The Black Stars (19 page)

“He began to cry, and I tried to explain. I—I told him I couldn't let five people die just because he was my brother. And he said…”

“What?”

“He said I could choose to die myself. But I told him I have important work to do with the coalition. And I just … I didn't
want
to. Every time I've talked to him, he's complained about humans.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “
My
people.”

Something cold trickled down Mason's chest, behind his sternum. Mason hoped he never had to meet Merrin's brother.

“My father is coming to talk to you soon,” Merrin said, clearly trying to change the subject.

“Oh good, I've missed the king,” Mason said.

Merrin laughed shakily, still wiping at her eyes.

“Come on,” Mason said. “Let me introduce you to the team.”

*   *   *

That night, Merrin joined the group in their hunt for the gloves. Po had taken a liking to Merrin, Mason could tell. Mason kept catching Po staring at her. Mason did not like this. When Po looked at Mason, Mason was sure to convey how much he didn't like this with his face. Po only smiled sheepishly and whispered, “The king's daughter…” as if that somehow explained everything.

The walk back to the ruins had no idle chatter this time; everyone was tense, eyes flitting to the shadows, postures low and ready. Merrin, being a Tremist herself, had fit into the group immediately. Lore was very kind to her, but Risperdel was slightly aloof.

Once at the ruins, Po pointed out where the battle with the Fangborn had taken place. Merrin nodded as Po told the story.

“They seem to be getting along splendidly,” Tom whispered to Mason. They were trailing behind the group.

“So?” Mason said.

“So, nothing,” Tom said, but he was grinning like an idiot.

They split up, Mason, Tom, and Merrin forming a group. It was nice to be just the three of them again. Mason liked his dorm mates, even Lore, but now he felt like he was part of a team again.
You need them,
he thought.
You can't do everything yourself.
As they stalked the ruins, Merrin told them about the work she'd been doing in the coalition. “It's like saving the world in a different way,” she said. Mason preferred saving it the way they were used to.

*   *   *

The search was uneventful. Until Merrin stepped on a rock in the room of a random house, and the stone pushed through the dirt floor. She lifted her foot and looked at the stone. After a moment, the stone sank deeper, disappearing into the floor with a mechanical grinding sound that was not natural. The mechanisms sounded a million years old. Mason and Tom were with her, and they all shared a look:
Of course we're the ones to find it.

Mason was about to call for the others when the ground began to vibrate under them. Small pebbles dropped down from the ceiling. Dust filled the air, rising off the floor in a sandy mist. A square in the floor the size of a table began to slide toward the wall, opening a hole right in the middle of the room.

The hole had a set of stairs leading down into pitch-black darkness.

“I'll get everyone else,” Tom said, but suddenly the hole began to close.

“Did the stone pop back up?” Mason said urgently. He looked at where the stone had been, but there was only a small round hole.

This could be their only opportunity. Mason thought about the gloves, and what the Uniter had been able to do with them. Having them would change everything, he knew it in his heart. Calora's book had been clear. When it came time to face the Fangborn head on, Mason wanted to be ready.

He was prepared to sacrifice himself if it meant the survival of both races. But he couldn't ask that of Tom or Merrin. He didn't
want
to.

Without the gloves, they were truly lost.

The hole was half shut now.

“Mason…” Merrin said, but she knew him well enough. Tom made a grab for Mason's arm, but Mason dodged it, jerking away and sidestepping for the stairs.
Please let this be the right call.
It was possible the room was just some kind of secret storage area. There had been nothing special about the house, nothing to say it had belonged to the Uniter. But it was worth the risk to find out for sure.

Mason slipped down the stairs on his butt to avoid getting crushed by the door.

“Mason—!” Merrin screamed, but her voice was cut off when the door sealed shut.

 

Chapter Twenty-eight

 

The darkness was complete. He could hear thumps through the stone above him, probably Merrin and Tom running to get the others. Then there was silence, a silence so perfect Mason could hear his heartbeat. He could hear the air traveling in and out of his lungs. If he'd been wearing his ESC uniform, the built-in vitals monitor would've been vibrating like crazy:
calm yourself.

Mason's eyes adjusted, but he still couldn't see anything. He held his hands out before him and fed power to his gloves, hearing a low buzz echo off the rock walls. His palms glowed with red light that painted the walls in blood. A corridor was in front of him. Mason took a calming breath and started forward.

The first hundred feet were featureless, but then out of the gloom he saw a door. It was ornate, like the doors to the Inner Chamber, with swirling patterns and pictures that were hard to see in the crackling red light.

“Why are you here?”

The words came from the door, a recording. The quality was nearly perfect, but Mason could tell it didn't come from an organic being.

Mason figured he should try telling the truth. Why not? “I seek the gloves of the Uniter.”

The door said no more, and several long seconds passed.

“Why do you want them?” the door said at last.

“Because we face a grave threat … and we need all the help we can get.”

“Who are you?”

“Mason Stark, cadet of the Earth Space Command, and now a rhadjen.”

The door was quiet for a moment.

“Many have found this door, but none have passed. What makes you different?”

Mason didn't know how to answer that. It reminded him of the application for officer-specific classes at the Academy.
What makes you uniquely qualified to be a leader in the ESC?

Be honest,
Mason thought.

“Probably nothing. My people think I'm a hero, but I was just in the right place at the right time, with the right crew. There is nothing special about me. But I know that if I don't find the gloves of Aramore, we're all going to die.”

The door was quiet for a longer moment.

“Do you truly believe that?”

“Yes,” he replied. “We're all going to die.”

“Do you believe there is nothing special about you?”

Did he? Mason couldn't be sure. Maybe there was, and maybe there wasn't.
Be honest.
So he said, “I can't say for sure.”

