5. A Goddess Falls from the Stars #3
When Isabel reaches the top of the Dindin nest, she sits in the large basket beside the sleeping mother, who’s wrapped around her babies, careful not to wake them.
She keeps her eyes on the brightest star in the sky, watching as it grows brighter and brighter still.
Not all stars hatch. Most fall to the ground at the end of their life and become dead stars.
But she can tell when one will die by how they grow so bright, nearly blinding in their radiance.
Star hatchlings are so rare that they’re thought to not exist. And catching one is harder still. It’s said that the faerie born from the stars can grant wishes and will offer you three if you catch it when it falls. Isabel is going to prove it true. She has been waiting years for this moment.
She lies in the nest for a long time, resting from the climb and watching the star, waiting for cracks to appear on its surface.
As she waits, she watches the Dindin too, pulling out her journal to sketch the giant avine and marveling over its beauty.
The bird has a round, fat body and short fur. Long feathers decorate the throat.
When the first deep fissure appears in the star, a cold light emerges, and Isabel gasps, dropping her journal to jump to her feet.
Excited, she forgot she was lying in the nest of a sleeping Dindin and her chices.
The mother bird opens its eyes and squawks so loud that Isabel has to cover her ears.
The feathers worn like a collar around the Dindin’s neck fan out around its head, showing a cluster of eyes that flare in a hypnotic pattern of colors and shapes.
Isabel is able to slam her eyes shut quickly enough to escape the worst of the impact, but she stumbles, legs rattling as she drops.
Lowering her eyes, Isabel grabs her journal and climbs into a crouch as she backs away, her ears still ringing as she secures the journal in her bag.
“It’s okay,” she tries to soothe the creature. “I’m not here to hurt you or your babies.”
Predictably, the bird ignores her. Even if it could understand her words, what mother would believe a stranger who intruded on her nest. It races forward, the treetop swaying dangerously beneath them with a sickening creakkkk .
Isabel stumbles when the Dindin strikes, attempting to peck at her with its impossibly long beak.
She lands hard against the twigs of the nest, wincing in pain as a twig sticking out of the nest jabs into her side.
Then the nest lurches again, the tree swaying to and fro.
She rolls with the motion, scrambling for purchase as her hands scratch at tough bark.
Unable to hold onto anything, she topples over the side of the giant nest and catches herself on the lip, holding on with a single, sweaty hand.
“No,” she gasps, looking up at the sky.
More cracks appear along the star. They’re spreading quickly now, and Isabel doesn’t have much time.
The Dindin snaps at Isabel, snagging and tearing her cloak, then the star plummets toward the ground.
She hangs over the side of the nest with one hand, wincing when the bird’s sharp beak pecks at the one holding onto the fragile twigs that make up the edges of the nest. It makes an aggressive cooing sound as it attempts to topple Isabel off and get her away from her babies.
Isabel struggles in the air, legs dangling from so high up as she tries and fails to get her footing.
The fingers gripping the nest bleed as she is pecked at.
She grunts, her muscles straining as she reaches with her other hand for the staff on her back.
When her fingers close over the wood, she breathes a sigh of relief.
She snaps it open, the wings popping out, and then lets go of the nest, free-falling backward.
The Dindin stares down at her from the nest, feathers flaring as it squawks loudly into the night.
Isabel’s plan is to sail down toward the star and catch it before it reaches the ground, but the angry Dindin makes one last attempt to charge at her and hits her glider, ripping a tear in the right wing.
Isabel sails across the sky, veering off course as the wind rushes through the tear.
She grips the glider with both hands, keeping her eye on the falling star as she throws her weight in its direction, trying to steer herself.
Isabel falls toward the ground too quickly, and the star is just out of reach.
She shifts her weight, letting go of the staff with one hand to reach the star ahead of her.
Taking a chance, she leaps, letting go of the staff and grasping the bright, hot star.
Isabel tumbles to the ground, lucky as a bush breaks her fall.
She gains scrapes and bruises as she rolls head over foot, landing in a heap on the ground.
Staring up at the sky, she smarts all over.
Pain radiates up her bad leg, and she has to lie there for a while, leg numb and chills spreading up her back.
When she has caught her breath, Isabel climbs to her knees and stares down at the star, which sits nicely in her palm.
Burning in her hand, the white-hot star has cracks all over, revealing a dark, foggy light from within.
But it doesn’t split open all the way. Isabel reaches for a stone and gently strikes the star, careful not to disturb what is within.
It is of no use. The star doesn’t crack any further, no matter how many ways she tries to pry it open.
“It should have opened,” Isabel whispers to herself. The star was so close to hatching, and it just . . . didn’t. She’s never heard of such a thing.
Disappointment fills Isabel, but she pushes it down. She isn’t giving up. She grabs a banana leaf, wraps the star tightly, and then secures it in her satchel.
