Fragments of a Fallen Star Read online

  FRAGMENTS OF A FALLEN STAR

  Second Edition

  Copyright © 2022 Viano Oniomoh

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition published © 2016 by Viano Oniomoh

  All rights reserved.

  Cover, Interior Design, and Map Illustrations by Viano Oniomoh

  designedbyvee.com

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in book reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, brands, media, incidents, and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, visit vianooniomoh.com

  Published by Viano Oniomoh Presents.

  Paperback ISBN: 9798847881845

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  Queer Black girls,

  this one’s for you.

  *.·:·.*.·:·.*

  CONTENT NOTES

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  For all who might need it; this book contains the following content that may be upsetting for some readers:

  Themes of discrimination, mentions and depictions of grief surrounding the death of a loved one (specifically parents and caretakers), mentions of deaths of parents and caretakers, mentions and references to a (presumed) affair, depictions of mild anxiety attacks, kidnapping, blood, fantasy-based violence, attempted murder, (off-screen) murder, background character(s) vomiting, strong language, alcohol consumption, and explicit sex scenes.

  If I’ve missed any warnings, please feel free to contact me and I will add them ASAP. Thank you!

  Take care of yourselves! With that, I hope you enjoy the story!

  ~Vee.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  *.·:·.*.·:·.*

  This book has been years in the making, and it wouldn’t exist without the love and support of some of my favorite people:

  My mother, for constantly celebrating me, no matter how small the milestone; my brothers, Mano and Bruno, for constantly interrupting—ahem, I mean, checking in on me when I’ve been stuck in my writing cave for too long. Thank you Zino, for your listening ears, for brainstorming with me, and making sure I keep to my schedule and take all the breaks.

  To my beta reader, Archer; thank you so, so much for your keen eyes, encouragement, and support, and taking the time out of your busy days to help me. Your help was invaluable.

  Thank you so much to my patrons; in a lot of ways, this book would not exist without you. I can’t thank you enough for your support.

  And to you, reader: I hope this book gives you all the joy, excitement, and warm fuzzy feelings I had when writing it. Thank you for supporting my dream as an author by taking a chance to buy FRAGMENTS OF A FALLEN STAR.

  I hope you enjoy the ride.

  ~Vee.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

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  CONTENT NOTES 3

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 6

  1 . A SPELL TO FIND LOST THINGS 9

  2 . WHAT YOU’VE BECOME 19

  3 . LYNX ARAERI 31

  4 . MAMA’S SOUP KITCHEN 38

  5 . NAILAH OF THE STREETS 55

  6 . A FAN OF DANGER 71

  7 . DON’T LOOK, DON’T LISTEN 81

  8 . A SOFT BEAM OF MORNING SUNLIGHT 97

  9 . THE CRYSTAL CITY 113

  10 . AIR AND WATER 131

  11 . WALKING ON WATER 149

  12 . THE MAN AND HIS BASILISK 157

  13 . A BOWL OF PEPPER SOUP 166

  14 . A CERTAIN SHIP 185

  15 . WAY TOO MANY FAIRYTALES 201

  16 . FIRE 218

  17 . THE SECRET LIBRARY 230

  18 . FLY 241

  19 . A WARM SENSE OF BELONGING 257

  20 . NAILAH AND MOIRA VS. THE CREW 269

  21 . THE BELT OF LIVING NIGHTMARES 285

  22 . THE LOST WATERS 299

  23 . YOUR WISH IS HEREBY GRANTED 309

  24 . WHEN YOU’RE FILLED WITH LOVE 321

  25 . EVERYTHING AND MORE 332

  26 . UNTIL THE END OF TIME 339

  27 . SERENDIPITOUS 343

  Epilogue . A BLESSING 351

  ALSO BY VIANO ONIOMOH 356

  EXCLUSIVE CONTENT ON PATREON 358

  SUBSCRIBE TO VIANO’S NEWSLETTER 359

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR 361

  1 . A SPELL TO FIND LOST THINGS

  MOIRA KARL-FISHER WAS ABOUT SIX years old the first time her mother had used this spell.

  “What’s that?” she’d asked, lifting onto the tip of her toes so she could peer over the kitchen counter. Her mother had been sketching onto the white marble surface with purple chalk. Moira had tried to rest her fingers on the edge for stability, nearly ruining the pretty drawing in the process. Mother gently smacked her hands away, though her lips were curved in a fond smile.

  “It’s a spell,” Mother replied, eyes narrowed with concentration as she effortlessly drew loops and swirls contained within a wider circle. The lines glowed and faded with each pass of the chalk, completely ensnaring Moira’s attention and making her pulse race.

  “A spell for what?”

  Mother paused, tilting her head as if to access the perfection of the drawing. “To find lost things.”

  As usual, every time Mother mentioned magic, Moira’s whole being stood to attention, her breath speeding up with excitement. “What have you lost, mummy?”

  There was a twinkle in her eye when she responded, “You’ll see.”

