by Phoebe North
He held up both palms in front of him like a shield—and let out a string of tired, loose chuckles. “Okay, Terra. Fine! Fine. We’ll wait. Only . . .”
“Only what?”
“Only what are we waiting for?”
That was the question—the one worth a million gelt. I let out a sigh.
“I’m not sure yet. But I’ll let you know as soon as I am.”
• • •
I walked briskly through the district streets that morning, under ceiling panels that flickered so badly that they were dark as often as they were light. The moments of blackness were terrifying—impenetrable, thanks to the streetlights that had all been knocked out by rocks and sticks and fists. I’d never realized before how tenuous the cycles of our lives were here on the Asherah, how artificial and easily disrupted. But now that I’d been on the surface of Zehava, seen Xarki lift through the firmament and then sink down to reveal constellations and moons, it had become abundantly clear to me that solar lights were not the same thing as the sun, that glass was not interchangeable with sky.
The streets were still empty except for a few crows and scrambling alley cats. Since the riots, apparently the people had taken to sleeping in. I suppose they were allowed that luxury; for the first time in their lives, they were no longer beholden to the constant cycle of work and school, of duty and tikkun olam. But not me. If anything I stomped up that concrete stoop with a new purpose, a clarity that I’d never felt before. Because I was loved, I would find a way out of this. Off this ship, away from the dome, free of the Council at last.
Free.
From the other side of the door came the sounds of burbling laughter and warm conversation. A light was on, just a yellow sliver against the concrete. I watched it blink on and off in perfect timing with the panel lights overhead.
The electrical system is controlled in the bow, I thought, forgetting for only a moment that Vadix was with me as he rose from his bed in his house below, pulling his long body toward the shower.
Are you sure Silvan’s to be trusted?
My throat tightened. I had the sudden urge to rush across the dome—through the fields and pastures, past the hospital and school. I would beg Silvan to leave us alone, to let us leave. We’d find a way, Vadix and I . . . But Rebbe Davison had told me to wait. My teacher. He’d been a rebel longer than I had. Helping Aleksandra plot and scheme. If I was to take her place, I’d have to learn to be patient.
Yes, I said simply. Then, pushing the thought away, I raised my hand and pounded it against the door.
It swung open. Koen Maxwell stood on the other side, an uncertain smile lighting up his face. He held a redheaded toddler on his hip. It was Corban, Van Hofstadter’s son. The shy little boy buried his face in Koen’s neck.
“Terra?” Koen said in surprise, the grin still frozen on his mouth. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the warm space inside, where Van stood over the stove frying eggs while his wife, Nina, set the table for all four of them.
“Terra Fineberg’s here,” he said. The only sound was the sizzle of the pan, the clatter of silverware. Around us the lights winked out again, and then back on.
“Koen!” Nina called out past the threshold at last. “Invite her in.”
Koen grabbed my hand, holding my fingers in his cool, calloused fingers. Their touch brought back strange memories—of all those months when I’d fantasized their cold, clammy pressure against my body.
Really? Vadix thought. He wasn’t offended, not precisely. More incredulous at the thought of this shy, gawky boy serving as the object of my desires.
There was no one else, I said. I was desperate.
I let the door shut behind me. Standing there in the entryway, stomping the feeling back into my cold-numbed feet, I could feel the knife’s edge of Van Hofstadter’s green eyes slicing into me.
“They told me you were dead,” he said. “Crashed on the surface of that planet.”
“Here I am,” I said helplessly. I wasn’t sure whether I should take off my coat or not. I didn’t feel particularly welcome in their home. Perhaps better to keep it on. “Not dead.”
For the longest time no one said anything. Even little Corban was silent, his thumb stuffed into his mouth. Finally Nina let out a long sigh.
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay, Terra. We’ve lost so many in the past few days. The last thing we need is to lose you, too. Come in. Sit down. Van, get her some coffee.”
