Shattered Night
A long night lay ahead. Tali shifted to dust the rawhide mat beneath her, concerned about the state of her sole protection from the bitter ground chill. Tears in the old goatskin invited grit and shale chips to steal what small comfort could be found by a shepherd on the late watch. She’d need to replace the sorry thing soon.
As Tali rolled over, she found a pair of familiar eyes staring down at her. Sheep’s eyes, tinged by the light of a dying campfire. They pleaded with her.
“What is it, girl?” Tali yawned. She swatted at an orange-bellied bug buzzing around her face. “Cold too much for ya?”
It wasn’t unusual for the sheep to try their luck with any available warm body to see out the night. She shoved herself upright to search, heavy-eyed, for a log to feed the fire. Dirt ground between her teeth – a hazard of camping on the sandy slopes of the Redfrost Mountains. She reached for her waterskin, took a swig, and spat.
“Think it’s a laugh, do you?” she said as the sheep looked on. She fondly ruffled the ewe’s thick coat. “Oh? That’s odd …”
Dozens of eyes appeared around the edges of her camp of scattered belongings, encircling Tali and her father, who remained sound asleep.
“All of you?” She counted off the rounded pairs of pale grey and gold hovering in the dark. “The whole damn flock by the looks of it.”
The sheep didn’t appear panicked, as would be the case if they sensed a predator nearby. Nor were they showing symptoms of delirium from shivermite fever. And yet, there was a quiet desperation about them, a silent brooding that troubled Tali. She cared deeply for these creatures – more than she should, perhaps.
“Father. Old boy? Hey! Wake up. Something’s got the woolly ones acting strange.”
None of the flock bleated, bolted, or so much as lifted a hoof. They waited, eyes fixed on Tali as she searched her foggy mind. What troubles you, friends? she wondered. What am I not seeing here?
The mountainside grew suddenly bright as a streak of light severed the night sky. It shot overhead with a searing hiss, shedding a trail of sparks before thundering to the ground in a blinding flash. The earth trembled beneath Tali’s feet, and a rolling boom washed over the landscape like a great wave. Rock fragments tumbled down the sheer mountain slopes, kicking up clouds of dust on their descent. For a bewildering moment, it seemed the spiny peaks would shake loose from their foundations and crush the world below.
A heartbeat later, all was still. There was a long, hollow silence before the gentle chorus of cicadas and nightjars tentatively resumed.
“Did … Didja feel that, sweetness?” came a raspy voice, followed by a ragged cough.
Tali was relieved that her father had awoken. Her feet refused to move from where she’d planted them moments ago, and her voice sounded small when she spoke. “Did I feel it? How could I not?”
Her father rolled over, clutching his shaggy blanket. “Did the world come to an end just then?” He reached for a coat and wrapped himself tight as he negotiated with his shaky legs to stand. “I was dreaming and then … gaw, the sound of it! The flock will be spooked, running about like …” He paused as a sheep nuzzled his hand. It leaned against him and rubbed its ears between his fingers. “Oh … Hello? They’re all here, Tali. Give or take.” He strained his eyes towards the darkness. “I’m not ungrateful, no. But that’s odd. Damn-downright odd.”
“I tried to wake you,” Tali said, kneeling. “But I can’t raise the dead.” She held the sheep’s head in her hands, studying its face to see if the dear thing was as unsettled as she was.
“You were on the watch when it happened?”
“Yes.” Another sheep pushed its way towards Tali, seeking her affection. “Something big and bright fell from the sky. Hit the ground somewhere down below at such a speed. A star or … I don’t know … an enormous … great … burning thing. That’s what shook the mountains. At least, that’s what I think I saw.”
“My heart is what shook, damnit!” Father fell silent for a moment. “Did you see where it landed?”
The shepherds emerged from where their lofty camp sheltered behind a large boulder. Tali watched and listened, feeling ever more doubtful about what she had seen. She’d barely been awake when it had happened.
They stumbled along the steep slopes, fighting thorny brush and rocky outcrops to find a vantage point with sure footing. Father stopped to retch several times. Tali had to all but carry him as they went, stroking his arm and keeping them both from falling to their doom. He’d overdone it on the liquor again, complaining earlier that he needed extra protection against the unrelenting cold.
With dogged determination – and no small amount of luck – the pair finally looked out from a ledge with the world at their feet.
Nothing unusual caught Tali’s eye at first. The mountain range to their left was veiled in shadow. A line of silver on the rocky plains below marked the passing of the Horn River winding its way west and then south. Twinkling lights touched the horizon where the nearest town lay many miles away.
