Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  “It will, Astrea. Happiness will find you. You know,” she leans forward, like she’s telling me a secret, “the night before my Choosing Day, I told my mother something just like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I had just told Jasson about my true feelings for that other boy; how, even though I knew we couldn’t be together, I felt close to him, and I felt like I barely knew Jasson. He was hurt, and I understood why, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Sometimes I wonder if I should have told him the truth at all.”

  She sits quietly for a minute, lost in reflection.

  “Astrea, you can’t force love. But if you’re patient, and kind to each other, love will come from the most unexpected places.”

  I suddenly lean over and hug her tightly. “I love you, Mother.”

  “Oh, honey, I love you, too.” She cups my cheek with her hand. “You mean more to me than life itself. I’d do anything to keep you safe.” She smiles, but I see a haunting sadness spilling into her eyes.

  “It’s okay, Mother, I’ll still be here tomorrow,” I smile, guessing she is sad that I’m growing up, maybe nervous because of what’s happening with Keirna.

  “I know, honey. You’re so brave.” She pats my hand again and leaves the room with moist eyes, as I wonder why she left me with that word.

  NINETEEN

  In the history of humanity, nearly all cultures have feared the times when the sun grows dark and cold due to an eclipse. The idea that the ultimate source of all life can be blocked, even for a few minutes, is a shock to even the most rational societies.

  From Community History, Chapter Two

  Leader Lorcan, year 2080

  Brave is the last thing I feel as I stand in front of the mirror, the bathroom door shut tightly. My dress is fastened, my slippers laced. My hair curls perfectly and my jaw is clear. My eyes are rimmed with charcoal and the headpiece sparkles. I’m seventeen today and dressed for a party.

  But I can’t move.

  “Astrea?” I hear Mother call. “It’s time to go!”

  I can’t think, much less move.

  She knocks at the door. “Everything okay?”

  I can’t breathe, much less think.

  The door swings open, and Mother smiles, her eyes glistening. “Spectacular,” she says, her hands grasping my shoulders.

  Her touch revives me somewhat and I manage a shaky smile as I stare at our reflections. We have such similar features, but all the colorings are different. Our eyes are the same shape, but hers are brown and mine gray. Her skin is as clear and unlined as mine, but olive instead of ivory. Her hair is thick and curls around itself, but is a deep, earthy brown, while mine catches light and mimics fire at each turn.

  She wears her traditional ceremonial gown: a long, velvety drape of fabric in a turquoise and sea green pattern. She is water and I am fire.

  “Are you ready?”

  I take a deep, shuddery breath and nod, although I’m not ready. I could never be ready for what is about to happen. The future is decided, and nothing is certain.

  Father gathers me in his arms, his own eyes damp as he smiles down at me. “You’re beautiful, Astrea.”

  I wish beauty made me feel strong, or brave. But it’s a useless trait.

  Together we walk to the Common Area: Father on my right, Mother on my left. They leave me at the back of the room, where my class waits with our teachers. They continue to the front of the room, where a platform of chairs waits for the families of the ones choosing. Isa finds me and I cling to her bubbly conversation, feeling lightheaded.

  The teachers line us up in pairs according to birthday, one boy and one girl. I am first because the Spring Equinox is the most important birthday. Lexan must be about halfway back, although I’m afraid to turn and look, fearing my dizziness will knock my legs from beneath me. The boy assigned to walk with me smiles in familiarity, but I am too panicky to do anything but grip his arm as we wait.

  “Are you okay, Astrea?” he asks me, and I can barely manage a nod, only gripping his arm tighter. He reaches over with his other arm, grasping my wrist from the top and bottom.

  A pair of protectors steps in front of us and I startle, nearly tripping backward. I hear music begin and I feel myself being pulled forward by my escort. We walk down the center of the crowd, and I vaguely hear noises of admiration as we pass, and others follow us. I hear words, but my brain has stopped processing anything but walking.

