Starbreak (35 page)

I am asking them if this woman will be permitted to speak before this sacred house.

When I turned to face the jumble of rows, I made sure to make my smile proud, to hold my jaw firm despite the fear that I felt. I needed to be brave in the face of them, to look worthy no matter the doubts that lurked inside me. Slowly a roar spread across the senate chamber:
“Zhieseoui tore!”
Yes, they would permit this.

Vadix turned toward me and indicated the horn. I reached forward and took it; like him I let the curled end envelop my arm. It was heavy; I nearly dropped it, and a few clicks of laughter rose up from the crowd. But Vadix helped me to steady myself. I stood straight and spoke into the hollow.

“My name is Terra Fineberg,” I said, speaking slowly, as Vadix had instructed. But even so, I couldn’t help but wince at the volume of
my voice, bouncing off the glass ceiling and the girders that loomed high overhead. The horn was made for thin
ekku
voices, not a thick human alto like mine. “I come on behalf of the Asherati of Earth. Five hundred years ago our planet was destroyed. Now we are lost, without a home. And we need your help.”

Silence. Echoing silence. Vadix gazed at me, then put his own lips to his horn. The translation came out as fast and slick as oil. I kept my eyes on him. I couldn’t bear to look at the senators as he spoke. They were too scary, too intimidating. I only lifted the horn up again and went on.

“We are not invaders. We are refugees. We have no land to call our own. There are those among us who would drift into space again in search of a world with room to spare. I say let them go. But the rest of us are at your mercy. Though you owe us nothing—not land, not food, not even kindness—I ask that you might let us settle in your southern lands, upon the slip of earth called Zeddak Alaz.”

Vadix pressed his mouth to the horn again and began translating. But the murmurs of dismay began almost before he was done speaking. My throat tightened; my breathing grew shallow. Already so many of them had decided. I told myself that it didn’t matter. I
would
be heard.

“Esteemed senators,” I said. “I know it is a danger—for my people as well as yours. But your cities are crowded, and I know the Xollu
are curious about what lies beyond the great sea. Before winter falls we will train with your Guardians. We will learn to take up prods and knives, learn to fell the wild beasts that would destroy us all. We will utilize Xollu building techniques to make our city strong against the wilds. And we would welcome any pairs who would join beside us as we strike out on this new endeavor.”

I tried to read their faces as Vadix spoke. Did those black eyes hold skepticism? Fear? Laughter at our expense? I couldn’t tell. Though I’d grown familiar with the boy who stood beside me, holding a carved horn against his mouth to catch his words, the emotions the others felt were strange to me. Foreign.

“My people are accustomed to sacrifice,” I said. “For five hundred years we have scrimped and rationed, all for our last, desperate hope: that we might find a world where we can live in peace. And that’s all we want here, a home where we can live good lives, rich with friends and love and work. We are not conquerors or tyrants. We are workers. Scientists. Artists. Mothers and fathers. Children, too. And we are at your mercy.”

Vadix spoke again, though now his voice was almost entirely swallowed up by theirs. When he was finished, he turned to me and gave his head a doubtful shake. I was about to let my mouth crease into a frown, when a voice cut through all the others. It was a Xollu senator who stood near the back on one of the highest risers. She stood,
grabbing the horn that sat in front of her, and spoke into it.

“Etez arri aum auru sheseoa taura seosoi?”

Vadix squinted at her words, then cupped his hand over his horn and turned toward me.

“Senator Zera wishes to know how they can trust your words. How do we know you will not harm us as we sleep, animals that you are?”

I swallowed hard, looking up at the senator. In the filtered light her skin was as bright as rubies. She stood tall above us, that horn in her hand. But she wasn’t alone. Sitting beside her was her mate, an especially slender Xollu who watched her with large, pleased eyes. I saw in his expression the same emotions I felt when I looked at Vadix: wonder and joy, fascination and admiration. Not only had I been twinned, but twinned so well—as if my heart had been removed from my chest and doubled. Perfectly reproduced.

When I spoke, my voice was husky, low. We hadn’t discussed this, Vadix and I. We’d talked about the peace we’d broker, every aspect of the new law we were asking the senate to approve. But we hadn’t talked about
us
. Still, no words would better convince them. My confession was necessary—integral.

