by J. A. Comley
Starla did her best to absorb the idea of living for so many years.
“So how old are you?” Starla asked, chiding herself for wanting to know so badly.
The High Lord laughed. “I'm a baby by Galatian terms. I'm only thirty-six.”
Starla cocked her head to the side. “But if the Commander is a thousand, yet looks twenty, shouldn't you look like a child at only thirty-six?”
He flashed his teeth. “We seem to age on par with humans until we are about eighteen. Then the ageing process slows. The feeling is quite strange.”
Sighing inwardly, Starla realised that she couldn't be Galatian. She had aged perfectly normally since her eighteenth birthday. She frowned as she realised that she didn't know if the sigh was one of relief or regret.
Carefully, she pinned her shawl in place, the starla soaring over her heart. She glanced up at the High Lord, who appeared to be lost in thought, his eyes out of focus.
Talking to his Makhi, no doubt, Starla thought, fighting down feelings of embarrassment at her earlier naivete.
Scooping up her menu, Starla turned her thoughts to getting breakfast, then looked up apologetically.
“Oh, sorry.” The High Lord quickly tapped the menu and Starla watched, amazed, as the letters re-arranged themselves into more familiar shapes.
“Thank you.”
They perused the menu in silence for a while.
“See anything you want?” the High Lord asked, his deep voice interrupting Starla's utter confusion.
“Honestly, I don't know what any of these things are,” she admitted, just as a familiar one caught her eye. “Wait, I'll have the fruit platter, please.”
Nodding, Larkel summoned the waiter and ordered one fruit platter.
“The streets still seem very quiet. What time is it?” Starla said, looking around.
“It is seven,” the High Lord said, consulting a flat disc he removed from his pocket. “As for the quiet, well that is partially my fault.”
Starla blushed as she realised he meant his ordering the Makhi to find her.
“I really am very sorry I left like that. I really didn't think it would cause such a commotion.”
“It's done. I should have told you. Then you would have known not to disappear.” He smiled again. He seemed to do that a lot around her. “Besides, the people, everyone, have become overly wary. This war—” he sighed deeply as the waiter approached.
Starla had caught the High Lord's look of deep sadness and anger when he mentioned the war. Accepting her bowl from the waiter, Starla determined to be more careful about how she acted. She had always been a kind, considerate person and being on a different planet wouldn't change that.
The High Lord then burst out in genuine laughter, a deep, warm sound. “It isn't poisonous,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Starla stopped poking at the things she had put in her bowl from the platter. “Perhaps you could tell me about these fruits?”
“Sure,” he said, truly smiling for the first time. How long had it been since he had really laughed or smiled? “These red balls are shanebury berries – very sweet.” He sliced one in half and showed her the bright green interior. “The orange triangles are called Fengi's blue spot. If you peel off the hard skin, the inside is transparent, with a blue spot, its seed, at the centre,” he continued, demonstrating. “They are quite sweet, too. Lastly, are those small, purple spirals. They're called pixtal twirls. They are sour and, I'll admit, my favourite.”
While he explained her breakfast to her, Starla was again taken by the same sensation that she had had last night and this morning. The feeling that this man was completely trustworthy and a good person. She had seen the hard ice of his eyes melt a little as he laughed. He suddenly didn't seem so terrifying, at all. Yet Starla knew, now, that he was charged with watching her, with trying to find out how and why she was here. And knew that she had no way of being completely sure that he wasn't just a really good liar. Everyone else seemed fearful of him. Many even glared at him behind his back. The Guardians had said he was hated and feared, yet Starla had no way of knowing whether that reputation was deserved.
“Any other questions?” he asked, softly and Starla quickly smoothed her brow.
She looked at him then asked a question that had occurred to her earlier.
“Where I'm from, positions of power are usually held by elders elected for their knowledge or through blood. How did you become High Lord at such a young age?”
A dozen different emotions crossed his face before he answered and Starla hoped she hadn't offended him.
