Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  And as far as I can tell, this plan has held true. Surely Stian and his travelers have reached this area – they left months before I did – but so far the men we’ve seen are obviously all from Asphodel: they have similar lean figures, skin that’s still relatively pale despite obvious time in the sun, and the plain, tan and brown tunics and pants Asphodel favors.

  Even in the dense shade, I can tell how the autumn sun slants toward nightfall as we discuss possible plans.

  “I just don’t want to hurt anyone,” I say again. “Most of them are only working for Keirna out of fear.”

  “But you’ll need to use force to get past the guards,” Pacem insists.

  Frowning, I try to think my way out of the dilemma. “I might be able to send them a thought to leave, if I could get close enough.”

  Pacem shakes his head. “They have guns, Lexan. Didn’t you see?”

  I had seen, and wished I hadn’t – wishing it hadn’t come to that in Asphodel. Where did Keirna even get such weapons? Apparently there are layers upon layers of secrets in my home.

  “Could you just shoot to injure? An arrow to the shoulder?” he suggests.

  I make a face. “But even if I do that, they’d yell enough to attract everyone else.”

  “Too bad they have a night watch going, or we could sneak in when they were all sleeping.” He looks back toward the tree where we saw the guard, who has now been replaced with a fresh rotation.

  I nod, tapping my fingers on my pack as my brain runs in circles, going through the same possible scenarios, hoping to find a new option.

  “Wait. Did you say sleeping?” I ask.

  He nods.

  I rummage in my pack, drawing out the sheaf of papers I used to copy Trea’s herbalist. Rifling through the sheets, I grin, biting down a whoop of laughter.

  “Here it is,” I say, pointing to a recipe. “Sleeping tonic.”

  We spend the night making a plan, and the early morning hours gathering the right plants. The tonic has to rest to gain potency, and while we wait, I carve tiny, pin-prick arrowheads and the narrowest shafts I can manage to string on my bow.

  Hopefully they’ll cause minimal damage, while still delivering the tonic directly to the guards’ bloodstream. With any luck, we can walk right in the front door.

  Pacem takes the time to repair our last bird and send a message to Elysium that we’ve found Asphodel safely, and are preparing to enter and take the city.

  Finally, everything is ready. Pacem releases the bird and I gather the arrows that have been soaked in the sleeping tonic. We get as close as we can to the main entrance. Since dusk is falling, most of the men are returning to the cave. They must still sleep inside most of the time, I think, probably to protect themselves from the elements.

  As we inch closer, I see her. Keirna.

  She’s too far away, or I would shoot her now with whatever arrow I could grab first.

  “Easy,” Pacem whispers behind me, and I grit my teeth. I glance back at him and nod once. I won’t mess this up by doing anything stupid. So I sit and watch as Keirna strides back into the cave, followed by the last of the working men.

  Four guards take up their posts at the gated door, and the starry night settles in quietly.

  THIRTY

  ASTREA

  July 4, 2067

  Everyone is in a bad mood today. Even the elements are rebelling.

  Mother has grown wise to Kess’s wanderings, and she’s been keeping a much closer watch on us, especially since we had an actual earthquake this morning.

  Right after a bomb that lit up the early morning like it was noon.

  Kess and Clota are angry because all they want is to sneak out to see the boys.

  Ever since Kess brought back that orange, Clota has been bugging her.

  I guess when the world is crumbling around you, it’s easier to think of stupid things like boys who can save the world.

  As for me, I’d rather save it myself. Who wants to wait on a dumb boy?

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

  My heart knocks against my ribs as I read the brief message written in Lexan’s script. The empty bird lies in the dirt at my feet.

  “Lexan and Pacem are probably in Asphodel by now,” I say, looking up at Irana. Zarea and her sisters stop practicing to listen. “They stopped to visit Madna. She’s fine,” I add when Zarea looks at me hopefully. “But she wouldn’t go with them.”

  “Stubborn old woman,” Zarea mutters.

