Star Eater

by Kerstin Hall

  Celane cleared her throat.

  “I hear about the water problems every day in the Conclave, so perhaps a different subject? Although…” She turned to me. “Given the loss of Herald Zenza Lenard, I believe Elfreda will be giving a presentation at the water symposium in her place.”

  This was news to me.

  “But I’m only a junior officer,” I said.

  “You have important first-hand insight into the issue. I think Reverend Somme was going to issue the invitation tomorrow.”

  “Oh.”

  “Jesane, you are also attending, yes?”

  Jesane nodded, and the conversation moved on. It surprised me that Reverend Somme had not asked me whether I wanted to take part in the symposium, especially if she expected me to deliver Zenza’s presentation. She had always been sensitive in the past; she must know I would find this difficult. But I suppose that the Reverend was also under a lot of pressure.

  “Raughn.”

  I looked up from my empty plate. “Yes?”

  “Your name has been bothering me for a while,” said Verje. “Raughn, as in Kirane Raughn? She was your mother?”

  I felt cold. “She is my mother, yes.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  She gave me a pitying look. “Ah, I thought you seemed young for an Acolyte. It’s tragic, what happened to her. She was so vivacious too.”

  The rest of the table had fallen quiet while listening to our exchange. They watched me.

  “So sudden,” she said. “All martyrdoms are difficult, but for Kirane to join the Eater at, what, forty-eight?”

  “Forty-six,” I said softly.

  “Forty-six. This was a year ago, wasn’t it? I remember the inquiry.” She smiled. “Oh, but in the old days, Kirane was forever getting into some kind of trouble. You might have been too young to remember, but there was a huge scandal about her involvement in this subversive civilian organisation. All very dramatic. It ended when the organisation’s headquarters burned down. Pity there were people still inside, but at—”

  Millie’s side plate shattered on the floor.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, and jumped to her feet. “I’m so sorry! Oh no, what a mess.”

  She crouched and began collecting the broken pieces of ceramic. I quickly moved to help her.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Celane. “The plates are easily replaced. Let me just call one of the Oblates to help you.”

  Millie, out of sight of the rest of the table, touched my hand.

  I will ruin her, she mouthed, then jerked her head in Verje’s direction.

  I shook my head.

  You’ll see. Then she got up, and continued to apologize, drawing everyone’s attention away from me. An Oblate appeared with a dustpan and swept up the rest of the broken plate. By the time everything had been cleared away, the main course was being served.

  Seared fish flavoured with chives and lemon cream, sweet potatoes dusted with pepper and shavings of dried mushrooms, noodles in a clear, salty broth. So much food, all of it beautifully prepared. Thoughtless of expense, careless in generosity. I was unsettled and uncomfortable in the face of the Reverends’ easy hedonism, and ate sparingly, without tasting anything.

  “Elfreda,” said Celane, as she set down her cutlery, “I hear you were something of a master at Tryst. Yet I distinctly remember you telling me you had never played before.”

  “I hadn’t.” I tried to smile. “And I only scored one point, so ‘master’ seems a stretch. It was Herald Olberos’s throw that deserves praise.”

  “Oh, so the pass came from you?” Celane asked Jesane with interest. “Unfortunately, I missed the moment, but I hear it was quite something.”

  Jesane grinned. “I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Honestly, I’m surprised it worked. Earlier in the game, Elfreda had helped me out, so I…” She trailed off, and her expression soured.

  Two tables away, Ilva had stood up. Her pale cheeks were flushed pink with emotion or alcohol, and she gripped the back of her chair for support.

  “I don’t need any of you!” she slurred.

  The room fell quiet.

  “All of you.” Her eyes wandered until they found Jesane. “You think you’re better than me?”

  The Acolyte beside Ilva said something soothing and tried to make her sit back down. Ilva swatted the woman’s hand away.

  “Bunch of old dead women. Who cares? Who really cares? And what did I get out of it? Nothing.” She laughed. “I hope you’re happy now, Jesane.”

