Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  Stian tries so hard to make the journey easy for me: bringing me sun-warmed water to wash, slicing my meat as thinly as possible, plucking tiny white and yellow flowers from the weeds when we stop. I feel pampered, yet hollow, as though something is right and wrong at the same time. And I have no idea when this feeling started, or why it persists.

  During rare moments alone during the day, I study the coded page Lexan left me. I refuse to ask him for help. Some patterns are obvious - there are twelve symbols, which correspond to our twelve astrological signs. There are fourteen letters, which may or may not be used in the expected way. Each sign must represent a missing letter. But which? The code breaker only confuses me more: the letters which spell you and me, or even Astrea and Lexan, do not seem to be missing in entirety.

  Finally I make a list of the letters which are never written, and come up with: A, B, C, D, E, I, J, L, N, S, T, U. From here I am lost.

  At night I spread our hand-copied map as close to the fire as I dare and memorize it, sections at a time, tracing my fingers along the wavy lines of rivers and jagged mountain ranges. I need to know where we have been and where we are going. I need to see how our small lives fit into this vast, empty land that used to be a single country filled with people.

  Nature has reclaimed much of that land, but sometimes we pass the strange ruins of fallen buildings, or drive around enormous blackened craters left by an immense fire that Zarea names bomb. That word was not in Asphodel’s history books, although I’ve seen it in Lakessa’s secret journal. I want to know why. And what else was evaded by Asphodel’s history makers.

  “We’re nearly halfway,” Stian says one night, perhaps our tenth of travel.

  “That’s good progress?” Lexan answers, twisting a skewer of dried meat over the fire to warm it.

  “Yes and no,” Zarea says, stirring salt into our small pot of beans. “It’s much quicker than we originally planned for, even with all the flooding. But we’re getting very near to where some of the Tribes spend the summers. They shouldn’t have moved camp yet, but it depends on the weather, too. It was especially dry this winter.”

  Stian nods. “The creek beds could have run dry before the spring rains came, forcing them to move early. Or they could be moving now, driven out by all this recent flooding.”

  “Why do they even move?” Lexan asks. “Isn’t there more than enough space - plenty of resources to stay in one camp?”

  “Trading,” Stian answers. “Some of the Tribes do stay put. But nobody wants to be near the trade routes when the slavers pass through. Hebron travels on a loose circle from Tartarus toward Elysium and back. Many of our people hunt and trade wild horses, big cats for the arena, and medicinal plants.”

  “Have you been to Elysium?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise at this revelation.

  He shakes his head. “Only those of a certain age are allowed to visit inside the city - seventeen to twenty-four. I’m the right age now, but I’ve always been on missions before.”

  “I was supposed to go. But I refused.” Zarea’s quiet voice makes me look at her for a long moment, but she doesn’t elaborate. Instead, she turns away from all of us.

  The next morning, we hear hunting calls from the farthest northwestern horizon.

  “Those horns are from Kedesh,” Zarea says, an ear tilted to the notes.

  “Is that good?” I ask, staring into the distant fog. It covers any signs of smoke or movement, both for us and the hunters.

  She grins. “In our people’s ancient history, Kedesh was a city of refuge, where those who had sinned or killed a man in self-defense could find safety from the avenger of blood.”

  “Avenger of blood?” I can’t help but repeat her, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sounds like you, Lady Justice,” Lexan laughs, poking me in the arm. I smack him back, a little harder than necessary. I’d been thinking the same thing.

  “Around here, Lord Hadeon is the avenger of blood,” Stian says. His look kills our laughter. “Kedesh is normally a safe Tribe, but we aren’t safe anywhere when we bring the stars of prophecy with us. We’ll need to go around their hunting parties or hide in the hills until they pass. That could be days, if they find good hunting.”

  We sit in silence as the day opens around us. The horns sound a few more times, but even my unpracticed ear can tell they are moving away from our camp.

  Zarea packs her breakfast in a small cloth and leaves to scout ahead. She returns when the sun has lifted nearly vertical above us and my stomach is growling for a second meal.

