Spyridon (The Spyridon Trilogy Book 1)

by Lillian James

  “No. The Nhélanei experience something called jagatai development. I know no English translation for the word, but you can think of it as a development of the senses. When you woke up here, what did you see?”

  Jane hesitated, but as strange as it was, she suspected Eithné wouldn’t be surprised. “The light was too bright. It made the colors too intense. Your hair vibrated.”

  “Mine?” Eithné’s brows rose.

  “Yes. Well, everyone’s did, but especially yours.”

  “Fascinating,” Eithné said softly. “It is truly impressive that you saw that. The hair vibrates constantly. It is caused by the beating of the heart. To my knowledge only the most seasoned jagatai masters have seen that movement. Any sounds, smells, tastes? How did the air feel?”

  “It was rough, like sandpaper. And freezing. And everything was loud. I could hear some kind of engine, voices, footsteps. I could smell the walls. Is that normal?”

  Eithné laughed, but it wasn’t a mocking sound. “No, my dear. But it is very, very good. I have never heard of someone sensing so much so soon after the jagat. And to have had no training, at that.”

  “The jagat.” Such a simple word for what had happened. It rolled off Jane’s tongue as if she’d been born to say it. And, she supposed, she had.

  “It is the experience of coming to age in the jagatai way,” Eithné said. “During the jagat, our jagatai organs are activated. They work together to form what we call a sedfai. It is the sedfai that allows us to sense these things. We can teach you how to use your sedfai. How to control it so it does not overwhelm you again.”

  Jane turned to Mikhél. “How did you stop it before?”

  He barely moved, but she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes. He said, “I did nothing.”

  “Neither did I,” Eithné said. “What happened to you can be fatal. To my knowledge no one has ever survived without treatment. Until today. I did not have time to administer the medication before you woke up, but somehow your body learned to control your sedfai on its own.”

  Jane glanced once more at Mikhél. He’d done something; she was sure of it. But he said nothing, and she suspected that it would be a mistake to press the issue.

  “During the jagat,” Eithné continued, “we develop a specific area of heightened ability. This you have also experienced, yes? You are a healer.”

  A heightened ability. Jane remembered the knife sinking into her thigh, felt the awful slickness of it leaving her flesh. And then the heat, excruciating and unavoidable.

  Not a hallucination after all.

  “How do you know?”

  “We have seen it.”

  Jane frowned. “Seen it? When? How?”

  “You were dying when we found you. Your body needed nutrients you could not get on Earth, and it was feeding on itself in an attempt to stay alive. You needed surgery immediately to replace the nutrients you had lost.”

  “And you saw it happen?”

  “We saw you heal. You are truly fortunate to have such a gift, child.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hall again, and Mikhél held up a hand. Jane waited as silently as the others, though the questions were burning a hole inside her. After the footsteps passed, Eithné said, “It was Naiya. She and Delthan have the third shift.”

  Mikhél said, “Finish this.”

  “Yes, Endeté. Seirsha, earlier you asked where you are. Before I answer that question, I want you to know we had to take you from your home in order to save your life. I told you before that you were malnourished, but you already knew this, yes?”

  “I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know what.”

  “Your condition was severe. I had to perform surgery to help you, and I could not do that where we found you. I had to bring you here…”

  Jane didn’t hear the rest. She looked around—at the walls, the floor. The door that wasn’t a door. The window that now displayed only a reflection of the room’s contents but, when the lights were off, showed a panel of stars. And she remembered what she’d noticed but ignored before.

  When she’d looked out that window, she hadn’t seen the ground.

  “We’re on a ship.” The words came from her mouth at the same time the thought coalesced in her mind, and at first she didn’t understand that she’d spoken aloud. But Eithné’s voice died away, and the others were staring at her again with that queer, watchful look that made her want to squirm. “You’re taking me back to Spyridon.”

  “Yes,” Eithné said. “This is a mining ship. It is owned by the Meijhé.”

  “The Meijhé.” Jane’s skin chilled. “The ones who attacked Spyridon? The ones who made us leave?”

  “Yes. They won their war on the Nhélanei. They own everything on Spyridon, child. Everything.” Eithné took her hands, her old, papery skin hiding a surprisingly strong grip. “They own us. The Nhélanei are slaves to the Meijhé. We serve them still.”

  Jane felt the blood drain from her face. She began to shake as Eithné’s meaning sunk in.

  “You’ve made me a slave.”

  The words didn’t make sense once she’d said them out loud. The term was old to her, a horrible, distant phenomenon she’d never directly had to face.

  And they’d taken her.

  “You had no right.” The flash burn of injustice seared away the cold, and her gaze shot from Eithné to Mikhél as her heart began to pound. “You had no right.”

  “No right?” Valaer hissed the words as his fists clenched. “You do not speak to us of rights. You were safe while your people died. The men murdered, the women raped. The children brainwashed and tortured. You were protected, and now you owe us. You—”

  “Enough,” Mikhél said. “She is not to blame for the acts of the Meijhé. And she did not ask for this rescue.” He turned to her, his expression bland. “You wish to return to Earth. We can send you back. It can be done immediately.”

