Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  Somehow I don’t think the people who enter their cities will be as safe as they hope.

  Perhaps I’ll start my own city, and admit only the pure of heart. My own sisters wouldn’t be allowed in, but the sisters from my dreams would be.

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

  For weeks we travel without real incident.

  Most of the Elysian people stay inside the land ships, trapped by their own fear in the bulky, slow-moving vehicles. A select number are allowed to scout ahead in the sleeker, hovering vehicles like the one Lexan and Pacem used.

  And only a very few, like myself, prefer to walk as much as possible. There is no way I’d be stuck in one of those rolling boxes for endless days, and if I take to the forest, I can usually come out ahead of the caravan anyways: they are stuck to the broken remains of the road, and the occasional flat desert and meadow.

  We’re nearly halfway when we lose our first scouting team.

  “There are fires ahead,” the second team reports back to the Sisters.

  The Prophet says, “My visions were strange last night. Fire consuming people, but also people consuming people.”

  “The Lost,” I answer. I’m sure of it – based on Zarea’s stories. “I’ll go. I can fight the fire at least.

  “I’ll come with you,” Irana says, and I do my best not to roll my eyes. Yes, she may be good to put out a fire, but Irana is not a fighter. I’ll spend my time watching her.

  “Can you spare another scout?” I ask.

  Megara narrows her eyes. “No. What else are you two Starbright maidens good for if not to protect the people in times like these? I’ll not send another Elysian to their death.”

  I sigh, knowing it’s useless to protest. Gathering my weapons, I give Irana a knife. She makes a face, but slips it into her belt as we head in the direction the scout indicates.

  “There is barely any water in the air,” she tells me in a low voice as we creep through the trees. “I won’t be much help here.”

  I push away my aggravation and focus on locating the origins of the flames, and see that the two missing scouts have been trapped in a clearing, with a ring of fire walling them in. On the far side, I can just make out some dark shapes, waiting.

  “They’re going to burn them alive,” I whisper, incredulous that the stories are actually true. According to the Prophet, the Lost resemble the first humans – the ones born from the sun’s jealous anger. They have the intelligence and nature of an animal – and none of the compassion of a human.

  The Prophet has spoken to the people about the true danger of the Lost – not loss of our lives to their appetites – but the danger of humanity devolving back to this state.

  If the eclipse does not take our lives, he warns, it might very well take our light, leaving us all Lost.

  One of the Lost men howls just then, and the trapped scouts yell back – one of them fires an arrow into the smoke, but it flies wide.

  “Can you douse the fire?” I whisper to Irana. She shakes her head, her eyes wide with fear. I suppress a sigh. I wish again for a guard, but the people of Elysium are largely untrained in any sort of weaponry anyways.

  They all know the path, yes, but not how to wield a knife.

  “If I make a path, can you lead those men back to the caravan?” I ask, wondering if I’m fast enough to fight more than one Lost at once.

  “Yes, I think so,” Irana says. “I’ll try.”

  “Maybe I can take one out from here,” I say, looking up at a tree. I climb onto a lower branch, but I just can’t get a good shot in without moving the fire and alerting them.

  Just as I’m about to just go for it, one of the Lost screams as he drops to the ground. Another does the same barely a second later, and then a third drops.

  The men in the circle of fire stop yelling as they realize their attackers aren’t moving, and they start creeping toward the boundaries of the fire.

  “Now, Irana,” I call softly, in case there are more. I suck the fire to me, giving them an opening. They dart through, and Irana yells to them, running back to the ship with them following like baby ducks.

  I calm the rest of the fire, easing it out a little at a time. The three Lost still haven’t moved, and as I near them, I see they are all dead. Shot through the eyes, all of them.

  My stomach lurches, but I ignore it. Who did this? I scan the trees, wondering at the tingling in the soles of my feet.

  “Zarea?” I finally call out, my voice still low. If she’s here, she’ll hear me.

  A branch cracks behind me, and I whirl.

  “I’ve been following you,” she says, her eyes meeting mine for brief moment before she looks back at the earth. “I want to make sure the ships stay safe.”

  I look her over. She’s dirty, and thinner than before.

  “You look awful,” I say, a grin on the corner of my lips.

  She glances up, and a glare begins but soon gives way to a grin, which fades even faster. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I saw where they…they buried my sisters.”

  “I’m sorry, too. The Prophet feels horrible about that. He had no idea it would happen.”

  She snorts. “Someone must have known. If not him, then those three vultures.”

  “Erinyes,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Erinyes. Lexan told me about them before he left. They’re immortal, like we are. Judges. But not very forgiving. They’re here to test us – to make sure we’re worthy of saving the world.”

  “I don’t know if the world is worthy of saving,” she says.

  “I used to feel that way, too. But there are good people here, Zarea. And those who aren’t good, we’re here to take care of them, too,” I finish grimly, gesturing toward the three bodies at our feet.

  She nods, staring at the charred circle.

  “Don’t tell the people I’m back,” she whispers. “I’ll be around, but I don’t want to see their faces. I caused everyone so much pain…” And with that, she darts between the trees and vanishes into the shadows.

