Page 56 of Stardust Child

“If the beast had to die, it’s fortuitous timing, my lord,” said Juste. He alone was unperturbed; the rest of Remin’s knights had offered slightly embarrassed condolences. What was the etiquette for the death of a duchess’s pet donkey, anyway? “With the harvest in. If you would like, I can help Her Grace make arrangements to send the animal to the service of the dead. It may be some comfort to her.”

“That’s good of you.” Remin masticated thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind, I think she’d like it.”

They had to dosomethingwith the body.

“I know he was just a donkey,” Ophele said quietly in bed later that night. “But I used to talk to him while I was working. It was…boring a lot of times, walking back and forth all day. And he could tell when I was tired, he used to shove his head under my arm to walk with me. He was my friend.”

“I’m glad he was.” Remin hadn’t thought of that. Once, he had only thought it was a nuisance, waiting impatiently for her to be done cooing over the animal, an outpouring of affection with no other outlet than a humble donkey. His arms tightened around her until she squeaked aprotest. “Tounot suggested naming the road after him,” he said, low. Tounot had mostly been jesting, but now it didn’t sound so ridiculous. “Would you like that?”

“Really?” She gave a hiccupping laugh. “Eugene Street?”

“Well, Juste said he did help build the wall,” Remin said, embarrassed. “It could be a tribute to all the beasts that helped build Tresingale.”

“They did, didn’t they?” She lifted her head to look at him, wondering. “Would you really do that?”

“Yes,” he murmured, accepting a salty kiss. Inside, he admitted there was probably very little he wouldn’t do for her.

Eugene Street. Remin tried on the name when he stepped out of the cottage the next morning, surveying the cobblestone street that curved away to the south. The main road of Tresingale extended all the way from Gellege Bridge to the east and thence through the bridge gate and all the way the north gate on the opposite side of town. It would be Tresingale’s longest road, and one day a major thoroughfare to the rest of the valley.

It wasn’t the sort of grand name Remin had imagined when he planned the capital of his duchy. Even as his men squabbled over Auber Avenue and Harnost Highway, Remin had thought of the most musical names he had ever heard, from the Street of Nightingales in Abharana to the Celestial Road of Segoile. But maybe this was better. This was a name that told the story of Tresingale, its people, and its beasts. In a way, it even told the story of the Lady of the Wall.

And fittingly enough, that was where they burned Eugene later that night, on a bier near the north wall, where the little donkey was all but hidden beneath a mass of flowers. Dandelions and daisies, henbit and goldenrod, the scruffy little blooms that had composed much of his diet, in life. Ophele laid a few carrots beside his soft muzzle and straightened, tears streaming down her face.

“Go ahead,” said Remin, drawing her back beside him. He was dressed in black for the occasion and still feeling a little foolish about it, but the nearby guardsman was nothing but respectful as he stepped forward, touching a torch to the pyre.

It lit immediately, a white-hot blaze that burned blue to its heart, sending up a great gout of white smoke. Ophele retreated, covering her nose with her sleeve against the stink of burning hair. Like most ofRemin’s men, Juste had a great deal of experience in preparing bodies for burning, and the whole pyre was ablaze in moments.

“The Temple teaches that the spark of life is the essence of the divine,” Juste said, his face dusty with the powders he had used, preparing the donkey’s body. “That is why it is considered good to plant, evil to destroy, and wise to reap with care for the seasons to come. Mankind is unique in our capacity to reason, and so we are uniquely responsible for nurturing the life of the world. And especially for the care of those wise beasts that serve us so willingly, even at the cost of their own comfort and lives.”

Ophele gulped, squeezing Remin’s hand.

“Therefore, we believe that those willing beasts may accompany us on our journey among the stars,” Juste went on quietly. “The beasts that in life chose the company of men, offering their service, their companionship, their protection. And so you may send him forth from this world, Your Grace, just as you would any other that you love, with prayers and good wishes, and remember him before the stars.”

“He was my friend, and he worked hard for us,” Ophele said thickly. “Go to my mother, Eugene. Rache Pavot. I promise she will look after you. Mother, take care of him for me, please. He likes…c-carrots…”

“Go to Lady Pavot, faithful beast of Tresingale,” Remin said, when her voice failed her. He was looking beyond the smoke and flames to the long road that stretched the full length of his city, and wondering what roads lay invisibly between the stars. Well, he supposed this clinched it. “Serve her as well as you served us, and we will remember you always.”

* * *

“You just got back and you’re ready to leave again?” Remin asked, two days after faithful Eugene had been sent to the stars.

“We can’t wait,” Huber replied around mouthfuls of bread. He had been eating steadily all day, forcing fuel back into his body. “And we’re the best ones to do it. We know how to travel with the devils.”

He, Ortaire, and Rollon had spent the morning explaining their tactics, seated in the round bare chamber that would one day be the Andelin’s Court of War. At the moment, it boasted only a single long table and a map that they passed from hand to hand. Their tale made for grim listening. Ferrede’s survival had been precarious, and Rollon hadarrived just in time. Remin had a letter from Elder Brodrim praising the young man to the stars.

“You really think you can do it?” Remin beckoned for the map, frowning. The villages were marked with bright red ink, but he would have known exactly where they were even with his eyes closed.

Meinhem. Isigne. Selgin. Nandre. Raida was safe, protected by the border garrison; Ferrede had survived, thanks to Rollon. The other villages were in the most remote areas of Remin’s domain, spared the ravages of Valleth because they weren’t near anything worthwhile. And as the equinox approached, the nights would only get longer.

“If we’re smart,” said Huber, bending beside him to jab a finger at the map. “Look, here. South through the Iron Hills, and there’s a ford around here where we could cross the Medlenne. The water will be low enough, this time of year. If we run hard from there to the moors, that would take us away from the worst of the devils; there’s not enough tree cover out there to protect them from the sun, I expect we’d just get the occasional wolf. Swing wide out to Selgin first, and then by the time we head east to Isigne, it will be late enough in the year to miss the rest of the devils.”

His finger traced the proposed route, a lean and calloused hand, brown from the sun, with ragged fingernails. Huber was used to living rough. He had led Remin’s scouts during the war. He knew these lands better than anyone else.

“That’s almost five hundred miles,” Remin said reluctantly. “And it may be that they are well and have no need of our help. Or they may be beyond aid.”

“Or I might be bringing back survivors.” Huber understood the question. “I’m best suited to go, my lord.”

It was true. He was. Remin raked a hand through his hair.

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