The first Star was considered a savior at first...
Chapter One: Shibi
Shibi walked down an alley, kicking trash to the wall. He didn’t care. That’s what he told himself. People called him hateful names. Demon boy, cursed child, bad luck…the devil. He’d heard it all. He heard it everywhere. He heard whispers when his back was turned. Hell, some people said it straight to his face. He was used to it, he told himself. Though he knew it wasn’t true. He wasn’t even allowed to go to school. In the town of Shalizi, even the poorest kids were forced to go to school for the sake of keeping up their precious reputation as ‘The City of Scholars.’ But no school for him! He had to learn to read and write using a book he found in a dumpster down on Morth Path. Once, he had gathered the courage to ask the principal if he could join her school. As expected, he was denied.
Shibi didn’t even know why everybody hated him. Nobody would tell him! He was a good enough kid. He was pretty average. Brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin. He was a little short for his age, and yeah, he got into trouble sometimes, but so did the other kids. They didn’t get treated like pond scum. Shibi sighed and sat down against the wall.
A large man stalked into the alley. “Hey! You there! What are you doing here?” He stalked forward, swaggering a bit.
Shibi stood quickly, looking towards him, and the man paused. “Wait, you’re that kid. The cursed one. Right?” He took a small step backwards, staring at Shibi still. “They said I should avoid you.” Shibi paused. The large man was obviously from outside the city, nobody born in Shalizi would talk with an accent like that. Actually, not many people came to Shalizi unless they were there for schooling.
“Yup. Guess I am.”
“What do you mean ‘I guess’? You are, or you aint! Which one is it?” Shibi thought for a few minutes. Nobody born and raised in Shalizi would tell him why they hated him; maybe an outsider would be a bit more loose-lipped.
“Mmhm, yeah. Cursed, devil, blight…that’s what they call me.”
The man jogged backwards a bit, almost tripping over his own feet, “Well then, I’ve…gotta go. I don’t want any bad luck voodoo, so just leave me ’lone. Yeah?” He said before running out into the town center.
Staring after him, Shibi cursed the lost opportunity. Visitors were scarce, and he didn’t know the next time he’d see a foreigner. Weighing his options carefully, he decided this was a chance he wasn’t passing up. He ran around the corner into the square, people parting in his wake, before hurrying into an ally where he thought he saw the man. There he found him backed against a wall, catching his breath. He may be tall, but he apparently had no stamina. “Ah! What are you doing here! Get away from me, rat. I’m applying for a good course today and I don’t nee’ any bad luck.” The man yelled, still against the wall with nowhere to run. “Don’t hurt me. Don’t mess with me!”
Shibi tilted his head. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Not sure I could, even if I wanted to. I come up to, like, your elbow.” He chanced a step forwards, abandoning that idea when the man flinched back. “Listen, I just wanna know why they told you to avoid me. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
“What’re you trying? There’s no way you don’t know ‘bout the curse. I’ve only been here a week and it's been pounded into my brain already.” He said. “You playing with me? You probably aren’t even the cursed kid! This some joke ya’ play on folks new to town?” He picked himself off the wall and bent down to look Shibi in the eye, “run back to yer parents, ya rat.”
Shibi’s face shifted into a small scowl involuntarily, “My parents are gone. They’ve been gone for a long time.”
The man’s eyes widened, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He sighed and rolled his neck, looking up at the sky before settling against the wall comfortably, “guess it’s time for a lil story.”
“Almost ten years ago, there was a family. They had a nanny or somethin’ cause they weren’t home a lot…and she watched their little boy for ’em. He was about two.”
“Well, anyway when she went up to the second floor the only sound was the cryin’ of the ‘lil boy. The poor girl opened the door and there was a man standin’ over his bed. She got really scared and screamed. The man looked over and…”
He lowered his voice, out of either fear or for dramatic effect, “...there just wasn’t anything there. The man had no face. She--the nanny--got a broom and shoved him right out the window. He ran away yelling about stars and curses; doom, despair, and stuff. Some folks in cloaks came by and said we should avoid him…and the town started avoiding the boy. You’d think in the City of Scholars, people would be less superstitious, but I guess with the Forbidden Woods people have a reason to be worried.”