I hesitated only a moment. It was clear who was in charge in this household. Van wore a scowl as he poured me a fresh cup of dandelion coffee and thunked it down on the table before me. I wrapped my fingers around the mug, glad for its warmth.
“Thanks,” I said. “I shouldn’t stay long.” Then I saw the look that shadowed Nina’s expression—a heavy eclipse over a bright moon.
“Have many people died?” I asked. She sat down across from me, drinking deep from her own coffee cup.
“The last I’ve heard, forty-seven.”
“More than that. On the shuttle—” I began, then winced, remembering Deklan’s expression just before the beast ran him through—that wild flash of fear just before the pain. “We lost some on the shuttle, too. My old neighbor, Mar Schneider. And Deklan Levitt and Laurel Selberlicht. You remember them, Koen? They were in our class.”
He stood in the doorway still, clutching Corban to him. His wide mouth fell open.
“I do,” he said. “Laurel was—she was my friend.”
I hadn’t known that, hadn’t known much about Koen in the years before he became my father’s student. But apparently Van knew. All at once the man was beside him, sliding a reassuring arm around Koen’s lower back. Funny, how it no longer made me angry to see the two of them together. It felt right; normal. Like they were a family, the four of them. And I guess they were. Nina didn’t even blink at the show of affection between the two men, like it was normal—expected.
But when she spoke up, she did sound sad. Like she couldn’t bear the loss of one more life, much less three.
“Why are you here, Terra?”
Overhead the lights dimmed, then sparked back to full life. I took a long sip of my coffee, steeling myself. It was as dark as mud and twice as bitter.
“Rebbe Davison has asked me to spread the word. We’re going to hold a meeting tonight.”
Koen stepped forward, breaking away from Van’s strong arms.
“A meeting? What for?”
“We’re reconvening the Children of Abel. I need you to spread the word. We have to discuss our next actions now that Aleksandra—” I cut my words short. Van glowered.
“Now that Aleksandra what?”
“Died,” I said, forcing my gaze down to the crackle glaze that coated the mug. “She died. On the surface. She led an attack on the aliens, and they caught her, and—”
“Oh, no.”
Now it was Van’s turn to stand, weak-kneed, pressing the back of his hand to his teeth. He stifled a cry. Beside him Koen shook his head over and over again.
“Aleksandra? Gone? But she was supposed to lead us!”
“I know,” I whispered. Part of me wanted to point out to them that Aleksandra had fled the ship at the first chance she’d gotten, as though the people left behind were worthless, meaningless. But it seemed like an insult to whatever memory of her that they still held dear. I flashed a pair of fingers to my heart.
“What will we do now?” Koen asked.
“Well,” I said, speaking slowly. My gaze went to Van, who watched me with wounded eyes. We’d never gotten along, not when we’d competed for Koen’s affections, not when I’d been desperate to prove my loyalty to the rebels. And now Rebbe Davison needed me to take him under my wing, to make him follow me. It seemed impossible. “Mordecai Davison wants me to lead the rebels.”
Van let out a snort. “You?”
“Yes, me!” I squared my jaw, leveling my gaze at him. “I’ve been working with one of the aliens. A translator by the name of Vadix. He�
��s petitioning the Zehavan senate on our behalf.”
“I really don’t think you’re fit to lead—”
“And the Council didn’t think you were fit to love each other!” Leaving my coffee steaming on the table, I rose to my feet. “I thought the whole point of this rebellion was that we got to choose our own futures. Well, I’m working toward tikkun olam now. Harder than Aleksandra ever did, if you ask me. You don’t want to follow me? Fine, then follow the Council. I’m sure they’d be happy to have you.”
I started toward the front door again, shouldering between Koen and Van. Neither of them called out to stop me. But Nina did, her voice firm and clear.
“Terra, wait!”
I stopped, turned back. Van’s wife was hardly any older than he was. Her black curls were thick and lustrous, her eyes bright with a keen intelligence. I’d never thought of her as a rebel before—only collateral damage in the love between Koen and Van. But now, for whatever reason, she was willing to join us. To join me.
