Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  Hesitation is all I allow myself, though. These men stand between me and the future I have claimed. After I conquer Abraham, Zarea and I can go together to find her mother.

  That promise made to myself, I rise to my knees and draw an arrow from my quiver. The string tightens beneath my fingers, and I feel my muscles bunch in a movement as natural as breathing.

  Jonath falls to my arrow before either of them even hear my approach. He slumps sideways, as though going to sleep.

  The older man is quicker on his feet, and he takes shelter behind a tree as I step into the clearing.

  I want to talk with him before he dies.

  His voice carries from behind the tree - he wants to talk too. “You are early, young huntsman. The Prophet will be surprised.”

  “How so?” I ask, keeping my arrow ready to fly at his first movement.

  He watches me calmly. “Thank you for Jonath’s painless passing. He was a fool, but still only a boy.”

  I can’t help it - I drop the bow to my side. How can someone thank another for death? What is his game?

  He steps carefully into the opening, hands held out openly, then sits as though he will continue his fireside drinking.

  “How long have you watched us?” he asks.

  “I just came upon you during my rounds tonight,” I lie.

  Marcus shakes his head. “No. You would have returned home to find others - people to question me. Or you would have killed me first, as I’m the one with a weapon.” He indicates the knife strapped to his belt. “No. You’ve been watching us. You know what we seek.”

  “Three times now,” I admit, intrigued that this man is so much more observant than I initially believed. Why did he allow them to be caught?

  “Do your people believe in a soul?” he asks, the abrupt change in topic startling me into a nod. “So yours is now blackened with the blood of an innocent.” He gestures to the boy’s body, crumpled beside the fire.

  I bite back a grimace. “My soul has been blackened with blood for many years now. Perhaps the blood of the wicked will excuse that of the innocent.”

  “Perhaps,” he says. “That would be up to the maiden of Justice to decide.”

  “What do you know of her?” I ask, hope surging in my chest. Perhaps Elysium has news of the maiden.

  “She lives, according to the True Prophet. But she will not find her destiny underground. She must rise.”

  “Do you know the location of Asphodel?”

  He shrugs. “East of here. The journals indicate a great cave system in the middle of the land. Do your records not show this?”

  I can’t resist a roll of my eyes. “The Tribes do not have records, old man. We are descended from the people who were abandoned. The ones who had no city to call home - nothing underground or in the desert or at the edge of the land.”

  “Of course. The three original cities,” Marcus nods. “There are always three, you know. There were three when the world fell: Aisa, Clota, and Lakessa. There are three sisters in Elysium now, ready to mentor or destroy the star children. And there will be three maidens, sent from the heavens to save the world. If they can survive the evil around them, and the trials ahead, they will create the Garden.”

  “The Garden?” I repeat, thinking again of Shechem. My father once called it that.

  The man nods, his half-smile hinting that he knows my familiarity with the term. Maybe even the location.

  “You are perhaps a guardian?” he asks.

  “A what? No. I’m a wanderer for my people. I take on missions for this Tribe.”

  “No. A guardian of the maiden. There are many dangers for foreigners - and the Starbright girls are as foreign as anyone can be. They are not truly of this world yet.”

  “I can’t guard someone I haven’t found.”

  “But you guard another, do you not? I dare say you guard her with everything you have.”

  His words click in my brain. “Zarea? You think she is one of those three maidens?”

  He smiles. “That is not for me to decide. Only the maiden herself can make the decision.”

  “But the maiden is born. What is there left to decide?”

  “Every person must choose their destiny. The stars are guides, not dictators. We all hear the same prophecy. But how we interpret the word of the prophets determines the fate of the world. So yes. It is up to Zarea to decide how she will help the world, or even if she will.”

  His words make no sense to me. I stare into the fire for several long minutes. “How can there be three maidens? Our own prophecy tells only of one.”

  “One person alone could never save the world. Just as one city or one Tribe cannot have all of the answers. It is only by coming together and using our powers as one that we will survive.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I say, deciding. He must be trying to confuse me so he can gain time. But regardless of his knowledge or boasting of prophets and maidens, he will not be claiming Zarea for Elysium.

  “If Zarea must determine her own fate, then you must not take her to Elysium.”

  “I would never force her to go. But you would force her to stay.”

  These words I understand, and my selfishness is laid bare for both of us to see. But it only hardens my resolve: I must protect what is mine.

  I raise my arrow.

  The man watches me and nods. “The True Prophet told me I might die here, in the forest. Like this. What he did not say was that I might die before my mission was completed.” He stresses the word as though mocking my self-importance. “As I said. You have come early.”

  “You knew you would die on this journey and you came anyways?”

  “Of course. Death is nothing - and everything - when you die to spread your belief. My death was written in the stars. It is my destiny to bear the news of the Starbright maiden of Lawfulness. Now it will be your destiny to decipher the news. Pray you do not get it wrong, or the whole world may perish.”

  I blink at him in disbelief, and he leans forward and knocks the arrow from my hands.