Shibi glanced out of the alley, deep in thought for a minute. “Do you think…do you think the kid is actually cursed? Was the man telling the truth?
“I don’t know what to think. The guy may just have been crazy,” the man got up, “I have to go, my application is due soon,” he said and walked away.
Shibi slumped. Was he actually bad, or was it just a big misunderstanding? Which would be worse? To actually be bad, or to have been avoided for no reason?
He stood and weaved his way between houses ‘til he reached his home, a small gazebo on the outskirts of the town. It was close to The Woods, outside even of the wall; it was a small place, but it was where he’d weathered the nights since he was eight. He pushed past his ‘door’, actually just a tattered curtain he had found while out scavenging. Rummaging through some ratty blankets he had stored in a corner, he pulled out his sword, the only thing in his possession of some value. He sat down on his stool--it tottered horribly, for it was missing a leg--and put the blanket he had grabbed over his lap, resting his sword upon it. He rubbed the edge of the blanket along the sheath, cleaning it to the best of his abilities.
He didn’t know where it came from. The sword had been left upon his step shortly after he had made the gazebo his home. There was no note, no ceremony. He had simply woken up one morning and it was there. A golden sheath, clearly holding a sword, with strange markings up and down the sides. Shibi laughed, remembering days spent trying to find their purpose. He had once found a similar symbol in a book about mages, but it had given him no explanation.
He had always felt drawn to the sword like a moth to a flame; when he saw it that first day he had felt so…whole. Like he had been missing it his entire life. But for all its splendor, he had never drawn the sword from its sheath before; it felt so innately wrong to even consider. So the sword stayed sheathed, tucked safely away in his abode, brought out only at times such as these--when he craved comfort the most.
Holding the sword tightly to his chest, he walked over to one of his piles of books. Fingers lightly brushing the spine of each, he selected one randomly and very carefully pulled it from the stack. He wandered back over to his stool and curled up to read The Encyclopedia of Botanica Magica.
When the sun began to lower in the sky and he lacked the light to continue reading, he stood, returned his sword to its place, and left his home. He never had found any food earlier, and the ache in his stomach reminded him it had been at least a day since he had last eaten. He searched the barrel behind the bakery, and found a few bread crusts and berries. He ate them quickly; before the baker saw his loot, and then meandered back to his home to sleep.
He set all of his blankets down on the floor and arranged them comfortably before curling up in his makeshift bed. He was tired, but…something was missing. He trudged to the corner, and then back over to his bed--this time with the sword. He closed his eyes, and was soon lost in a dream.
No rain. No rain. Still no rain. He was a young boy, and there was a drought. There was no food to be found, nor water. The river had long dried up. The other villagers had resigned themselves to their fate. But he held out hope. He wandered the river bed each day, glancing at the few plants still living, until one day he found a creature. It was sick, thirsty perhaps? He took out his canteen, looking inside at the few remaining drops of precious water. The creature, a lovely blue lizard that seemed almost to glow, blinking weakly. He tipped the container, allowing it a drink. He would be okay…
The lizard, seemingly revived by the sip, scurried into a small hole beneath a wilting cendar bush. He turned to leave, but the lizard returned; this time followed by a glowing ball of light. Eruther stared for a bit before reaching out to touch the shimmering globe.
There was a rush of…something, and then water poured from his hands! It was a miracle, it was magic.
…
He threaded the wind through his fingers…a small smile upon his face. He had done this. He, Eruther, had found the lifeblood of the world! He had made magic! He rose, and walked to the door. He laughed aloud; he must be a god! No mortal could create a storm, raze a home to ash with only his mind! He was special, so special! Everyone around him was inferior, he was their ruler! He should be their ruler! No longer would he water their crops or heal their ailments, without their worship!
