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It was a purple night, one bathed in a blue glow from the white stars ahead. Rend stood watching, looking up, wondering, waiting.
Even the very stars were numbered.
Even the stars end.
There was a cry of pain in the dark caves that night, drawn out and echoing before the whole place went quiet, aside from one person panting.
"Bring the lamp," a husky voice said quickly, and footsteps were heard. Moments later a stick of green flames were brought, lighting up the stone walls and the pale face of the bringer. In the dim, green light, two ice blue eyes stared at the occupants of the room, blown wide, so each individual could see their reflection. The room was quiet.
"It is a Brother," the husky voice said, words laced with disgust.
There were murmurs of agreement when suddenly there was another shriek. The occupants of the room rushed to the bedside.
"Mother!" One voice cried, and the rest of what happened was given to confusion. Except, from the darkest corner of the room a hunched, cowled figure stepped closer, and gnarled hands gently picked up the blue-eyed infant.
The child made no noise, large eyes taking in the entire scene with an unsettling intelligence, as if they understood all that was happening.
There was a final shriek from the bed, when another joined in. And then sputtered silent, as if strangled.
The crowd gathered closer, the silent baby in their midst, lamps raised higher. The husky-voiced Sister took the baby and held it upside down, and slapped its back.
Nothing happened.
They did it again with no response.
The blue-eyed baby that had been so silent through this whole scene suddenly squirmed and then wailed. The wail grew higher and louder in pitch, higher and louder. It was no average cry. It was a cry that was sung by the living and was heard by the dead. This cry had a ringing strength behind it, directed to the silent child, until it resembled the cry of an eagle flying in the skies over the mountains and vallies. This strength built more and more until–
A second cry rose. The two matched and harmonized like a song. The song rose and then fell silent again, until the only noise in the room was the crackling green flames and the two identical humming noises that came from the sleeping infants.
Then all of Dathomir seemed to take a breath, like it had not breathed in a long time.
Far, far away, in a place so far away it was midday, a red-haired man stood on his balcony, listening to that song, and feeling the planet take that breath, as if it were his own.
The two infants were laid to sleep next to each other, and they slept peacefully, as though they did not just have a difficult birth.
Kyncia stood over them, watching them breathe and twitch their ears, watching them snuggle a bit closer together when a damp breeze flew through the cave.
Her son was so special. The fact that he had been blessed by the gods was obvious, how could the others not have seen it when they had first laid eyes on him? But then, they had not carried him, they had not felt his presence grow stronger and stronger, even when he could not be seen.
He was as red as the setting sun, a rare color, and a prized one. His marks were light golden brown. His eyes were blue. He was evenly built, and strong. She stroked his plump red cheek, and he nuzzled her hand. He was so perfect.
And the other one…he was sickly now, but perhaps he would not always be. His skin was dusty orange and his eyes, she had seen in a brief flash, were sparkling gold.
She sensed a presence behind her, the hunched figure that had stood in the back of the room. "Mother," Kyncia said. Her voice was flowy but tilted with an accent she had earned after hard studies of the ancient magicks.
"Daughter," the voice croaked from the doorway.
"Mother, I am satisfied," Kyncia said slowly, knowing what her mother's reaction would be. Sure enough there was a pause. "Satisfied?" The voice rasped. "Surely you are not satisfied with a man-child, and no daughter of your own."
"I am satisfied, Mother," Kyncia repeated, letting a tiny bit of anger show. "Have you not seen and felt my child? He is no ordinary boy. I have sensed he will do great things. He has been chosen and blessed by the gods, Mother."
"Very well," Daka croaked, and was gone.
Rend was still looking at the stars as the morning sun began to rise. The bushes rustled behind him, but he did not turn his transparent amber eyes. "Tell me, Sister," he said softly.
"Two Brothers," a husky voice behind him said, sharp as a whiplash. "One small and sickly with eyes like your own, and one strong and as red as the glowing sun."
"Red?" Rend breathed. "He was chosen then. He will be great."
"Yes," the voice replied. "She is satisfied."
"I supposed as much," Rend said, still softly. "Or else you would not be here tonight, speaking with a Brother."
There was a huff. "I suppose not."
Rend did not turn around as the Nightsister drew her bow and aimed beneath his crown of horns. His last sight was the purple sky, the glowing blue, the white stars, now dim with the rising sun.