An Accident of Stars

move. How could either of them perform the trial while blind
and tied to another person? Wasn’t the whole point of her
presence that Zech didn’t have to do anything?

“Here is the tale of the Trial of Queens,” said the youngest
queen, her soft voice echoing through the cavern. “Long ago,
before Veksh was Veksh, the clan-chiefs of the twenty great
motherlines were estranged from one another, riven by feuds
and disagreements. War loomed, inevitable; and yet it would
have destroyed us, for our heathen neighbours, sensing the
disunity of Veksh, planned conquest while our eyes were turned
inwards. In this time of blood and blindness, a conclave was
called – one last attempt to sue for peace. But even then, so great
was the enmity between the motherlines that not even the
wisest clan-chiefs could enforce order. When the time came for
discussion, none could be heard, for none would be silent –
every voice rang out at once, and the whole conclave was in
uproar.

“Until a girl-child, little more than eight years old, stepped up
to the floor. None there knew who her mother was, and yet she
came with Ashasa’s blessing, her body aglow with holy fire. Her
appearance forced silence on all those present, and when the
child spoke, her words were Ashasa’s words.

“This is what she said:
“Deep in the heart of the southern mesa, the Mother Sun’s
scions wait. Whosoever would claim the right to speak for Veksh
in Ashasa’s name must venture there by dusk and test their
mettle. Those who return alive at dawn and bearing the scion’s
mark will be counted Queens in Ashasa’s sight, and given leave

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to speak, not only for their motherline, but for all the clans of
Veksh.

“And the clan-chiefs listened; all save one, who refused to
acknowledge the child as Ashasa’s voice, and whose motherline
thereafter fell into decay, and was lost to the world forever. But
all others heeded her words, recognising only then the dangers
of the precipice on which they stood; and so it was that the
conclave travelled to the mesa, which is now called Yevekshasa,
and down into the stone went not only the clan-chiefs, but all
who thought themselves worthy of the honour – easily a
hundred souls or more. From dusk until dawn, the would-be
queens sought Ashasa’s blessing, but when the sun rose again,
less than half remained alive, and of their number, only half
again were held to have attained both mark and sign.

“These were the first queens of Veksh, in whose footsteps you
now tread. Remember them, and remember in whose sight you
walk. Ashasa bless you both, and fire light your way.”

“Fire light your way,” the other queens echoed, and in the
pause that followed, a shadow loomed in Saffron’s blindfolded
vision; one of the three stood over her, and daubed what must
have been blood on her forehead, just as Yasha had done on the
Envas road. She shivered, her body recalling the cold of the
underground pool, and then the shadow stepped back, and a
new voice – Saffron didn’t know where the owner had come
from, but guessed they were either a queen or a priestess – began
to speak.

“Ashasa, witness these your supplicants: Zechalia a Kadeja
and her proxy, Safi a Ellen, whose worthiness to sit your trial has

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been won by right of law. Hand-of-dreams bind them both in
spirit; blood-bond bind them body to body; sun-tongue bind
their wills together. Blessed daughters, hear me now. The risen
sun is sharp as steel. Can you endure her touch?”

A strange feeling overtook Saffron then, as though she were
suddenly tipsy. Warmth spread through her, pins and needles
pricking her hands and feet. Colours wheeled in her blindfolded
vision; her head felt muzzy and numb. Abruptly, she lost all
sense of balance; she tried to steady herself, but her arms were
deadweight, and with a faint, embarrassed croak she keeled over
sideways, thumping down hard on the cavern floor. Though
vaguely aware that Zech, too, had fallen, she found she couldn’t
call out to her. Instead, she lay parched and panting like a
sunstruck dog, unable to move and struggling to keep her eyes
open.

How sharp the risen sun, she thought, and then there was
only darkness.

When Gwen opened her eyes in the dreamscape, her son was
waiting for her.

“Hello, Mother,” said Louis.
He smiled at her, and even though they weren’t really
together – or at least, not bodily so; she’d long since learned that
the dreamscape, whatever else could be said of it, was still a real
place – she felt her heart swell with pride and amazement, that
she had borne and successfully raised this man as a child of two

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worlds.
“Dear Louis,” she said, embracing him. “Dear boy, my dearest

Shavaktiin – you are, as always, a charmed nomad. What in the
Many have you been doing? No, don’t answer that,” she
continued, forestalling his half-open mouth. “Or at least, don’t
answer it yet; there isn’t time. I suppose you’ve some idea of
what’s going on?”

His lips twisted. “You could say that, yes. Your younglings are
sitting the Trial of Queens.”