She nudged her father with an elbow. “There! Do you see it? That’s no campfire.”
To their right, a few miles east, where the river cut through a grove of trees, a circle of flames grew brighter and taller.
Father stared vacantly at the distant light for a time. He shifted the dirty scarf around his neck upwards to cover more skin. His tolerance for the cold had waned with age. Now approaching fifty, he wore the etchings of a much older man on his umber face, which was tanned a few shades darker than Tali’s own complexion. The wrinkles suited him – marks from weathering many harsh seasons of life. His hair, although mostly grey, was long, thick, and lively.
“Father?” Tali said. “Are you all right?”
His breath was so quiet that she worried his feeble lungs had given up altogether.
“It’s a gift.”
Tali frowned. “A what now?”
Father narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly but offered no reply.
“Uh, do you suppose that—”
“Don’t press me, child!” he snapped, creating a wake of silence between them. The old boy shifted feverishly inside his woollen coat. “We can’t know what it is for sure,” he said, softening his tone somewhat. “Not unless … Not unless we go see for ourselves. Tell you what – gather up the garb and gear. We won’t need much. Do it quick! My stave … Where’d that blessed stick wander off to just now?”
Tali folded her arms and stood firm. “Father. Take a moment or two. Is this wise? What about the flock? We can’t abandon them here.”
The lean shepherd sucked in his lower lip as he always did when pondering a weighty decision. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his eyes. “Forget the flock,” he said firmly, grabbing Tali’s arm with a shaky hand. “We go now. See what is to be seen ’fore the world wakes and our chance is lost!”
The old man has finally fallen off the edge, Tali thought. Too many years drinking on the watch. Mother warned him. “Shepherd’s Poison”, common folk called it – the home-brewed concoctions enjoyed by Ayrrish sheep-minders and avoided by everyone else. Father had consumed the stuff for as long as she could remember.
“The sheep, Father,” she insisted. “No. I won’t leave them. You think those mutton-loving sand cats will graze on thorn leaves while we’re gone? Besides, you look in no state to be traipsing out there, in the dark, amongst the rocks and thorns.” She broke away from his grip and looked back towards their flock. “You know they’re all we’re worth. We can’t afford …” Tali turned to continue her protestations, but her father wasn’t paying any attention.
He always listened. She was his world, wasn’t she? His one and only child, now a sprig of a woman approaching eighteen years. “Fierce, forthright, and far too bright to be a sheep-minder’s daughter,” was how he affectionately described her, never lacking an excuse to bend a stranger’s ear over his daughter’s many virtues. He adored everything about her and rarely missed a single word she said.
His eyes had returned to the flames. Tali noted with concern how he blinked at an alarming rate and fidgeted with his worn leather belt. His coat now hung half-open, and his scarf lay trampled on the ground. The poor man was so far gone he couldn’t even feel the cold. She needed to escort him back to their camp, stoke the coals, and wrap him up. Someone else could investigate the ring of fire. It wouldn’t spread far in this barren stretch of the province.
With a sigh, Tali bent to collect his scarf and wrapped it around his neck. She pulled her father’s coat closed, tightening his belt to keep it in place. “Right then, old boy. Let’s get you back. I’m sure the sheep are missing you by—”
How had she not noticed before? The flames. Even at a distance, they burned so bright and clear, erupting in an exquisite display. Emerald and violet, luminous magenta, strands of searing white – all woven together in a beautiful torrent of colour. What … are you? The colours seemed to draw her closer. Oh. I see it now. A pleasant warmth surrounded her mind, then body, consuming every part. The stars above faded, and the colours wheeled until there was nothing else. She drifted in a void of weightless serenity, stripped of the burdens of her physical form and daily strife. The worries about her flock, her father, hurts past and present – none of it held any purchase. There wasn’t anything to be or do. All that remained was sweet submission. Submission to overwhelming bliss.
With a sudden jolt, Tali found herself back on the cold mountain ledge huddled beside her father. Somehow, she knew what came next. An understanding had dawned between them, a shared purpose. No deliberation was needed.
Wordlessly, they hurried back to their makeshift camp, a rising urgency spurring Tali on. Time only to pack a few essentials: rags of clothing, cooking utensils, blankets, a leather sling, a handful of cloudy opal bits, and a canvas sheet. They discarded everything else.
Father and daughter scrambled down the mountainside, breezing past the curious eyes of their flock who had ventured out to find them. They navigated the treacherous descent at a reckless pace, wilfully blind to the sheer drop-offs and jagged spurs of rock at every turn.
