“You’re young,” I blurt, surprising myself by giving in to a combative impulse.
“I thought you’d be tired of hearing that by now, my lady.” The Libran’s voice is warm and playful, the type that sounds the same when it’s serious and when it’s not.
The stronger my urge to smile, the graver I make my expression—so I’m practically glaring when I ask, “Did Lord Neith send you because you’re my age?”
“He didn’t send me, my lady.” His piercing, leaf-green eyes are so lively, they seem to be holding their own conversation with mine. “I volunteered.”
He offers me his hand for the traditional touch, and balling my fingers into a fist, I reach across the table. Then he presses a soft kiss on my skin.
Shocked, I inhale sharply and mumble something that sounds too much like “Ohrrgh” to have been anything else. My blood buzzes where his mouth touched me, as if his lips were bathed in Abyssthe.
“My name is Hysan Dax, and I’ve come to deliver a tanker of fuel, a gift from Lord Neith and House Libra.”
As he rises to go, I snap to my feet, too. “Why did you volunteer?”
Hysan stares at me, his expression growing serious—or as serious as it probably gets. When the flashy outfit, blond-white locks, and symmetrical dimples fade, I spy something else in his eyes . . . secrets. Lots of them.
“I saw a new star rising in the Zodiac, blazing so bright it burned blackness.” He moves close enough to drop his voice to a whisper. “I wanted to see if the blaze was real . . . or just a trick of the light.”
I feel my face getting hot, and I wonder if the golden glow of Hysan’s skin radiates warmth, like Helios, or if the heat is in his words. “And what’s your verdict?” I ask, even though Nishi would say I shouldn’t flirt with boys who smirk like that.
“I’ve never seen its rival.”
His lips twist into his centaur smile again, and this time I can’t resist returning it. “I’m at your service, my lady.” He bows deeply. “Always.”
When he leaves, a representative from Taurus takes his place. He has to introduce himself twice to get my attention. Their Guardian promises a line of credit to help us rebuild our floating pod cities.
When all the representatives have left, only the Matriarchs remain. Now that the Houses have donated what resources they can, the Council and I must distribute them among the Matriarchs. Even though our House is ruled by consensus, the Guardian has sovereignty regarding all matters involving the other Houses, which extends to emergency relief contributions.
The dining hall has cleared out, and Admiral Crius gathers us at one of the round tables. Only my top Advisors stay for this meeting—Crius, Agatha, Dr. Eusta, and Mathias.
All twelve Matriarchs are in attendance. Two passed away in the tragedy and have already been replaced with the next-eldest Mothers in their family lines. Mother Lea from the low-lying Meadow Islands is the most outspoken of the group. Her lands were submerged by waves, which overloaded their sea-oat fields with salt.
Cancer’s only pure water comes from rain cisterns and desalination vats. A lot of people depend on the grain from the Meadow fields, but they need fresh water to rinse away the excess salt—and their cisterns are full of brine, their desalination vats washed away in the flood. Mother Lea jabs her finger at the tablecloth. “There’s no time to rebuild the vats. If we don’t plant our oats this month, we’ll miss an entire harvest. Holy Mother, we need five tanker ships of fresh water.”
“Mathias,” I say, “what’s the plan for the freshwater supply House Aquarius sent?”
He pauses before he speaks, fusing with the Psy. These past few days, I’ve just begun to realize how much activity goes on behind his quiet face. “All freshwater stores are being diverted to our refugee camps.”
I look at Mother Lea, knowing she’s not going to like what I’m about to say. “I’m sorry about the sea oats, but for the time being, we have to adapt. What can we grow in salty ground?”
Her face is just about to explode when Crius bangs his hand on the table, and I jump a foot in the air.
“Honored Guardian,” he says, his gruff tone not fully masking his fear, “we have an emergency.”
