Star Eater

by Kerstin Hall

  The band struck up a new song. Old partners broke apart and formed groups of three. A young Herald grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to join her friend. I recognised the song and I knew the dance; it was popular in Major East springtime festivals. Although this version might be more formal, the basic sequence of steps was the same.

  The Herald took the lead. Her date looked like a civilian, too old for an Oblate, but no tattoo. I dipped her, spun, and was lifted in turn. In the past, before my induction, I’d danced this with Millie and Finn. In the wavering light beneath the trees on Indigo Avenue, all of us wine-dizzy and laughing, Finn lifting me so easily, his hands warm against my waist, eyes bright, skin flushed.

  I pushed the memory away, focussed on my footwork, step, cross, turn, cross, turn. The pace of the dance increased, but my partners never missed a beat. Other triplets stumbled and dissolved around us. Laughter rang through the hall. My chest ached. My eyes burned.

  The musicians taunted us, raced ever faster, but we were quick enough, sure enough. The rest of the room was hazy, but within the circle of our three bodies, everything was clear. I was aware that we were being watched, but the other guests seemed far off and unimportant. Dip, spin, lift, all the world a blur around us. I wanted to drown in that moment. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend it was him.

  Then Declan Lars’s face flashed in my mind, a memory so clear and sharp that I could smell the oil and the herbs and taste the bile in my throat. I missed a step, just as the drums came to a stop.

  The other dancers applauded, and the Herald gave a breathless bow. Strands of her hair had slipped free from her headband and brushed her jaw. Her civilian friend clasped a stitch in her side, grinning. There was a ring of open space around us; we were the only triplet to finish the dance. My hands shook, and the small of my back was damp with perspiration. Blood pounded in my ears.

  The Herald clapped me on the shoulder. Her cheeks were pink. “You up for the next one?”

  “I … I need water.”

  “Ah, no problem. Make sure you find us later, though.”

  I nodded, too out of breath for much else. A new song began, and I was alone again. My bruised chest throbbed.

  I circled the edge of the floor, skirting the windows. Outside, guests strolled through terraced gardens, between domed gazebos and fountains. Tables with food were set out in the corner of the hall, but I could not eat. Not now. Muttering apologies, I pushed my way through the throng.

  The passage beyond the hall was quiet and dim, and I could breathe more easily. A few guests wandered the corridors, speaking in low voices.

  I found the washroom unoccupied. Fat yellow candles burned in glass bowls on the basin. I turned the faucet on and let the water pour over my hands. My reflection in the mirror looked ridiculous. This whole subterfuge was ridiculous. I drank from the tap and then shut it off. Who knew what Rhyanon wanted that account number for? I only had Osan’s word that Herald Kalis Nortem was a false identity; she could very well be a real person. Rhyanon might intend to defraud a completely innocent woman. Or blackmail one; she clearly had experience in that area. My reflection scowled.

  I can get you out of Renewal duty.

  I walked with purpose, and nobody stopped me. The stairs leading to the second floor of Kisme’s house were roped off. I made sure I was alone, then ducked beneath the barrier and hurried upstairs.

  The second floor décor was simpler, wood-panelled corridors and soft green rugs. The floor creaked, but over the noise of the party, I doubted I would draw attention. I passed empty bedrooms and a painter’s studio. On the easel rested a half-complete watercolour of leafless trees against a pale sky.

  I found Kisme’s office in the southern corner of the building, the only room with a lock on the door. I pressed my ear to the wooden surface and listened. No sound from within. I took the key out of the bodice of my dress, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

  Moonlight broke through the gap between the heavy drapes. I shut the door. The office overlooked the gardens; through the windows I could see the intricate constellation of lanterns, and the silhouettes of the city beyond the manor gates.

  I could not risk lighting the lamp, so I drew the curtains further apart. Bright enough to read by, if I strained my eyes. The room contained three cabinets and a large desk. A huge ornamental fireplace took up most of the right wall, and a selection of pretty spun glass figurines decorated the mantel.

  “Hope you’re organised, Reverend,” I muttered, and pulled open the top drawer of the closest cabinet.

  She was. She had her records sorted first according to rank—one cabinet for Oblates, another for Acolytes, and the last for Heralds and Reverends—and then by name. I riffled through the neat pages, skipping ahead in the alphabet till I reached N. Many of the files were annotated with a cramped, small script; hard-to-decipher notes about a Sister’s proficiency or misdemeanours.

  Hah.

  Herald Kalis Nortem on paper. I sat below the window, angling the file toward the light. No notes on this file; judging by her brief record, Kalis was thoroughly unremarkable at her job. And there, in sharp black ink, was the account number. TBN7825C.

  I put everything back as I had found it and locked up the office. I could hardly believe that I had done it. Now all I had to do was return to Osan.

  At the end of the corridor, the stairs creaked.

  I froze. Swift footsteps, drawing near. I ducked inside the artist’s studio and pressed myself against the interior wall, out of sight of the corridor.

  “—can talk in private.”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  The plastered wall was rough and uneven against my back. I held my breath.

