Heroine of Stars

"Why do we have eyes?"

"To fill our eye sockets, dear." Mother huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Stop asking questions like that, Marin." 

Marin rubbed her eyes. She'd always wondered what they were for, and mother would never tell her. She knew that mother knew what they were for, and when Marin asked, mother always made up some excuse of an answer. 

She ran a cold hand across Marin’s cheek. “Sleep well my dear.” 

Marin reached up to grasp her hand before she could walk away. “I don’t want to sleep tonight, mother.” 

She chuckled, and sat back down on her bedside. She ran a hand across Marin’s forehead, smoothing back her hair. “We must sleep tonight my love, we must sleep every night.” 

“But you don’t sleep mother,” Marin crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t want to sleep. Mother couldn’t make her. 

She laughed again. “Of course I sleep, dearest. Why do you believe I don't?” 

Marin frowned. This must be another one of mother’s games. She never slept. Never. She was always awake at night. Always working. “Because I see you working outside my window every night.” 

Mother grabbed her arm. “What do you mean you see me?” 

She understood how these words might have alarmed mother. After all, nobody could see. Nobody had been able to see for half a century. Their world had lost its light. Her mother had been born into a world of darkness, and so had Marin. The only thing she had ever seen was her mother working outside her window at night, every night, for as long as she could remember. She’d never mentioned it to her before, never thought it was out of the ordinary until now. 

“Marin?” She sounded scared.

Marin’s voice wobbled as she said, “I meant what I said, mother. I see you working outside my window every night.” She didn’t like that her mother sounded scared. She was never scared, she was always very brave. “You mine away the chips of darkness covering the sun.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, and when she did, her words disappointed Marin. “That sounds like an interesting dream, Marin. Why don’t you try to get some rest now, and maybe you’ll have another.” 

“But, mother–”

“Not another word of this, Marin.  Never say that you’ve seen anything ever again, do you understand. It’s dangerous. We aren’t meant to see anything.” 

Aren’t meant to… Whatever did she mean?

Marin knew that even if she protested, tried to explain, mother would never understand the things she saw. Because she did see things. Every night she watched as her mother appeared up in the sky and began hacking away at the chips of darkness covering the sun. Every night she got closer to finishing, but morning always arrived before she could finish. When morning came, she stopped mining. Marin wished she wouldn’t. These past few nights she’d gotten so close to uncovering the sun. She could see these things because–despite the complete darkness they lived in–the silhouette of mother’s body glowed through the dense black fog covering the earth. 

Mother stood, preparing to leave. Marin let her this time. She wondered if perhaps she’d only thought it was her mother. That was probably it. It was likely another brave woman trying to free the sun every night. What she didn’t understand was why she stopped when morning came. Morning looked no different than night. They used time to differentiate the two. Alarms blared in everyone’s houses when the first hour of moring, or night, began.

“Sleep tight,” Mother called from the edge of her room. Her door shut with a click.

She sat up. Her window was right behind her bed, and tonight, she wanted to watch the woman working again. She didn’t watch every night. Most nights she was too tired to watch, but tonight excitement thrummed through her blood. She wouldn’t be falling asleep any time soon. 

Marin reached toward the wall until she felt the cold of the window beneath her small hands. She sat, cross legged, at the head of her bed, and waited. 

Ding

She covered her ears against the booming sound.

Ding

Ding

This was the alarm. She checked that her eyes were open, and pointed them straight toward where she knew her window was. Most people never opened their eyes anymore, there wasn’t a point. She liked opening her eyes; liked the feeling of them opening and shutting, opening and shutting. However, sometimes at night she would get confused because she couldn’t see the woman working. Then she would remember that her eyes were closed. 

A faint light began shining in through her window. It was always alarming at first, since Marin lived everyday without light. When she saw it, it always burned her eyes. She looked down and blinked a few times. Tears formed in her eyes. She wiped them away. 

When she looked back… There she was. The woman, the woman who was apparently not her mother, despite the exact resemblance. She was in the sky again. 

Mother had taught Marin about how the world used to be before the suns had gone out. She hadn’t wanted to tell her, but Marin hadn’t stopped questioning Mother until she’d told her everything. She’d told her about stars, about how they used to light the night sky along with something called the moon, which had reflected light from the sun. 

Marin thought the woman in the sky looked like she was made of stars. She glittered like a constellation brought to life, another wonder her mother had told her about. Marin loved learning about the old world, but it also brought her great pain to hear about such wonderful things that she would never see. Stars however, she had seen. This woman was a collection of the brightest stars. 

