The Star Dwellers (15 page)

My mom’s expression turns grim. “I’ve been
thinking about that too. I can’t come up with anything. All the
comms from this place are being monitored by the star dweller army.
The generals get reports on any suspicious contact with the other
realms. Everyone’s worried about spies. We’ll just have to wait for
Ben to get in touch with us.”

“I can wait a little longer,” I say.

Mom’s head jerks up suddenly, as if she’s
just remembered something, or had an idea. “If you’re going to join
the rebels, you’ll need this,” she says, reaching behind her and
pulling out something L-shaped and black.

My mom gives me a gun. I stare at it like I
don’t know what it is. I ready myself, knowing I am about to wake
up from a dream. Soon I’ll wake up in my cell back in the Pen. No,
farther back than that. At home, with my mom cooking stew, my
father cleaning the dirt off his hands and face from another hard
day in the mines. A time and place when my father taught me to
fight just for fun and my mom didn’t have a gun.

W
e’re all back in
our little room. Roc and Elsey and me. Resting and recovering. Both
from subchapter 26 and from Ram’s less-than-warm welcome.

Ben loaned me Anna’s diary and I’m flipping
through it randomly, feeling the emotions of Year Zero through her.
It was a hard time for everyone, but especially for the kids who
were adopted by the survivors. Her new family didn’t care about her
the way her biological family had. She was a chore, a
responsibility, someone they had to feed and clothe. That’s
all.

There was chaos that first year. Everyone was
reliant on the government to provide their meals, their housing,
their clothing. People worked hard, but they were only allowed to
do the things that the government told them they could do. Maybe
that level of structure was necessary back then, but things haven’t
changed that much. Things need to change and if I can help people
to realize that, then who am I to fight it?

“Oh my word, Roc! Is that Tawni?” Elsey
exclaims, pulling my concentration away from the diary.

Roc’s blushing, his brown skin darkening
under Elsey’s scrutiny. “What? Uh, no. It’s just a drawing.”

“What kind of drawing?” I say, leaning at the
edge of my bed, craning my neck to see what they’re looking at. Roc
tilts the paper away from me, so all I can see are his hands
against the white back of the page.

“It’s nothing.” The way he says it, I know
it’s not nothing.

“It’s beautiful, Roc,” Elsey disagrees,
nodding encouragingly.
Huh?
Roc drew something beautiful.
I’ve never seen him draw anything at all. I’ve got to see this.

Hopping off my bed, I grab for the drawing,
but Roc pulls away, bumping Elsey, who’s sitting next to him on his
bed. “Go, Elsey, go!” he says, handing off the paper to her like a
baton, urging her forward.

She leaps from the bed.
Traitor.
I
charge after her, corner her on the other side of her own bed. I
fake like I’m going to go around one side and she squeals, moving
to the other side. I go the other way and she spins and heads back
the way she came. By the time I reach the other side, she’s moved
to where I was originally and is giggling uncontrollably.

I grin at her. “Okay, okay, let’s make a
deal,” I say.

“No deals!” Roc cries from the bed, where
he’s watching from his hands and knees.

“No deals!” Elsey echoes. Roc’s got her
wrapped around his little finger. I never knew he was so good with
kids. Then again, I never knew he could draw either. Although until
I get my hands on that drawing I won’t be able to confirm his
drawing ability.

I leap across the bed.

As I soar through the air I see El’s eyes
widen—she’s frozen, too surprised to run. I grab her around the
waist with one arm and lift her in the air, using the other arm to
tickle her. Her laugh is melodious and carefree and beautiful. As I
planned, the tickling not only makes her laugh, but forces her
hands open as she clutches her stomach, where I’m tickling her. The
drawing flutters to the floor and I plop her onto the bed and grab
it. “Aha!” I cry, making her laugh even more. “Teaches you to join
his
side,” I say.

Roc’s leaning back on his bed, his expression
unreadable. It’s almost like he wants me to see his drawing, but is
embarrassed about it at the same time. Using the palm of my hand, I
smooth the paper, which has become marginally wrinkled, curling up
around the edges. When I look at it, my eyes widen like sauce
plates, and I glance at Roc, who scrunches up his nose
slightly.

It’s the face of an angel, sketched with
charcoal. Long, white hair. Full, pretty lips and a small graceful
chin line. High cheekbones. She’s smiling the most natural smile,
like it comes easily to her. The drawing is magnificent, an
artist’s painting, not just a quick sketch by an amateur. The
likeness is so well done that I can tell without a doubt that it’s
Tawni.