  “You involved me in this mess, you don’t get to run away from it.” The first woman spoke in a low, forceful tone.

  “We shouldn’t even be here. Let’s just go back to the party, okay? Please, Jesane?”

  “Explain what you meant in the garden.”

  The footsteps had stopped; the women stood outside the room. Their shadows lay across the threshold.

  “What is there to explain? They need the seat, and there’s an easy way to vacate it.”

  “So murder is easy for you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not murder.”

  “Sure. Tell me, if I step out of line, can I expect the same?”

  “No! Eater, you don’t understand at all.” The shadow threw up its hands. “I don’t like it, but it’s necessary. These people will destroy the Sisterhood.”

  “How many?”

  “What?”

  “How many martyrs, Ilva? How many accidents?”

  A long silence. My heart pounded, and there was a rushing in my ears, growing louder.

  “I can’t believe this.” Footsteps, heading back toward the stairs. “I need some air.”

  “Jesane!”

  I had to be wrong; somehow I had misheard or misunderstood. The band fell silent, and voices from below the floor hummed like a swarm of insects. I stepped away from the wall. My head spun.

  The dance hall had quietened when I returned to it; the guests gathered around the stage. Reverend Olwen Kisme, dressed in black, was speaking.

  “It has been a privilege and a joy to serve alongside so many of you over the years,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. “To be honest, I feel that I could never spend enough time in your company.”

  I quietly made my way along the back of the hall toward the exit.

  “But my time has come,” she said heavily, with the intonation of someone who had practised the words for days. “It is an honour, and I take pride in my continued service to our Order and our home.”

  I paused at the base of the stairs. My mouth tasted of ashes.

  “Thank you all for coming,” she said, staring over our heads. “May the Star shine brightly on you.”

  As I left, the image of her unfinished painting haunted me. That pale sky and the blank paper, the bare trees and the shadow
s that they cast.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALL SISTERS FEARED three things, and the first was falling pregnant.

  Oh, we pretended otherwise. We made a lot of noise about honour and duty and sacrifice, but in the secret heart of every Sister lay the knowledge that conception was the beginning of the end of our lives.

  Our second fear was of Haunts. Immortal, insatiable, and vicious: they were difficult not to fear. The appearance of a Haunt also meant that one of us had broken rank, and a renegade Sister was always bad news.

  And then we feared rot.

  A little over a year ago, my grandmother began to decay. The infection developed from an incision beside her lumbar vertebrae, which went unnoticed until far too late. An inquiry was held, and the blame was pinned on a negligent Oblate.

  As soon as I heard the news, I returned to my mother’s house. She had smashed everything, all the plates in the kitchen, bottles, vases; she had torn apart books and clothing; she had ripped the curtains down. In the midst of the wreckage, she stood and glared at me. Her hands bled.

  “This wasn’t an accident,” she said.

  And that was how, three weeks after my birthday, I became a full initiate of the Sisterhood. My mother never reached the status of Reverend.

  I sat beside her now, in the coolness of the Martyrium, feeling sick to my stomach. Helpless. I could not protect her, and as a result, I could not protect myself. How naïve, to assume that martyrs were sacred, that no one would think to use them for political gain. I gripped her hand. For years, I had believed my mother to be paranoid to the point of delusion, and yet, and yet …

  “Did you know?” I whispered.

  And if so, what else had she kept hidden?

  I had given Osan the account number on the way back to the dormitories. The journey had been subdued; he must have sensed that I was upset. I changed into my original outfit before the carriage came to a halt, and carried Rhyanon’s dress to my room in its box. Now it hung in my wardrobe. A reminder of the risks I was taking.

  And already, only two days since the party, Rhyanon had a new task for me.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said softly. “I wish you could tell me the answers.”

  My mother’s face was unchanging.

  “I miss you.”

  I performed the rite and took extra sacraments in case of an emergency. Then I lingered. The idea of leaving her alone filled me with dread.

  But I was no one significant. I set down the scalpel and washed my hands. There was no target on my back. Besides, I could have misunderstood that conversation. I could be leaping to conclusions.

  The Martyrium was busy; other Sisters stopped to greet each other on the stairs and left tokens at the feet of the Eater.

  Reverend Belia Verje. Account shows huge payments for building materials delivered to her Farasni province estate. Have a look into her secret renovations? Your next R has been cancelled. Keep up the good work.

  The note had been slipped under my door while I slept. No signature, no invitation to respond. I wanted to talk to Rhyanon about the conversation I had overheard at the party, but it seemed I would have to wait. Walking into Civil Obligations and demanding a meeting was probably unwise.

  I headed for Major West. Millie expected me in half an hour. Following a Renewal, every Sister was supposed to meet with their counsellor at the Minor West Guidance Centre. Records would show that I had turned up at the offices with clockwork precision for the last eleven months.

  In reality, I had only attended three sessions. It was one of the many benefits of having a counsellor who was also my friend; I got let off the hook when it came to formal mental health evaluations. Millie and I still talked, of course, but the Guidance Centre reminded me of the Sanatorium, so I preferred to spend as little time in the building as possible. Today, we were meeting on the stairs outside the Major West Civic library.

