Nephthys Starweaver's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The stars kept falling. Each one struck the black water and sank fast. Nephthys waded in after the third splash and grabbed only wet sand. The tide pulled the fallen piece deeper before her fingers closed. She stood in the shallows, soaked, empty-handed. "I cannot catch them one by one," she said. "They land everywhere. The water takes them." Rue sat on the dry sand. "Then stop chasing them. Build a place to bring them." Nephthys looked at the black beach. Broken glass shards glinted where old starfalls had cooled. Baked sandstone lay in flat slabs. She had a plan now. She would build two rooms. Two pyramids. One for storage the other to observe stars in. One desk. She would carry every fallen piece there and read them with Rue. She worked through the night. Rue trotted along the tideline and nosed out glass shards, then dragged them back in her jaws and dropped them at Nephthys's tail. "Sharp one here," Rue said, spitting out a shard. "And here." Nephthys stacked sandstone into two joined walls that rose to points. She fit dark glass into one wing so the sky showed through. She set glittering plants along the glass so it looked into the night like an eye. By dawn the twin black peaks stood on the beach. Inside, Nephthys dragged a carved writing desk against the far wall. The desk's front showed gold constellations pressed into dark wood. She set it beneath the wall panel of smooth black stone. She lifted the first gold star, the one she had dived for. She drew a small eyeglass from the desk drawer and held it to the metal. The tiny lens made the carved marks huge. She read them slow, matching each inscription to the next like a chart. The message linked and joined. Her hands went cold. She lowered the eyeglass. "Rue," she said. "It says the end is coming. An end for this island." Rue climbed onto the desk. Her glowing eyes fixed on the star. She went still, the way she went still for stars that would not be named. "What kind of end?" Rue asked. Nephthys turned the star over. She checked every point. She checked her notes and her star chart hanging above, hoping the rest was carved there. Nothing. "It stops," she said. "It warns of the end and stops. It never says how. It never says when." “The rest of the pieces may finish the prophecy.” Rue did not move. "Then we know the worst part," she said. "And none of the useful part." Nephthys set the eyeglass down. She had her house. She had every piece. She had half a warning and no way to answer it. Now she just needed to keep collecting the star fragments and finish its message before the worst was to come.