The Black Stars (22 page)

Kill him now! Before he changes!

“The Fangborn have known about us for a long time, Mason Stark. They've been watching. Preparing. Their ship took generations to construct, but they are patient beings. And now they're on their way to reclaim us. We will be saved from this miserable existence … and those that fight will
die.
”

Broxnar was now a foot taller. Then two feet.

“This is the only way to survive, Mason. They will win. Join the winning side, like I did, and I will give you an incredible gift. But first … I need your gloves.”

Mason knew he couldn't let Broxnar have them no matter what. With the gloves, Broxnar might be able to fight his way out of the sphere, killing dozens along the way. Even without them, he was an extreme danger to everyone in the school.

Broxnar's silk robes began to split in different places, accompanied by the sound of crunching bones and shifting tissues. His skin darkened, becoming gray and hard. Fingers became claws, and two curling horns sprouted from his bald head. Mason had to crane his head back as Broxnar grew taller still.
He took three vials.

When Broxnar spoke, his voice came from deep within his throat. His cavernous mouth barely moved at all.

“Are you ready to change?”
Broxnar said. He bared his huge teeth. Venom was already dripping off the fangs.

Mason was not ready to change.

He finally let his gloves do what they wanted to do. He raised his hands, palms out, and fired two blasts at Broxnar's chest. Broxnar stumbled backward, twisting aside and ducking under the twin lances. As he rose upright, he flung the desk at Mason with one hand. Mason threw himself to the still-smoldering grass as the desk exploded into a million splinters against the wall.

Broxnar let out a mighty roar that shook Mason's brain and tickled his skin. It was so loud it hurt.
Good, bring everyone.

“GIVE ME THE GLOVES!”
Broxnar lunged for Mason, who didn't think, just pushed out with both hands and closed his eyes.
TWANG!
A dome of black crackling energy formed around him, and Broxnar bounced off it harmlessly, careening back into the wall. He roared, shaking his head from side to side.

Mason stood, letting the dome dissolve around him in tiny black explosions of light. He didn't waste any time. Broxnar was still regaining his balance when Mason unleashed everything he had; every ounce of fear and anger funneled through his gloves and out his palms. Mason's brain was on fire, red hot with rage that felt bigger than himself. The gloves were practically singing on his hands. After a few seconds, Mason let off. Parts of the office were on fire, and black smoke crawled along the ceiling. Broxnar was heaving, gray smoke rolling off his broad shoulders.

“You will need more than that to kill me, human.”
He either smiled or just showed his gigantic teeth.

Mason decided it was time to run. He fired again at Broxnar—the gloves seemed just powerful enough to keep him at bay. And while he was running for the door, he had a terrible realization:
How will we ever beat them? If these gloves can't kill one Fangborn, what weapon can?

He flew through the doorway into the hallway and heard Broxnar crash through the door's frame right behind him. He was double the size of any Fangborn Mason had seen before, and the sight of Broxnar galloping after him almost took the strength from his legs, almost sent him stumbling into the wall. He preferred rage. Mason let the gloves ignite again, throwing volleys over his shoulder. Broxnar dodged all but one: a direct hit to his head. He snarled, jaws snapping at the residual electricity on his face.

Mason rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Reckful.

Along with Masters Zin, Rayasu, and Shem.

Yes!
Mason had never been so happy to see a group of Rhadgast in his life.

“Lend us your power, Mason Stark,” Zin said, stepping aside so Mason could join the line.

Broxnar pulled up short when he saw the four Rhadgast (and one rhadjen) standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

“You won't be able to save your student this time, Zin.”
His voice was painful in Mason's ears, low and grating.
“Kneel before me, and I will reveal your true form.”

“This is my true form,” Master Zin said. “And the only person I will not be able to save today is you.”

