Star Eater

by Kerstin Hall

  I hadn’t wanted him to come. After he had returned from delivering my messages, I told him to go back to Rhyanon; be safe, I would do the rest by myself. But Osan had only brushed me off irritably.

  “Don’t be insufferable,” he said.

  Getting inside the Food Management warehouse was easy enough; everyone in the department knew that a spare key was hidden in the gap under the loose paving stones beside the door. Osan kept watch on the street while I descended to the basement.

  The dark room was full of fluttering, the rustling of wings—someone had brought in a new batch of crossmoths. I took two empty jars down from a shelf, and then a third, just in case. Small, sterile, with polished tin lids. I wedged them inside my rucksack; using the jacket Osan had lent me to cushion them. I could not afford for the glass to shatter.

  As I turned to leave, I noticed the markings on the wall. Smudged black letters, just above the insect holding tanks. I frowned and moved closer.

  taken everything from me

  That was all, just those four words scrawled in charcoal. Yet the sight of them unnerved me; I was sure they had not been there the last time I visited the basement. The letters spiked and lurched unsteadily, like whoever left the message had been shaking. Familiar. My eyes lingered over the angular cut of the “f” and “y.”

  This was my own handwriting.

  A dog barked in the distance, and I snapped out of my daze. I hurried back up the stairs to Osan.

  From the warehouse, we made our way up through Major East to the main thoroughfare. A couple of citizens still strolled along Pearl Boulevard, but it was getting late. By the next bell, it would be more difficult to blend into the crowd. Across the street, a hawker was selling the last of his half-price copies of the Resounder. “Murderer’s Execution Takes Unexpected Turn!” read the headline.

  A street away from the Martyrium stairs, I pulled Osan aside.

  “This is where we say goodbye,” I whispered. “After dark, there’s a lacework web around the Martyrium. It triggers an alert when civilians approach the building.”

  “So I can’t come with you.”

  I tried to smile. “I’ll be fine. You’ve taken me this far.”

  He scowled, seeing right through my bravado. His obvious concern warmed me, and I felt a painful twinge of affection for him. What did I do to deserve your help, Osan? Something of my feelings must have shown on my face because he made an annoyed noise.

  “Oh, for Eater’s sake.” He pulled me into a one-armed hug. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

  I nodded.

  A faint breeze blew over the hillside, cool and damp. Alone, I climbed quickly, my nerves tight. When I glanced backwards, Aytrium looked curiously small. In the darkness, the streetlamps and windows formed tiny pricks of flame, a glowing patchwork of stars.

  I breathed deeply. I could do this. I had to do this.

  About twenty feet from the top of the stairs, I stepped off the path. The statue of the Eater loomed up ahead, great and terrible, her sightless eyes accusing me. I crept through the undergrowth, climbing around the side of the hill. The soil was stony and dry beneath my shoes. Noisier than I would have liked.

  I inched closer to the Martyrium. I could see a lamp burning outside the entrance, and a woman slouched on a chair beneath it. The Acolyte stared off into space, her arms crossed behind her head. She looked young. Probably at the bottom of the Maternal Affairs pecking order if she had been given the night shift. I crouched down and studied her carefully. She seemed drowsy, and the light was an unexpected piece of good luck—she would be blind to anything beyond the glow of the lamp.

  Nothing else for it. I picked up a stone and tossed it in the direction of the stairs. The clatter made the Acolyte jump. She sat up straighter.

  I took a deep breath and stretched my lace toward her.

  Outside of three mandatory training sessions, I had never compulsed anyone. The act was deeply intimate and intrusive, a violation, and even now I struggled to do it. Compulsing was also an incredibly delicate art, and the difficulty lay in the balance—I had to make the Acolyte want to take action, but without her finding the urge itself suspicious. For this reason compulsing other Sisters was especially tricky. If we paid attention, we could feel the lace at work.

  Nothing to be scared of. I brushed against her thoughts. Probably just an animal. No need to feel too anxious, you shouldn’t raise the alert over nothing. That would be embarrassing.

