Fill: Laughing Stars

[lady_songsmith]

Title: Laughing Stars
Challenge 2: Invisibility
Rating: G

Stars dance.  This is one of the truths of the world.  Stars dance, and their patterns tell the stories of the world for the wise to read.  The great stars advance and retreat according to the fates ordained, trailing a host of smaller stars in their wake like the skirts of a robe.

Coriakin is a small star, a minor player in the great dance, endlessly twirling about his partner Kirianoc.  He has never danced with any other star, and he knows, in the way stars know when to shift their dance, that he never will. Far below, even the wisest of the centaurs does not yet realize there are two of them, Coriakin and Kirianoc, whirling and whirling about one another forever.  They only observe Manawa, the heartbeat star.  One star; now brighter, now dimmer.

Coriakin is bored.

He could follow the dance in his sleep.  Sometimes he thinks he does.  He listens to the other stars gossip, but all they ever talk of is the dance, the endless, eternal dance.

Mortals are more interesting.  It isn't easy to see what passes below, but it can be done with practice, and Coriakin has plenty of time for that.  He practices, he watches, and he is fascinated by the little beings. They are frightfully clever, for all their brief flickering lives.  That took some time to get used to; at first he kept trying to look for one he'd seen before and discovering they'd died when he wasn't looking.  He has the hang of it now, though, and he watches and watches.

He learns many things from the mortals.  They have an infinite number of pastimes, unlike stars.  But what Coriakin likes best is magic.

Stars have magic, of course. How else could they dance the patterns of fate?  But it is a wild magic, next kin to the Deep Magic of the world, and not to be meddled with. Mortal magic is something else again, and Coriakin loves it.  He loves the way there are a hundred things that can be done with it, and the beauty of the power itself.  He amuses himself for a few thousand turns casting all of the little cantrips and charms he has seen mortals use.  It entertains him for two centuries.  Then the boredom sets in again, and his eye turns back to the land.

Stars don't have a sense of humor.  Well, no, that's not true.  It's just that their jokes are inscrutable to anyone but other stars, to say nothing of taking entire decades to tell.  But mortal humor, oh, that's another story.

Coriakin learns pranks from the mortals.

For a time he's content to simply observe the mortals at it.  But then it occurs to him to combine his two fascinations.  The magic he's dabbled in would be well-suited to mortal humor.  And once he has that idea, it's easy enough to concoct a trick that even a star ought to be able to appreciate. 

So one day, instead of circling Kirianoc for the five hundred sixty-four thousand, eight hundred ninety-fifth time, Coriakin casts a spell of invisibility upon himself, and for the first time in his life steps out of the pattern of the dance.   He tiptoes closer to Kirianoc, closer than he has ever been to his partner, and casts a second spell to turn Kirianoc bright green.  And it is brilliant, oh, it is wonderful!  Coriakin laughs and laughs; he hasn't had so much fun since his first spell worked.  Nor is he alone; the others have noticed, the others are laughing too!  He has brought humor to the stars, and the dance will not be so boring again.

The pride of his accomplishment lasts until the lion comes padding through the sky.

Comments

[autumnia]

I like how you made Coriakin a bit of a rebel that we can all relate to from time to time. I would think that being a star and doing nothing but watch the mortals and dancing in the sky can get rather dull, so it seems perfectly understandable why he'd try to come up with something just a little bit different.

Too bad the fun could only last a brief time and then it was time to face a punishment from the lion.

[lady_songsmith]

He doesn't even get one of the good parts. Doomed to be a backup dancer for eternity, how's that? Punishment must have actually seemed like a good thing.

[edenfalling]

I have to admit, I am with Coriakin on this issue. Dancing the same thing for thousands of years would be boring beyond belief. And that was an excellent trick he played. :-)

[lady_songsmith]

I'm totally in sympathy too. Six months of rehearsals for anything can drive me 'round the twist; the idea of doing the same thing all day everyday my entire life is horrifying.

[heliopausa.livejournal.com]

Terrific! I love the double star, and not even the wise (mortals) being able to distinguish Kirianoc from Coriakin (clever names!). And the stars-eye view of flickering humanity! I also like the Lion, padding ominously through the heavens... (oo-er!)

[lady_songsmith]

Astronomy buff writes about stars, analogies for actual scientific process start creeping in. :) Yeah, the Lion walking through the sky is fun; just don't think too hard about what he's walking on.

[rthstewart.livejournal.com]

It is great to get two different takes on the Coriakin. Here he is the practical joker, a bit a teenager really. It's all just soooo boooooring, Dad. My favorite part though is how he turns his attention away for a minute and the mortals he is following are dead. He has adult ADD.

[lady_songsmith]

He is rather young. But y'know, those mortals are hard to keep track of! They don't even live a whole century!

[pencildragon11.livejournal.com]

More Coriakin! Double star! Magic! CORIAKIN USING MAGIC AND BEING DOOMED TO BE A MAGICIAN. That was a *very* good prank he pulled.

[lady_songsmith]

One does sort of wonder whether getting sent to live on the island was really punishment or reward. Hmm... Aslan with a sense of humor....

[snacky]

Haha, I kind of love Coriakin for wanting to play a prank, and oh, it does sound like a glorious one. Who wouldn't need a little fun time after centuries of the same old dance? And Aslan, such a buzzkill. :D

[lady_songsmith]

*grin* Color-changing might be a little juvenile, but what can stars appreciate, after all?