Starbreak (34 page)

“I believe we have planned all we can for this evening. Terra must speak to the senate early tomorrow, and we all need our rest,” Vadix said. Did I imagine it, or had his reedy voice gone cold at my rejoinder? But it
was
late. Maybe he was only tired. I definitely was. My neck and back ached against the stone chair.

“Yes,” Silvan said, a little too loudly. When the conversation had turned away from the ship’s resources, he’d stopped trying to feign the slightest interest. “Show us to our accommodations.”

“Very well,” Vadix said.

He led us into the hall of the empty, echoing senate building, then
down the wide steps to the mosaic-dotted pavilion below. It was strange seeing this space so empty, as if the life had been drained right out of it. The night was cool, as fragrant as spring as we walked out into the city. Peaceful. I was glad we hadn’t brought a guard.

“It’s emptier than it was a few days ago,” Mara said, stepping quickly down the stone staircase. She was right—fewer Xollu pairs now strolled arm in arm, though the Ahadizhi still loitered and lazed outside each residential building. The pungent smell of meat hung heavily in the air. I suspected that would only get worse as winter wore on and the hunt began in earnest.

“Some of the crèches have already gone to the winter caves,” Vadix said. “And the elderly as well. As the cold sets in, the urge to sleep overtakes us. Soon all but the most necessary Xollu will sleep. And then we all will.”

“Well,” Mordecai said, “we appreciate that you’ve stayed behind for us.”

“You have no idea,” I murmured, and though they all gazed at me strangely as we headed beneath a curving overpass, I ducked my head and didn’t answer.

Maybe I should have taken his hand in my hand, savoring every precious moment we still had together. But as Vadix led us through a cluster of commercial buildings, toward the enclave of round houses at the city’s heart, I couldn’t help but be aware of how every step
we took brought me closer to his ultimate end. Not just winter, not merely sleep, but death. If all went according to plan, our safety would soon be assured. He’d depart for the funerary fields knowing that he’d done his part for me, helping me to establish this home for my people on Aur Evez. He’d rend his flesh, destroy himself, just to be with Velsa—and he would rest well too, knowing he’d helped me, knowing he’d secured my fate, just as promised. In the grove the boughs had all begun to curl up, shielding themselves from the cold. I wished that I could do the same, staving off this future. But I couldn’t. If my people’s settlement was to be secured, I’d have to risk losing him. I knew it in my gut. There was no use in hiding.

He took us all to his own house. As they saw the walls, which were dark and sparkling in the moonless night, and the delicate, curving shape of the architecture, even Silvan had to draw in a breath.

“Lavatory,” Vadix said, pointing to a slender door. “Kitchen. Do not drink from the golden spigot. I’m not certain it’s safe. I have placed cooked meat for you there on ice in a small refrigeration unit. You will sleep here.” He led us toward the sitting room, where he gathered blankets and small, round pillows from beneath the seats. As the others began to make their beds, I started to trail after Vadix, away from the round room.

“Terra,” Silvan called, flopping his body down against the circular sofa, “aren’t you going to sleep?”

Vadix stood, halfway to his bedroom, his tired shoulders squared.

“She’s to sleep with me,” he announced. I hesitated, standing in the door between the two worlds. Then I took one look into Vadix’s black, sad eyes and shook my head at Silvan.

“I’ll see you all in the morning,” I said. I saw Mara arch an eyebrow, heard Mordecai and Silvan share a snicker. But what did that matter? Hastily I closed the door behind me.

“I hear your thoughts,” he said as he sat down at the edge of his round bed. The clouds seemed to be bright silver through two layers of glass. Even with the lights off, the thread in his robes caught the light and scattered it.

Do you?
I replied. But when I did, he gave a wince. He was so, so sad. I could feel it in every cell. He lifted two fingers and pressed them to his mouth.

“Speak like this,” he said.

But I was tired. Sad, too.

Taot?
I said.

For a long time he didn’t answer. Instead he bent over, taking his cloth slippers off his feet. His long blue toes flexed against the floor. I could feel how they wanted to be rooted there, to make themselves permanent. He set his shoes in a line at the end of his bed, rose, and began to unknot the belt of his robe. But he didn’t watch the progress of his own hands as he did. He watched me.

