Strands of Starlight (16 page)

***

Stars.

Varden floated among them, letting their cool, tranquil energies cleanse him of the worry that had clung to his thoughts for many days. There was no place for worry any longer. Miriam had decided, and he had decided, and the futures had shifted, the intricate lattices of potential changing even as he watched. They would change still more that night.

Now he had to prepare, and he let his awareness expand to the limits of all that was, feeling through starfield after starfield, sweeping through nebulae and then beyond to the beginning of the involution that would take him back to himself again. He found Miriam there, not only as she was, but also as she had been, and as she would be, might be, could be. Carefully touching nothing, he examined the intricate weave of her existence.

He had not lied: the magic would be unpredictable. He hoped that he could keep the changed within reasonable limits, but one could never be certain. Universes hinged upon the mere turning of a leaf; how much more then upon the transformation of a human life?

In the corner of his mind, he saw other lattices: other lives, other beings, other existences that intersected Miriam, combined with her, and were influenced by her actions. More than usual. Many more. It was as though . . .

The lattices flickered and changed with the actions and decisions of a million lives. Villages, towns, cities, countries pivoted upon Miriam of Maris, their convoluted futures depending upon her continued existence. And if he did not change her—and he saw it clearly: waves, movements building in the webs—then that existence was doubtful.

He left the lattices and stood on a grassy plain, faced the Woman who stood there.

“Is everything forced, My Lady?” he said. “I have seen humans play a game called chess, and I have noted that only the first move is made in freedom, for all the rest depend upon the one before. There are many variations, but one player forces the hand of the other with increasing frequency until there is victory and defeat.”

“And how big is the chessboard that you play upon, Varden?”

“Truly, it is infinite, My Lady.”

“And what does that mean?”

He looked into Her eyes and smiled. “That anything is possible. Given but two choices, seek then a third.”

“You have been with humans much, my child. Does your knowledge of them weight upon you?”

He sat down at her feet, rested his chin in his hands. “There is much that I wish I did not know,” he admitted. “And yet it is nonetheless good that I know it. And I love Roxanne. We all do. We call her Sana, after the gleam of the knife she carries.”

“She is very close to Me. I think that, after she bears her child, you could bring her here.”

Varden blinked, surprised. “She is not elven.”

“Nor is she fully human anymore.” Her eyes twinkled. “Such is the danger in dealing with Elves.”

“My Lady, I would ask You of Miriam. She has chosen.”

“I know.”

“I have examined the futures. I do not understand them.”

“Has Miriam chosen rightly in your opinion?”

“I believe she thinks she has.”

“But has she?”

“My Lady, the futures . . .”

“Do what you think is right. That is all I can tell you. Futures, like lives, evolve, grow, change. The unexpected is a part of life. Is, indeed, life itself. The Elves know the past, the present, and they can see the many futures. But the Elves should not believe that they can compass the infinite in their knowledge.” She smiled. “How well
do
you know Me, Varden?”

He was silent for some time. “There is so much that bears upon Miriam. I do not understand it. I am . . . almost afraid.”

Her love was infinite, unconditional, and now it washed over him like a sea of light, swirled his thoughts out to the edges of existence, bore him gently back to himself.

“Fear not, my child,” she said. “Should your strength fail this night, I am You.”

And when he opened his eyes, he could see by the stars that it was almost midnight. He stood up slowly and walked into the village.

Varden's knock was soft, but Miriam caught her breath at the sound, and her hands tightened on the arms of her chair as Kay opened the door.

“Blessings,” said the Elf.

“God bless,” returned the priest. “You're . . . you're going to do it?”

“If Miriam is willing.”

Miriam tried to stop her hands from shanking by thinking of the man in the forest, by reminding herself that this was the first step toward her confrontation with him. “I'm willing,” she said, but there was a catch in her voice.

“Come then, child, and be at peace.”

For once, she did not feel an upsurge of protest at being called a child. She set the cup aside and went toward the door. Kay stood aside to let her pass, but she saw the tears in his eyes.

