Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  Of course he is right. I swallow, lace my fingers together around the empty cup. Surely I can trust my father. Maybe he can even add to my scant knowledge of this puzzle. And so I tell him, every word of what happened this morning in Vocation Studies. His eyes grow wider as I speak, and I see the fear enter them as plainly as if it had sidled into the room. He doesn’t speak, but his hands cover mine, shaking slightly.

  “Astrea, there are some things I need to find out about – I need to talk to some people before I say anything else. But please, whatever you do, try not to go places alone if you can help it. Stay with Isa, or Lexan, or your other friends. I’ll be back before dinner.”

  I nod, hoping he will tell me more if I’m compliant. But he only gives my hands another squeeze and leaves the room quickly. I hear the front door close, and I fight back tears. Have I done right thing, in trusting my father?

  I remain in bed a few hours, pleased for the excuse to avoid my classes, but I leave in time for training with Brenn. As though he were waiting for me, Lexan is near the entrance to the Common Area when I pass. He falls into step beside me.

  “What happened—”

  Before he can continue, I slip my hand weakly through his arm, shaking my head. He looks at me in surprise, glancing down at my hand. He doesn’t speak again, but I feel him watching me.

  Brenn doesn’t even ask. I wonder if he has heard anything.

  After an hour of archery practice, Brenn announces that he is satisfied with my progress, and we will continue our program, today learning to throw knives. Lexan and I share a glance but do not question Brenn – if he feels the need to move our training at a quicker pace, I won’t question him. Not after this morning.

  Holding a blade in my hand, I find that I gravitate instinctively toward the small, unassuming weapon. I quickly develop a dependable aim, and Brenn laughs in delight when I show that I can hurl blades as quickly as Lexan can string arrows. I think of Mother, who used to entertain crowds of protectors with her ability to hit even the smallest targets. Perhaps she has given me this ability, along with her lean frame and courageous spirit.

  I decide immediately to begin carrying a small, slim knife in my slipper.

  During the last hour before dinner, Brenn begins to teach us survival skills: untried theories on how to find water in dry country, how to build a fire with no flint, how to stay warm on a cold night. My stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of wrapping in a blanket with Lexan, pushing our bodies together for warmth. My cheeks flush with blood, and I think I see Lexan smile, but when I turn to look, his face is blank. I twirl a knife through my fingers, teaching my hands to always be ready, willing my mind to focus on the movement and not on other, less important, ideas.

  Wednesday and Thursday pass quickly, and thankfully without any strange meetings. Father still avoids me, shaking his head and glancing at Mother when I begin to ask him a question. I’m frustrated, but I remind myself that I should trust him because he’s my father. More like a researcher than a healer, he’s always been concerned with gathering and connecting every fact. He will tell me everything when he believes the time is right, not when I want to know.

  As I wait, I do what he asked and try to walk everywhere with Isa or Garna, and once Lexan, when I can’t avoid it.

  After classes, I think of Brenn’s challenge, and Keirna’s unspoken threat, and I push myself in each exercise until my fingers ache and my legs are numb with exhaustion. Lexan’s presence by my side in each drill spurs a prideful competitiveness, and I push myself to match his stamina, ignoring the concern that pulls his lips downwards, looking away when we happen to catch each other’s wary glances.

  Spending over three hours training together each day, we have begun to mesh into a cautious team. Although we rarely speak, we help each other set up targets and collect arrows and knives. We spar with each other guardedly, learning how to gauge an opponent’s strengths and exploit their weaknesses. He hits me only when provoked by Brenn and then never with his strength. We touch only when combat requires, and I force myself to ignore the silk of his skin, the way his muscles twist as he fights.

  But I learn his form and memorize his movements, despite myself.

  Brenn makes us progress to using our weapons on moving targets rather than standing ones. I wonder when I might ever have to shoot something, or someone. I hope never.

  I am mechanical, used up, spent physically and emotionally. When I leave training, I clean myself and fall into bed. I don’t socialize, I don’t visit my pool. Isa worries, concern lining her forehead when she sees me in class. She accepts my small lies without argument, which makes me believe she has been warned by someone, but I don’t even have the energy to wonder who. Mother touches my bruises lightly and shakes her head, but doesn’t ask questions. Father continues to ignore me, and eventually it seems as if they all leave me alone.

  For once, I wish they wouldn’t.

  As I walk through the hallways of Asphodel, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, but I can never find the eyes that follow my movements. Even though I travel always with a friend, I feel the presence of an enemy, and I grow restless with uncertainty and inaction. I have to do something soon, but what?

  EIGHT

  Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are.

  Up above the world so high – like a diamond in the sky.

  When the blazing sun is gone, when he nothing shines upon,

  Then you show your little light, twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

  Then the traveler in the dark, thanks you for your tiny spark,

  He could not see which way to go, if you did not twinkle so.

  The Star, a children’s rhyme from before the Great Sickness

  Recorded in the Archives

  On Sunday, there are no ministries. I rise before the daylights are turned on and hurry to the Ministration Room, my feet following the path my eyes can’t see. Although I feel some guilt for disobeying Father and walking alone, nobody can follow me where I intend to go. Besides, I’ve never seen anyone out this early. I need to go, because I’ve been neglecting my meditations. Grandmother taught me carefully that my time at the secret pool saves me from needing the calming medicines.

