Flame: A Sky Chasers Novel

by Amy Kathleen Ryan

  “Don’t you have to stay for the meeting?”

  “Dr. Carver will fill me in. And he wants you to get some exercise.” He raised a finger in the air and stooped over. “‘She needs exercise and mental distance from her captivity,’” he said in a nearly perfect imitation of the old man.

  Waverly laughed in spite of herself.

  He rested his eyes on her, those dark blue eyes that were so unsettling, then took hold of her elbow and led her gently. She pulled away. Each time he touched her, or looked at her, she wanted Seth, missed him more. Where was he?

  I should forget about him. He’s obviously forgotten me. And so has Kieran.

  “Where would you like to go?” Jared asked her.

  “I don’t care,” she told him honestly. He held out a palm, indicating for her to choose the direction, so she continued down the hallway. She walked slowly, unsure whether she was matching his pace or he was matching hers. She didn’t look at him, but she was intensely aware of his presence and his scent. Soil, sage, and something more—cardamom and garlic, maybe.

  They entered the stairwell and descended several flights in silence. When he opened the door for her, she found he’d taken her to the family gardens, a fabulously lush and beautifully kept acreage. They walked between rows of huge cabbages, overgrown squash plants, pumpkins so large she could have sat on them, tomato plants hanging heavy with rich red fruits. He turned left, passing perfectly straight rows of uniform corn plants, then stopped at a large arched trellis bursting with purple clematis and sweet pink honeysuckle. A small path led from the trellis to a petite stone bench upon which he sat. He patted the seat next to him, and Waverly took it, leaning away because the heat coming from his body made her uneasy.

  “Do you like it?” he asked her, waving his hand over the herbs and flowers growing in patches all around them. The colors were perfectly arranged: fragrant lavender next to pale green sage, golden saffron framed by white chamomile.

  “Did you plant this garden?” she asked him.

  “I’ve been working on it my whole life.”

  “It’s…” She tried to find the right word, one that wasn’t too generous. “Nice.”

  “Nice?” he said, comically outraged. “Decades of my life boil down to nice?”

  “What do you want me to say?”.

  “It’s a work of art!” He threw up his hands theatrically. “Are you blind?”

  “Okay, Jared,” she said condescendingly. “It’s a work of art.”

  “Better,” he said, squinting at her with mock anger. He was funny, she had to give him that.

  “You grow a lot of herbs. Do you take them to the processing plant?”

  “Oh no. These are for me. I dry them at home. I don’t share.”

  “Never? Not even a tiny bit of thyme?”

  “I have no thyme to spare.”

  She looked at the huge patch of the herb growing in a tangled knot. “You must eat a lot of soup.”

  “I do. I eat a lot of soup.” He looked at her sideways with mock suspicion. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  She was laughing again. How did he do that? She was trapped, miserable, and she’d lost everything, but this strange man was cheering her up. She hated herself for relaxing, but she couldn’t help it. I can’t be miserable all of the time, or I’ll die.

  Maybe he knows that, she thought. She snuck a glance at him. His nose was narrow and straight except for the end, which bulged out slightly, but it was a nice nose, a friendly nose. His skin was very smooth for someone who must be in his forties, and she wanted to ask his age, but she held her tongue. His hair was still thick, though it was salted here and there with specks of gray. He turned toward her, but she looked away quickly.

  “You must have questions,” Jared said. “About the doctor?”

  “Why do you work for him?” Waverly asked.

  “He’s my father, kind of.” Jared swung his feet casually, his attitude completely different from the rigid discipline he showed around Dr. Carver. “He took me in when I was just a kid. My mom … she didn’t deal well after the launch. Being cut off from Earth, never to return. It kind of made her…” He twirled a finger near his temple. “A lot of people were affected that way at first. Most of them got better. Some of them, like my mom, didn’t.” He was silent for a moment, as though caught up in a memory. “Dr. Carver said he liked the way I played with the other kids. I guess something about me seemed smart. Or self-sufficient. So he took responsibility for me.”

