Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  “You don’t remember?” she asks, her voice trembling.

  I shake my head, very slowly. “Do it now.”

  We pause in the scant shade of a tree barely taller than ourselves. Irana faces me, her brow furrowed.

  “There, you see!” she smiles after a few seconds.

  “See what?”

  Her grin slips. “Trea, stop it. I told you I liked your tunic, and you said thank you. Quit playing games.”

  She sounds as unsettled as I feel.

  “I responded to you?” I ask, picking up on the biggest mystery. She nods. “But I’ve never been able to push my thoughts to anyone. I can transfer bravery. Not words.”

  “Then why can I hear your voice in my head?” she asks, unwilling to back down.

  “I don’t know. But I promise I’m not hearing yours.”

  This is bad. This is so bad. I don’t know if she’s going crazy, or if Hade is talking to her, or…who knows what other insane explanation there might be.

  “I’ll ask the Prophet,” she says finally. “I was planning to go to the temple anyways. Would you like a piece of my orange?” she asks, offering it to me.

  I make a face at its sick-sweet smell, even as something seems to explode in my head. “Irana, look at me. Do you ever hear another voice in your head? When there’s no-one else around? Or in the womb?”

  She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut. “That’s ridiculous. Of course I don’t hear any voices when I’m alone. Besides, I’ve only ever heard Lexan’s, then yours.” She pops an orange segment into her mouth. A droplet of juice runs down her chin, and she wipes it away delicately.

  I stare at her. “Sorry. I thought you might be having visions or something.”

  “Nothing like that,” she shrugs. “I think I’m going to find the Prophet now,” she says, almost as though we didn’t even have this conversation. And she turns away.

  For the slimmest second, I consider pushing into my mind to ask Hade if he’s there, playing games. But even I’m not that stupid.

  Hesten must have been watching for me, because she opens the door to her rooms as soon as I step onto the floor.

  “We get to choose your dresses today!” she grins. “Here’s your Ascension tunic.”

  She hands me a tunic that is fairly sheer, and the exact color of my skin. I hold it up, realizing it will barely graze my thighs. “What exactly is this for?” I ask.

  “I don’t really know. But everyone’s is the same design – boy or girl. They’re dyed to match your skin, too.”

  I almost ask how they can do that, but I really don’t even care, because it doesn’t matter. I’ll be wearing it regardless.

  When we enter my room, I see that she also has a slim folder of papers that she spreads over my bed. There are several rough sketches of dresses, in a rainbow of colors and a myriad of styles.

  “You’ll choose one for each element, and once the ceremony is complete, they will dress you in the element that chooses you.”

  “Wouldn’t that be fire?” I ask.

  She nods her head. “I would assume so. But just like with the womb or the Ocean Trials, nothing is definite in Ascension.”

  I flip through the pages. All of the dresses are exquisite. I point to several which have long sleeves and covered backs, and Hesten laughs.

  “Those are usually for the older women in the ceremony. This time, we are all unmarried. The others will be choosing to attract their husbands or wives.”

  “Have you chosen yours? For Kesh?” I smile.

  She blushes and points to a slim, strapless dress the color of sunsets. “I hope this will be the one. If I’m chosen by the fire element.”

  “When is the ceremony?” I ask, staring out the window. I wish Lexan were returning with Pacem. I would have loved to choose a dress for him to see me in.

  The last time he saw me in a fancy dress, it was one chosen by Hade, and neither of us were pleased with the result.

  “Tonight, I believe. But it’s very secretive. No-one who hasn’t been through the ceremony is allowed to witness it.”

  “Tonight,” I whisper. I look through the dresses one last time, but I still choose the most modest ones from each element.

  “What now?”

  “Clean yourself and rub in as much lotion as your skin will hold. Then wait in your room. I’ll deliver our dress choices, then someone will come for us. Beyond that, I don’t know, except that the dresses will be altered to fit us for the ball tomorrow evening.”

