HIS EVENING STAR

Chapter X

Elijah

The night lay thick and heavy over the forest, broken only by the soft glow of starlight filtering through the canopy. I stood on the porch leaning back against a pillar, a bottle of ale dangling from my left hand, my eyes fixed on the distant tree line. Sleep had eluded me once again, chased away by the persistent ache in my body that really isn't there.

I took a long swig from the bottle, hoping the alcohol might dull the phantom pain. It was a futile effort, I knew, but it gave me something to do other than lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and cursing my own weakness.

The night was unusually still, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. I found myself listening intently, though for what, I couldn't say. Perhaps for some sound to break the oppressive silence, to remind me that the world still turned, that life went on despite the ghosts that haunted me.

As if in answer to my unspoken wish, the soft sound of footsteps on wood caught my attention. I tensed slightly, realizing I'd left the door ajar in my distracted state. I didn't turn, but my senses sharpened, alert to the presence behind me.

"Oh," came her soft voice, hesitant and apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were out here. The door was open."

I grunted softly in acknowledgment, still not turning. I hadn't expected company, especially not hers. For a moment, I considered sending her back inside, back to the solitude I thought I craved. But something—perhaps the quietness of the night, or the lingering ache in my body that is not there—made me reconsider.

Instead, I found myself asking shortly, "Why are you still awake?" The question came out harsher than I'd intended, tinged with the irritation born of my own sleeplessness.

I heard her shift behind me, could almost feel her discomfort. "I... I couldn't sleep," she admitted quietly. "Habit of bad dreams, I suppose. And then I saw the open door and thought some fresh air might help."

I nodded slightly, understanding all too well the torment of nightmares and restless nights. I took another swig from my bottle, considering my next words carefully. Part of me wanted to dismiss her, to guard my solitude. But another part, a part I rarely acknowledged, recognized a kindred spirit in her sleeplessness.

"But it's okay, I'll leave you alone." She turned to leave, but I felt a twinge of... something. Not quite regret, not quite concern, but something that made me speak before I could think better of it.

"Stay," I said, my voice gruff but not unkind. "If you want."

I heard her hesitate, could almost feel her surprise at my invitation. Then, slowly, she moved to join me at the railing, keeping a respectful distance between us.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I took another drink, using the action to steal a glance at her from the corner of my eye. She was looking up, I realized, her eyes wide with wonder as she took in the star-strewn sky.

"Never seen stars before?" I found myself asking, echoing a conversation from what felt like a lifetime ago.

She shook her head, still gazing upward. "Not like this," she whispered. "In the...city, there were always too many lights. And as a slave..." She trailed off, but I could fill in the blanks. Slaves weren't allowed the luxury of stargazing.

Something in her wonder, in the simple joy she took from something I'd long taken for granted, stirred a memory in me. Of nights spent poring over star charts, of dreams of exploration and discovery that had died along with my arm.

Before I could think better of it, I found myself pointing to a bright star directly overhead. "See that one? That's Polaris, the North Star. Sailors use it to navigate."