Broxnar crouched, coiling his muscles to leap, and the five warriors unleashed their power. Purple and red and black electricity lanced across the space, winding together, spiraling into Broxnar's chest. Broxnar backpedaled from their combined might, until his back hit a wall.
“NO! I MUST HAVE THE GLOVES. THEY BELONG TO ME—”

He collapsed, nearly covered by a blanket of prismatic electricity. The others let up, but Mason was still firing, wrapping his electricity around Broxnar's arms, pinning them to the floor. He didn't stop when he felt Reckful's hand on his shoulder. He only stopped when Master Zin lashed out, knocking Mason's tendrils aside with his own. Mason snapped out of it, heaving, the rage burning hot and black in his hands. He noticed Master Zin was wearing a Stone glove on his right hand and a Blood on his left.

“I
assure
you, he is quite incapacitated,” Master Zin said to Mason.

“I'm sorry,” Mason said, but he wasn't, not really. Broxnar had tried to kill him. Broxnar had tried to take his gloves.

His
gloves.

The others were looking at Mason strangely. Shem had a hint of unease behind his cool gray eyes. Rayasu's hatred was mixed with a dash of grudging admiration.

“The boy has skill,” Shem said. Mason couldn't help but feel a little thrill of pride. The head of the Bloods had never spoken to him before.

“But lacks control,” Rayasu replied.

Shem raised an eyebrow at Rayasu. “I seem to remember a young rhadjen who was not so different.”

“That was a long time ago,” Rayasu said.

Master Zin cleared his throat. “Are you
finished
?”

They had more important problems. Namely an overlarge Fangborn slumbering in the hallway.

“We need to get him to the lab,” Reckful said. “The cure is almost ready.”

 

Chapter Thirty-two

 

Jiric was a Tremist again. So was Juneful and the other students who had been transformed. Their skin was paler than usual, their eyes bloodshot, but they would survive. They would continue their lives.

The glass cage in the lab held only one person now: Broxnar. He was lying in the corner of the room, still unconscious, his skin blackened in places, fangs glinting, a puddle of drool leaking from his gaping maw.

Mason was standing in the lab with Shem, Rayasu, Master Zin, and Reckful. They watched as April Stark administered the cure to the last student, who was strapped to a table, unconscious. His huge Fangborn chest rose and fell with each breath. Soon he would be Tremist again.

The other newly nonmonstrous students had already been taken to the medical room, where they would be under careful surveillance for some time, to make sure their cells did not alter. Only Juneful was still on a table, groggy from the transformation, his rhadjen robes neatly folded next to him. Mason watched as Juneful held up his robes and looked at them as if seeing them for the first time. Juneful probably thought he'd be a monster forever, but now he'd returned to his old life, hopefully leaving his bullying ways behind with the monster.

“Did you know about my visits here?” Mason asked Reckful. His visits to April Stark and her lab were not a secret, he had discovered. Master Zin had known the whole time, along with Rayasu. No one had stopped Mason because they wanted to see how he would handle it, what he would do with the information.
Everything is a test.
But they had no way of knowing Mason had the communicator, and had shared what he'd learned with Susan, unless Reckful or the king told on him.

Reckful folded his arms behind his back, staring at Broxnar where he slept. “You were on the Will once. After you and your friends saved it. Do you remember?”

“I don't think I'll ever forget,” Mason replied.

“A Rhadgast told you to come to our school, if you wanted to know the truth about your parents.…”

Mason's mouth fell open. Only two people knew that—Mason and the Rhadgast on the Will. “But … no. You're—you're Blood!”

Reckful nodded slowly. “Yes. I am now. But I wasn't always. A part of me will always be Stone, but I don't think a Rhadgast should be any one thing. The day Blood and Stone are no longer divided is a day I will finally be happy.” He faced Mason. “The test determines where you start, Mason. Not where you end.”

Mason remembered something from the autobiography of Captain Joshua Reynolds:
There are no good men or women. Just people. And any person is capable of a great many things.

“Thank you for telling me,” Mason said quietly.

“I was supposed to keep it secret. But after everything you did, I wanted you to know the truth.”

Juneful walked over to them slowly. He was clad in his robes once again, though his face was paler than it should've been, and his skin seemed loose in places, like it hadn't yet fully adjusted to his old form.

