CHAPTER 11: BEFORE STARLIGHT

By late summer, waiting had become harder.

The grain was beginning to turn gold across the valley, and every visible change in the fields meant Starlight was getting closer. Green Hollow grew busier as harvest approached. Tools were repaired, storage spaces cleaned, carts checked and weather discussed with the seriousness of military planning.

The first festival preparations appeared several weeks before the actual day.

That was when Lily abruptly removed Joe from most household work.

The decision came without discussion.

Joe reached for a basket one morning and Lily pulled it away.

"Leave it."

"I can carry that."

"I know."

"Then why—"

"Because you're not twisting an ankle two weeks before Starlight."

Joe looked at the basket.

It contained vegetables.

Lily saw the look on his face.

"Don't start."

"I wasn't."

"You were about to explain why vegetables don't break ankles."

Joe closed his mouth.

Lily nodded once.

"Good."

Mike was not much better.

Later that day, Joe went outside to help him gather wood from near the edge of the field. Mike took one look at him and pointed back toward the house.

"Go inside."

"I can carry the smaller pieces."

"I know you can."

"Then—"

"Your mother will blame me if you come back with a scratch."

Joe considered that.

Mike leaned closer.

"And she's already warned me twice."

That explained more.

"Go bother your grandmother."

Pam objected loudly when Joe returned.

"Why me?"

Mike shouted from outside, "I heard that."

Pam shouted back, "Good."

Joseph was sitting near the doorway repairing a basket and seemed to miss the entire exchange until several moments later.

"Why is Joe inside?"

Pam looked at him.

"Because Lily thinks vegetables are dangerous."

Joseph nodded slowly.

"Vegetables can be slippery."

Pam stared at him.

Joe decided his grandfather's contribution had not improved the discussion.

Mary suffered most from the arrangement.

Joe had gradually taken over a number of small household tasks over the previous years. Once the adults decided he should avoid unnecessary work, those tasks did not disappear.

They moved downhill.

Usually toward Mary.

She was five now and deeply opposed to this development.

"This is your job."

Mary stood in the yard holding a small basket of vegetables as though Lily had sentenced her to hard labor.

Joe was sitting beneath the tree.

"Apparently not anymore."

Mary glared at him.

"I was making houses."

Her mud village occupied one corner of the yard. Several lumps represented homes, while a much larger mound was apparently Blackwood.

Joe looked at it.

"What happened to Blackwood?"

Mary turned toward the mound.

"What?"

"It looks flooded."

"It's not flooded."

"Half the road is mud."

"The road is supposed to be mud."

"Then it's very accurate."

Mary narrowed her eyes.

"You don't understand."

That was possible.

She lifted the basket, took several steps and stopped.

"This is unfair."

"Probably."

"You should carry it."

"Mother said no."

Mary looked toward the house as though hoping Lily had somehow changed her mind.

Lily appeared in the doorway.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Mary."

Mary immediately started walking again.

Joe watched.

Lily did not need to raise her voice very often.

Mary had already learned what came afterward if she ignored the first warning.

Ten minutes later, however, she returned without the basket and with an expression Joe recognized immediately.

"Want to see something?"

Joe became suspicious.

"What?"

"A bee."

"No."

Mary frowned.

"You don't even know."

"I know enough."

"I found where they live."

Joe stood up.

"Mary."

She grinned.

Then ran.

Joe caught her before she reached the far side of the yard.

Mary twisted in his arms.

"I wasn't doing anything."

"You were running toward the bees."

"I was going to show you."

"From how close?"

She stopped struggling.

Joe waited.

Mary looked away.

"Not close."

"How close?"

She hesitated.

"I touched their house."

Joe closed his eyes.

"With what?"

"A stick."

Of course.

"You poked a beehive."

"I didn't poke it."

"What did you do?"

"I touched it."

"With a stick."

"Yes."

"That's poking."

Mary looked offended by the accusation.

"It wasn't hard."

Joe dragged her back toward the house while she complained the entire way.

"Lily!" Pam called from inside. "Your daughter found the bees again."

Mary froze.

Then turned toward the doorway.

"You tattled!"

Pam appeared.

"I absolutely did."

"I tell you things!"

"Then tell me things that don't sting."

Mary looked betrayed.

Lily came outside.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

Pam answered from behind her.

"She put a stick in the bees."

"I did not put it in!"

Lily turned toward Mary.

That was enough to stop the correction.

"What did I tell you last time?"

Mary stared at the ground.

"Not to touch them."

"And?"

"Not to go there."

"And?"

Mary became quieter.

"Not to take sticks."

Lily crossed her arms.

"So you remembered everything."

Mary's face began to crumple.

Joe could already see where the conversation was going.

Lily did not soften.

"Don't start crying now. You weren't crying when you were bothering the bees."

Mary looked toward Joe.

That was a mistake.

Lily noticed.

"Don't look at him. He isn't going to save you."

Joe had no intention of trying.

What followed was brief, loud and entirely predictable.

Later that evening, Mary sat beside Joe with her arms crossed so tightly that she seemed determined to become smaller through anger alone.

"Mother is mean."

Joe made a noncommittal sound.

"She smacked me."

"You poked bees."

"I didn't poke them."

"You introduced a stick to their house."

Mary thought about that.

"She is still mean."

Joe nodded solemnly.

"I'll keep it secret."

That satisfied her.

Mary had discovered over the years that Joe was the safest person in the family to complain to.

Pam sometimes repeated things because she found them entertaining. Mike usually gave advice even when nobody asked for it. Joseph occasionally forgot the beginning of the complaint before Mary reached the end.

Simon was worse.

Every complaint eventually reminded him of something that had happened to Simon.

Joe mostly listened.

That alone made Mary loyal to him.

There was another difference as well.

