by S. F. Said
‘You won’t be alone,’ he said. ‘Not ever, Bixa. If there’s anything I can do—’
‘There’s nothing anyone can do, is there?’ she said, knuckles whitening as she clenched her fists. ‘I hate death, I hate it! I wish I could fight it. I wish it would come here and give me a fair fight! But death just takes people away. It doesn’t care what’s fair and what’s not. It takes everyone in the end; it destroys everything! Look around you, Lucky. In the end, all this will go back to nothing. So what’s the point?’ she demanded bitterly, needles black as night. ‘What’s the point of anything?’
Lucky looked at the world, laid out beneath them like a tapestry, or an open book. He could see it all: its hills and valleys, its wrinkles and folds, its rolling ups and downs. From this perspective, turning silently in the sky, all of it seemed beautiful; all of it alive. ‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted. ‘But just because it’s going to die one day . . . doesn’t mean it’s not worth fighting for. Maybe it matters even more, because it’s all we’ve got.’ He looked straight into her eyes. ‘And there’s no one who could fight for it better than you, Bixa Quicksilver.’
Her eyes widened at that, and a little colour came back into her needles. They were near the top of the wheel now, and the view was beyond breathtaking. Lucky could see the curve of the planet itself from here. For the first time, he really understood what it meant to be on a world. He could almost feel it turning, like the wheel: a globe of life and light, moving through the vastness of space, so fragile, yet so alive. He looked at Bixa, looking at the world—
Click.
The compartment opened. They turned to look outside. And there, on a platform at the top of the wheel, stood Gala: Startalker of the Future.
She was just as intense in real life as she seemed on the vidscreens. She was dressed all in black. Long dark hair hung over her face. But as she saw them coming out of the compartment, she threw her head back, and her hair parted to reveal her eyes. They blazed every colour of the spectrum at once, from ultra-violet to infra-red: eyes like diamond fire.
‘Old friends!’ she called as the Professor bowed gallantly before her, while Bazooka shivered on his shoulder. ‘I’ve waited so long for you to return – and now here you are, bringing those who will shape the future.’ She beamed at Bixa and Frollix, who both looked starstruck – and then she turned to look at Lucky with her rainbow-coloured eyes. She stared at him openly, nakedly, like the other Startalkers did – and her gaze seemed to reach directly into his brain. ‘Thank you for your fireworks,’ she said. ‘I know how much they cost you.’
Lucky felt confused. He could feel the wind on his face; could feel how high up they were. ‘From the stars we all came . . .’ he began.
‘. . . and to the stars we return,’ said Gala. ‘Perhaps sooner than we expect.’ She turned back to the Professor. ‘So tell me, friend: what brings you back at last?’
‘Many mysteries lie before us, Gala,’ said the Professor. ‘We hope you will help us unravel them.’
‘You seek knowledge?’ She held her hands out wide, embracing the vast view all around them. ‘Then you have come to the right place. Ask, and I shall answer.’
‘Those supernova flashes in the sky . . .’ said the Professor. ‘Have you seen them?’
‘I see them, and I hear them. Right here, I feel them.’ She touched her heart. ‘The death throes of a star. In my dreams, the Twelve Astraeus sing of little else.’
The Professor nodded briskly. ‘We are searching for the Twelve,’ he said. ‘Mystica and I both feel sure they are at hand. The signs are everywhere.’
‘Indeed.’ Gala sighed, hair waving in the wind. ‘But are you looking in the right place?’
‘And where would the right place be?’ said the Professor, a little stiffly. ‘Would it perchance be in Aquarius, behind the government blockade?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Aquarius . . .’ she murmured. ‘So many things are hidden there – but all of them will be found.’
‘Ah!’ The Professor looked rather pleased with himself. ‘And the Wolf That Eats the Stars?’
‘I cannot say. I feel it, and I fear it, yet its nature is mysterious to me. I see it devouring suns, one by one. But what is it? Do not ask me, for I do not know. Even the King, with all his faith and fury, cannot stop it – though his great weapon is coming to him, closer all the time . . .’ She opened her eyes, and turned to Lucky. ‘And you, strange boy: you have a question for me?’