Mathias and my Advisors rise, and as I stand to join them, I see the anger in Mother Lea’s eyes turn to despair. While the others march off, I stay back and say, “Save your seed, Mother Lea. Keep it dry for later. We’ll miss this season, but we’ll plant sea oats again. Don’t lose hope.” I know it’s not what she wants to hear, but good fortune is hard to come by these days.
I race down the hall after the others, the train of the white dress whipping behind me, and when I get to the door of the lecture hall where we hold our Advisor meetings, Mathias is waiting. “Before we go in,” he says, “I need to tell you something. I received a message tonight, while you were meeting with representatives from the Houses. I know the timing is terrible, and I should probably wait, but I also know you would want to hear this news immediately.”
Instead of speaking, he closes his eyes. At first I think he’s doing it to be dramatic, and I nearly throttle him, but then my Ring grows warm, and I close my eyes, too. A picture forms in my mind, an image of people not on Oceon 6.
Dad is standing in front of our wrecked bungalow on Kalymnos, his clothes tattered. And beside him, wearing a glorious grin that’s completely at odds with the destruction, is Stanton.
I love the image so much that I don’t want to open my eyes, not ever again. I look for so long that something starts to feel wrong: my knees are rubbery, the floor is wobbly, and everything’s spinning—
When I’m back on reality, Mathias’s hands are on my waist. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shocked you like that—”
“Mathias,” I whisper, the tears now freely streaming down my face, washing off the makeup and the nightmares and the days and nights of worrying. “Thank you.”
His indigo eyes grow so dark they’re almost violet. “Your brother wasn’t on Thebe. He was visiting your father, and they were both rescued at sea.”
Without thinking, I hug him. He hugs me back, and when I pull away, he’s smiling. I haven’t seen a smile on his face until now. It softens his features, making him look like the boy he used to be, the one I used to dream about finally being brave enough to talk to one day.
I just never imagined one day looking like this.
“Can I Wave them?” I ask.
“I doubt they still have their Waves, and even if they did, the grid isn’t up yet—but I’m trying to find a way.”
The door to the lecture hall opens, and Admiral Crius barks, “Get in!” Mathias and I scramble inside.
“Let’s consult the black opal,” says Agatha the moment we’ve joined them. Mathias hands it to me from his suit pocket, and I feel the ridges along its side, until I see the Bull forming in my mind. House Taurus.
The star map blooms out, filling the room with wispy, flickering lights. As soon as I step into its holographic glow, I lock my eyes on Cancer to reach my Center. The Ring makes it easier, thanks to the Abyssthe in its core, and soon music notes fill the solar system. Radiant gases, luminous dust, asteroids, quasars, ethereal clusters of fire. I look around, to the place beyond the Twelfth House. The Dark Matter is still there, pulsing.
“We received a message from House Pisces,” says Crius. “They’ve spotted a portent in the stars. An urgent warning for Cancer about more storms on the way. But it’s indistinct, and they’re asking us to confirm.”
“Of course, the message could be counterfeit,” Agatha points out. “The Psy is not always reliable.”
“Tell us what you see. We trust your skills have been improving, thanks to your Zodai training,” says Crius, though I don’t hear much trust in his tone.
I think back to my conversation with Nishi. I know what telling the truth will cost me—maybe even more now than I
did a few hours ago—but I’ve taken an oath to place Cancer’s life ahead of my own. Staying silent would be cowardly. I need to find the truth: Our survival depends on it.
“Ophiuchus,” I say. “I see Dark Matter in the Thirteenth House, the constellation Ophiuchus.”
10
FOUR SETS OF EYES STARE at me like I’ve gone crazy.
Mathias speaks first. “It’s a myth. A story handed down for so many generations it became the source of the Cancrian children’s monster, Ochus.” He sounds like he’s repeating what someone’s whispering to him in the Psy. “The constellation was said to take the shape of a snake.”
“His other names are Ophius,” I say, “and Serpent, and 13 . . .”
“So you’re blaming the Zodiac’s boogeyman?” Dr. Eusta grunts impatiently and turns away. “Oh, good, and we just made her Guardian.”