  “The wind is really getting strong,” she reports. I’ve noticed the same here in our hidden clearing. “It’s even worse out on the road. I can’t be totally sure the hunters are gone, but it’s been over two hours since I heard a horn, and it was straight west - they may be on their way home. We need to move, and hopefully get some distance from this storm that’s building.”

  Stian nods, his eyes on the horizon where the clouds have darkened to a richly patterned gray, tinged with light green, as though the leaves were mixing with the air.

  We hurry to pile into the truck. Stian pushes the speed, avoiding fewer bumps than usual. Leaves strip from the branches and smack against the windows. The truck’s jostling sets everyone on edge. This discomfort, mixed with the storm and the sharp, adrenaline-laced fear of being found, ripens the air for an argument.

  I’m trying to find a cushioned, non-jarring spot for my head, and Lexan is pretending to study his prayer book when it begins.

  “Maybe we should just go to Hebron. It’s not far from here,” Stian says, his voice hushed to a whisper. His face is blank from the side and I’m not sure if he means for us to hear.

  “Are you insane? I can’t go back to my father!” Zarea hisses back, confirming my suspicion that this is intended to be a private conversation. She drops her voice even more and leans closer to whisper in his ear. Of course I shift closer, keeping my eyes closed. The wind outside is nearly louder than their voices.

  Stian says, “It’s not like we’d hand them over as prisoners. We would have the power now.”

  Zarea shakes her head, frowning. “Nobody ever really has the power with Abraham.”

  “But we’ve done what we were sent to do! So I can’t be executed for the mission. And you’ve done your job as protector, regardless of the assignment. Maybe they would even listen to Tre’s story about their Leader.”

  “And maybe they would just lock us up as bait,” Lexan says in a calm tone, never bothering to look up from his book.

  Stian’s and Zarea’s faces swivel toward us, and I glare at their guilty expressions.

  “You two aren’t alone in this thing,” I say. “We can hear you. And you’re not in charge of us.” I’m so tired of people always making decisions for me.

  Zarea laughs without humor. “You sound like the petulant child you are. I don’t want to be your replacement mother, Tre. But I am in charge here. You’re the Maiden. I’m the protector.”

  At the word mother, I nearly lunge over the seat toward her before Lexan grasps my waist and hauls me down beside him. His arm clamps around my middle. Stian swerves to a stop and twists around to stare at me, searching my face.

  His eyes narrow at Lexan as he takes in our closeness. “Tre, it might be for the best-“

  “If you think turning me in is for my own good, I can enlighten you,” I say, opening a palm full of flames toward him. “You might not know me as well as you think you do!”

  Lexan swings his other arm around and catches my wrist, pulling it back to my chest. He bends his head and rests his mouth against my ear.

  “Let it go, Trea. We need them,” he whispers. His breath tickles my neck and I shiver involuntarily. I flick my eyes up and see Zarea watching us, resentment twisting her pretty face. I lift a corner of my mouth in a half-grin, just the way Lexan always does.

  She flings her body around, a fist thumping the glass at her side. “Do whatever you want, Stian,” she says. A small br
anch thuds onto the hood of the truck, and we all startle.

  Stian takes one more glance at each of us, then sighs in frustration and starts the truck again. I can’t tell if he’s changing direction or not, because all I can see are gray and yellow-green clouds swirling beyond the windows.

  And I don’t really care, because I’m starting to like this new brand of power I’ve found over both Stian and Zarea, simply by resting in Lexan’s arms. I let myself sink into him a bit, the tension leaking out of my muscles.

  “You’re such a dangerous girl,” he whispers in my ear, loosening his grip but leaving his arms around my body.

  “You have no idea,” I reply, not bothering to whisper. I lean back into his chest and close my eyes. I’ve finally found a comfortable place to rest my head.

  The truck swerves a bit, running from the cracked old road to the grass and back again.

  “Do you want me to drive?” Zarea asks, her voice sharp with annoyance. The truck slips again and Stian curses.

