by Phoebe North
• • •
The pier was on the city’s outskirts, past the warmth of the towering wall that contained Raza Ait. As we walked down the crowded thoroughfare, I winced at the cold air that cut through the robes I’d borrowed from Vadix. The sky overhead was full of heavy-bottomed clouds. And the sea in the distance churned, brackish and peaked with white. It stretched on and on until it disappeared against the horizon a curved, far-off place. It seemed this world was infinite, never ending. I wondered what was beyond my grasp, felt a knot in my throat at the thought that I’d never see any of it.
The others were flanked on all sides by guards, but they didn’t seem to notice. They trudged ahead with drawn expressions, with shadows under their eyes like bruises left in the wake of so much death—Aleksandra’s guards, Deklan, Laurel, now Aleksandra, too. I hadn’t participated in the bloodbath down at the quarantine camp; I hadn’t earned bound hands. But that didn’t mean I walked alone.
Vadix was beside me, his body shielding me from a southward wind. He kept one long hand draped across my back—but his mind might as well have been lost out there in the middle of the sea. It was distant, cold, and cloistered. Had I kissed those lips, pressed my body against his? It felt almost like a dream as we shouldered through the crowds to the end of the pier, where Mara Stone’s shuttle craft bobbed against the waves.
The others were pushed and jostled until they relented—then they slipped inside the dark recess of the shuttle. But I hesitated at the door. We were surrounded by guards, by fishermen, by people and voices going about their day. My companions still peered out at me, expectant, waiting within the confines of the shuttle. But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t leave, not yet, not after all we’d shared.
We can’t end it this way, I said, stepping close to him. He turned his face away from me, scanning the horizon.
“Snow,” he said aloud. I turned too. The air around us seemed alive, sparked with tiny flakes. They drifted and swirled all around us, catching in updrafts, dotting the stone walk of the pier before disappearing—like they’d never been there at all. I felt them hit my cheeks, my sunburned arms, like a thousand tiny kisses. I saw them dot Vadix, too. He flinched at the cold. “Only a few more moons until winter, and then the Xollu of the city sleep.”
“Will you be among them?” I asked, my voice breaking out, fresh and raw. He didn’t look at me, not yet. “It’s over for you now, isn’t it? We’re leaving. You did your job.”
Silence. Snow dotted my eyelashes, tangled in my hair. When I stretched out my mind to touch his, only frigid cold came back. The lump in my throat was huge; the one in my heart, even harder. I began to gather up my strength. I should have known better than to hang my hopes on him, to act like he was someone I could depend on.
I took the first step toward the shuttle, my robes brushing his. But his hand darted out and gripped mine.
“How can you say this?” he demanded. I twisted my body, looking back at him. At his endless, endless eyes, reflecting the falling snow like stars. “I made you a promise. Safe. I will see that you’re safe. Do you think I will break it?”
When I didn’t answer, he cradled my fingers against his body. Clutched so closely, it was almost as if they moved of their own accord—wriggling beneath the line of his sleek, heavy robes until they rested against his chest, red and bruisey. No warmth, as usual. No beating heart. But I felt the familiar sparking thrill of our connection. His mind opened to mine, and he saw what I had seen. My memories.
The riots. Men lifting fists. Women brandishing stones and sticks and kitchen knives. Windows exploding to pieces, and the pasture herds, once docile, widening their eyes at the sight. He saw me running through the dome, garbed in that harvest-gold dress, now long lost to the wilds. He saw me stumble through the cornfields, my breath and fear and urgency all a fury of white on the air. He felt the scratchy stalks, as dry as paper, as I drew them apart and stared down the row and watched Aleksandra Wolff fell her mother like an animal who had outlived her usefulness. I leaned in, letting my hair veil my face as he showed me what I already knew: the Asherah, falling to pieces, without me.
“The ship is not a safe place for you,” he murmured, wrapping his soft arms around my shoulders. “Or for your people.”
“We have nowhere left to go,” I whimpered. I saw the chaos over and over again, how the angry mob flooded the shuttle bay, desperately reaching for the freedom of the world beyond.
“I will find a place for you,” he said. “I will not rest until that day dawns when you are safe.”