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  Moira wiped the sweat from her brow and stared down at the rune, identical to that of her mother’s nearly fourteen years ago, etched now onto her parents’ bedroom floor.

  Through the open window, she could hear the excited hubbub of the Festival for the Passing of the Singing Reeshes. The air was cold, but the amount of power she’d put into drawing the summoning circle had made her body warm, making her appreciate the cool on her overheated skin.

  She awkwardly got to her feet, flexing her toes to get the blood back in them. The new perspective offered her a view toward the south beaches of Thinkell, where no doubt at least eighty percent of the Island’s residents have gathered to watch the mighty singing fish as they migrated past their town and across the ocean, indicating the beginning of spring.

  Colored lanterns dotted the night sky like the twinkling of stars, and the scent in the air was heavy with the promise of the first rain, a thought that brought a pang to Moira’s chest. Her mother used to say the first rain of the year was a cleansing; a spiritual blessing from Ierta, the Goddess of the Sea. Ever since Moira could remember, she, Mother, and Father would always run out together on the day the first rain fell, dancing and laughing underneath the showers, thanking the Goddesses for their blessings.

  The purple on the wooden floorboard glittered, catching Moira’s eye and pulling her from her thoughts.

  Mother had never used a summoning circle this big. The spell was only supposed to be used for small objects; a spoon, a wristwatch, a locket.

  This had probably never been done before.

  “Always a first time,” Moira said, echoing Mother’s mantra for every new magical experiment she attempted that apparently had no precedent.

  Mother hadn’t lost anything that day. Looking back, Moira knew now that Mother had only performed the spell in a last-ditch attempt to teach her. At the time, Moira had been more willing to learn by observation, even though she mostly only paid attention if the spell being taught would be useful to her. Since Moira was almost always losing things, the second time her mother had made use of the spell in her presence, she’d had it memorized down pat.

  “Make sure all the lines are connected,” Moira whispered as she carefully dropped to her knees beside the large purple circle, positioned directly opposite the bed her parents had shared. Her eyes traced over the lines, slow and careful, because the smallest mistake could ruin everything. “Frame the circle with your hands, thumbs touching.”

  The circle was almost as big as the bed itself, which would have made it impossible for Moira to frame with her hands, but she was nothing if not a master improviser. Connected to the larger circle was a smaller one, the one supposed to be used for the actual spell.

  Moira did as instructed. She felt the air go still, and could hear nothing but her breath. In her mind’s eye, she saw them, as clear as day and like they’d never … left.

  She shoved all the magic burning at her core into the floorboards, directing it at the circle.

  “Bring me back what I have lost.”

  All the sounds around her stopped abruptly the second she uttered the words, like they’d been sucked into a vacuum. She couldn’t even hear her own breath. The circle and all the lines within began to glow, her palms to burn.

  Something was wrong.

  A pulsing ache sank deep into her knees. When she tried to move, she found that she couldn’t. Her breaths came out faster—she could tell by how rapidly her chest was heaving—but she could still
hear nothing.

  Then came a scream; a shrill ringing in her eardrums that sounded more like a dying siren than a human. Something popped in her nose, behind her eyes—

  Liquid leaked from her nostrils onto her lips, slid down her cheeks from the corner of her eyes, trickled down to soak the collar of her shirt from her ears. Miniscule pieces of chalk lifted off from the summoning circle to hover in the air, glittering like a million tiny gemstones in the moon’s light from the open window.

  Her palms were on fire, burning, and the floor felt like a human magnet tugging, tugging, tugging—pulling at something buried in her chest, behind her ribs, trying to drag her down to depths unknown. She resisted the pull with all her might, spots dancing in front of her eyes as she fought to get free.

  She couldn’t scream when she saw the molecules taking shape in front of her, forming glittering eyes and lips pulled up in a manic grin.

  The shape disappeared faster than it had appeared as a familiar figure slashed her foot across one edge of the circle, breaking the spell.

  Sound rushed into Moira’s ears as she finally regained control of her limbs and collapsed to the floor. She coughed, tasting copper in the back of her throat.

  “What is wrong with you?” Minna Will-Merchant’s shout sounded far away. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, Moira? How could you—what were you—what were you trying to do? Please don’t tell me you were doing what I think you were doing.”

  Moira couldn’t find it in herself to respond; she was shaking too much. The barely-there shape of the purple figure haunted her each time she blinked.

  What had she been thinking?

  Minna sounded stressed, close to tears. “Moira, you really need help. Please, please. We can talk to mummy—”

  “I want to be alone.” Her voice was nothing more than a croak. Shame and grief bubbled inside her, threatening to spill, and she didn’t want Minna to see.

  “You’re bleeding,” Minna said in a panic. She dropped to her knees so fast they made an awful noise as they hit the floorboards, and Moira’s face was abruptly being dragged into her best friend’s hands. Said hands were shaking. Moira couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Don’t—” ruin your dress, Moira wanted to say, but the glare she felt on the side of her face made her swallow her words.

