Starglass (24 page)

I don’t know what made me leave the path. I moved like I did in my dreams, as if my limbs were powered by some invisible clockwork. But in my dreams I was always happy—mindlessly, stupidly happy. Now, awake, I felt only a knot of uneasiness twisting my stomach.
Just nerves
, I thought as I pressed forward across a dry, ice-slick riverbed.

I heard movement in the tangled bushes ahead of me. The dumbest thought I’d ever had crossed my mind:
Maybe it’s a fox!
And so it was with a sort of frantic, giddy excitement that I reached out to part the branches, and stepped into a shadowed glen.

There was a rustle of movement on the forest floor. Then a moan. I pressed forward, peering between the brambles.

It was not a fox.

“Koen!” I lifted my hand to my mouth. “Van!”

They stopped, staring—two pairs of eyes, one as brown as maple syrup, the other as green as spring buds. The boys were pressed up against a tree. No,
Koen
was pressed up against a tree, and Van pressed up against him, his hands knotted in Koen’s hair. Their lips were bruised pink and slick with saliva. I had interrupted something—Koen had just begun to lift the librarian’s shirt, exposing the bronze
skin over his hip. But they were both frozen now, save for the heavy rhythm of both their chests.

My voice broke out into an incomprehensible syllable. I wheeled back—away from the tangled heart of the forest, away from the boys and their tryst. I saw Koen untangle himself from Van. He reached down to grab his coat from the muddy ground. That’s when I turned and ran.

I didn’t know where I was going, but it didn’t matter. I knew that I could outrun him. After all, I’d done it before. The ground was soft with pine needles. It seemed to fall away as I ducked between the trees, tears streaming down my face, my coat flaring up behind me. I told myself that I would run far, far away from him, lose myself in the forest at the heart of the ship, that I would never see him ever again as long as I lived if I ran fast and far enough.

It was a stupid, stupid hope. For one thing, the
Asherah
was so little. There was no avoiding
anyone
. For another, after only a few minutes of running, I heard the approach of pounding footfalls. A pair of strong hands reached out, grabbing me by both shoulders. I was pulled to the ground.

“Get off me!” My words came out in a screech. It was Van who grappled with me, locking his muscular biceps around my arms in some sort of wrestler’s hold. I could smell the pine on his hair and the cedar on his breath. Koen’s smell. The smell of kissing Koen.

“Get off!”

“Tsssshhhh.” He let out a soft hiss of sound, giving me a firm, strong shake. It reminded me of how my father would grab Pepper by the scruff when the cat swatted at him. It wasn’t a violent gesture; it was supposed to be calming. Now I was the animal. I gritted my teeth.

“There,” Van said. “There.”

Koen came running up to us. He stumbled over a few gnarled roots, reaching out to steady himself on a branch. Then he stopped, watching me fearfully. At the sight of Koen, I felt Van’s grip loosen for just a moment. That was my chance. I squirmed out from his strong arms.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. Part of me wanted to strike out, to come at them all furious teeth and nails. I was better than that, but just barely. I struck a nearby tree trunk with both fists instead. The bark burned the heels of my hands. “What are you doing? I was going to marry you!”

Koen didn’t look at me when he answered. He didn’t dare. His voice was no more than a whisper. “We weren’t doing anything. You still can.”

I let out a howl. Collapsing on the cold ground, I drew my knees to my chest, braying, my hands pulled up over my head. Koen called my name. But then Van said: “Let her cry it out.” I heard the soft
crunch of leaves as he stepped over me to get to Koen.

I don’t know how long I rocked myself on my heels, crying into my arm. It seemed to take a lifetime for my breath to slow—I kept seeing it in my mind’s eye, how their hips had been pressed together, how Van had wrenched his hungry mouth away from Koen’s only at the sight of me. Maybe I should have realized it a long time ago. The silence in the library. The odd friendship between the
talmid
clock keeper and the young librarian. But I hadn’t.

“Faygeleh,”
I said, the word bursting breathlessly past my lips. That must have been what my father had meant all those weeks ago when he’d warned me of rumors about Van. Abba didn’t know anything about the Children of Abel—but somehow he’d known about this, about the curve of  Van’s hip as it pressed to Koen’s.

