who.” Paithan leaned over to his sister. “He owns a dog,” he said confidentially.

“You see, Lenthan—may I call you Lenthan?” inquired the old man politely. “You see, Lenthan, we need a big ship because your wife will want to see all the children again. Been a long time, you know. And they’ve grown so much.”

“What?” Lenthan’s eyes flared open, his cheeks paled. He clasped a trembling hand over his heart. “What did you say? My wife!”

“Blasphemy!” cried the astrologer.

The soft whir of the fans and the slight rustling of the feathery blades were the room’s only sounds. Paithan had set his lapcloth on his plate and was staring down at it, frowning.

“For once I agree with that fool.” Aleatha rose to her feet and glided over to stand behind her father’s chair, her hands on his shoulders.

“Papa,” she said, a tenderness in her voice that no one else in the family ever heard, “it’s been a tiring day. Don’t you think you should go to bed?”

“No, my dear. I’m not the least bit tired.” Lenthan had not taken his eyes from the old man. “Please, sir, what did you say about my wife?” Zifnab didn’t appear to hear him. During the ensuing quiet, the old man’s head had slumped forward, his bearded chin rested on his breast, his eyes dosed. He gave a muffled snore.

Lenthan reached out his hand. “Zifnab—”

“Papa, please!” Aleatha dosed her soft fingers over her father’s blacked and bum-scarred hand. “Our guest is exhausted. Paithan, call for the servants to help the wizard to his room.”

Brother and sister exchanged glances, both having the same idea. With any luck we can smuggle him out of the house tonight. Maybe feed him to his own dragon. Then, in the morning, when he’s gone, we’ll be able to convince Father that he was nothing but an insane old human.

“Sir …” said Lenthan, shaking off his daughter’s hand and catching hold of the old man’s. “Zifnab!”

The old man jerked awake. “Who?” he demanded, glaring around bleary-eyed.

“Where?”

“Papa!”

“Hush, my dear. Go run along and play, there’s a good girl. Papa’s busy, right now. Now, sir, you were talking about my wife—” Aleatha looked pleadingly at Paithan. Her brother could only shrug. Biting her lip, fighting back tears, Aleatha gave her father’s shoulder a gentle pat, then fled from the room. Once out of sight in the drawing room, she pressed her hand over her mouth, sobbing… .

… The child sat outside the door to her mother’s bedchamber. The little girl was alone; she’d been alone for the last three days and she was growing more and more frightened. Paithan’d been sent away to stay with relatives.

“The boy is too rambunctious,” Aleatha had heard someone say. “The house must be kept quiet.” And so Paithan had gone.

Now there was no one for her to talk to, no one to pay any attention to her. She wanted her mother—the beautiful mother, who played with her and sang to her—but they wouldn’t let her go inside her mother’s room. Strange people filled the house—healers with their baskets of funny-smelling plants, astrologers who stood staring out the windows into the sky. The house was quiet, so dreadfully quiet. The servants wept while they worked, wiping their eyes on the tips of their aprons. One of them, seeing Aleatha sitting in the hallway, said that someone should really be doing something about the child, but no one ever did.

Whenever the door to her mother’s room opened, Aleatha jumped to her feet and hied to go inside, but whoever was coming out—generally a healer or his assistant—would shoo the girl back.

“But I want to see Mama!”

“Your mama is very sick. She must stay quiet. You don’t want to worry her, do you?”

“I wouldn’t worry her.” Aleatha knew she wouldn’t. She could be quiet. She’d been quiet for three days. Her mother must miss her terribly. Who was combing out Mama’s lovely flaxen hair? That was Aleatha’s special task, one she performed every morning. She was careful not to tug on the tangles, but unraveled them gently, using the tortoiseshell comb with the ivory rosebuds that had been Mama’s wedding present.

But the door remained shut and always locked. Try as she might, Aleatha couldn’t get inside.

And then one darktime the door opened, and it didn’t shut again. Aleatha knew, now, she could go inside but now she was afraid.

“Papa?” She questioned the man standing in the door, not recognizing him. Lenthan didn’t look at her. He wasn’t looking at anything. His eyes were dull, his cheeks sagged, his step faltered. Suddenly, with a violent sob, he crumpled to the floor, and lay still and unmoving. Healers, hurrying out the door, lifted him in their arms and carried him down the hall to his own bedchamber.

Aleatha pressed back against the wall.

“Mama!” she whimpered. “I want Mama!”

Callie stepped out into the hall. She was the first to notice the child.

“Mama’s gone, Thea,” Calandra said. She was pale, but composed. Her eyes were dry. “We’re alone… .”

Alone. Alone. No, not again. Not ever.

Aleatha glanced frantically around the empty room in which she was standing, hurried back into the dining room, but no one was there.

“Paithan!” she cried, running up the stairs. “Calandra!” Light from her sister’s study streamed out beneath the door.

Aleatha made a dart for it. The door opened, and Paithan stepped out. His usually cheerful face was grim. Seeing Aleatha, he smiled ruefully.

“I … I was looking for you, Pait.” Aleatha felt calmer. She put her chilly hands to her burning cheeks to cool them, bring back the becoming pallor. “Bad time?”

“Yeah, pretty bad.” Paithan smiled wanly. “Come take a walk with me. Through the garden.”

“Sorry, Thea. I’ve got to pack. Cal’s sending me off tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” Aleatha frowned, displeased. “But, you can’t!