Children of the White Star

by Linda Thackeray

  Jonen returned to his chair and noticed the young man shifting in his seat, trying not to appear self-conscious.

  He doesn't want to be here.

  This was not unusual. Most of his patients had difficulty with the first consult.

  “Now, Garryn, how can I help you?”

  Garryn let out a sigh and swept his gaze across the room. He studied the plaques on the wall, the pictures of family and even the paintings. He took a moment to study the park beneath the window and realised he trying to avoid the mentalist's question.

  “I guess you can tell I don't want to be here.”

  “It's not an uncommon reaction,” Jonen assured him. “Please don't be uncomfortable by your hesitation. Many of my patients begin the same way. As Brysdynians, we possess a natural aversion to calling attention to our mental health. Why don't you tell me what brought you here and I'll be able to tell you if I can be of help?”

  Despite his ambivalence, Garryn confessed the mentalist was nothing like what he expected. Elisha had recommended him after reading the various papers written by the man in the science journals she was so fond of perusing. His own view of mentalists was not flattering, but the physician appeared be honest and direct and this inspired confidence.

  “I still have my reservations about all this. My sister thinks I need help. The trouble with being a soldier is you become used to dealing with mental issues by not dealing with them at all.”

  “A soldier?” Jonen exclaimed with some surprise.

  The last two decades of Garryn's life was not in the public eye. He appeared from time to time with the family during holidays and national celebrations, but remained out of sight for the most part. Now Jonen started to realise that it might be for a greater purpose than just their safety.

  “Yes,” Garryn answered, understanding the man's confusion. “I have been a Fleet pilot since my eighteenth year. I enlisted under an assumed name to avoid complications. I only recently left the Corps, because its time for me to assume my duties as Prime.”

  “And soldiering was your choice?” Jonen asked, fascinated.

  “Yes. Believe me, this is a long-standing tradition. I think one Imperator studied and became a Healer, while another sculpted under an assumed name. In my case, I didn't believe I could lead an empire if I didn't understand how it works.”

  This impressed Jonen. Aristocratic children with exalted lifestyles often grew up to be arrogant adults, but the Imperators avoided this by allowing their children their own paths. It made them become more than just political tools and allowed them to escape indulgent upbringings to become better rulers.

  “I must say, I'm rather impressed,” Jonen admitted. “Is your reason for being here related to your experiences in the recent engagements on Erebo?”

  Following the uprising, a few of his patients were soldiers suffering from the effects of the war. It would make sense for Garryn to be similarly afflicted if he was in active combat.

  “I don't know,” Garryn admitted and he started to relax the more he spoke to this mentalist. “The truth is I have bad dreams.”

  Jonen tried to hide his shock and give away nothing as he bade the Prime to resume his tale. He activated the recorder on the side of his desk as part of the standard procedure for a consultation.

  “Please continue.”

  “They began when I went to Theran. The Uprising was in its third month and my squadron and I lent air support to the ground forces. The dreams started not long after I arrived in the system. While I was stationed on the orbital above Erebor, they came almost every night. At first, I thought it might be the stress, because of the civilian targets. Except I was dreaming them even before I flew my first mission, so I'm at a loss to explain what they mean or why I'm having them.”

  “Describe them.”

  The idea of describing what he had been living with these past few months was difficult, but Garryn knew if he wanted this mentalist's help, he would have to share his dreams.

  “They begin peacefully. I am on an alien planet, one with a star not quite as amber as ours. The sky is blue. Can you imagine it, a blue sky?”

  He expected Jonen to stare back at him with incredulity, but the mentalist only leaned forward in interest.

  “I remember the place so clearly sometimes. The trees have ash-coloured bark and the birds are snow white, with enormous yellow feathers cresting the top of their heads. I'm surrounded by some kind of wheat, but it's nothing I recognise. The aroma of them is rich and they're the colour of gold. I'm standing in a field of them and it's beautiful. Everything is so primitive. I can feel raw soil under my feet and how loamy the dirt feels between my toes.”

  “It sounds like a most pleasant place to be,” Jonen remarked, stroking his beard. “What happens next?”

  Garryn's darkening expression did not surprise Jonen.

  His chest tightened as he steeled himself to tell the mentalist the rest. When he was in combat, experiencing dangers capable of killing him easily, he was never as frightened as he was when revealing what came next in his dream.

  “The scene turns bad, nightmarish. I can't describe it all, but I remember the smoke and fire. I wake up sometimes and still smell the cinders from the flames. It's like the death follows me into the waking world. The nightmare only lets me go when everything around me is dead.”

  Sweat trickled down his brow, even though the room was cool. A part of him was surprised by how distastefully describing the dreams could be. When he told Elisha, he felt some vulnerability in exposing his nocturnal troubles, but he never revealed them to this detail.

  The nausea gripped him like bile creeping up his throat. He'd hoped telling this stranger would help him, but instead he felt worse. Embarrassed, he hesitated meeting Jonen's gaze until he saw the mentalist pouring him a glass of water from a pitcher on his table.

  “Take a moment. Catch your breath. Everything is all right.”