Gwen stared at him, not liking the trace of guilt she caught in
his expression. A chill wind whipped through the dreamscape,
reflecting her suspicions. “Tell me you didn’t encourage them.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “In my defence, it was Zechalia’s
idea–”

Gwen groaned. “Louis!”
“She was very persuasive! “Gwen fixed him with a look so icy
that the nearby dreamscape started snowing. Abashed (if not
strictly repentant), Louis said, “I take it you want to contact
them?”
“I don’t. Yasha does.”
Louis grimaced. “You want me to try to link you all? That’s…
difficult. I’m not some magical phone exchange, and besides, the
trial doesn’t easily lend itself to outside influence. That’s sort of
the whole point.”
Gwen raised an eloquent eyebrow.
He sighed. “I’ll try. Wait here,” he said, and stomped off into
the snowfall, presumably in search of both Zech and Yasha.
She watched him go, and wondered for neither the first nor

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last time what sort of mother she was, and whether she’d have
been a worse or better parent had she never come to Karavos; if
she would always have wanted both a Jhesa and a Naku, or a
relationship like the one they had, or if she’d only thought to
entertain the notion once she knew it was possible. They were
unanswerable questions, of course, but knowing so didn’t stop
her from wondering anyway.

“Snow? Tcha! You know I despise the cold.”
Gwen swore, startled almost back into wakefulness by
Yasha’s abrupt appearance. The matriarch had quite literally
materialised out of nowhere. She stood imperiously with both
hands resting atop her staff, her dream-self clad in the distinctive
garb of queens.
“That boy of yours is skilled, I’ll give him that,” she said
begrudgingly. “He’s truly committed to the Shavaktiin, then?”
“He is,” said Gwen warily.
Yasha snorted. “Of course. And what else would the son of a
worldwalker be?” And then, on the brink of a full harangue, she
unexpectedly pulled back. “Why did you try to hide him, Gwen?
Did you think I’d try to steal him?”
“I thought,” said Gwen, with as much quiet dignity as she
could muster, “that I wanted at least some part of my life to be
mine alone, without reference to your judgement.”
“Had you admitted your motherhood, I’d have offered you
more respect.”
“Oh? And how much more would that have been, exactly?”
Gravely, Yasha said, “We may never know.”
Gwen couldn’t help herself; she laughed, and the snow

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stopped falling – just in time for Louis to reappear, a worried
look on his face.

“I’ve found Zechalia,” he said, “but I don’t think you’re going
to be able to talk to her.”

“Why not? What did you do wrong?” snapped Yasha. Fighter
jets would envy your temper its turning circle, Gwen thought,
but wisely did not say.

“What I did wrong,” Louis retorted, “was try to use the ilumet
to contact a mind that was already disembodied. If I’d known
what to look for–”

Yasha let loose a string of Vekshi expletives, culminating in a
furious, “Arsegullet! Show me!”

Jaw clenched, Louis led them on through the dreamscape,
which currently resembled a vast, snowy plain beneath an indigo
sky. Breaking the monotony, a shape emerged on the horizon,
and though they were still too far away to see what it was, a
terrible sense of premonition set Gwen’s pulse racing. The closer
they came, the more her anxiety increased. The shape resembled
a figure – a small figure – lying on the earth; she wanted to be
wrong, but when they finally drew to a halt, her worst
suspicions were realised.

It was Zech; or at least, the dreaming representation of her.
She was naked and curled in the foetal position, her mottled skin
almost garish against the snow. Spiny, batlike wings protruded
from her shoulder blades, the translucent webbing pulsing pink
in time with her heartbeat. It was an eerie sight, but Gwen was
much less concerned by the wings than with the fact that Zech’s
eyes were closed, her exhaled breath steaming slightly as it hit

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the air.
“She shouldn’t be sleeping,” she said, shocked. “I didn’t know

anyone could sleep, in this place.”
“Fool of a Shavaktiin,” Yasha whispered, “and more fool I, for

trying to interfere with Ashasa’s own judgement.”
Gwen shot her an astonished look. “You’re accepting blame?

Voluntarily?”
Yasha clicked her teeth in anger. “Save your knives for better

blood; I’m not above admitting fault. Of course your boy doesn’t
know the trial; of course he doesn’t know the proxy magic. I
ought to have remembered. I ought to have known better.” This
last was muttered to herself.

“Care to enlighten us?” Louis asked darkly.
By way of answer, she prodded Zech’s sleeping form with the
butt of her staff. The girl didn’t so much as stir. Yasha shook her
head. “She ought to have borrowed Safi’s body, flesh and spirit
linked, with the elder girl to ride as guide. Instead, you’ve
brought her halfway here. Until the trial is done, she can’t return
to her own body, but neither can she fully enter Safi’s. Their
roles are reversed.”
It took Gwen a moment to fully comprehend the implication.
Once she did, she stared at Yasha, aghast. “You mean that
Saffron will sit the trial, not Zech? That she’ll do it alone?”
The matriarch sighed. “Most likely, yes. Though it’s possible
she can still hear Zechalia’s thoughts – and maybe,” she added,
her tone turning thoughtful, “Zech, in turn, can still hear us.
After all, a part of her is with us now.” Abruptly, she knelt beside
the girl, her movements more fluid than age permitted in

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waking. “I’ll stay with her until it’s done. Alone,” she added,
when neither Gwen nor Louis made to leave. “I’ve been accused
of many things, but betraying Vekshi secrets isn’t one of them.”

Louis looked at her long and hard before nodding. “As you
will.” He put a hand on Gwen’s arm, and only then did she see
the faint lines of exhaustion marking his face. “Come on. There’s
nothing left for you to do.”