“You can trust my words because I would never harm my
zeze
. My
bashert
. My heart’s twin. My destiny. Translator Vadix is my mate, and we walk the dreamforests together. I might be a stranger, but surely you can trust in that. I cannot deny it, cannot deny my mate.”

The senators’ conversations rumbled and echoed all around us. But for the first time Vadix’s voice didn’t cut over theirs. He lowered his hand, letting the horn drop to beside his knees. He simply stared at me, mouth open, brow furrowed in dismay. We hadn’t planned this. He’d never consented to have his love revealed to the leaders of his world.

Tell them!
I urged. It was our single best chance, and he knew it. So he lifted up the horn again and began to translate, even as his sad, confused eyes stayed on me.

“Taudiz voslax zhosoua, zozze ahadhazhi. Zeze aum voslax daudez. Dokk thosora, dokk eziz zhosoua. Tatoum taudiz sadl zhiahaolou zhosoua ut eziz Vadix. Taudiz voslax zhosoua, zozze ahadhazhi, aum eziz thosora.”

It was as if his words were a spell, some sort of incantation that could magically quiet the senate chamber. Because just like that, their voices died down. The senators who had sat bent over their desks, hiding behind their long hands to speak to one another, all began to turn toward us. Their black eyes were open. They were trying to understand.

“Taot?”
one senator demanded.
“Taidaz zhiahaoloa zeze aum vheseoazhi reraz. Taidaz saudsix aum taizzi zhiahaoloa okka taidaz?”

Vadix shut his eyes. He rested the horn against his bare forehead, steeling himself.

What
? I asked. I wanted to reach out, to take his hand in mine. But he was so far away.

Even if you are my
zeze,
she says, “What assurance do we have that the rest of them are any better than beasts?”

“Ettie!” I blurted, speaking into the horn without thinking. Vadix’s eyes flew open as my words resounded across the senate chamber. “Esther! Esther Schneider. The little girl. She’s walked the dreamforests. Her mate must be here somewhere. Your scientists saw that she was different from the others. We can’t be the only ones. Tell them, Vadix!”

Eyes wide, he did.

When he was all done, the room erupted into fractious shouts once again. Senator Zera lowered herself back down into her seat, but several others had risen up in her place, shaking fists toward the glass sky. I watched as Vadix hung his horn back up on the stand. He threw an arm around my shoulder and drew me close.

“I believe the deliberations have begun,” he said, his lips gracing my ear as he spoke. My hands were cold as I hung up my horn too, then let Vadix whisk me down the platform and away.

•  •  •

We waited in the antechamber for the senate’s decision. After all this time I felt like I had practically memorized the patterns of purple moss that clung to the corners of the walls, the nicks in the stone table, the smudges on the glass that stood between us and the expansive chamber below. These hours upon hours of fighting, scheming,
plotting had led to this—all of us gathered round, staring across the expanse of slate, and waiting.

Vadix stood by the window, staring down. I tried to reach out to him, to let my mind envelop his like a pair of arms. But he held me back. I couldn’t tell if he was angry at what I’d done, laying our love bare for all to see. Or maybe he was just nervous about the senate’s decision. Whatever the case, he didn’t want me to read him right now, and so I couldn’t. I wondered if someday I would learn how to block him. If only the senate would relent, if only Vadix would stay with me, if only we had the time.

“This will never work,” Silvan said, at last breaking the silence that had fallen over us. “We should have sent someone else. Someone qualified.”

“Who?” Mara demanded. “You?”

“I’ve been trained for leadership,” he said, sitting back in his seat. He folded his arms over his broad chest. “All the Council-born were. We could be trusted.” His gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if he were intent on reminding me that I was common born worthless.

But Mordecai cut in. My old teacher, who had watched me struggle, as awkward as a duckling, all through my childhood. Now his voice was firm.

“We had a Council-born leader. Aleksandra Wolff. The captain’s daughter, destined for leadership. She got herself killed.”

“Aleksandra,” Silvan said, and snorted. I saw Mordecai clench his fist. I knew that I should stop them, step in before their tempers spilled over. But I was worn out—tapped. I couldn’t find the words.

