Waited for the time that was neither night nor day. A thin cusp between the light and the darkness.
This was her favorite time—a secret she kept with herself. It was hers and hers alone.
As the Great Mother inched toward the horizon, Kiva felt the stirrings of something she couldn’t quite name welling up inside her. It began in the back of her mind as a sort of itch, a tickle, the ghost of something she once knew but had long since forgotten. Then it—whatever it was—began to gain strength, like a light breeze growing to a mighty wind. Slowly, an image began to take shape in her mind: a blue orb, cloud-dappled, suspended in deep blackness.
And then, at the moment that the last red-rimmed sliver of sun fell below the curve of the planet Gle’ah, a sharp agony seized Kiva at the root of her torso. Her body convulsed with the force of the pain; her stomach and back clenched tight, and her heels ground deep into the grass.
Kiva’s eyes clamped shut as, above, the Three Sisters—the moons of Gle’ah—began to glow in the darkening sky. In the far distance, Vale and Dalia, the Twins, had entered into the part of their orbit where they appeared to dance together, their two white orbs seeming to merge into a single elongated mass. Ao, the third moon of Gle’ah, passed by on a closer orbit, near enough to the planet that, had her eyes been open, Kiva could have traced the moon’s path with her finger as it spun across the sky.
As it was, Kiva merely felt her hair float next to her ears in the pull of Ao’s gravity as the moon passed overhead—and when the pale white sphere was directly above her, nearly lifting her entire body off the ground, the pain sharpened to an agonizing point in her chest as images fluoresced on her eyelids.
An explosion of light and fire.
A sea of stars elongating and whizzing past in the blackness.
A huge bird made of polished stone, coming through the clouds to land on the prairie.
And three dark silhouettes standing shoulder to shoulder on the horizon.
Then the moon spun on, releasing Kiva’s body from its grip. The strands of her hair fell and pooled again on the ground. When Ao had disappeared over the horizon, the images on Kiva’s eyelids faded, and the pain loosed its hold on her body. Her eyes snapped open, her lungs gasping for air. In the now-dark sky, the Twins went wobbly in her vision as tears brimmed at the edges of her eyes. She blinked away a single tear; it ran down her cheek and dripped in her ear.
Strangers.
The word came to her unbidden.
They’re coming.
11
Kiva pushed herself up and ran back to the village, the edges of the long grass-blades slicing at her feet. Her legs burned and her toes flexed in the grit as she hiked up the rise. At the top, she paused and placed her hands on her knees to catch her breath.
Her father’s hut stood at the edge of the village. It was a squat structure made of mud and surrounded by a small, furrowed garden. Grath, Kiva’s father, stood amidst the plants, working a hoe. Just outside the door, Quint, Kiva’s younger sister, played in the dirt with two small figures carved from pieces of wood, chattering softly to herself as she made them talk to each other.
When Kiva approached, Quint lifted her head, her eyes wide and gleaming, and burst to her feet. She ran through the garden and threw her arms around Kiva’s waist—and in spite of herself, a smile broke across Kiva’s face. She bent her neck and planted a kiss on the top of Quint’s head.
“Kiva!” Quint said, looking up at her older sister without letting go. “Where were you? Out on the prairie?”
Kiva nodded and laughed quietly to herself.
“Yes,” she said, “you know I was.”
Kiva knew that Quint adored her, practically worshiped her—the girl would follow her around everywhere, if she let her. Kiva still remembered the day Quint first came to them, the day their mother, Liana, and the Sisters brought the mewling, squawking baby to live in their hut. When Liana came through the door with Quint in her arms, Kiva had craned her neck to peer over the cloth wrappings at the girl’s face. It was so smooth, the gray skin of the baby’s forehead and cheeks almost shiny—and Kiva fell in love with her at once. The feeling was so strong and sudden that she felt she might fall over: this urgent, immediate need to protect Quint, to clasp her close and never let go.
Now, Quint unlaced her hands at Kiva’s waist, stepped back, and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Quint asked. “You’ve been crying.”