  As I take my shower, I think about Thema’s ideas about how threads can be binding or joining. Elysium has so many secrets – just like Asphodel. Their leaders aren’t cruel on purpose, but they certainly aren’t kind.

  If and when we ever reach the Garden, I hope to forge a new way to organize everyone. I don’t want to become just another leader that everyone fears or hates.

  In my room, I dress in the tunic and kneel to wait. I open the Prophet’s prayer book, but I don’t really need it anymore. I have all the prayers memorized. I find it amusing how spiritual the path has asked me to become – I rarely prayed at all in Asphodel.

  Then again, I didn’t know I was a sort of half immortal, who needed to meditate and pray to reach her inner temple and construct a direct path to salvation by the Goddess Moon.

  I snort a laugh to myself just as the door to my room opens.

  A woman I’ve never seen before stands there.

  “It is time,” she says. I follow her out the door, down the hall, and into the concrete center of the city.

  The dusk is just beginning to creep into the corners of the city, and the open space is deserted.

  “Lie down here and do not move,” the woman says, pointing to a space next to the concrete river.

  I lie on my back and watch as the night sky darkens from dusty rose to a deeper purple, and finally to a deep indigo. Out of the corner of my eyes I sense movement, but the only noise is an occasional footfall.

  The concrete becomes tiresome and my muscles ache to stretch, but I hold my position. I will not fail this test.

  No matter what they do to me, I will not.

  “Citizens of Elysium, I thank you for your presence tonight as you support the Ascension candidates in their final task.” The True Prophet’s voice floats to me from a distance, and I imagine him addressing a silent, watching crowd. This makes me even more nervous, and I clench and unclench my muscles, urging them not to twitch.

  “Each of you here has completed the path of the four elements, and each of you has conquered the Ascension. Pray for these candidates now, that they might follow your footsteps. Although the sand has shifted and covered your tracks, your prayers tonight will entreat the Goddess Moon to show them the way.”

  Someone steps near me, setting a stone tablet on the ground near me. I strain to see without moving my head. I think it holds a row of flat, palm-sized crystals.

  “Before the ether can be pursued, all traces of our past sinful selves must be cleansed away. The first to be purified is the root of us all – the core of our bodies, where we find the kernels of our humanity.”

  The person beside me kneels and selects a crystal. As she bends over me, I see it is the same woman from before. She holds the crystal up for me to see, and the round disc covers the moon with a dark red, nearly black.

  She looks at me nervously for a split second before pressing it into my lower stomach, several inches below my belly button. Air pushes out of me at the intensity of the pressure – how can such a thin stone weigh so much? I feel as if it is boring through the wispy fabric of my tunic, sinking into my very skin.

  The pain isn’t sharp, but a dull ache, like the crystal is tugging at my innards, testing them.

  “The second is the sacral, found in the belly. It reminds us of creation, and the worth of the individual in the great tapestry of life.”

  The woman holds up an orange crystal, identical in shape and size to the first. She places it above the first, but still bene
ath my belly button. The flood of emotions is instantaneous and unexpected. I don’t know whether to cry or giggle, blush or dance. I wish Lexan and I were alone in a bed, but at the same time I feel too embarrassed to even open my eyes.

  The light of the moon suddenly feels hot, and I seal my lips together to avoid making a sound.

  “The third crystal is often the most difficult for those who begin the path late,” the Prophet says, and I know immediately this one is going to hurt. “It governs our wants, our desires, and it can be a place of balance between passion and calm, between strength and weakness. Or it can be a battleground.”

  A disc is held above me – yellow – and the woman presses it into my upper stomach, in the hollow between my ribs. I can’t help it – a cry escapes my lips as the stone seems to grind against me like sand. I clench my fingers around each other, pressing my fists into the concrete to keep from ripping the stone from my skin.

