D. A. Houdek

Deb Houdek Rule

Web designer - Science Fiction author - Civil War historian - Genealogy researcher

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Of All the Western Stars

by Deb Houdek Rule

Chapter 14

"If he’s down there, why not just leave him? Surely it’s a prison more arduous than any we could devise, an exile more complete. All we could do is kill him, and that’s too kind a fate for what he did."

"You misunderstand the purpose of punishment. It’s to no purpose unless those who were wronged can see and savor the suffering." He gestured to the planet below. "Those down there, barbaric though they are, understand that." He tweaked at the fine beard on his chin, a hard glitter in his eye as he scrutinized the screens showing magnified views of enormous stretches of dark forest and fields surrounding tiny hamlets. "The rack, the rope, the stake… mutilations and tortures. Say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and you die horribly while your friends and neighbors jeer. They understood pain, exquisite, excruciating pain…"

He looked up and the others in the control room shuddered. "And what little sin could these people commit that could even begin to match Ashur’s?"

On the ninth day of Ashur’s temporal entrapment, he took the account ledgers to a secluded spot he’d found near the front of the castle. Begun to repay and justify his keep, Ashur had become intrigued by the accounts. From reading and comparing entries he gained a good understanding of the commodities available and their cost. He paid particular attention to wages paid to various workers, from the smith who did their iron work to the wretch who mucked out the privies. It gave him, he felt, a better grasp of the era and what he was facing. Also assured by added knowledge, Ashur was less likely to make an error that would jeopardize his safety. He’d come out on top of this situation, find a way to repair his ship — once he found it (where was that cursed Geraint?) — get back to his own time and face what he’d done.

How come, then, his thoughts kept drifting to Lisette?

The softness of her smile filled his dreams and constantly interrupted his waking thoughts. Her touch on his flesh, her lips upon his, permeated his mind, shattering his concentration. Lisette’s voice, with her enchanting accent and soothing contralto tones, whispered through his memory like a symphony.

"Stop it, you fool," Ashur said outloud. He stared at the papers, trying to focus but the numbers swam before his eyes. What was it about this woman from history that tormented him so? He couldn’t have her. Anything he did to try to reach her would only hurt her. Their lives were a millennium apart. She’d been nice, kind and friendly and he was vulnerable, very much alone in this time and place. Certainly she was beautiful. But he didn’t love her. He didn’t.

The sound of horses drew his attention. Ashur put down the papers and came around the corner to see a richly decorated carriage pull up before the castle. From it emerged an apparition that one might expect to see at a costume masque. The woman’s outlandish garb put Ashur in mind of the gaudy draperies and hangings he’d seen in the palace of a backwards, but hopelessly pretentious, colonial world governor. The contraption encompassing her head surpassed even those worn by Lady Stafford for the quantity of material and ornaments attached to it. Her face was powdered a ghastly white with lips the red of fresh blood.

A servant leaped down from the back of the coach and dashed up to the door, whispering to one of the Stafford servants whose eyes grew wide. He hurried in at a speed Ashur had never seen from one of the castle staff before. Moments later Lady Stafford appeared, her hurried rush slowing to one of stately dignity as soon as she came into view. Lady Stafford dropped into a low curtsy before the strange woman, surprising Ashur with her obeisance.

"Duchess, we are most honored," she said.

The heavy scarlet brocade of her skirts barely stirred as the Duchess moved, so stiff it was. Extending her hands, which, Ashur observed, held more rings that she had fingers with several rings on each finger and one on each of her thumbs, the woman raised Lady Stafford, taking her hands.

"I am ‘Agnes’ to you, dear sister, and I hope I may call you ‘Cicely’," the duchess said and kissed Lady Stafford on both cheeks.

"I should be honored."

"And when may I meet your guest?"

"Guest?"

The enormous jeweled hood nodded. "Your husband told me of him. A ‘Lord Ashur’, a young foreign gentleman."

At hearing his name, Ashur emerged from the shadows, quill pen still in hand. Agnes spotted him at once, scrutinizing him from head to toe as thoroughly as did the wantonly ambitious village maids.

"Ah, there you are." As he neared she squinted slightly as she continued her examination. His hair was too long, he knew, though he’d flatly refused to cut it, despite Lady Stafford’s clear disapproval.

"Ashur, milady," he said.

"Yes, yes, so I’ve heard. I am the Dowager Duchess Agnes Hungerford, also known as Lisette’s Aunt Agnes."

Lisette’s aunt? That was where she’d gone, to stay with her aunt. Perhaps… Ashur didn’t let his sudden intense interest show in his face.

"A great pleasure, Madame." Ashur bowed to her, a slow smile growing on his face.

The next day he left Stafford Castle in the carriage beside Duchess Hungerford, or Agnes as he was now privileged to call her. Ashur was uncertain if he had acquired a patron, taken a job, or been sold as a slave. The distinction seemed fuzzy. In any case, he was glad to be leaving behind the unsanitary castle. Possibly, very possibly, he’d soon be reunited with Lisette. She knew where his ship was. Yes, that was his only interest. Really.