  “This wind. It’s too much. We might have to wait out the storm. I don’t want to wreck the truck.” He drives another minute, then pulls off, parking under the canopy of an enormous tree.

  I start to sit up, but Lexan tightens his arm around my waist again.

  “Don’t. There’s something different about this wind. I can feel it,” he whispers in my ear.

  “This color is making me nervous,” Zarea admits, peering out her window.

  Stian nods. “It’s definitely tornado weather. I’ll climb up a little higher and try to see.”

  Before anyone can object, he opens his window and clambers to the roof of the truck. His boots make heavy thuds above us. Lexan fidgets beneath me, and I feel how tense his muscles are.

  “There’s so much power out there, Trea. It’s like electricity in my veins. I have to go see it.” He pushes me to the side and slips out the window, leaving Zarea and me glaring at each other.

  “Boys,” she huffs, and I can’t help but giggle.

  Then I notice that things are very quiet outside, as though the wind has stopped altogether. I lean my head over the seat to look up, and nearly get a boot in the face as Stian plunges back inside.

  “Tornado!” He is out of breath as he scrambles to start the vehicle. “Get back in here!” he yells at Lexan, who hasn’t left the roof.

  “We can’t outrun it,” Lexan calls back, just as the wind turns in our direction again, doubly strong.

  “There might be a safer place! There was a side road back there - we could make it if we go now!” Stian yells back, the engine revving to life, barely audible over the roar of the wind.

  Then Zarea gasps and I see Lexan jump from the roof to the hood to the grass, and take off running. He stops in the middle of the road, his legs planted shoulder-width apart in the broken pavement.

  Stian curses again and yanks at Zarea’s hand, which had started to open her door. He leans across her to roll up her window, sealing us in.

  “He’s crazy! We might have a chance under this tree. It’s moving too fast. Stupid asshole!”

  Then the wind drowns out everything - even my thoughts - as I watch the road before us in horror. Just beyond the tree line is a dark funnel, reaching from the ground up into the sky. I watch in awe as it tears a path along the ground and sucks up trees and fencing and chunks of pavement larger than a man.

  And Lexan just stands there, his arms out before him like he thinks he can push the wind away.

  He is crazy.

  He’s going to die, and I can’t do a thing to help him from here.

  Noise louder than anything I’ve ever heard bears down on us and a tree larger than the truck whips past. Lexan falls to his knees, but his arms stay pushed out wide. His mouth opens as if to yell, but I hear nothing but rushing wind.

  Seconds pass, feeling like hours, as I wait without breathing. Wait for him to be swept away.

  The roar gets quieter in increments so small we barely notice until Lexan collapses face-forward on the road, and Zarea screams, hurling open the door. Stian lunges after her and I scramble over the seats to follow.

  The storm is gone, and the green haze has dissipated from the air. Lighter gray clouds drift overhead as we kneel around Lexan. Zarea rolls him over. His face is scratched and bleeding along his cheeks, where sharp twigs must have struck. His eyes are closed, but he is breathing shallowly.

  I grasp his hand, and his chill overwhelms me. His whole arm is limp and heavy in mine. What has he done to himself?

  Stian struggles to pick him up, Zarea and I helping as much as we can. Finally he is arranged on the floor of the truck again, still unconscious.

  “Should I switch seats-“ Zarea begins, but Stian cuts her off.

  “No. I need you up here with the map.”

  I climb in and we jerk back onto the road, winding our way through the debris left by the tornado. I pile blankets on Lexan, but he still feels so cold that finally I curl around him as much as possible, remembering how his body heat helped me when I used my powers too much.

  Could he really have shifted the path of the tornado? Or was it just a lucky coincidence?

  None of us talks again until we stop for the night, and conversation remains shortened to simple exchanges about hunting and watches, supplies and fresh water. I smear a little healing salve on Lexan’s cuts. He stirs a few times, but doesn’t open his eyes until we stop for the night.

