by Phoebe North
But I didn’t know how to reckon missing him. I couldn’t even wrap my mind around his absence. When I tried to imagine the days ahead, they were gray with loss. I’d saved my people, achieved tikkun olam. And yet my heart was heavy.
We’d shared only two nights together, a scattered handful of conversations, a few caresses in the dark. Yet he’d become a part of me. Maybe I would love again. Maybe I would lead my people well. But I would only ever feel like half myself. A shadow. A shade, defined by his absence.
A lousk.
The rest of them cried out joyfully upon impact, throwing their arms into the air and laughing to one another. I just silently clutched the armrests. We pulled up to the dock. The door lifted, revealing a white space beyond. The others all shielded their faces from the light, but I unbuckled my harness and stood, removing my helmet, unzipping my suit. While they were still blinking back the brilliant light of day, I had already stepped past the threshold, cat carrier in hand.
The pier was crowded with Asherati. They squinted into the sunlight, pointing toward the white-licked sea and the expanse of sky high above. The weather had grown even more frigid in the weeks since my last visit. I hitched my wool coat tighter around me, my eyes scanning the pier for someone or something familiar.
And that’s when I felt it. That steady pull that began somewhere deep in my solar plexus and drew me out and out, past my body and into the world beyond. Here. He was here. I could feel it—see it, the whole pier laid out through his eyes.
I hefted the cat carrier high and pushed through the crowd. Families gathered, laughing and jostling, moving in slow waves toward the ekku who waited by the city’s walls. I shoved through the bodies, trying to let myself see what he saw. But it was all a jumble. People, hundreds of them, with their musty, animalistic smells, making their odd, beastlike noises. If he hadn’t known me, he would have thought them savages.
I heard Pepper’s cries. I heard someone calling for me. Mordecai. Waving me over. He stood beside his children and wife, all dressed in their flight suits. Their grins were broad, elated at the new world they’d found. They turned their eyes expectantly toward me.
“Come, Terra, give us a speech!”
But I shook my head and pressed forward. This was no time for speeches. He was here. He was here! Vadix was here!
That’s when I spotted him. That bald blue head, those eyes, as black as onyx. He stood, posture slumped, against the city’s outer wall. He was dressed in a robe of fine, pale gold. He smiled when he saw me, those soft lips full of teeth. Once, that mouth scared me a little. But now I found myself wake to life at the sight of it. His mouth. His grin. Him.
“You’re here!” I said. I wanted to thrust myself into his arms. But I didn’t, not at first. Dead. I’d thought he was dead. And yet here he was, eyes wide at the sight of me in the white light of day, resting his hands on his legs to better see the creature mewling in my carrier.
“What is this?” he asked. I set the carrier on the ground. Pepper sniffed at the chilly air.
“My cat,” I said. I felt the corners of my mouth lift, but forced them down. It shouldn’t have been this easy—for him, for me. He’d disappeared, left me to wander the evening alone. “You were gone! What are you doing here?”
Vadix stood straight. He tucked his hands into his robe, regarding me gravely. “I am here for you,” he said, and then he tilted his head to the side. “But for me as well. This city. I have dreamed all my life of it. Now I dream of sharing it with you.”
“With me,” I echoed. My cheeks warmed. I gazed down toward the toes of my boots. “But what about Velsa?”
“For days I deliberated. At last, yesterday evening, I went to the funerary fields. I bid her farewell. It is a sacred space, Terra. Ours. I could not speak to you there.” I thought of the dank cave I’d seen the night before. The new bodies, sprouting from the old. I remembered the sensation I’d felt, that he’d disappeared far beneath the planet’s edge. He’d been gone, surely. But apparently I hadn’t lost him. Not really. Not for good. He went on. “Always I shall miss her. But that does not mean I am not excited about Zeddak Alaz. That does not mean I am not excited about what lies ahead. We have a city. A place. And years and years and years.”
Reaching out, he interlaced his fingers in mine. His hand was cool against my hand. His body’s scent was fresh and fragrant on the winter air. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone.
“Besides, the senate asked me to join them with my zeze by my side. We are to be the first representatives for our new city. Over these weeks, I tried to convince myself this duty was one I could shirk. But I could not. In the end I realized this truth: there is no better way to keep you safe, Terra, than to serve at your side.”
I felt my heart beat in my mouth. I wanted him to taste it, to feel what I felt—my blood, coursing through my body; every corner of my mind illuminated. Our fingers were still intertwined. I drew him close, pressing his body to my body.
“Not safe,” I whispered, angling my face up to his. He brushed my hair back off my forehead, caressing the side of my face. “I never needed you to keep me safe. But strong. You make me feel strong. And strong might be enough.”
