Star Eater

by Kerstin Hall

  More enquiries. More Council meetings. I carried a grey, leaden feeling in my stomach for days. I remembered Ilva storming out of the dining room and the uneasy laughter that followed after her. Why hadn’t I offered to help? It would have been easy. But instead I watched as she stumbled—drunk and angry and alone—out the door.

  “You can’t blame yourself,” said Millie, later. “How could you have known?”

  But the difference was that Millie had jumped in to assist Ilva. She had scarcely even hesitated. Unlike me.

  And a small, dark voice whispered: Should I feel pleased? It seemed very likely that Ilva had sent my mother to the Martyrium. If that was the case, then wasn’t this a kind of justice? It didn’t feel like justice. It felt like I had wished harm on her, and then someone had immediately butchered her in the street.

  Food rationing came into effect two days after the murder. We could not afford to delay any longer. According to our projections, Aytrium had enough resources to keep the city fed for the next four months, assuming that food was distributed equitably. I knew that was optimistic; two months was more likely.

  Unless it rained. If it rained, we might be able to salvage some of the harvest.

  In the wake of our announcements, the merchant guilds were in uproar. Of course they were. Access to fresh goods would be more heavily regulated, independent contracts with farmers dissolved, and any excess foodstuffs seized and delivered to Food Management. But in spite of several furious petitions, there was nothing they could do to stop us. The Sisterhood held complete control over access to Ceyrun, and large quantities of food could not get inside the walls without our permission.

  The clamour only grew louder when we announced that we were instituting a freeze on all produce prices. Merchants attempting to overcharge would lose their trader’s license and find Enforcement knocking at their door.

  We weren’t stopping business. We were just making it arduous and less profitable. Meanwhile, Food Management would expand emergency stockpiling operations for non-perishable goods in the Field silos. If matters came to the worst, we would establish food depots all over Ceyrun, where citizens could collect daily rations.

  In addition—and despite Verje’s grumbling—Water and Sanitation had agreed to decrease water pressure within the city, and would start implementing strategic rolling water outages in the next week.

  Finally, and on top of everything else, I had to prepare a presentation for the symposium. I found all of Zenza’s old files and reports on my desk, along with a note from Reverend Somme thanking me for my help. That bothered me. She could have at least asked.

  Nevertheless, I applied myself to the task, collating figures from our alternate food source programs, calculating the volume of water these projects would require going forward, outlining worst-case scenarios and possible outcomes. Zenza had done much of the math already, and I was determined to honour her work. The finished presentation would be accurate and comprehensive, and it might finally be alarming enough to convince Water and Sanitation of the seriousness of the situation.

  I didn’t sleep much that week. Or eat. I became so absorbed by the avalanche of work and stress that I began to forget about the little things.

  “Elfreda?”

  I looked up from the file I’d been reading on soil quality. Reverend Somme stood in front of my desk. I hastily gestured reverence.

  “Can I see you in my office please?” she asked.

  That did not sound promising.

  “You aren’t in trouble,” she added.

  “Right.” I closed the file and got up. “Of course, Reverend.”

  Somme’s office was tucked into the corner of the second floor; a large, wood-panelled room with a varnished desk, and drapes in the colours of the Food Management insignia: pale orange and mauve. The Reverend’s robes hung loosely, and her face had gained a new gauntness, but her hair and make-up remained immaculate.

  “Won’t you close the door behind you?” she asked.

  I did so.

  She gestured at the chair across from her. “How are you holding up, Elfreda?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sleeping?”

  “Yes, Reverend.”

  “I want to tell you to take the week off, but Food Management cannot afford to be short-staffed at the moment.”

  “I understand. If I might speak freely, Reverend?”

  She gestured assent.

  “Work gives me something to focus on. If you tried to send me home for a week, I would refuse.”

  “That’s not much of a comfort.” She adjusted her glasses. “How would you feel about a promotion?”

  The question caught me off-guard.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “This is unpleasant to discuss, but you are the most qualified to fill Zenza’s vacancy. If you took over her role, I could assign another Acolyte to your current position.”

  That Acolyte would almost certainly be many years older than me, and she would regard me as a power-hungry usurper. Taking advantage of my supervisor’s murder to scale the Order.

  “I’m—I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never held a leadership position before.”

  “I believe that you could excel, under the right circumstances,” said Somme. “But take some time to think it over. I won’t pressure you. Eater knows that you’ve been through enough already.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And you are eating, aren’t you?” She reached under her desk. “I think I have some wheatcakes here somewhere. Maybe a bit stale, but—”

  “I’m fine,” I said hurriedly.

  “Yes, well, if you’re sure. Are you ready for the symposium this evening? I was grateful for your offer to present Zenza’s work.”

  I thought that I had misheard her. “Excuse me?”

  “The presentation. You are ready, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, of course. Sorry, I was thinking about something else.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “At first I was surprised that you volunteered, but now it strikes me as the honourable thing to do. I’m sure you’ll do her legacy credit, Elfreda.”