  Leima gasped, and Eithné made a small sound of distress, but Mikhél didn’t flinch. As Jane held his unwavering gaze, her back stiffened, and she set her jaw. It was an ultimatum. She realized that, even if the others didn’t.

  If she returned to Earth, she would die.

  And before that, what? Hiding in her apartment by day, confined always to the walls of her building even under the cover of darkness? She might entertain herself by taunting Johnson—until the day he bought a weapon. Or she would starve to death in her bed with only her books for company, and no one would know until the stench of her body drifted into the hall.

  She didn’t really have a choice.

  “No,” she said, gritting her teeth when Mikhél showed no relief. “I’ll stay.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” Eithné said on a rush of air. “This ship is crewed by the Nhélanei, but we all serve the Meijhé. If anyone else discovers that you escaped, they will turn you in.” She paused and then shook her head. “Or they might execute you.”

  Jane opened her mouth, but her throat refused to work. When she finally found her voice, she said, “No one can know I grew up on Earth. I get it, but that might be a problem. I don’t know anything about Spyridon. I don’t even know your language.”

  “We will teach you, but it will take time. Until then speak to no one but us. Never use English when others are nearby.”

  “What if they speak to me?”

  “They will not. We have told everyone you are a khénta. Khéntas search foreign planets for resources, which explains why you were on Earth. It is also the highest position a Nhélanei can hold. You answer only to Endet Niyhól.” She motioned toward Mikhél.

  “So no one will talk to me?”

  “Not unless you speak first.”

  Jane felt herself nod as if this was something she did every day, this planning of subterfuge, and she thought this might all be just another dream. Then Mikhél spoke, and her eyes shot to his, and an unbelievable frisson of awareness—of sharp reality—sizzled through her.

  “We do not offer this advice lightly.
If you are discovered, we might not be able to save you.”

  “So I just shut up and do as I’m told?”

  He lifted a brow. “Yes.”

  Her jaw ached from the clench she couldn’t seem to release. She’d gone from one prison to another. She wanted to scream, to announce her presence to the whole ship in order to put an end to this business of hiding. How she longed for the chance to simply be, without shrouding who and what she was.

  “Stay in this room,” Mikhél ordered. “If anyone enters, pretend to sleep. In the prime Leima will come for you.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It’s the first shift of the day,” Eithné said. “Endeté, she needs food.”

  “Leima will see to it.” He started to turn away and then paused. “Keep your head down. Keep to yourself, and look no one in the eye. You will make no friends on this ship. Of that you can be certain.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “You lied,” Mikhél said as the door closed behind Eithné.

  She thought of the conversation they’d just had and of everything she’d left out of it. The girl still thought Betha was her mother. She’d suffered worse crimes, but Eithné could think of little that brought her more guilt than letting Seirsha believe a lie about her heritage. She sighed. “We agreed I would.”

  “A difficult promise to keep.”

  She lifted a brow. She hadn’t thought he’d understand. “Difficult, yes, but necessary. She’s not quite as fragile as I expected, but we’ll ask a lot of her. We must build her strength before we add to her burden.”

  “We don’t have much time.”

  “No.”

  They began to walk, and she imagined she could hear her joints creaking with the movement. It had already been a long day when she’d gotten the signal from Mikhél. Adding Seirsha’s awakening to the end of it made her feet drag along the treated floor. She expected Mikhél to pull ahead, but he kept pace with her. When Leima and Valaer turned into the next sector, Mikhél said, “I want you to watch Valaer.”

  Her heart sank, but she wasn’t surprised. In a way that was the worst part. “Yes, Endeté.”

  “Don’t hesitate to use your gift if the situation calls for it.”

  “Yes, Endeté.”

  He touched her elbow, and she stopped and turned to stare at him.

  “You must be careful. You must let go of the friendship you had with him. He’s not the person you once knew. He hasn’t been since Bhénen died.”

  She had no response. It felt for all the world as if he was warning her—not for the safety of the mission but for her safety alone.

  As soon as she had the thought, Eithné could have laughed it off. He couldn’t have cared less what happened to her—or to any of them, for that matter. All he wanted was to see the end of Lhókesh.

  And in that, they were in agreement.

  Jane stood in the center of the empty room, staring at what appeared to be a blank wall and fighting the need to see what lay beyond. Despite Mikhél’s warnings, every ounce of her wanted to break free from this room. To run through the halls, to find as much as she could of the world she’d lost—as much as was stored on this ship, anyway.

  She was on a spaceship. How could she not want to see everything there was to see?

  But the danger she’d known for so long had only shifted. Now she was no longer a threat to everyone else, but they were even more of a threat to her.

  She glanced around the room, better able to understand it now that she was calm. What had seemed like a prison before was obviously a place of healing. And the walls and floor no longer disturbed her, now that her senses weren’t…how had they put it? Overloaded.

  She tested the smooth, gleaming surface of a wall. The metal parted like water beneath her fingers, leaving shallow grooves that disappeared almost immediately. The floor was more like waterlogged sand, taking its time to replace the metal her bare feet displaced.

