Nephthys Starweaver's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

The star fell wrong. Nephthys Starweaver had charted the sky for years, and stars did not dip. They held their paths like fixed nails in a dark ceiling. But this one dropped, slowed, then curved down toward the water like it meant to land. She was a sphynx mermaid who mapped the heavens for no one, only to know them. Tonight the heavens had broken their own rule, and she meant to find out why. She swam after it. Her tail cut through black water that stretched for miles. The star sank ahead of her, low and steady, dragging her past dark waves toward a shape on the horizon. An island rose from the sea. Its sand was black and glittered like crushed glass. She had never mapped this place. No chart of hers held it. Nephthys hauled herself onto the shore. The sand sifted warm under her scales. Small mounds of it caught the starlight and sparkled. One mound held a shard of gold at its peak, bright as a chip of the fallen star itself. She pressed her hand to it. Somewhere far off, past a stand of dark grass and a still black pool, the sky had swallowed the star whole. Then she saw the cat. A skeleton cat sat at the water's edge, white bones bright against the black. She did not run. She did not startle. She watched Nephthys with two glowing eyes and flicked her bony tail, as if she had waited a long time for someone to arrive. "You followed it," the cat said. "Good." Nephthys stared. "You can speak." "I am Rue." The cat turned back to the sea. "Sit. It is not done falling." Nephthys lowered herself into the sand beside her. She did not know this creature. Still, something in the flat, plain voice made her trust it. Rue pressed her bones deep into the warm grains until the sand held her still. She looked content there, like she belonged. Together they watched the water. The waves lapped black and slow. Above them the stars burned in their usual places, all except the empty spot where the fallen one had been. Nephthys reached for her journal from habit, then stopped. There was nothing yet to write. "It went into the water," Rue said. "Not the sky. The water." "Stars don't fall into water." "This one did." Rue's eyes stayed fixed on the waves. "It left something down there. It wants to be read." Nephthys felt the cold pull of the black sea against her tail. Whatever had crashed below was not a star she could map from shore. It was buried in the dark water, waiting. She had spent her life reading the sky. Now the sky had handed her something she would have to dive for. "Then I'll read it," she said. Rue's tail curled around her bones. "I hoped you would say that."