  “I hope so.”

  I returned to my work, but found it impossible to concentrate. Somme believed, without question, that I had volunteered to speak at the symposium. But I hadn’t. I had never even given an indication that I was interested.

  A misunderstanding? That seemed unlikely, but why would it matter to anyone else whether I gave the presentation or not? When the fifteenth bell rang and other Sisters began to leave, I hung back. The thought crossed my mind that I could just fail to show up for the event. But I had told Somme I was ready; it would be embarrassing for Food Management, and very unprofessional on my part.

  The stack of audits on my desk dwindled. I cracked my knuckles and leaned back in my chair.

  You’re just being paranoid.

  The symposium was happening in Tivaria, the agricultural epicentre of Aytrium. The town was a few hours from Ceyrun, and the Order had arranged a fleet of horse-drawn cabs to take participating Sisters from the South Gate to the venue.

  I had almost reached the end of Pearl Boulevard when Finn called out to me. I tensed, and turned to see him straightening up from the wall of the customs house.

  “I thought we were past this, I specifically—” I began, but then I looked at him properly and my anger transformed into alarm.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said.

  A livid bruise darkened the left side of his jaw. He looked drawn and tired, as if he might have been sleeping rough for a few nights. His eyes were ringed by dark circles.

  “Have you … Did you get into a fight?” I quickly walked over to him. “Eater, Finn. Who hit you?”

  “No one.” He touched his jaw. I noticed that his knuckles were split. “Well, no one I couldn’t handle.”

  This was unlike him; Finn seldom even got into arguments, let alone fistfights. The bruising stretched all the wa
y down his neck. The only time I ever saw him angry, it was on someone else’s behalf.

  “What happened?” I demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, tell me. Whatever it is—”

  “El, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m fine,” he said shortly, his face closed-off. “I just need to talk to you in private. I wouldn’t bother you if this wasn’t important.”

  He spoke to me like I was a stranger. I had no right to feel hurt; I was the one who told him to leave me alone. But it stung all the same.

  I breathed out through my mouth.

  “All right,” I replied. “We can talk, but not right now—I’m presenting at the symposium and the cabs might leave without me. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  “The usual place, third bell?”

  “Fine.” Behind me, the horses were departing through the Gate. “I should go.”

  Finn nodded, still cold, still detached, but then something in him seemed to give way, and he sighed.

  “Good luck tonight,” he said. “Not that you need it.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to go, but in spite of myself, I couldn’t help adding, “You are okay, aren’t you?”

  The ghost of his old smile passed across his face. He nodded again.

  “Whatever is going on, just … be careful.” A cool wind blew down the street, and I drew my robes tighter around me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “El?”

  “Yes?”

  He averted his gaze. “You’re going to be fine.”

  I quickly walked away. Finn stayed where he stood, alone, his shoulders hunched against the breeze. The bruise on his jaw looked painful, and I hated to see him so hollow-eyed, like the life had drained out of him. It reminded me of the bad times, the years before his grandfather died.

  I presented myself to the harassed Acolyte ticking names off a list on her clipboard. She glared at me.

  “You’re late, Acolyte.”

  “Sorry,” I murmured.

  She checked my details off on her register. “Well, you aren’t the only one, I suppose. Use whichever cab you want; they’re identical.”

  I nodded and walked over to one of the last remaining vehicles. I still didn’t understand why we couldn’t hold the symposium in Ceyrun; most of the participants would be members of the Order. True, a large portion of the civilian farming community lived near Tivaria, but anyone with the ability to make policy decisions resided in the city. It seemed a waste of resources to travel so far, as if the symposium was all for show—a performance for the public’s benefit.

  I climbed into the empty cab and set my bag down on the seat beside me. Through the window, I saw that Finn had vanished.

  I wouldn’t bother you if this wasn’t important.

  I drummed my fingers against the bench. It had to be something to do with the Resistance. The Resounder’s illustration of Zenza’s murder loomed large in my memory, and I shook my head vehemently. No. Not possible. If the Resistance were responsible for the murders, Finn or Millie would have told me sooner. My friends had grievances against the Order, but they would never stoop to that.

  I opened my bag and delved around for my presentation notes. I was overthinking the situation; tomorrow, I would talk to Finn and find out what had really happened.

  The cab door opened. I looked up and found myself face-to-face with Jesane Olberos.

  “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

  The Herald was red-eyed and dishevelled, her robes rumpled like they had been slept in. She clutched a brown folder to her chest, and her fingers left sweaty marks on the leather stitching.

  “You’re still presenting?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Apparently no one else could give the talk.” Her voice came out husky and thick. “May I share this cab with you?”

  “Of course.” Flustered, I crammed my papers back into my bag. “Of course, please do.”

  She climbed inside and sank onto the opposite bench. Her nails were bitten down to the quick, but she seemed more exhausted than anxious—as if she had worn through her stress and now sat hollow and ill.