She wanted to help the woman, but didn’t know how. She was already working away at chipping the darkness covering the sun with a large tool Marin didn’t know the name of. Her mother hadn’t taught her about those. 

She thought about her mother’s words. We aren’t meant to see anything. They were strange words, scary words. Who had taken away our light, mother?

A piece of darkness fell from the sky, to the earth. The sun didn’t shine through the darkness, no, it was turned off. She didn’t know how the woman planned on turning it back on after she’d uncovered it, but Marin wanted to help. 

She rose on her knees and felt around for the crank on her window. She turned it, listening for the small squeak it emitted when it was finished opening. She turned back to her room and walked over to where she’d left her coat. That was another thing about the world now, there was no heat. It was always snowing. She pulled on her coat, her boots, a thick scarf, a hat, and gloves before climbing back onto her bed and out the window. She left it open behind her. 

Mother had taught her these streets as soon as she’d known how to walk. She’d anticipated that Marin wouldn’t be content with staying in her house her entire life, so she’d prepared her. Now, she walked toward where the darkness had fallen with confidence. 

The woman in the sky still worked. Marin wished she emitted enough light for her to see something else of her world. A tree, a bush, a house. She would love to see any of it. 

She continued her walk toward the darkness. She’d only seen where it had fallen because it was a darker darkness than the darkness that already enveloped them. 

A little while later she was so far away from her home that she didn’t recognize where she was anymore. She didn’t panic, however. If she got lost, mother would find her. They lived in a safe place, a place for mothers and their daughters.

Marin reached her hands out in front of her as she continued to walk. She didn’t want to run into anything. She tripped on a curb, and her arm was scratched against a tree. She knelt down. Grass. She was in a park. 

She looked up at the sky. The woman was still working away. Another piece of darkness fell. It fell closeby. She wanted to run to it and see what it was, but couldn't. She couldn’t see where she was going, and didn’t want to run into a tree. 

She remained patient, arms out in front of her, and felt her way through the park to the pile of darkness. There were a few pieces in it now.. It was a strange sight. The black of the pieces that fell from the sky was blacker than anything else. She hadn’t thought that possible. 

Marin glanced back up at the woman, who was still working away, and wondered if she would succeed tonight. If she did, would light return to the world?

Marin finally reached the darkness on the ground. She squatted down beside it, but didn’t touch it. No, touching strange things was something mother had told her never to do. Instead, she observed. The darkness didn’t have a definite shape or size, it didn’t hold still either. It swirled around itself, getting bigger and smaller, wider and thinner, taller and shorter. 

Marin glanced up at the woman in the sky once more. The faint outline of the top of a tree was silhouetted against the light of the woman made of stars. Marin took a moment to admire the tree, the shape of it. She smiled. It was completely different than how she’d pictured trees. She loved it.

Marin locked her eyes on the woman just as another piece of darkness fell. She didn’t turn to look and see where it had fallen. Instead, she called, “I want to help you!” 

At first, it appeared like the woman hadn’t heard her, which made sense. She was likely miles and miles away. Then, the woman disappeared. Wait– no. Marin had accidentally closed her eyes. She opened them. “Please!” she tried to capture the woman’s attention again.

This time, the woman stopped her work, and peered down at Marin. She didn’t appear startled that a child from earth was speaking to her. “You want to help me, sweet child?”

Marin nodded vigorously, and stood to her feet. “Yes, please!”

The woman smiled. “Alright. Give me your energy so that I might finish before morning.” 

Marin frowned. “How do I do that?” Would it hurt? Marin had been hurt before, and didn’t like it. But she would do it, if it meant light would return to the world. 

“Just repeat after me. Navitas tibi.”

Marin was afraid, yet exhilarated. She didn’t hesitate before repeating, “Navitas tibi.”

The woman of stars smiled wider. “Good girl.” 

Marin felt the breath rush out of her, and she hit the floor with a loud thud. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t. She couldn’t move any of her limbs. “Help me!” she cried. A tear slipped down her cheek. What had she done? 

“Don’t worry, child, your energy will return as soon as I am finished. You are a special one indeed. I have worked for fifty years, every night, and have yet to succeed. Nobody has offered me help in all that time. Nobody has seen me.” 

Marin’s confusion washed away her panic. “How have they not seen you? You are made of the brightest stars.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, I am. But nobody was ever brave enough to try to see me. Seeing is dangerous my dear.” 

Her mother had said the same thing. “Why?” 

“You will understand when you are older. I must get back to work.” The woman turned away from Marin and began working once more. She wanted to panic. She wanted to shout out for help and cry as hard as she ever had. But she didn’t. If this was the price of restoring earth’s sun, she would gladly pay it. 

