Page 51 of The City of Stardust

But at the same time, her thoughts whisper,just one finger. Nothing big—a pinkie, or perhaps her littlest toe. As if in a dream, she bends down to untie her shoes, her fingers methodically working through the laces. What, after all, would she not give for the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes?

Something flickers distantly in her mind, but it can’t be important. She slips off her socks, her bare feet digging into the soil. Her penknife tucks into her fist like it’s meant to be there. Dimly, she’s aware that the astral is drooling, spit stringing from his mouth.

It’s just one toe. Just one foot, and then all the worlds’ secrets will be hers.

She raises the penknife.

We are so hungry. We have not tasted flesh for seasons innumerate. Our heart grows weary, O star-child. Our faculties diminish, our body betrays. We, who are supposed to live forever! O give us one digit, a knucklebone to savour so we may taste all the world, dewdrop sky, the green of grass, the honeyed sunshine. Our stomach roars WE MUST EAT O WE MUST DEVOUR—

His chains strain again, and the rattling sound breaks the compulsion.

Violet suddenly becomes aware of her bare feet, cold against the packed earth floor, the knife gripped in her hands like a saw. The desire to cut off her toes one by one vanishes in an instant. She scrabbles backwards, horrified.

She would have done it. She would have cut off her own feet to satiate this monster. And she would have done it with a smile.

Violet grabs the ladder to get out. She has no business being here, talking to something bent on eating her. She feels sick with horror at what could have happened. Her mouth is dry with fear, adrenaline fizzing through her veins.

You will not find what you seek without us, the astral says slyly.

The voice is oddly compelling, but she ignores him, focusing on one hand in front of the other.

Do not leave us yet, O star-child, the astral says desperately.We will not meddle again.

One hand in front of the other, she tells herself firmly.

Violet Everly,the astral says again, his voice pleading.Star-child whether she knows it or not, traveller of a thousand worlds to come, daughter of Marianne Everly. Seeker of the bright, ruinous, ruined city.

Violet stops climbing. She roots around in her mind, doubting, but she’s certain she’s still herself.

“I’m looking for a key,” she says.

And where do keys lead? Marianne Everly came to us, when we were still a warrior in our chains. She visited us often, took pleasure in what company we bestowed. On her last visit, she offered us a gift. Not of flesh, that warm, red life-ocean, life-light, tasting of everything we have lost, we still crave—The astral sighs.Flesh, memory, light. We once dealt in many currencies, O star-child.

And in exchange, we gave her what she asked.

“Which was?” Violet says.

It is not in our nature to give without taking. We require an exchange.

“I’m not giving you my fingers—or my feet,” she says.

The astral seems to be considering.We will take a memory, Violet Everly.A song for a song. We still remember the exchanges of the old days, between star-kindred.

A thousand thoughts flash through Violet’s mind at once, all conflicting. She could find another way to reach her mother. And it would be madness to trust athingwith so much power over her mind.

But if the astral is telling the truth, her mother once came down here, in the dark, and left alive. With information.

“Swear you won’t hurt me,” she says. “Swear you won’t take anything… extra.”

We swear it on our mother’s battle helm, our father’s sun-spear. We swear on our name, that we still hold close to us when all else is dust.

It will have to be enough.

It takes every ounce of her courage to climb back down the ladder, back into the dark. She watches him watch her, mouth parted, as she puts her shoe back on. Then she stands as far away as possible, uncertain of what to do next.

You must come closer.

She takes two steps forward, and then another. His breath washes over her, reeking.

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