A Sliver of Stardust (6 page)

Mother Goose, when she wanted to wander,

Would ride through the air on a very fine gander.

L
ater that afternoon, Mary led Wren, Simon, and Jack through a long tunnel that sprouted from the cellar of Pippen Hill and opened up into a wilderness of trees. They walked for a good while through an orchard in full bloom and beyond into a less tended crush of forest.

“How in the world,” Wren said as she pushed her way through the underbrush, “is all this right next to a university campus? How come we've never seen this before?”

Jack gave her a playful look, both eyebrows raised. “And three, two, one . . .”

Wren stared at him. Was he playing some kind of game?

“Come on, Wren. You still can't figure out how a Fiddler could make something appear different than it truly is?”

“Oh,” Wren said, feeling sheepish. “The stardust. Of course.” They now walked single file behind Mary. Simon first, then Jack, and Wren bringing up the rear.

“Ordinary people can't see the stardust at all.” Mary's voice floated back to them. “And you'll find that keeping the effects of stardust hidden reduces unwanted questions. For example, can you imagine the attention my falcon would have drawn if I hadn't used the stardust to mask it at your science convention? Think of the time we would waste coming up with and maintaining a credible reason for Pippen Hill's existence. Using stardust to preserve our privacy saves valuable time for research.” The branches crunched under her feet, and she raised her voice. “The Crooked House is isolated enough that you'll find we can wield stardust freely there.”

Wren thought this over. She'd probably passed by Pippen Hill countless times on her treks to the observatory. And all the time a whole magical world had been right under her nose.

Jack pushed aside a thorny branch that was blocking the path and held it so Wren could pass through.
“I am so pumped about the falcons. I haven't flown them yet—I can't believe Mary's taking you on your first day.”

“The falcons. Right. I forgot,” Wren said in what she hoped was a normal voice. Some part of her had hoped that the whole bit about tending the falcons was simply part of keeping Pippen Hill a secret. The only way she wanted to see a bird of prey was through a glass window at the zoo. She wrinkled her nose. “How close do you think we'll have to get to them?”

“What? Afraid of a little falcon?” Jack shot a teasing look at her. “Don't you want to know everything there is to know about stardust?” Jack let the branch twang back into place. “I do. Falcons are part of that. And so is the Crooked House. Apprentice lessons are going to be so much more intense now. First falcons, and then, well,
all
the Fiddler secrets.”

“What exactly is the Crooked House?” Wren asked, ignoring the whole topic of falcons and picking at the brambles that were now stuck to her jeans. Mary had been surprisingly closemouthed when Wren and Simon had asked questions at breakfast. All she would say was that it was essential that they go there today, that the discovery of the stone changed everything, and visiting
the Crooked House would be good for their apprentice training.

“It's like Fiddler research central,” Jack said. “Fiddlers live all over the world, I guess, but most of them report back in at the Crooked House. Some of them even have laboratories there.” He turned to look back at her wide-eyed. “Just think about what we could discover about stardust by being there!”

“But Baxter said . . .” Wren began, thinking about how Baxter had flipped out about Jack wanting to go to the Crooked House.

“Baxter is suspicious of telephones.” Jack rolled his eyes. “You'll see. Once we get to the Crooked House, it's going to be amazing.”

They emerged from the trees to find a field dotted with wooden poles in front of a long barnlike building. On the three foremost poles perched foreboding falcon silhouettes. Wren took a deep breath. There was no way she could ignore them now.

Mary directed each of the apprentices to one of the falcons. Wren stood, arms folded across her apprentice cloak, looking up at the falcon whose fathomless black gaze was locked on her face.

Mary handed her a cloth bundle. Wren unwrapped
it to reveal something that looked like a glove made all of leather, with buckles on one side.

“It's a falconry gauntlet,” Mary said, demonstrating how to strap one on her forearm. “To protect you from their talons.” She moved over to Wren's left to help Jack.

Wren fumbled with the straps. First the gauntlet hung loosely; then she fastened it too tight. She pressed her wrist up against her thigh to try to stabilize it.