  “Please stop making a spectacle of yourself,” said Jesane coolly.

  “Spectacle? That hasn’t even started yet. You have no idea, but I do.” She swayed and mumbled something, then spoke louder. “I do.”

  The Acolyte made another attempt to calm her down, but Ilva stepped out of reach.

  “You’re all sick.” Her voice quavered. “I’m done with it all; I’m leaving now.”

  She staggered to the door of the dining room, and slammed it behind her. A moment of silence, then a few guests laughed nervously. I felt stricken.

  Bunch of old dead women. That could only be the martyrs. To hear Ilva raving—who cares? who really cares?—while surrounded by light and wine and luxury seemed monstrous. Like someone had peeled back the skin of a new apple to reveal a core crawling with maggots. It was real, as good as a confession. It was right in front of me.

  Ilva had probably killed my grandmother.

  “Unbelievable,” muttered Jesane. She cleared her throat and pushed back her chair. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

  I was back in my mother’s kitchen, all the curtains torn down. This wasn’t an accident. The broken glass on the floor.

  “If there is an awkward situation between the two of you, I can make sure that Ilva gets to her carriage safely,” said Millie.

  Jesane wavered.

  “Really, it’s no problem.” Millie rose from her chair. She ironed out the creases in her shirt. “Let me take care of it.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  “Lariel, was it?” said Verje suddenly. “I’ll assist you. I don’t trust that woman not to steal something on her way out.”

  The Reverend’s voice snapped me back to the present, and I tensed. Shouldn’t leave Millie alone with Verje. I wanted to stop her, but Millie’s mouth was set, and I knew that look too well; she would not listen. Before I could protest, she had squeezed my shoulder affectionately and was following Verje out of the room.

  “That was upsetting,” Celane murmured. “I wonder what Herald Bosch could have meant.”

  “Probably nothing, Reverend,” said Jesane. “She’s just drunk and bitter.”

  Liars. Both of them. I swallowed. They knew, they all knew. But I could not afford to dwell on any of this right now; I had to rein in my feelings.

  Celane shook herself. “Probably. It just made me think of the new condition that Public Health is investigating. It’s supposed to afflict some younger Sisters.”

  Need to act normal.

  “What kind of condition?” I took a sip of water.

  Celane turned to look at me. Her gaze was sharp.

  “Hallucinations,” she said.

  I was lucky; I could cover my reaction behind the act of drinking. My heart pounded. I set the glass down before carefully replying, “Hallucinations?”

  “Yes. Reverend Morwin said that they aren’t yet sure what causes the condition, but the individual experiences a kind of intense vision, which she can scarcely distinguish from reality.”

  “Frightening,” I managed.

  “Public Health is working on a treatment.” Celane was smiling, but her eyes could have cut glass. “Do you suffer from any kind of hallucinations, Elfreda?”

  “Not to my knowledge, Reverend.”

  “I suspected not. Jesane, how about you?”

  Jesane frowned slightly. “I can’t say I have. Never heard anyone else talking about hallucinations e
ither.”

  I thought that Celane looked, for an instant, disappointed. Then her expression smoothed over.

  “Well, I suppose that’s something to be thankful for,” she said.

  Millie slipped back into the dining room. She had a faintly puzzled look on her face, but smiled when she sat down beside me. The conversation moved on, and I did my best to seem relaxed and engaged, all the while feeling like I might be physically sick.

  Celane knew. Celane knew about the existence of visions, and she had known to ask me about them.

  Verje returned a few minutes later.

  “I paid the driver double,” she said. “He still wasn’t happy about it, but Ilva had already passed out on the back seat, so he didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter.”

  Jesane looked troubled. “Is she all right?”

  “As well as can be expected. Disgraceful behaviour. I’ll have to talk to Maternal Affairs about getting her demoted.”

  “Oh,” said Jesane.

  After a while, the mood of the dinner picked up again, but Jesane remained subdued. When the Oblates cleared the last plates, she was quick to excuse herself.

