Starbreak (24 page)

“I killed someone,” I said softly. “Mazdin Rafferty. You all know that. I’m no better than Aleksandra.”

“Sometimes leaders have to make difficult choices,” Rebbe Davison said. “Aleksandra’s mistake wasn’t killing her mother. Not only that. It was that she never dealt with the consequences that were waiting for her up there on that ship.”

I closed my eyes. I could hear my pulse in my ears, feel the overwhelming fear that tightened my throat. But then I heard a voice, warm and soft inside my mind.

I believe in you. You can do this. You are strong—stronger than they know.

“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice still hoarse as I opened my eyes. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

Rebbe Davison smiled at me. Mara, leaning forward in her seat, gave my shoulder a clap. The others might have regarded me doubtfully, but I ignored them. Mara and Rebbe Davison believed in me. Vadix, too. That meant the world.

“Well, then,
Talmid
,” Mara Stone said, “give the order.”

I glanced forward doubtfully, uncertain at first. But then I saw Jachin lift his lips in a bemused smile. He gestured toward the shuttle pilot, the one who waited with his hand on the ignition.

“Pilot!” I said uncertainly, and they all smiled at that. “Prepare for takeoff. It’s time to go home.”

He made a noise of agreement, but it was gobbled up by the engine’s roar. Searing. Deafening. It was almost enough to wash away my shock, the idea that now, thanks to Vadix, I’d be in a place to engineer a future for the Asherati.

But not quite.

•  •  •

Hours passed, and hours more. Soon I was plunged into the land of dreams again, my mind lost in those now familiar forests. But this dream was strange, different from the rest—more like the nightmares I’d known as a girl than the comforting landscape to which I’d grown accustomed. In my dream the winter’s storms had begun, blotting out the cupola and all her light. The whole world seemed cavernous and blue. Silent. Half dead.

Vadix and I walked through Raza Ait together arm in arm, examining the familiar scenery and how it had been transformed. It looked like a ruin. Everything was hollow, empty, the wind whistling through the towering structures like a mouth playing a thousand reedy pipes. The copper walls, once coated in shifting branches, were now buried beneath desiccated vines. Thanks to winter’s invasion, the forest had gone to rot. There was a sharp smell on the air—oxygen, moisture, decomposing leaves. I walked forward, fascinated by the way the snow cover muffled our voices and our footsteps. Or my footsteps at least; as we walked, Vadix’s pace grew slower and slower still.

Soon he crouched down against the freezing cobblestone.

Go on without me,
he said.
The winter has begun.

He drew his knees to his chest, pressing his face between his legs. I watched as the fabric of his robes began to split and tear. Tiny roots were shooting out of his flesh, tethering him to the frozen earth.
Soon his skin took on a translucent cast as a net of leaves cocooned his body. I knelt down beside him, frantically clearing those leaves away. Sap covered my wrists. The cold numbed my palms. But I couldn’t fight off the progress of the season. His body grew hard, still. I watched as he was lost to me, lost to the winter.

Then I heard something—a savage howl. I glanced up toward the snow-covered glass; looked left, then right, to the city’s high walls. A beast was coming, but from where? I had no weapons—no prod, no double-bladed knife. I hardly knew how to fight, much less hunt. How could I ever protect Vadix from the oncoming storm? I wrapped my arms around his body, my shoulders tense and high. The howling went on and on and on.

I wrenched myself awake. But even there, in the dark confusion of the shuttle, the howls didn’t stop. Crying. Someone was crying. Wild, whooping tears. Clutching the armrests, I leaned forward. My heart was still wild in my chest, but I told it to be quiet. Vadix was fine. It had only been a dream, a nightmare. These cries were human; they came from no beast.

I pushed the button on my helmet. The visor snapped up. In the dim space of the shuttle, I found Ettie. Her visor was up too. In her helmet she sobbed uncontrollably, her hair plastered to her face. Hannah did her best to console her, rocking her back and forth. But it was no use.

“Would you pipe that child down?” Mara groused. Hannah gave her head a rapid shake.

“I’m
trying
!” she said. She examined her—the girl’s face had gone glossy with tears. “
Pupik
, what’s wrong?”