Something clicked in the door. Mason took a step back, his hands already up, ready to feed more power to his gloves for whatever lay behind the door. He waited a moment, then nudged it with his toe. The door swung inward, revealing a brightly lit chamber much like the one in which he'd taken his test. It was completely empty, save for a dusty glass cabinet at the far end. Inside under bright lights was a set of black leather armor and a cape of crimson silk, suspended upright as if an invisible person were wearing them. And there, hovering below the sleeves, was a pair of Rhadgast gloves, identical to the ones he was wearing but pure black.

Mason's heart pounded. Why would the door open for him, after all this time?

He approached the cabinet slowly, reverently, not wanting to make too much noise for some reason.

He took another step, and the glass surface turned into a screen, displaying a video image of a Tremist with red and black hair, as tall as in real life. Mason recognized him from Broxnar's class. It was Aramore the Uniter.

“Greetings,” Aramore said. He spoke in a rare dialect, Mhenlo dai Fen, or People of the Forest.

“Hi,” Mason replied.

“You're probably wondering why you're here, why you're the first one to be allowed through the door.”

“Yes, I am,” Mason said.

“Before my death, I built a program that would judge a person's worth simply from their answers. Twelve people have reached my door before, and when asked why they deserve the gloves, they all recount their feats of strength. Their achievements. Their glorified battle stories. Their pride makes them unworthy to wield my power. After nearly five hundred years, you are the first I've judged worthy of entrance.”

Mason was floored. He didn't know what to say. He tried, “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet. I'm afraid it won't be that easy. Because words are one thing. Now I need to see if you mean them.”

Mason's heart immediately began to pound faster.

“Would you like to proceed?”

A fleeting thought:
Turn back now.
But Mason knew he couldn't. Not after coming this far. “I am.”

A hundred tiny doors around the chamber snicked open. Mason spun around. In each hole was darkness.

“Then show me what you're made of,” Aramore said, dimming along with the lights in the room. Mason heard chittering from within the holes, and the first creatures poked their heads out.

Gromsh.

Not dangerous. Grubare has one, after all.

They began to jump down from their holes, one after another. Fifty were in the room, then a hundred. When they opened their mouths Mason saw they had rows of needlelike teeth. He ignited his gloves, which now provided the only light in the room.
What am I supposed to do?
Mason thought.
Fight them all?
Hundreds of eyes reflected the light of his gloves back at him. It made the floor appear as if it were covered in a bed of moving sparks.

And then the creatures struck. Dozens launched themselves at Mason, grabbing on and tearing at his clothes. He fell to his knees as they swarmed over his head and face, sharp claws digging at his ears and eyes. He called forth power from his gloves … but there was nothing there. They felt inert on his hands, lifeless. Mason swung his arms, batting two away at a time, but four gromsh would take their place. He fell onto his side as they began to bite at his fingers and neck, chattering excitedly to each other. Strangely, there was no pain.

They were inside his robe now, crawling along his skin and biting at his flesh. So many standing atop him it felt like a hundred pounds. The room had to be four feet deep in gromsh. He inhaled sharply, and the head of one got stuck in Mason's mouth. He inhaled through his nose, but the fur of another blocked the air.
This isn't real! This can't be happening!
But if it was an illusion, it didn't feel like one. His chest grew tighter with trapped air, a burn that spread to his brain. His face tingled and then went numb.

As the gromsh began to drown him, he realized the truth: heroes, however much a society needed them, were just people. He was going to fail his test, and the sum of his past accomplishments would not be able to save him. His last thoughts were for his team: Tom, Merrin, Stellan, and Jeremy. And now Po, Lore, Risperdel. Without them, he was nothing.

The gromsh were weighing him down so heavily now he couldn't draw breath, even if his mouth and nose weren't full of fur. Spots exploded in front of his eyes. He shut them against the end.

And all at once, the gromsh disappeared.

Mason opened his eyes. He was alone in the room. The doors were gone, and he could breathe. He looked down at his clothes—they were intact. Maybe a little dusty from lying on the floor.

Anger bubbled up inside him; sweat popped on his forehead. The implant was warm inside his brain.
They tricked me again,
he thought.
I let them trick me again!

“Ah, well done! I was hoping you would pass the second part.” Aramore was back. “I apologize for the deception. My computer was able to interface with your implant. Even though yours appears to be much, much newer.”

“How did I pass?” He forced himself to stay cool. It was over now. And if there was a next time, he'd be ready.

“You simply can't win against the gromsh. Instead, your final moments are judged … including your thoughts. I sense arrogance in you, Mason Stark. But there is also humility. One of them will grow and be the driving force behind your actions. Make sure you choose the right one.”

Mason stared at the image of Aramore, wishing the man were really here so he could talk to him in depth, ask his advice. Mason bowed his head, an instinct. “Thank you,” he said, still shaken and sweating.

“You don't know the risks yet.”

Risks?

“The armor is yours, do with it what you will, it holds no special powers. But the gloves are powerful indeed. They tap into a dark place. That place is inside your mind. You will require great mental fortitude if you choose to wear them. If you lack the strength, they will overpower you. They will turn you against yourself.… They will be your undoing.”

Aramore's words sent a chill across Mason's shoulders.

Aramore stared at him, and it seemed for a moment like the image was actually seeing him. That they were making eye contact across hundreds of years. “Heed my words. For if you fail, it won't mean your doom. It will mean the doom of everyone around you.”

Mason didn't know what to say.

The image disappeared and the glass case opened.

 

Chapter Twenty-nine

 

Mason stared at the armor and gloves for a moment.
I can't believe I found them.
What a huge responsibility to be the one finally admitted to the room after all these years. He was a little afraid to take the items; it wouldn't make the other students accept him: if anything, wearing them publicly would be an enormous risk.