  When I arrived, Millie was standing with her elbows propped up on the banister, talking to Daje. I hung back. The two of them were caught up in a serious conversation; Millie kept shaking her head, and Daje’s shoulders were slumped.

  “… reason with her, but maybe she’ll listen to you?” I heard him say.

  “I think I’d rather jump off the Edge,” Millie replied. “But yeah, I’ll try.”

  She spotted me over Daje’s shoulder, and for an instant, I thought that she looked alarmed. Then her expression cleared and she smiled.

  “Hey, El,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Not at all.” Daje turned around. “Here to steal Millie away from me?”

  Millie and Daje’s relationship had been going, on-and-off, for the past eight years. We weren’t exactly friends, but I liked him well enough, and certainly more than I liked Hanna. He didn’t seem to mind that I was a Sister either. Maybe he just hid it well.

  “If she’s available to be stolen,” I said.

  Millie grinned. “For you, I’m always available.”

  “In that case, I’ll be off.” Daje kissed her cheek. “See you this evening.”

  The library was a small yellow-brick building. Silver-leaf ivy covered the walls, and a neat row of orange trees cast shade over the patchy grass of the adjoining garden. Scholars read at the tables. A woman roasted candied nuts in a skillet and sold them to passersby.

  “Sorry about that.” Millie’s hair was loose today, falling in waves over her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine.” She grimaced. “I have an ex who’s making Daje’s life difficult, that’s all.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Really, it isn’t a big deal.” She took my hand and started toward the trees, but I shook my head.

  “Can you get me a stress pass?” I asked.

  Millie’s face fell.

  Stress passes, issued by counsellors, entitled members of the Sisterhood to paid leave. In the past, I had only ever used two—once after my first Renewal, and once three months later—but I had not asked for them. Millie had made the call on both occasions.

  I would not have asked now either, except that I needed to leave the city without the Sisterhood noticing my absence.

  “Of course,” Millie said quickly, recovering herself. “I’ll put in the paperwork tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you want to go somewhere private to talk about it? Maybe my place?”

  I shook my head again. “I can’t stay for long.”

  “Oh.”

  Her obvious disappointment and concern made me feel awful.

  “Maybe we could meet in a few days,” I said. “It’s just not a good time.”

  “No, I completely understand. But, El?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is something going on?” Millie tilted her head slightly to the side. “Since Daje’s birthday, I’ve been worried about you. Finn is too. You’ve been avoiding us.”

  I laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine.”

  “You disappeared without a word.”

  “It was just a work thing that came up unexpectedly.”

  Millie’s frown deepened. “You don’t have to tell me, but something is bothering you. Are you in trouble?”

  This was not going at all the way I had hoped. My goal had always been to keep my friends out of Sisterhood business.

  “Have you been eating properly?” she pressed gently. “The anniversary must have been hard on you, so I’d understand if—”

  I waved my hand, cutting her off. “I really am fine. About my mother too.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I sighed. “I’m acting as a spy for a Herald in Civil Obligations.”

  She blanched. “You what?”

  In a low voice, I explained what had happened. Millie listened in silence, and her face grew increasingly pale, especially when I came to describe my activities at Kisme’s party.

  “Eate
r, El,” she said. “If you’d been caught…”

  “It was a risk worth taking if Rhyanon can get me out of Renewals.”

  “The Sisterhood will skin you if they find out.”

  “That’s inevitable anyway.”

  She scowled. “You know I hate it when you talk like that.”

  I made a placating gesture. “It might seem rash, but I—”

  “So you need the stress pass to investigate this Reverend?”

  I nodded.

  Millie pursed her lips and gave me a long, appraising look. I tried to project confidence.

  “All right,” she said, after a moment. “But if you’re really serious about this, then I’m going with you.”

  “Millie…”

  “Non-negotiable.”

  I opened my mouth to argue. She arched one brow, and I shut up.

  And that was how, by fifth bell, we were leaving the city together.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE SOUTH GATE, also known as the Main Gate, was the largest of the eight entrances to the city. Framed by the twin bell towers, it rose a hundred feet in the air; a wonder of lacework and architecture, all gleaming polished stone and intricate locks. It could only be opened from the inside, and then only by those with the Sisterhood’s blessing.

  That wasn’t to say civilians hadn’t tried to force it open in the past. Four centuries ago, a group of revolutionaries—the Ash Disciples—had made a serious attempt to topple the Sisterhood. Heretical in their beliefs, they had put forward that the Order was founded on lies—that the Sisterhood’s domination was a perversion of nature, and the Eater herself nothing but a vicious tyrant. As the true and rightful rulers of Aytrium, they were in fact direct descendants of an elevated race of people. One untainted by our bloodline. Pure.

  For all I knew, maybe they were right—the Order’s pre-Ascension historical records were pretty hazy on the details. And the Disciples’ story had a kind of romantic resonance; there was something chivalric and grand about the whole thing, about that exclusivity, about the idea of belonging to a better people. Even now, the story was whispered in certain subversive circles.