“We can’t go back!” Ettie howled, a cry so fierce, it made my eardrums shake. “We can’t!”

“We have to, honey,” Hannah said, her smile gentle but uncertain. “We have no choice.”

“But the boy!” she cried. My mouth was suddenly very, very dry. “He’s waiting for me!”

“What boy?”

“The one in my dreams! He’s waiting for me! We can’t leave, Hannah! We can’t!”

She collapsed in my sister-in-law’s arms. Hannah stroked Ettie’s narrow shoulder blades with the flat of her palm. Then she looked up at me.

“How is this possible?” she asked. “You and the translator—and now the child, too?”

I remembered what Vadix had said about the scans, about Ettie. Phytodistress systems, ethylene receptors. But that didn’t matter, not right now. What mattered was Ettie, crying. Terrified of all that she’d left behind.

“Ettie,” I said evenly. In Hannah’s arms Ettie stilled. But she didn’t draw up her head. “Esther, look at me.”

At last she did, pushing her wild hair from her tear-sticky eyes with one hand, snuffling.

“Ettie, I promise you that we’ll find him. Just because we’re going back to the ship now doesn’t mean this is the end. You have your whole life ahead of you—and his, too. Do you understand?”

Ettie sucked in a breath. “Do you promise, Terra?”

I didn’t feel certain. I’d never been a leader before—never been good at keeping my own dreams safe, much less anyone else’s. But I had to believe it was true. Not just for Ettie, or the people up there on the ship. But for me, and Vadix, too.

“I promise,” I said, firmly, fiercely. Ettie only nodded. She drew her legs up to her, hugging her arms around them. Hannah gaped at me, doubt and confusion clear in her eyes. But I ignored it, ignored her. I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes, and waited for the shuttle to take us home.

Winter, 1 Year, 1 Month After Landing

Life wasn’t easy for me back then.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not exactly a picnic now. We all know that, given the option, I never would have chosen this work. But I guess I never expected I’d have a choice. When I was a kid, I hoped so bad that the Council would leave me alone to do my art. But when they told me I was going to be a botanist, I let myself become resigned to that fate. It was what happened on our ship. People became plowmen, or carpenters, or librarians because the vocational counselors told them it was best. After all, they’d given us tests, conducted interviews, personality profiles, had private chats with our parents and teachers. Aptitude was what mattered. Passion never, ever figured into it.

I watch how life has changed, how now my people do the work that’s necessary and not just the work that someone else says they do best. It’s still not exactly a matter of choice—it’s merely what we need to do if we’re going to survive here. Just last week the western wall collapsed under snow cover. I was the one who made the announcement: we would all put down our daily labor so that we could attend to the damages. There was quite a bit of grumbling. Some of our people even tried to shirk their duties. But I stood my ground, and within two days the avalanche had been cleared. The cupola still has a crack
—
we won’t be able to repair that until summer—but you wouldn’t even
know where it was if you didn’t already know where to look.

It’s times like these that I wish you were here with me. At first I wanted your support. How could I possibly do my job without you there bolstering me, believing in me? How could I ever tend to every single need of our precious community? Every time I had to speak to the citizens, my hands shook—my voice caught in my throat. I was a wreck. I suspect they all saw it; that’s probably why I had to work so hard to convince them. I wouldn’t be an easy sell either, if I were a grown man or woman and some seventeen-year-old girl were telling me what to do.

But lately I miss you for another reason. I miss you because I suspect you would be proud of me, of how I’ve learned to clutch my hands behind my back to keep them steady, and how to angle my chin up, speaking clearly and with strength even when I feel anything but strong. I’ve changed in these last few months. It’s not just that I’m taller, that I’ve grown muscular from the afternoon hunt. It’s that I’m braver than I ever thought I would be.

Because there were times in my life when I thought I was very, very weak. Back when Momma died, and then Abba . . . back when Koen Maxwell broke my heart, and then I broke Silvan Rafferty’s. But I think I was never quite so afraid as the day we returned to the ship. I thought it might be the ending. I didn’t realize that it was the start of everything—like a seed, just sprouted, ready to grow into the mightiest of trees.