  As I slip into the secret room, I recognize immediately that something’s wrong, and my senses begin to search the room in alarm. The scent of smoke drifts impossibly on the air, from a candle freshly extinguished. I freeze in the doorway, scanning the darkness for something, anything.

  The attack comes from behind my right shoulder, where the pool has carved a tiny ledge of darkness against the wall. For all my training, I’m unprepared, and all I can do is strain backward from the cold knife at my neck, which means I strain toward the one holding the knife. My hands claw at the arm around my shoulder, identifying it as male, strong, unfamiliar. I don’t bother to cry out – there’s nobody to hear me.

  This battle will be mine to fight, the strategy mine to devise. I don’t even have time to pray.

  He drags me toward the pool. I deaden my arms and legs to make him work harder and he struggles momentarily, nearly tripping over my limp foot. I’m thin, but dead weight is dead weight. At the water’s edge, he forces me down, crushing my face into my own meditation pillow, pinning me with a knee in the center of my back.

  Sliding the icy point of the knife carefully from my throat, he pushes my braid away, touches the blade to the nape of my neck. My ribs and hips are grinding into the hard rock and I’m sweating from a small rising panic, but I force myself still. If he wanted me dead, it would have already happened.

  What does he want? A different, hollow sort of fear begins to form in my chest.

  “Who are you?” I half-whisper, half-choke into the pillow. He answers only by pressing the knife point a little further, nearly piercing my skin.

  I feel him shift slightly on my back, hear a small scritch, then the pungent smell of phosphorous, and a small flame fills the corner of my eye. He sucks air audi
bly as the match flame ignites the light in my diamonds.

  I take advantage of his small surprise and kick my feet up, hard. They make contact with his back; he grunts, slightly unbalanced, and I twist smoothly to my side, quickly drawing my knees from between his legs, tucking them against my chest. The knife has sliced through my tunic and drawn blood from my shoulder, but I’m freer. I shoot my legs out straight, my feet connecting with his stomach, knocking him backward, and I ride the movement of his body up and back down, feeling the impact as his head cracks against the cold rock floor. He groans and I pin his arms with my knees, prying the knife from his fingers. He tries to pull me off but I’m like a small animal, clinging to his chest, the point of his own knife now hard against his throat.

  “Who are you?” I hiss in the darkness, the match having sizzled out in the water.

  “My name is Stian,” he concedes, and he stops struggling, realizing I have the upper hand for the moment. “I’ve been hiding in here, trying to find a way into the cave.”

  “Into the cave?” I nearly stand in shock, my grip loosening enough for him to roll me off his chest, creating a small distance between us. The knife skitters from my fingers as I hit the slippery floor. He sits, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Look. I don’t want to hurt you. I need to know if I can trust you,” he says softly, yet at the same time he reaches and retrieves his knife.

  “Come at me again, and I will throw this into your neck,” I threaten as calmly as I can. I also have a knife, retrieved from my slipper, and I now have a dependable aim.

  He glances at me in surprise, and what I think might be respect, but there is not enough light to be sure. This thought leads to another – although still very dark, there is more light in this room than there should be without candle or match.

  “Where is that light coming from?”

  “Can we sit down and talk – no knives? Once I tell you what I know, you can decide what to do. You have my word,” his voice is steady, but he breathes hard, and I’m beginning to realize how weak he might actually be. Strong, broad, but gaunt with hunger. And possibly injured, I think, noticing a rag wound tightly around his bare foot.

  Logically, I shouldn’t have been able to wrestle away from someone his size, training or not. I lower my knife, but don’t put it away. I position myself closer to the exit in case I need to flee. He watches this, then moves slowly to light another match, touching it to the candle. He tosses his knife several feet away, where a small pack rests against the wall.

  “I’m not from Asphodel,” he begins.

  My brain immediately rejects this, but I keep silent. He shouldn’t know how little I know.

  “I’m from the Tribes, outside. I’ve been searching for a way into Asphodel for weeks now, and I finally found this cave. There’s a passage to the forest through there.” He points toward the far end of the room, which I know as a blank wall.

  “Forest?” I can’t help it, and the strange word is out of my mouth before I can bite my lips shut. I begin breathing again when he doesn’t notice my ignorance.

  “Yes, it’s a long passage, and pretty tight, but straight through the rock. Last time you were here, I hid back there and watched you. I’ve been waiting for days, hoping you would come back, since I can’t follow you.”

  I back away a few inches, not sure I like where this is going.

  “Wait, please, let me finish. I’m completely alone. I have nobody. I can’t go back to my people. I’m not really even sure if I know where to find them. If you can’t help me, or won’t, I’ll go back into the forest, I know that. But my body needs this rest.” His voice shakes slightly and I consider, then impulsively reach into my satchel and pull out my breakfast – a thick slice of bread, two apples, bruised from our struggle. His eyes widen, seeming to consume the food as it sits in my hand. I was right about his hunger. I toss the food toward him and he catches it easily, cramming the bread in his mouth.