Adults spoiled Mary because she was the youngest, but that attention had limits. Nobody worried about her future the way they worried about Simon's training or Joe's approaching test. She was fed, protected and occasionally indulged, but when serious discussions began, Mary was usually sent away or ignored.

Joe rarely did that.

He answered her questions even when they were ridiculous, listened to arguments about mud houses as though their structural integrity mattered and explained things adults often dismissed with because you're too young.

Partly, that was because Joe had lived in another world where being a girl did not automatically make someone's future seem already decided.

Mostly, however, Mary had simply become his little sister.

He was fond of her.

Even when she tried to attack bees.

The family did not expect Joe to pass the Starlight test.

That became increasingly obvious as the festival approached.

They hoped.

That was different.

Simon had already beaten the odds once, and expecting another child from the same household to qualify so soon felt greedy to Lily. Pam's gossip about whatever the stone measured had only reinforced that belief.

Still, Lily refused to let Joe work.

She also began giving him slightly larger portions.

Not Simon-sized portions.

Slightly larger ones.

Joe noticed the difference.

One evening, an egg appeared in his bowl.

Simon noticed it first.

He looked at the egg, then at Joe, then at Lily.

Lily caught him.

"Say it."

Simon immediately looked back at his food.

"I didn't say anything."

"Good."

Joe almost smiled.

Simon waited several seconds before muttering, "I train every day."

Lily heard him.

"So does your mouth."

Pam laughed.

Simon looked wounded.

Lily pushed the bread toward him.

"You'll survive one egg."

Simon accepted that, though not happily.

Joe looked down at the bowl.

Lily noticed him too.

"Don't make a face."

"I'm not."

"You're thinking."

Joe looked up.

"What does that have to do with my face?"

"There. That's exactly what I mean."

Joe decided to eat the egg before she changed her mind.

Mike remained the most optimistic.

He had become increasingly convinced that Joe would do well, despite having no idea what the stone actually measured.

That evening, after the meal, Mike spoke to Joseph while repairing a leather strap.

"He's ready."

Joseph looked up.

"Who?"

Mike stared at him.

"Joe."

"Oh."

Mike continued as though nothing had happened.

"He's strong for his age, he can read, and the boy remembers everything anyone tells him. If the stone cares about anything useful, he'll pass."

Joseph returned to the strap in his hands.

"Being ready doesn't make the stone light."

"No."

"But it doesn't hurt."

Mike looked toward Joe.

"My boy has always had a good head. Better than I ever did."

Lily snorted.

"Too good sometimes."

Mike smiled.

"You know what I mean."

"I know he thinks too much."

Joe was sitting within hearing distance.

Lily looked directly at him.

"And before you say thinking is good, that's not what I mean."

Joe closed his mouth.

Mike laughed.

"See? He already knew what you were going to say."

"That's the problem."

Simon, sitting nearby, glanced at Joe.

"He'll probably pass."

Lily looked toward him.

"You said that before."

"Because he probably will. Joe's annoying, but he's good at everything he actually bothers learning."

Joe raised an eyebrow.

Simon immediately added, "Not martial arts. He doesn't know anything about martial arts."

"I didn't say I did."

"I know. I'm making it clear."

"To whom?"

Simon looked around.

"Everyone."

Pam sighed.

"There are seven of us in the house. We were managing."

Simon ignored her.

"If he gets in, I'll show him how things work."

Joe looked at him.

"You can't teach me the inheritance."

"I didn't say I'd teach you the inheritance. I said I'd show you how things work. Which instructors to avoid when they're angry, where the better water barrel is, what days the porridge is worst, important things."

That sounded more like Simon.

Joe nodded.

"I'll remember."

Simon looked satisfied.

Despite everything, Joe was nervous.

He had spent years preparing for something he could not control.

He could read.

His body was healthy.

He was stronger and better coordinated than most children his age.

None of that guaranteed the black stone would react.

Starlight measured something else.

Something nobody around him could properly explain.

Joe disliked relying on luck.

There was nothing he could do about it.

So he continued his ordinary routine as much as Lily allowed. He reviewed characters he already knew, exercised lightly, helped Mary stay away from bees and occasionally walked toward the river without entering the deeper water.

Even those walks became subject to interrogation.

"How far?" Lily asked the first time.

"Only the inlet."

"With Ben?"

"Yes."

"Don't go near the current."

"I know."

"Knowing has never stopped children from doing stupid things."

Joe considered mentioning that he had personally avoided the current for years.

Lily's expression made him reconsider.

At night, the sky gradually changed with the season.

The constellation villagers called the First Ship began appearing earlier above the eastern hills.

Pam said that meant Starlight was close.

Joe lay outside one evening with Mary beside him, both looking upward while the rest of the household settled inside.

Mary pointed toward a cluster of stars.

"Which one is the ship?"

Joe followed her finger.

"That group."

Mary stared at it.

"It doesn't look like a ship."

"No."

"Why do they call it that?"

"I don't know."

Mary turned toward him.

"You don't know lots of things."

Joe looked at her.

"Neither do you."

"I'm five."

The answer came with complete confidence.

Apparently that explained everything.

Joe looked back toward the stars.

The villagers had been calling that constellation the First Ship for generations. Somewhere behind him, Pam probably knew three different stories explaining why, and at least two of them would contradict each other.

For Joe, the name still carried the same strange implication it always had.

The First People came from the stars.

They crossed the darkness.

They came beneath a new sky.

Perhaps it was only mythology.

There was still no reason to assume otherwise.

Soon, however, Joe would have a more immediate mystery to deal with.

Eight months of waiting had become weeks.

Weeks had become days.

Before long, he would stand inside the same examination room Simon had entered three years earlier and place his hand against the same black stone.

Whether anything happened afterward was not something Joe could calculate.

He could only go and find out.