The Star Man

A Story By Dylan Merz

In a wide shallow valley between snow-capped mountains there is a river older than memory. Every spring, swelling from thaw and warm rain it spills over into the fields before draining out to the sea leaving behind a layer of soft mud, ready to till.

Known for bountiful harvests and hardy people, this area does not see a lot of visitors. A string of villages loosely clustered along the river exist solely to work the fields and prepare the harvest for shipment. Lives here are defined by the seasons and a tradition of duty and roles. Children are taught the old ways, their purpose in life is to work and find glory in service. But for some few in each generation, duty does not bring satisfaction and they cannot escape a persistent yearning for something more.

Kelly has been sneaking out at night to lie on a blanket near the forest for months. She watches the sky and dreams about a man living among the stars who someday will come to take her away from this wicked village. He is a man of honor and chivalry, a man who respects and loves her, a man without the desire to possess her beauty or use her like a tool. In her heart, she longs for a man who has traveled the dark distances of the diamond-studded sky just to see her. Every time she sees a streaking star, she sends her wish along hoping that it will reach the star man.

She is unhappy with her life, the village, and all of the people that she knows. She is sick of the way that she is treated and how people look at her but do not see her. The boys and men covet her fair skin and long red hair. When she speaks, they watch her bosom, bound by a bodice that seems to get tighter each day. They have silent rivalries and vie for her attention, though they do not care what she has to say or wants to do.

The women of the village do not sympathize with her troubles or offer any aid. Instead, they regard her with envy or scorn if at all. Most interactions with the women are conducted as if a chore and she is often assaulted by terse commands and rapid dismissals. The girls will not even look at her except to whisper and giggle from a distance or stare daggers when a boy fawns over her. The social tasks of women, such as washday and mending circles, turn quiet and icy when she joins so she has learned not to trouble others with her company.

Even in her own home, she does not feel welcome. Her mother reacts simple-mindedly to her troubles, “If you were more of a proper lady…” or “I’m sure they have a good reason for that.” Never making a valid point and dismissing her concerns out of hand.

Her father has grown to look upon her with quiet disgust most of the time. Yet when he is heavy with drink and no others can see, he regards her as a shrewd crone regards fruit in the market, perhaps also wondering if any would notice if she slipped a small pear into her pocket. Her brothers too have taken to watching her when they think no one would see and even worse, they try to spy on her as she bathes.

All that she wants is someone who can understand her and who will speak with her as an equal. She wants to learn as the boys learn, not like the girls who are limited to the maiden’s arts of fabric, cooking, service to husbands, and rearing of children. She wants knowledge, an art or a trade, something with challenge and satisfaction.

This desire is demeaned and derided by all who hear it. Women are meant to be wives and mothers, that is the way that god has set out. She is never comforted by the uninvited comments, like “A beauty such as you should have no trouble finding a fine husband.”

As if it were not terrible enough living outcast, harried, frustrated, and barred from personal fulfillment, strange things seem to happen around her. The first had been two weeks before, during Sunday church.

When the congregation had their eyes closed in silent prayer Jonathan Whittle had placed his hand upon her thigh but pulled away quickly with a faint whimper. Before they left she had managed to see the hand, though he had tried to keep it hidden. It was red and blistered as if he had grasped a boiling kettle. In shame, he later told his mother a story of that sort but in his heart, he feared that it had been god’s wrath for his sinful behavior in church.

The second had been two days ago. Kelly had been doing the family washing in the stream, alone rather than with the other women and their silent scorn. She was not aware that William Moore was lurking in the bush at the edge of the wood. She had finished with the wash and it lay on flat stones to dry. She waded into the deepest pool, still wearing a simple cotton dress for the sake of decency. She did not bathe at home any longer because her brothers would invite friends over to watch so she had hoped that she could do so here without being bothered.

She sank beneath the surface and rose with her long hair a waterfall of amber behind her arched back and rivulets of water spilling over her shoulders, causing shivers to ripple through her body. After the sound of the tinkling trickles died away, she heard a rustling of leaves and saw William in the undergrowth. He was frozen, entranced by the shape of her body beneath the clinging wet cotton. Their eyes met for a moment before he wailed in terror and clasped his hands to his face. As he stumbled away through the woods, she gathered her things frantically and ran away crying.

