Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  “We already looked at the message, but we can’t read it,” Pacem says, his voice apologetic.

  “It…it flew from Asphodel,” Irana adds, and Lexan’s hand shudders in mine. I glance at him and his face is so pale. Ever since we saw that rider at Madna’s, we’ve been waiting for – and dreading – news from Asphodel. Lexan’s visions have only made the anticipation worse.

  Pacem cranks the wings backward and the bird regurgitates the small slip of paper. I see reddish-brown fingerprints smudged along the bottom, and I wonder uneasily whose blood has traveled so many thousands of miles on this bird’s belly.

  Lexan immediately plucks the paper from Pacem’s palm, his fingers shaking. I peer around his shoulder at it, seeing the symbols that can only be from his family.

  “Aitan,” he whispers. Immediately my brain floods with images of the day we escaped – Aitan slicing his own shoulder so we could be free. Brenn taking a knife in the stomach so we could be free.

  Have we accomplished enough to pay that back?

  Has Keirna retaliated for their kindnesses?

  Lexan’s stare stays fixed on the scrap of paper as he sinks into a nearby chair and stops moving entirely, as though paralyzed by the news he holds. I feel my lungs growing tighter and tighter, until I realize he’s sucking the air from the room.

  “Lex,” I manage, slapping at his arm. He blinks and gasps in a horrible, guttural way, but the oxygen returns. Irana pants a little, and even Pacem seems alarmed.

  “What is it?” I ask, terrified but needing to know.

  Lexan just gazes at me – through me – and I can feel his desperation skidding through my veins.

  He holds the paper out for me to see, but I’m too slow to translate the markings. There’s no way I can focus – all I can manage is the word beneath his fingernail: dead. I blink at him like a child who knows her world will never be the same, but has no idea why.

  He opens his mouth, then, closes it, then tries again. “My mother…and your father. Killed. Murdered, Trea! And Aitan is prisoner. And Isa…” his voice chokes and dies, taking me with it. So much grief, caught up in one tiny scrap of paper. I start to shut down.

  Then my brain focuses in on the one last, unspoken detail. “Isa!” I exclaim, snatching at the paper again. “What about her?” I demand, the symbols drowning in the pools at the rims of my eyes.

  “Keirna did something to her…an injection. I don’t really understand…” Lexan stops talking, and when I glance at his vacant face, the paper slips from my fingers and floats to the floor.

  “This is from Aitan, right?” I ask numbly, kneeling at his side. I need to hold it together for both of us. Lexan nods mechanically, his actions as awkward and stilted as the bird’s. “What about Pasia?” My brain skids past the other names, avoiding the new deaths to mourn.

  He shrugs, then looks at me so desperately that my heart bottoms out in the pit of my stomach. “I have to go,” he says, and I’m nodding even before he finishes the word. He’s standing even before my head bobs up and down again. Then he’s bolting from the dining hall even before I have a chance to follow him, to realize he doesn’t expect me to come with him. Because of course he has to go.

  I don’t want him to. Oh, stars, I don’t want him to.

  But he has to. And I’ll have to be strong enough to let him.

  THIRTEEN

  LEXAN

  December 31, 2066

  The eve of a new year. What will it bring? I don’t need the Sight to see that.

  But there is s slim ray of hope in my life now – Charles has found me again.

  This morning I peeked out of the window to see his car waiting across the street.

  When I had the chance to sneak out, I did, and I’m so glad I took that risk.

  If I do everything right, Charles may just be my family’s only way out of this hell on earth.

  From First Leader Lakessa’s personal journal

  Included in Firene’s secret papers

  I have to fix this.

  It’s my fault. I caused all of this. Keirna was able to destroy so much of my family because of my weakness – if only I’d been able to understand my own damned visions, I wouldn’t have turned the ship toward Elysium to beg for the Prophet’s help.

  And even after all these weeks, I’m no further along in my understanding of the visions. Instead, I’ve been sleeping by the sea while my mother was being murdered. While my brother was being tortured.