It was enormous, what he was promising. Even now I could feel the urgency in the pit of his belly—the desperation that crawled over every centimeter of flesh. His body wanted to go, go, go and be with Velsa. But that didn’t matter. His mind, his spirit, the very essence of him was still mine, steady and unwavering beside me despite the force of the wind. He gazed down at me, his lips softening. Reaching up, I cupped a hand behind his slender neck and drew close.
Vadix gathered me into his long, cool arms. My heart beat furiously in the tangle of embroidered robes. I could feel the sea beneath us, the snow all around. I felt him. My bright, strange boy.
I knew by now that his people didn’t kiss one another. They were all hands, pollen, skin blossoming red. But he knew what a kiss meant, how it felt to open your mouth to someone else’s mouth, to taste their tongue, their breath. To be open and vulnerable, all liquid and heat. He pressed his lips to mine. My body seemed to melt into his. But somehow we were strong together. His arms wrapped around me, I didn’t feel the gazes of the Ahadizhi who watched—didn’t hear the shouts of the dock workers or the murmurs of the guards with their prods. They didn’t matter. We were one. If it had been summer, all the flowers of the world would have turned their faces toward our light. But outside the city’s walls it was the first gasp of winter, and snow had come, dusting my hair and his bare head. At first I thought his voice was my voice inside his mind. That’s how tangled up we were, how similar we had grown.
I will speak to the senate, he said, and then out loud he added, “This is not good-bye.”
I gave his fingers a squeeze. Behind him an Ahadizhi guard let out a grunt.
“Ahadhu Esh!”
“You must go,” Vadix said. Then he smiled wistfully. “We offend them. They do not understand.”
“They don’t have to,” I returned, my mouth still raw from the force of his kiss. I stood up on tiptoes and pressed my lips to his cheek one final time, breathing in the summer-sweet scent of him. It was intoxicating. It smelled like hope.
Then I ran for the shuttle, not looking back even once as I slammed the steel door closed behind me.
20
As I ducked into the shuttle craft, all eyes were on me. Even Mara Stone, garbed now in a heavy flight suit and helmet, had a gaze that seemed to burn straight through her visor’s artificial glass. After pulling the heavy door shut, and spinning the handle closed, I turned back to face their prying eyes.
“What?” I asked. From a seat beside the wall, where she sat with one arm crooked over Ettie, my sister-in-law leaned forward in her seat. Hannah’s voice was muffled as she spoke, thanks to her thick helmet, but her words were undeniable.
“You. And the translator.”
I squared my shoulders. If there had been any doubt about the connection between Vadix and me before, then our kiss had made it crystal clear. But I had no reason to be ashamed. I walked to the back of the shuttle, where the flight suits waited in their box. I hated to garb my body again in the synthetic fabric—but at least I still wore Vadix’s soft robes against my skin. They enveloped me, as strong as any embrace, as I stepped into the suit and fumbled for a zipper. I saw a flash. Laurel’s soft, pale hands, helping me out of that impossible dress on the last flight I’d taken. Now a stranger was our pilot, an old man who had waited all this time for Mara Stone’s return. I swallowed the lump down, and zipped the suit up tight.
“He’s going to help us,” I said, bending
over to fish for a flight helmet. I spoke easily, like it was nothing—like it was normal to kiss an alien boy. “Speak to the senate on our behalf, see if they might not be convinced to reconsider.”
“Why?” came Jachin’s voice, hard and chilly. “Why would he care if we’re to return to Earth or not? What’s in it for him?”
I clutched the helmet, staring at my reflection in the glass. My face was a blurry, pale blot in the visor. But the shadows of my eyes were huge—my mouth small. I was grotesque. Strange. And alone. Outwardly you could see no sign of Vadix, though I felt him even now. He walked down the pier, his head held high despite the ice-and-dagger sting of the snow-swirled air. Determined. Resolute.
“He’s a kind person,” I said softly. I stood and found an empty seat in the row in front of Mara. They were all quiet, their helmets turned expectantly toward me. They wanted answers, but I didn’t know how to give them. Not yet. “He wants to help.”