“Awesome,” Simon said from Wren's left. He buckled the gauntlet on as though he'd been doing it his whole life and began to edge forward on silent feet.

Wren pulled on a strap but lost her grip as one of the birds gave off an earsplitting screech.

“Stop it, Wren,” Simon said. “Don't startle them.”

“I'm not doing anything.” Wren glared at the bird. “That thing doesn't like me.”

The tips of the falcon's tail feathers were bright red, the only spot of color in an otherwise brown coat.
Just like me.
Brown hair, brown skin, brown everything.

Simon stood in the middle of the grassy lawn, his forearm extended. In one soundless swoop, his falcon alit on his arm. On Wren's other side, Jack was
whistling at his falcon, which wasn't moving, but still looked much friendlier than the creature glaring down at her.

“All right, bird,” Wren said, eyeing the thing. It looked lean and hard, like what it was: a predator. She wondered if falcons were like horses and could sense a person's fear. “I'm not afraid of you,” she lied, just in case.

Wren knew the bird couldn't perceive what she was thinking, but she felt certain it was watching her disapprovingly, ready to screech again at her first move.

“Go on then, Wren. Call your bird like Simon has done.” Mary gestured at Wren's falcon as though she couldn't see it. “These particular falcons travel the auroras all over the world.”

“The auroras?” Wren thought of the breathtaking greens and blues of the aurora borealis. No matter how much she read about it, she was still captivated by the aurora borealis, by the way stargazers had to hunt for the display of colors and yet, once found, it was painted across the sky for everyone to see. “Falcons can fly through an aurora?”

“Falcons can do many amazing things. They are a Fiddler's secret weapon,” Mary said. “So it's crucial that
you develop a good bond with your bird right from the start. Your falcon will become fiercely loyal.” Mary made a gentle clicking noise at Wren's bird. “After all your hours of training, they won't tolerate another human companion.”

Simon looked like he was already best friends with his falcon. It roosted on his arm as though it belonged there.

Wren scowled at him. What a show-off.

Jack reached out to his bird and, fast as a viper, the falcon attacked his hand with its beak.

Any reassurance Wren felt at the fact that hers wasn't the only hostile falcon faded when she saw that the bird had actually taken a chunk out of the flesh between Jack's thumb and forefinger. Mary noticed, too, and the next minute she was beside him, stirring up a cloud of stardust like it was the simplest thing in the world. She found some spongy moss, mixed it in with the stardust, and wove a floating spiral of green and gray. She traced an
X
through the stardust, chanting:

Cross patch, draw the latch

Sit by the fire and spin.

The stardust swirled around her fingers, circling the moss. Mary made a little bowl with her palms, letting the element fall.

Take a cup and stir it up

Then smear it on the skin.

“Stardust enhances what is already there,” Mary explained. “My mixture merely magnifies the healing property of this herb.” She rubbed the newly made ointment onto Jack's wound. In a few heartbeats, the flesh had mended, skin knitting together, blood drying up the way an old cut does after a few hours. With only a small puff of smoke to indicate that there had ever been anything amiss, Jack was healed.

“Liza could probably do a better job.” Mary brushed her palms together matter-of-factly. “She is skilled in the healing arts.” Her gaze fixed on Jack. “Jack, too, has shown some strength in that area.”

Jack stared at his cured hand, eyes wide. “If it means I get to learn how to do that, then I hope you're right. I wonder if stardust can do even more than that,” he said, his voice alight with possibility. “Think what this kind of medicine means! No pain.
No suffering. No disease. No dying.”

“No one can escape death.” Mary wiped the remaining stardust off on her skirt. “Not even the oldest of Fiddlers.”

“And when exactly were you born?” Jack demanded.

“Enough.” Mary's smile evaporated into a stern look. “It's always the same. Apprentices are fixated on the length of Fiddler life for their first century or two. It will pass. And there are plenty of books you can read to satisfy your curiosity.” She pointed at the falcon behind her. “But you'll have a much harder time learning how to ride the aurora from books. So hold your questions and open your ears.”