Kiva quickly wiped away the streaks her tears had left on her cheeks. At Quint’s back, Grath stopped working, propped the hoe against the dirt and leaned both arms on it, listening.
Kiva met her father’s eyes for a brief moment, then looked back to Quint and shook her head.
“It’s nothing,” Kiva said. “Nothing you should worry yourself about. Go on inside, okay? I’ll come tuck you in soon.”
Quint glanced at their father, then turned back to Kiva, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Go on,” Kiva said.
“Mind your sister,” her father said.
Quint sighed. “Will you sing to me, too? And tell me a story?”
Kiva bowed her head. “If you want.”
Satisfied, Quint grinned and scampered inside. Grath watched her go. After the girl had disappeared inside the hut, he turned to Kiva.
“All right,” he said. “Now, what is it? What’s happened?”
“I … I,” Kiva stuttered. She didn’t have the words to describe what had happened to her. Not yet.
“I saw something,” she said finally.
Grath stood silent, waiting.
“People,” Kiva said. “Dark shadows coming over the hill.”
Grath’s neck straightened. “Who? The Forsaken? What did they do to you?”
Kiva shook her head sharply. The Forsaken were men who used to live in the village; some had been banished for behaving violently, while others ran away because they were restless and craved the freedom of life outside the village. In the wilderness, they banded together and lived in an uneasy truce with Kiva’s people—but even so, Grath had always told her to keep her distance from them. Sometimes when Kiva went beyond the edge of the village she could see the Forsaken lurking in the far distance, silhouettes against the sunset with weapons in hand. She was afraid of them. But it wasn’t the Forsaken she’d seen—not this time.
This was something different.
“No,” she said. “No. They weren’t real. Or—they were real but they weren’t … really there. They were in my head. In my mind.”
Grath breathed out. His shoulders dropped and he unflexed his hands, returned to his work. There was a rasp of stone scraping against stone as the hoe cut into the soil and loosed dusty clods.
“A dream,” he said, “You fell asleep.”
“No,” Kiva said, the word a knife that cut the evening air. “It was more than a dream.”
She thought of the pain that had seized her gut and shot up through her spine. The memory of it lingered as a dull ache.
“A vision,” she said.
Her father looked up again.
“Impossible,” he said. “You must have imagined it. You’re only thirteen seasons. Only the Sisters have visions. The Sisters and the Vagra.”
“I know,” Kiva said. “But this was a vision.”
He considered that for a moment, then turned and walked toward the hut. Kiva fell in step behind him. He set the hoe against the wall, then nodded Kiva toward a spot on the ground.
Kiva sat down and waited for Grath to do the same. He clapped the dust off his hands, then eased himself to the dirt. He stretched out on his side and leaned on one elbow.
“Now,” he said. “Tell me about this vision.”
Kiva told him everything: the explosion of fire, the stars whizzing by like a handful of thrown pebbles, the bird bursting through the clouds to land on the plain, the three dark figures standing shoulder to shoulder against the horizon.
As she spoke, her father traced patterns in
the dirt, his finger swooping as it drew broad curves and sharp angles. When she had finished, he sighed and drew his flat hand across the ground, wiping it smooth once more.
“We must take her to the Sisters,” came a voice from the hut.
Kiva’s head snapped up. It was Liana, standing framed in the doorway.
Grath leapt to his feet.
“Forgive me, Sister,” he said, bowing his head. “If I had known you were here—”
“I didn’t want to disturb your work,” the woman said. “I came in without your noticing. I was waiting for you in bed. Then I grew tired of waiting.”
“How long have you been listening?” Grath asked.
“Since Quint came inside and told me that the two of you were plotting something,” Liana answered, smiling. “Long enough to know: the girl has had her first visitation from the Ancestors. She must come before the Sisters. She must tell her vision to the Vagra.”
12
Kiva stood and bowed her head, looking at her bare feet as she waited for Liana to come from the door to fetch her. Kiva’s father moved out of the way and walked to the hut.
Kiva felt the touch of her mother’s hand on her shoulder.