  “They’re probably in the city by now,” I repeat, my brain ticking off the days it might have taken for the bird to reach us, and comparing it with how far Madna is from Asphodel.

  Irana turns away, and I know she must be as sick as I feel. Pacem isn’t a fighter – and Lexan was barely himself when they left. His rational, logical mind had been practically lost to rage and grief.

  I flip the paper over. “Madna’s okay, but she was attacked by a Lost,” I read, my stomach churning at the idea that the Lost have made their way so far.

  Zarea’s eyes narrow, and I hear a distant rumbling beneath our feet. A few pebbles tumble to the base of the waist-high pyramid she’s build this morning.

  “We need to stop this training nonsense and just get to them,” she says, then stalks back toward Elysium. Serah looks at me apologetically, then she and Ashta follow. The three of them are rarely separated anymore.

  “They’ll be okay,” Irana says, in a whisper that shows she’s reassuring herself as much as me.

  “Zarea’s right, though. We need to talk to the Prophet,” I say, turning to follow the others. Irana sighs, but instead of following me, she walks in the direction of the sea.

  I continue through the center of the city, passing maybe a dozen people carrying boxes. Families have been loading the land ships all week with supplies and belongings in preparation to leave, but the expected departure date is still uncertain.

  I find myself drawn to the main temple, where I find the True Prophet kneeling on a prayer mat before the statue of the Goddess Moon.

  “I saw the bird, but I have not seen any visions of danger,” he says, not even opening his eyes.

  “But you don’t see everything,” I say, folding myself to a cross-legged position next to him.

  He only nods.

  Footsteps echo behind us, and I turn to see Zarea, alone for once.

  “No, he doesn’t see everything. But apparently he sees enough to give orders,” she says, holding out a paper for me to grasp.

  “He thinks I should join my power with Serah’s and Ashta’s. Take theirs,” she says before I can even read the Prophet’s scrawled message. “That we should somehow become one soul again.”

  “Certain parts of the prophecy have never changed. There are only three maidens. You do not have your true power because it was split at birth into three bodies. This much is certain,” he says, unmoving.

  Zarea scowls. “Nothing is certain anymore.”

  “Nothing has ever been certain,” another voice says, and I stand hurriedly as Alecta joins us.

  “But your progress has certainly been unsatisfactory,” Megara adds, appearing behind her Sister. “You have mastered air in the womb. You have made a few positive steps with both fire and water. Yet the path for earth – your own power – remains closed to you. There must be a reason why.”

  Three more figures enter the temple, and I see Tisiphone, leading both Serah and Ashta by their upper arms. They look nervous, but they aren’t struggling.

  “They are in agreement,” she says, looking only at the Prophet.

  “No!” Zarea cries, her voice echoing off the walls of the temple. “I’m not doing whatever it is you think will pull their power from them!”

  “It’s probably dangerous! What if they’re hurt?” I say, trying for once to defuse the situation.

  “Of course it’s dangerous,” Alecta snaps at me. “Everything in life is dangerous. Everything except death.”


  “Even if it’s death, we’re willing,” Ashta says then, her eyes hard. “Zarea, we all have a purpose. If mine was to nurture my power until I could save both of my sisters, then I’ll happily die for such a worthy purpose.”

  Serah nods, her eyes shining with tears. “Do it,” she whispers. Megara places a hand on Zarea’s shoulder, and she winces, but cannot shake free.

  The Prophet nods, no joy in his expression. He rises and directs everyone, until Serah and Ashta have joined hands with a still-struggling Zarea, forming a circle around the statue of the Goddess. The Three Sisters form an outer ring, sister linked with sister in a chain of power.

  The Prophet seats himself a few feet from the statue and kneels, touching his forehead to the ground in prayer. Tisiphone begins to sing, and although I don’t know the words, the melody is hauntingly familiar, tapping at the door to my inner temple.

  Irana’s eyes slide closed, her face rapt, and before I can take another breath, my eyes grow too heavy to resist the same.

