Read Online How the Stars did Fall by Paul F Silva - Free Book Online Page A

exaggerating that of the other.
    “This is Mr. Lynch,” Tennyson said. “He’s a traveler like us.”
    “Are you? And where are you headed, Mr. Lynch?” Faraday asked.
    “Just Lynch is fine. And I am a wanderer, more properly. A traveler implies I have a destination in mind, whereas in truth I let the wind take me wherever it may. With my instrument, I have been welcomed into many houses.”
    “It is a rare craft, that.”
    “And a most noble one,” Tennyson added.
    “You flatter me, doctor. But I am not speaking of music, precisely. I practice another, older craft.”
    “And which one is that?” Faraday asked.
    “I will leave it unsaid.”
    “A painter, perhaps? Though who can say which came first, painting or music?”
    “I do not know for certain, but I would venture music is older,” Tennyson said.
    “Faraday, may I speak to you of something grave?” Lynch asked.
    “Grave, you say. What do you mean?”
    “It is about your sister. You should find her. Help her. I see darkness ahead for her. Something pursues her, and will to her death if it is not stopped by some exterior power.”
    “You know of my sister. Is this your craft, after all? Are you a seer?”
    “I practice many disciplines.”
    “I’m not a believer in seers.”
    “Take it as you will. But I will give you another token to prove the truth of my words. Many years ago a great calamity occurred in the heavens and it appeared as if the stars themselves were falling from their perches into the great dark beyond. The Leonids, they called it. Well, I tell you, look to the heavens tonight, for the stars will fall once again and you will know I speak the truth.”
    These words disquieted Faraday and he stared at Lynch’s face for a few seconds trying to read it, to sniff out a lie, but the musician stared back, his eyes steady. Faraday’s response was to leave, despite Tennyson’s protestations that they had paid to stay longer than the short time they had so far spent in the place. But Faraday prevailed and they took their horses from the stable and rode down the mountain and back onto the road.
    “Hold on now,” Tennyson said, trying to get Faraday to stop his horse. But Faraday would not stop, so the doctor made his horse go faster until they were close enough that Tennyson reached out and took hold of the other horse’s reins, bringing it to a stop.
    “We paid to stay the night there. Where are we going to sleep out here? What are we going to eat? Come on, let’s go back. She will allow us in again.”
    It took a moment, but as soon as Tennyson had stopped talking he noticed that Faraday’s eyes were moist.
    “Are you crying?” Tennyson asked.
    “Of course not. It’s the cold wind in my eyes.”
    “Have you let that trickster get the better of you? I have known many charlatans in my time and every one of them hid behind some religious or mystical veneer. He is no different.”
    “And what if he is right? You know why I came out here. What if my father’s debtors have found another way to satisfy their claim?”
    “So you intend to do what? Ride to your father’s farm?”
    “Yes.”
    “Will you ride all through the night? Could you not leave in the morning?”
    “I cannot stay there. Not while my family suffers without my aid. Will you ride with me?”
    “I cannot go with you to your father’s farm.”
    They rode all afternoon and into the evening until the road passed by a forest. Then they rode into that forest, seeking shelter among the trees. They rode on until the forest grew thick enough to block out much of the dying sun’s light and a moist air hung around the ground. They stopped only to give the horses a drink from a little stream, then they kept on, until suddenly, like a column of light, the last rays of the day entered in through a clearing that opened up among the trees. All around the clearing they found what looked like the remains of a large Indian camp. There were clay pots and plates, empty baskets,