  Then he still doesn’t speak, just gulps down water and stumbles to where Zarea has made a bed for him, closing his eyes again immediately.

  We each rest under our own blankets around the fire, like four points of a compass which has lost its needle. The stars open their eyes one by one, until the inky black is filled with points of brightness, and I watch the moon through the clouds as the night passes in silence.

  I watch Lexan too, wondering how much power he has. How much control he has over the air. We’ve been so focused on developing my power to call fire that we haven’t practiced his at all. Or maybe he’s been practicing alone. I realize guiltily how I never even thought of him having a separate ability - for some reason I always assumed his ability was just meant to complement mine.

  That was a stupid assumption, I can see now.

  I can call fire, but I’m stronger when he supports me. He can move air. Perhaps he would be stronger if I support him?

  We have a lot to discuss.

  But when we rise the next morning, there are other problems. The truck does not start. It sits like the stubborn, cold lump of metal it is, taunting us with its dead potential.

  “Now what?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

  “Climb into your carriage, star princess, and I’ll carry you on my back.” Zarea snorts with laughter as she pulls supplies from the interior of the truck, sorting what we can carry from what we can’t.

  I’m struggling for a rude reply when Stian steps close, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

  “You’ll be safe with us, whether we’re driving or walking,” he says, then drops a soft kiss on my lips before moving to pull our packs from the truck bed. Zarea stalks away, throwing an armful of blankets into the grass.

  “You shouldn’t taunt her so much,” I smile gently at Stian. I’m glad he has come back in peace, because it means I didn’t have to.

  “She shouldn’t be so rude. This is her choice, to be here, you know.”

  I tilt my head at him but don’t say anything. I’m not sure how, but I know this isn’t true. I can sense her secrets as well as Stian can sense an animal hiding in the brush. Something, or someone, is keeping Zarea here.

  I used to think it was Stian. Now I’m not so sure.

  Once our supplies have been sorted and divided between us, we labor together to push the truck into the cover of the forest, then camouflage it as much as possible with branches and dead leaves. Stian steps off forty paces east and forty paces south, then marks a pine tree with a small pyramid of stones.

  “Why
forty?” Lexan asks, his head cocked to one side. He’s a little out of breath, but seems otherwise recovered.

  “Sacred number,” Zarea answers, but doesn’t elaborate. She slings my pack at me, smirking when it catches me hard in the chest and I stumble. I don’t complain, though. Just shoulder it and follow her into the scrubby beginnings of the forest.

  By the time we stop for lunch, we have all sweated through our layers of clothing. Dark outlines mark where our packs rested against our backs, and thick lines cross our shoulders. My hair is heavy and sticks to my face no matter how many times I try to push it away.

  As we gulp down our portions of dried meat and sections of mealy apple, Zarea rummages in her pack. She finds a thin shirt and uses her knife to slice off the sleeves, leaving only enough material to protect her skin from the pack. She also slices the neckline into a deep v-shape, and steps behind a tree to change.

  As soon as she emerges, I decide to copy her.

  This is the least amount of clothing I have ever worn, except the bathing costume at Madna’s. But now the breeze can cool under my arms and down my neck, drying the sweat before it soaks the shirt through. I braid my hair tightly and loop it around my head, using a strip of material to bind it, and another around my forehead and temples to catch the drops of sweat before they sting my eyes.

  Zarea nods at me, almost in approval.

  We hear the horns of Kedesh echo throughout the day, but they still seem to be ahead of us, moving farther south than we are headed.

  That night we camp without fire, huddled together in the shelter created by two fallen trees. I prepare a paste from Father’s kit to spread on my new blisters. And then I share it with everyone.

  We still aren’t talking much, but we aren’t fighting each other, either.

  SEVEN

  We are not who we are, without others. Without the influences, helping or hurting, of the other people in our world, our selves would not form. Our souls would remain in the gray area between good and evil. And we would have no chance of salvation, or threat of damnation. In order to flourish as a people and as individuals, we must allow others in, and give them a measure of trust - sometimes even when they have not yet earned it.