  “He raised you?” Waverly asked. She couldn’t imagine that wily old man loving anyone, not even a child.

  “Not in a traditional way. He brought me into his household. He saw to my education. He hired women to care for me. I was kind of raised by a bunch of people.”

  “That sounds … difficult,” Waverly said, remembering her own mother and how she used to be—totally reliable, always on Waverly’s side, and absolutely loving. If Waverly had gone without that kind of love as a child, she didn’t know how she might have turned out.

  But Jared shook his head. “I got lots of attention, from all kinds of people.”

  “And that’s because of Dr. Carver?”

  “Yes. And I’ll be forever grateful.”

  She dug her heel into the soft garden soil, enjoying the fragrant smell of loam and tender roots. “Do you remember Earth?” she asked as an indirect way of learning his age.

  “No. My mother was pregnant with me when she boarded the New Horizon. I was born a few months into the mission. So I’m not so old,” he said with a knowing smile.

  “Well…” Waverly grinned while she calculated. “You’re over twice my age.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” He laughed.

  “My pleasure.” She thought she should remind herself, too, because she felt guilty talking to this handsome man, laughing at his jokes when she had no idea where Seth was, or if he was safe.

  Why should she feel guilty? Was some part of her being loyal to Seth? Why should she be loyal after the way he’d abandoned her?

  But even if she wanted to forget about Seth, she couldn’t. Despite her anger, deep down she knew he was staying away so that, when she needed help, he’d be able to do something. If he were under Anne Mather’s control, or Dr. Carver’s, Seth would be as helpless as she was. And Seth did care. She knew he did. The way he’d kissed her, like he needed her so much, communicating everything that he felt with an openness that couldn’t be mistaken. Not even Kieran had ever kissed her that way.

  But she kept these thoughts trapped deep, in the back of her mind, because if she let herself feel Seth’s caring, if she felt her own caring for him, she’d have to miss him.

  She’d have to worry about him. She’d be sick with worry.

  Her hand moved over her stomach and she swallowed down her queasiness. Please please please let him be okay.

  If he’s not …

  “Your mother is probably wondering what happened to you,” Jared finally said. He stood and extended a hand to help her up.

  Waverly picked her way between rows of basil and sage, searching her mind for a topic of conversation. A tobacco plant ahead gave off its heady aroma, reminding her of the corncob pipe Captain Jones often held between his teeth. “Dr. Carver told me Captain Jones is alive.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s well treated,” Jared said, but he put a hand to his forehead, embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you wouldn’t exactly be his biggest fan.” He opened the door for her with a great show of courtesy. “I’m sure you don’t want to talk about all that.”

  “All what?” she asked, pausing on the landing.

  He touched her shoulder lightly as they started up the stairs. “The business with your father, and…” He paused. “How he died.”

  “How do you know about my father?” she asked sharply.

  He stopped climbing the stairs and looked at her, surprised. “The doctor mentioned it to me yesterday.”

  “What did he say
?” Her voice echoed down the endless metal stairwell. “Tell me the precise words he used.”

  “He said your father had been executed—”

  She grabbed his wrist. “What?”

  He blinked, surprised. His eyes looked black in the dim light of the stairwell. It was as though he had two faces, one blue-eyed and friendly, and one black-eyed and mysterious. “You didn’t know?” he said.

  “By who? Why?” she shrieked.

  “Captain Jones,” Jared said, hands held up to calm her down. “Are you telling me you didn’t know about this?”

  “They called it an accident,” Waverly said.

  Jared shook his head, dropping his hands to his sides. “It wasn’t an accident.”

  “So my father was murdered.” She made a fist.

  “He was executed,” Jared said, looking confused. “For what he did.”

  Waverly’s pulse thudded inside her ears as she whispered, “What?”

  He stared at her for a long moment before saying, “Your father was the one who sent the bastardized formula to the medical team here. Him and two others.”

  Her legs gave way, and she lowered herself to sit on the stairs.

  “Galen Marshall was the architect of the whole thing,” Jared said gently, his hand on her shoulder. “He created the poison that sterilized our women.”