“You mean he wants to help you,” Jachin said. Beside him I saw Rebbe Davison raise and let fall a hand.
“What’s wrong with that? Does it matter whether his motivations are pure if he wants to help us?”
At this they all erupted—their voices rising up even over the sound of the warming engine. At last, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mara Stone unbuckle herself, stand. She pushed a button on her helmet. The visor slid back, revealing her haggard face. And yet when she spoke, she spoke with force.
“Quiet!” she bellowed. Their arguments tripped, stuttered, and finally spluttered to a stop beneath the engine’s roar. They turned their visor glass toward her as they waited for the botanist to speak. “Do you know who else was concerned with the romantic lives of their people? So worried about who bedded whom, about the foolish hearts of the Asherati and how they might be led astray? The Council, that’s who! No better than the lot of them. Is this to be the new guard, same as the old? Disgusting!”
I peered curiously up at Mara, though she didn’t meet my gaze. Who had she been once, when she was young? I knew she’d put off marriage until the Council made one for her. I knew she’d put off children, too. But had she ever loved someone? Maybe it had been a strange, forbidden love. Like Koen and Van’s. Like mine.
I expected someone to object. Through the blurred glass of her helmet, Hannah stared at me across the aisle. But even she didn’t dare to speak. Mara settled in again, pulling her straps down over her shoulders.
“She’s right,” Rebbe Davison said. He was speaking slowly, carefully. “Aleksandra was afraid of Terra’s connection to the translator, but she shouldn’t have been. Without that, we’d have nothing. We might as well do what Rafferty says, pack up for Earth and leave with our tails between our legs. But the translator’s powerful. He has connections with the senate. That makes Terra powerful too.”
Jachin whipped his head up. “What are you suggesting, Mordecai?”
My teacher lifted the glass of his helmet back. As his gaze went to me, he drew in a breath, holding it for a long time.
“We’re without a leader now. I have no desire to take up Aleksandra’s mantle. But if we don’t throw our support behind someone, a usurper is bound to take her place. I’d like Terra to step up instead.”
For a long time no one answered. There was only the roar of the warming engine. Then Hannah began to laugh, dry, skeptical laughter. But no one joined her.
“How do you feel about this, Talmid?” Mara asked. I turned to her, expecting to read judgment in her eyes. It had taken her so long to support the rebellion. She thought that we were outsiders both, not joiners. But her expression was patient, intent. I realized she would accept whatever answer I gave. Maybe leadership was different in her eyes. Maybe she thought I could effect change better by standing with my people—not against them.
How did I feel about it? I sat back in my seat, gripping the armrests with both hands. Once, the idea would have seemed laughable. I’d never wanted power; mostly I’d just wanted to be left alone. But it seemed that was no longer an option. I looked out across the shuttle’s rows, caught Ettie’s gaze, held it. She’d come here because of me. Now it was up to me to see that she was cared for, safe. Still, my heart was weighted by my doubts.
“I killed someone,” I said softly. “Mazdin Rafferty. You all know that. I’m no better than Aleksandra.”
“Sometimes leaders have to make difficult choices,” Rebbe Davison said. “Aleksandra’s mistake wasn’t killing her mother. Not only that. It was that she never dealt with the consequences that were waiting for her up there on that ship.”
I closed my eyes. I could hear my pulse in my ears, feel the overwhelming fear that tightened my throat. But then I heard a voice, warm and soft inside my mind.
I believe in you. You can do this. You are strong—stronger than they know.
“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice still hoarse as I opened my eyes. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
Rebbe Davison smiled at me. Mara, leaning forward in her seat, gave my shoulder a clap. The others might have regarded me doubtfully, but I ignored them. Mara and Rebbe Davison believed in me. Vadix, too. That meant the world.
“Well, then, Talmid,” Mara Stone said, “give the order.”
I glanced forward doubtfully, uncertain at first. But then I saw Jachin lift his lips in a bemused smile. He gestured toward the shuttle pilot, the one who waited with his hand on the ignition.
“Pilot!” I said uncertainly, and they all smiled at that. “Prepare for takeoff. It’s time to go home.”