“Of course we’ll come to the meeting tonight. The library?”
My gaze flickered toward Van, then back again. “No. The school. Nineteen o’clock.”
“Thank you, Terra,” she said. She reached over and picked up the mug of coffee she’d poured, letting the heat steam her face. Then she glanced up again.
“Koen,” she commanded sharply, “go with her. The districts aren’t safe to walk alone. Not anymore.”
The air was so thick, you could slice it like meat from a bone. Koen dropped Corban into his father’s arms while Van pushed his lower lip out in a sulk. He watched as Koen wound his scarf around his neck and buttoned his coat tight.
“Thanks, Nina,” I said, turning back to nod at her before we slipped out through the door. She smiled up over the steam, saluting me so briefly, I wasn’t really sure it had happened at all.
“Go in health,” she said. And, with that, we did.
• • •
We hustled through the districts together, our hands stuffed down into our pockets to keep them from the biting cold. Just like in the old days, before we were to be wed, our words stuck and froze before they could burst through our lips. The first lights of dawn made the panels overhead glow a feeble blue. In their illumination the angles of his face were as sharp as the edge of a shard of ice.
In the old days, when we made our plans for marriage, it always seemed like he was holding something back. A joke. A secret. A hidden pain. His long spine had often been slumped—his shoulders hunched up from nerves. He walked differently now, taking wide, confident steps. Even as he glanced around him, mindful of the sound of footsteps in the distance, of the children who roamed the alleyways, liberated from the chains of formal schooling, he walked proudly. It was as if he’d somehow grown into his own skin.
I wanted to tell him that I was happy for him. He’d found his place in Van’s home, even if it wasn’t the normal, perfect life the Council had once planned for us. But it didn’t feel right, not quite. Koen clearly didn’t need my approval.
But that didn’t stop him from beaming at me.
“You’ve changed,” was what he said.
“Changed?” I asked carefully. With Rachel I’d been quick to agree. But Koen and I had never had the same kind of friendship that Rachel and I had enjoyed. And even Rachel hadn’t taken my news well. What if he drew back in disgust at my love and the way it had transformed me?
He blew hot air into the cup of his palms, letting out a burst of laughter. “It’s true. You have. You can’t hide it from me, Terra!”
I stopped beneath the flickering illumination of a streetlamp. “I—” I began, groping for words.
But I didn’t need to stammer and mumble. I didn’t even need to explain. Koen’s chestnut-colored eyes were filled with a warm amber light.
“You’ve fallen in love, haven’t you? I’m so happy for you!” And just like that, I was buried in a hug—warm and full and wonderfully real, so different from the strange, stiff embraces we’d shared when we were going to be married and our lives were full of lies.
He still smelled the same, though. Cedar boards and dust. I breathed it in, laughing too. “You are?”
“Of course I am.” He rocked me in his arms. The words seemed to echo inside his chest, right through his corduroy jacket. “I always wanted you to be happy. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you like you needed.”
“Oh, Koen, no,” I said, pulling away from his embrace. “Don’t apologize. You were doing your best.”
“It wasn’t good enough—”
“For who? My father? The Council?” I held his cool fingers in my fingers. He gave my hands a weak squeeze.
“Well, yeah!” he exclaimed. I shook my head.
“Maybe our mistake was trying to live by their rules,” I began, holding his fingers firm. “The Council gave us rules to live, but they couldn’t see the light of your love. There were no words in their vocabulary for it. You tried to live a good life, but how could you? Your very nature fractures their world. That doesn’t mean that you’re wrong, Koen. That means they are.”
Koen let out a loose titter of laughter as he pulled away, running those long fingers through his hair. “I’m glad you’re not angry with me.”
“I couldn’t stay mad. Not now.”
He arched an eyebrow, examining me for a long time in the growing rosy light. “Terra, who is it that you’ve fallen for?”