  Waverly’s vision blurred. She lowered her head between her knees, panting. She felt two strong hands on her shoulders, and his warm breath as he said into her ear, each word laced with regret, “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

  CONGREGATION

  Kieran and his mother arrived for services early as Mather had requested. He was surprised to see a long line of people waiting to get into the large granary bay where services were held. He didn’t know what was taking so long until he reached the front of the line, and two armed guards patted him down, then swept a sophisticated-looking detection wand over his body to search for weapons before sending him in.

  The granary was huge, one of the biggest bays on the ship. To Kieran’s left, a soft carpet of mulch had been laid on the floor, and there were rows of hundreds of chairs facing a stage draped in enormous swaths of fabric appliquéd with scenes of a harvest celebration. The setting was splendid, Kieran had to admit, and the huge room with its high ceiling had a stately air, like the cathedrals of Old Earth he’d seen in history books. To his right, behind the last row of the chairs, the cornfield began. Tall stalks reached up toward the lights in neat furrows that stretched away from the stage until the rows met in the vanishing point, far away at the central bulkheads. The beautiful spacious room made it impossible not to think of eternity. Such an effect could never be achieved in the little auditorium with its low ceilings and gray walls.

  Kieran and his mother sat in the front row, where the guards directed them, and he snuck a peek at her to make sure she was okay. Mather had been true to her word and had sent a doctor to look at Lena. Dr. Jansen, a middle-aged woman with a knot of gray hair at the nape of her neck, had done a series of neurological tests, and her opinion had been maddeningly noncommittal. “I can find no sign of the original trauma, but decompression effects can be unpredictable.” She’d smiled sadly at Kieran. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more.”

  Mom still enjoys life, he reminded himself now, looking at her profile as she took in the spectacle of Anne Mather’s church. For that I should be grateful.

  Anne Mather herself, wearing gleaming white vestments, mounted the steps to the stage. She wore a colorful embroidered stole over her shoulders that glittered as she moved. A spotlight caressed her face so that she glowed with an otherworldly sheen, making her beautiful and awful at once. The lighting, the garb, even the choreographed way Mather moved—all of it conspired to create a perfectly crafted atmosphere. This was a level of theatricality that Kieran had attempted in his services but never achieved.

  Slowly the buzzing of the crowd subsided under Mather’s loving gaze, and the choir began a lilting hymn accompanied by effortless guitar playing. The lights over the stage faded, leaving a sole cone of light over Mather, who lifted her arms, miming an embrace of the crowd. She called out with a clarion voice, “Peace be upon you!”

  “Peace be upon you!” the crowd repeated.

  The music faded away. “Welcome to all on this, the two thousand three hundred and thirty-first Sunday of our mission to New Earth. Joining us for this celebration we have several new crew members. Aidan Johnson was born on Wednesday, a beautiful nine-pound-four-ounce baby boy!” Kieran was shocked. Had enough time passed for the Empyrean girls’ eggs grow into babies? He counted back and realized more than ten months had passed since the New Horizon first attacked. Kieran saw a couple in the middle of the congregation, huddled proudly around a little bundle of wriggling legs and arms. The crowd erupted into applause and the couple beamed.

  “Also joining us are some young people who have made the difficult journey from the Empyrean to join our crew. Could you all please stand when I mention your names, children?” Anne Mather called out name after name of young children who had survived the Empyrean explosion, and each of them stood, looking around uncertainly. Kieran wished he could gather them up, protect them somehow.

  “… And Kieran Alden!” Mather called, her hands held over her head. Kieran stood up, head down while Mather heaped on the praise. “This remarkable young man, leading a crew of children, managed to maintain the Empyrean and keep her on course, all the while cultivating crops and livestock with a level of professionalism that is truly incredible. Kieran, please accept our warmest welcome!”