  “The fourth crystal is for the heart,” the Prophet continues, although I have to strain to hear him over my own breathing. Unlike in the womb, the pain isn’t lessening. If anything, it’s growing worse – pulling the other stones into its orbit of pain.

  “This stone is for love of other people, but also love for the gods and goddesses who wait for us in the ether beyond. It can be especially dangerous, however, for someone to be purified in their heart before they are ready. Brothers and sisters, pray with me now that our candidates may find strength.”

  I hear the faint murmuring of dozens, maybe hundreds, in the blank space beyond where I can see. Is all of Elysium here to watch? I feel sick – I can’t fail. Not in front of all these people – not when they’re so against me already.

  “Place the crystal, and the hurt of a heart scar will be released,” the Prophet says.

  The woman’s arm trembles as she holds a green crystal before the moon, then presses it gently into the center of my chest.

  And I swear my heart stops.

  The blood pulses in my ears, threatening to burst from my nose, as it searches for a way to return. The pump is no longer working, and life ceases to course through my veins.

  I hear a faint voice above me, but everything is going black.

  I feel the soft brush of fingers on my lips, on my chest, pushing at my lungs from outside, but all of that is nothing compared to the darkness inside my skull.

  But then a prick of light appears and grows. I want to follow it. It flows into the shape of a woman, dressed in silver and white, and smiling.

  I think I smile back.

  “Shh,” she whispers. “Not yet.”

  And my eyes fly open, my temples pounding as my heart finally begins to remember its purpose.

  A smattering of footsteps hurry away from me, but I don’t have time to wonder if I’ve failed before the Prophet continues.

  “The fifth place is found on the throat, and it governs how we communicate with others. If anger is held, this is its prison cell.”

  I can barely find the energy to be afraid of this one before a light blue crystal is pressed to my throat, its impossible weight crushing my windpipe, just like when anger threatens to explode from me in careless words.

  I don’t even have enough breath to cry out at the pain, and I feel the tears begin to leak from the corners of my eyes, running into my hair.

  “The sixth place to purify on the path to Ascension is the third eye. This eye is not for the visible world, but rather for seeing the self in relation to the spirituality it was formed from.”

  A deep blue stone is held above me, reminding me of Lexan’s eyes. The woman presses it to my forehead, directly in the center. At least the pain does not increase with this stone. I focus on breathing just enough to stay conscious.

  “The seventh stone is on the crown of the head, and it brings the wisdom of the gods and goddesses into our minds. When we are born and when we die, the soul passes through this gateway.”

  A beautiful violet crystal is shown to me, and the woman lifts my head just a bit, sliding the crystal beneath my head like a tiny, hard, terrible pillow.

  “And now, citizens of Elysium, I ask that you stay and pray as long as you are able. Our candidates will wrestle with these crystals until they learn the way to the ether, or they will fall from the path and be lost among the darkness. Candidates,” he says, raising his voice as though addressing us directly now, “you must wait until every star has gone from the sky, rested, then returned, before moving. Your pain is your path. Keep your sights in the stars, and you will join us in celebration at the Ascension Ball.”

  I hear a scrape as the tablet is removed, and footsteps walk away. My breathing speeds up as I process what the Prophet has just told me – I have to lie here all night and all day?

  These crystals will stay on my skin for an entire revolution of the sun. That explains the lotion, at least. It will help block the burn of the sun, while allowing our skin to be open to the crystals.

  Although I wished for Lexan earlier, I’m suddenly very, very glad he isn’t here to experience this, or to wait for me, wondering if I’m in pain.

  I not sure if Irana would make it through this.

  I allow my mind to wander as much as possible, because then I don’t think of the aching and grinding and shooting pains in every part of my torso, or the dead weight of my unmoving limbs.

  I hear someone crying – sobbing, really – and I hope it isn’t Hesten or Kesh. I never even saw the other two candidates.

  I wish I could just sleep, but the crystals churn their way through every scrap of my concentration.