‘Me?’ Lucky breathed in sharply. This was the chance he’d been waiting for, ever since his meeting with the President. ‘Well, I’m looking for my father,’ he told her. ‘I heard he was on the planet Charon. Do you know where that is?’
Gala scowled. ‘There are secrets even I do not know,’ she said. ‘And yet – you have your father’s astrolabe?’
Lucky’s skin prickled. How did she know that? He pulled it out, and showed it to her. ‘I’ve been trying to use it to find him,’ he said. ‘The problem is, whenever I ask about him, it throws me off the edge of the map.’
She reached out and took the astrolabe. ‘Off the edge?’ she echoed. ‘That must be something uncharted. Unknown. Something yet to come. That is my domain, boy. If you have the courage to go there – I say you will find your father, and more.’
‘How?’ asked Lucky. ‘How do I do that?’
‘Leave the astrolabe with me,’ she replied. ‘I will ask my star: the Scorpio star. I will ask it in song – about your father, and all these questions – and I will tell you what it sings in reply.’ She gestured towards the amphitheatre over the next hill. ‘I am singing tonight: a great concert for my people. You are all invited, as my honoured guests. At the end of my song, seek me out, and I will tell you what the stars have told me.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lucky. Beside him, Professor Byzantine stroked his whiskers thoughtfully, while Bixa and Frollix grinned, their eyes wide and starry bright.
But Gala shook her head, and her eyes flashed like a diamond prism. ‘Thank me?’ she said. ‘I am not sure you will. Are you absolutely certain you wish to find him?’
‘Of course,’ said Lucky. ‘I’d do anything to see him again.’
‘What do you mean, Gala?’ asked the Professor. ‘Surely Lucky has to find his father? For only he knows the truth about the boy’s power; only he has the answers—’
‘On the contrary,’ she said. ‘In the end, the boy must find his answers for himself, in himself. No father can tell him what to do. It is not a parent that he needs, but that which is already inside him.’ She turned back to Lucky. ‘Let me see what is inside you, boy. Let me feel your heart.’
She reached a hand up to Lucky’s chest. Her fingers had long curving nails, painted black, tapering to points; they looked very sharp indeed. He hesitated, feeling scared of her – but he wanted her help even more. So he stayed still, and let Gala touch him.
She closed her eyes. ‘I feel it,’ she whispered after a long moment. ‘I see it, rising inside you.’ She looked at Professor Byzantine in amazement, and her eyes flashed every colour at once. ‘It cannot be, can it . . .?’
The Professor stared back at her. ‘Mystica and I have had our suspicions – but—’
‘What is it?’ said Lucky, tension tight in his chest. ‘What do you see?’
Gala did not reply for a long time. ‘Higher and higher,’ she said at last. ‘Stronger and stronger. And every time, it burns a little more of you away. Did you not realize? You are burning your mortal life away, every time you use your power.’
Lucky pulled away from her, shaking. He held his hands up in front of him, as if to ward off her torrent of words.
‘You cannot stop it,’ she went on. ‘It is written in the legends. You are what you are, and you will return to the sky!’
‘Return . . .?’ Lucky looked desperately at Professor Byzantine. The old Axxa was staring at the wheel as it turned in the night, twisting his whiskers, tighter and tighter. ‘Professor, what does that mean
?’ he pleaded. ‘It doesn’t mean . . . I’m going to die?’
Professor Byzantine looked up. His eyes were like rain. ‘Well . . . The legends are not entirely clear, as you know,’ he said. ‘Only fragments remain, and it is impossible to be certain what they mean. But perhaps – possibly . . .’ He looked down.
‘You knew?!’ said Lucky. ‘I trusted you, I thought you were helping me – but all this time, you were making me burn my own life away? How could you do that?’
