Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  What is so fundamentally different about us, that she hates me and loves Irana? I sigh, thinking of how I need to figure out a way to win over the people of Elysium. They’ll never trust me enough to be cleansed, much less leave their beautiful, clean homes and travel to the Garden, if I can’t solve this puzzle.

  “Any word from Lexan?” I ask instead.

  “Yes and no,” Tariel says, a frown passing over her perfect features. “They sent a bird, but the Prophet hasn’t told anyone more than that.”

  “When will the Ascension Ceremony take place?” I try. Perhaps once this is scheduled, they will let me out of bed and I can track down the Prophet.

  “Perhaps in two weeks’ time, when you are healed and strong again. You are to participate, and perhaps Irana, if she is finished with all four elements in time.”

  “And what if she’s not?”

  “Then she can wait until the next one. We usually hold them twice a year, depending on the candidates. Once there are three candidates for Ascension, the Prophet begins to search the skies and the books for signs of the showers of stars.”

  “Like shooting stars?” I wonder, remembering Stian pointing one out to me as we traveled from Asphodel to Tartarus.

  She nods. “They are a symbol that the stars are ready to receive the candidates. That the universe is receptive to them beginning the final path.”

  “The ether,” I say, recalling what the Prophet showed me in the cave of the goddess. Tariel nods.

  Eventually she leaves, Hesten brings dinner, and I sleep the night away. The next days are the same cycle, except that I’m allowed to walk around a little more each day. I’m surprised at just how weak the dehydration has left me – even after Tariel’s many treatments, I can barely walk to the bathroom and back without becoming lightheaded.

  Eventually I’m able to stand in the shower on my own and clean every grain of remaining salt from my hair. I spend long moments under the water, marveling at the way it courses down my skin.

  Surely it always ran in these swirling rivulets, but something about them looks just like clear, liquid flames now. I release some of the heat in my veins – practicing the heat without flame – and the water separates into droplets of steam. It rises toward the ceiling in white tendrils, looking for all the world like the tendrils of darkness I see in people’s souls.

  A light version of Hade’s darkness.

  I’m sure it means nothing, but still, the odd similarity in appearance adheres to my mind like a pattern in the background of everything I think.

  When I go back to my room, I feel much stronger. I notice the Prophet’s prayer book, and sitting on the floor, my knees bent beneath me, I open it again for the first time since the day Hesten brought it to me.

  The sunlight glints in the window just then, and a faint silver shadow passes over the blank margins of the page before me. Is there something there? I tilt the book, holding the page this way and that, but the edges appear empty.

  All I can see are prayers – many of which I have already learned in my time here.

  Then I grin as I remember how the Prophet left me a message once before. Turning back to the first page, I pass a blunt flame lightly over the paper.

  His script appears, fading too quickly for me to read it. There are only a few words in the margins of each page.

  I strengthen the flame, being careful to only heat as much as I can read in the brief seconds before the writing disappears again. I also haven’t forgotten how the previous message burst into flames and burned to ash in my hand after I heated it one too many times.

  Trea,

  Since your time on the ocean, I have seen many new glimpses of your future. The Goddess Moon has spoken directly to me – you are indeed the maiden we have waited for. The other maidens will help in forming the Garden, but you alone must fight the final battle to save the people from darkness.

  I’m sorry to tell you that the visions often conflict. This is a sign that you will have to make a choice. Although nothing is certain, I believe you will know the right choice, and have the strength to make it.

  As the world draws nearer to the eclipse, when the Moon is at her strongest, please keep these prayers close to your heart. They are a direct link to the Goddess herself.

  Remember: you have starfire within you. This means you have a bond with the Goddess Moon, and she will listen to your pleas. But beware the sunfire that newly rests in your soul. True sunfire is not bright. It is darkness – the darkness that blinds your eyes when you look too closely at the sun.

  Lord Hadeon put this sunfire in your heart, and it has the power to snuff out the silvery calm of Lexan’s starshine.

  Seek him, when you leave Elysium. Just as your mother once told you, the two of you are the spring star and the autumn star. Your love for the people is what brought you to earth.

  For now you are separated, but your love for each other is what can take you home.

  As the last word cools and fades away, his message is complete. I sit heavily on the floor, my legs folded beneath me.

  Mechanically, I turn again to the very first page, but instead of reading the message again, I read the prayer. I focus on the words until they are memorized, and then I close my eyes and repeat the chant four times, then four times more, like I used to with Grandmother’s meditations.

  It isn’t as calming as it might have been before I found the Prophet’s message. But I have progressed far enough on my path that my inner temple is easy enough to find. I embrace the darkness there, bringing what light I can to honor the immortal part of me that rests in the shadows.

  The sun sets and the moon rises as I chant, then memorize, then chant again.

  Despite all my worries and fears, somehow I know that right now, there is nothing else for me to do, but pray to the Goddess Moon.

  I need her blessing more than ever now, evidently.

