Flash Fiction: Spinning Stars
This story is part of "Where the Stars Used to Sing".
The ancient stone tower stood at the centre of the walled city. Its finely cut stone had long ago started to weather, and patches of moss and lichen now grew over the grey, pockmarked surface in red, green, and brown.
At the foot of the tower, the only door had been locked with a guarding spell. Now mistletoe, ivy, and holly covered the aged oak door, creeping higher and higher with each passing year. Only one window broke the monotony of the tower walls. Almost at the top of the tower, an intricate pattern of lead and glass bloomed in blue, white, and silver. During the day the window would be closed, only opening once the sun had settled out of sight.
There they saw her – thought they saw her – at the window as she caught moonlight to dress a distaff in silver light before spinning the opalescent strands into silver thread on a drop spindle carved from yew wood.
She sat alone at the window while the world outside scurried on without her. When she did allow herself to rest and watch the city far below, the people seemed changed. Not simply in their dress, but a deeper change warning of the ancient shadow kindling once more, seeping into the city, spreading ever so slowly, like a web woven by an unseen spider. None of the people down in the city noticed when it clung to walls, roof tiles, statues, and clothes.
Yet the light she spun into the finest thread and knotted into complex, net patterns, were strengthened by snatches of those voices and music that drifted up, untainted, from the city, by emotions she recalled, by the birdsong, thunder and wind, and the smell of the rain that tapped against the window in the late afternoons.
Still the darkness spread its tentacles. The dark clouds on the horizon gathered closer and closer to the city, blocking out the sunlight, carrying foul air with it. Pure midnight approached, extinguishing the stars one by one until even the moon became a dark disc, unmoving in the sky. No dawn kindled in the east.
At this the city’s people scurried inside their houses and barred their doors, some drawing their curtains, some peering out into the darkness, their faces barely lit by the faint flickering of dim candles.
The clawed creature stalked the streets to the tower. The dim candles’ flames flickered and died as it passed rows of houses and shops, and those who dared to look saw a beaked shadow figure dragging a foul dark mist behind it.
The woman in the tower could sense the figure closing in, could feel its engulfing darkness long before it hammered on the tower’s door.
Setting the bone netting needle down, she rose from where she had been kneeling, gathering the net fabric in her arms.
Looking down from the window, she could make out the deeper, darker void where the creature stood.
“Think you won this time?” she called out.
The creature’s eyes lit with red fire. A laugh that emanated from the fiery depths of the earth shook the ground, sent shivers up and down her spine and arms.
“I’ve won.”
The growl of a voice stung her ears.
“The darkness is complete. You will bow to me. Or be killed,” the creature shouted inside her mind.
Her arms still clutching the net tightly to her, she stepped onto the windowsill. The fire in the creature’s eyes flickered, his clawed hands opening and closing.
“Never.”
She threw the net into the air, light kindling along the threads as it spread, the bright knots forming clusters and constellations. It rose with the wind, spreading further and further, driving the web of darkness away, covering the night sky. The creature’s eyes dimmed, its shadow body dissipating like mist in the morning.
And the stars shone.