  I wonder when Hade will make an appearance in my mind.

  My thoughts are drifting on the river of pain when I’m nearly jolted into moving – screams are echoing across the courtyard. The sounds are wrenching, and I want nothing more than to jump to my feet and help the person making the noise.

  Do not get up.

  I suck in a breath. Styx.

  Trea, if you fail this test, you will never see Lexan again. You will never return to Asphodel. You will never have a chance.

  “Hade?” A whisper escapes my parched lips as I screw my eyes shut against the screams, which are becoming hoarser by the second.

  Of course, darling. I think you know why you must finish the ceremony, don’t you.

  A dull, thudding noise begins, jarring the screams, breaking them into sobs of desperation. Then they falter, then stop, and silence settles over the courtyard again.

  Well, not quite silence. Someone else is crying softly, whimpering in the night.

  And I am grinding my teeth, nearly insane with the effort of keeping still.

  That person was Lost, weren’t they, I think to Hade, the idea coming to me suddenly.

  Yes. And now their soul is at rest. Escaped through the seventh chakra, Hade chuckles.

  I don’t want to think about someone lying with me on the concrete, dead from the pain of the Ascension Ceremony. I certainly don’t want to hear him laugh about it.

  I roll my eyes around in their sockets, searching the stars for any signs of morning. Then one begins to move, and another, and soon I’m watching, open-mouthed, as dozens of stars streak across the sky.

  “Showers of stars,” I say, remembering Tariel’s description.

  The shooting stars are souls, rising and falling. Resting in Elysium or burning in Tartarus, or waiting in Asphodel, Hade answers, and I suddenly feel as though the earth is tilting and I’m scrambling not to fall over the edge.

  This is the first thing he’s told me that I truly didn’t know.

  This means there is no way he isn’t real.

  Of course I’m real, darling. I’ve been real all along.

  “Are you in Irana, too?”

  I don’t believe I’ll tell you that tonight. I can hear the smile in his voice, as he echoes the same frustrating statement he’s made to me many times before.

  “Why me?”

  Because you are the jewel. The pinnacle. The best. You are al
l I have hoped for, for one hundred years, Astrea. Darling, you are all I have needed.

  Needed for what? I ask, knowing he isn’t being romantic.

  The chuckles vibrate inside my own skin, as though I am the one laughing. And he fades away, leaving me staring at the sky, which is faintly streaked with gray.

  The day is dawning, and the stars are fading, one by one.

  TWENTY-THREE

  LEXAN

  March 20, 2067

  The first day of spring. Nobody would know, because the storms have stripped every flower bud from the trees and ground.

  Mother has forbidden me from going to the market. She hated – absolutely hated – Charles. She hopes that keeping me from doing the weekly shopping will also keep me from meeting him. She doesn’t realize that I am the storm that will strip away the buds of her hope.

  From First Leader Lakessa’s personal journal

  Included in Firene’s secret papers

  It’s been so long since I heard the voice of another person that I almost miss the laughter that dances in on the early morning breeze. I pull at the still-cool air, trying to determine where the voice came from. It’s not the same laughter that the Lost have – it’s lighter. Feminine.

  I’ve taken to walking at night and resting in the heat of the day, which helps the loneliness, too. I don’t feel so alone if I’m traveling when others are supposed to be sleeping.

  I check the map and mark my slight change in course. My blistered feet protest that it’s nearly time to rest, even as I speed up: I don’t care – there are people up here somewhere.

  I climb the shallow side of a steep formation, and I feel like I’ve stepped into a different world.

  Below me, and barely a mile off the crumbling road I’ve been hiking, is a narrow river, wound around itself like a coiled snake. I can see its spirals extending north and south. But before me is a rounded, calm pool of tantalizing water.

  I skid carefully down the slope toward the promise of refreshment. Rocks stretch up on all sides, hiding the river’s bend from the road I was on. I would have never noticed it, if it weren’t for my way with the wind.