  She squinted out at the darkness.

  “Is someone there?” she called uncertainly.

  I held my breath. The grass waved in the breeze. Up here, away from the city, it was disconcertingly quiet.

  I counted to a hundred, watching the Acolyte relax. Then I threw another stone.

  This time she could not dismiss the sound quite as easily. She got to her feet, clearly nervous, her shoulders tense.

  Still probably nothing, I soothed. A rat? Some kind of bird? Maybe you should take a look, to be absolutely sure. Just to set your mind at ease. It would be the responsible thing to do.

  She wavered.

  You could take the light with you. Don’t be silly. You aren’t afraid of the dark. Just a quick look around.

  She hesitated, then reached up and unhooked the lamp. I felt a surge of triumph, but quickly suppressed it. Not yet, I had not won yet. The Acolyte walked to the edge of the stairs.

  So hard to see. Didn’t it sound like the noise came from further down? May as well be thorough.

  A pause. I did not dare push her any harder. It should be enough; the seed had been planted. I willed her forward. If this failed, all my plans would be wasted; I needed to get inside the Martyrium.

  The Acolyte stood perfectly still, her lamp held up high. Listening.

  Then she sighed.

  “Stupid rats,” she said.

  She carried on walking, swinging the lamp from side to side as she descended the stairs. I let her take a few steps, then slipped toward the plaza. Once I reached the paved square, I raced for the Martyrium door.

  It opened before I even touched it. I dashed inside, quickly pulled the door shut behind me, and backed away.

  Five seconds passed. Then ten. I strained my ears. Had the Acolyte heard me? I could see the lamp through the misted glass panes of the door. It moved slowly, weaving a little, but not drawing any closer.

  A giddy rush of relief came over me; I held the stairway railing for support. The spiral of alcoves glowed above my head; each calm, undisturbed, lit by a single candle. I let my pulse steady. I was inside. Getting out again would prove its own challenge, but at least I had made it this far, and one step closer to Finn. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

  I’m coming, I thought. Just wait for me.

  The air inside the dome was rich with the smell of night blossoms and incense, the curve of the walls stretching toward the dark sky. My boots were quiet on the stairs; I trailed my fingertips over the vine-covered balustrade as I walked. At the entrance to my mother’s alcove, I washed my hands and picked up the scalpel.

  “Hi, Mom,” I murmured.

  No visions tonight. She slept peacefully, her face relaxed, mouth slightly open. The candlelight softened her features and turned her skin a warmer shade of bronze. I approached the bed.

  “This is going to be goodbye. So we have a little time.”

  Her body radiated warmth; even just standing near her, I could feel it. I gripped the knife tighter.

  “Not long, just … just a little while.” My throat tightened. The laugh lines around her eyes, the soft angles of her face—I needed to fix all of it in my mind. Keep her, preserve her. I swallowed, looking up at the ceiling.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  And even though she was right next to me, I missed her. I had missed her every day since her martyrdom, even though it was meant to get easier with time, even though we had been broken from the start.

  “All I ever wanted was to make you proud, you know?” I wi
ped my cheek roughly. “I wanted to hear you say it, just once. That you were proud of me.”

  Stupid, all the things I had demanded of her. That I still, impossibly, tried to demand of her now. I lowered myself onto the bed beside her. Touched her hair. The scalpel lay between us and I knew what needed to be done, but all I wanted was to curl up beside my mother and let Aytrium burn.

  “It’s not fair,” I whispered, and the words stuck in my throat. I shook my head. “I—”

  Like a viper striking, bands of lace whipped around me. My limbs seized, and I cried out. The ropes tightened, pinning me to the spot.

  “That was very touching, Raughn,” said someone behind me. “I’m almost sorry to interrupt.”

  I wrestled with the invisible bindings, and they shrank painfully around my arms and legs. Too strong, far too strong; I had never encountered this kind of power before. The lace had a humming, seething quality, like water under immense pressure.

  Abruptly, my body swung around so that I faced the doorway, my legs forced straight to hold me up. Verje grinned.