  I make my way back to the caravan, where Irana has been anxiously waiting, and tell her what happened.

  “She’ll follow us, won’t she?” Irana asks, looking at me with hope in her eyes.

  “I think she will,” I nod.

  A few days later, another scouting party is attacked in the same manner, with a ring of fire trapping them. But the Lost are killed – arrows between the eyes – before help even has time to arrive. The people begin to whisper that we are blessed – that the gods are helping us survive the attacks.

  Irana and I just exchange silent smiles while they sing prayers of thanks. Zarea is atoning for her mistakes, and when she decides to return, the people will hopefully be ready to forgive her.

  “Do you think the elements are growing stronger?” I ask the Prophet one afternoon, toward the end of the first month. We have stopped to let all the people exercise – a near-daily event which slows us much more than I’d like, but is necessary for the health of all the Elysian people cramped in the vehicles.

  “I do,” he nods. “These rainstorms and tremors are certainly more frequent and much stronger than any we had in Elysium. The weather will change as we cross the land, but I think the elements are following us.”

  “Like they’re searching for our powers,” I say. It’s something I’ve thought of many times, as I’ve drawn the flames from a forest fire back into my palms, or watched Irana walk for hours in the cold rain and never get chilled.

  “We have experienced all the elements in force – fires, rainstorms, and earth tremors. Yes, I know Zarea is nearby,” he smiles when I look at him questioningly. “Except air – it is not following us, because it follows another.”

  “But the rainstorms bring strong winds,” I point out, remembering the one last night. I thought the ship was going to be tipped over in the gusts of wind and rain.

  “Yes, but we are in the middle of the great mea
dows. Records from before the Cleansing show this area plagued with funnel clouds of wind. Yet we have passed through nearly the entire area without a single tornado.”

  “So Lexan might have the tornadoes with him in Asphodel,” I say, and he nods. I fall silent, imagining what damage a tornado could do to a deep cave – little, I hope. But we haven’t heard from Lexan or Pacem since before we left Elysium: the last bird we returned never came back.

  “I’m sure Lexan will be fine. He is charming, but he is also somewhat charmed, I think,” the Prophet says with a smile. “It might take him a little bit to achieve, but my visions show me that Lexan will be a great leader one day – a leader of many peoples.”

  “You had a vision about him? What about me?”

  “I have not seen your future, Astrea. It is still dark to me.”

  He turns away to enter the ship again, and I’m too frozen to follow and ask him more questions. Surely his word choice was simply referring to seeing nothing.

  Surely my future isn’t darkness.

  The rain increases swiftly then, and the drumming of the droplets on the ground sounds for all the world like Hade’s rhythmic chuckles. I scurry into the nearest ship and duck into a common room, sinking into a chair and wiping the cold rain from my face.

  A few people glance warily at me, but no-one says anything, and the feeling gradually passes.

  As we near the end of the second month, it becomes evident that our days in the ships are numbered. The roads become narrower and more treacherous each day.

  The morning is more cold than cool as I stretch in the clearing, alongside what I now know to be nearly fourteen hundred Elysians. Someone is leading us in slow, meditative exercise.

  “Citizens of Elysium!” a voice cries out, and everyone’s faces swivel to the deck of a nearby ship, where Tisiphone holds out her hands. Megara and Alecta wait behind her.

  “You may have noticed how the ships move slower and travel shorter distances each day. This is because we are entering the mountains and forests. There may come a day soon when our ships are too large to fit between the numerous trees, or too heavy to climb the steep mountains.”

  “What are you saying?” a man calls.

  Megara steps forward. “We will soon be walking. Gather your families and sort your belongings into what can be carried.”

  “Can’t we go around?” another voice asks.

  “No. It would take too much time to find an alternate path. We must be in Asphodel before the snows begin, or risk death from exposure.”

  With that, the Three Sisters step down and out of sight as the crowd bursts into frenzied discussion.

  I search the crowd for Irana.

  “Some of these people will never make it,” she whispers to me as we sink further into the background of the scene before us.

  “I know. I don’t know what to do, but between the walking and the elements, we might not make it to Asphodel before the snows.”

  “And if you’re trapped in a snowstorm, everyone will die,” a voice says behind us.

  “Zarea!” Irana grins. She rummages in her pocket and pulls out some dried fruit. Zarea takes it with a nod.

  “Do you have any ideas?” I ask.

  She glances at me, then down at her feet, where the leather has cracked open to show filthy toes.

  “I have one. But I’m…I’m afraid I can’t control it. I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she ends, sounding very much not like the prideful Zarea I know.

  “What is it?” Irana asks.

  Zarea remains silent for a few more seconds. Then she holds up her hand to indicate that we stay put, and she walks several feet into the trees.

  We’ve been lucky to have been traveling in a sort of ravine – the old roads cut through the steep rock on either side. Zarea stops at the base of this rock, and holds her hands before her. A soft rumble begins, much like the tremors we have been experiencing. Then a crack and tumble of rocks, and the hillside opens, just a bit.

  “You can move mountains!” Irana cries, clapping her hands at the rift in the hillside, now wide enough for a man to slip into.