  “Listen,” I said. “The presentation can’t be that important, and I could help you to apply for compassionate leave? Maybe a stress pass—”

  “Tried that. Denied.”

  My confusion must have shown on my face, because she offered a weak, humourless smile in response.

  “I was also surprised by my supervisor’s decision,” she said. “But I suppose it was well-known that Ilva and I had broken off our engagement.”

  I hesitated, unsure of myself. Whoever Jesane’s supervisor was, I felt that they had badly misjudged the situation. The Herald looked like a wreck.

  “I think you should go home,” I ventured. “Stress pass or not.”

  The cab rolled forward. Jesane shrugged.

  “Better to get it over with.” Her voice faltered, and she quickly brought her hand to her forehead, hiding her face. “Sorry to burden you. We barely even know one another.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  She fell silent. We passed below the South Gate and out into the yellow afternoon of the Fields. The farmhands looked up from their work to watch us ride by. A flock of crows circled over the stunted grain, cawing.

  “I had to explain to my daughter that Ilva is dead,” said Jesane softly.

  “Oh.”

  “She’s five. And Ilva’s daughter is only two. They’ve taken her into communal care.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Yeah.” Jesane stared fixedly out the window. “I’m probably overthinking something, but will you hear me out?”

  The hair on the back of my neck rose.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Even so, Jesane remained silent. She traced the flight of the crows with her eyes. The silence dragged on; I said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was scarcely louder than a whisper.

  “Do you find it strange that the attack occurred right after Ilva’s outburst at the party?” she asked.

  So you wondered about that too, huh?

  “I guess.” I tried to keep my expression neutral. “She was drunk. It made her a more obvious target.”

  “But she was inside the carriage. The attackers wouldn’t have known that.” Jesane turned and I saw that her eyes burned, not with grief, but with anger. “I keep thinking about it. How would anyone know that a Sister was inside that cab at all?”

  “Unless they followed her from the party. Or the driver was complicit.”

  She nodded.

  “It is strange,” I said. “Although there is so much we don’t know.”

  Jesane bunched the fabric of her robes between her hands. Beyond the window, the sun was setting, and the light cast her in red and gold.

  “Your friend, Lariel?” she said. “Did she say anything to you afterwards?”

  “Nothing specific.” But Millie had assumed that Verje compulsed her. At the time, I assumed it had been a matter of convenience for the Reverend. But if Verje wanted to talk to the carriage driver without Millie hearing, or perhaps to give a signal to someone watching …

  “Could you ask her about it?” asked Jesane. “Please?”

  I nodded. “If you’d prefer, you could speak to her yourself. She won’t mind.”

  Relief washed over her face. “That would be good.”

  “Is there any reason why Ilva might have been targeted?”

  Jesane opened her mouth to answer, then stopped.

  “Did what she said mean anything to you?” I pressed. “Her outburst, at the party?”

  Jesane seemed frozen. “Perhaps. But you don’t want any involvement in this, trust me.”

  “Does that mean you’re in some kind of danger?”

  A pause.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  A reckless impulse seized me. I reached out and took hold of her hand. She flinched.

  “Go to Enforcement,” I said. />
  “That could make matters worse.”

  “Then what if I approached the Commander on your behalf? Councilwoman Asan is abrasive, but I believe she’s trustworthy. I’m sure she could shelter you.”

  Her jaw tightened. “She will extract a price.”

  “You mean information?” I withdrew my hand. “If you have any idea why Ilva was attacked, you need to tell the Commander. She could stop it from happening again.”

  Stop it from happening to you, I did not need to add. Jesane was furious, yes, but she was also afraid—that she would resort to having this conversation with me was evidence enough of that. But she seemed to realise she had shared too much; she sighed, and the edge of her mouth quirked upwards in an ironic half smile.

  “It’s probably just paranoia speaking,” she said. “My thoughts run away from me; I didn’t mean to alarm you. You must think I’m ridiculous.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then you are far too kind.” She rubbed the raw skin surrounding her thumbnail, unthinking. “Perhaps I will talk to Commander Asan, after all; it might help to set my mind at ease. Although I suspect she won’t be as sympathetic a listener.”

  “I doubt it could do any harm.”

  She nodded, distant now.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE TIVARIA COMMUNITY Hall was draped with Sisterhood banners for the event. The trees surrounding the building had shrivelled in the heat, the last of their leaves turning crisp and yellow, curling at the edges. A few civilians loitered on the steps outside; college students, a number of merchant guild members. Not a large crowd, but more would arrive before eighteenth bell—the hall’s auditorium could seat up to five hundred people. I tightened my grip around my papers. I really hoped that five hundred people did not show up tonight.

  Jesane remained hollow-eyed, but seemed calmer by the time we arrived. She had spent the remainder of the journey to Tivaria consulting her notes for the symposium, and I had left her to concentrate. I wanted to believe that she would talk to Commander Asan—not only because she might prove useful, but because she clearly needed help. Her raw vulnerability left me feeling strangely protective.