  “I’d have thought you’d be in more of a hurry,” she said, stepping inside the alcove. “Well, to be honest, I’d have thought you would be eager to flee the city entirely, Renewer.”

  “Get away from me,” I said. It was difficult to breathe.

  “Asan must be spitting mad that you slipped through her fingers. Where was she keeping you anyway? We’d reached the stage where we were considering releasing an inmate of the Renewal Wards to sniff you out. Eater, that would have been a mess.”

  “Like the Haunt you released from your estate?” I hissed. “Did you infect him yourself?”

  “Don’t be crude.” Verje glanced over her shoulder, as if she had heard something. Clearly, she was on edge. “Besides, you’re hardly one to talk, are you? Finn Vidar probably has some opinions about the topic of infection.”

  “Get his name out of your filthy fucking mouth.”

  “Touchy.” She walked closer, and lowered her voice. “He was very uncooperative. Celane and I paid him a visit in Judicial Custody, you know. Compulsed the life out of him, but he still wouldn’t tell us where you were hiding. He just kept repeating Asan’s story over and over.”

  I lashed out at her with my lace, but it struck her protective net and rebounded harmlessly.

  “In the end, Sacor gave us the tip we needed.” She picked up the scalpel I had dropped. “About his sister? Be a shame if Enforcement found out she was leading the murderous insurgents. That could end very badly for her.”

  “Liar,” I snarled. “You killed those Sisters, and Asan knows it.”

  Verje lifted up my left arm and pushed back my sleeve. Her lace drew tighter.

  “We still couldn’t get a word out of him on your location.” Although her tone was almost conversational, her eyes had a feverish light: a hunger. “But he was willing to go down for treason and murder, and we could use that. Celane thought a public show might draw you out. Seems she was right.”

  Rage had smothered my fear, but the sight of the scalpel was enough to bring it roaring back. I wanted to shrink from Verje, from those cold, reptilian eyes. She set the blade to the back of my forearm.

  “But I was the only one to consider setting a watch on the Martyrium,” she whispered. “Just in case you decided to take the fight back to us. Mistake, Raughn.”

  She pressed the scalpel down. I screamed as it sank into my arm. The metal felt shockingly cold; the pain electric, biting. She withdrew the blade.

  “Please,” I gasped. “Don’t. Please stop.”

  She cut again, and I screamed until my voice choked off. Hot blood ran down my elbow, dripping onto the floor. Verje drew out the soft severed notch of my flesh, slicing through the last strands of muscle fibre to free it. I shuddered uncontrollably, wanting to retch but unable to move, unable to even look away. The wound burned.

  Verje held my flesh between her fingers, but did not move to eat it. She was watching my face.

  She’s insane, I realised through a red haze. She’s … she’s relishing this.

  With slow deliberation—her eyes never leaving mine—she transferred the flesh to her mouth. Blood smeared her lips. She swallowed.

  “And now I get to keep you for myself,” she said with satisfaction.

  I spat, but she stepped back. Her fingers curled around the handle of the scalpel.

  “I have a place for you.” The candlelight glinted in her eyes. “Out of the city, where Celane won’t know to look. Our own private martyrium.”

  “Go jump off the Edge,” I panted.

  She grinned again, wider. Her teeth were bloody. My blood. Then an expression of wonder dawned on her face.

  “Oh, I can feel it now. This is your lace? Eater, it’s like gold. And from so little…” Her skin flushed, and her lips parted. “Let’s see.”

  Pain shot through my head—not the ordinary dull ache of a compulse, but an explosion of caustic command.

  Raise your arm.

  The lace binding my body made it impossible to follow the order, but I tried, straining desperately. The pressure built, but I could not obey; I was trapped. My head felt like it was going to split open.

  “Please,” I gasped.

  Verje laughed. “Please what?”

  Darkness gathered at the edge of my vision. “I … I can’t…”

  The binding around my left arm relaxed, and I immediately lifted it above my head. Fulfilled, the compulse stopped hurting. Blood trickled down my arm. It dripped onto my ear and collarbone.