‘Lucky, whatever the legends say, I tell you that you must learn how to use your power, whatever the cost,’ the old Axxa insisted.
‘Even if it means I’m going to die?!’ he cried. ‘I wish I’d never met you! If that’s what this power means – if that’s why it hurts so much, every time I use it – then I’m never using it again!’
‘But you must,’ hissed Gala. ‘And you will. That is why you are here.’
Lucky stumbled back, away from the Startalkers, till he stood on the very edge of the platform, high above the ground, with the Rainbow Temple Wheel rising and falling silently behind him. He could see that vast view of the world again, spread out beneath him. But it no longer seemed magical. Now he just felt sick with vertigo. He felt weak, and small, and scared. Because Gala had made her prophecy of the future – and Professor Byzantine had as good as confirmed it.
‘You will remember this moment when the time comes,’ said Gala, behind him. ‘You will remember me.’
Her words were like poison in his veins.
The Professor bristled fiercely, and strode up beside Lucky. ‘That is enough, Gala!’ he said. ‘If you can help the boy find his father – then please do. But I will not stand here and let you scare him any longer.’
‘He would be a fool not to fear the future that awaits him,’ she replied. ‘But the future is not fixed. He has the power to decide how all this will end. So come to me at the close of my song, boy, and I will give you what you seek.’
There was silence for a moment. Then Lucky stepped away from the giddy edge of the platform, away from Professor Byzantine.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right.’ He turned to Frollix and Bixa. ‘Will you two come to the concert with me?’ he asked them, ignoring the Professor.
‘Of course,’ said Bixa. She looked shocked.
‘Let’s just hope the music’s better than the prophecy!’ muttered Frollix.
Professor Byzantine looked at Lucky. Lucky refused to meet his gaze.
‘Then – I – I shall stay here,’ said the Professor, after a moment’s pause. ‘I shall wait for you on this beautiful wheel.’
‘Understand, old friend,’ said Gala, ‘I bear you no ill will. I tell you only what I hear as my star sings to me.’
A new compartment reached the top of the wheel. Frollix and Bixa followed Gala into it, but Professor Byzantine called to Lucky as he turned to go.
‘Just a moment, Lucky,’ he said. He looked somehow smaller, older, less sure of himself than before. ‘I – I apologize to you. I did not know for certain what the legends meant – but perhaps I should have told you what I suspected.’
Lucky shook his head bitterly. ‘Seems like no one ever tells me the whole truth.’
‘Not one of us knows it,’ replied the Professor. ‘Only the stars. But still I say: if you have this power, it can only be because you are meant to use it. Please, do not stop now. You have come so far, so fast. I am so proud of what you have achieved already. I truly believe you are here for a reason, the best possible reason—’
Lucky shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘But – I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it. I don’t wish I’d never met you, Professor.’ He could feel emotions rising inside him, taking him by surprise.
The Professor’s eyes looked deep into his being, and he smiled. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘There need be no more practice for today. Now go and enjoy the music – and may the stars light your path.’
‘Baaa-zookaaaaa!’ chirped the phoenix on his shoulder.
Lucky turned and followed his friends into the compartment, and down the other side of the Rainbow Temple Wheel.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The amphitheatre was enormous inside. There were rows and rows of seats, on more levels than Lucky could count, all built around a central stage that was carved out of the hillside. Every seat was occupied; it was a full house. Yet he and his friends had been given the very best seats, right at the front, near the stage.
High above them, the Rainbow Temple Wheel was turning slowly in the night, casting a warm glow over everything. He imagined himself still up there with Professor Byzantine and Bazooka, watching the world go by. He regretted the harsh words he’d spoken, but he felt at peace with his decision. He was never going to use the power again. He was right after all: it really was a curse. He felt sick to think he’d been burning his life away; Gala’s prophecy had chilled him to the core.
Maybe she’s wrong, he told himself. Maybe if I don’t use the power any more, I’ll be OK. And if I can just find my father, then he’ll tell me the truth, the whole truth.