As the carriage rounded a curve the sun shone in Ashur’s face. Lifting his arm to shield his eyes, he saw something that sent a thrill of surprise through him. There, on the back side of the sleeve of his shirt, was a picture, worked so subtly into the design that for a moment he thought he was imagining it. Ashur turned his arm slightly and the image disappeared. He twisted his arm again, wishing the carriage would stop jolting. Holding it just so in the sunlight, Ashur clearly saw a tiny shooting star. Beneath its golden arc was another picture, worked in even more faintly, of a woman smiling at him from a nest of leaves and vines.

"Oh, it’s so good to be home," Lisette said for the fourth time since arriving the evening before. Sitting beside Alyce on a bench in the sunny courtyard, Lisette cherished the sights, sounds and smells of home around her. It was less grand than Aunt Agnes’ palace, lacked the sprawling size and pedigree of the Stafford’s castle, but it was home.

Alyce leaned against her. Their mother had sent them out here, hoping the fresh air and sun would help Alyce’s headache and aching back. Despite her pain, Alyce grinned. "‘Tis good to have you home." Her smile dropped and the strain of her throbbing head showed in her face. Lisette squeezed her hand, wishing she could take her sister’s endless ailments away from her. In a whisper Alyce said, "I’ll miss you terribly when you leave for good. And it’s scarcely more than two weeks…"

"Don’t talk about it," Lisette interrupted quickly. "Don’t even think about it. Let’s just pretend that things are as they’ve always been and are never, ever going to change."

Smiling again, Alyce said, "Every morning you’ll try to be quiet and I’ll pretend to stay asleep…" Lisette gasped lightly, then chuckled. "…and in the evening we’ll play draughts or chess, or Father will read to us or Mother will sing…" She broke off, coughing.

Concerned, Lisette felt her sister’s forehead. It was hot and dry. "Alyce! You’ve a fever. How long has that been?"

Weakly, Alyce tried to push her hand away. "It’s nothing. A cold, perhaps. I’m fine… really I am." Another spasm of coughing racked her thin body.

"Nonsense. We must get you in to bed at once. Mother! Mother!" she called as she half-lifted Alyce up from the bench.

After they’d settled Alyce in the bed and given her a good portion of soothing syrup, Lisette’s mother closed the bedroom door quietly behind them. Seeing the worried lines furrowing her mother’s brow, a cold hand of fear gripped her heart.

"She’ll be all right, won’t she?"

Katherine Weston shook her head slowly. "I don’t know. Poor lamb isn’t strong." Tears splashed down her cheeks. "I’ve lost so many children, I don’t think I can bear to lose Alyce."

Squeezing her mother’s hand quickly, Lisette dashed down the long hallway. Hurrying to the library, she hunted the shelves for any books on medicine, but there were none. Frantically, she searched her memory of Lady Stafford’s lessons on healing herbs, but they’d been too few and cut off too soon. On her father’s desk her eye came to rest on the piece of polished quartz that held down his papers and letters. Seizing the stone Lisette ran back toward the staircase leading to Alyce’s bed.

Alyce woke as Lisette banged the door open, the girl’s eyes glassy and confused. Gently taking Alyce’s clammy hand in hers, Lisette pressed the stone into her hand, closing her fingers around it. "This will make you better," she whispered. "It draws the fever away."

A smile bent Alyce’s blue lips. "You always did take care of me," Alyce said in a thin voice. "I am so looking forward to seeing you in your wedding gown. It’s so splendid and glittering, I know you’ll look just like a fairy princess in it."

"And you’ll look fine in your new blue silk," Lisette said, brushing Alyce’s wispy hair back from her forehead. Hiding her anxiety at the fever she felt in her little sister’s body, Lisette kept her smile even and encouraging.

"I love you so, Lisette," Alyce murmured as she drifted to sleep.

They sent for a physician from the next village the next day. It was late evening before he arrived. A knowledgeable practitioner, Doctor Hastings carried his own astrolabe and charts as the very best physicians did to determine the treatments relative to the phase of the moon and the signs of the zodiac.

Thomas and Katherine Weston, with Lisette, looked on anxiously as the doctor examined Alyce. "Not good, not good," he mumbled. "A new moon is the worst time for an illness. Her humours are severely unbalanced. She’s quite choleric," he clucked as he pulled open her gown. "She needs treatment with cooling things." He found the quartz in her hand. "Old beliefs," he snorted. "Science has gone beyond this."

Lisette felt her own face grow hot. That was Lady Stafford’s learning he was criticizing. Look how she’d made Ashur well in miraculous time, when he rightly should have died. Learned in the latest sciences or not, Lisette knew Doctor Hastings had a reputation as an incipient drunk. Many’s the person who’d risk death, or the untutored ministrations of the old midwife, rather than call the Doctor a second time. Still, Mother and Father had sent for him. Alyce’s illness must be serious indeed.