  Too soon we are at the foot of the large platform. I see Mother and Father sitting there, and Mother nods at me in encouragement. The mosaic of the Fates creates a menacing backdrop, and again I try to ignore the feeling of being watched by the unfeeling stone eyes. My escort drops my arm as we are separated: girls to the left, boys to the right. I have no idea how I make it up the six steps without falling, but thankfully, I soon find myself seated between my parents. Mother rubs her hand over mine, her touch calming me.

  I watch, dazed, as the rest of my classmates filter up the steps and sit with their parents. I don’t focus on anyone, only on breathing. In, then out. Repeat.

  This is the moment when my life will change forever.

  The Choosing Ceremony begins with three entertainers singing our city's anthem. Everyone stands, then sits. I’m not sure if I do either.

  We will choose by the order of our birthdays. I am first.

  Keirna stands at the front of the platform, facing the crowd, and calls my name, then turns back to where I sit, an unpleasant smile curling her lips upward.

  As tradition dictates, Father rises to speak for me. I feel my hands clenching, nails driving into my palms at the helplessness of what is happening. Stian’s words flash into my mind – there is always a choice.

  “Astrea will choose...” Father’s voice booms through the room. Suddenly I rise next to him, and open my mouth.

  “I choose no—” I begin, my voice small and shaking, but my father delivers a look which could slice my heart in two, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. With me momentarily stunned, Father takes advantage and continues, his fingers on the back of my neck forcing me to be still, to take my seat.

  “Astrea will choose Lexan, born on September 22, 2168, the Autumn Equinox. Let it be done!”

  Lexan’s mother Hetta stands to answer. “Lexan accepts the choice of Astrea, born on March 20, 2168, the Spring Equinox. Let it be done.”

  The crowd murmurs their response: “Let it be done.”

  And it is. Done.

  Mother gives me a small shove and I stand again, glancing to where Lexan has also risen from his seat. He and I walk to the front of the platform. Just as I think I might fall off the edge into the crowd, Lexan catches my eyes in his, a tiny but strong thread holding me to him. I feel my terror subsiding gradually, and I allow myself to get blessedly lost in his beautiful, waiting, dreaming pools.

  Keirna hands a large golden goblet to Lexan, its constellations of diamonds sparkling in the light. He takes it, never blinking, and lifts the cup to his lips. He drinks deeply, more than his share, then passes it to me. Tradition says I must finish the drink to create the union. I remember Mother’s warning of the cup’s contents, and my first sip is small. But the liquid is warm, soothing, delicious, and I find that in an instant I have drained the heavy goblet. Suddenly, Lexan’s eyes sparkle into mine, catching the tiny lights from the diamonds strewn in my hair and my cheek, and the crystals swirling around my body.

  Steady, I pass the cup back to Keirna without looking at her. We turn to face the crowd, clutching each other’s hands tightly.

  Keirna must now introduce us, and she will surely talk of the prophecy. “Citizens of Asphodel – a little more than one year from today’s date, a most holy occurrence will take place in the sky above our city. Next year, 2186, in the month of July, the great sun that surely still lives above us will be eclipsed by the silvery moon. The skies will grow dark again, as they did the morning that the Great Sickness began.”

  I glance at
Lexan. He is smiling, but tightly now, avoiding everyone’s eyes. I have never heard this prediction. I wonder if he has.

  “This eclipse will be the longest moment of darkness this planet has endured since before 4000 BC, and it will not see another of this length until after 6000 AD. People of Asphodel! Beginning today, with the first fulfillment of the prophecy,” she gestures toward Lexan and me, “Asphodel will begin its great exodus from this cave of shadows. When the sun emerges from its dark eclipse, Asphodel will also emerge from our black cave! We will rebuild our city again on the surface of this beautiful planet. We will prosper. We will bring great glory to our people!”

  The crowd is beside itself with excitement, and even I find myself grinning hugely. Perhaps it is the drink, but I feel engulfed in happiness, hope, and goodwill toward everyone standing before me. A glance at Lexan confirms – he too smiles as though he believes every word Keirna speaks.

