Read Online One Bright Star to Guide Them by John C. Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: John C. Wright
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outside there came the ordinary noise of the little town gradually stirring to wakefulness. He heard the rumble of the milkman's truck; he heard a bird singing.
There was stirring overhead; someone was in the library above, moving about. Thomas realized that they would soon come down and find him here. And yet he could not bring himself to leave the broken and dead remnants of his life.
Footsteps sounded very softly on the stairs, a whisper of slow, massive motion. The door opened. Larger than a panther, larger than a tiger, with wings like dark flame folded along its sleek shoulders, a terrible creature stalked silently down the stairs and into the room, surrounded by a golden light. It was twice the size of an Earthly lion, with a mane like black fire, swimming and flashing around its massive head. The wings were plumes of black and gold, shining.
White fire darted from the creature's mouth from between fangs like lightning.
It paced forward, regal, mysterious, awesome. The creature spread its mighty wings, the room was filled with light, and there came a tremendous noise like a choir, or like the pealing of bells, the roar of trumpets.
The creature's eyes were whirlpools of gold. So fierce, so stern, so majestic was the glance of those eyes, that Tommy threw himself on his face, too terrified to scream.
“Fear not,” it spoke in a voice like muted thunder, and many echoes said the words again.
Tommy raised his head, but could not meet that awful gaze. He felt the warmth stirring in the air above him, could feel the hot scented breath of the creature near the top of his head. The breath was warm and crisp, not like any breath coming from the wet lungs of a creature composed of flesh and blood. The odor of the breath reminded Tommy of the smell of bread baking in an oven, or the scent of cedar logs burning on a campfire.
The warmth from that breath entered into his body, and he felt the cold aching in his bones depart.
The huge sable paws were before his face; in the corner of his eyes, Tommy could glimpse the flutter and spread of the great wings.
More quietly, the ringing voice inquired of him, “Thomas, why do you weep?”
“Once, I was young,” Tommy answered the great creature. “A black cat guided me to a magical adventure into another world. Then I grew older and the magic was lost. Only this year did I remember my youthful dreams, and meet that cat again. He was my friend. My only friend. Now he is dead, and by my own hand.”
“Thomas, I have not died. Rejoice; I am risen. The Lord of the Fortunate Islands, the Emperor of the Summer Country, has banished death and dying from his kingdom, and only those who flee his kingdom will encounter them. You weep over nothing more than my old garment, which you tore and which I discarded. Now I am come again, clothed in glory. Look up, Thomas. Look at me, my friend.”
And Thomas looked into the terrible golden eyes. He felt something dawn within himself, as proud, as great, as noble as those eyes, and found he could endure their gaze without shrinking.
“You are Tybalt,” said Thomas in wonder. And yet one small part of him was not surprised, not at all, but was filled with solemn, undoubting joy, crying out
I knew it, I knew he would come back!
“We spirits, when we are young, are sent forth to combat evils where they gather openly, unhidden, so that even a child can see them. We must grow before we can war against hidden evils, evils disguised as good, corrupt and subtle evils. In this, I deem, our race is not so different from mankind. Innocence and faith are the weapons children bring to bear against the open evils; wisdom is required to deal with evils better disguised.”
Thomas held up the broken shards of the sword. “How am I to fight once more? My weapon is broken.”
“The slaves and followers of the Champion of the Dark still infest your green realm, under many guises, and many names. But it is not for you to fight them.”
“But
There was stirring overhead; someone was in the library above, moving about. Thomas realized that they would soon come down and find him here. And yet he could not bring himself to leave the broken and dead remnants of his life.
Footsteps sounded very softly on the stairs, a whisper of slow, massive motion. The door opened. Larger than a panther, larger than a tiger, with wings like dark flame folded along its sleek shoulders, a terrible creature stalked silently down the stairs and into the room, surrounded by a golden light. It was twice the size of an Earthly lion, with a mane like black fire, swimming and flashing around its massive head. The wings were plumes of black and gold, shining.
White fire darted from the creature's mouth from between fangs like lightning.
It paced forward, regal, mysterious, awesome. The creature spread its mighty wings, the room was filled with light, and there came a tremendous noise like a choir, or like the pealing of bells, the roar of trumpets.
The creature's eyes were whirlpools of gold. So fierce, so stern, so majestic was the glance of those eyes, that Tommy threw himself on his face, too terrified to scream.
“Fear not,” it spoke in a voice like muted thunder, and many echoes said the words again.
Tommy raised his head, but could not meet that awful gaze. He felt the warmth stirring in the air above him, could feel the hot scented breath of the creature near the top of his head. The breath was warm and crisp, not like any breath coming from the wet lungs of a creature composed of flesh and blood. The odor of the breath reminded Tommy of the smell of bread baking in an oven, or the scent of cedar logs burning on a campfire.
The warmth from that breath entered into his body, and he felt the cold aching in his bones depart.
The huge sable paws were before his face; in the corner of his eyes, Tommy could glimpse the flutter and spread of the great wings.
More quietly, the ringing voice inquired of him, “Thomas, why do you weep?”
“Once, I was young,” Tommy answered the great creature. “A black cat guided me to a magical adventure into another world. Then I grew older and the magic was lost. Only this year did I remember my youthful dreams, and meet that cat again. He was my friend. My only friend. Now he is dead, and by my own hand.”
“Thomas, I have not died. Rejoice; I am risen. The Lord of the Fortunate Islands, the Emperor of the Summer Country, has banished death and dying from his kingdom, and only those who flee his kingdom will encounter them. You weep over nothing more than my old garment, which you tore and which I discarded. Now I am come again, clothed in glory. Look up, Thomas. Look at me, my friend.”
And Thomas looked into the terrible golden eyes. He felt something dawn within himself, as proud, as great, as noble as those eyes, and found he could endure their gaze without shrinking.
“You are Tybalt,” said Thomas in wonder. And yet one small part of him was not surprised, not at all, but was filled with solemn, undoubting joy, crying out
I knew it, I knew he would come back!
“We spirits, when we are young, are sent forth to combat evils where they gather openly, unhidden, so that even a child can see them. We must grow before we can war against hidden evils, evils disguised as good, corrupt and subtle evils. In this, I deem, our race is not so different from mankind. Innocence and faith are the weapons children bring to bear against the open evils; wisdom is required to deal with evils better disguised.”
Thomas held up the broken shards of the sword. “How am I to fight once more? My weapon is broken.”
“The slaves and followers of the Champion of the Dark still infest your green realm, under many guises, and many names. But it is not for you to fight them.”
“But
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