Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(47)

“No, Ristriel. You are the one taking care of me.”

To my relief, he didn’t argue further.



Despite uneasy sleep, I was more than eager to start out with Ristriel at dawn. Our chase had put us off course, but not terribly so. In fact, with luck, we’d be in another town by nightfall. With that thought in mind, I did my best to keep a good pace. If given the choice, I would always choose a bed over camping on the ground.

We’d not gone far when Ristriel flashed into his dark colors and dived into my pocket. He’d said nothing, but I knew there had to be a godling nearby. I searched the trees as I walked—they were strange ones, much thicker around than those back home, almost like they’d grown so weary of being tall they’d melted into themselves. Their trunks reminded me of spent candles, their branches of spider legs. They had no leaves yet, only green buds still growing.

I’m sure the lurking godling noticed me—I tended to be noticeable then—but it never presented itself or called me Star Mother. After several miles of walking, Ristriel curled out of my pocket and became a hart at my side, flicking his ears to listen just as the real animal would.

“I suppose my next lesson in being godly is to hide whenever the opportunity arises.” I slipped rabbit jerky from my bag and took a bite.

The hart blinked at me. “It’s safer that way,” he spoke without moving his mouth.

“But it’s not just you. Whatever godling we passed was hidden. In fact, I’d never seen one down here until, well . . .” I gestured to myself, to the scars still invisible to my eyes. “A godling in a lake spoke to me before I met you, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have done so were I not the mother of a star.”

Ristriel nodded, his hoof-falls soundless. “This is true. Many godlings prefer to live in peace, if they choose a domain, as you call it, on the Earth Mother. Else they might attract unwanted followers.”

I understood that.

“Some want the followers, however. There are godlings who make themselves very well known. People build shrines to them and give them offerings, often without asking for anything in return. There is something peculiar about human beings and their need to worship. Their need to find hope outside themselves.”

I rolled the jerky between my fingers. “It isn’t a bad thing, to seek hope when you cannot find it within yourself.”

“No, it is not. We have both done so.”

I glanced at him. I understood my hopes, but I did not yet understand his. Not entirely.

“What do you hope for?” I asked.

He gave me that curious look again, which I could read even on the face of a deer. Like he was surprised anyone could possibly want to know.

Before he could answer, his ears pricked.

“Another godling?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “No. Mortals.”

I followed his gaze through the trees. We were nearing a narrow road, a good sign that we would approach a town before the day was out. But I saw nothing.

It took a quarter hour before I heard hooves on the road. Ristriel shied into the trees, and I followed him, wondering if there might be a wagon among the party. I wouldn’t mind a ride.

The horses came at a canter, a party of about four men. No women, no wagons. I shied a little farther from the road. As they neared, my stomach dropped into my hips.

I recognized them. These were men from Endwever.

I slipped behind a gnarled tree, and they almost missed me completely, but a young rider in the back slowed as he passed, calling out to the others. A soft but foul word slipped over my tongue, drawing Ristriel’s attention to me.

“You there!” the man called, dismounting. I could remember his family name—Grotes—but not his first name. He was about my age. The age I should have been, that was. “Have you seen—” He paused midstride, eyes wide, and called out to the others again. “I’ve found her!”

I gripped the strap of one of my bags tightly in my hand. Ristriel, still a hart, glanced up at me. “Family?”

“No.” My pulse thudded in my neck.

Two of the three men dismounted and ran over; the fourth stayed in his saddle, perhaps ready to give chase should I decide to run. The broadest of them was Callor May, descendant of Farmer May, the one whose scarecrow I had set out before my world turned upside down. I didn’t recognize the other man approaching, and wondered if he’d been recruited from another town.

Callor’s relief was quickly replaced by a heavy brow and narrowed eyes. “We’ve been searching half of Helchanar for you, Ceris! Half-convinced you’d been eaten by wolves or murdered by bandits!” His eyes slid to Ristriel, questioning. “Never seen a hart like that.”

“She’s the Sun’s chosen.” The unfamiliar man sounded far more awed. “Of course nothing would lay a hand on her.” He bowed to me.

Callor reached to seize my elbow. I twisted away. “Come,” he demanded. “Let’s take you home.”

“If I wanted to ‘go home,’ I wouldn’t have left,” I protested. I felt starlight pricking the underside of my skin and urged it down. It would not help me here.

“Surely you jest!” Grotes’s hand flew to his heart.

Callor reached forward, and this time my back thumped into the tree behind me, its rough bark catching strands of my hair.