Luckily, I didn’t have to. As the men argued, Vadix moved away from the window. I felt him settle his cool hand between my shoulder blades, a reassuring weight.

“Regardless of her qualifications,” he said, loud enough that they all glanced up, “Terra did exemplary work down in the senate. The most educated Xollu would have flinched and shivered before such a crowd. She was strong. Convincing. I believe—”

But we never got to hear what he believed. The door slid open, and an Ahadizhi page stuck her head into the room.

“Tatoum sase doza osouezhi zhiososek ut oliz xezlax,”
she said.
“Sase vauri zhiososek, zalse esevhe, aum oliz ahasazhi.”

Vadix went silent, staring after her long after she withdrew and the door closed behind her. Mordecai rose from his seat. He cracked his knuckles, his anxious gaze falling on my
bashert
.

“What did she say?” he demanded. “What did they decide?”

Vadix’s mind was a haze of emotion. But the words were there, floating at the forefront of his mind. So, my eyes welling with tears, I spoke for him.

“They’ve agreed. They’ve agreed. We’re going to settle Zeddak Alaz.”

They broke out into whoops of victory, joyous shouts. Mara Stone
threw her arms around Mordecai, letting out ripples of relieved laughter. Even Silvan gave his fist a pump. He’d be able to return to Earth, as he and Rachel wanted, unencumbered by the rebels who had upset their lives.

But I didn’t cry out in joy. I didn’t even speak. I’d done it—and soon we would all achieve
tikkun olam
as our ancestors once hoped we would. But what was I going to have to sacrifice in return? I gazed up at Vadix, his endless gaze still frozen at the door.

This is a time to celebrate, isn’t it?
I asked, though I didn’t feel certain about it. Not at all. My lover turned to me. For the first time I saw how, behind all that black, his eyes were a swirl of color. He smiled, his mouth full of teeth.

“Yes,
zeze
,” he said, enfolding me in his arms. “Of course it is.”

T
wo nights later the bells rang out across the pastures, drawing out of their homes the citizens who had cowered through the last several days. That night Koen seemed to throw his whole weight into his task—I’d never heard the bells call out with such clarity or force before, not even when I’d watched my father do his work in the years before he lost himself to the bottle. But on that night I wasn’t there to see it. I waited in the ship’s bow with Silvan, readying ourselves for the work we were about to do.

The controls twinkled, their light flickering against the brass buttons of his uniform. At Rachel’s suggestion he’d abandoned his white wool for the familiar navy uniform of captain. Though his skin didn’t look quite so radiant in the dark shade, he remained undeniably handsome. His long curls had been tied back at the nape of his neck with a blue ribbon. He stood tall, proud. Every bit the Council man who had been born to lead.

“Are you ready?” he asked. I gave the sash of my borrowed robe one last tug, squaring the knot just as Vadix had instructed. I wondered if our people would be shocked at the sight—one of their own wrapped up in alien garb. But soon the Xollu wouldn’t be aliens anymore. They would be our friends, neighbors. The citizens would have to grow used to the sight of robes and spires, of copper and filigree.

“Yes,” I said, smoothing down the fabric. Silvan offered me his arm, but I didn’t take it. This wasn’t a wedding—and not a funeral, either, I thought as we loaded ourselves into the lift. Tonight the bells rang for something else, something new. Something that hadn’t happened before and wouldn’t happen after, either. The doors dinged open. We marched into the cool of the dome evening. The scent of frozen earth and frost-tipped grass was all around us. For years after the same smell would remind me of that night. The last night that we were all Asherati. The night we began to say good-bye.

•  •  •

“Good evening, citizens!” Silvan cried out across the pasture. More than a thousand faces stared up at us. Some sneered at Silvan’s words. Others pressed two fingers to their hearts in salute. Already our people were divided. But on this night we’d drive down the final wedge. “We’re here to speak to you tonight not as Children of Abel or honored followers of the Council but as Asherati!”

He turned to me, nodded. So I stepped forward. As I spoke, I kept my hands folded in front of me, determined to quell their shaking. You’d think that after the last speech, my fear would be gone. But it wasn’t; it was a part of me, just like my past was a part of me. Just like Vadix was a part of me.