  “Fight me without your weapons,” he requests.

  I drop my bow, and he falls into me. We grapple at each other; the hits we connect have less power because we are so close. He reaches around my back and yanks the arrows from my quiver, tossing them into the fire. I curse in frustration, but I can make more.

  And there are a thousand ways to kill a man.

  As we wrestle, we knock the silver mugs into the fire, and their liquid causes the flames to hiss and struggle. I bloody his nose, and he backs away briefly.

  Then I hit the ground on my back as he delivers an unexpected kick to my chest. For an old man, he is strong and athletic. He tries to kick dirt in my face, but I roll out of the way. The dirt lands in the fire instead, dampening the rest of the flame. Marcus sinks down to me and lands a punch on my jaw.

  My hand falls open onto a smooth, palm-sized rock and I grasp it and swing. And swing. And swing.

  Until his head is caved in and he’ll never move again.

  The last of the fire sputters out, leaving me in darkness.

  And I stumble away, chest heaving through the humidity of the night air.

  It’s not the first time I’ve killed.

  It’s not the first time I’ve killed with my own hands.

  But it’s the first time I’ve killed purely for my own benefit, and I can almost feel my heart growing a little harder, my soul a little blacker with such a deed.

  I don’t care if it ends up being a mistake.

  Zarea can’t be taken from me - not like that. If we stop being we, it has to be because of her decision. Not some fool claiming nonsense that she belongs in Elysium.

  This is only the first, necessary step in my plan. Zarea will never be taken by Elysium. Now I just need to find Asphodel quickly, then return so I can claim my wife and my Tribe.

  I barely think during the long walk back to our summer village. As I pass the tents, dark and silent and full of sleeping peop
le, I just as silently bid them all goodbye. I head to my tent, clean my hands of blood, and pick up my pack.

  Underneath the pack is a folded note. I hold the candle a little closer to the paper so I can read Zarea’s messy scrawl.

  Stian,

  I wish everything was different. But we can’t be together now. I must travel to Elysium when the travelers come. You must find Asphodel. Maybe one day our stars will align again and we can form a new constellation - be the wanderer and his protector.

  Always remember that I see you. I have seen you from the first day we met. Others felt sorry for you, felt pity when your parents’ lives dried up to nothing. But all I saw was the potential you have. You will make a great Leader one day, whether or not I’m lucky enough to stand by your side.

  Love,

  Zarea

  I close my eyes and squeeze them tight against the tears that threaten my sanity. The first streaks of dawn push into the sky as I exit my tent for the last time. I grip the note in my palm, praying for enough presence of mind to finish this morning’s task.

  Abraham is waiting for me to complete the ceremony of the Hero’s Mission.

  On the way to the longhouse, I stumble on the path and give in to my impulse to detour. I check the willow tree. Zarea is curled there, the skin around her eyes puffy from tears. But she sleeps, her breathing steady. I take the note from my pocket and scrawl my own message on the back.

  I would have waited forever for you. I would have done anything to anyone in order to keep you in my life. But the only thing I can’t do is force you to do the same. I might have made a mistake - but I can’t escape my destiny unless you’re there to show me how.

  I sign my name and bend to place the paper on the blanket. She opens her eyes and watches me without expression. Everything in me wants to gather her in my arms - to kiss her and hold her and never leave.

  But her blank, emotionless stare terrifies me. I drop the paper and turn, pushing back through the weeping willow branches.

  The path to the longhouse has never felt longer as I strain my ears for sounds of her footsteps behind me.

  There is nothing.

  So I enter the longhouse and find Abraham waiting. Caine and Thadd have left recently, as I see evidence of their ceremony on the table. He nods at the chair in front of him, and I sit.

  I watch as Abraham takes a twig of incense and lights it. He lets it burn several minutes, then blows out the flame and smudges the charred piece on my arm. He creates a temporary mission line around my forearm - the promise of what’s to come.

  “You will accept this Hero’s Mission to find Asphodel and the Starbright maiden of Justice?” he asks.

  “I will.”

  I use the same blackened twig on a piece of animal skin, signing my name beneath the other two. Abraham grips a slender knife and slices a hash mark over the smudged black line on my arm - the symbol of a life taken during the mission.

  “You will accept death as part of life? Your death as well as your enemy’s?”

  “I will.”

  He squeezes the wound and a few drops of blood fall onto the animal skin, red on top of the dried brown that came from Caine’s arm and Thadd’s.

  “You will accept that only one person may complete a Hero’s Mission and claim the Hero’s Recompense? You will forfeit your life to your brothers if you forfeit the mission?”

  “I will,” I say for the third and final time. I wonder how my own father felt, accepting his mission from his Leader so many years ago.

  I wonder if he felt the same hopelessness mixed with desperate hope.

  Abraham rolls the animal skin and seals it with wax, placing it in a special niche on the wall, just below the calendar for this year. He marks the day with wax also, as the beginning of the mission.

  Then he turns to me and nods, the sign that the ceremony is over and I should go.