  “I have to be at work early tomorrow,” she said. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Reverend.”

  “My pleasure, Jesane,” said Celane.

  “We should be going too,” said Millie. She gestured reverence in an endearingly clumsy way. “It has been a privilege to spend time with you all.”

  “Lovely to meet you, Lariel. I hope to see you and Elfreda again soon,” said Celane.

  Millie waited until we were out of earshot before whispering, “That was dramatic.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She maintained a firm grip on my waist as we walked. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I was glad you were with me, though. Thanks, Millie.”

  She briefly leaned her head against my shoulder. “Anytime.”

  Osan’s eyes glinted below the rim of his hat. He straightened in his seat as we approached.

  “I was getting worried,” he said.

  Millie hesitated. “Osan…”

  “Let’s go. We can talk later.”

  Millie climbed into the carriage. I glanced down the street.

  “Just El?”

  “Sorry. I was thinking about something.” I followed Millie inside.

  Osan clucked his tongue at the horses. We rolled forward. Once we were a street away, he spoke.

  “How did it go?”

  “Bunch of psychopaths,” said Millie.

  “And the woman escorted out?”

  “That was Herald Ilva Bosch,” I said. “She had too much to drink. Started ranting about old dead women. Did you see her carriage leave?”

  “I did. Reverend Verje spent a long time convincing the driver to take her away.”

  “Yeah, Verje told me to go back inside.” Millie grimaced. “I didn’t think twice about it. Presumably a compulse?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was worried about that.”

  “No harm done.” She squeezed my hand. The streetlights passed, turning her face light, then dark, light, then dark. “I should have been more vigilant. Next time.”

  “Next time?” said Osan.

  “I made a few friends,” she said. “So I can do a little independent digging.”

  Osan and I both groaned.

  “What?”

  “Who did you talk to?” I asked.

  “Ilva, for a start. She’s clearly vulnerable, and involved in something.” Millie ran her fingertip along the ridge of the window. “She’s lonely and scared. I can work with that.”

  “Millie, I don’t know.”

  “I do,” she said. “It’ll be fine.”

  “She’s unstable.”

  “But not dangerous. Really. I can handle this.”

  Osan drew to a halt at the end of Millie’s street. The horses stamped their feet and snorted.

  “Don’t get reckless,” I said.

  Millie leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Same to you.”

  Osan watched her until she reached the door of her building. Then he turned the carriage around and we headed toward Pearl Boulevard. I slouched back on the bench, quiet for a while.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  “A lot of things.” We passed another cab heading the opposite way. The air drifting through the open window cooled my skin. “I’m thinking that if I’d stayed with my supervisor that night, she might still be alive. Or if I hadn’t told you to stop following me. Things like that. Why is Millie afraid of you?”

  “I think you can probably guess.”

  I fell silent. We rattled up the boulevard, the wheels loud in the quiet residential area. The night folded around us.

  “You used to be in the Resistance,” I said. “And Millie’s scared that you’ll tell me about her involvement in the organisation.”

  Osan gently guided the horses across the intersection. The Gardens grew larger on the left, and a layer of dry leaves carpeted the road.

  “How long have you known she’s part of it?” he asked.

  I laughed softly. Osan glanced around and, with irony, I performed an old gesture; a swivel of my left wrist to touch my right fist. The same gesture Daje and Finn had exchanged outside the Candle. It dated back to the Ash Disciples. It meant “we shall reclaim.”

  “I can’t remember not knowing,” I said.

  “I see.” He turned back around. “And what makes you think I quit?”

  “You work for Rhyanon.”

  “Could be two-timing her.”

  “But you aren’t. For starters, she’s too smart for that. And you care about her.”

  “And Millie cares about you. That doesn’t mean…”

  “Why did you quit?”

  He sighed. I waited.

  “Let’s see,” he said. “There was a man. Renson. He made some mistakes, ended up in the Renewal Wards. As he was an upstanding member of the Resistance, I expected that his friends would attempt to save him. But they didn’t. When it mattered, the Resistance proved toothless.”