  “All this time, we thought we had power, but this?” Verje held out the scalpel. “This is what it’s meant to feel like.”

  Take the scalpel.

  “No,” I said hoarsely.

  Take it.

  My fingers trembled as I reached out. The blade was slick. I knew what Verje would make me do next; it was written on her face—the way she was smiling like a child pulling the wings off butterflies.

  “Put all the martyrs together, and it’s still only a fraction of the power of one sacrament,” she said, eyes shining with glee. “And it’s all mine. You are all—”

  Thunk.

  The bolt pierced Verje’s windpipe. The tip protruded from the skin above her collarbone, while the shaft remained wedged in her neck like some kind of grotesque jewellery. She blinked rapidly and raised her hand to touch the iron spike.

  The scalpel dropped from my fingers, clanging on the floor. My thoughts were frozen. Verje made a gurgling noise and acted like she wanted to cough, her hands fluttering over her throat. Her lacework dissolved around me. I sagged, my legs giving way.

  Millie finished reloading the crossbow, aimed, and put a second bolt through Verje’s head.

  The Reverend crumpled. Millie stood still for a moment, poised, watching for any sign of movement. Then she dropped her weapon and pressed her hand to her mouth.

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh Eater, oh shit.”

  “No kidding,” she whispered.

  I tried to get up, and Millie rushed over to me. I clutched her, pressing my face into her shoulder, trying to block out the body on the floor. My chest heaved.

  “She was going to eat me alive.” I could hardly get the words out. “Millie, I couldn’t stop her. She was going to make me—”

  “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

  “I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything,” I repeated, and she held me tight, half crushing me in her embrace. “She said she would lock me up. No one was going to find me. And she … she…”

  “I won’t let her hurt you again,” Millie said fiercely.

  “You shot her.”

  “Eater, you’re bleeding so much.” She drew back to look at me. “I should have been quicker, you’re such a mess. But I’m here now, and I’ll never let any of them touch you again.”

  She was going to make me cut myself. She was going to make me feed her.

  Millie wiped blood off the side of my face, and I coul
d tell that she knew. I didn’t have to say it aloud.

  “How did you find me?” I croaked.

  “Daje said that Osan had talked to him, that you were going to help Finn.” She kissed the top of my head. “Knew you’d need lace, so I came here. I think we should wrap up your arm, sweetheart; it looks so painful.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. My heart hammered.

  “It’s over, she’s dead,” Millie murmured. She brushed my cheek with the back of her hand. “Is it all right if I use your mother’s shroud?”

  I exhaled. Nodded. Millie leaned across and picked it up. When the silken fabric touched my gouged flesh, I jumped.

  “Look what she did to you,” muttered Millie.

  I forced myself to hold still.

  “Better than what you did to her,” I said.

  Millie laughed. Even though the sound had a bite of hysteria, I felt better. I tried not to react when she pulled the makeshift bandage tight. Red soaked through the material. She tied it and briefly rested her forehead against mine.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I shook my head. My pulse had slowed, and I took a shaky breath. “We need to get out of here. When civilians climb the hill, it triggers the alert. The Acolyte outside will have summoned her superiors.”

  Millie’s jaw tightened. “The Acolyte outside was dead.”

  Eater. That explained why Verje had not worried about my screaming. Millie helped me to my feet. Blood specked the walls and floor of the alcove, pooling red-black beneath the Reverend’s body. Her glassy eyes stared at the wall.

  My voice came out as a strained rasp. “Can you wait on the stairs?”

  Millie frowned. “Wait?”

  “Yeah.” I averted my gaze. “I need to do a terrible thing, and I don’t want you to see.”

  “El—”

  “It’s okay. Just … I can only do it if I’m alone. Just for a little while?”

  She hugged me. “Of course. I’ll wait.”

  In some ways, this was a relief. A kind of gift. I picked up the scalpel. Verje had given me a way out of what needed to be done: a simple, brutal alternative. Not an easy way out, by any means. I knelt beside her still-warm corpse. But at least it didn’t have to be my mother.