…
He turned, eyes wide. How could this be? Him, a god, killed by a mere mortal? He touched the long knife emerging from sternum. Derran, the only man he thought close to equal to him…
Eruther shot awake, “no!” He looked frantically around him. Where was Derran? Hadn’t he just been stabbed? Where was he? He seemed to be in a hut of some sort. He looked down at his hands; they looked too young. This wasn’t him…this…this…
His name was Shibi, not Eruther. This was his home! He felt his stomach; no knife. He hadn’t been stabbed…he clutched his sword, running his hands down it, trying to calm himself. He could still remember the sharp pain, the sharp stab of betrayal.
Suddenly, a girl--probably around six or seven--walked through his door, startling him from his thoughts.
He quickly hid the sword behind his back and stood up, “what do you want?” The girl looked around his home and suddenly started taking books off of their stacks. “Hey! Stop! Don’t touch those!” He grabbed her wrist and turned her around.
“Hi, mister! How are you?” she asked innocently.
“What are you doing here?”
“Dunno, exploring…wanna play?”
“No,” he sighed, “please, just…get out.” He released her arm.
“Oh, sure. You don’t wanna play with ‘‘little kids’, huh?” After saying the last two words, she made a face.
“What? What’s wrong?” Shibi asked.
“My parents are always bossing me around. ’Dori do this, Dori do that.” She sighed, “sometimes I really wish they were gone.”
Anger flooded Shibi’s mind, “don’t ever wish your parents were gone! I don’t have parents, but no matter how bad they are, it has to be a whole lot better than my life right now!” He took a deep breath and backed away. “I’m sorry. Forget…forget about that.”
She followed him, shooting off questions, “you don’t have parents? Where do you live?” Dori asked. Shibi winced, “Well, right now you are standing on my bed.” She looked at the blankets on the ground. “This is your bed? So this is your house?”
“Yeah…so, can you leave now?” he asked tentatively. Dori seemed to consider it, but then in typical childish manner, decided to do things her own way. Humming, she skipped around, looking at everything in his house. Then, it seems she caught sight of something he was trying to keep hidden.
“Why do you have a sword?” she asked, “can I see it? Is it enchanted? Are you a knight?” Shibi turned, hiding the sword behind his back again. “None of your business, no, I don’t know, and no.”
Dori pouted, crossing her arms, “you’re just as bad as my parents! Nobody lets me do anything!” Shibi turned back to her. “Listen, the sword is mine. This house is mine. Please, get out.” He held open the curtain for her to leave. Dori relaxed her stance.
“Answer one question. Why do you have it, and why is everyone afraid of you?”
“That’s two questions and…” here, Shibi hesitated, “I…I don’t know. I have to go. Please put my books back where you found them and leave.”
“Wait! I don’t know where they go! Stay and put them away with me, and then we can go play!” Dori exclaimed, persistent. She grabbed hold of his sword, and a shiver ran down his spine. He felt the overwhelming need to get away. His breaths quickened, and his heart was beating loudly in his chest. Shibi wrenched it from her grasp and looked around, his gaze resting on The Woods. Nobody was supposed to go into them, and no matter how fearless Dori was, she wouldn’t follow him there.
He took off at a sprint for the trees, adrenaline coursing through his body. Get away, get away, get away!
***
When the only sound he could hear were his own heavy inhales, he stopped and doubled over, gasping for breath. The rush of energy that had kept him going abandoned him, and he started to think more clearly again. Why had he run into the Forbidden Woods? There were beasts, both magical and mundane that would just love to gobble him up, and he was unarmed and vulnerable. He glanced down at his sword; well maybe not unarmed, but he was still lost. He didn’t have food, water, or shelter either.
Suddenly, a voice, smooth and menacing, whispered in his ear, “draw the sword; embrace your power.”
Shibi snapped his head around, but he couldn’t see anyone. “Hello? Where are you? Who are you?”
“Oh, dear boy. You ask such silly questions.”
There was a whoosh of wind, and a rustle of leaves. Shibi spun around, eyes frantically searching for the owner of the mysterious voice. He shivered, his hair on end. The voice felt so familiar, but so wrong.
“The clock is ticking,” the voice sang, and Shibi decided that it was not his friend.
“If you think I should unsheathe the sword, that gives me another reason not to!” Shibi said.
The voice sighed, “you force my hand, child.”