Grabbing her broken glider, Isabel snaps it back to a staff and uses it to pull herself up to her feet.
She hobbles back through the forest, her leg in more pain than before from the rough landing.
She heals it enough to stop the throbbing pain, but that is all she can do.
She can’t heal it to full strength, able to only soothe away the aches whenever they get too bad.
Isabel has to stop in town to rest, and when she steps into the quiet village, she remembers Laisa’s words this morning.
With a sigh, she heads to the Sheepshead tavern, which is more lively now than it was this morning.
The balcony is full of laughing customers, ale sloshing over the side with their dramatic, animated antics.
The noise assaults her first, followed by the smoky smells that waft across the wind.
She pulls open the curved handle of the door made from a sheep horn and is awash with a din of conversation.
There’s a candle on each table, lighting the room with an orange glow. The room smells faintly of smoke and ale, and there’s the permeating smell of greasy meat, which makes Isabel’s stomach turn. She’ll have to wash her clothes twice in the lake, or the smell will get stuck in the fabric.
Behind the bar, a giant basilisk skin hangs up like a prize.
She still remembers when the beast was slain.
She was only a girl then, but it was the talk of the village.
A hero had come into the small village with a small crew, attracted by the prize the shiremaster had posted.
In the end, it was the hero’s friend, a bard, who had the biggest hand in defeating it.
“What happened to you?” Laisa asks, gasping as her eyes rove over Isabel.
Her hair sits in perfect curls around her shoulders, despite her long day behind the bar.
She sets a round of booze—a dark and bitter brew—on a table and turns to Isabel, shooing her to the back.
“Go on, get yourself cleaned up. Can’t have you scaring the customers. ”
Isabel thanks her and heads quickly to the back. She smiles at the owner, Tui, who gives her a greeting similar to Laisa’s but with more awkward stuttering. The man is tall, filling the doorway, and his soft brown hair is cut short. His cheeks glow as he waves her onward.
Isabel heads up a hidden set of stairs that lead directly to Tui’s lodgings.
Once she gets there, she cleans her hands of dirt, then wraps the wounds on her bloody knuckles and the scrapes she got from her fall.
Looking up into the dingy, warped mirror, she can see why Laisa was so shocked.
Her hair is a mess of tangles and twigs, and her face is ashen, with dirt and spots of blood.
Washing her face in the sink, Isabel revels in the feeling of the cool water on her skin, then takes down her hair, wetting it in the same pot.
She works her hands through the knots, separating them with her fingers, and removes the foliage.
She reaches into her bag for a comb she keeps for moments like this and winces as she holds up the broken pieces.
It must have snapped when she fell earlier.
Stomach growling, Isabel hurries to finish, twisting the excess water from her thick curls and tying them back on her head. When she’s done, she heads back down the stairs and out to the front. Laisa is waiting for her behind the bar.
“Where are you going? Stop and have something to eat and warm your belly first. It’s late.” Laise looks her over, shakes her head, and says, “Tsk, tsk.”
With a sigh, Isabel agrees. She needs to get home and check on her guest, but her leg is hurting badly, and she is starving.
Plus, she knows Laisa won’t take no for an answer.
Laisa leans over a window in the back and shouts out an order to the cook for Isabel, then ushers her to a table.
Isabel takes one in the corner, away from the strong scent of meat, and pulls out her notebook.
While she waits, she begins scribbling down the events of tonight: catching the star and it not opening.
The encounter with the angry Dindin mother.
“You and that journal,” Laisa says, noisily setting down a tall, curved tankard. The contents slosh over the side, and Isabel wrenches away her book with a squeak so it doesn’t get doused. The woman pours two cups and pushes one to Isabel, who puts her notebook back into her satchel.
“What do you write all that for anyway?” Laisa asks, taking a large gulp of her drink and sighing as she sits across from Isabel. “I don’t know why you’d want a record of plants and animals anyway. What’s the point?”
“Well,” Isabel says, taking a sip of her drink.
It’s warm but burns as it goes down. “I’m a healer.
It’s useful for my work. Knowing how to help the creatures and how they work .
. . knowing the types of plants and their uses for my salves and medicines.
Besides, I just like it. I enjoy knowing how things work and watching things grow.
Watching new life be born. It helps the world make sense. ”
“If you say so.” The bartender snorts, flicking Isabel’s forehead. But she smiles. “Sorry. Gotta go and feed the drunkards.”
She heads off to help another table and eventually comes back around to bring Isabel her food.
Tui insists it’s on the house. Isabel eats her smoked fish and cheese and takes a few more drinks of warm alcohol—not too much, since she still has to head home and wants to be able to walk straight.
She leaves a tip when Tui and Laisa aren’t looking and slips out the door.
She quickly returns to the cottage, hoping her stranger hasn’t woken yet. When she sees the woman lying under the blankets in a peaceful sleep, she heads out to the lake for a night swim and to wash the sweat from her skin.