She did not know until the next day that he had been struck blind. That is when the whispering began. Everywhere she goes burning glares are turned upon her and hushed murmurs follow. She only has to hear the utterance once to know what they all are saying.

Witch.

Too controversial to remain, she is sent home from school but she does not go home. Instead, she walks through the forest and talks to the creatures there. They do not fear or judge her, they do not call her a witch in hatred.

When she does come home, her mother is solemn and silent, averting her eyes when Kelly looks at her. Her father is more stern than ever. When no one seems to be watching, he gazes upon her with fevered pain, like a thief who knows that his last opportunity to steal a precious treasure has come.

She cannot sleep in the house but instead sneaks out to lie under the black sky watching for streaking stars as the waning moon cuts across the sky like a scythe. That night there are many streaking stars and each carries her wishes of salvation toward the star people just as the streaking tears carry her sorrows toward the receptive mother earth.

She wakes chilled, her hair moist with dew. Hunger gnaws at her belly but she would not go to that house she once called home ever again. She thought that she might be able to sneak into the market and buy a piece of bread, with the only coin that she has, and leave before causing a scene. At first, the plan seems to go well, for the stall closest to the woods is owned by a kind old crone who recognizes her but does not speak or give an indication of disapproval.

Turning to leave she hears her name called. Annabelle, sun blonde and sky eyed, the darling of the village, is standing rigid and pointing her finger with venom. Once they had been soul friends. The two prettiest girls in the village, many had said of them. When Kelly began to swell with womanly curves and Annabelle just grew tall and thin the men continued to say the words but watched Kelly more closely with desire.

“Witch!” She cries with vicious fury while casting a jagged stone with all of her might. It connects and Kelly staggers back but no pain touches her head. However, Annabelle squeals in terror as blood pours from a broad gash across the porcelain skin of her forehead. The two girls turn and run crying in opposite directions.

Kelly spends the day wandering the woods scared and sorrowful. A witch, everyone would know, there could be no denial. She remembers when she was nine and most of the village traveled to another village to see the witch that they had caught.

They had tied her to a post like a maypole and piled dry wood all about her body like a crooked cage. The woman had been pretty and young but they had beaten and abused her before binding her there in public. The town father commanded that she confess so that her soul might be saved, repent her wickedness and god might forgive. She did not speak, her eyes were distant, trained on the sky and the invisible stars beyond.

When they burned her, the screams were terrible and she did not die quickly. Though the people all around were jubilant and justified, Kelly was terrified and she ran away from her mother to cry in a wooded dale.

Tonight she lay in a nest of leaves. When she can cry no longer she falls asleep and only then do the cries of the burnt woman fade from her memory. She awakens in the dark not knowing where to go or what to do. Not knowing the lands outside of the village, she returns to the woods near her family’s house. The candles in the window are lit and smoke pours from the chimney, such a sight would once have been a comfort but now is only another source of fear.

Tears fill her eyes again and she looks up at the dark sky, clear and embroidered with stars. Tonight there are even more streaking stars than she has ever seen and she fears now that no man from the stars will ever come and save her from the flames.

“Why are you crying, dear?” Kelly startles and scrambles away from the tall man before her. He is wearing a traveler's cloak with the hood pulled back. She expected one of the villagers, seeking to be the first to lay hands on her but she does not recognize him.

She can see him clearly in the faint moonlight. His eyes as blue as the sunlit sea, a kind round face, and short hair as silver as starlight.

“I heard you calling and came as quickly as I could. I had feared that it would be too late but it seems that I have arrived just in time.”

“Are you the star man?” She asks in wonder. His face alights with a smile that warms her chilled body. He pulls a silver chain from his shirt to show her an amulet etched with a star enclosed in a circle. She has seen that star before in the pamphlets that traveling church Fathers bring to the village and gasps. “That is a witch's star.”

“You have no reason to fear me,” He says with warm patience. “I followed the stars to you. At this very moment your kin and kind build a pyre for you. Soon they will spread through the area searching for you.”

“What do you want?” She asks with fading suspicion.

“To take you from this place that has no love for you and bring you to others who will love and teach you.”

“Are you like me? Do strange things happen around you?”

“Yes, and there are many others, men, women, and children too. They all want to meet you.”

She takes his outstretched hand and together they walk away as the streaking stars celebrate above.

End