  “I haven’t tested any more than that,” Zarea says, turning. “But I can do that easily. Perhaps I can make a path for the vehicles, if I use more power.”

  “Yes! That will work – it just has to!” Irana smiles, grabbing for Zarea’s hand. “Let’s go find the Prophet – it’s time you joined us again.”

  Zarea pulls her hand from Irana’s grasp, staring at me.

  I stare back, my eyes narrowed as Irana’s grin fades.

  “What?” she asks.

  I shrug. “It might work. But you have to be careful, Zarea. Our powers can be used up. If we don’t take time to recharge, or balance, or whatever, they’re gone.” I look at Irana. I’ve told her what the Prophet said, but she only brushed it off.

  “And when our powers are gone, we’re gone,” Zarea finishes in a near whisper, her face lined in sadness. Then she sets her jaw and looks back toward the ship. “Take me to the Prophet. It’s time I use more than a bow and arrow to help people.”

  The Prophet and the Sisters agree to our plan. None of them even question Zarea’s absence, and since she refuses to board a ship, the people watch her warily from the decks as she approaches the forest which is currently blocking our passage for miles on either side.

  We watch in amazement as she rolls the earth with her fingers as though molding clay. Great trees lie down like children’s toys knocked over in one swoop, their roots released from the deep earth. She rumbles the ground once more, and it rolls away on two sides, creating a new ravine – not as large, but wide enough for the vehicles.

  The path stretches ahead as far as I can see.

  Zarea drops to her knees as the people begin to cheer. Irana runs to her side, and I’m not far behind.

  Zarea is breathing heavily, but grinning.

  “I did it,” she whispers, just before slumping over, her cheek pressed to the dirt.

  Someone carries her into the nearest ship, and Irana and I bundle in behind. Tariel comes in soon after, and begins a steady cycle of checks, just like she did when Lexan pushed away the tornado.

  “I think she’ll be fine,” she tells us as she leaves for the night. “I’ll be right down the hall if anything changes. Both of you, get some rest.”

  In the morning, I describe to Irana how I lay beside Lexan to help restore his power.

  “I’m not sure if it would work with her…” I say doubtfully, unwilling to risk Zarea slitting my throat at such an imposition.

  But Irana just scoots closer to the bed and places Zarea’s hand between hers, closing her eyes and beginning a quiet prayer. I shrug and eventually follow her example.

  It works. Somehow, our contact and prayers have Zarea stirring by lunch, and sitting up groggily as dusk falls.

  “What happened?” she says, her voice thick.

  “You did it,” Irana grins. “You helped us pass through the forest.”

  Our travel is slower than before as we wait for Zarea to heal after each use of her powers, but in spurts, we make it through the dense woods and over the steepest inclines, taking much less time than if the people were forced to walk.

  Then, one day, as I’m hiking in the chill air at the front of the caravan, I look up into the sky, and a snowflake drifts from the clouds to land in my palm.

  “Winter,” Irana giggles breathlessly, catching up to me as more and more flakes begin to fall. “I’ve never seen snow before.”

  “Me neither,” I say, watching the snowflake melt on my skin.

  “It’s not as fun as you think,” Zarea grumbles, coming up silently behind us, appearing from nowhere like always. “Wait until it freezes your toes right off. Hopefully, we’ll make it to your cave before the snow. Those big things would be useless in a snow drift.” She trudges ahead, leaving Irana and me to roll our eyes at each other.

  “I’ll just melt the snow away,” I grin, and Irana giggles again.


  A shout goes up from the deck of the first ship, where someone is always stationed high on a tower as a lookout.

  I turn toward the ship, breaking into a jog. A man I recognize as a scout sprints past, easily overtaking me as he hauls himself up the rope ladder on the side of the ship.

  I scramble up after him, but I still hear the news just as soon as everyone else.

  “The scouts are back – only a day’s journey more!” the crier from the tower begins to yell. He repeats the message several times, until everyone is cheering.

  My heart begins to beat double-time.

  All these weeks. All this time

  Will Lexan still be my Lexan? Or will he be broken – like he once said to me in Tartarus? I’m sure he’s alive. I would have felt it otherwise.

  I just pray that we aren’t too late, that he isn’t too changed by what he might have done in the darkness of Asphodel.

  What he has become capable of doing.

  Zarea sidles up to me in the crowd. “They need to be quieted. If there are scouts from Asphodel, we have already been found out. Do you think the city is friendly yet?”

  I swallow hard. We still haven’t heard a single word from Lexan or Pacem since the message which said they were entering the city. I have no idea how to answer her.

  “We should go ahead, shouldn’t we,” I say, not actually asking. I run to find the Sisters and the Prophet.

  “Zarea and I should be your scouts for entering the city. Irana might be better here, as protection,” I add, flushing when I see her approach.

  “Asphodel is like a dark blot in my visions,” the Prophet says, echoing a statement he’s made several times – one I hate.

  “You still haven’t seen anything about Keirna?” Zarea asks.

  He shakes his head.

  “Then there is no real discussion. Tre and I will go in alone. She, at least, will be recognized by the people. And I can provide better protection than any of your people,” she says.