  Garryn nodded and took the cup, swallowing several gulps. His throat still felt dry and a minute lapsed before he was able to speak again. “I didn't realise I would have so much trouble talking about this.”

  “No one finds it's easy to confide something so private to a stranger. How often are you having these dreams, now you're home?”

  “Since my return from Theran, three or four times a week. On those nights, I get two or three hours sleep at the most.”

  Even if nothing in the way of treatment took place today, Garryn did not regret taking Elisha's advice and consulting Jonen. A weight was lifted off him just talking about it. Perhaps keeping the images to himself was as damaging as the dreams themselves.

  “Am I going crazy? Am I suffering battlefield stress? I know it happens.”

  “You are not crazy,” Jonen insisted, because many patients feared not being found out they were ill, but rather being branded with the stigma of madness. In this day and age, people still had trouble telling the difference.

  “No doubt something is going on in your head. Dreams are the mind's way of coping with stressful situations and the subconscious vents what the conscious is not ready to reveal. Our goal is to try and interpret these messages, to learn what your subconscious is trying to tell you. Once we discover what the message is, they will go away.”

  “That is good to hear,” Garryn retorted, although he thought this could not happen soon enough.

  “Now I need to ask you some routine questions,” Jonen asked. “I assume you are a New Citizen?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old were you when you were adopted?” Jonen asked, entering Garryn's answers into a console in front of him.

  “According to my mother, three years old. Elisha is not my natural sister. I believe she was only six months old.”

  “Any memories before your adoption?”

  This was the question to which Jonen wanted an answer most of all. This would determine everything.

  Garryn tried to recall his first lucid memory.

  * * *

&
nbsp; He cried a lot until she came and wrapped her arms around him, telling him nothing would hurt him again.

  “You're safe now, little one.” Her voice was like a song and her scent familiar like flowers. The scent reminded him of someone…

  The memory remained elusive, but it was enough to make him cling to her. He would call her mother soon enough, but during the first year, she was the flower lady.

  Before her, he remembered nothing.

  * * *

  “No memories.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Jonen pondered the days' events while sitting in his chair and staring into the sunset. Garryn's first session lasted more than two hours. Jonen should have kept the session short, as preliminary sessions ought to be, but this case was too important to treat as routine. Mira was undoubtedly livid at all the appointments she was forced to cancel, but it was worth the inconvenience.

  The young man needed treatment, but feared exposing his condition to the Empire. Even though to Jonen it seemed a minor consideration, Garryn insisted on the need for discretion. As the next Prime and some day Imperator, his mental state needed to be above reproach. This was why he came to Jonen instead of summoning the mentalist to the Domicile.

  Jonen had spent the rest of the session listening to Garryn, making certain his suspicions were founded. If correct in his assumptions, it would be in Garryn's best interest to attend his next appointment. What Jonen had to tell him might trouble the young man, but in the end would prove satisfying.

  “I've rescheduled all the appointments you cancelled today.” Mira announced, making her entrance into the room. With office hours over for the day, she closed the office to the public.

  Jonen swung around in his chair and faced her. He had known her long enough to recognise her tone of voice. “Do I sense a rebuke?”

  “No, only a reminder that one important patient should not be treated at the expense of others.”

  “Sit down, Mira,” Jonen gestured to the chair.

  Mira raised a brow at the suggestion. Her dark brown eyes narrowed with puzzlement as she realised something was going on. She sat with her usual elegance. Her hands resting on her lap as she waited for him to tell all.

  “We've got another one,” he declared.

  She did not need to ask what he meant. It was common practice for mentalists to share their assistant's confidence. He discussed his cases with her on the understanding she was bound to the same rules of confidentiality. Jonen found Mira's intellect to be formidable, because she was unencumbered by popular theory or academic fact.

  Mira said what she thought and it was often precise and unique.

  “The Prime?” She was shocked, but recovered soon enough.

  “Yes,” Jonen nodded. “With Garryn, the number is now fourteen in Paralyte. I spoke to mentalist Darix an hour ago and he's reported another two cases. That brings its up to nine at Tesalone. Alwi at Rainab says she has seventeen patients now. This may be the first psychological epidemic we've ever seen.”

  “We have to tell someone!” she exclaimed.

  “I would like to, but for now I agree with Darix and Alwi. We still need more information. If this is a virus, it is the most specific one I have ever seen. It does nothing to deteriorate the physical body and only manifests when the subject is dreaming. It also operates in a very particular age group. I doubt the Healers Circle are going to take it seriously.”

  “But something must be wrong. How can this condition affect only New Citizens? Despite the small number of people unaffected by the Scourge, children were still being born when the New arrived. How can they be susceptible but not our indigenous population?”

  “Well, those children were born in the Empire. The New Citizens are not,” Jonen reminded her. “We brought them from Cathomira when there was nothing left of their planet. None of the rescue teams dared to remain long enough on the surface to gather anything but survivors. The Fleet had enough time to get them out, not go digging for medical texts about the nature of Cathomira's biological war.”

  “And the dreams?”