“Look,” I say, raising my voice, “I swore an oath to protect Cancer, and that’s what I intend to do, no matter where it takes me. Right now, attackers from House Ophiuchus fit the clues. The Dark Matter is showing up exactly where the Thirteenth House used to be. If Leo and Taurus are part of a pattern, then whoever is behind this isn’t finished yet.”
They all stare back at me blankly.
Admiral Crius rubs his jaw. “I know the myths as well as anyone, but with all due respect, Holy Mother, I can’t see how this relates to our situation.”
He’s doing his best to show me proper reverence, but I think he’s reached his limit.
“Perhaps we should consult the astronomers,” says Dr. Eusta. “With their telescopes, they might see something we’ve missed. Begging your pardon, Holy Mother.”
“I’m not mad. Do everything you can think of. Even if I’m right, I don’t know how we stop the attacks. Consult everyone, and I’ll continue reading the Ephemeris to see if the threat from Pisces appears.”
Everyone sets off in a different direction to gather information, and I remain in the lecture hall, reading the Ephemeris. Here is where I feel I can do the most good for my House. Centered among the stars, my heart and mind open to calls from home, I feel most connected to Cancer and best able to lead us.
I’ll stay here as long as it takes to read the stars’ secrets.
• • •
An hour later, there’s still no sign of the threat seen by Pisces. I check messages on my Wave, hopeful to find a note from Dad or Stanton, even though I’ve been told the odds.
Nishi sent me something. I tap on her message, and an image of a half-starved man trapped in the coils of an enormous winged serpent beams out. Loose flesh hangs from his skeletal frame, and he seems to be screaming in agony—it’s clear the serpent is winning.
Her message scrolls out along the bottom in bright blue text: Ophiuchus’s glyph was a staff with two serpents intertwined—the caduceus. On Capricorn, there’s an old kid’s story about a famous alchemist and healer named Caduceus who was banished by Lord Helios for a terrible crime. He’d dared to discover a way to conquer death.
Holy Helios.
Nishi doesn’t think Ophiuchus is a group of people from the Thirteenth House.
She thinks it’s one man—and he’s immortal.
• • •
I’ve lost track of time.
I’m still in the lecture hall, lying on the floor and gazing up at the holographic stars. The map’s evanescent light nearly fills the small room. Its constant motion lulls me.
Mathias says we can’t perceive Psynergy directly, only the trails it leaves in space-time. He says the Ephemeris transcribes Psynergy into visible light. Transmuting the metaphysical into the physical sounds a lot like alchemy. . . .
I raise my bare foot, and a million stars wash over my toes. My crown and heels are resting next to my Wave, beside me on the cold floor.
Mathias’s training helped me realize that the instinct that informs my reads in the Ephemeris is my brain interpreting the Psynergy it’s picking up in the Psy. When I did Yarrot early on in life, I tuned in to the innermost version of myself, and at such a young age, I was mostly ruled by my needs, whims, and instinct. So when I applied the same method to the Ephemeris, I began to read the universe that way, internalizing its moods and imagining scenarios to go along with my reads—sometimes wrongly.
Centering myself for the hundredth time, I feel my soul soar up, toward the glowing light of Cancer.
Eyes crossed and mind floaty, it’s hard to tell apart the things in my brain from the portents in the stars. It’s like diving deep underwater, where sunlight never reaches, and seeing the strange and fantastical creatures that lurk there. Everything seems half-real, half-imagined.
I guide the Psynergy where I want it to go—Cancer. Home is where I’m focusing my read. I feel the energy congregating around the planet’s orb, making it glow brighter than the rest of Space. Once I’m as Centered as possible, I fuse my mind with the Psy, and I listen for the sounds of Cancer, opening my mind to messages carried by Psynergy.
In the Collective Conscious, I pick up fear, worry, depression. I feel shivery and cold, and I realize the glow around our planet is fading . . . like it’s losing health. Next to us, one of the Gemini twin planets starts to dim, the same way as Cancer. I think it means illness has moved into our House . . . and it’s going to spread. I’ll need to alert Dr. Eusta so he can diagnose it properly and contact House Scorpio for inoculations.