Reaching the foot of the mountain, they stretched their legs in a brisk jog which soon became a frantic run, pushing through clumps of spiteful thorn trees and dead brush. Scrapes, stumbles, and the occasional fall did little to stifle their pace over the uneven terrain as they made for the river. Finding their way in the dark would be easier with the Horn River to guide them to the light ahead.
The burning grove in sight, Tali saw the colourful flames were subsiding. As they pressed closer, a wall of hot air warned her from venturing any further. She signalled to Father, a few paces behind, to stop. Thick smoke soon enveloped them, carrying with it a sweet, pungent smell. Father doubled over and coughed until his eyes watered. He wiped at the tears with grimy fists, mumbling to himself. Tali came alongside him and rubbed his back. “Easy now, Father. Rest for a few.” The glowing haze before them made her skin prickle with excitement. “Look. We’ve arrived.”
Before long, the smoke thinned out, revealing a circular clearing the size of a small farmhouse pressed into the skeletal remains of skinny tree trunks and charred bushes. Steaming chunks of rock were scattered everywhere. Embers and ash wafted away on a gentle breeze that stirred from somewhere inside the middle of it all.
“Every frozen night, Tali,” Father said, pointing a clawed finger. “Every stone-filled boot and bleatin’ sheep. All those scorched summers, empty bellies, and thorny twigs … I believe … have brought us, finally, to this very thing.”
The flames continued to wane while they watched and waited. As the fire faded, a new, purer light emerged from within the heart of the clearing. It beckoned Tali to venture closer. Her father followed a few steps behind as her feet crunched forwards on hissing bits of rock and cinders and smoking twigs.
A wide crater that reminded Tali of a hideous pockmark she’d once seen on a child’s face scarred the ground. The crater was bare, everything incinerated to ash save for a radiant shard of stone embedded in the blackened earth. Father’s face shone before it. Vivid colours caught the smoky haze around them, forming ghostlike shapes that leapt and twisted. Tali covered a gasp with both of her trembling hands.
She could count on a single hand the number of times she had glimpsed a gem of substantial worth – the sparkling kind usually found dangling around the neck of a wealthy lord’s wife. None of those were anything like this stone. It needed no sun to shine. The shard pulsed with its own vitality, cycling through shades of all the colours she had seen in the flames and more. It was also larger than a hefty sweet melon.
But the array of shifting hues wasn’t the most curious property of this stone. It seemed to speak or want to speak. There were no words or pictures, only an impression – a seed germinating at the edge of Tali’s awareness as she stood before it.
She felt suddenly ashamed – naked in its presence. Unworthy with her woollen rags, soiled hands, and matted, greasy hair. They were foolish to presume anything of this wonder. The weight of its beauty was unbearable, an awful burden to hold even in her thoughts. Mercy, she pleaded. Show us mercy. The pair fell to their knees, faces planted in the dirt, unable to speak or move. There they remained until a lacklustre sun rose in the east hours later.
Dawn brought with it a sober awareness that the gift should not be left exposed. The land was waking, and uninvited travellers on the river would soon become curious of the smoke still rising from the smoulder. Other shepherds might wander down from their mountain haunts to ask unwelcome questions. The thought disturbed Tali.
Father raised his face from the ground, blinking away ash and black sand. “Our blankets, Tali – hand me one. I know what needs be done here.”
Approaching slowly, he stepped into the crater and tossed a blanket over the shard, retreating a few quick steps back afterwards. He froze for a few tense moments, bracing for any reaction. Tali held her breath. But the stone didn’t shake or spin or make any sound. Instead, it continued to glow, rays of light piercing holes in the fabric that covered it. Tali marvelled at how brightly it shone, even in the grey light of dawn.
With great care, her father wrapped it several times and placed it in a sling bag. “Huh. Weighs no more than a cabbage, I’d say,” he said. “We must deliver it to—”
“Lady Carys,” Tali said without thinking. How did she know?
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Father said. “That’s what it wants. And that’s the course we’ll take.” He smiled. “I think, sweetness … that last night was our final watch. In the days ahead, well, it seems to me we won’t be minding sheep in the blasted cold anymore.”
They peered at the wondrous bundle in Father’s bag once more before setting off for home, avoiding all the busy paths.
Tali thought about her flock wandering the wilderness, lost without anyone to guide them. They were only sheep, she understood now. Unimportant, dumb beasts that couldn’t comprehend anything beyond which shoots to chew and where to avoid the cold at night. Whatever became of them was no longer her responsibility and of no great consequence besides.
