Súlimëo Quentar: March Stories by Elleth

A Change of Stars

At Cuiviénen, Elenî-mirê draws on a special power to save her sister from the doom that has been foretold for her.

The sky is clear and without clouds when Elenî-mirê pushes aside the leather curtain and steps from the hut beneath the stand of trees. It falls back into place with a whisper, swings for a moment, then hangs still. No clouds, and no wind either, and the last fleck of snow by the large rock is gone – that is not a happy portent, but it means the time is right.

The stars twinkle. They seem to agree with her, perhaps they even know what she is planning – and whyever not? They know so much, and will spell it out to all who can read the patterns that they whirl across the sky – fortunate omens and unfortunate both, as anyone has always known. The soothsayers can scry them, and their task is to aid those seeking council – at childbirths, namings, before hunts, the tidings that a year will bring, the question why when another goes into the forests never to return. There are few answers to that, and hearing death is the gladdest one of them. Other, darker fates, of imprisonment by the Dark Rider, and twisting torture making elves into monsters – they are known, but never spoken aloud, for fear of calling that fate upon oneself. Not even the soothsayers themselves dare, and many have started to fear the silence.

Soothsayers' divinations, based on the stars, the planets, and other, rarer things – the flights of bats across the sky, a certain fall of stones and shells they use to print star-patterns on the ground, are not the same as mother's foresight, because mothers haven't got control over their forebodings – her mother surely doesn't. Elenî-mirê hasn't forgotten the last time, when her own mother convulsed and shook and dropped the bowl of dough so it was ruined, and Elenî-mirê was the one to gather up the shards. Her mother had been heavy with her sister then, and Elenî-mbalê became – as the vision had foretold – a fussy baby and a restless girl, always underfoot and dangerously, unheedingly lighthearted even with perils all around. She'd gone into the water, she'd gone into the forest, she'd even gone into the mountains, for no good reason whatsoever.

She'll come to an evil end soon, the soothsayers portended at their last foretelling. They are wise men and women, but it doesn't take the knowledge of the stars to know that, Elenî-mirê tells them, and faces the rebukes chin-up. She's certain they only mean to punish her, by adding, when the last snows of winter melt. But with the wise it is best to take no chances. Elenî-mirê dogs their steps until they relent and show exactly which stars and signs have told them that her sister will find her fate so soon.

Because there is one thing Elenî-mirê knows, and they do not: She has a power that will let her change her sister's fate, to realign her stars.

Soon she is far into the forests up the slope, far out of earshot from the settlement. It's more than far enough for danger – bears, lynx, wolves, and the Dark Rider especially, but she knows nothing and no one will harm her today, she asked. A change, the soothsayers murmur at her, a great one, but that only helps to strengthen her resolve.

She climbs a boulder in between a stand of pine trees, and kneeling on the fallen needles closes her eyes and begins to concentrate on breathing. The air is clear and crisp here above Cuiviénen, not as mild as by the lake, and raises goosebumps on her arms. The smell of the pines tickles the insides of her nose, the noises of the forest the insides of her ears: the splash of water from a snowmelt brook nearby, the deep silence of the trees, the faintest rustle of a breeze, the muffled thud of a pine cone falling onto the forest floor, the scuttle of small things, and far too loud, the inner workings of her body. No matter, it is all part of the song, and that's what she is listening for. There is a melody to all these noises, especially the water. Not all will hear it, this she also knows – and fewer still will join and answer. To date, she thinks she is the only one.

The first time has been an accidental thing, a discovery – one of the words Tata's people from across the bay made for learning things they did not know before. She had been working outside the hut, pounding roots into a pulp for drying to make flour, and singing while she worked, swaying with the rhythm, and in song implored the pieces to stay inside her bowl, not skip out as they would usually do. They had lain quietly, afterward, at least while she kept singing. She'd thought of chance and given it no further thought, but later on at play she found the right words would stop her sister's pebble rolling toward the hole they'd scratched into the earth, or even, when she'd put her mind to it, sing up a wind that hadn't blown before.

There had been many more such instances, through several long turns of the stars, and using her songs had slowly left her less and less tiring. She hadn't dared tell anyone, lest they'd think her wrong, crooked, or somehow touched by the Dark Rider. But now she'll show the soothsayers.

This time she'll sing stars from the sky – enough to change her sister's fate.

Elenî-mirê, looking up, raises her voice – there, can feel it winding through the things around her, rising overhead, and reaching, glinting like silver on the trees, the stars whirling overhead. Stars, she implores, aid me, save my sister, cast your treacherous brethren from amid your host, so she will not meet an evil end, please. Her name is Elenî-mbalê. Please.

The song spins out of her control, climbing further, rising, rising, and there - a streak of light crosses the sky, and there another, and another yet – can it be? Has she really done it?

Her knees shake hard enough to make her running difficult, stumbling and crashing through the underbrush back to the village. The people are gathered on the open space between the huts, around the fire, talking and pointing at the sky – there are more and more, and more stars yet, all falling, and a thunder rolling from the north where, above the hills, the sky is dark. Has she really done all this?

Horror has her cower around the edge of a hut, and almost turns her around back into the forest; only the question remains: Is her sister safe? If she did this, did she move the right stars? She searches the crowd – there her mother and father stand in the open among the people of the village, joining the murmurs of 'Arâmê, save us,' and looking northward with a mask of fear like all the others - and they are holding Elenî-mbalê close.

Elenî-mirê takes heart and evades the look of Olos-rîgê, one of the soothsayers, who has spotted her hiding – she knows, for certain, and will be quick to place the blame. A change, they said. Who knew it would be of this scale? Perhaps it wasn't her fault, perhaps it was. Her song moved something. But Elenî-mirê steps up to her family. Her little sister grins at her, and this, whatever come, was worth it.

Chapter End Notes

Since it felt absurd using Quenya names here, I tried to reconstruct Elemmíre's name using Primitive Elvish, and built others to fit. Whether or not they are correct I can't say for certain, but Elemmírë and her sister Elemmallë are meant to mean Star-Jewel and Star-Path. Olos-rîgê would be olorrínë in Quenya, I believe, coming to mean Dream-Crowned. Arâmê is the (attested) primitive form of Oromë.
The cataclysm at the end was intended to signify the beginning of the War of the Valar on Morgoth, but whether or not Elenî-mirê's song had anything to do with it...

A great deal of thanks to GG and the fabulous Lizards who nitpicked this. All remaining errors are my own.

Written for the following prompts:

G51: Discoveries and Inventions: Songs of Power; Injuries: Torture; Scientific Achievement: Print

B1: Book Titles: Silver on the Tree; Smells: Pine Trees