“Come, child,” Liana said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Liana’s finger hooked underneath Kiva’s chin and lifted her gaze to meet her own.
“Today is a happy day,” Liana said, though she wasn’t smiling. “You’ll see.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Together they stepped past the furrows and began walking deeper into the village. Liana’s hand was on Kiva’s back, softly guiding her ahead. Kiva walked with her head hung.
The dirt under their feet was hard as stone, packed tight by the soles of many feet. As they went further into the village, the huts grew denser, each with its own garden outside. In the sky above, the Twins glowed and began to separate in their orbits, the two circles moving away from each other like a drop of water shattered by the wind. Though the Great Mother had long since set, the village had not yet gone to sleep. The shouts of children tussling reached Kiva’s ears, and she lifted her head. The orange flicker of cookfires glowed in the doorways of some of the huts, smoke trailing through the holes in the roofs and curling into the air above the village. At one hut, a father and his children played in the dirt just outside the door; the children clamored to their feet and ran to the fence as Kiva and Liana passed, while their father stayed on the ground, a blade of grass wedged between his teeth. At another hut, a Sister was visiting her family; she raised a hand in greeting as Kiva and Liana passed, and Liana acknowledged the other woman with a bow of her head.
Halfway into the heart of the village, Kiva heard footsteps beside her. She lifted her head to see a boy named Po run up to her. Po was thirteen seasons just like Kiva, but he often seemed younger than that—he still acted like a little boy. Po was a pest, lurking close by when Kiva played with her friends, nipping at their heels. More than once they’d told him to go away or tried to lose him in the tangle of huts, but the village was small and sometimes they couldn’t avoid him. Besides, Grath had often told Kiva that she should try to be nice to Po—his mother had died when he was just a baby, and he didn’t have many friends in the village.
She sucked in a breath and tried to remind herself of this as Po drew up close to her elbow.
“What’s going on, Kiva?” Po asked. “Where are you going?”
Kiva’s teeth tightened. “I’m going to see the Vagra.”
Po’s mouth angled into a teasing smirk. “What did you do? Are you in trouble?”
Kiva didn’t answer. Annoyance simmered in her veins.
Po danced around her, taunting. “Did you steal something? Hurt someone?”
From behind Kiva’s shoulder came Liana’s voice, scolding: “Enough. Get out of here, boy. This doesn’t concern you.”
Po halted and let Kiva and Liana walk on. But when Kiva glanced over her shoulder, she saw that he was still watching them. Watching her. Cheeks burning, she put her head forward and gazed at the ground just ahead of her feet.
Further on, Kiva and Liana came to a hut where two girls were leaning against the outer wall and whispering to each other. They were Kiva’s friends, one named Rehal, the other Thruss. As Kiva drew near, their whispering rose to a chorus of giggles, and they raised their heads with wide smiles on their faces. Rehal waved.
Kiva looked up at Liana.
“These are your friends?” her mother asked.
Kiva nodded.
“Go on. Say good-bye to them.”
Good-bye? A lump lodged in Kiva’s throat, but she held back her tears.
Kiva went toward the hut, and Rehal and Thruss met her halfway.
“Did Po find you?” Rehal said. “He came by a little while ago. He was looking for you.”
“Run, Kiva!” Thruss said, a smirk on her face. “That boy’s in love with you. You’ll have to go into hiding soon.”
“Be nice,” Rehal said, though she was grinning as well. “Po’s harmless. I feel sorry for him.”
“Kiva’s the nice one,” Thruss said. “She’d sooner be mated to that pest than tell him she can’t stand him.”
Rehal wrinkled her nose. “Well, no one’s that nice.”
The two girls burst out laughing. They stopped when they noticed that Kiva wasn’t smiling.
“What’s wrong?” Thruss asked. “I’m sorry—we were just teasing, Kiva. If you actually like Po—”
Kiva shook her head. “That’s not it. It’s something else.” She leaned in, pitched her voice low so that Liana couldn’t hear. “I had a vision. Liana’s taking me to tell it to the Vagra. She says I have to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?” Rehal said, her eyebrows lifting. “Why?”
