Starlit Stories

"What is more important, honour or loyalty?" the young Allison asked Auntie Alla, who tutored her in languages, and many matters besides.

"Honour is an illusion," answered the woman and kissed her charge on the forehead. "But I should not speak of loyalty." A note of singular sadness had entered her voice.

"'Honour is the chief armour, the only fitting dress, for warrior and prince alike,'" young Allison said hotly. She had developed a youthful infatuation with a Tiger retainer, a young fighter renowned for his peerless honour. "You wrote that." She was also a clever and well-read student.

The Lady Alla laughed. "For the warrior, loyalty and honour are one and the same. And are you a warrior, dear child?"

Allison, sensing some wisdom, pondered her tutor's words for a long while. Her mother sometimes teased her with the story of how she, having just learned to crawl, escaped to the stables and there gored her father's prized bull. She had furthermore learned three and seven ways to wield the sword, and she was quite proud of her mastery over her flame breath. "And what of a ruler's honour?" she asked.

There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by the chirps of the waybirds, of a mother feeding her hatchlings. Lady Alla then took off her face and threw a dagger. The mother bird fell to the ground, dead. Alla, weeping crimson tears, left her charge to ponder the fate of the young.

And this is the story of how the Second gained her bird advisors.

"We should hate in moderation," Mr. Jefferson said. He, while deep in his cups at Xanadu, often fancied himself a philosopher.

"Moderation?" Maddie asked, and refilled his glass with clear sorghum liquor. "Would hate in moderation not be righteous indignation? If hate even has a virtuous middle; aren't things like schadenfreude, shamelessness, envy, and hatred –I suppose– bad by their name, by their very nature?"

"Shamelessness?" Mr. Jefferson raised an eyebrow, and then emptied his drink. "I'll tell you about shame. Imagine if we'd be ruled by kings."

"What?" Maddie, unsure where her guest was going, refilled his glass again.

"And imagine further if we didn't hate those kings." Mr. Jefferson smiled. "Imagine what a weak and pathetic lot we'd be."

"But," said Maddie, "wouldn't those kings loathe us in turn?"

"That is why we should hate in moderation." Mr. Jefferson smirked. "So they may fear the true depth of our enmity."

Maddie refilled his glass for a third and final time and then began to gather up the bamboo chairs.

Once upon a time, a lawyer reached the Pacific Northwest. Victoria had escaped both the terror of the town and the attention of the cops, but the experience had rattled her. Her boss, having read about the incident in the City Paper, had half-listened to her rambling explanations, and had then given her a month off.

She was set to visit Granny, an older lady with an adventurous spirit whom she had met before she had set foot into the accursed town. Victoria had called ahead, and Granny had assured her that she would keep her motorbike corralled and that she was looking forward to the lawyer's visit.

Victoria parked her rental, a crimson cabriolet, by the roadside. A muddy trail, marked by bike tracks, lead deep into the lush, misty woods. She had travelled all day, and the sinking sun bathed the path in brilliant amber. Giant tree shadows lengthened, and the lawyer heard something move in the twilight.

Giant shapes crept through the underbrush. One had stepped on a dried branch, but they otherwise moved in silence. Victoria, concealed behind a gnarled sequoia, watched them. They walked on two legs but stood larger than any human. Shaggy fur covered their naked bodies, and blood-red eyes burned inside their lupine heads.

One flared his nostrils, sniffed the evening air, and Victoria ran. She reached Granny's house, a cabin hewn from enormous logs, and rapped her fist against the wooden door. The older woman opened after the fourth knock.

"Knife," Victoria said.

Granny shrugged and handed her her pocket knife. She said nothing as Victoria pricked her fingertip and smeared all the cabin frames with bloody symbols.

"Nail," Victoria said.

Granny shrugged and handed her a hammer and an iron nail. She said nothing as Victoria nailed a silver amulet to the door.

They then called the cops.