  Jonen had no answer. The dreams were the most enigmatic thing about the condition. They seemed so similar. In every case, they had all mentioned a blue sky. What was it about a blue sky? Some had never been off planet. Those who did travel never came across a place like the one described in their sleep.

  It couldn't be Cathomira. Once Jonen had learned all his patients were New Citizens, he'd read everything he could about the doomed world. The planet orbited a red giant. Prior to receiving the distress call, no one believed in the existence of any habitable planets in its system.

  “The dreams are odd. The pattern is the same, but the description is different. They all start off pleasantly, but descend into violence. It's always on this alien world. I keep thinking it is Cathomira, even if the descriptions are inaccurate. There isn't much information on the place, other than the mission reports when the rescue team landed. What pictures there are described a world that appears nothing like the one people are seeing.”

  “A memory, perhaps?”

  “I considered the idea. The destruction of their home world is quite a traumatic thing. Many have no memories before arriving on Brysdyn, which does lend credibility to the theory of a shared experience. It could suggest repressed memories due to extreme trauma. Children do block what is too distressful to cope with.”

  “That must be it then,” Mira said confidently.

  IV

  The Dreaming

  Justin!

  Where are you, Justin?

  Surrounded by the fiery remains of golden stalks, she called out once more, but no answer came, only the braying of dying animals over the crackle of fire. Tears ran down her cheeks, either from smoke or anguish. Frantic, she continued to run like a rat caught in a maze with no exit.

  What are you looking for? He wanted to ask her, but he was only a phantom in this dreamscape. Despite numerous visits to this place, he'd never found anyone but her. She was alone in this field, with only the exotic creatures around her for company. White birds, herds of large docile bovines and ludicrous animals that bounced across the landscape on powerful hind legs.

  Justin!

  She cried out again. She slipped past the edges of panic and ran headlong into hysteria. Terror gripped her, although he suspected she did not fear for herself. Whatever she sought with such desperation made any thoughts of self-preservation secondary. Even when the smoke overwhelmed her, she stumbled forward doggedly, determine to keep searching.

  Once she crested the hilltop, she paused to catch her breath and wiped the sweat from her brow. Surveying the terrain, she glimpsed something that made her eyes widen and her expression flood with relief.

  Justin, stay where you are!

  Justin. The word exploded within his skull almost as loudly as the explosions from the assault above.

  To his shock, he realised he understood her. For the first time, he knew what she was saying!

  She sprinted quickly down the incline towards him. A reservoir of hidden strength surfaced inside her, now that she had reason to hope. She bolted forward like some powerful preternatural creature emerging from the fires of the world. She had never appeared more magnificent.

  The explosion came with a deafening roar.

  Once more, time froze in a terrible instant. The blast lifted her off her feet and flung her backwards, like a marionette being dragged off the stage. She hit the ground hard. The weight of her body made a sickening crunch as it landed. Her torso became a charred mess of sizzling bone and cooked flesh while her eyes stared vacantly into the sky, seeing nothing. A trickle of blood traced a thin crimson line from the corner of her lip.

  The pregnant drop disappeared into the ash-crusted grass.

  Once again, he was too late.

  The shock at seeing her this way was more than he could stand. As a soldier in war, he'd witnessed the dead bodies after a battle and sometimes during it. They lay across the plains l
ike uncovered graves, even more horrific than this. Why did this woman mean so much to him? Garryn reached for her hand, felt its warmth draining into his palm.

  In anguish, he opened his mouth and screamed.

  “M…!”

  * * *

  “Gar! Wake up!”

  The voice reached into his brain and dragged him back into the waking world.

  He sat up as light flooded his eyes. For a moment, he lay trapped between pain and confusion, until the cry repeated and gave him focus. As awareness returned, Garryn found himself looking into the frightened face of his younger sister shaking him hard. Elisha's eyes filled with concern as she leaned over him dressed in her bedclothes.

  “What are you doing in my room?” he managed to ask, still somewhat dazed. Sweat beaded down his brow and along his back as he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.

  Elisha released him and sat back, her shoulders relaxing…

  “One of the servers heard you screaming when he walked past your room. He asked if you needed help, but when you didn't answer he woke me instead. He didn't want to invade your private quarters.”

  She tightened the sash around her nightgown and shifted to the edge of his bed, still looking worried. The extent of her alarm showed in her brown eyes and her dishevelled appearance told him of her haste to reach him.

  “I am sorry,” he replied, mortified by the display, and glanced over Elisha's shoulder to glimpse the server standing at the door, withdrawing now that things were back to normal. Garryn made a mental note to thank him later. “I didn't mean to be so much trouble.”

  “Don't be stupid. You're my brother!” she snapped impatiently, as if she could do anything else when he was this distressed.

  Despite his embarrassment, his heart warmed at her irate expression, at this intelligent young woman who would always be his baby sister. Not that much of a baby anymore, he realised.

  “Thanks, Ellie.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Are you okay, really?”

  He couldn't answer her and evaded the question by climbing out of bed. The sheets stuck to his damp skin as he rose, plastered by sweat and heat. He neared the door to his suite and peered into the hallway, grateful he'd awakened no one else. He closed his door.