At that second, he heard the beat of ginormous feet tearing through the undergrowth. Shibi grabbed a large branch from the ground and held it in front of him like a weapon. He stuck his sword into the waistband of his pants.
“How are you going to fight off the beast without drawing the sword? Unsheath it if you want to live!”
“No!” Shibi choked out, limbs quaking in fear. The Voice just chuckled, an eerie noise. It seemed almost remorseful, only adding to the ethereal moment. “Wait until your stomach churns in fright. Wait until you feel Death's jaws around your throat. Just wait. And then, you will gladly draw the sword.”
Shibi backed slowly into the darkness, trying to get away from whatever was coming. He put his back against a large tree; that way it could only attack from the front. Hopefully, it wouldn’t even come to that, though. He held the branch in front of him, held his breath, and focused on being as quiet and still as physically possible.
Then, the beast came into sight. It was huge; easily 10 feet tall and just as wide. It had cat-like eyes, an almost reptilian face, and a hairy, ursine body.
“It is looking for you. Ready to draw the sword yet?” The Voice said gleefully. Shibi stiffened in fear, but the beast didn’t react. Could it not hear? Shibi shifted back and forth, and a twig snapped under his weight. Its head snapped up, and Shibi gasped. That ruled out that possibility. So why didn’t it react when The Voice spoke? Unless… no. That’s impossible.
Shibi focused, and then thought as ‘loudly’ as he could, “are you in my head?”
For a moment, there was nothing. Maybe, Shibi had finally gone crazy. Maybe fear had melted his brain. Then, clear as day, “took you long enough to realize. No need to ‘shout’, though. I can hear all of your thoughts regarding me; not only the ones you make an effort to project.” Well, that was news. He would have to more carefully monitor his thoughts. How did one control their own thoughts, anyways? “Don’t be mistaken, I am as real as you, not just a figment of your imagination.”
“You--you sent that monster after me. Why? You don't want me dead, do you?” Shibi thought-said, eyes still attempting to track the beast in question.
Again, there were a few beats of silence before the Voice spoke. “You won’t die if you are what I think you are. If you are who I think you are. If you can use the sword, you’ll be strong enough. If you can’t, or won’t. . .well then, I don’t believe I have any connection to you.”
How is it that with just a sentence, the Voice could make his knees shake and his blood boil? “I don’t need my sword, I don’t even need to fight! I’ll just stay quiet ’till it goes away. I’m not gonna be some pawn!” Shibi thought-said to The Voice.
“I will tell it where you’re hiding. Your only choice will be combat. And you won’t even make a dent with that twig.”
Shibi practically bristled, grip tightening on his branch. “Oh yeah? You don’t know me! I told: you I’m not your plaything!”
Then, something threw him off his game. He heard… nothing. The birds had stopped chirping, the bugs had stopped buzzing. It was like even the wind had halted.
He had lost focus. Where had the creature gone?
“Hissssss…”
Shibi twitched. That noise had come from behind the tree. He took a deep breath in, and then exhaled carefully. “Ok Shibi,” he thought to himself, “take it slow. You got this. Just turn around and….” He froze.
The beast’s head was wider than the trunk of the tree, and it was staring right. at. him. How did it get there so quickly? So silently? Then it dawned on him. The Voice had been distracting him; waiting for him to get so absorbed in their conversation he would drop his guard. Now that he was focusing, Shibi could feel the warmth of its breath on his body. His hair being blown back by the creature’s exhales. Its tongue flickered in and out, scenting the air.
“Don’t show fear. If it thinks you are afraid, it’ll attack,” Shibi told himself; not that it did much good. His instincts screamed at him to run, hide, anything! He was shaking like a leaf, and the taste of bile was strong in his mouth. He crouched into a defensive position, legs wide and eyes forward. The beast opened its mouth; revealing razor sharp teeth. Shibi screamed as it pounced, pinning him to the ground. A glob of saliva the size of his face dribbled out of the creature's mouth, and the Voice’s words twisted about in his head, “you won’t die…if you use the sword.”
Against his better judgment, and though his body yelled at him not to, he drew his sword from its sheath.