  TWENTY-ONE

  LEXAN

  February 20, 2067

  Two more tornadoes this week. The weather is more and more strange. We’ve always had lots of tornadoes here, but never so early. The temperature fluctuates every day from high to low and back again, whipping the air into a frenzy. The newsie tells me it’s the same north and south of us – an alleyway of tornadoes.

  At least our air doesn’t carry fire with it, like we’ve heard from the western states.

  From First Leader Lakessa’s personal journal

  Included in Firene’s secret papers

  My brain is groggy and still half-asleep when the smoke reaches me. The light that hurts my eyes is not from the morning sun – I bolt upright in the tree where I’ve spent the night, fear searing through my limbs like the heat that crackles just beneath me.

  There is fire everywhere.

  A soft hooting floats up to me – a cackle of laughter, and I know. The Lost have found me.

  I yank the straps of my pack back onto my shoulders, along with my bow and arrows. Everything below me is obscured by smoke and flame: I’m effectively blind in the gruesome orange and black half-dark of early morning. Taking a shallow breath and holding it in, I climb higher in the tree, choosing branches as best I can for strength.

  If I fall now, I’ll be roasted alive before they can eat me alive.

  My head pokes above the canopy, and I can see the trap they’ve laid. I’m in the center of a controlled circle of fire, stretching maybe ten trees in each direction. Zarea warned me about this – it’s why I’ve been sleeping only in trees in the first place, and only for a few hours at a time. Fire is their signature, and if Zarea is right, they signed it all over the walls of Kedesh.

  I judge the distance to the next tree, choose a thick branch to aim for, and jump. The landing jars my bones, but I manage to hold on, digging my fingers into the rough bark. I weave through the branches, leaping from tree to tree. Still, I can’t seem to locate any of them – the laughter has been lost to the sound of my own anxious breathing. Maybe there was only one?

 
It’s an excruciatingly slow progress, but eventually I’m away from the fire.

  I watch vigilantly for movement as I climb down to the forest floor. The second my feet hit earth, I’m running, heading for the road I’ve been following during the day. I break from the shelter of the trees a split second before two of them do the same, and I whip my bow around to fire on them.

  I miss the first shot, cursing, but my second arrow flies true, striking one in the heart – a woman. She stumbles and falls on all fours, but she continues to crawl toward me like the pain is merely an inconvenience.

  The man is almost within grabbing distance before I can loose another arrow, and it buries too far in his stomach for retrieval. He bellows, but charges on toward me. I run, backward at first, then sprint all out as I see him impossibly gaining on me, blood seeping through the tattered shirt he wears.

  I don’t want to leave them to die of blood loss or infection, but I just don’t have the muscle to fight them up close. I have to get away.

  The air swirls around me as I run, the heat from the fire gradually giving way to the humidity of the morning. I call to the high, cool air to push me along and fill my lungs with energy.

  Finally, I notice there are no more noises following me, and I slow enough to check behind me. Scanning the trees that line the road and spill onto its broken sections, I see no movement. I pull a water skin from my pack and drink deeply, still breathing heavily.

  I don’t stop for long. They could still be close by, watching. There is no humanity left in these creatures, but there is still some modicum of intelligence – they have strategies such as the fire, and enough sense to track a human.

  As I follow the road, checking it with my map each time I stop for water, I try again to piece together the dream I’ve been having each night since leaving Elysium.

  There is one thought which remains clear, throughout all the jagged fragments of color and shape: sacrifice.

  Whatever lies ahead of us, sacrifices will be required, and I know in my heart that despite the Prophet’s faith, this isn’t going to end well for all of us.

  I stop at the hottest part of the day to eat and wash in a clear stream, filling my empty water skins and adding the herbs Trea taught us to use on our very first journey. The map that Pacem made shows that I’m at the edge of the territory for the Tribe of Reuben.

  I don’t know how close we came to their location when we were traveling before, but I’m doubtful I’ll find anyone, even stragglers. A selfish, tired part of me hopes it really has been abandoned for decades. I simply don’t have time or compassion enough right now to find, convince, gather, and lead any other various groups to a place I still don’t have a location for.

  And Asphodel’s plight beats in every push of my heart.

  But skipping the settlement won’t save my mother, so I spend a few precious hours wandering the location Pacem has marked. All I find are ruins. It’s impossible for me to tell how old the bits of house and cracked stone steps are. Whoever these people were, they really have been gone a long time. I make a note on the map and push on.

  As I walk, I use my knife to peel the bark from slim sticks I find, and I watch for any sharp pieces of broken road to use as makeshift arrowheads. I’ll need to conserve the ones I have left as much as possible.

  The days begin to slip by almost without notice. I keep to the schedule and route laid out by Pacem; though my feet blister, I often go long stretches without cover at night, and fresh water and game to hunt is scarce.

  I don’t need much, and I’ll be damned if I let my people down now.

  One afternoon a bird finds me – one of Pacem’s brown ones. It opens to reveal a delicate script on a scrap of fabric.