“Please be careful, Miriam,” he said softly.

“I'll be all right.” But her words were not enough, and the priest still wept. “Kay, I'll be back.”

“I know.”

But Miriam knew that this was a departure for her, and not only for the night. Patterns were shifting: subtly, massively. The world could change, would change. In a way greater than she could imagine, she was leaving Kay.

She went down on her knees before him. “Kay,” she said softly, “will you bless me?”

Kay seemed to understand. He made the sign of the cross over her. “
Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus. Amen.
”

She rose. “Good-bye, Kay.”

Varden started off into the darkness, and Miriam turned to follow, but Kay spoke.

“Miriam.”

She stopped, looked back.

“Someday I'll need your blessing,” said the priest. “I hope you'll give it to me.”

She wondered at his words. “I will, Kay.”

And she went off with Varden.

The night was warm, and the Elf led her along hidden paths in the forest. As she held on to his hand with numb fingers, she recalled that this was the night Charity was to be made witch and priestess, and she wondered with what feelings the girl approached that less tangible but no less potent transformation.

The paths wound on. Varden guided her effortlessly through the darkness under the trees. The tales said that Elves could see in the night, and with this living tale gripping her lightly by the arm, telling her to watch for overhanging branches, Miriam was inclined to believe them.

Without warning, they entered a clearing, and the flood of moonlight was blinding. The air here was sweet, the grass lush, and in the center of the open expanse was a low, rectangular block of stone that looked to be granite.

Varden led her to it. “Take off your clothes and lie down.”

She did so as he bent and opened a bundle that lay near the stone. She felt not at all self-conscious about appearing naked before him. Any thought of it was masked by apprehension: modesty seemed a paltry thing in view of what was about to happen.

The moon glared down at her as if in judgment. She returned the glance evenly. “I'm not afraid,” she whispered.

Varden stepped up to the stone. He now wore a deep blue robe bordered with a filigree of silver. In his hand he held a staff of pale wood. The Elf's face looked sad, concerned. He still seemed to be weighing one terrible choice against another, hoping that the balance would not tip toward tragedy. Closing his eyes, he whispered something to himself in his own language; and with the understanding that the light in her mind had given her, Miriam caught a brief glimpse of a woman robed in blue and silver, a crescent moon behind her and a star in her hand.

Varden finished his prayer and looked down at the small woman who was dwarfed by the granite slab. “Are you prepared?”

“I am.”

“Do you, Miriam of Maris, accept this working as being of your own asking, by and of your own free will, and do you accept the consequences, having had the possible dangers explained to you?”

It was her last chance to back out. For a moment, the thoughts tumbled through her mind:
I could be deformed. I might be in pain for the rest of my life. Anything could happen. Anything.
But she knew Varden, and deep within herself she believed in the power of the Elves.

His eyes were on her. She took a deep breath. “I accept freely and of my own will.”

Varden nodded gravely and rested a hand on her forehead. Relaxation flooded into her body, as though every nerve and muscle fiber had been oiled, warmed, and massaged into limpness. She sighed softly and almost drifted off into sleep, but the Elf's voice brought her back.

“The blessing of the Lady be upon you and within you, now and always.”

“Varden,” she said suddenly. “Varden, whatever happens, thank you.”

He smiled softly. “Be at peace.”

“I'm afraid I haven't give you much peace since we met.”

“Do you still wish to pursue this course?”

“I can't do anything else.”

He sighed, bowed his head for a moment, then gestured toward the moon. It hung at zenith, full and round, though she did not recall that it had been in that phase when she had left Kay's house. “This is the Night of Completion, Miriam,” he said. “Watch the moon. Relax and let her light fill you. Let it protect you. Let it empower you.”

She shifted her gaze to the shining disk, breathed regularly, felt as though she were herself glowing. Varden stepped out of her vision, but the quality of light changed and she realized that his staff was brightening.

