The Broken Crown

Chapter 31

“That star is called Hasar. Do you know how rare it is to see it?” She shook her head. “I have never seen it before, nor had my tutor. It has not been seen for centuries, not by anyone and not until this day.”

Anaïs frowned. Above them, the star gleamed stronger than before, its red light outstanding amongst the rest of the stars once you had noticed it. “What does it mean?” she asked, fearing the answer by instinct.

“Death,” Talia said, her voice otherworldly. “Certain death. Inevitable death. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

Stiffly, Anaïs shook her head. Her entire body seemed cold, as if a wind had blown through it and turned her bones to ice.

“Certain death, Anaïs. It’s almost impossible. This star symbolizes a death that cannot be avoided, not by any means.” Talia paused. “The future is very rarely fixed, but this star speaks of a certain future, and the worst of its kind.”

“Whose death?” she breathed.

“That’s the thing. The star tells you what with undeniable truth and certainty, but it cannot say who.”

Both their eyes travelled back to the sky, unable to look away from the star. It seemed that it was impossible to look away; as though its darkness was something to be yearned for. Everyone yearns for sadness, for the romance of tragedy, she remembered someone saying – who, she could not remember.

How they managed to stand up, Anaïs did not know. She could remember her legs trembling, she could remember feeling relief that there was no light in the forest. She could remember needing the darkness and the shadows.

Never had she dreamed that one of the prophecies would be fulfilled the very next day.

She woke late that day, tired from the night before and unable to rest from troubling dreams. When she opened her eyes and let her hands travel over the covers, the sun was shining through the windows and she was alone in bed. Tropical birds chirped peacefully outside.

Slowly, she sat up straight, stretching her body, which was sore from her awkward sleeping position and from shifting around.

The villagers had already set to their daily work. Anaïs enjoyed the privileges of being a jakeen; she could rise as late as she wanted to. It was not something she took advantage of usually, but on days like these, it was a blessing.

When she walked through the village, she could not find the Kahari. It seemed strange because he was usually always close to the circle of houses, and she could not remember that a hunt had been planned. She needed to speak to him about the omen, the blood red star. She needed to tell him that someone was in danger.

It was not until she stopped to ask someone that she found out where he had went.

“Some scouts that were out searching the desert for game saw a small group of people approaching,” Yerai, a young mother of two boys, said. “He has gone out to greet them.”

It means that someone or something loved will return soon. The words that Talia had used to explain the formation of stars. And then she had seen that star, that one star. When whoever it is that will return returns, someone will die.

The world had seen enough death, she decided, and she wished that Talia had been mistaken. After all, the jakeen was old and she had never seen the star with her own eyes. She could have been mistaken. But something about her face as she saw the star, something about the way it had felt to see the star, told her that it was something that one did not easily mistake.