  Minna looked beautiful. She was dressed—probably like everyone else on the island—in their traditional attire: a high-neck round-collared, short-sleeved Ankara kaftan that swept the floor, with slits that went all the way up to the hips, revealing a pair of fitted trousers in a matching material underneath. Her Ankara’s colors were a riot of oranges and pinks lined with black, an intricate wax print that made it look like an artist had painted the cloth.

  “I can’t believe you,” Minna whispered. Her voice came out heartbroken instead of scolding. “Where’s your comdec? Did you not get any of my messages?”

  Minna ruined the beautiful material of her dress with blood as she wiped Moira’s nose, her warm brown skin gleaming like she’d swam in a pool speckled with gold. She’d probably used some of her mother’s homemade cream, saved for occasions such as this. Her lips were a startling pink, and her waist-long braids were pulled up into a tight bun.

  When she was done getting as much blood off as she could, she sat back, and there came the worry swimming in her dark brown eyes. The kohl line around the lids made them appear warmer but also sharper, the glare making Moira feel about as small as a tadpole.

  Moira looked away. “I’m fine.” She glanced toward the windowsill, where the black, rectangular block of her communication device sat, switched off. It was almost always switched off these days; recently, the soft vibration whenever she got a new message only served to fill her with anxiety.

  “No, you’re not.”

  Moira sniffed, wiping her nose at the feel of a phantom trickle. “You’re going to miss the reeshes.”

  “I don’t care about the silly reeshes.”

  It hit Moira then, how badly she’d failed as her eyes took in her best friend sitting in the middle of the circle she’d drawn, hoping—

  Hoping what, exactly? That a fucking spell to find lost things would do the trick? Come on, Moira, you’re smarter than this!

  She lurched to her feet. “I want to be alone,” she repeated, hating how her voice came out choked. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, instead heading to the open window and climbing onto the sill so she could stare out at the beach. It felt so far away, like a different world.

  “Since you’ve taken to ignoring your com, I thought I’d come personally to ask again—”

  “The answer is still no.”

  Minna sighed. Moira heard her get to her feet. “They’d want you to be happy, you know. They’d want you to—”

  “Don’t you dare.” Moira’s voice was like ice as her head snapped to face her closest friend. “You have no idea what they would want, and saying shit like that to manipulate me is a low blow, Minna.”

  “I’m not—for Ierta’s sake, Moira, I’m not trying to manipulate you. They would want you to be happy, that’s just the truth.”

  “And your definition of that is me going to see the reeshes and pretending nothing’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  Minna sighed again. She looked exhausted. “I don’t want to have this argument again.”

  “Then leave.”

  “Fine. Forgive me for giving a fish’s tail about you.”

  “You’re forgiven.” Moira sneered.

  “Ugh!” Minna threw her hands up in frustration, before turning and stomping out of the room, dusting chalk residue off her knees with aggression.

  Moira waited until she heard the front door slam shut. Then she waited some more, peering out the window to make sure Minna had really left.

  Beauty was out there waiting for her, never too far from Minna’s side, as usual. Her own Ankara was a mix of pale pinks and sunshine yellows, a complement to her obsidian skin, her afro straightened to hang in loose tresses down her shoulders. Minna tangled her fingers with her platonic girlfriend’s, and Moira resisted the urge to hide when Beauty glanced up at the window, then away. Moira felt a pang of guilt. Out of all her friends, Minna was the only one still trying. After what just happened, maybe Minna would finally give up on her, too.

  As Minna began to stalk away, not sparing another glance back at the house, Moira felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. Her strength zapped away like water dumped from an overturned bucket, and she collapsed against the sill behind her, arms and legs dangling loosely by her sides. The exhaustion was bone deep, more so than usual because of the amount of magic she’d used. A soothing cup of ubé tea should quickly replenish her energy while her magic rejuvenated itself, but ever since Father—

  She inhaled sharply, hands reflexively clenching into fists as she shoved the memory away. The purple circle taunted her from the corner of her eyes, made her swallow reflexively until she was down on her knees, vigorously wiping the chalk away and trying not to think about whatever she’d seen when she’d cast the spell.

  Her hands were caked with purple when she was done. The once beautiful, polished wooden floor now had one big smudge ruining its shine.

  It was painfully silent. Why is it so—

  At the sound of the first harmonious note, Moira’s head snapped to the bedroom window.

  The reeshes were here.

  She stumbled to her feet, heart pounding, fingers clutching the edge of the windowsill. Even from this distance, she could make out the surface of the water, the quiet of the beach as the people awaited the rest of the music of the great, traveling fish. The lights on the deck were dimmed, along with those illuminating the kiosks. Soon, the entire beach was plunged in darkness. Moira could almost hear the excited sounds of the people whispering at their tables.

  A memory, unbidden, crept up in her mind’s eye of the first time she remembered seeing the reeshes: six years old and stuffed into traditional attire where the high collar of the starched shirt had itched at her throat, her mother smacking her hand every time she reached up to tug and scratch.