Destiny's Blood (The First Star Book 1)

by Marie Bilodeau

  Layela strained her ears and listened, the stillness around her making her nervous. No animal or insect noise reached her. The air lay heavily around her, and she wished she could breathe in some fresh air and feel light again, instead of the heaviness in her chest.

  I should turn back, Layela thought, but her feet continued moving, curiosity urging her on. Surely there must be something worth seeing, a hidden treasure of some sort, in this wasteland.

  She wondered why the courtyard was in such disrepair. The plants themselves seemed to have given up their will to live.

  Layela was about to turn around and try to find Josmere elsewhere when a sound caught her ears. It was so faint that, anywhere else, she was certain she wouldn’t have heard it; here, where no other noise seemed to circulate, it resonated.

  Slowly, she walked toward it. She wished she had a weapon with her. Even a knife would be better than bare hands.

  She rounded a corner and up the trail could see a bench underneath one of the trees. On the bench sat Josmere, singing faintly as she dug her feet into the earth in front of her. Layela slowly walked toward her, feeling like an intruder.

  “Rise gentle flower,” Josmere sang so softly, the melody broken by small hiccups, or maybe sobs. “Rise with the rain…”

  She recognized the melody as one of her favourites, one that she always sang to the plants Yoma stole for her. When Yoma and Josmere stole for their food, Layela had sat, sang and waited to escape. She’d always joked to Josmere that the song would help the plants grow. The truth was that she was never able to stand the silence, and so had always felt the need to fill it with sound. Her own voice, untrained as it might be, was better than nothing.

  The words were barely audible as Layela approached Josmere. Each note lingered for just a second longer than necessary, adding a mournful air Layela never knew the song could possess.

  With her long green hair freed from restraint and her legs muddied, Josmere accented the dishevelled courtyard. Layela felt out of place, but she continued to approach.

  Josmere did not look up once from her burrowing feet.

  Layela sat down beside her, not touching her or saying anything. Now that she was closer, she could she Josmere’s feet were cracked and bleeding green into the earth. Josmere kept singing, holding the last mournful note prisoner before letting it vanish in the silence around them.

  Layela looked at Josmere sideways, wishing she could see her face through her veil of hair.

  The Berganda stopped moving her feet, the blood forming a puddle before being absorbed into the earth. Slowly she pulled her feet up and leaned back against the tree, her knees to her chin as she hugged her legs to her chest. She seemed heedless of the blood and earth slowly hardening on her feet.

  Josmere sat without speaking and Layela felt at a loss for words. She had no idea what was happening, but could feel the weight of it throughout the entire courtyard. The air seemed heavier than it had earlier.

  They both sat in silence, Layela poised on the seat, Josmere leaning back, her eyes lost somewhere far away.

  Sunlight was breaking into the courtyard before Layela moved again, her own question about her visions made insignificant by her friend’s blood. Gently she reached up and pushed one of the many stray pieces of hair out of Josmere’s face. The green eyes flickered for a moment with something different.

  She swore she could see a faint smile on her friend’s lips.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Josmere said, the noise making Layela jump. She had almost forgotten what sound felt like.

  “Me too,” Layela said, not really sure she meant it, understanding nothing except that her friend was in pain, and she could do nothing to relieve it. Josmere’s eyes lost their smile, and she closed them, her breathing stretching and becoming regular.

  Layela stood and gently touched Josmere’s cheek. She slept as soundly as the gardens around her.

  Layela wished she could clutch her friend’s burden, mix it with her own darkness, and throw it up towards the spidery branches of the tree.

  But she couldn’t.

  Instead she turned and headed for the corridor of the mansion, intent on finding some of the other answers they needed while Josmere recuperated. She looked back only once to see the shadow of Josmere, still against the tree.

  Had she not known she was there, she never would have seen her. For the first time since she had met Josmere, Layela wondered what it truly meant to be Berganda.

  16

  Did you ever notice, Romero, that the two legends that spread across all races are those of the Three Fates and the First Star?” Seela murmured.

  Romero offered her his hand to help her step from the fast, military-designed ship, obviously not meant for a lady’s keep. She gratefully accepted, placing her slender hand in his broad one, the two gloves varying shades of the same brown.

  “I had never put much thought into it, to be honest, Ms. Berganda.” Seela smiled at him, letting her hand linger in his for a moment longer than necessary before walking ahead. It was rare she felt like a woman, and she liked it. She made sure his efforts were rewarded with frequent smiles.

  “And that only the races born from the First Star hold a strong ethereal connection?” she continued, brushing aside his ignorance. He had intelligence, but lacked curiosity and was subservient.

  What a shame, she thought as she looked at his broad shoulders and piercing orange eyes. He could have been so much more than another man’s go-to boy. With her help, he still could be.

  Romero grunted. “The Kilita believe every race used to have ether, but only the ones who require it to survive still have it.”

  Seela raised an eyebrow. “Really? Interesting. Tell me, do you really believe that Layela Delamores holds the key to unlocking the First Star?”

  Romero was silent for a moment, and she knew to wait for him to gather his thoughts. Romero Aquilone rarely said anything that had not first been weighed carefully. It was a trait that had annoyed her at first, but in the last few days, with him as her sole companion, she had found her own spirits calming and the wait worthwhile.