  I’m stuffing things in my pack without even glancing at them when a knock sounds at my door. I don’t pause or bother to answer, but the door opens anyways, and Trea steps in.

  She stands there, looking young and uncertain. Just watching me pack.

  “What?” I bite out, regretting how it sounds, but too desperate to leave to spend time on charm.

  “We’ll go together. Tonight!” Trea says, darting forward and grasping my arm so tightly I know she’s barely holding herself together. I try not to shake her off, but I really can’t be touched right now, or I’ll completely fall apart.

  Orphans. That’s what we both are now.

  Because of Keirna.

  A black rage begins to churn in the pit of my stomach and thick bile rises to the back of my throat. Before I can grasp what is happening, I’m bent over in the corner, retching and heaving up the remains of my scant strength.

  “No,” a voice says from the door. Breathing heavily, I turn to see Tisiphone, the shadows of the other Sisters waiting behind her in the hallway. I wipe the sick from my face with a corner of my shirt and straighten. “You can’t go with him.”

  “You can’t stop me!” Trea cries, but it appears they can, because Tisiphone flicks her slim wrist, and Trea crumples to the floor, twisted in pain. She whimpers, and I stare at her for a long moment, but there’s nothing left of me besides a hollow cavity and a dense ball of rage. No room for sympathy for anyone else. I move to begin packing again.

  “Lexan, stop. You must both come with us now,” Tisiphone continues, releasing Trea from whatever hold she had over her. I feel my own muscles begin to move in slow motion as she waves a finger toward me.

  “You’re insane,” Trea gasps. “He has to go!”

  “And he will. But first we must speak with the Prophet. Come.”

  She waves her arm, and I feel tugged along, as though there is an invisible rope around my wrists, binding me to her movements. I struggle at first, grimacing as my body recognizes the feeling of being a prisoner in chains. Trea follows me, her eyes wild as I pass her, both of us writhing against her invisible grip.

  Soon my strength gives out, though, and I have no choice but to plod along behind these three vultures. Fury bound to fury, I think, smiling without humor. “Please,” I whisper as Tisiphone glances back. Her gaze softens for a second, but then she whips forward again, ignoring my panic.

  The Three Sisters lead us down the stairs and into the hot noon sun. It should be time for lunch, but there is not a soul in sight as we cross the crystal-laced cement. Somehow I avoid any that might cause me pain, and for that, at least, I am grateful.

  I don’t know how I will even manage to walk the distance from here to the forest, much less the thousands of miles to Asphodel. My body is exhausted already. But I have to go.

  We pause in front of the main temple – the one at the edge of the city, where most of the Elysian people go to worship. It’s much grander than the one in the sand below, and I don’t like it at all.

  Irana waits for us at the door, and she follows us inside the temple, motioning to Pacem to stay outside. The True Prophet sits before us, his frame slight against the golden-hued chair perched on a raised dais. Its simplicity contrasts with its obvious importance, much like the Prophet himself.

  He looks down at us, staring first at me, then Trea, then Irana. “You are each to be tested. You have known this since arriving, but now it is time to tell you the parameters of the test.”

  Irana trembles a bit, and I wonder ho
w much of the test she’s been told about – if they will put her into the womb as well.

  Then the Prophet fixes his eyes on mine, and I feel paralyzed with anticipation. “Lexan must learn that he might still be good enough for this life of immortality, even if he is not perfect. His test will be to blacken his soul with the blood of another.” I hear a gasp from one of the girls beside me, but I feel as though the intentions in my heart are already black enough to bleed into my soul. I only nod at him to continue.

  “Above all, Lexan, you must remember that perfection is not something the gods grant. It is not something mortals should aspire to, or even quasi-immortals such as yourselves. Perfection is found only in creations that are in stasis – non-living and unchanging. We are no such thing.”

  “I understand. I will leave today and fulfill my task in Asphodel,” I answer, my voice sounding flat in my skull. His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to respond.

