Praise for Yoke of Stars

"Haunting, nuanced, and hopeful, Yoke of Stars is essential reading. Lemberg refuses to look away from the hurt we can do to one another, while reminding us that through listening, labor, and mutual support, we can reject patterns of harm and cultivate something better. In these hard times, Yoke of Stars feels as necessary as air, as water, as kindness." 

—Izzy Wasserstein, author of These Fragile Graces, This Fugitive Heart

This is a story about trauma and strife and magic, of stars that hold and bind and devour, and maybe, just maybe, it’s about the possibility of something else beyond the hurt and pain. The way the stories in the book touch and interweave, the way the characters in them tug and pull at each other, is beautifully done—and I love how deftly Lemberg pulls all the threads together into a complex, striking weave.

—Maria Haskins, author of Wolves and Girls

For fellow word-nerds, Lemberg’s linguistic explorations are a thought-provoking journey into how language influences all of us. Lemberg’s command of language and narrative nuance makes this a haunting, beautiful read.

—Marian Crane, author of the Lonhra Sequence

"R. B. Lemberg’s Birdverse is one of fantasy’s most immersive, lyrical, and mind-expanding universes, to which this dream of a novella adds dazzling new depths. Yoke of Stars is a beautiful tale about the stories we all live within, about the languages and connections that bind us to each other and trap us within the same. I loved Yoke of Stars and am certain this is a story I'll return to over and over in the years to come."

—Jason Sanford, author of Plague Birds

When I tell you that this book essentially altered my neural pathways, I mean that in so many good ways. Everything about this book from the writing, the imagery, the character development, the world building, is just luminous. A gorgeous, lush, super queer fantasy.

—Wulfe Wulfemeyer, The Raven Book Store

Praise for The Unbalancing

"The lush lyricism of the mythology, culture, and history in The Unbalancing is illustrious and transportive. It’s an enchanting world of star lore, magic and gender identity with a roster of heartfelt characters told with such rich prose that kept me rooting for Ranra."

—Tlotlo Tsamaase, The Silence of the Wilting Skin

"R. B. Lemberg’s Birdverse is one of my favorite places to visit, full of queer possibilities and deep emotional and philosophical musings. In The Unbalancing they give us wonder, devastation, resilience, and love. Lemberg’s poetic voice makes even the harshest explorations of loss beautiful and manages to balance grief and horror with hope and joy."

—Julia Rios, Hugo Award–winning editor of Uncanny Magazine

"The Unbalancing is a story of people and their power, in nature and society, in interactions and relationships, and of consent and belonging, and of failure and hope. ‘We gift all to each other,’ a wise advisor says, ‘nobody and nothing can destroy this.’ In the face of catastrophe and deepest fear, Lilún and Ranra learning to strive and share and acknowledge failure brings survival and hope."

—Scott H. Andrews, World Fantasy Award–winning editor/publisher of Beneath Ceaseless Skies

Praise for The Four Profound Weaves

★ Nebula-nominated Lemberg’s first novella, set in their deeply queer ‘Birdverse’ universe, presents a beautiful, heartfelt story of change, family, identity, and courage. Centering two older transgender protagonists in the midst of emotional and physical journeys highlights the deep, meaningful prose that Lemberg always brings to their stories.

—Library Journal

"The Four Profound Weaves is a balm and a call to arms. R. B. Lemberg reassures us that there’s still time to find yourself, no matter how old you are; and they stir our revolutionary urges to defeat murderous dictators. But this novella is also a finely-drawn, realistic character study of people who love their communities but never quite feel at home in them. And the magical system is a sheer delight. Thoughtful and deeply moving, The Four Profound Weaves is the anti-authoritarian, queer-mystical fairy tale we need right now."

—Annalee Newitz, author of Autonomous and The Future of Another Timeline

★ "Lemberg’s outstanding debut novel expands on the short stories of the Birdverse that they have been publishing for about a decade . . . Lemberg writes deeply considered, evocative portraits of their characters, handling sexuality and gender especially well. This diverse, folkloric fantasy world is a delight to visit."

—Publishers Weekly

★ "R. B. Lemberg spins a world of singing gods, desert nomads, and magic humming in the wind in The Four Profound Weaves . . . Impressive world building renders the shifting hues of the desert sands and the cold stone of The Collector’s palace in tight prose. Social structures and customs are relayed with the same deft hand; the free, accepting atmosphere of the desert and its people ends at Iyar’s stifling walls."

—Foreword

Also by R. B. Lemberg

Everything Thaws (2023)

Geometries of Belonging (2022)

The Unbalancing (2022)

The Four Profound Weaves (2020)

Marginalia to Stone Bird (2016)

As Editor:

An Alphabet of Embers (2016)

Here, We Cross: a collection of queer and genderfluid poetry from Stone Telling 1 – 7 (2012)

The Yoke of Stars

Copyright © 2024 by R. B. Lemberg

This is a work of fiction. All events portrayed in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form without the express permission of the author and the publisher.

Interior and cover design by Elizabeth Story

Tachyon Publications LLC

1459 18th Street #139

San Francisco, CA 94107

415.285.5615

www.tachyonpublications.com

tachyon@tachyonpublications.com

Series editor: Jacob Weisman

Editor: Jaymee Goh

Print ISBN: 978-1-61696-418-4

Digital ISBN: 978-1-61696-419-1

Printed in the United States by Versa Press, Inc.