She kept her eyes on the moon.

A tightness gripped her. She could not have moved if she had wanted to. She could not even blink. Eyes locked on the moon, she felt herself drawn toward it. It grew larger, filling the sky and her vision, the white light blazing through her, harrowing her soul and mind with a seething glory.

She wanted to close her eyes, to look away, but she might have been stone for all the movement she was capable of.

I trust Varden. I trust the Elves. But I'm scared. . . .

She heard the sea, the sound growing as rapidly as had the light, the waves rising about her until, invisibly, they overtopped the stone and flooded her, turning the moon into a featureless sky of white mist.

She nearly lost consciousness, but the thought of being unaware terrified her into full cognizance, and she realized she was looking into the mist-shrouded face of a woman. Green-eyed, with red-gold hair, she smiled at Miriam and reached toward her with a strong hand.

“I'm not afraid,” Miriam said, extending a hand; and in her mind, a voice answered her:
Good
. Their hands met and gripped. The strange woman smiled again, and her lips silently formed the syllables of Miriam's name just before, fingers tightening for an instant, she swept forward and merged with her.

A jolt racked Miriam's body as though she had been struck, and the white mist fled from her sight. The stars appeared, shining, glorious, their brilliance as razor-keen as a warrior's sword. Transfixed by their light, she saw, unfolding like a flower before her, an infinite complex of futures in which all potentials and possibilities were bound and connected by a vast web of starlight. It went on and on, each future merging with another and with yet another, a convoluted knot of maybes, and might-bes, and . . . and . . .

. . . and one
reality
.

She screamed, muscles spasming as she rolled to the side, fetal, fighting for sight, for thought. A river of starlight poured over her. Something widened within her, and the light flooded in.
Varden! Help Me! Please!

A hand came down on her head, and her spasms stopped abruptly. “Be at peace . . . Miriam.”

She lay for some time, waiting for her heart to calm. Behind her closed eyes, the stars shone, and the tenuous arms of a nebula shimmered in the distance.

Her thoughts slowed gradually, and she forced herself to feel the stone beneath her, to replay the day's events, to relink with the world. “My name is Miriam,” she said, repeating the familiar litany. “I have black hair. I have black eyes. I—”

She broke off suddenly and opened her eyes. A few inches from her face, her hand was lying on the granite slab. Gingerly, she flexed it, turned it, touched the stone, watched the fingers move according to her will.

But she did not recognize the hand at all.

It was still obviously the hand of a woman, but that was all she could find in common with it. Large, strong, it looked very capable of wielding a sword. The fingers were long and tapering. In the moonlight they looked carved out of ivory.

“Varden, am I—” Her voice caught. It was different now: an even, smooth contralto instead of a rough soprano. “Am I . . .changed?”

She rolled onto her back and looked up at him.

Varden did not flinch at the sight of her. “You are, Miriam. Greatly.” He mustered a reassuring smile.

She sighed with relief. Inwardly, she tried to sense herself, how she felt, how she was different. After a moment's hesitation, she pushed herself off the stone and stood. She realized that she was considerably taller now, and the world tumbled for a moment while she reoriented herself.

“How do you feel?” said the Elf.

“I feel . . .” She stretched, lifting her arms toward the stars. The night wind blew cool and fresh on her body. The moon glimmered on her pale skin and scintillated in the strands of her long, red-gold hair. “I feel wonderful. What do I look like?”

Varden eyed her up and down. “There is a mirror in your room at Kay's house,” he said. “Fear not: upi are not deformed.”

She felt too healthy to have considered the possibility. The air, the moonlight, the clearing—the world was suddenly intoxicating. She wanted to run, to leap, to push her new being to its furthest limits.

Varden doffed his robe and rolled it carefully. “How are your . . . memories?”

She caught his meaning. “You want to know if I've forgotten why I did this.”

“Sometimes a working like this brings a renewal of the spirit as well as of the body.”

“I remember everything, Varden.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

The Elf was silent.