  “When I first met her, a thief of valuable blooms,” Aquilone began slowly, “she had powers. I don’t know what kind, but activating them proved...interesting.”

  Seela could only imagine a Kilita’s touch activating all ethereal connections. She idly wondered what it would feel like for his strong, ungloved hand to caress her body.

  “But when we met her on Collar,” he resumed just as carefully, “I touched her, but felt nothing.”

  He paused, and the Berganda understood better than anyone else what he was pondering. Had the lack of reaction been caused by her loss of powers, or by his own fading power?

  “Is that why you kill?” He surprised her with the question. “To preserve your powers?”

  Seela bit back a harsh reply. Anyone else asking would have felt the wrath of her mind-drain, but Romero was simply a friend making conversation. She was not used to that; she had met no one she might consider a friend since leaving her Berganda home five years ago.

  “It is, in a way,” she began, knowing that the answer would not satisfy the analytical Kilita. “But, in another way, it is to leave a mark. The only mark I have left to make.”

  Romero seemed to ponder this and, true to what she always imagined a friend would do, he let the matter rest. The two walked side by side, avoiding merchants.

  He turned to her and displayed a slight smile, a rare sight on the Kilita’s lips. She realized he was trying to remove the sombre mood he thought he had created, and she encouraged him to speak with a smile of her own.

  “It’s true what they say, though. Thalos IV does stink.”

  She laughed and hooked her arm into his. She wondered if Dunkat Groosh had spoken truth when he had claimed that Layela Delamores was the key to unlocking the First Star — that she was their dwindling races’ salvation.

  Veruvia was famous not only for its intergalactic dock, b
ut also for its twice-boiled stuffed vulture beaks, a local delicacy that smelled of rotten milk and tasted about the same, only crunchier. It was also reputed for its strong network of information, known as the Dark Knights.

  Layela knew that Yoma had made the trip to Veruvia twice, both times to use the Dark Knights’ network to her advantage. The first time, it had been to find her sister, gone missing for three days after disappearing on a sunny day while selling the flowers Yoma had stolen. The second had been to find valid identification and a secure way to get them safely off the planet, to start an honest life elsewhere.

  Although Yoma said little of the Dark Knights over the six months while Layela had been in her semi-comatose state, Layela remembered bits of conversation. Enough that she thought she could locate one of their information locales.

  She walked for one hour to the east of the hidden mansion where Josmere dozed, away from the filthy, noisy docks and into a quieter section of Veruvia. Her feet were sore by the time she reached the comely neighbourhood filled with little shops, most of them still closed at this early hour. She didn’t mind exploring to find her target, her legs still cramped from days inside small rooms and small shuttles. Besides, she truly doubted the Dark Knights held regular hours of operation.

  I hope their fees are sensible, Layela thought as she gazed through the window of a small bookstore, where old bound books were sold. She spotted a volume on gardening techniques, and made a note to come back when the shop was open if she had any money left. She smiled a bit as she thought of what her sister would suggest: just steal it. Of course, Yoma never stole from small merchants for herself, but she would have done it for her sister.

  Layela sighed. Stealing had not been her way for years, and she hoped it had been weaned out of her blood.

  Besides, Josmere had silently handed her some money as they had exited the ship, shrugging at Layela’s stern look. She didn’t know who the Berganda had managed to pickpocket, but doubted Josmere would lose sleep over it.

  She sighed. She hated to admit it, but they needed that money. Sometimes she didn’t know whether to hug Josmere or throttle her. Much the same way she felt about her sister.

  She was alone on the streets and enjoying every sight. She passed by a perfume shop, the window littered with small vials and sequined bows, as if perfumes needed to resort to such enticement on this smelly planet. The next shop was empty, its bare storefront lonely on this street filled with beloved shops.

  She approached the store window, inexplicably drawn to it, her own reflection staring back at her through the dull, dirty glass. It was for rent, a large yellow sign claimed, and it was a nice space, although smaller than Sunrise Flowers had been.

  Sunrise Flowers. Maybe here she could start anew. Maybe Thalos IV, a world of endings, could actually be one of beginnings. Maybe that explained the deep kinship she already felt with this store, lost and abandoned in a large universe, just like she felt at times.

  She looked closer at the window and realized that in it she could see the reflection of another store. She turned around, her legs moving before her mind had even read the sign, Starborn Maps.

  This was the shop that called to her. Not the new beginning, she realized with some sadness. She reached for the handle and pulled, not surprised to find it unlocked. She had often felt pulls like this, before her instincts had deserted her.

  The Dark Knights, and the information I need, must dwell here, she thought as she quietly crossed the shop, open but empty. She did not question where she was going, letting her feet guide her behind the main desk. Without hesitation, she pushed the back door.

  Although she barely noticed the actual store, the back storage caught her attention. Maps littered shelves, the floor, old chairs…there were maps of every type, from hand drawn land maps to old three-dimensional charts of star systems.

