As the mountain’s voice faded, the landscape began to change. The snow slowed, and then stopped. The light shifted from slate gray to golden yellow as the icy clouds evaporated. Sunlight burst down onto the field, and the snowdrifts began to melt before Miranda’s eyes. As they melted, flowers pushed their heads through the ice, opening in tiny bursts of color as the shrinking snowbanks gave way to bright green grass. But the flowers died almost as quickly as they had bloomed, their petals dropping to the grass, which was now fading to dead brown. The mountains vanished beneath a blanket of snow yet again as the meadow withered. But no sooner was the snow on the ground than it began to vanish, and the cycle began again.
Each time it was faster. The meadow and the mountains flashed between snow and life, blooming flowers, withered grass, and crusted snow trading places in breathless transition. Miranda shrank back against Gin, clutching his fur, but the ghosthound offered no comfort. His orange eyes were shut tight, and he was whining deep in his throat as the landscape around them melted, greened, bloomed, withered, and froze over and over again until Miranda was nearly sick from change.
Unlike Gin, Slorn’s eyes were wide open. He was standing with his head tilted back, staring open-mouthed at the sky. Miranda swallowed and, against her better judgment, followed his gaze up. She was immediately sorry. The sky was changing just as fast as the world around them, flashing between day and night so rapidly it almost made her retch. But before she could look away, the cycle of dawn, day, dusk, and dark began to slow. At last, it stopped altogether, leaving her staring up at a night sky unlike anything she had ever seen.
She never knew how long they stared in silence. It felt like a lifetime. When she finally found her voice, the words came out more air than sound.
“What are they?”
“I don’t know,” Slorn answered just as quietly.
High overhead, cast around the crescent moon like scattered sand, points of light shone against the black velvet curve of the night sky. There were thousands of them, millions, more than Miranda could count if she spent the rest of her life doing nothing else. The twinkling lights seemed to gather at the middle of the sky, forming a road of light so beautiful and enormous, it brought tears to her eyes.
“This is my memory,” the mountain said, its voice drifting on the gentle wind. “Here at my center, I am free of what the Shepherdess would have us forget. Here I remember the world as it was before, when time moved forward, when there were seasons and lights in the sky beside the sun and the moon. Back when there was no need for a Shepherdess. Back when every spirit woke and slept as it chose, when there were no humans, no wizards, and we hunted our own demons.”
As the mountain spoke, the beautiful night sky full of lights faded. The valley faded, too, so did the mountains, and Miranda found herself standing beside Slorn and Gin in the plain white room.
“But that world is gone,” the mountain said, his disembodied voice echoing through the empty chamber. “Broken, eaten, lost forever. We live in the Shepherdess’s world now. If I question her methods, even to bring a new idea, even I could end up like Gredit.”
“Gredit?” Slorn said, stepping forward. “You know what happened to the Great Bear?”
“We all know,” the mountain said. “Before, stars were named so because they were the greatest, the only spirits large enough to watch over their own. But the Shepherdess picks her own stars now. Small spirits, creatures not even worthy of the name, elevated only because the Shepherdess found them beautiful. Even now she ignores the world to play her favorites against each other for no reason other than she likes to be fought over. Gredit, stubborn, noble old bear, thought he could make her see sense. To that end, he made the mistake of threatening her current favorite darling, and she killed him for it.”
Slorn made a keening sound deep in his throat. Miranda flinched. It was the most animal sound she’d ever heard him make.
“With my twin dead, I am the last of the great mountains,” the Teacher said. “I cannot leave my sleeping brothers without guidance. I cannot risk sharing Gredit’s fate, no matter how noble the cause. I do not know if the Shepherdess is mad or simply foolish, but she has shown that she will kill an ancient spirit if the fancy strikes her, and we do not have so many stars that we can throw them away on your theories, Heinricht. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Teacher,” Slorn said. “But I do not agree. I cannot accept that a Shepherdess who kills her flock when they question her is worthy of such worship.”
“Then you should keep that opinion to yourself,” the mountain rumbled. “I have heard your knowledge, Shaper. This hearing is adjourned. Go and make peace with your father. I cannot help you.”