  “No!” Trea grasps my arm, tugging on it like a child. “Lexan, you can’t go alone. Please let me go with him!” Trea begs. The Sisters turn as one to glare at her, and my head reels with the sudden reappearance of my vision – empty eye sockets dripping with black blood.

  “No,” the Prophet answers, and his calm allows me to blink away their gore. “Astrea, your task is to learn how to make your journey alone. It is time for you to truly take charge of your own destiny.” She startles a bit, and I can’t help but grimace at the twisted irony. “You must internalize your own sense Balance, so that you are no longer dependent on Lexan. And,” he leans forward and fixes her in his gaze, “you must pay penance for your own blood crimes.”

  Her hands drop from my arm. “For all the people I have killed…with my weakness,” she whispers, and I know she is thinking of the mass deaths in the courtyard of Tartarus, and of Ama.

  I feel suddenly sick at the prospect of having blood on my own hands. But Keirna’s death is necessary. My resolve fortifies as I picture her cruel grin.

  The Prophet turns to Irana, and she shrinks into herself before his gaze. “Irana’s test is learn to dance for herself. She must not place her happiness or her sadness in the hands of others. True peace can only be spread by one who possesses true peace.”

  She nods, and I see tears well in her large blue eyes, spilling over and creating wobbly tracks in the dust covering her porcelain cheeks.

  “Lexan must indeed leave Elysium. His time here is finished. I have seen it, although I did not see these circumstances. It appears the gods have plans for you which they will yet unfold. Astrea and Irana must stay here and await the arrival of the third maiden.”

  “And Pacem?” Irana manages to whisper.

  “I believe he would be of most use accompanying Lexan. He is not able to help you on your journey at this time,” the Prophet says. He lowers his eyes as her tears increase, though she remains silent.

  I move restlessly, ready to turn and go, but the Prophet holds up a finger. “Lexan, you are a prophet. I believe you may one day become the most powerful prophet of our age. But for now you have forgotten the first lesson of prophecy. You are a vessel.”

  I nod, struggling to focus. I remember Head Minister Saloman giving me similar advice, months and months ago.

  He continues, “Vessels are not made to interpret. They are made to contain. There will be a time when you might understand what the gods have planned. But keep in mind: a prophet is all-seeing. Not all-knowing.”

  I feel the flush of embarrassment flooding my cheeks. He is right – I have always been too concerned with knowing.

  The Prophet turns to look at us together. “Remember – it’s not the prophecy which is important. It is how you choose to fulfill it.” He spreads his hands as though to embrace us. “Be strong alone. Be strong together. Forgive yourself. Forgive each other. Create your world. Create your destiny.”

  I falter as his words mimic those I have seen in my own visions, and he smiles slightly at me, nodding his complicity. Has he seen the same vision?

  But we are pulled away before I can ask, and the Sisters hiss at each other in low voices as we enter the sun once again.

  Tisiphone finally turns to us as the other two slink and storm away. Pacem rises from a nearby bench and joins us, looking fearfully at Tisiphone. “Lexan, you and Pacem will take one of our most compact transportations. It is all we can spare in light of the upcoming migration to the Garden.”

  “But surely he’ll be back–” Trea’s quivering voice is sliced open by Tisiphone’s emotionless look.

  “Lexan will not return to Elysium. You will not see him again until your training is complete and we meet on our journey to the Garden.” She begins to stride away, then turns back, her glance more human again. “I must ready the vehicle. Someone will be along shortly to show Irana and Pacem to the guest quarters. The boys will leave in the morning.” She hesitates, looking us over in what can only be measured as doubt. “Say your goodbyes.” Then she nods as if having made a decision and swishes away.

  A beat of silence reigns until a sob breaks free from Trea’s lips. She swallows it quickly, but not before the noise pierces my façade of black rage and my single-minded focus. I gather her to me, and she collapses in my arms, her chest heaving with the effort of not breaking down.

  “I have no idea what to do,” I whisper into her hair, torn between two obligations. “I promised her…Mother…” my voice breaks at her name.