  Just like that, he has signed three death warrants. He thinks to go have breakfast and a smoke while he waits for strange men to come and claim his only daughter.

  I can’t help but smile at the knowledge that at least one of his plans has been spoiled - that alone gives me hope that I can undertake his undoing. One piece at a time, I will take Hebron from Abraham.

  I turn to go, but as usual, I just can’t keep my mouth shut. I look back at him, suddenly seeing an old, tired man.

  “You know I helped you build this Tribe into what it is now,” I say. He glares because he knows it’s true. The wanderer who became a warrior, and is now an unprecedented threat.

  “My father raised me to be a Leader. I will take this Tribe from you.” I bite my tongue, knowing I’ve said too much.

  “You’ll never be the man your father was,” Abraham sneers at me.

  I don’t try to answer - I need to go before we come to blows. The rage is eye-level. I turn and try to go, but he barks out one short laugh, and that’s all it takes.

  I turn back.

  “Even in the wilderness, my father was twice the Leader you are. And I’ll be twice what he was. So watch for it, Abraham. Your days are few.” And before he has a chance to order up my head on a plate, I bust out of the tent and take off at a faster pace than my pride enjoys.

  I walk away from the Tribe, knowing I might never return.

  I leave Zarea behind, watching stubbornly from the bend in the river, her tears drying in the same breeze that wraps the willow branches around her.

  I don’t know where I’m going, but that’s nothing new. I’m a wanderer.

  And if I don’t find Asphodel - if I can’t locate and capture the Starbright maiden of Justice - the prophecy will proceed without our Tribe, and we will be left behind to fend off the evil of the world’s end.

  Zarea will have no mother, no father, and no husband, because the evil in the world will take us all.

  So even if my mistakes push me into hell, there is nothing I won’t try to keep these things from happening.

  Acknowledgements

  Ah, Stian. Ever the troublemaker.

  Thanks are much needed to a few special people who continued to ask how this novella was taking shape. Without you, I might have given up on this young man and his mistakes.

  To David and my babies, for understanding that sometimes Mama just needs to write. And for replacing my Maleficent mug, so my word counts could get back on track.

  To my family and friends, for spreading the word about the Starbright series, and reminding me that I have more books to write. Some reminders were more like kicks in the pants, and were much-needed.

  To Cecily, Kayla, and Corrina, who help me in more ways than I can list without embarrassing us all. See the girls’ Instagram page “starbight_trilogy” for some awesome fan art!

  To the LitWits and my students. Thanks for letting me ramble on about book birthdays and marketing ideas while sharing my journey with you. You really do inspire me to be a better writer and teacher.

  To my cover designer, Najla Qambar, for being such a downright pleasure to work with. I have to keep writing just to see how you might read my mind next!

  And always, so many thanks to my readers. Imaginary worlds are infinitely more fun when you have a few real people to play with you. If you’re just joining me on the Starbright journey, I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

  Keep your sights in the stars!

  A Starbright Novella

  BALANCE BROKEN

  HILARY THOMPSON

  OFTOMES PUBLISHING

  ONE

  We keep our faith in all things hidden. We believe in the stars when we cannot see them. We believe in the sun when it no longer shines for us. We believe in the universal truth when it is not shown clearly. As individuals, our minds are too miniscule to contain the world’s plan. But as one, our souls are large enough to contain the world’s faith.

  Prayer of the Faithful

  Written by First Leader Firene

  “This is never going to work,” I say, thudding to the ground and striking
the grass with my fist.

  Lexan bends his tall frame into a crouch before I can blink – his eyes are inches from my face, and they’re furious. “I’m so sick of your attitude. None of this is going to be easy, Trea, and it definitely won’t work if you keep acting like a spoiled princess.”

  He glares, and a flare of anger warms my chest. He nods at me as though he can feel the heat of my temper rising. “That’s better. Now, get up.”

  I scowl and push off the ground. “One more time, then. But I still think it’s all a bunch of Styx.”

  We clasp hands again, fingers interwoven. I raise my eyes to meet his and open my mind to his power. His pupils grow larger with concentration until only a ring of deep-water blue remains. Now I can feel him in my mind, inserting his thoughts. It’s like listening to the quietest whisper, and I imagine for a second that his mouth rests against my ear, delivering this image of flames. Maybe if I can visualize the fire, I can figure out how to call it.

  That’s his newest theory anyways.

  But we’ve been at it for three hours, and all I’ve managed is to sweat through my thin shirt. And I’m pretty sure that has nothing to do with my internal fire.

  I close my eyes, really trying this time, focusing on the idea of fire. I sense Lexan shift closer. A breeze stirs through the trees surrounding us and lifts a few orange-red curls from my neck.

  And…nothing. I sigh and open my eyes. “The whole sunfire thing is just a metaphor, Lexan. I can’t make fire out of nothing.”

  “Then explain how you singed off Keirna’s eyebrows in a cave with no candles.”

  He has me. I can’t. Which is why we’ve been at this craziness all morning.