  As the noise from the crowds of people begins to die down, Keirna holds up a hand for quiet. “Citizens of Asphodel, please. I ask that you now turn your attention away from this Starbright pair.” She motions for us to sit, and we walk down the center stairs, symbolically moving away from our parents, to the set of empty chairs that awaits the other new couples. “Let us continue with our Choosing Ceremony!”

  I watch my friends, my classmates, each take their turns on stage, sitting beside their parents as individuals, then standing before the community as couples. The ceremony seems to have a beautiful symmetry, a convincing unity, and I find that my eyes are moist with emotion as the chairs behind me fill with the future of Asphodel. Lexan’s hand never lets go of mine, and I enjoy the solidarity we share.

  Once the choosing has finished, we are again handed goblets of the strong drink. The crowd, too, is given cups filled with the sweet liquid, and together we drink to the future of our city. My head spins with excitement and my cheeks flush. At the end of the toast, tradition calls for every couple, whether newly formed or partnered for a lifetime, to kiss, in symbol of unity, love, and happiness.

  As lips meet everywhere around us, Lexan stops, unsure. I hesitate, cautious.

  Then my hand reaches to his cheek and pulls him close. Our lips join softly, without heat, but with understanding. We have chosen, and our choice is each other. With time, we will learn to define our bond, whether it be friendship or something more.

  Whatever happens next, that bond can’t break.

  My thoughts wander as the lengthy ceremony continues, including the tribute to Lakessa. My mind skims lightly through memories, finding only the happy ones – images of Mother and Father laughing together, afternoons spent playing with Isa. I feel a deep satisfaction settle in my chest.

  Lexan presses my hand and nods to the stage, where my mother is taking her place, arranging her dress to pool like water around her feet. She always tells the stories at ceremonies, because she is the best storyteller in Asphodel. I’m close enough to the stage to see her clearly, and she smiles warmly into my eyes, her face serene and strong. Today, as tradition dictates, she will tell a parable, a fictional story passed down to teach us a lesson about ourselves and how we should live. I expect the story will be about love, maybe partnership.

  My eyes are pinned to Mother's beautiful soft brown eyes, which express everything she thinks and all that she feels. But I am soon uneasy with her serious tone as she begins, anxious at the way her eyes never leave mine, imploring me to listen carefully.

  “Once, a very long time ago, the sun and moon ruled the sky together, traveling across the planet in tandem. Each carried a single star with them; the sun carried the spring star, and the moon carried the autumn star. As time passed, the stars grew to love one another, but the sun was jealous of any love that was not for himself. He separated the stars, placing the spring star in the east and the autumn star in the far west. They watched each other each night, crying to be together. Each tear grew into a new star, filling the night sky with their grief. But they were still, and always, spring star and autumn star, and separate.”

  Lexan’s hand sits quietly in mine, one finger tracing slow lines in my palm.

  “The moon was angry with the sun’s selfish action, and she began coming into the sky only after he grew tired each day. This enraged the sun, and he grew hotter and hotter, until he spouted flames of fire down to the planet. These licks of flames grew until they became humans, and these humans grew until they filled the planet. The sun liked to watch them burn and grow, because it made him forget his lost moon.”

  I glance at Father, and see his brow is lined, listening carefully. I wonder if he remembers this story. Mother used to tell it to me at night when I couldn’t sleep, but I haven’t thought of it in many years.

  “As the moon watched the people, she saw how they slowly consumed the planet with the jealous sunfire in their hearts. She began to hide her face for weeks at a time, turning slowly as her grief grew. One night, the spring star called to the moon, telling her to gently bump her from the sky, and she would match her starfire to the people’s sunfire, subduing their destruction. The moon agreed, and the star fell, blazing to earth. The next night, the autumn star called to the moon, telling her to gently bump him from the sky, and he would wash the people in the silvery calm of his starshine, lulling them into compliance. The moon agreed, and the star fell, light trailing him to earth.”

  Lexan has stopped the motion of his fingers and is looking at me curiously.