  I’m swaying, but not falling. Flying, but still standing.

  Flames course through every vein in my body – surely my blood tastes of fire now, I think randomly. The sensation of this power is like nothing I’ve felt before. I could build a platform of flames in the sky and set fire to the very ocean itself.

  Megara and Alecta must join in the song at some point, because I begin to hear three distinct voices combining in one sweet, terrible melody. Something ancient is being awoken inside of me, and I don’t think it will go back to sleep easily.

  A scream of pain tries to tug me back to the real world, but everything seems so far away. So unimportant, compared to eternity among the stars.

  Another agonized cry tugs me along, closer. There is still someone here who needs my help – someone in mortal danger, perhaps.

  I drag my eyes open just in time to see Serah and Ashta collapse to the floor, their unfailing grip on Zarea’s hands dragging her face-first into the arms of the Goddess statue. She cries out, her body going rigid as the statue seems to electrify around her, streaks of yellow-green and golden-brown light snapping at her skin like lightning to a tree.

  The circles of power are torn apart as the Three Sisters crumple silently to the floor, as still and smooth as death.

  And Zarea bellows – a young bear awakening – and the floor of the temple rolls beneath us like ocean waves, or undulating flames.

  The tilting of the stones beneath my feet is actually what slams me all the way back to reality, and my breath comes in huge gulps as I begin to register the chaos opening around me.

  Serah and Ashta are motionless and pale – drained.

  The Three Sisters lie flat and broken, like discarded dolls.

  The Prophet has not moved from his pose of prayer, and Irana seems as frozen as I am, her eyes huge in her white face.

  Zarea yells incoherently and shoves at the statue before her. It shudders like a tree in a tornado, then topples, pieces spiraling to the other side of the room as she roars. The head of the Goddess flies out an opposite window, and the colored mosaic tiles begin to rain from the ceiling.

  The very earth beneath us is rumbling like thunder, and I scream at Irana to move, stumbling as I try to reach her.

  The Prophet flies to his feet, his eyes still closed. “The people,” he says, his fingernails tearing at his temple. “Now!” he screams.

  Megara makes a strange, guttural noise then, and Alecta cackles from her prone position on the floor. Tisiphone rolls her head to the side, moaning.

  And the three of them flicker in my vision, their bones blackening beneath their skin, their eyes rolling back to mine, swimming in blood.

  I can only stare as they crawl to a standing position, and wings spring inexplicably from their backs. I nearly topple onto my back trying to get away from the horrific forms taking shape before me.

  “Erinyes,” I whisper, and they howl – an inhuman sound – then they whip from the temple, blackened, silver-tipped wings beating against the door, crumbling pieces of stone from the frame.

  Their screeches echo on the wind as they lift into the air, and then the terrified shrieks of the Elysians bounce back to me as they finally see their leaders in their true form.

  Dashing to the door, I see them chasing the people, even clutching some of the slower ones and the children in their feet-turned-claws and whisking them to the clearing in the forest, where the land ships are waiting.

  “They’re trying to save them from that,” Irana says behind me, her voice thick with tears. Her hand shakes as she points helplessly to the ocean, which has begun to churn. A wave bigger than I’ve ever seen crashes into the shore, and a spray of water mists the edge of the city.

  Another massive wave begins to form on the horizon.

  We’re out of time. What can I do?

  Glancing back to Zarea, I see her bend to pound the floor, and a great crack opens in the earth, nearly swallowing the base of the statue.

  The Prophet yells at her to stop as he drags Serah’s unmoving form toward the door. Irana yanks at Ashta’s body but waves me away as I try to help.

  “Go help the people!” she cries.

  I scramble out of the temple, screaming at everyone I see to get out of the city. People are pouring from every doorway as they hear the noise, and new screams join the fray as mothers grasp children and brothers carry sisters and fathers grab what boxes they can, all racing to the shelter of the land ships.