First Edition: 2024

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For the exiles and the translators

I. Downward

In the beginning, Bird brought us the stars.

There were twelve of them, each of different color—twelve triumphant stars that sang in the tail of the goddess as she descended toward the newborn land. Down there, in the scorching heart of the desert, the first guardians sang and danced as the goddess swooped closer, and Bird danced with them, and one by one the stars fell down from her tail. Each guardian caught a falling star, and later they planted the stars in their many homelands. From these buried stars, magic was born: deepnames shining like seeds of light in the earth, and in people’s minds. And these great buried stars have guarded the land since then; they guard it even now.

It’s a common story, I think. I learned it here, in the desert. But there is more than one way to tell about the Birdcoming. Each tradition is different—some very different.

Here is the story I learned long ago. I, Stone Orphan of the siltway people, translate it now into your language.

The goddess Bird was nearing her destination when the Star of the Shoal began to remember itself. The past was dangerous, so the star would allow itself to remember only what was useful for its survival.

More was needed now. Having recalled just enough to re-form a consciousness, the Star of the Shoal looked inward, where shimmering, fishlike nodes came together in a whirligig of silver—scales and shards of light. Sea-minnows they were, and also souls, souls of the dead who made up the star. Magical deepnames flared within some of the minnows, and others were magicless, but all were bonded together—soul to soul, deepname to deepname. Those without magic were held by magic extended from others, forming a collective which was the Star of the Shoal.

Eleven other stars clung to the streaming tail of the goddess, and they were so different. There were no souls inside that the Star of the Shoal could discern. Only deepnames, brighter and stronger at the core and wispier and longer at the outer tendrils. People are needed to give birth to deepnames, but only the magic survived.

But what about those without magic? Were they abandoned?

The Star of the Shoal shuddered with the repulsive strangeness of it, examining itself once more, tracking each soul-minnow and every bond just to make sure of its people. Some were missing, indeed, but most were accounted for, each soul a part of a generation extending in a horizontal plane and connecting vertically to generations below and above.

All dead, something deep within it suggested.

Death has no meaning within the collective of the Bonded Shoal, something else within it supplied. Bodies are always temporary.

Shhh, whispered another voice. This one was soft and at the same time wise, and it carried in it a melody which was immaterial and endless like the void. This voice sang, Attend now.

Bird was descending.

Through the outer layers of the sky the goddess plunged, her tail streaming behind her. The air around her was multicolored, a melody wrapping around her like an embrace that guided her gently down toward the newly formed world.

Not much could be seen from above but for the parting of clouds, and the clear skies below. The rainbow of music surrounding Bird dissolved into the air. Some moments later, music rose from a place of sand, to greet the descending Bird and the stars she was bringing.

A dozen people swayed and sang and played instruments, reveling in the dance of the goddess, the great Birdcoming. And oh, how she danced, her tail as wide as the sky and as narrow as shards, swirling and diving and circling through the air above the desert and its dancers. One by one, the people there lifted their hands toward Bird, and one by one, the stars fell from her tail, each singing or humming softly in anticipation of being caught.

The Star of the Shoal edged farther away from its jubilant fellows, and began to discourse with itself.

These dancing guardians are untrustworthy, said something within it.

These are nameway and dreamway. We’ve had such neighbors before, echoed another.

They won’t understand us, let alone safeguard us.

They will trick us and trap us. Betray us, just like before.

Look, said another. A wistful voice, strong and young. There’s a serious one—here he is. And indeed, below, the Star of the Shoal noticed a person who stood apart from the others. He held no musical instruments, and neither did he dance, but looking at him, the Star of the Shoal perceived more than heard a powerful voice, a song the color of red, that beckoned and guided it.

Come to me.

This man was strong in the body, but bodies were unimportant. His soul, though, would be a powerful anchor; he could form many bonds with others, and never loosen his grip. The name of this man was Ladder.

We should fall into his hands, said a voice within the Star of the Shoal. He will catch us and hold us, even though he is nameway.

He knows what it is like to be orphaned, another voice said.

We won’t let ourselves fall into any one hand, said another, an ancient-sounding voice. We are the collective. We are the Bonded Shoal.

Another one like it echoed, The Shoal shall have no masters, no teachers, no leaders, no guides. The Shoal shall have no keepers, no guards. No jailers.

The Shoal will not fall in again with the nameway and dreamway.

The Shoal will survive alone, or else it is not to survive, added another.

The wistful voice said, The Shoal has no masters, but we are already carried by Bird. We are already delivered by someone.

All the more reason to fall on our own, and as fast as we can, echoed many. So we can be free.

The Star of the Shoal attended to the many soul-minnows within it. Seventy generations in a fluid, undulating, layered collective. Each soul was now examined, accounted for, counted.

Those who wish to fall into these hands are outnumbered, said the Star of the Shoal to itself. We fall alone, as quickly as we can. We fall into a body of water.

Seventy generations of soul-minnows now looked down to the ground, and began calculating their path. The Star of the Shoal started to buzz, shimmering silver in Bird’s vision, confusing the goddess until her dance became more erratic. Her tail elongated beyond the horizon, swinging and