He was right; and yet Gwen hesitated, suddenly unable to
look away from Zech’s weird, translucent wings. “What are
they?” she asked. “What do they mean?”

But Yasha didn’t answer.

Cold and disoriented, Saffron woke on the cavern floor. Her
blindfold was gone, and the Vekshi queens and priestess were
nowhere in sight. Except for Zech, who still lay prone a few feet
away, she was utterly alone. She didn’t know long she’d been
unconscious, but some internal mechanism suggested it wasn’t
much longer than twenty minutes. An unpleasant, metallic taste
in the back of her throat prompted her to sit up, casting around
to see if they’d been left any food or drink, but there was
nothing. Groggily, she slouched to her knees and shuffled over to
Zech. What was supposed to happen next? Up until now, she’d
thought that some magic or other was meant to bind them
together – she had no idea what the end result ought to feel like,
but she’d assumed, not unreasonably, that it ought to be obvious
somehow; that she’d be able to tell it had worked. Instead, she

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just felt… ordinary.
And cold, of course. Between the residual chill from the

water and the natural underground cool, her teeth were starting
to chatter. Goosebumps pimpled her arms and legs. Hugging her
torso with one hand, she nudged Zech with the other.

“Zech. Zech. Come on, wake up. What happens now?” She
paused, suddenly uneasy. “Zech?”

No response.
Very slowly, Saffron rocked back on her heels. Try not to
panic, she told herself. It didn’t work. She shook Zech’s
unconscious form, helplessly repeating her name, but she didn’t
so much as stir. I’m panicking, she thought, and with an effort of
will forced herself to stand, taking several deep, soothing breaths.
Calm down. Maybe this is all part of the test. Zech said she didn’t
know everything a proxy was meant to do. Perhaps the bond
comes later. I should just… get on with it, whatever that means.
And besides, it wasn’t like there was anything else she could do.
Not true, a part of her whispered, her gaze drawn to the
doors. This isn’t your world, and it sure as hell isn’t your trial.
Why risk your life for something you barely understand? You
could walk out of here right now, and in a few days, once
Trishka’s strong enough to send you home again, none of this
will matter.
It was a treacherously attractive prospect; and yet she
couldn’t make herself leave. Slowly, she turned back into the
cavern. Of course her actions here mattered, not just to Zech and
Yasha and everyone else she’d travelled with, but to her too. If
she gave up now, she’d have to live with the knowledge that

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she’d betrayed a friend.
And so, after looking Zech over one last time – though still

unmoving, her steady pulse and even breath suggested she was
in no physical danger – Saffron headed deeper into the cavern.

As she walked, the silence was oppressive. Her bare feet made
no sound in passing, her passage lit by the luminescent, cat’s-eye
glow of the crystals. After several minutes, however, her
surroundings began to change: the roof loomed inwards, the
walls closed in, the crystals appeared less frequently. Before too
long the massive cavern had diminished into a narrow,
increasingly dim tunnel through the earth. With the walls so
much closer, the sound of her breathing was abruptly magnified,
its hissing echo filling her ears. The ground began to slope
forward, too, as though she were walking down some monstrous
throat.

Without quite meaning to, Saffron started singing. It was
something she often did while walking alone, albeit quietly.
There was no particular pattern to the songs she chose; she
simply sang whatever popped into her head, from classic rock
and pop ballads to advertising jingles and Christmas carols.
Usually it cheered her up, but all too soon her voice tailed away
into nothing, defeated by the cool, surrounding dark.

She continued, more weighed down than ever by the silence.
The footing became softer, hard stone giving way to a layer of
moss so thick it felt like walking on carpet, while the previously
straight tunnel began to curve and corner like the bunched coils
of a snake. The dry air turned moist. Droplets of condensation
beaded the more prominent crystals; the walls were wet to the

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touch. Almost imperceptibly at first, but soon unmistakably, the
silence ebbed away, broken by the distant chuckle of running
water. Saffron halted, turning her head in an effort to tell where
the sound was coming from, but though it grew louder with
each passing minute, the source remained a mystery.

Turning a corner, she came to an abrupt halt. The tunnel
ahead split into three different paths, but all were devoid of
crystals: whichever way she went, there was no option but
darkness. For the first time since leaving the main cavern, she let
herself remember that the trial was meant to be dangerous – and
that Zech was meant to be in charge. She’d been waiting for her
perception to drop away somehow, but it hadn’t happened.
Surely the binding ought to have taken effect by now?

“You have to choose, Zech,” she murmured. “Please. Are you
there? You have to choose which way to go.”

She waited, but no answer was forthcoming. Breathing
deeply, Saffron examined each of the paths in turn, walking as
far down the respective tunnels as the dim light extended, then
hurrying back out again. She’d hoped there might be an obvious
choice, but as far as she could tell, the three were identical; the
moss, the wet walls and the darkness were all the same, and yet
she knew, with absolute certainty, that there was only one right
answer.

As much to rest her legs as to calm herself, she sat down
cross-legged before the junction, rested her wrists on her knees,
and closed her eyes. Come on, Zech. You have to be there
somewhere. Please. Please. Please.

<guide you>

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