  Hating himself, Kieran turned to wave at the congregation. The crowd was on its feet instantly, and those nearest to him patted his back, jostling him, saying, “Good job!… Amazing!… Welcome aboard!” Kieran nodded and was made even more uncomfortable when he saw the familiar faces of Empyrean children in the mix, some of them clapping, some of them staring at him in confusion.

  “Kieran, come up here,” Mather said to him. “People want to get a look at you.” She waved him up the stairs to join her behind the podium. Once he stood by her, he saw the large guard who had searched him standing off to the side, his hands wrapped around the body of a rifle, watching the edges of the cornfield with grim focus. What was he afraid of?

  “Why don’t you say a quick hello?” Mather said, offering Kieran the microphone. Kieran tried to wave it away, but the crowd had quieted and waited for him to speak.

  “Thank you,” Kieran said into the microphone. Mather raised her eyebrows, nodding him on. Clearly she had sensed the enthusiasm of her congregation and wanted Kieran to take advantage of it.

  “Uh…” He looked at the Empyrean kids, who were poised watching him, waiting for a sliver of hope. “I can see that my crew and I have found a safe port.” His voice was shaky, but no one seemed to notice. Several people in the front row smiled at him. “We’ve lost everything,” he went on. He spotted the blond Peters brothers sitting with an austere-looking couple. The boys looked at him as though hoping for some secret message. He felt Mather shift uncomfortably behind him. This was more than a quick hello, but she couldn’t stop him, not if she wanted to uphold the illusion of a united front. “To the families who have taken in our orphaned kids, I thank you kindly. And I ask that you do your best to treat these kids with compassion and understanding. The loss of our parents has been”—his voice broke—“devastating. If some of us are difficult, or angry, please respond with love and patience.” He looked at the austere couple with the Peters brothers. The woman’s face was hard, but the man was listening to him, so he spoke directly to him. “Be kind, even when some of us might be difficult to deal with. It’s the only way for us to live together on this ship as one crew.”

  The man nodded, and Kieran saw several other people nodding in agreement throughout the audience. The Empyrean children still watched Kieran, waiting for a message just for them. He saw Mather’s hand reaching for the microphone and gave a quarter tu
rn away from her.

  Inspiration struck, and Kieran plunged forward without care for consequences. “And to you Empyrean kids, we’re setting up a way for you to see your friends and have some fun. Soon you’ll see a lot more of each other. How does that sound?”

  A great cheer rang out, and dozens of little fists pumped the air. He turned to see Mather’s tight smile. “We might have discussed this,” she said.

  “You said I could have influence,” he said as he handed her the microphone.

  He expected her to be furious, but she looked out over her congregation and saw how happy the children were. “No, you’re right,” she told him. “They need this. We’ll set something up.”

  Surprised, Kieran returned to his seat.

  “Wonderful, honey,” his mother said, rubbing his back as though he’d had a starring role in the school musical, then turned to watch Anne Mather, who was standing behind the podium, smiling down at her people.

  “Love your enemy,” Mather said into the microphone and waited for her congregation to think about the familiar words. “In all of Christian Scripture, it is perhaps the most difficult tenet to live up to.” Kieran squirmed in his seat, suddenly reminded of who these people were and what they’d done to his family. Why would she awaken such emotions now? Mather smiled that relentless smile of hers and asked, “How could Jesus expect us to love those who cause us harm?”

  The room was deathly silent.

  “You see,” she said with tilt of the head, “Jesus wanted more than to create a religion that embraced God’s loving nature.” She shifted her stance, carefully placed her hands on either side of her podium, and looked out over her people—because that’s who they were. Judging from the way they gazed at her, expectant, hungry for her guidance, eager to hear her next thought—they were hers, body, mind, and soul. “Think about it. If we all loved our enemy, wouldn’t we live in a beautiful world?”

  She let these words hang in the air, drifting like soft snow.

  Her tone changed to one of warning: “But you and I know that even if we desire peace, war can still be visited upon us. Indeed, the war for the future has already begun.” The room had been silent before, but now Kieran thought everyone must be holding their breath. “There are those on this ship who hate our way of life. They destroyed the Empyrean, and now they’re coming after us.”