“Thank you,” he said, looking Mason in the eye. “I was wrong.” He nodded to Reckful. “Cousin.”

Reckful nodded back. Juneful left without another word; Mason understood.
People are just people.

Soon there was nothing more for his mother to do. She washed her hands at the sink and then put her hands on her hips, staring blankly at the cure, which was lined up in two dozen test tubes on the table. She didn't move, didn't seem to breathe.

“Mom,” Mason said softly.

She jumped, eyes fluttering as if waking from a dream. “What? Sorry. I'm sorry. I just … I can't believe it. Years of work. Thousands of failures. And there it is. The cure. It's done.”

It almost sounded like she was going to miss working on it. Even though its completion meant she had no reason to remain in this dungeon.

“What happens now?” Mason said.

“Well, I guess I report for duty. I'm still in the ESC after all.” She pulled him into a hug. “I'm sorry. For everything.”

Mason nodded against her shoulder. He'd thought about it long and hard, over many nights: the pain came from thinking his parents were dead, from not knowing they were still walking around with beating hearts, drawing breath. For years Mason had imagined their atoms somewhere on Earth. He had always believed they'd been vaporized. But even if Mason had known they were alive, they would still be strangers to him. The ESC allowed six weeks home every year, until graduation. Six weeks. He'd missed less than a year with his parents, total, assuming they wouldn't have been on some kind of mission during those six weeks.

Mason would find a way to make up the time. He would get to know his mom. And once his dad was human again, he would get to know him too.

Next stop, Nori-Blue,
Mason thought.

“I have to go,” Mason said. “Master Zin has called everyone to the Inner Chamber.”

“Of course. Go. I need to make a report anyway.” April pushed a bit of Mason's hair off his forehead, like she had when he was young and his hair would get too long and floppy and fall into his eyes. “I am so proud of you, Mason. Here. Take these. Just in case.” She pressed three vials of the Fangborn cure into Mason's hand. “Press the button on the side, and a needle will pop out.”

Mason slid the vials into his robe. “When will I see you again?”

“Soon,” she said. “That's a promise.”

Mason hugged her one last time, then left the lab behind, wondering if it was a promise his mom could keep.

*   *   *

The Inner Chamber was half filled with restless students, most of them older. The younger rhadjen were on their way back to the school, if the rumors were true. Mason assumed they were: Broxnar was safely behind the glass, and the room was guarded by no less than five Rhadgast, even though Broxnar was next in line to become Tremist again.

Master Zin stood in front of the assembly, his eyes passing over them, back and forth, until Mason thought he was never going to speak. He guessed there would be some kind of announcement. Something that said the school was safe again.

But Master Zin didn't say any of that.

He took a deep breath and said, “The Fangborn have found us.”

 

Chapter Thirty-three

 

Mason's heart stopped beating for a moment, or so it seemed. He was glad to be sitting down.

I thought we had more time.

A stretch of peace had seemed so close, but now there would only be war again … or the imminent destruction of both races.

The room was full of chatter. Master Zin stomped his boot, but no wind buffeted them this time. It was a soft stomp. The room quieted anyway. “Their ship is currently halfway between Earth and Skars. It isn't moving. It seems to be
waiting
for something. The Will and the human space station, Olympus, have left to regroup with
both
fleets. We are working to
gether.
Make no mistake, rhadjen. This is the most important battle we will ever fight.”

Lore stood up. She was sitting in the row with Mason. His whole team was here. “Sir! How can we help?”

“That you
can
help, I have no doubt,” Master Zin replied. “But patience. When the time comes, you will be called upon. For now, prepare yourselves. Mentally
and
physically.”

Master Zin left the Inner Chamber, along with all the instructors, who were no doubt preparing for battle. Mason felt a tingle in his palms, as if Aramore's gloves were nudging him:
You have the power now,
they seemed to say.
You are the Uniter. Unite your people. Together we can pierce the Fangborn ship. No other energy weapon can. You just have to let me in.