He made a noise of agreement, but it was gobbled up by the engine’s roar. Searing. Deafening. It was almost enough to wash away my shock, the idea that now, thanks to Vadix, I’d be in a place to engineer a future for the Asherati.
But not quite.
• • •
Hours passed, and hours more. Soon I was plunged into the land of dreams again, my mind lost in those now familiar forests. But this dream was strange, different from the rest—more like the nightmares I’d known as a girl than the comforting landscape to which I’d grown accustomed. In my dream the winter’s storms had begun, blotting out the cupola and all her light. The whole world seemed cavernous and blue. Silent. Half dead.
Vadix and I walked through Raza Ait together arm in arm, examining the familiar scenery and how it had been transformed. It looked like a ruin. Everything was hollow, empty, the wind whistling through the towering structures like a mouth playing a thousand reedy pipes. The copper walls, once coated in shifting branches, were now buried beneath desiccated vines. Thanks to winter’s invasion, the forest had gone to rot. There was a sharp smell on the air—oxygen, moisture, decomposing leaves. I walked forward, fascinated by the way the snow cover muffled our voices and our footsteps. Or my footsteps at least; as we walked, Vadix’s pace grew slower and slower still.
Soon he crouched down against the freezing cobblestone.
Go on without me, he said. The winter has begun.
He drew his knees to his chest, pressing his face between his legs. I watched as the fabric of his robes began to split and tear. Tiny roots were shooting out of his flesh, tethering him to the frozen earth. Soon his skin took on a translucent cast as a net of leaves cocooned his body. I knelt down beside him, frantically clearing those leaves away. Sap covered my wrists. The cold numbed my palms. But I couldn’t fight off the progress of the season. His body grew hard, still. I watched as he was lost to me, lost to the winter.
Then I heard something—a savage howl. I glanced up toward the snow-covered glass; looked left, then right, to the city’s high walls. A beast was coming, but from where? I had no weapons—no prod, no double-bladed knife. I hardly knew how to fight, much less hunt. How could I ever protect Vadix from the oncoming storm? I wrapped my arms around his body, my shoulders tense and high. The howling went on and on and on.
I wrenched myself awake. But even there, in the dark confusion of the shuttle, the howls didn’t stop. Crying. Someone was crying. Wild, whooping tears. Clutching
the armrests, I leaned forward. My heart was still wild in my chest, but I told it to be quiet. Vadix was fine. It had only been a dream, a nightmare. These cries were human; they came from no beast.
I pushed the button on my helmet. The visor snapped up. In the dim space of the shuttle, I found Ettie. Her visor was up too. In her helmet she sobbed uncontrollably, her hair plastered to her face. Hannah did her best to console her, rocking her back and forth. But it was no use.
“Would you pipe that child down?” Mara groused. Hannah gave her head a rapid shake.
“I’m trying!” she said. She examined her—the girl’s face had gone glossy with tears. “Pupik, what’s wrong?”
“We can’t go back!” Ettie howled, a cry so fierce, it made my eardrums shake. “We can’t!”
“We have to, honey,” Hannah said, her smile gentle but uncertain. “We have no choice.”
“But the boy!” she cried. My mouth was suddenly very, very dry. “He’s waiting for me!”
“What boy?”
“The one in my dreams! He’s waiting for me! We can’t leave, Hannah! We can’t!”
She collapsed in my sister-in-law’s arms. Hannah stroked Ettie’s narrow shoulder blades with the flat of her palm. Then she looked up at me.
“How is this possible?” she asked. “You and the translator—and now the child, too?”
I remembered what Vadix had said about the scans, about Ettie. Phytodistress systems, ethylene receptors. But that didn’t matter, not right now. What mattered was Ettie, crying. Terrified of all that she’d left behind.
“Ettie,” I said evenly. In Hannah’s arms Ettie stilled. But she didn’t draw up her head. “Esther, look at me.”
At last she did, pushing her wild hair from her tear-sticky eyes with one hand, snuffling.
“Ettie, I promise you that we’ll find him. Just because we’re going back to the ship now doesn’t mean this is the end. You have your whole life ahead of you—and his, too. Do you understand?”
Ettie sucked in a breath. “Do you promise, Terra?”