  There must be a map for everything, she thought as she looked at the stacks, maps made of paper, parchment, vinyl, some drawn on hides or chiselled in stone, and some made of materials and written in languages Layela couldn’t even begin to identify.

  She heard soft voices and followed them quietly, debating between announcing her presence and scouting things out first. She approached without making a sound. Scouting, it is.

  Words were softly spoken and she couldn’t make out any of them, but she thought it was a man speaking to a woman. Between two well-stacked shelves was a small opening, the door half-closed, and she could see from where she stood a man’s hand holding an unfurled map over a small table, his other hand waving emphatically.

  From time to time, another hand touched the map, pointing at the large star in the midst of it, with what appeared to be only one planet circling it. Layela had never heard of such a system, and wondered why they spoke of it in such secret.

  The hand touched the map again, slender and feminine, and Layela felt drawn to it, so much so that she was pushing the door open before she had realized she was moving. The man holding the map, greying, round and wearing reading glasses, was so stunned when he looked at Layela that his eyes grew larger than his glasses. But it was not on him that Layela’s gaze lingered.

  Across the table from him, looking equally surprised and still pointing at the map, she stared at herself, except the eyes looking back at her were of the purest green.

  “Yoma?” she whispered, not believing what her own eyes and mind told her to be true.

  “Layl?” Yoma’s eyes watered for a moment before she rushed her sister, hugging her hard. Layela bit back a cry of pain, her ribs still bruised, and hugged Yoma just as fiercely.

  Yoma pulled back, holding Layela at arm’s length, taking a long look at her. She reached up with her hand. Layela didn’t flinch at the familiar warmth of her sister’s fingers as she touched the nicks Layela had suffered when Sunrise Flowers had fallen.

  Instead of asking what happened or showing proper worry, which Layela fully expected, Yoma’s eyes became dark green and she demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  The words were softly spoken, but they surprised Layela. Wasn’t it obvious?

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Layela replied, not nearly as calmly.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Yoma said, storming past Layela. The map keeper had wisely made himself scarce.

  “I know you were just trying to protect me,” Layela said, forcing her voice to remain calm as she came after Yoma. “But it didn’t work. It’s not working, Yoma.” Yoma’s stride didn’t break, and she was almost at the door before Layela shouted after her, panic rising in her. “Sunrise Flowers is gone, Yoma! They destroyed it!”

  Yoma stopped but didn’t turn around, only lowering her head — just enough for Layela to see. She felt comforted that her sister cared enough to grieve a bit.

  Layela’s voice sounded small and young to her own ears. “Why did they destroy it, Yoma? Why did you leave me?” She wanted to scream, to hang on to her anger, but she could only feel sorrow. She felt like a little girl again, huddled in a damp corner and frightened. She wanted her sister to turn around and tell her everything was all right, maybe that it was even just a bad dream. That her hard work had paid off, and the two of them could work quietly amongst the blooms and be content with a simple life filled with honest work.

  Yoma did turn around, but the instant Layela met her eyes, she knew those were not the words that would escape her lips.

  “Did Josmere show you?” she asked, green eyes blazing.

  Layela felt her fury rising again, against Yoma and Josmere, who refused to let her be a part of what she had helped create. She had been wounded, blood and bones, but not broken. She considered lying to see what Yoma would reveal, but her sister knew her too well.

  “No,” she simply replied, thunder welling in her mind.

  Yoma nodded, just nodded, and walked out. No explanation, no apology, not even a goodbye.

  “Get back here!” Layela shouted as she stormed out of the shop, bumping into Josmere instead. She lo
oked just as stunned to see Yoma.

  Josmere opened her mouth, staring at Yoma, but it was Layela she turned to. “They’re here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can sense other Berganda. And I know of no other who would have just arrived.”

  “Who’s here?” Yoma asked, darting back and forth between the two, and Layela felt some satisfaction at seeing her sister’s confusion.

  She waited a moment, enjoying knowing something Yoma did not. A shot ripped through the quiet neighbourhood and the window beside them exploded into a thousand shards.

  “Run!” Josmere screamed, and Layela grabbed her sister by the arm and dragged her along, in case she decided to part ways based on a misguided belief that it would save them. Josmere led the way, the sisters staying close, and at the first alley Yoma darted but Layela held her fast, almost stumbling as she pulled Yoma back.

  “We have to separate!” Yoma screamed in short breaths. Another shot was fired, and shards of stone flew from the building onto them.

  “No we don’t, Yoma. We never had to!” Yoma didn’t voice any agreement, but didn’t try to break away again, either. Layela dug her fingers deep into her sister’s flesh, just in case she should try.

  That felt good, too.

  “Blood and bones!” Josmere cursed from up ahead, and Layela and Yoma came short of tackling her. They had been so engrossed in their little battle that they hadn’t noticed they had headed right into a dead end. Josmere ran to the side, about to try the handle to one of the shops, when another shot fired close to her feet and she stopped, lifting her hands above her head.

  Layela and Yoma turned. The Kilita marched toward them, holding a gun. The Berganda, rifle slung across her shoulder, sauntered up. They stopped far enough away to avoid being jumped, but close enough that they couldn’t miss a shot at a cockroach.

  Yoma hissed and Josmere swore.