Men didn’t love men. Sure, some
boys
had flings with one another. In school we called them
“faygeleh,”
a word that meant “little bird.” But that was something you gave up when you were grown so that you could be a good husband, a father.

It made sense. It made so much sense.

Sniffling, I lifted my head; they both watched me. Koen clutched Van’s hand in his. I remembered the cool, loose pressure of his fingers around my fingers and fought the urge to look away.

“You love him,” I said. It wasn’t a question, not really, and Koen answered more quickly than I liked.

“Yes.” He looked relieved to say it. But then he added: “I can learn to love you, too, though. Like Van loves Nina. I still want to marry you.”

Slowly, painfully, I pulled myself to my feet. When I answered him, my voice cracked.

“Why?”

I saw something pass between them—unspoken words in a language I wasn’t privileged enough to speak. Van shrugged; Koen turned to me again.

“Because it’s my duty. Because it’s a mitzvah. Because . . . because your dad asked me to. On the first day of work. He went on and on about how much he worries about you. And you know, he’s
right
. I think . . . I think you need someone to take care of you. And I can do that. I love Van, but I can love you, too.”

“You’ll never love me like you love him.” The words hung between us, as ugly and as undeniable as a tumor. And we all knew it was true. He would never kiss me. Not like he’d kissed Van. I saw the librarian squeeze Koen’s hand, a tiny gesture not meant for me.

“And what about Nina?” I demanded of  Van. “Do you love her?”

“I love them both.” There was no hesitation there. “It wasn’t easy to tell Nina about falling in love with Koen. It hasn’t been easy for her to share me. And it hasn’t been easy hiding it either. But life wouldn’t be worth a thing if I couldn’t have both of them.”

“Falling in love with him,” I echoed. The words felt hollow. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? You’ll take care of me, Koen. But you’ll never fall in love with me. You’ll never be my
bashert
.”

“There are different kinds of love,” Koen declared. “And it’s not like we
have
to love each other that way to get married. It’s not like my parents do.”

“But I
want
 . . .,” I began. Koen stared at me but didn’t speak. A lump rose in my throat. I stumbled toward the main path, through the growing shadows of dusk.

“Terra,” Koen called as I walked by. He tried to reach his hand out, but Van warned him back.

“Don’t,” he said, and I was grateful for that. Still, I stopped just a few meters beyond them. They were still holding hands as they watched me. They’d never stopped.

“I have a question,” I said. Koen looked afraid of what I might say—but he nodded anyhow.

“Sure.”

“I wanted to ask you about the Children of Abel. I guess—I guess this is why you joined, isn’t it? Not because of the vocation system or the Council. But because . . . you’d marry
him
if you could, right? He’s . . .
he’s
your destiny?”

As their gazes met, I saw Koen’s soften. He didn’t look at me. That was as good as a confirmation.

A million arguments swam through my mind. A man couldn’t be another man’s
bashert
. They weren’t even supposed to touch one another, not like
that
, let alone fall in love. But looking at the two of them standing there with their fingers intertwined, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Because they stood side by side, leaning into each other. I had the unnerving feeling that everything I’d ever been taught about love was a lie.

“I thought so,” I muttered, and with that, I turned through the dimming woods and began the long walk home.

I
should have put the pieces together about Koen and Van. The way Koen pulled away from me when I leaned into him as we walked. The way his hand felt in mine, slack, no different from how it had felt when I’d held my brother’s hand as a little girl. The way Van had looked when Koen had defended me—like he could have cried, like his heart was breaking.

But I hadn’t. I thought I was perceptive, but I wasn’t. I thought I was smart, but I definitely wasn’t that, either. I had missed so
many clues. Not just about Koen. About everything.

That night I came home to a dark house, hung my coat on the hook, and flicked on the galley light. From upstairs I heard Pepper’s cries—long, mournful howls.

“Couldn’t even feed the cat, huh, Abba?” I muttered to myself, and went to the icebox to get Pepper his supper. As I peeled away the wax paper that covered his food, a vision flashed inside my mind. Van’s hands on Koen’s hips. I forced it away with a shudder and set Pepper’s supper on the ground.