Out over the Cancer Sea, I pick up our marine species’ distress, their migration patterns off, their internal sensors confused. I try digging deeper, to use the Psy to access the actual land, to commune with the planet’s core—but all I get for my troubles is a migraine.
I pull back and take a wider view of the Zodiac, surveying the twelve constellations as a whole. The Fire Houses—Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius—are lit up, the glow of Psynergy engulfing them like a blazing flame.
War is coming.
A light wind seems to brush past me, and in my gut I know it’s heralding more storms. Not just for Cancer.
I touch my Ring and close my eyes. Immediately, the swirling lights are replaced with gloomy shadows, and the whole room seems to plunge into a deeper night.
I’ve never asked the communal mind a question before, but tonight I feel like I can. I’m not sure when the confidence crept in—when I took the sacred Guardian’s oath, when I learned Dad and Stanton are alive, or when I told my Advisors about Ophiuchus. But it’s there.
While confidence doesn’t change anything real, or turn me into a better Guardian, it’s no less powerful a drug than Abyssthe. It makes me feel larger and more capable than I am—which can be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Is the Thirteenth House real or make-believe? I ask the Psy.
The network awakens. Thousands of intellects come alert, and composite ideas whisper and churn like waves in a deep ocean. Short stories, lullabies, and poems emerge—the childish chronicles from every House—not as words on a screen, but the same way I read the stars. The essence of the words—their meaning itself—fills my mind.
More brains join the fusion, completing and complicating the picture in my mind. The Collective Conscious is literally building an answer to my question in the Psy. The process is like constructing anything else—a house, a ship, a weapon—only here, it’s the creation of a concept.
The longer I remain plugged in, attuned to the Zodai’s answers, the more contradictions that arise, as the scores of minds communicating begin to hit areas of disagreement. I sense curiosity, tension, debate. Then more answers come like a tempest.
Now the picture in my brain begins to split—like I’m arguing pros and cons with myself, only there are many more minds involved. On the one hand, Ophiuchus originated as a morality tale that was then twisted into a dozen different forms by the long-ago Guardians of each House, so that each version would best speak to their people. On the other hand, there
is a sect of hardcore conspiracy theorists across the Zodiac who go by the moniker 13 and believe Ophiuchus was real.
According to members of 13, Ophiuchus was the original Guardian of the Thirteenth House—since history tells us the original Guardians were named after each House. The theorists claim that when the first humans arrived and the Guardian Stars fell to earth, Ophiuchus was the only one who resented his new, lower place. When he discovered the fall had cost the Guardians their immortality, he set about getting it back.
He betrayed the other Houses in the process, and when he was found out, the Guardians banished him, far away from our solar system.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t kill him because he had already made himself immortal. But could any of this be real?
Some believers claim Ophiuchus started out as a brilliant healer, full of compassion for mankind. They say he was searching for death’s cure to protect all people—not just himself—and that the other Guardians misconstrued him. If that’s true, what would drive him to murder now?
I let go of the Ring, and I’m back on the floor beneath the glimmering Ephemeris. I want to tell Nishi what I learned in the Collective Conscious, but before leaving I consult the spectral map one more time. Staring into the lights’ depths, I feel my way into the view of the Psy that only the Ephemeris can show—the view from the stars.
As soon as I’m Centered, the room darkens, as if the Dark Matter were spreading. I spring to my feet and whirl around, searching for the cause—until I see it.
Dark Matter has swallowed House Virgo.
As I watch, the cloud of blackness expands to the double constellation, House Gemini. There are two attacks on the way.
I start to pull out of the astral plane, but then I hear whispering in my head, like someone is trying to communicate with me in the Psy. Except that kind of communication only works through the Ring—and the metallic silicon isn’t warm, nor is the buzzing in my finger calling to me.
This voice is coming from the Ephemeris. Which is impossible.
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