“Because it hurts too much right now,” he said as the cloth slipped off his shoulders, revealing his body, as gnarled as an old dome tree that had been marked by the thoughts and wishes of too many long-dead lovers. I wanted to go to him, to slip my arms under his and press my face to the cool surface of his chest. But it didn’t seem right.

“I am not angry,” he said. “You think I am angry, but I am not angry.”

“What, then?” I asked as I edged closer, finally sitting on the edge of the bed myself. I glanced down at my own robe and slippers. They were too big on me, meant for him. He let out a baleful hum.

“Sad. You want me with you. I understand this. But Velsa—”

“I’ve never asked you not to do it,” I cut in. In response, silence stretched on long, too long. He just
looked
at me as he stood there, the darkness spilling over the steep curve of his shoulder. So I added, “I never would. Love isn’t something you lock up in chains. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t
hurt
. Maybe I’ll never miss you like you miss Velsa. But I’ll still miss you, Vadix.”

After another moment’s pause he came and sat down beside me. Both of us sat with our hands on our knees. His were dark as night—mine, white as bone.

“I know,” he said. “I know you have never asked. You have been fair. I know I will hurt you. Perhaps if I had done my duty to Velsa, then your life would be easier. With less pain.”

“No!” I said. Our eyes locked. His were so wide in his face that he reminded me of a doe. Gentle, delicate. Fragile. “I’m glad I know you. Without you my life would have been just one dark day after another. You know what I told you, about hope? You gave me that. No one’s ever loved me before you, not like this. I didn’t—I didn’t know that I was someone who
could
be loved. I didn’t think I was worthy.”

I felt his cool fingers slip around mine and squeeze tight.

“Of course you are worthy,” he said. His voice had gone husky, coarse with emotion. “You are bright. Brave. Fighting for your people and your people’s place on a new world.”

“I wasn’t always like this.” I closed my eyes, remembering, even as I clutched his cool hand. “I was afraid once. Angry, too. I hurt people. Mazdin, but not only him. My friends. People who got in my way. Selfish. I was selfish.”

“But you learned to be strong,” he said. “The senate will see that. And then you’ll have a city all your own.”

“Your city,” I said, leaning my head against his shoulder. For a moment he stiffened against the contact. But then his body softened, leaning back into mine. “The one you hoped for, all your life. All your training and sacrifice. It was for this dream, Vadix. And you gave it to me.”

So much for strong. My throat was tight, aching with tears. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me. But he didn’t speak.

I’m grateful,
I said in his mind.
I’m so grateful. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you. I’ll always miss you. If the senate agrees, this will be a victory. But it will be bittersweet. We’re not only talking about hibernation. I know you still want to join her, Vadix. Not in sleep—in death.

He rocked me in his arms. Xollu children never knew their parents. I wondered how he knew how to do that, whether it was instinct or some buried memory that he’d plucked from my mind.

Come,
he said.
Rest beside me. We have much to do tomorrow.

I angled my face to his. His lips were soft, and gently smiling. I kissed them. But the sad thoughts were too close. I couldn’t chase them away.

“Will this be our last night together?” I asked. He pressed his soft, printless thumb against the center of my lip, touching the wetness there.

I will not rest until you and your people are safe.

He drew his hand away. I could still taste his skin, his sap.

Promise?

Of course. Now, zeze, lie with me. The night is long and we are together and that’s reason enough for joy.

I kissed him again and let him wrap his arms around me. As we lay back in his bed, we pretended that the world outside was nothing—that we were the only creatures left in the whole wild world.

G
olden morning. We were up at dawn, before the sky had even begun to green through the glass over Raza Ait. Vadix lent me his finest robe, an opalescent length of sea-green cloth embroidered with purple vines at the hems. I folded the flaps over my chest, then began to knot the belt—when he stopped me, reached his fingers around my waist, and began to elaborately interlace the tasseled ends.

“There,” he said, standing back. His soft lips parted to show the sharp edges of his teeth. “Now you look like an
ezzu
.”