“Pepper!” I called, but he didn’t come running. There was a pause and then another low moan from upstairs, then a pause, a shuffle, and another cry. I felt my heart sink down into my stomach. I knew that something was wrong even then, but I did my best to ignore it.

“Pepper? Did I lock you in my room this morning? I hope you didn’t piss on my bed.” I forced a laugh at my own joke. But I took the stairs slowly, one at a time.

I reached the landing. Never before had our hallway seemed so long or dark; never had the way the shadows stretched across the scuffed metal floor seemed so sinister. There was light coming from under the door to my father’s room—a long, thin vein of white. A flicker of shadows passed through it, and then I heard another yowl.

“Pepper?”

My hand was cold when I set it against the door. Colder than Koen’s hand. Colder than ice. The heavy wood swung open under my palm. Pepper darted out before I could stop him. I watched his tail disappear in the halo of light that surrounded the stairs.

Then I turned to my father’s room and brought my hands up to my mouth.

“Oh, no,” I breathed. “Abba, no.”

My father’s bed was crisply made, not a single wrinkle showing, the sheets pulled taut under the mattress. His uniform had been left folded atop the coverlet. In the low buzzing light of his bedside lamp, strange shadows loomed. It took my eyes a minute to adjust—took my brain a minute too—to take in what was right in front of me.

My father had laced rope through the high, dusty rafters. He must have slipped it around his throat, climbed onto his desk chair, then kicked the chair down. My mind noted all of the little details—how his hands, blue and slack, sat against his thighs, how his leather shoes just
almost
touched the floor. I noted all of this dispassionately. It was like there was a hiccup in my brain.

It didn’t hit me until I went to him and touched his ice-cold fingers. His body spun on the rope, and I saw his face. The open, hazy eyes met mine.

For the second time that night, I screamed.

•  •  •

It’s hard to talk about what happened next. It’s almost like it happened to someone else. All that screaming. Mar Schneider must have heard it. All those years when my father and I had fought, no one had done a thing. But that night, while my hands were still up over my head, my throat raw and stinging, the knocking came. I must have stumbled to my feet. I must have staggered down the stairs. But all I remember was how I tried my hardest not to look at the body that swung from the ceiling.

A guard stood on the front steps. I only stared at him, white-faced. Noise complaint, he said. Would have to keep our voices down.

That’s when everything left me, all feeling, all fear.

“He’s upstairs,” I said, and collapsed just outside the front door. The guard streamed past me, a rush of blue wool and boots.

After that, more guards. Pepper tried to slip outside, and some neighbor caught him, then held him, staring at me. Speaking to me, but I didn’t hear him. The men were in and out with their boots and their knives.

Koen came. Alone. Without Van. I don’t know why. It was too late to change anything.

“I heard,” he said, taking Pepper from my neighbor.

I didn’t say anything. I was listening to the heavy footsteps on the stairwell. Then I was jostled. A line of guards streamed out, holding my father’s cloth-enveloped body.

The crowd that had gathered went silent. They each raised a pair of fingers to their hearts—a salute. But I didn’t do anything. And neither did Koen.

He just stood there, looking pale and afraid as he clutched my cat to his chest. Eventually the crowd thinned. My father’s ghostly figure had faded down the boulevard by then, disappearing into the darkness.

“Terra,” Koen said at last, stepping close.

When I finally answered, I could taste blood in my throat.

“That bastard!” I said. “That selfish bastard! He left me here! That bastard!”

Koen let out a thin sigh. He carried my cat up the front step and left him inside my empty house. Then he leaned out the open doorway.

“Come on inside,” he said. “We have to get ready for the funeral.”

I picked myself up.

“He left me here. That bastard!” I said again, but weaker this time as Koen closed the door behind me.

D
own in the pasture funeral goers drifted like ghosts, looking gauzy and grave in their white cotton. They held hands. They sang. Some of them looked down at the wrapped body of my father and wondered why anyone would do such a thing. Perhaps a few of them understood. But they all cast down fistfuls of soil, frigid and dry from the frost, and then tried to stop themselves from wiping their palms against their trousers.