“The High Lord is always the most powerful Makhi. Part of my job is to deter any Makhi from trying to seize power. That would be hard to do if they could beat me. But I do not control the Order, as such. We have a Council of Elders that is responsible for seeing to the day-to-day running of the Order and are the foundation of any and all decisions.” He paused, but she nodded, showing that she was following his words. “The mental connection I have is also very helpful. It allows me to immediately access any older Makhi's knowledge about a subject I may not be as well-versed in.”
“And your magic? Do you have to learn more complex spells or—?” Starla shrugged, unsure of how to finish the question.
“Each Makhi is born with a set store of magic that replenishes continually to its maximum. The use of it is mostly instinctual. The more I learn, the better I can become, but if you can keep your mind calm and focused it is a relatively easy matter to direct your magic as intended. That sort of basic control is usually achieved within a decade or two.”
Starla felt a vague flash of discomfort as she remembered how she had managed to enter his head at the hearing just by focusing on wanting to know what he was thinking. But no, she didn't have magic. She was human.
“I hope you enjoy your breakfast,” he smiled, popping a pixtal twirl into his mouth.
“Thank you,” Starla smiled, peeling a fengi. “Mmm. This tastes almost like a fig.”
“A fig?” Larkel enquired, eyes showing his confusion. “Are those fruits from Earth?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing, and watched his eyes brighten at the sound. He watched her emerald eyes travel across his face and shifted in his chair, subconsciously hiding most of the crescent scar from her view. Starla noted his discomfort and looked back at her bowl, selecting a pixtal twirl. His scars did not bother her but she didn't wish to make him uncomfortable.
As Starla finished her breakfast, the High Lord cleared his throat. “I thought, for today, we could perhaps stick to this section of the City. This is the Market District and you could take the opportunity to choose a few tunics for yourself and perhaps some Galatian hair clips?”
Starla blushed, remembering that she had tied her hair back using a yellow ribbon taken from the room's key.
“Yes, that sounds like a good plan. Lead the way.”
Starla tried to concentrate on the shop displays as she passed but the High Lord's thoughtful silence coupled with the half-frightened, half-awed stares they were receiving from passers-by made that difficult.
Scars of gouged out stone were visible on many buildings. The High Lord had said they were caused by magical attacks and had grown cold and distant again. She tried to ignore the buildings.
Instead, she concentrated on the people around her. Most were common citizens, going about their daily lives, though their voices died down as soon as Starla and the High Lord drew near. Some were too busy to notice. A pair of Makhi standing outside a book seller had their noses stuck in a huge tome, entranced by the information within. Ahead, a noblewoman walked with her nose in the air, avoiding the dirty beggars hiding in the shadows of a tavern. Interspersed with the people who could have passed for humans were several people whose eyes had vertical pupils and irises of bright yellow, orange, or lime-green. These people looked generally shabbier than the rest, with many wearing the brown tunics of refugees. Here and there were some of the people with cat-like ears
. Their skin looked almost translucent in the sunlight and their dark hair held traces of blue, purple, or red. Many of these wore the robes that marked them as Makhi.
Hesitantly, Starla asked the High Lord about the differences. His coldness hadn't abated.
His indigo eyes flashed to hers momentarily and his muscles relaxed.
“Those,” he said, after greeting a group of Makhi, “were Aurelians. Their planet has very little sunlight. They are a warrior people and learn to fight from childhood. They have nearly perfect night vision, but only their Nightstalkers can see in total darkness.”
Starla nodded, cataloguing the information. “So the others are Cosmaltians?” she whispered as they passed a group of refugees asking for work at a bakery.
The smells of fresh bread and sugary delicacies wafting from the store seemed too familiar for this street marred by magic and filled with people who were so obviously not human.
“Yes,” the High Lord said, quirking an eyebrow as he guided her down a different street.
“The Guardians mentioned it,” Starla mumbled, resisting the urge to clutch her baby bracelet.