“ ‘Ezzu’?”
I asked, looking down to examine the flat knot that sat against my left hip. It matched the one on his perfectly.

“A thinking creature. Like Xollu or Ahadizhi.”

I bit my lip, holding in my smile. “What did you call us before?”

He hesitated.

“What?”

“Okka,”
he said slowly, drawing away.
“Okka.”

“Taot?”
I demanded, then, grinning, added: “What means this?”

He was halfway down the hall when he answered shyly, shamefully. “Beasts,
zeze
. We called you beasts.”

•  •  •

They’d called us beasts because that’s what they thought of us. To them we were feral, hopeless creatures, barely capable of conscious thought, much less worth their regard. That’s why they’d packed us into that quarantine camp, why they’d experimented on us, and why they’d been so quick to banish us from their land. They thought we were animals, and we’d acted like it too. Striking out against them, tempestuous. Violent.

On that pale morning the wind was high and cold even beneath the glass cupola. The senators streamed into the magnificent senate building as they had every day the senate was in session for thousands of years. They thought our future was already decided; I was determined to change their minds.

We waited outside a side doorway whose surface was carved with leaves edged in shining copper. I sat in a small chair against the wall, my legs shaking. The others gathered around me as we waited for Vadix to appear from behind that door. Mordecai seemed worried; he kept running his hand over the scruff of his jaw. Mara’s narrow mouth was set into what appeared to be a permanent frown. Silvan kept pacing back and forth before us, warily eying the Ahadizhi senators who couldn’t help but lick their lips at the sight of us.

At last the door creaked open. Vadix’s blue face appeared behind it, his black eyes searching and searching until they fell on me.

“The time has come,” he said. They all stepped back, even Silvan, as I rose from my chair.

“Wish me luck,” I said. No one answered. They only stared at me. I couldn’t blame them—I’d have felt uneasy too if I’d been them. But there wasn’t time for fears or doubts or insecurity. This was my moment, the one I’d been waiting for. I tugged the shimmering robe down straight and passed through the slip of space between the heavy doors.

•  •  •

There were 248 Xollu pairs in the senate, and 326 Ahadizhi beside them. That’s what Vadix had told me the night before—two representatives for every six thousand citizens spread between twelve cities. I wasn’t sure how many people they represented in all. It was a number
so large that I couldn’t really fathom it, one that made the population of the
Asherah
look like nothing more than a drop in an enormous ocean. But I understood easily the power and the force of the senators themselves. As Vadix led me into the chamber, I heard the roar of their voices—like waves crashing against cliffs, like the ship’s thrusters woken to life. As we walked down a hallway crisscrossed by the jagged shadows that were cast by the rafters high above, alien voices echoed and tumbled. Reedy voices, whistling voices, clicked laughter and raucous shouts. It was the most terrifying sound I’d ever heard, worse than a thousand death rattles.

The ship’s tiny auditorium was little more than a faint shadow of this: rows upon rows of seats carved from heavy marble; yet another wide glass ceiling above. Xarki’s light, amplified by the rounded glass, lit every senator’s robe brightly. But their eyes—hundreds of eyes, as black as holes burned into paper—remained dark as Vadix and I streamed into the room, our long robes rippling after us. I felt scared. Small. But I refused to let it show.

I climbed the narrow steps toward the central platform’s apex. There, dangling from two skinny posts, hung curving beast horns, hollowed out and yellow with age. Two long wires ran from their points down to some invisible power source hidden beneath the carpet. Vadix lifted one of the heavy things in his hand, letting its end wrap around his slender forearm. Then he gazed back and smiled.
Though I could hardly hear my own thoughts in the chaos, his cut right through it all, nestling in the forefront of my mind.

Be strong,
he told me. I gave a nod.

He put his lips against the bell of the horn. Soon his voice resounded through the entire enormous rotunda.

“Vhahasa zasum!”
he shouted, calling for silence, but it wasn’t until his words echoed three or four times that the senators finally began to turn their attention forward.
“Vaoso ezzu aum aukri esevhom zezekk tora?”