Marin stayed there, lying beneath the stars. The only way she was able to track the passage of time was by how close the woman became to finishing. 

She was closer than Marin had ever seen her before. She was getting excited now, excited to finally feel the warmth of sunlight on her cold skin. Excited to be able to move again too.

The woman of stars had one piece of darkness left. Marin had a feeling that when she finished, she would disappear. But she didn’t want her to go. “What is your name?” she called out. 

The woman paused again. It must not be too close to morning then, if she had enough time for a pause. “My name?” 

“Yes.” Marin was curious. She wanted to know the name of the woman who she would later tell mother about. 

The woman looked confused, then fearful. “I do not remember my name.” She looked sad. Marin felt sad for her, it would be scary to forget who one was. She couldn’t imagine ever forgetting her name. This woman must have been in the sky for a long time to have forgotten. 

“I’m sorry,” Marin told her. 

The woman shook her head. “That’s alright–” 

“We need to give you a new name!” Marin loved naming things. She named her pillows, her dolls, each of her fingers and toes. “I’ll choose a really good one! I promise!”

The woman laughed. “What would you call me?”

Marin thought, and thought hard. It couldn’t be something frilly like lacey or starlight. No… It had to be a strong name, a brave name. Her mother was the strongest, bravest person she knew. Perhaps her name would do.

“How about Brianna?” 

The woman placed a hand on her chin. “Brianna? Hmm… I approve. It is a virtuous name. I am honored to be named after your mother, dearest one.”

Marin laughed. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been trapped here in the sky for a long time. I’ve spent my days observing every person on this earth, and, more recently, my nights attempting to free your world from the eternal darkness my monarchs have imposed upon you.” 

“What’s a monarch? And how much longer will you be trapped?”

Brianna smiled. “The monarchs are the people in charge of my world. They’ve sent me here until the end of my days. It is my eternal punishment. The darkness your world faced was just another thing my monarchs did to keep me busy.”

Marin was suddenly nervous. “What did you do that was so bad they locked you away for eternity?”

“I fought for justice, just like you are now, Marin.” She smiled at her again. “When I finish this task, you will no longer see me in the night sky in this form. I will take on another form. Do you know what a constellation is?”

Marin tried to nod her head, then remembered that she still couldn’t move. “Yes. Mother told me about them.”

“I will become a constellation. You will see my shape among the rest of the stars. Perhaps–” Brianna faltered. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind saying hello every once and a while. It gets rather lonely up here, and talking with you–maybe even hearing about your life if you would indulge me–would brighten the dullness that will accompany the rest of my existence.”

“Of course I’ll talk to you. We’re friends!”

Brianna’s smile turned sad. “Yes, friends. You are my first friend Marin.”

“Mine too.” 

“I must get back to work now, morning is getting closer, and I want everyone to wake up to a rising sun.” 

“I understand. I promise I won’t ever forget about you, Brianna.”

“Neither I you, Marin.”

Brianna lifted her tool high over her head. She turned to look at Marin and winked, before shooting her a shining, and slightly sad, smile. As soon as Brianna brought the tool back down, the earth began to shake.

The last piece of darkness fell. The earth vibrated all the while, and Marin was jostled around on the ground. It was scary, but it was also exhilarating. She didn’t watch as the darkness joined the rest on the ground. She kept her eyes on Brianna. She’d stopped moving, but Marin could still see the feeling in her eyes. Brianna began to split apart, her stars moving further from each other. She smiled down at her one last time before she became one more constellation plastered in the night sky. She was very distinguishable, holding her tool high above her head like that. 

Feeling returned to Marin’s limbs right as a loud whooshing sound emitted from the sun, and sunlight, bright and beautiful, hit her with startling force. Marin stood, and stumbled back, immediately blinded by the sight. With her eyes closed, tears fell down her cheeks. Half of them were from the light, the other from the joy blossoming in her heart. 

She slowly peeled one eye open, blinking furiously. She opened the other, and then she cried harder. The grass in the park was green, like her mother had told her. Marin had never known what green looked like, or what a color really was. Now she could see endless colors. The leaves on the trees were green, and the trunks were brown. The sky was blue, and the sun… the sun was too bright for her to examine its color. But the light that shone down cast a yellow hue on her surroundings. She didn’t know every color’s name, but she loved each and every one of them.

Ding

Ding 

Ding

It was morning. The first real morning in fifty years.

Marin ran home to tell mother, tears falling down her face the whole way back. A woman of stars uncovered the sun, mother. She would say. I helped her, and I named her after you because she is also strong and brave. 

I named her Brianna.