Lisette felt a hot tear slip down her cheek. She swallowed hard. She mustn’t cry. Alyce needed her to be strong and brave for her. Folding her hands, Lisette tried to pray, but no words came.

Doctor Hastings clucked his tongue as he looked at Alyce’s bared chest. He lifted a candle, holding it closer to her. A pink rash flushed her pallid skin. Alyce opened her eyes, too bright with the fever burning within her, and stared about her wildly.

"Lisette?" she rasped. Lisette moved quickly to her side, kneeling by the bed. She took her sister’s thin hand. The skin was like parchment.

"I’m here, Alyce. I’m here."

She whispered something so low that Lisette had to bend close to hear. "I saw a falling star," the faint words reached Lisette’s ear, causing her heart to thump hard in her. "I saw a falling star and then you left. I was so afraid I’d never see you again. But you did and now I’ll see your wedding…" The words trailed away as Alyce’s eyes closed again, her lips still moving silently a moment longer. Her own heart thumping rapidly, Lisette laid her hand on her sister’s chest. After a few terrifying seconds she felt the faint beating of her heart and the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

"Not good," the doctor repeated and Lisette wanted to strike him. "I’ll bleed and purge her and give her a potion of alum and white lead. If you can find fresh roses, they’ll help too. But I fear it won’t matter. If only it weren’t a full moon…"

The doctor and Lisette’s parents left the chamber to prepare the treatments. Lisette kept vigil by her several minutes longer. Though she sat very still and quiet inside her mind and heart were racing. She’d seen the face of death before, knew the look that overcame its chosen. On Alyce’s beloved features she recognized that same look. Most believed a falling star foresaw death. A shiver ran down her spine as she realized that she may have cast a wish for her own happiness, a wish to find true love, on the very portent that spoke of her beloved sister’s death.

No. No, she couldn’t let it happen. There must be something that could be done. If she could but fetch Lady Stafford… How she wished Ashur was here to hold her and give her strength. No, she meant Geraint. It was her husband who would give her strength, she lied firmly to herself.

Pausing to close Alyce’s lax fingers again around the quartz, Lisette ran from the room, skirts flying as she dashed down the broad stairway and out the front door. Past the courtyard gates, she ran out into the night, the stars shockingly vivid in the sky above her.

By the light of the cursed new moon, Lisette easily found the rose bushes. Heedless of the thorns that tore her fingers, she picked all the flowers and buds. She loved the scent of roses, always had. She prayed they’d do as the doctor said and save Alyce.

In the bedchamber, Lisette laid the dew-covered roses on the bed around Alyce. Some the doctor worked into his lead and alum potion, forcing it between her parched lips. Sprinkling soft rose petals on the pillow, Lisette avoided looking at the doctor as he opened a vein in Alyce’s foot, letting the blood drain into a bowl.

The doctor shook his head. "I fear it’s not enough."

By dawn, Alyce mumbled incoherent things. "Delirium," the doctor said. His own face was pale and drawn. Lisette, her eyes gritty and exhaustion fighting to seize her, had to give credit to Doctor Hastings. He’d done all that he knew to do, not slacking nor giving up. But what he could do was not enough. Alyce needed Lady Stafford’s miraculous skills brought down from the far north. The same falling star that predicted Alyce’s death had also guided her to Ashur and a miracle of life.

"Lisette… Lisette…" Alyce mumbled then cried out in an incoherent babble.

"A day, maybe two, left," Doctor Hastings muttered.

Her father held her mother tenderly as they looked down on their youngest child. Frantically, Lisette searched each face for some sign of hope, of promise, but found none. Alyce was going to die and they were all going to stand here and watch it happen. No. She must do something to save her. She must.

Lisette dropped the last of the roses and dashed from the room.

As she ran, Lisette struggled to clarify her plan. A carriage moved more slowly than a man could walk. It would be nearly two days to fetch Lady Stafford that way. There was no time. Alyce wouldn’t last that long. Each minute brought death closer to stealing that dear child from her. A carriage wouldn’t do, but a man on horse could make the journey in only hours.

The stable was quiet, the horses out to pasture and the stableboy nowhere to be seen. Calling out, Lisette searched the stables. Save for the buzz of the flies there was no answer to her calls.

Lifting her skirts she ran down the path by the stream toward the village. As she passed a grove of trees, she heard a horse snort and stamp its feet. Tied to a bush, stood a roan mare wearing a fine saddle. With more desperation than clarity of thought, Lisette untied the horse and pulled herself awkwardly up into the saddle, hitching her dress up so she could ride astride the horse like a man. With a jerk of the reins and jab of her heels, Lisette sent the horse back down the path at a fast gallop, toward the west… toward where she’d seen a shooting star plummeting toward earth.