  Seconds later, Irana passes me, tearing for the ocean.

  Glancing at the temple, I see the Prophet has found someone to help him, and they stumble toward the ships, carrying Serah’s and Ashta’s limp forms as best they can.

  Amidst all the chaos, Zarea stalks slowly out of the crumbling temple, surveying the panicked crowds as if she had no part in what is happening. Chunks of rock rumble after her, like toddlers after a mother.

  As I try to herd people away from all they’ve ever known, I curse the uselessness of my fire power. If only Lexan were here, he could probably even lift some of them up and spirit them to the ships on a gust of air. He could to talk Zarea – something.

  What can I do?

  I slam into each of the buildings, yelling, but except for a few stragglers who are trying to carry too much, the living spaces are finally empty. Searching the few remaining faces, I see Irana standing at the edge of the city, her arms raised to the waves beyond.

  She’s so tiny – so insignificant.

  As much power as we think we have, the universe will always have more.

  I haul myself through the wind toward her. “What are you doing?” I scream, desperate to be heard over the roar of the water. Each wave is higher than the last: soon the city will be swallowed whole.

  “It’s not me!” she cries. “The power isn’t from the water, or the wind!” She struggles toward me, bracing against the gusts, her body leaning so far forward she would fall if the wind ceased. Her fingers grasp my arm and she leans closer to my ear.

  “Trea, the water is just reacting! The ocean floor is breaking, and chunks of it are pushing the water right to us. I don’t think I can do much to stop it!”

  “An earthquake!” I yell, understanding washing over me like the salt spray. Zarea hasn’t just cracked the temple floor – she’s cracked the very crust of the earth itself.

  “They won’t all make it!” I call to Irana. “Do anything you can!” There are still too many people rushing across the open space in the city’s center. The Sisters are mere flashes of black and white as they whisk people to safety.

  Irana yells wordlessly at the water as she tries to push it back, like Lexan has been able to do with the tornadoes. The water separates into channels, swerving around the buildings, but still swallowing the city block by block.

  Luckily, it does seem to buy the people some time, and those who were frozen in fear start to run as the smaller rivers of water lap at their feet.

  Another wave pounds the city’s edge,
crashing against the concrete, and I hear a scream from the city’s edge. Irana and I both sprint toward the noise, only to see a woman being sucked under the rolling water. Her dark head disappears between the water and the concrete.

  Irana doesn’t even hesitate. She dives in after the woman, her own slim form slipping instantly beneath the black water. I curse under my breath.

  Water power or not – this could kill her.

  She surfaces, spluttering, too far away. I dart along the edge, looking in vain for a way to help, but my fire would only make the water more treacherous.

  The woman hangs limply over Irana’s arm as she struggles to haul her in. I feel insanely helpless as I watch her push the water into more channels, allowing a river of calmer water to wash them back onto the concrete.

  I meet her halfway, wading into the water that is even now hoping to suck us back out to sea.

  Together we pull the woman to safety, and Irana rolls her over, pushing on her chest to dislodge the water in her lungs.

  I scrape the matted brown hair from her face and cry out.

  Lady Thema lies before us. I close my eyes and search, but it’s too late. The soul is gone; Thema is dead.

  Irana whimpers as she pulls Thema’s mouth open, trying to breathe new air into her broken body.

  “Irana – stop,” I say, shaking her shoulder as she bends over the figure again, still trying to change water into air.

  “I should have been able to save her,” she sobs. I stand and begin to drag her away, even as another wave is gathering height in the distance.

  “You’ve saved so many!” I cry, tugging at her. “Her soul is in a better place now,” I add, growing desperate to leave the concrete ledge, which is nearly underwater.

  I have no idea what Irana or even Thema believe about souls and where they go, but I really hope what I said is true. There has to be something out there for us.

  Life is too difficult for it to be anything other than a trial.

  The ocean leaps up again without warning, claiming Thema’s body, along with a good portion of the nearest building.