  I take the candle and hold it higher, peering at his face as he chews. It must be true, what he says. He has no implants. His face is smooth, unadorned. He can’t be from Asphodel.

  What Brenn suspects is true. When Lexan and I complete the next step in the prophecy on Choosing Day, Keirna will be forced to send a small group of protectors to the surface. They will not find an empty world, waiting for civilization. They will find a forest, a people. Another city, waiting to fight.

  It will begin us, and end us, both. Keirna will not want this.

  This boy may not want to hurt me, but he will.

  “Keep talking,” I prod as he finishes the fruit. He has strange markings on his forearms – lines of black circling his arm, some hatched through with shorter red marks.

  “I’ve always heard there was a city underground – I wanted to see for myself. Nobody told me it was locked up so tight. I found the original entrance. Sealed solid, from the inside, looks like. I found a couple of other entrances too. Same thing. Whoever started this city definitely didn’t want anyone coming in, or out.”

  “Why are you so interested in Asphodel?”

  “Like I said, I can’t go back to my own people. I don’t know where they are, and they would kill me anyways if I showed up.”

  “Why? What did you do?”

  “More like what I haven’t done. Hey, do you have any more food?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  He falls silent then, maybe to spite me. I sigh; Mother will be looking for me soon, wanting me to do the shopping. I need to go.

  “So how come you didn’t just follow me back into the main cave?”

  “I told you. I tried. Can’t fit through.”

  I let my eyes measure his height, his strong, broad shoulders and defined arms. It’s probably true. The passage is tight for me. I notice his green eyes watching mine, and I feel the need to stop them.

  “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen. Why?”

  I shrug. Somehow I’ve begun to trust him, a little. At least, he could have killed me, and he didn’t. That’s something. Besides, I’m too curious not to come back. “Look, I have to go. People will be looking for me. I’ll try to come back later, but sometimes the passage is…blocked.” I move the strap of my satchel, covering my bloodied shoulder.

  “Sorry,” he says, gesturing. “Can you bring more food? Please?”

  “Sure.” I back away, retreating until my feet hit the entrance to the passage. I half expect to see Lexan waiting for me on the other side, but the Ministration Room is empty. I breathe a sigh of relief; I’m not in the mood for his questions today.

  I slip quietly into our family’s chambers, darting past the kitchen door and into my room, quickly changing my ruined tunic. I circle back to the kitchen, finding Mother at the table, eating bread with a smear of butter.

  “Hey, sweetie. Hungry?”

  “No thanks.” Starving, really. But I don’t want to strain our food stores. I’ve been feeding the shopkeeper in her cell, and apparently now Stian too.

  “Astrea, we should talk about next week.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I mean, your Choosing Day.”

  The thought catches me unguarded and I sit abruptly, my knees failing to hold me upright. “But you said I don’t have one,” I stall, still knowing what she means.

  “Well, it’s true there isn’t really a choice. But you’ll still go through the ceremony. You bought a dress, right?” she smiles at me. She knows I have it, but I’ve been so busy I never even tried it on for her. Mother often surprises me with her patience.

  “Would you like to see it?” I ask, almost shyly. I haven’t even taken it out of the box. The events surrounding the shopkeeper have dampened my enjoyment somewhat.

  “Soon. First I need to tell you some things. Father has gone to exercise, so we have some time to ourselves. Astrea, your appointment with Healer Gloran is tomorrow.”

  “Ugh, Mother. Isa already told me what happens. I don’t want to think about
it.”

  “I know, but it is a simple, natural thing. Healer Gloran will check to see if you are ready and able to have children. Now, Astrea, please know that you don’t need to have a child your first year of partnership. It’s encouraged, but I don’t think it’s right.”

  “Mother, I will probably never have children, because Lexan isn’t getting near enough to me for that. I’ll break his fingers.” I hope she believes me, because I’m no longer even sure if I believe myself.

  She laughs, the sound pealing through the rooms, making me smile despite myself. I giggle a bit sheepishly.

  “I remember that feeling well. But things will change. You’ll see. Now, on Choosing Day, Father will announce your choice, and Hetta will accept for Lexan. Do you remember other ceremonies?”

  “I usually sleep through them,” I admit. Romance has never been that intriguing, especially with the limitations on my partnership.

  “The choice is sealed with the couples drinking from the same cup. Astrea, listen to me. The drink is very strong. Do not drink too much. It has much medicine in it to augment happiness and light spirits, which is good for new couples. But you and Lexan…you two are different. You must always be on watch, Astrea.”

  “Watch for what?” I sit up straighter. What does Mother know?

  Her voice drops lower, though there is nobody to hear. “I know you’ve been training with Brenn, learning much beyond what is normally asked of a First Leader. He told me you may be in danger. Please, Astrea, please be careful. Never challenge a Leader directly, especially not Keirna. When you receive your vocation next year, things may be different. But until then, you are in a very precarious position.”

  “Does Father know about any of this?”

  “Don’t worry Father with this. You can trust Brenn. But don’t burden your friends, and don’t expose yourself with questions. Always trust your own heart.”