She tried to recall the picture of her family. She couldn't remember any pointed ears or vertical pupils. Only cat-ears and purple hair.
Of course not, you are human, she chided herself.
“Here we are. I believe Savianna Fashions is a popular store for young ladies in need of new tunics,” he said in an odd tone.
Trying to ignore the furtive looks, Starla smiled at the High Lord and entered the store, the smell of fabrics and steam wafting through the door.
Savianna Fashions was a rainbow-burst of colour. Tunics in all colours and for all classes hung on racks along the walls and split the interior of the store into three long aisles. The back wall had two doors. One was closed and the other led to a room over-flowing with white dresses. The furthest wall had four cubicles along it. Starla eyed the deep necklines with despair.
None of these will conceal the Star. How am I supposed to use my baby bracelet to find my family if it is tied to the one thing I must keep secret until I can see the Queen?
A small rack near a glass counter made entirely of carved blossoms caught her eye. The tunics there had a slightly different style.
“Good day. I am Savianna. How may I help you?” asked a tall, slender woman with rich brown skin and silver grey hair, seeming to appear suddenly from the rainbow-burst of fabric.
Starla jumped back in alarm before she could stop herself. The High Lord's strong hands caught and steadied her. Although he let her go straight away, she felt their impression remain, an electric tingling echoing from her waist and left arm where his hands had held her. He smelled wonderful, like a forest after rain in the summer.
Sighing at her own foolishness, Starla looked at Savianna, whose cat ears twitched. “Forgive me, I didn't hear you coming.”
“I may be only half-Aurelian but it would displease my ancestors if I were noisy like the Cosmaltians and Galatians.” She smiled, pointed canines gleaming.
Though her tone was perfectly polite, her nearly black eyes held the same wariness as every other citizen that Starla had seen today, vertical pupils constricted in fear.
“We're not that noisy,” a voice purred from behind Savianna.
It belonged to a woman whose skin tone reminded Starla of the mahogany dining table the Salsos ordered from Paris. Warm and dark, with hints of red glowing under the surface.
Her orange eyes shone with delight as Savianna twitched around in surprise.
“Myrena, my half-sister,” Savianna said, moving to one side so the newcomer could see the High Lord.
Myrena's joking manner vanished, limbs locking and vertical pupils contracting.
“I'd like a few new tunics, please,” Starla replied, flashing her friendliest smile and trying hard to keep her eyes away from Savianna's twitching ears.
The shopkeeper's eyes flashed up to the High Lord momentarily. “Of course, young miss. Myrena can be your assistant.” Her eyes scrutinised the silver belt at Starla's waist and her brow furrowed.
“And a normal belt, too.” Starla added, remembering that silver was only for the High Lord.
“Actually, Starla, I would like you to keep the silver belt. As an easy means of identification.” He grimaced apologetically.
Starla swallowed her less than polite reaction and nodded.
“No belt, then.”
“Very well. Did you see anything you like?” Myrena asked, while Savianna hovered.
“Those looked interesting,” Starla replied, pointing to the rack of tunics by the counter.
“Ah, our latest fashions. You'll be the most fashionable citizen in town.”
Starla followed the shopkeeper, wondering if the she had really seen the curiosity and disapproval in Savianna's eyes when she looked to the High Lord as they had passed. He was now making sure to follow a strategic distance behind as they approached the clothes.
“Here, let's see. This turquoise would suit you wonderfully. And perhaps a light rose? Deep purple or midnight blue?” Myrena began, demanding Starla's full attention.
The High Lord stood back, waiting patiently as Starla engaged in conversation with Savianna and Myrena. Clothes shopping didn't interest him, but the stranger certainly did. The transformation in her appearance had caught him off-guard this morning, the way her hair shone red-gold as if spun from Cosmaltian fireblossoms, the brightness and intelligence of her emerald eyes.
He smothered a smile as Starla tried unsuccessfully to diminish the number of clothes Myrena was insisting she try on.