T
he air lock was empty upon our return. There were no crowds waiting for us, no family to greet us with open arms. Only dim lights that flickered on and off as we walked down the empty corridor. I hadn’t exactly expected a parade or banners to welcome us home, but some sign of life would have been a comfort. The air lock’s walls were as dark as a coffin. The path outside the craft was long and echoing. We shed our flight suits and made our way down the hallway, but cautiously. Mara Stone led the way.

“We need to be careful,” she said, bringing her hard voice down to a whisper. “There’s been violence since the riots. The Council hasn’t been able to contain it. Students roam the streets like packs of dogs, refusing to be tamed.”

I heard a whimper cut through the silence. Ettie reached up and grabbed Rebbe Davison’s hand. He touched the crown of her head.

“It’s all right,” he said, but from the look on his face, I could tell that he didn’t feel certain. So I squared my shoulders, standing tall.

“Have the shuttles been pillaged?” I asked. Mara gave her head a shake.

“I don’t believe the rebels realized what they contain. They were still fully stocked when I left two days ago,” she whispered.

“We’ll gather the sonic rifles from the shuttles. One for each of us. When we return to the districts, I want you to gather what remains of the guard and bring them down here to secure the rest of the weapons. We need to arm ourselves.”

“Arm ourselves,” Hannah said. Her voice was sharp, mired in confusion. She hadn’t seen the riots—didn’t know about the passions that lurked beneath the breast of every Asherati. “Is that really necessary? Silvan Rafferty’s a good Council boy. He wouldn’t harm us.”

Mara went to fetch our weapons, her steps brisk and officious against the narrow walkway.

“I taught Silvan myself,” Rebbe Davison told my sister-in-law, still clutching Ettie’s hand tight. “Since he was a boy, he’s been proud.
Entitled, like many Council children. I hope you’re right, Hannah. I hope he won’t hurt us. But better safe than sorry.”

My brother’s wife hugged her arms around herself. She’d been a Council child herself once, dutifully following the Council’s laws. She’d never expected their safe, steady rule to be upended, and certainly not with such force.

Mara returned. She handed us one rifle each, all except for Ettie. She only clung to Rebbe Davison, her eyes owlish. She was too young for guns still—too young to face a shuttle crash or days out in the wilderness or the attack of a wild beast or the attempted escape from an alien city too. But she hadn’t had any choice. I held out my hand to her, wriggling my fingers.

“I’ll bring you home, Ettie.”

Her eyes widened. She flung herself at me, squeezing my fingers so tight, I thought they might fall off.

“I still wanna go back,” she whispered. My smile wavered. I thought of Vadix—down there in the city, hustling toward the towering senate building, his robes streaming after him. I wished I were standing beside him, preparing to fight my own battle. Instead of up here, fighting the Council. Again.

“I do too,” I said, prying my fingers away just long enough to flip the rifle’s safety off. “But we have business to see to. I need to go speak to Silvan, before he does something rash.”

But Rebbe Davison stepped forward, putting a hand on my rifle. He glanced toward the light of the main bay, feeble against all this darkness.

“Not yet. We should take tonight to sleep,” he said. “To be with our families. They must have been worried about us.” He paused, his gaze growing distant. “And I’ll want to break the news to Aleksandra’s family before I speak to her other advisers.”

Rebbe Davison winced, and I quickly realized why. Children. Aleksandra must have had a husband and children—a son and a daughter. I’d never imagined her as a wife, or a mother. But of course she must have been both. Like every Asherati woman, she would have had little choice in the matter.

“Do what you must,” I said, gazing down at his big, calloused hand still wrapped around my gun’s barrel. “But hurry. I need to see Silvan before—”

“Terra, these things take time,” Rebbe Davison cut in. “We need to see to it that the people are behind us first. We’ll call a meeting. Tomorrow night. Not in the library—the Council might be expecting that. The school. Nineteen o’clock.”

I gripped the gun, tight, pulling it away from his scarred hands. “A meeting. What good will a meeting do?”

“You can’t just march in there,” he said. “It could be dangerous. We need to wait. Plan. Aleksandra—”

“Aleksandra is
dead
,” I hissed, as the others all turned away in the face of my words. I saw Jachin lift two fingers to his breast. Saluting his leader—even in death.