  A voice sounded outside the door, and the wall across from her seamed and began to split. She realized as she stood transfixed by that quick, wet slide that she was wholly unprepared for this life. She couldn’t skulk around this place, pretending to belong. She didn’t know what she was doing, and the proof of that was this moment: her, rooted to the floor while the door opened before her, terrified that the person on the other side would take one look at her and know instantly where she came from.

  And then kill her.

  The utter absurdity of the situation in which she now found herself broke her paralysis, and she threw herself onto the bed as the split began to widen. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she jolted when the thickly accented voice said, “Is Leima.” By the time Jane had pushed herself up on watery arms, Leima had already set down the food. She touched the fingertips of her left hand to her chin and then lowered them, a silent gesture Jane had no way to interpret. Then she left, and Jane was alone again.

  Her pulse still raced, but some irrational part of her was beginning to enjoy it. She ignored the food and turned instead to the small panel of glass beside the window. Though she couldn’t decipher its symbols, she managed to open the window blind and turn off the lights after a few guesses.

  Red and gold scattered over the black like enchanted dust, a vista of warmth highlighted by streaks of blue and white.

  There was no view like it on Earth.

  She thought of her apartment in Atlanta. The drab walls, the faded carpet. The neighbors who wished she was anywhere else. And the loneliness. A prison formed by terror and genetics. There was little of redeemable value left in that existence. Here she could release that life and try to forge a new one. Even if she didn’t survive, this had to be better than what she’d left behind.

  Mikhél entered his quarters alone and walked toward the expanse of window that lined his room. The array of stars offered, as it always had, escape. He could leave now, and no one would question him. He could skip from planet to moon until he found some livable, uninhabited world to call his own. He could disappear. He was capable of it, and right now he was far enough from Spyridon that Lhókesh would never find him. He could leave.

  He could be free.

  But he would have to leave Seirsha behind. Alone, virtually unprotected. He would have to forget the promise he’d made long ago and the people who would die if he was gone. And whatever else he was capable of, he knew he could never forget.

  The communicator glimmered under the light of the stars. He ran the pad of his finger over one jeweled tip. Seirsha was here. Alive—but not nearly ready for what awaited her.

  Whatever else he wanted for himself, first he had to see to her.

  Naiya slipped through the shadows and into the black. She passed vast rooms filled with neglected machinery and cold, dead air. She traversed empty halls that had not felt the weight of Nhélanei feet for decades. The floor was somewhat stiff in spots, the motion-absorbing material losing its effectiveness. Every so often a door would stand open to the hall, its voice recognition system no longer in operation. This part of the ship—like so many others—was dying.

  It was the perfect place to meet.

  She found him in the second ring, far from the windows that lined the exterior of the ship. Usually he preferred to watch the stars while he waited. Tonight he wanted the dark.

  “What happened?”

  Naiya bowed her head and knelt on one knee. “Endetar, my apologies.”

  He waved that away. “I cleared the room for you. How did they get to her first?”

  “I don’t know. I reset the bed to contact my link instead of the alna’s, but somehow she knew.”

  “Perhaps they discovered the change.”

  “I don’t think so. I received a signal when the girl woke. It was something else.”

  He paced to the door and then back again, his footsteps undetectable to her despite their nearness. She waited, as certain of his control as she was uncertain of Niyhól. He stopped before her and said, “Go again during th
e mid. She’ll be alone.”

  “Yes, Endetar.” Naiya stood and offered a tekvar.

  “Naiya.” He paused. Then, “I’ll go with you.”

  Jane slipped into sleep before she’d even realized she was tired. The jeweled box fell from her arms onto the bed beside her, and the stone rolled out onto the sheet. In sleep she reached out for it, but her fingers couldn’t find purchase.

  Then the dream claimed her, and she held it, cool and steady, in her fist.

  She recognized the view before her. It was a place she’d hoped never to see in person, though she’d known better.

  The stars were hidden by the blue of the sky, and the field of flowers gleamed in the golden wash of sunlight. The single tree seemed unremarkable, its green branches rustling in the breeze. And in the distance, ocean met shore in gentle sway. No matter which way she turned, she was met with a truly stunning day. But her skin was clammy, and her stomach turned.

  Because the dark was coming.

  “Are you sure this is it?”

  She turned to Eithné. “You saw the painting. What do you think?”

  Before Eithné could answer, Leima called out from behind them. “I’ve found it!”

  Jane studied the jagged cliff. “I still don’t see it.”

  “I think you will once you’ve touched it.” Leima picked her way over the rocks toward them, her breath shortened from the climb. “That’s the way it works for—”

  “Wait!” Jane held up a hand, and the others fell silent. In the distance, so faint even she could barely feel it, the hum of vehicles sent tiny vibrations through the ground. “Air transport. Lots of it. He’s here.”

  Eithné’s eyes paled. “Then we’re out of time. We’ll have to hide.”

  “We can hide in there.” Leima pointed to the cliff. “I’ll show you the way.”

  Endetar followed Naiya along the halls, his eyes on the bright-blue hair that shone even in the dark of the ship. She glanced back at him once as she reached the door, her golden eyes a quick flash of color, and he nodded. She called open the door, her whisper masked from any who might overhear, and then she slipped inside.