Myth and I made our way to a nearby field, one that was speckled with bales of hay. Fireflies flickered around us, guiding us to a spot in the center of the field. There we halted and lay down on our backs, with a hay bale just behind our heads.
“Chirp!” chirped a cricket.
“Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!” a chorus of crickets chirped back.
I gazed at the myriad of twinkling lights that illuminated the heavens. “It’s so beautiful,” I said quietly.
“Yeah,” said Myth. She glanced at me. “It reminds me of your face.”
“What!” I exclaimed.
“Your freckles,” said Myth. “They’ve always reminded me of a starry night.”
I had never thought of that before. Izzy, the woman with a face full of stars—that was an excellent epithet.
“Thank you, Myth,” I said. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should. I mean—just look at that sky.”
We fell silent for a spell and admired the heavens.
“Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!” sang the crickets.
“Gazing at the stars reminds me of a game I used to play when I was a girl,” I said.
“What game?” said Myth.
“At sleepovers, all the girls would go outside and ask the stars to tell us our futures.”
“Really?” said Myth, chuckling.
“You never did that?” I said, shocked that Myth had missed out on such an important girlhood ritual.
“Nope,” said Myth, shaking her head.
“Well,” I said, rising onto my feet. “We’re going to do it now, Missy.”
Myth stood up, too. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”
“First, you cover your eyes,” I told her. Then I demonstrated this by putting my hands over my eyes for a moment. Lowering my hands again, I added, “And you’re not allowed to peek—that’s cheating.”
“No peeking. Got it,” said Myth, nodding her head.
“Then you point at the heavens, like so.” I pointed at the starry sky.
“Understood,” replied Myth.
“Then you turn slowly in a circle,” I said, “and recite this verse:
Stars, stars up above,
Please reveal unto me
What my future shall be.
Will I fall in love?
Or will I be wealthy?
Please say I’ll be healthy.
It’s time for you to portend
For my song is at an end.”
Looking at Myth, I said, “As soon as you say ‘end,’ you stop moving and open your eyes. The constellation that you are pointing at will determine your future.”
I pointed at one particular constellation and sighed. “I always landed on the Hearth—every single time. The Hearth represents home, so my destiny was to be a good wife and have a happy home.”
“Okay,” said Myth. “This should be a laugh—let’s do it. But you go first. I need to hear that verse again before I have a go”
“Okay,” I said, covering my eyes. “Here I go.”
Pointing at the heavens, I performed the sacred girlhood ritual. And when I opened my eyes, I was pointing at…
“The Hearth!” I cried out. “Again!” Placing my hands on my hips, I looked up at the heavens and scolded the stars. “Why? Why am I always the Hearth? Just once, can’t you let me be something more interesting, like a hero? Just once! I’d even settle for being the Otter. But no! It’s always the Hearth!”
“Calm down, Iz,” said Myth as she laughed. “Most elven girls, and boys for that matter, would love to land on the Hearth.”
Still scowling at the sky, I said, “Really?”
“Uh-huh,” said Myth. “I’ve mentioned that home and family are the most important things to us. Every girl in the Elvenhome would be envious of you.”
“Thanks, Myth,” I said, calming down a bit. “It’s not that I mind being the Hearth. But it would be nice to land on a different constellation just once.”
“Maybe next time,” said Myth. “But now it’s my turn.”
Myth performed the ritual. At the end of which, she was pointing directly at a constellation of a man. A sword was in his right hand. And his head was at his feet.
“Michaelmas,” I said quietly, “the defeated hero.”
“I’m not familiar with that constellation, Iz.”
“Long ago, Michaelmas saved the Holding Noon from a wizard,” I explained. “But just before he died, the wizard flung a lightning bolt at Michaelmas. The bolt struck him in the neck, severing Michaelmas’ head from his body. Michaelmas saved the Holding, but he lost his life.”
I wrapped my arm around Myth’s arm. “Landing on Michaelmas means that you’ll accomplish a truly great deed during your life. But you’ll lose everything in the process.”
“Well, that stinks,” said Myth. She pulled away from me and pointed at the sky. “I want to go again.”
“Oh, no,” I said, catching hold of her arm. “Once the stars have spoken—that’s it. Asking them again would be blasphemy.”
Myth smirked at me. “I got the impression that you played this game regularly when you were a girl.”
“I did,” I admitted. “But I never went twice on the same night. And I always landed on the Hearth. See, you cannot change your destiny—the stars have spoken.”
“The stars can shut it,” replied Myth, “at least for tonight.”
She lay down on her back again. “I don’t know if stars can tell the future, but they are nice to look at.”
I lay beside her and said, “Yes, they are.”
In silence, we watched the heavens.
“Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!” sang the crickets.