We kissed. Of course we did. Not a long kiss—just lips meeting lips for a few precious seconds. But we had a lifetime ahead of us for kissing. A world. A city of our very own. A future.
Early Spring, 1 Year and 2 Months After Landing
You know what happened after that. You were there, of course, through the grueling weeks of training, when I woke each day with muscles so stiff, I thought they might have been caked with rust. But we needed to work hard to prepare for the southern winter, when we would be alone for the first time in the face of the beasts and the cold. So we hunted, all of us, even the children, as the Xollu who would join us gathered supplies to break new ground. By the time we set sail for the south, we were both new creatures: me, as well-muscled as a field-worker; and you, your flesh as dark as blood. Fertile. No longer even a shadow of the lousk you once were.
By then it was truly winter in Raza Ait. Each night I felt desire rack your body. Not for me but for your long winter’s sleep. I felt how the cold seared your flesh, made it ache. But you were brave. You fought it off. It wasn’t until we reached the south, cool summer in full swing, that I saw you restored to life, energy. Which made me glad; we had so much work to do.
That first season we sowed the fields full of Mara’s wheat, and built a wall around them. A cupola, too, and the first enclave of houses. Nautilus houses, their white walls stuck full of shards of glass. A sentimental choice, maybe. But we’re a sentimental people.
Like the name of our city. Zarakk Ait. The golden city. We’ve taken the dreams of our ancestors for a just-right home and found them here, on this stormy peninsula, thick with forests and full of beasts.
Of course, no one calls the planet “Zehava” anymore. We’ve adopted the local word for it. Aur Evez. Hannah once told me that it meant “the crowded land.” It wasn’t until weeks after landing that you told me that there are other translations for the phrase. Pronounce it a little differently, the words mean “promised home.” How could we resist that?
But you know all of that. So I suppose I should tell you what you’ve missed since winter set in and you went into the caves to sleep. Those Ahadizhi that you contacted this fall? They’ve joined us, Vadix! Not all of them. Only twenty-five young sprouts, intent on rejecting the lives of their parents. Rising up. Rebelling. As new generations do. They want to see how city dwelling suits them. So we’ve made room, gladly. They serve by our side during the hunt, help us make art and dance and music. The dream you once shared with Velsa has made our lives so much brighter. I can’t wait until you wake up to see it, until I can thank you for what you’ve done.
Otherwise life is good. Busy. On some days I help Mara in her lab. On others I hunt or paint. On still others I take command. It’s a different sort of life from the one my mother li
ved, working one job day after day after day until her hands were stiff, arthritic. I fear it’s not what she dreamed for me when she spoke to Ben Jacobi about “liberty.” I imagine she wanted a life of leisure. But my life is a good life. My days pass quickly and are full of new joys.
Why, just two weeks ago, in the dead of winter, a boat arrived from Aisak Ait. In it was a young Xollu, half dead from the cold. A child, blue-skinned and alone. A lousk. I knew on sight who he must be, and I sent a messenger to fetch Esther from her grandmother’s house. She came at once, her hair a dark net around her face, and immediately threw her arms over his shoulders.
“Help me!” she cried out. “Help me bring him to the winter caves!”
And so we did, all of us carrying his cold-heavy body, loosing the roots that tried to plant themselves in the frozen dirt as we dragged him along. I see her sometimes when I come to visit you. She sits by his side and speaks to him, just like I speak to you. Telling him her story, her dreams. She’s only a child—just turned eleven last week. She doesn’t even know his name. But she tells him that she loves him, that he’s her best friend. I don’t doubt it. Not for a second.
He’s not the only new arrival. Koen has made a child for himself in the hatchery, a brother for Corban. He told me he plans on naming him Arran after my father. I told him he could do better—a misstep. My old friend so wanted me to be pleased by this news. But maybe this new Arran will have a better chance at this life. He’ll start it with a loving family, after all. Two fathers and a mother to teach him the meaning of hard work, affection, kindness. That’s twice the family that my father ever had. Ronen and Hannah are also expecting. A son, Solomon. And Alyana will be walking before we know it. This spring will be a fruitful one, I hope, full of new joys.
As for me, I don’t know if I’ll ever have children of my own. I’m only seventeen, and lately I feel younger than I ever have. I laugh more easily than I ever did before. I joke and swagger. I even sing sometimes. I’m not the same girl I once was, strange and serious, old before my time. I have time, I think, to be young yet.
But I know that you’ll grow old before me. I remember the night you told me, just before the winter’s frost set in. A Xollu lives until only sixty or so, you said, and you’re older than me already. Sure, it made me sad to think of it. Someday I’ll be an old woman, my hair streaked silver, and you’ll be gone. What then?