The cold was back again, ruddying my knuckles. I drew in an icy breath of air. “He’s . . . different, Koen. Really different. If I have my way, we’ll be back on that planet soon. And you’ll get to meet him—to see for yourself.”
Now both eyebrows lifted. Not in dismay—Koen wasn’t Rachel, and despite the place he had stolen in my heart, he never would be. But he was surprised. His mouth formed an O.
But before he could respond, something happened. Something terrible. Something that had never happened before, not in all my years on the ship.
The lights went out. The world around us was black, pitch black. In the distance, in the dome, I could see a thin line of purple illumination. But otherwise the universe was blackness, shadows, and the distant barking of someone’s dog. The creature yelped over and over again, assuring us that he was just as afraid as we were.
Koen’s icy fingers found mine. I heard my breath, my heart. I was just about to say something, to remind myself that I was still here, still alive, in all this darkness, when there was a great whir. The lights came on again, one at a time, revealing Koen and how his brow wrinkled in worry.
“It’s been happening for days,” he said. I watched the light flicker against the planes of his face. “The ship’s just falling apart. And all we can do is wait and watch while it does.”
I shook my head. Someone had to do something—find us a place on the planet and restore peace to our people before our whole world crumbled before our eyes.
That someone was me. But as the lights blinked out again, then winked back to life, I had no idea how I would do it. The problem was so much bigger than me, than Koen, than all of us.
“We’d better go,” I said, still clutching his hand in mine, holding on more tightly than I’d ever held on to anything else in my whole life, as I gave his arm a tug and dragged him toward the safety of my brother’s home.
24
Lunch, then supper, with my brother and his wife and daughter. We listened to the steady thump thump thump of rocks against his front door, watched the lights overhead flicker on then off then on. And we talked about none of it, pretending that this was normal. I guess after a lifetime of ducking the flat of my father’s hand, my brother and I could ignore almost anything. Not Hannah, though. Every time another stone rattled the windows, she jumped, clapping her hands over her daughter’s ears.
“Not again!” she cried, rising to her feet after a particularly raucous crack. She lifted the curtain back, glimpsing with a scowl the long fissure that ran from one end of the window frame to the
other. “Why doesn’t anyone do something about them? Get those children under control!”
Ronen gazed at me, his eyebrows lifting mildly. “That’s a good question,” he said.
I pushed my chair away from the table and hustled up toward the guest room, ignoring the heat behind his gaze.
Stiffly I lay down in my bed. There was nothing to do but wait now—wait for our meeting in the school that night; wait for Vadix to make any headway with the senate. The lamp by my bedside table flickered so wildly that I would have never been able to even draw. So I folded my hands across my belly, closed my eyes, and let my mind stretch and stretch. Somewhere below, Vadix waited for me.
Where are you? I asked. His mental voice came swiftly back.
Home, of course. There was laughter in it, like it was some kind of joke. But I wasn’t laughing. I turned toward the gray wall, watching my silhouette appear, then disappear, then appear again as the light went on and off and on.
When I’m here, I began, it feels like you don’t even exist. Like you’re something I only dreamed up to keep from feeling lonely. Like I’ll be stuck up here forever, alone and in the dark.
A pause. Long, too long. In the city below, Vadix stared at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He wore no shirt. His torso was bared to the open air. So many scars, small and white. Like a thousand comets, streaking their way through blue space mottled red by solar flares.
You don’t really feel that way?
Now it was my turn to fall silent. No. No, I don’t, I said finally. I’m only afraid.
Of what?
I closed my mind, thinking of the long road ahead. If I couldn’t convince the rebels to follow me, it was all lost. If Vadix couldn’t convince the senate, it was all lost. If I couldn’t convince Silvan . . .
I’m afraid of failing.
In a house in a copper city on a planet far above me, Vadix gave the spigot a tug. He splashed water over his shoulders, his face, drinking it in through his pores. Then he sat down on the cold tile floor. He could still see his own reflection refracted in the dozens of tiny, opalescent tiles. It seemed broken, strange, as alien as I felt.