He thought again of the way she had been looking at him at breakfast. There was none of the usual emotions he was used to seeing. No fear, no hate. And when her eyes had traced the lines of his scars, no cruel amusement, no pity, not even blatant curiosity. It had been almost as if he had had no scars.
“The fitting room is just through there,” Myrena said, herding a tunic-laden Starla into the mirror-lined cubicle, shutting the door behind them. Larkel moved to make sure he was close enough to respond to any surprises.
As the door shut behind her, he scolded himself. This was all foolishness. She was human. She just wanted to return home.
She has magic, he reminded himself. Although, it was strange that he couldn't sense it. Even a dormant well of power should be easy enough to find. There were only two options that he could see. One was that he was horribly wrong and she was merely a new type of Corruption, somehow cloaked from even his senses. His heart twisted at that thought, his stomach roiled. Option two should be impossible. There was only one kind of magical creature native to this system that explained how she could have magic but not a store of it. Soreiaphin. It imbued their very being. It wasn't a store of power like his, it was in their blood, waiting to be awakened and completely undetectable until then.
But there is no proof that any surviving Soreiaphin exist. He scolded himself. He needed to discover her secret and help his people. He didn't have time for legends, whatever Astria thought.
Perhaps there was some new magic awakening on Earth. It was not unheard of for species to evolve magical capacities.
Just before Myrena closed the curtain, Starla caught a glimpse of the High Lord watching her, a thoughtful smile on his full lips, the ice in his eyes barely visible. Carefully unclasping her starla pin, she began to try on the tunics. The new fashions had a higher neckline that had only a thin slash of skin visible from her collar bone, widening slightly to the twin swells of Starla's breasts.
This should hide the Star, she mused, turning this way and that, even bending forwards, while Myrena extolled the virtues of Starla's glowing skin and hair and which colours suited them better. The backs of the tunics were more open than the current style, in a wide diamond shape. The fabric at the neck seemed enough to hide the chain.
“Are you Cosmaltian?” Starla blurted out as Myrena tucked a strand of her black hair behind a slightly pointed ear.
“I am but I have lived here all my life, closeted in the Order's housing until I came of age. Our mother and my father were with the Makhi Order. Our older brother still is. The way mother tells it, Savianna's father was an Aurelian warrior just passing through. Mother was very young, then, and hadn't met father yet. It is such a lovely story. Full of passion.”
Starla fought her blush, barely seeing the next tunic Myrena insisted she try. Pushing aside stories that would cause everlasting scandal back home, Starla swallowed her disappointment. It would be unlikely that Myrena would know of her family if she had only mingled with Makhi.
“You look amazing,” Myrena said after fastening another tunic into place.
This one was deep purple, with silver embroidery emphasising her bust and trailing down her sides. It had no back whatsoever.
“May I have a minute?” Starla said, looking at Myrena's reflection.
Myrena bowed and left the room, allowing a brief glimpse of the High Lord as she opened the door. His eyes began to widen before the door shut again, blocking him from view once more.
Cheeks heating, Starla turned back to the mirror. Looking at her scandalously-dressed reflection, she was reminded of Father Joe once telling her, as they looked at some paintings of the scantily-clad Native Americans that Pierre Salso had brought back from the Americas, that a person's sense of propriety and decency came from their peers, their culture. What was perfectly normal in one place, could cause scandal elsewhere, but that didn't necessarily make it wrong.
“Then how do we know what is wrong?” a ten-year-old Starla had asked the wise priest, wide eyed.
“We trust our hearts. They'll always let us know.”
Starla smiled as the memory faded.
Staring at herself in the mirror, Starla felt something change. Her heart didn't tell her that this was wrong. Different, but not wrong, not indecent. In fact, she liked the fit of it, liked the feel of the soft fabric against her skin, liked the way the colours added to her appearance, setting off her hair, eyes or skin. She felt better without the weight of petticoats and the constricting presence of a corset.