Brighter and brighter and brighter the Starling grew, brighter and brighter until she seemed to be made of nothing but light, until Alma could hardly look at her. Beneath them, the town of Four Points was illuminated by the pulsing, shimmering copper glow, and all sound—the howling wind, the rolling thunder, the creak of the tower, Alma’s own heartbeat and breath—was drowned out by the rising star song. It was a song of bells, ringing and ringing, not a funeral toll now but wild and wondrous.
And it wasn’t only the Starling who was changing. The ShopKeeper was suddenly shining too.
“How glorious!” he cried, holding his hands up in amazement. “This has never happened to me before. But stars are always brightest before the end!”
The bell sound rang on. The light grew. The ShopKeeper laughed a high, delighted laugh and began to sing his own star song.
Then the Starling stood up.
She was, once again, luminous and other-worldly, the most beautiful thing Alma had ever seen. Her hair was aloft, blown by her own stellar winds. Her body was in perpetual motion, stretching her slender arms out, twisting from side to side with her face tilted toward the sky. Then she turned to the south point of the platform.
With her eyes burning like two embers, the Starling—strange but familiar, distant but near, the same but extraordinary—smiled and held up one hand to Alma.
And Alma was sure that the song she was singing was for her. She was sure that she had done the something that she was meant to do and that a universe of somethings was now open to her.
“Goodbye,” Alma whispered, holding up her own hand. “Goodbye, Starling.”
Then the light intensified and the bell sound shifted into a high-pitched sustained note that seemed to be on the precipice of breaking and—
The Starling and the ShopKeeper—the two stars—began to rise.
“Until we meet again.” The ShopKeeper’s voice rang out across the town. “By and by, my dear souls! By and by!”
Two lights shot up through the blackness of the sky, one small and copper, one blazingly blue. Up and up they went, up toward the stars that seemed to be waiting for them, back to the place in the universe that they had once called home.
But before he had gone too far, the brilliant blue star—the ShopKeeper—broke free.
For a moment, Alma thought he was going to fall. She let out a cry and pressed the quintescope to her eye.
He had changed, the ShopKeeper. He was no longer human-shaped but a round, fiery ball. He was not quite a star, small as he was, but he was certainly not a creature of Earth.
And he was filled, brimming, overflowing with quintessence.
Then the sky was awash in blue and gold brilliance as the ShopKeeper got his wish, his last wish.
“Glorious,” Alma whispered, as she watched the supernova expand and brighten, as the gold light flowed up into space and down to the earth, from home to home, and who could say for certain where else.
And far, far above, a copper star glowed and twinkled, smaller and smaller, as she went up and up, closer and closer to her place in the Universe.
“Oh my goodness.” Shirin was running across the star-shaped platform, braids streaming, eyes enormous. She flung herself at Alma, who caught her. “This is amazing!”
“Zounds!” Hugo cried, crossing carefully to the south point. “Zonks.”
Dustin came to stand by them but didn’t say a word.
They passed the quintescope around, watching the ShopKeeper’s supernova, watching until the Starling seemed to be stationary. Up in the sky, there was a star where there had been a blank space before. Her red-gold light twinkled, as if she was sending a message to the Earth below.
“Look how bright she’s shining!” Shirin cried, pointing with both braids and smiling her widest smile.
Alma knew that she was shining too.
She was made of elements. She was made of fire, and made of water and wind and earth.
She was filled with quintessence.
They all were.