Wren scrubbed the toe of her shoe through the moss while Mary explained how to tend the birds and how to care for their feathers. Her brain was only half listening. The other part was replaying everything she'd learned. What would it be like to live for a “century or two”? What had Mary seen in her years? Wren didn't know whether she was more astonished to think of Fiddlers living through the Black Plague and the discovery of America and the world wars or the implication that she could live just as long.

“Once grown, your falcon will naturally adapt to
the environment of the aurora, enabling you to travel long distances in a short amount of time,” Mary was saying, gesturing toward her white falcon as it flew to join the others.

Wren snapped out of her distraction.
Once grown?
She felt an odd sinking sensation in her stomach. It sounded like Mary meant for them to
ride
the falcons.

“If you want to take a short trip through the ordinary sky when the aurora is absent,” Mary continued, “you'll need to use the stardust.” She handed each of them a small leather pouch and then opened her own and dumped some stardust into her palm. “The stardust must touch the falcon for the rhyme to work.” She arranged her feet so that her back foot was planted perpendicular to her front one and began to swirl the stardust in the air, cutting an infinity symbol through it with her fingers. As the light of the stardust built, she chanted:

See, see! What shall I see!

My bird grown tall as it should be.

Even if Simon didn't have a smile plastered on his face, Wren would've been able to tell that he was enjoying this. It was the happiest she'd ever seen him.
He shifted his forearm experimentally, and the falcon obediently flew back over to its original perch.

“How are you doing that?” Wren whispered at him. It was as though Simon had read a secret How to Train a Falcon manual.

Mary paused her lesson and encouraged them to follow her example. Wren sighed and dumped the contents of the pouch into her palm. She could see tiny flickering embers in the mound of ashes. “Here goes nothing,” she said, blowing a poof of stardust into the twilight sky. It sparked and shot up in dazzling blue-green swirls, then fell like snowflakes, eventually wrapping gently down around her falcon. She shifted her leg back, mimicking Mary, and traced the pattern in the air. She worked her fingers in a circular movement, saying the rhyme. At first, it seemed a trick of the fading light, as though her eyes were failing her, but then she was sure of it. Her falcon was growing.

Wren stood frozen to the spot. A screeching bird was bad enough. A screeching monster bird, ten times worse. Her falcon stood staring evenly at her with its liquid eyes. Wren couldn't speak. She felt shaky inside, like she might need to sit down that very moment. She tried to breathe slowly, but she barely managed to count to three.

“Excellent,” Mary said. “Now wait here while I go into the falcon mews and get the saddles.” She disappeared into the building beyond them.

“Our falcons
have
grown tall,” Jack said, standing in front of his bird, which was now the size of a small pony.

Wren's laugh came out quiet at first but then morphed into an uncontrollable giggle. Suddenly, Jack's words struck her as the funniest thing she'd heard in a long time. “As tall as they should be,” Wren echoed. “See! See! What shall I see?” She unsuccessfully choked back a snort of laughter. “You should see the look on your face!” She laughed harder, wiping at the tears forming in her eyes, and then she was crying, the laughter replaced by difficult-to-hide sobs.
What in the world is going on?

Jack was watching her, his lips curved up in what might be a smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a friendly, amused sort of way, but he wasn't laughing.

Simon, too, had grown his bird. “Instantaneous adaptation on a huge scale. It's mind-boggling.”

“It's amazing,” Wren said, trying to hide the fact that she was crying. She never cried. “Revolutionary,” she sobbed, like the falcons were the saddest creatures in the world.

“Wren?” Simon asked, as if he noticed for the first
time that she was cycling through every possible emotion on warp speed. “Are you okay?”

“I don't think so,” Wren said in a wobbly voice. She tried to inhale through her now-congested nose. “I'm laughing. And crying. And I have no idea why. Just give me a minute.”

She managed a few deep breaths, while Simon turned back to the falcons, making monotone observations on their intelligent eyes, their deadly talons, and the coloring of their feathers. Wren stopped crying, the tears replaced by the irritation burning hot within her. He was such a know-it-all. Besides, why wasn't Simon more rattled by all of this?