  “The intentions of the stars were true, but the people’s sunfire had grown too strong to subdue, and their restlessness too great to calm. The stars were overcome by the people and forced deep into the ground. Saddened, the moon shaped the other stars into living memorials stretching across the night sky. Those memorials still live today as our constellations. We have all heard this legend, often as a bedtime story. But the story does not end there.”

  I frown slightly, my fingers tapping the chair without rhythm, beating out worry. I always thought it did end there.

  “Here is the rest of the story. Many lifetimes after the stars were buried, the sun had grown dim and shaded with smoke from the people’s fires. The earth was dying. A cunning Leader rose up among the people: she called to the moon, asking her to visit the sun in his sky and plead with him for help. Deeply saddened, the moon consented. She joined the sun in the sky, and her body covered the sun’s, casting false night. The humans cowered before her. And when the moon returned to her place at night, she saw that some of the fires had indeed stopped. But as the days passed, the moon realized she had been tricked. The cunning Leader and her two sisters used the threat of another eclipse to extinguish more and more of the peoples’ fires, until one night when the moon looked down, she saw only a cold, lifeless world.”

  My eyes see the crowd around us begin to fidget and whisper at the strange twist in the story, but I'm not really watching them – my brain is filling with unease as her parable sounds less like a love story with each word.

  “All people have the power within themselves to resist the selfish nature of the sunfire. But this Leader, proud and selfish as the sun king, appointed a new day for the beginning of time, and a new day for the end of it. Many people were left without choice or independence, and those people died, their fire snuffed out forever. Legend tells that when people become ready to fight against their sunfire nature, the moon will raise the fallen stars from their underground tomb. Then, together they will save humanity.”

  My ears register the noise from the small group of entertainers to my left, who are laughing mutedly, practicing their knife throwing act along the side wall, but I’m not really listening to them – my mind is churning with my mother’s story, which, though new to me, is sounding more familiar with each word.

  “As Leader of a now cold, dark world, this Leader began to realize that no heart could bear such sunfire evil as she had done. To relieve her withered soul, she poured her secrets into black ink and white paper, and hid them in her cold, dark city. B
ut, citizens of Asphodel, hear this.” My mother leans forward, uncharacteristically breaking from the story, “Someone found her writings. Someone read them. Someone knows the sunfire evil sealed within the walls of our city.”

  My heart is not concerned with the motion and sound that my eyes and ears register when one of the entertainers stumbles, his body twisting as he catches his fall, his knife thrown jerkingly off course, because it is filled with fear by my mother’s story, which is spilling Asphodel’s secrets like drops of blood floating through cold water.

  “This parable teaches us of love, but also of greed, pride, selfishness, and evil. Sunfire evil will always become known. People of Asphodel, we must—”

  My body doesn’t understand why I am suddenly running, tearing loose from Lexan, who scrabbles to hold me back. I don’t see the blade enter my mother's back, but I see her eyes. I see her body jerk, see her shock, and hear her gasp as she begins to die.

  My brain doesn’t understand why I am now cradling my mother on a stage before my city, why I am tenderly holding my mother like a mother holds a small child, rocking it gently to sleep. It cannot process these mismatched actions.

  Her heart beats, and I hear it. I hear nothing else. My fingers push against the blood, as though to ease it back inside her body, but the thick red pulses onto my hands, my arms, spreads across my lap.

  Her heart beats, and I hear it slow. I hear nothing else. Her eyes beg me to listen.

  “Astrea, you must...go...”

  Her heart does not beat, and I hear nothing.

  My heart does not beat, and I feel nothing.

  I do not feel Father take Mother from my arms. I do not feel Lexan scrape me from the floor of the stage, staggering as my dead weight slumps against him.

  My heart beats, and I feel like dying.

  I run. I go. I must.

  My body does what my mind cannot, and I run a backward, twisted path to the only sanctuary left for me. My beautiful dress is scraped to ribbons when I burst through into the dark room, lit only by Stian's single candle. I stumble to my knees before the water, forever marking my grief on the cave floor with bloody handprints.