  Lexan – when you get this, we will likely be in Elysium. I must thank you so much for your kindness and the selfless act that brought you to us. I pray for you each night, and thank the Goddess Moon for you and Pacem. He has even fixed my sister’s leg so she walks easily again. – Ashta

  I tuck the fabric in my pocket, and a smile hovers on my face the rest of the day, and even into the next. Even though my heart urges me to race to Asphodel, leaving all other concerns behind, I know I’m doing the right thing.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ASTREA

  March 15, 2067

  Kess finally introduced Charles to the rest of us – even Mother. It did not go well.

  He’s insane. So is she. They’re perfect together.

  From Aisa’s personal journal, saved from before the Cleansing

  One morning, more than a month since Lexan and Pacem left, there is a commotion at breakfast.

  The Prophet drops his glass of lemon-orange juice, the bright droplets splashing over the white tile and pooling in the glinting shards of glass.

  His eyes have grown vacant and his mouth hangs open.

  The Sisters do not move a muscle. They simply watch, and Irana and I are too stunned to do any differently.

  Then he begins to mumble. At first he’s speaking too softly to be heard, but then I realize he’s speaking another language entirely.

  Megara slams her own glass to the table, sloshing juice over the side. She glances at me, and for a split second, it looks as though her eyes are filled with blood. Irana gasps, so I know I’m not the only one seeing it.

  Then the Sisters rise like one person and stride from the hall, silencing everyone they glide past without a single word.

  The Prophet is still mumbling when he passes out. His thin body slumps in his chair, his arms hang limply at his sides.

  Irana leaps to her feet and begins to check him, feeling his wrists and neck.

  “Tariel!” I yell, ripping open the curtain. A sea of faces stares blankly at me before Tariel’s separates. She runs to us and yanks the curtain closed again, all but shoving Irana out of the way.

  “It’s just a vision,” she hisses. “No need to alarm the people so much.”

  I bristle, but then she adds, “The Sisters. Stupid creatures. They rule only when they want, and even then just with fear.”

  She seems to button her lips closed then, having said enough to get herself thrown off a cliff, or however they punish people here in Elysium.

  The Prophet moans and opens his eyes. He smiles weakly at the three of us, clustered around him.

  “The third maiden is here,” he whispers, his head lolling to the side. He closes his eyes again, but this time he appears to be sleeping.

  “Well, go rescue your friend,” Tariel says, waving us away. “I can take care of him from here.” She pokes her head out of the curtain and snaps her fingers.

  A young man with broad shoulders stands and joins us, picking up the Prophet easily. They slip out the back of the curtain, through a door I had never realized was there.

  “Where should we go?” Irana asks, her voice small and worried.

  “To the entrance, I guess,” I say. “I think he’ll be fine. She didn’t seem worried.”

  Irana looks worried, though, and we avoid eye contact as we make our way through the crowd of people who have begun speaking again, but only in hushed whispers, as though gossip and secrets are the only sustenance on the menu now.

  As soon as the door closes behind us, it opens again, and Lady Thema stands there.

  “I’m here to claim payment for my story,” she says.

  “Oh. Of course,” I say, trying to push away my impatience. I mean, she wants to discuss this now? “Although we’re on our way to…What exactly would you like?”

  She surveys the two of us, saying nothing.

  “I could pay you, if that’s what you want.” She says nothing. “I have some money – jewels. Or do you mean protection?” I ask, faltering as she stays silent for too many awkward minutes.

  “I want to speak with my daughter first, and I want you to promise you will not allow her to leave Elysium when I am finished,” she says, her eyes boring into mine.

  I raise my eyebrows, but somehow manage not to ask the questio
n.

  “I have things to tell her. She will not be pleased. But she will hear them, and she will stay to help her people.”

  I nod, already running through options on how I might possibly convince Zarea to do anything she doesn’t want to do.

  I may need some of Tariel’s medicine and leg restraints.

  I snort to myself, picturing how many times I would have loved to do just that to Zarea since I’ve met her.

  “Do you have a problem with my terms?” Lady Thema asks, drawing up to her full height. Which is quite a few inches taller than me.

  “No, Lady Thema,” I say, smiling politely. “Your daughter is difficult to…manage. That’s all.”

  “If she’s truly my daughter, she will be impossible to manage,” she says, her eyes sparking at me.

  “Yes. She is.” I can’t stop the laugh, even when Irana stares at me, shock in her eyes.

  “But we must hurry,” Irana says, nearly whispering. “Even now, the Sisters are with her.”

  Lady Thema narrows her eyes in the direction of the entrance to Elysium. “I will wait for her in the Cave of the Goddess.” The closest thing I’ve seen to a smile ghosts across her lips, then she nods briefly and hurries away.

  Irana and I race to the edge of the city, where Zarea stands in the grass, her palm stroking the nose of a black horse. She whispers to it while watching the Sisters, who seem to be simply staring at her without expression.

  “Hello Zarea,” I say, stepping into her line of vision. She actually grins at me. “Welcome to Elysium.”

  “Funny sort of welcome,” she snorts. “Not even allowed in the city. These here won’t even speak except to tell me no,” she gestures at the Sisters.

  Irana stares down at her feet in their satin slippers. Even now, dressed in a gauzy skirt, she looks like a dancer.