There was a noise inside the Fifth Point. Something was moving, slowly, slowly. Something was climbing stairs, thud, thud, thudding with heavy, labored steps.
The trapdoor opened.
And out of it climbed a creature with mottled, violet-blue skin. The creature was thin, with long limbs, and there was little hair on his oversize head. He carried a quintescope in his hands, and inside his enormous indigo eyes, there was only the faintest flicker of light.
He was a star, Alma could see that, but he was a worn, bruised, exhausted star.
A worn, bruised, exhausted star that she recognized.
“I know you, don’t I?” Alma whispered, pushing her words past the tightness of her throat, over the pounding of her heartbeat.
The ShopKeeper smiled at her as he sank down next to the Starling. “In a way,” he said. “In several ways, actually, Alma of the Growing Light.”
“Dr. Parry,” Alma breathed in recognition. “You’re Dr. Parry!” She turned her head from one side to the other. “And you’re also—you kind of look like Susie, the librarian. And the—the bus driver—Celcy.” She gasped, hands pressed to her cheeks. “Parry. Celcy. Susie. Paracelsus! You’re Paracelsus!”
“The true Paracelsus,” the ShopKeeper corrected.
“You wrote the book! And you’re the ShopKeeper! But how?” Alma asked, too overwhelmed to sort through her revelations.
The ShopKeeper wanted to be sensitive. He wanted to explain things slowly and patiently. He wanted to tell his story. It was, he had to admit, a spellbinding story full of identity changes and fact-finding missions and, above all else, the light of the stars.
But, looking at the Starling next to him, touching her much-too-cold cheek, he knew there wasn’t time for that.
“Oh, I’ve been many things,” the ShopKeeper said, his melodic voice now barely more than a rasp. “With the right disguise, even the brightest of stars can live among you elementals. I’ve been a doctor, an alchemist, a preacher, an illuminist, a dancer—briefly though, not enough starlight-coverage in those leotards. My life’s work, however, has been helping the fallen to rise. I find fallen stars, and I find the elementals who can send those stars home—elementals like you. For centuries I have done this, and I have taught many other stars around the world to do the same. And tonight, I would very much like to send this young Starling home, but I will need your assistance. Can you help me, Alma of the Growing Light?”
Alma listened to this with wide, amazed eyes. The ShopKeeper watched her, hoping that he had not been wrong after all, hoping that this girl was truly of fire.
When she started to nod, he closed his eyes in relief. But when he opened them again, she was shaking her head.
“I can’t,” Alma said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I had the elements, just like the book said. But now—now look. I ruined everything.”
The ShopKeeper followed Alma’s pointing finger and saw the jar for the first time, filled with dirty water and a burned stone. “Oh, I see, I see,” he said. “Yes, indeed, those true elements are ruined. Luckily for us, there are other true elements, even greater ones, that are still very much intact.”
“Where?” Alma asked the ShopKeeper, who, through her tears, was a blue smudge against the black sky.
“Tell me,” the ShopKeeper said, “did you find these elements alone?”
Alma shook her head. “No. I had help. My friend Shirin led us to the water. Hugo got the wind. And Dustin, he found the earth.”
“And you?” the ShopKeeper prompted. “What was your element, my dear soul?”
“Fire,” Alma said. “I found fire.”
The ShopKeeper clapped his hands together. “I knew it,” he said. “And I see you have your quintescope. Marvelous! Let’s find the other three, shall we?”
The ShopKeeper rose laboriously to his feet, his quintescope in his hands. Alma followed him to the west point of the platform, where he positioned the scope on the railings and pressed an eye to the glass.
“One!” he cried, growing more animated by the second. “Do you want to see?”
Alma pointed her quintescope in the same direction. For a moment, she saw only the dark outlines of houses and trees, but then—
There was Shirin, running toward the Fifth Point.
A rainbow light streamed from behind her, like a cape, like a banner. And in her center, there was a sphere of golden light.
The ShopKeeper was moving across the platform, crossing to the east side. Looking through his scope, he sang out, “Two!”
Alma hurried over, held up her quintescope and—
There was Hugo, a silver spotlight streaking toward the middle of town, with that same golden sphere inside.
“Three!”
The ShopKeeper was on the north point now, and when Alma reached him and peered down, she saw him—
Dustin. He was barreling toward the Fifth Point, lit with a rusty light, and at his center, there was gold, gold, gold.
The ShopKeeper did a little dance, brandishing the scope above his head. “Here they come, here they come! And oh, aren’t they shining so brightly with their own quintessences? We just may do it! Now you.”
He lifted the quintescope and pointed it right at Alma. She was reminded of how he had studied her that first day in the Fifth Point. Only a spark, he had said. But it’s growing! She held her breath, wondering what he would see now.
“Glorious!” the ShopKeeper cried. “Wondrous! Extraordinary! Alma of the Growing Light, you are filled with quintessence! A quintessence with a heavy dose of fire—true fire. Can you feel it?”
Alma knelt down next to the Starling. She stroked the little figure’s knotted, dulled hair and thought of the many adventures of that night, the many adventures of the past three weeks. Now, finally, finally, they were going to send the Starling home.
That made her feel brighter than she had ever felt.
“I can,” she said.
“That is good,” the ShopKeeper replied. “Because it’s time.”