  Trea lifts her dark eyes to mine. “I know you promised to stay with me. Where I go, you go.”

  My heart feels as if it’s shredding in two as I hear my own vow repeated back to me. How can I do both?

  Then she shakes her head and wipes her eyes, straightening to look directly at me. “And I wish it could always be that easy. But you’ve also told me this is larger than us. So go. Go to your brother, and Isa, and Brenn, and everyone else left in Asphodel.” Her voice is stronger with every word. “I’ll bring Elysium to you, and then we will find the Garden together.”

  I start to shake my head, suddenly willing to go back on everything I’ve been envisioning since I first glimpsed that bird this morning. How can I possibly leave her now? Hade might…

  Her eyes narrow and darken as though she can read my thoughts, and I marvel at the steel I see forging in her spine. She gives a tiny nod, as though a decision has been made.

  No matter what happens, nothing else will be easy, and we both know it.

  Just then, Hesten arrives. “I’m here to show our guests to their rooms,” she says softly, glancing between us in uncertainty. Part of me feels as though I should say something to Irana and Pacem – reassure them, or at least ask them how they’ve been – but Irana just smiles at me and turns away, releasing me to concentrate on my last night with Trea.

  Once we’re alone, she gives me a look that nearly makes me forget my name, along with everything that is to happen tomorrow. She tugs me toward the building that houses my room, and I don’t resist, even as she guides me all the way onto the bed. Something is still different in her eyes as she pulls me down over her – there is more blackness, but it is contained and controlled. There is no sign of Hade, but the explosive, easily-flustered Trea I’m accustomed to is gone as well.

  Now, she burns like a pillar of determination, fueled by a renewable inner strength and oblivious to the insignificant winds of doubt.

  She peels my shirt up and over my head, then her fingers lace into my hair, pulling my lips to hers. “Don’t think of apart. Don’t think of broken,” she murmurs as her lips move against me, pushing the words into my skin like a tattoo of her heart. “Don’t even think. Just feel this. Remember us.”

  Later, I watch over her one last time as she sleeps restlessly in the silvery moonlight. Her lips move now with incomprehensible mutterings, as if she’s making deals with the devils in her dreams. I have to trust that the Prophet and Irana will be protection enough. That Trea herself will remain strong enough.

  As for me, the rage from earlier has c
ongealed and crusted into the same kind of hate that has doomed men for centuries. All that’s left to do in my personal prophecy is find Kierna: everything else has been decided.

  Finally the sun begins to stream again into the window, proclaiming the next morning – our last morning – and it sets her orange-red hair aglow. Her eyes slit open.

  Black and black and black.

  My stomach sickens, and I wonder who will protect everyone from her.

  The demonic eyes squeeze shut, and her hair tangles as she writhes against the pillow. “I love you, Trea,” I whisper to the body next to mine, which is filled to the brim with the wrong soul.

  When her eyes fly open again seconds later, they are dark ash but not black. Eventually I remember to breathe again.

  She presses her face against my chest, and her lashes flutter against my skin. I hold her strong frame to mine, desperate to stay within her curves, yet frantic to leave. Impatient to take all that’s left for me – revenge.

  Her body folds into mine, a promise in itself, but then she inhales too sharply and pushes me back. “Your soul,” she whispers, her eyes narrowing in reproach. “It’s changed.” She pushes farther away, looking at me in maddened confusion. “You’ve already blackened your soul!” she accuses, her voice rising with the temperature around us.

  “I haven’t done anything,” I say, my mood rippling between love and revenge like a wave cresting and dipping in a storm. I call to the ocean air to swirl away her heat. “But I will. Easily.”

  Her eyes widen and she stares at me like she doesn’t know me. Funny how I’d just been thinking the same thing.

  The morning is swept away in last-minute preparations, and soon I find myself standing at the edge of the city, before a pale-colored metal craft that could fit maybe four people. Instead it’s carefully packed with food, water, and weapons.