“You’re going to join the Sisters,” Thruss said.
Rehal’s eyes grew wide and her jaw fell open. “The Ancestors spoke to you?”
“I don’t know,” Kiva said. “Maybe.”
Kiva had often wondered when she would move from her father’s hut to live with her mother and the rest of the Sisters in the center of the village—but whenever she asked Liana about it, her mother had been vague. When Kiva had asked what her first visitation from the Ancestors would feel like, how she’d know when it happened, Liana had simply said, “You’ll know.”
Now, Kiva wondered if what she’d experienced out on the plain at sunset—the pain coursing through her body, the images of things she didn’t understand flashing past on the inside of her eyelids—was really what she’d been waiting for.
Rehal laughed and pulled Kiva close for a hug; then Thruss did the same.
“Why are you upset?” Thruss said. “You should be happy!”
Kiva shook her head, felt tears coming to her eyes. “It’s too soon. I thought I’d have a little while longer. I want to stay here with you.”
Girls usually went to join the Sisters from the ages of fifteen to eighteen; for a girl as young as Kiva to hear the voice of the Ancestors was rare.
“Oh, don’t be sad,” Thruss said. “We’ll be joining you soon enough. Then we’ll all be Sisters, together. And take mates, and have children of our own. Think of it!”
Thruss put on a happy face; Rehal nodded and smiled, too. But Kiva couldn’t bring herself to smile. It was all so fast.
Rehal nodded behind Kiva’s shoulder. “You should go,” she said in a low voice. “Your mother’s waiting. We’ll talk soon, okay?”
Kiva nodded and went back to Liana’s side. They walked on together, leaving Thruss and Rehal behind.
“Why did you tell me to say good-bye?” Kiva asked. “I’ll see them again, won’t I?”
“Of course you will,” Liana said, without meeting Kiva’s gaze. “But it won’t be the same.”
Soon, Kiva and Liana came to the center of the village. They passed through an empty expanse where no huts had been built, a border of about one hundred paces between where
the men and children lived and the Sisters’ camp. The Sisters’ huts were smaller, built to house and sleep only one person, and they had no gardens outside. Growing food to sustain the village was the men’s job; once a week they brought the fruits of their labor to the Sisters as tribute, to be shared among the women and given to anyone in the village who couldn’t grow enough to feed themselves.
As Kiva and Liana approached the Sisters’ encampment, the pain Kiva had felt earlier crept back into her body, seized her in her chest and spread to her limbs. Tears leapt hot to her eyes, and she looked back at Liana.
Don’t be afraid, Liana said.
But she didn’t say it. Her lips hadn’t moved. Yet Kiva heard the words nonetheless, felt them as she had felt the vision past the edge of the village.
Liana called out, spoke but did not speak, in a voice that was not a voice.
Sisters, rise! The Ancestors stir tonight. A new Sister has been chosen.
After a moment the answer came back, a chorus that echoed in Kiva’s mind and vibrated in her body, so painful and deafening that it took her breath away and threatened to throw her to the ground:
Welcome, child.
Behind the voices of the Sisters, another voice, one that was both softer and more powerful: the Vagra.
Come, Kiva. I’ve been waiting.
13
Kiva and Liana stood just outside the encampment, Liana’s hand resting warm on Kiva’s shoulder. The Sisters’ huts dotted the landscape, their placement haphazard, clumped closely together in some places, flung distant in others. Beyond, just visible over the roofs of the narrow huts, was a larger hut—round, made of mud.
The Vagra’s hut. It was at the exact center of the village.
Slowly, the Sisters emerged from their huts and stood facing Kiva and Liana. No one moved for a long moment.
Then, a single figure stepped forward.
“Kiva,” the figure said, walking closer, the moonlight falling across her cheeks.
Kiva blinked. She knew that voice, that face.
It was a girl her own age, thirteen: her name was Kyne, and she was Po’s twin sister.
The Exo Project Page 4