  He turned onto Reverence Street.

  “That’s when Rhyanon came in. At considerable personal risk, she managed to break Renson out of the Wards before he could face any Renewals.” He glanced over his shoulder. “About that time, I realised that the Resistance was full of shit. All rhetoric and bluster, no real plans. But Rhyanon, she meant business.”

  I smiled. “So you joined her instead?”

  “It was one or the other.” He stopped the horses. “This was about eight years ago, so it’s ancient history now.”

  I climbed out of the carriage. “Were you Renson?”

  He shook his head, looking a little sad, a little amused. “No. No, I wasn’t. But I did love him. He lives in Portevis now, where he’s met someone else.”

  I put my foot on the driving board and hoisted myself up beside Osan.

  “What…” His look of alarm vanished when I hugged him. He laughed. “Hey, what’s this for?”

  “Renson made a bad call if he chose someone else,” I whispered.

  “You think?”

  “I’m certain.”

  “Uh-huh.” He briefly returned the hug. “All right then, but please get down now before you spook the horses.”

  I complied. He straightened his hat.

  “Don’t go sentimental on me, Just El,” he said. “This is long in the past.”

  “I won’t mention it again.”

  He nodded, satisfied. “Get going, then.”

  At this hour, the dormitories were all but silent. I moved quietly down the corridors and up the stairs to my room. A light burned in the passage outside.

  I felt exhausted but restless. The evening had given me a lot to think about. A lot to worry about. Not to mention my other lingering concern, but that …

  A folded piece of paper had been slipped under my door. I frowned, then knelt and picked it up. There were only five words writt
en on the page.

  We need to talk.

  —Finn

  I stared at the message for a minute, before crumpling the paper within my fist. No. I had made myself clear. We were not going to do this again. It didn’t matter that I missed him, or worried about him. The memory of his kiss burned bright in my mind.

  He kissed me back.

  And for a moment, just the smallest moment, I had felt joy.

  I tossed the paper into the bin beside my desk and sank onto my bed. I would ask Millie to pass a message to Finn, but I could not face him myself. Especially if he wanted to talk about what happened on Moon Tide Eve.

  Tired though I was, I struggled to fall asleep. I felt too hot. When I did eventually drift off, my rest was fitful. Vague, stressful dreams dissolved into nightmares.

  I ran through the trees, retracing my steps to the Moon House, but instead of a vision, Finn was stalking me. Then I was chasing him, and no matter how fast I ran, he was always just out of sight. The forest began to collapse around me, and I was waving goodbye to Zenza while she begged me not to leave her, waving goodbye to my mother as they took her to the Martyrium, then I was inside the Renewal Wards and Declan Lars was on top of me—

  I sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. My nightclothes were soaked in sweat. I panted, my heart pounding, and waited for the fear to subside. It must have been an hour before dawn; the streetlamp outside had burned out, and the sky had turned a dull shade of navy. My throat was parched. I got up and walked to the bathroom, where I drank straight from the tap. My cracked reflection shivered in the early morning chill.

  Just bad dreams. I washed my face, letting the water drip from my neck. The worst since my mother’s martyrdom, but still. Just bad dreams.

  I returned to my bedroom. The sun had appeared above the hills to the east. The light caught on my windowsill, and it was only then that I saw the lines. Dark, straight, running along each side of the frame.

  I touched them and my fingers came away coated in black powder. Charcoal.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I WAS AT MY desk in Food Management when I heard the news. Acolyte Tahen walked in holding a copy of the Resounder. She set it down on the meeting table and smoothed out the pages.

  “It … it happened again,” she said.

  According to the article, the carriage driver had escaped from the incident unharmed. Masked attackers had jumped into the path of the horses and, when the driver stopped the vehicle, threatened him at knifepoint. While he protested, the assailants dragged Ilva out the back. Drunk, half-asleep, disoriented Ilva. The Herald had put up no defence.