Stars and Memories
As Nils gazed upon the starlit sky, he recalled the sound of her voice, the pace of her steps, and the flow of her movements. Sad as she might have looked in those days, she had always managed a dance or two that could cause her pale dress and hair to ride the wind. A few pivots and a twirl later, and soon enough, her mouth would invert into a smile. It would stay and even grow wider as vigor would return to her, prompting him to speed up the tempo of the song he was playing on his flute. Those were the instances whereupon she’d gone her own way, improvising dance steps as she went and leaving her little brother to figure out how to match his tune with both her pace and her energy. He had enjoyed those days much better than the ones where the reverse had been true instead.
He sat himself down on a rock on the temple grounds on which they had played in their youth and where they had headed many rituals. The rock had always been his spot, as his much younger self had put it eons ago. Ahead of him had been the grass patch that was his sister’s usual dancing arena, the very place where they had developed their routine. The hours they’d spent trying to coordinate his notes with her steps! And despite all that work, they’d each forced the other into impromptu changes as, inevitably, they’d begun to invent songs or dances at some point along the way.
Nils laughed to himself, half aware that the sound was quiet and heard by none but the grass beneath his feet and the lake to his left. Again, he turned his red eyes upwards to the shining moon and the stream of stars that ran alongside it. Times like this were the ones that reminded him that he was alone, that his sister had found a path long ago and had decided to pursue it. Her mind had been set, and he hadn’t been about to argue. How could he deprive her of the one chance she had? So he’d encouraged her to follow her heart. From that day forth, her steps no longer followed his notes and vice versa. Always was he aware of her absence, but also did he know of her happiness.
Even so, as he continued to watch the twinkling stars, he envisioned how she might be dancing with her beloved. What sort of music were they dancing to in that distant land? A part of him wondered if the music was at least half as good as his, and that caused him to laugh in earnest at his old pride. Imagining his sister’s chastising face didn’t do anything to calm him down. “If you’re so worried, why not play a tune of your own?” she’d likely ask. He supposed he could’ve asked her if she’d had a child or two yet in return, and he could just imagine all the odd faces they’d be making afterwards.
He let the mirth overtake him and tumbled off the rock. When the moment passed, he climbed back to his spot and slid his flute out of his pouch. If his sister was somehow watching him from the stars, it wouldn’t do for her to find him wallowing in a lapse of loneliness. As her dances had soothed herself and him, so had his songs soothed himself and her.
He brought the flute up to his mouth and began to play a tune. He decided to improvise like old times, letting crescendos and decrescendos come and go as he felt was best. He could picture his sister’s dancing once more, and he wondered if she could hear him from wherever she was now.
****
After night had fallen over Pherae, Roy wandered the castle halls until he was outside on the grassy grounds. The night was clear, allowing the brightness of the full moon to cast itself along all that lay below. With each step he took underneath that light, he began to recall the lullaby she used to sing, the warmth of her hugs, and the light airiness with which she had stepped. As the images rushed through his head, he twirled the flute in his hand.
He couldn’t remember the words of the lullaby, but he was sure it had something to do with the stars. It would’ve been ironic, he thought then, if the lyrics had attributed the stars to memories, but he couldn’t recall enough to be certain of that. He was sure the stars had been the central topic, though.
Roy laughed at himself. He could name a myriad of facts and random trivia off the top of his head at any given moment, but the words of an old lullaby almost completely eluded him. Realizing this wasn’t the best way to start a tribute to a mother he barely knew. That defeated the purpose of coming outside at this time of night-or at least, that would’ve been the case if he had just turned around and walked back inside just then. But he refused. Rather, he turned his blue eyes towards the sky, the moon, and the stream of stars.
When he lowered his head so he was looking straight forward, another image came to mind. He could see a small boy with ruffled red hair walking alongside a woman with long locks of pale hair whose color matched her dress. They were holding hands as they approached a red-headed man, dressed in blue, who was kneeling beside a white horse that was sitting down. Roy could more easily picture the man, the woman, and the horse, but not so much the little child he had been once. He just knew he’d been so short, the horse’s nose was level with his chin. His parents had taken turns keeping hold of him whether he was standing next to the old horse or sitting on its back, but at one point, his mother had broken off from them.
By that point, he had been kneeling beside the horse who never seemed to mind his incessant petting. He had stopped long enough to see his mother step, pivot, step, pivot, then twirl, at which point she’d asked, “Shall we?” Understanding, his father had laughed and stood up to join her. Though there were no minstrels, guests, or food, his parents nonetheless moved together to a tune only they had heard with their child and the old horse as the sole witnesses-up until the boy had begun to jump and spin in an attempt to dance. Roy stifled a sheepish laugh as he realized with some embarrassment that he hadn’t improved much since then.
The feeling subsided quickly as he registered the scenery around him once more. He was alone out here, the old horse and his mother having passed on years ago and his father having gone to sleep earlier in the night. If he had any other relatives, particularly on his mother’s side, he wasn’t aware of them. Even so, he knew the spot where his parents had danced that day the moment he stepped up to it. He then walked over to where the old horse had sat before he turned around so he was facing the castle, but more importantly, that spot. As the memory of his parents’ dance replayed itself in his head, Roy brought the flute up to his mouth. For a moment, he had no idea what to play.
Then he started with the old lullaby, after which he began to improvise. Before he knew it, he was lost in the outpouring of notes, soothed by the act of playing alone. And as he played, he wondered if his mother was dancing to the tune somewhere amidst the stars.