Well, I think I know. We’ll never be able to have biological children, you and I. Our bodies are too different for that. But I know that Velsa still waits for you in the funerary fields of Raza Ait. Someday, when my eyes are feeble, when my hands are knotted from years of work, I’ll take your lifeless body to the city where you were sprouted. Your skin will be as red as a pomegranate, as red as wine, as red as human blood. I’ll scatter your body, and then I’ll wait.
A season later, when your children are born, I’ll tell them about you. I’ll tell them of all the things we sacrificed for each other: you, your first love; me, an entire ship, my best friend, the life among the stars that I once knew. Then I’ll tell them about all the things that we accomplished. The city we built. The peace we brokered. I’ll tell them of my pride for you, Thosora Vadix Esh, the father they’ll never know.
Then I’ll kiss them, take their three-fingered hands in my hand, and carry them home, across the sea.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes a village to launch a spaceship. Infinite gratitude and thanks to the following individuals:
The bloggers, reviewers, librarians, booksellers, and readers of Starglass. Thank you for letting me put planets inside your head. Your enthusiasm made all the hard work worth it.
James Dashner, Jodi Meadows, and Lenore Appelhans, for lending their kind words of praise to my first book. I hope you enjoy this one, too. SPAAAACE!
The Bruisers—Douglas Beagley, Nicole Feldl, and Fran Wilde—for reading early chapters and drafts of Starbreak, and especially to Wayne Helge, for pointing out precisely where Terra needed to be when the book began. An extra high five to Kelly Lagor, for assuring me that psychic plant people are, in fact, possible.
The women of YA Highway, Kirsten Hubbard, Stephanie Kuehn, Kody Keplinger, Kaitlin Ward, Kristin Halbrook, Kristin Otts, Amy Lukavics, Sumayyah Daud, Sarah Enni, Leila Austin, Kate Hart, and Lee Bross, for sharing snippets and support. You will always be my favorite community of writers.
My dear writer friends: Veronica Roth, for her beta letters and her sanity. Jennifer Castle, for coffee and kvetching. Sean Wills, for stories and snark. Rachel Hartman, for her empathy. I’d be lost without you.
Michelle Andelman, the best agent a nerd could hope for, who has supported Terra and her journey from the time it was nothing more than a snippet on some blog. For your killer eye and your even deadlier pen, Nocki Vot! (That’s “Thank you” in Tenctonese.)
My team at Simon & Schuster: Lucy Ruth Cummins, Anna McKean, Ellen Grafton, Bara MacNeill and Angela Zurlo. Thank you for all of your work getting the Asherah off the ground!
And especially Navah Wolfe. When I was thirteen years old, I used to stay up late watching reruns of Star Trek. I once dreamed of leaving the solar system; you’ve helped me do the next best thing—to invent an entire universe. I am so, so proud of what we’ve created in these pages.
My family: Phyllis Fineberg, Emily North, Elayne Rudbart, Frank Etzel, Barbara Etzel, and Jason Etzel. And my friends, who are as good as family: Nicole Talucci, Andrew Wirick, Tarah Dunn, Patrick Artazu, Eric Zuarino, John Zuarino, John Penola, and Jeffrey Krachun.
And finally, Jordan and Sammy Katz. My home, my loves. Without you, there would be no books.
© 2013 BY JORDAN ETZEL
PHOEBE NORTH is the author of Starglass. She received an MFA in poetry from the University of Florida. She lives in New York state with her husband and cat. Visit her at phoebenorth.com.
Simon & Schuster • New York
Watch videos, get extras, and read exclusives at
TEEN.SimonandSchuster.com
authors.simonandschuster.com/Phoebe-North
ALSO BY PHOEBE NORTH
Starglass
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Phoebe North
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Book design by Lucy Ruth Cummins
Cover design by Lucy Ruth Cummins
Cover photographs copyright © 2014 by Aaron Goodman
Jacket photo-illustration by Aaron Goodman
The text for this book is set in Bembo.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
North, Phoebe.
Starbreak / Phoebe North. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: After five hundred years, the Earth ship seventeen-year-old Terra and her companions were born and raised on arrives at Zehava, a dangerous, populated world where Terra must take the lead in establishing a new colony.
ISBN 978-1-4424-5956-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4424-5958-8 (eBook)
[1. Science fiction. 2. Space colonies—Fiction. 3. Life on other planets. 4. Love--Fiction. 5. Friendship-—Fiction. 6. Jews—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.N8153Sst 2014
[Fic]--dc23
2013011703
/>