The Constellation

 On such a night the land seemed a dark and austere abyss beneath the canopy of stars. Menepatros looked to the stars climbing over the dark cutout of distant peaks like props being hoisted over a stage and found himself in an oddly contemplative mood.

“Do you also enjoy stargazing?” asked Neteth.

“Many men through the ages have sought answers to their troubles in the stars. But whatever deeds are commemorated there are beyond our mortal ken and in the end the only words I can believe are my own.”

“That constellation you're looking at, it's Little Horn, isn't it?”

“That may be what you call it, prince of Ersetu. To us that figure is Eyar, the man who bargained with the gods,” Menepatros replied. “He lived at the dawn of the world, when all was young and the land was rich and plentiful. All was well until one day he noticed there were plants withering and animals growing feeble. Even close companions were aging and losing their strength. So Eyar ventured into the underworld and asked each god in turn to remove this curse from the world, for he did not know all things must grow old and die. And one by one the gods rebuked him, but he would not be dissuaded.

“There was the goddess of harvests,” he continued, “who said that all things are planted in their season and so too are they reaped in their season. The god of the sea said the tide comes and goes and so too must the life of man. Gods of day and night, of storm and sky, of everything that exists under the heavens all offered their own arguments against immortality, yet the hero would not be deterred.

“At last, Eyar found the serpent Erebaia, who told him life can only be redeemed by life, else none would die and the world would become too crowded. She gave him knowledge of the power of sacrifice with which he returned to his people and gained for them a new age of prosperity. Abundance paid for in blood in accordance with the nature of things. One can never have something for nothing. And so we must never forget the price we pay for this good life. From him the first king of Nar was descended, a line that continues to honor that lesson to this day.”

“A bitter lesson for those who can't share in that prosperity,” said Neteth. “Now I better understand our own side of the story.”

“Go on.”

There was a slight moment of hesitation, so small few would have noticed. He was more circumspect than before, if only a little, and the young prince felt something ominous in the air. It had until then been a pleasant enough night, enough to almost forget his troubles, as he and Asphodel told one another what they knew of the stars they saw and the wandering planets between. Many lights in the heavens could only be seen by a keen eye on a dark night when the great lights like Tanit-el didn't crowd them out, and he enjoyed this chance to read those signs left behind by the world's creator. There was wonder in that jewel-spangled vault, such a great plethora of unknowns that he couldn't help but imagine what it must be like to sail a sea of stars and find his own place among those monsters and heroes and voices of legend. For a while, sitting at her side, he got rid of the fear.

For a while.

“The hero of this story is a wanderer and my namesake. He was going to and fro about the world as is his wont when he saw a man riding a beast so thin and haggard it seemed a skeleton and none could say what it truly was. This stranger was gaunt and wore robes of black and a tall, dark hat with a wide brim so that his face was always in shadow. The Neteth of legend introduced himself, but something about the stranger unnerved him and he didn't say where he came from.

“'I am Little Horn,' replied the stranger. 'Like you I am a traveler.'

“'And what do you do?'

“'I bring death.' He wiped the road dust from his face, revealing pallid skin beneath, and continued talking in an easygoing way, as if it were normal to say such things. 'I kill in all kinds of ways. My breath brings disease and causes storms, I carry fire and the sword in my hands, and vermin follow me like an army. Everywhere I go is made a desert. It doesn't matter how, because I love every form of death that there is.'

“Little Horn went on to say that he had been traveling many days and was looking for a place to stay a while and rest before he plied his trade again. He asked where Neteth had come from, but all the other man would say was that far away, poor, and few in number. Such people, he said, were hardly worth the trouble, and after a while he persuaded Little Horn to turn away and find some other place to go that would be more to his liking. He is always looking,” and at this the prince looked to the stars that represented this harbinger of doom. “He is always riding from one end of the world to the other, looking for new people. They say that's why in winter, when Little Horn is visible in the sky every night, everything dies.”

“So your people say.”

“So they say.”

“Maybe we'll keep you around as a storyteller. But I doubt it. In the morning I will ride to Horon in triumph and I suspect you will see for yourself the power of death over life.”

“I already have,” said Neteth.

“Even so.”

Asphodel, who until then had been silent, stirred. “He'll be released. Only a fool kills a hostage.”

“He's no hostage. Maybe you'll see what is being done under the city.” The words were subdued, contemplative, yet buttressed by some unshakable strength. “Yes, I think my father would want that. We have your family to thank for the great work's beginning, witch. It would be good for you to see the end of it.”

“Of what?” she asked.

“I chose my story for a reason. Soon you will see. You as well, fellow prince,” said Menepatros. “Friend or enemy, victor or sacrifice, all will understand the substance of which our lives are made. Deep in the caverns, you will see. Ah, Asphodel, why that stricken look? The empire that died will at last be redeemed. This is a joyous occasion.”

These were the words that hung over them as they tried to sleep, long after Menepatros had departed and the world was swaddled in silence. Words that threatened a revelation none wanted and could not avoid.