The lights went low. The amphitheatre fell into an expectant hush, and Lucky focused on the stage.
There was nothing at first. Just darkness. Blackness. Silence.
Then came a small, soft, silvery sound, like the chime of a faraway bell. Lucky shivered with recognition. Around him, everyone in the amphitheatre held still, as if under a spell, as slowly the sound got bigger, and closer, and clearer.
A light began to glow on stage. In the light stood Gala. She was singing, her fingers sweeping across the strings of a musical instrument, her bare feet planted firmly on the floor. The song seemed to be rising up, coming through her, as if she was just a channel for it.
The sound deepened. It started to surge and swell, as if it was taking off, and Lucky felt his blood surge with it, felt his head lighten, his cares and worries lifting from his shoulders. And all around him, he saw people with wide open eyes, their expressions telling him they were feeling the same rush he was, the same exhilarating thrill.
Everyone stood up as the music lifted off; and it began to fill Lucky with the most powerful feelings – feelings that streamed up from the very centre of his being.
This is it, he thought. This is the sound of the stars, singing in my dreams. It can’t get any better than this – but even as he thought this, the music built further; it grew richer, deeper, stronger, without ever losing its delicacy – the music and his feelings both growing and growing, until he found himself grinning, just grinning with the beauty of it all.
And still the music stretched out, and shone into the night. For an hour or more, they stood there swaying, transported to a place as far away as deepest space, yet as close as their own heartbeats. It was like hearing the music of life, endlessly renewing itself. Like an ember of light in the dark; a spark of silver in the black.
And as they swayed together in time to the music, Bixa Quicksilver reached out to Lucky, took his hand in hers, and squeezed it.
Her hand was warm. It felt smaller than he expected, and softer too. He squeezed back, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile, like a comet in the night. At that moment, she looked so beautiful to him; so true and alive.
She held onto his hand, and it was like electricity going through him; like fireworks in his heart. Connected: he felt connected to her, and together, they were connected to everything.
Feelings were flowing into him and filling him up. Oh, they were huge, these feelings. What were they? Where did they come from? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted to hold her tight, and never let go. He wanted all his life to be like this.
And then Frollix put his huge arms around them both, and the three of them were hugging, dancing, swaying together in time to the music.
And Lucky smiled like he’d never smiled before. It was like his whole body was smiling. I think it’s called happiness, he realized. This strange feeling that I�
�m feeling: I think that must be its name.
A moment of perfect happiness. It lasted just a moment –
– and then he felt the earth shake through his boots as a massive blast ripped the night wide open.
The blast knocked him clean off his feet. Stunned, he cowered on the ground, shielding his head as shockwaves scorched the air above him.
He looked up.
Above the amphitheatre, over the hill, the Rainbow Temple Wheel was exploding.
The horror was inconceivable. Lucky saw compartments shattering, crystal cracking as the wheel was ripped apart. He saw people falling from the sky. But everything came in flashes. There was a moment, then another, yet the two were not connected. An image, a blast of sound, but no flow.
And where the centre of the wheel should have been, there was now . . . nothing. Lucky stared and stared, but his mind couldn’t seem to get a grip on it. His eyes kept sliding away. The centre was gone, but he couldn’t see through to anything behind it. There was just . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing.
His eyes lost focus. His field of vision narrowed. All he could see now was himself. Everything else was fading away.
An overpowering wave of despair hit him. He felt as though his life was suddenly, totally meaningless. All hope and purpose and connection were destroyed. All that remained was a terrible emptiness inside.
Nothing matters.
Nothing matters any more.
‘. . . Lucky!’ someone was shouting, a million miles away. ‘Lucky, look at me!’ the voice insisted. He wished they would go away. ‘Look at me, come on!’
Someone squeezed his hand; someone warmer, and smaller, and softer . . .
He squinted. It was Bixa. He could see her: she was right there in front of him. She was holding onto him like she was holding onto life itself. She was calling out to him. He looked into her silver eyes – and his field of vision widened. The blur cleared a little.
She matters.