The only strange thing: the face has no eyes.
Not holes or dots or ovals or anything. Her eyebrows are there,
thin and white, but it’s just blank paper beneath them.

I look at Roc, then back at the drawing, then
to Roc once more. “You drew this?” I say, already knowing the
answer to my question.

Roc nods lightly, his lips curling up at one
end. “I’ve always liked drawing,” he says, by way of
explanation.

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

“It’s magnificent,” I say, using the same
word I thought in my head when I first saw it.

“Thanks…” Roc says slowly, as if waiting for
the
but
.

“But…” I say, pausing.

Roc laughs. “Here it comes.”

“But it’s Tawni…and she has no eyes.”

Roc just shrugs. Seems I’m going to have to
push a bit more if I want to get anything out of him.

“Why’d you draw Tawni?”

The blush is back, so I don’t need him to
actually answer me.

“You’ve got a
crush
on her?” I say, my
eyes lighting up.

“No—nothing like that!” Roc protests. “I just
thought she’d make a good subject.”

“Yeah, right.” Payback time. Ever since I
opened up to Roc about my desire to get to know Adele, he’s given
me a hard time about how I have a crush on her. My turn. “What’s
next, a drawing with you and her holding hands, sitting on the edge
of a cave, making out?”

“Roc and Tawni, in the cave next to meee!
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Elsey sings helpfully, cracking me up and making
Roc tuck his head into his hands.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drawn her,” Roc
mumbles. “I’ll never live it down.”

“No, no, it’s cool, Roc. Really cool,
actually. Both that you are an amazing artist, and that you have a
thing for Tawni.” I say it earnestly, because I really mean it. I
certainly enjoy giving him a hard time occasionally, but more than
anything I want him to find happiness in our unhappy world.
“Question, though: Why doesn’t she have any eyes?”

“Because she doesn’t see me,” Roc says
evenly.

Right away I feel bad that I made fun of him.
Darn him for doing that. The beauty of his sketch prevents me from
even enjoying the satisfaction of paying him back for all his
jokes.

“I’ll bet she noticed you,” Elsey says. “It
was just a hard time for everyone.”

“You are so wise sometimes, pipsqueak,” Roc
says, smiling at El. “Get over here.”

Elsey charges over and gives Roc a big hug.
My eyes are watery but I hide it well. I can’t trust Roc to cut me
any slack just because I did the same for him. “Group hug!” I yell,
barreling over and jumping on them, smashing them like the pancakes
Roc used to serve me for breakfast in the morning.

Elsey shrieks and Roc groans and I laugh.
When I release them I say, “You got any other talents I don’t know
about, man?”

“I think that’s about it,” Roc says,
grinning.

“Can you show us how you do it?” I ask. I can
still hardly believe how talented he is. I never actually saw his
servant’s room back in the Sun Realm—we usually hung out in my vast
apartment—but now I picture it with walls covered in Roc’s artwork.
Pictures of the Sun Realm, the Moon Realm, the Star Realm. All the
places we visited—the people we saw. A history of our lives,
perhaps.

Roc shrugs and turns the paper over, leans on
a sturdy rectangle of slate he got from somewhere. I sit on the bed
next to him and Elsey leans in from the other side.

Roc deftly handles the charcoal pencil with
ease, like he’s been doing it his whole life, probably because he
has. At first his drawing is just lines and random bits of shading,
brought together in a way that seems abstract, almost pointless.
After ten minutes I’m thinking he’s a fraud.

But then with just a couple of effortless
strokes the drawing starts to take shape. A person—a woman—sitting
under a tree, holding a book. Tucked under her arms are two
children, boys. One has brown skin and dark hair, the other white
skin and light hair. The tree is majestic, with a huge trunk and
sturdy, rising branches full of leaves. The woman is smiling as she
reads to the boys, and I can almost hear her voice. A voice from my
childhood—from our childhood. A memory is unleashed in my mind and
I’m transported to a better time, a better place. A happy
place:

Bright light from the artificial sun shines
through my stained-glass window, sending brilliant red and blues
and greens dancing across the white-painted stone walls. I should
be up already, but I’m still groggy from yesterday’s late-night
festivities. It was my eighth birthday, and my mom let me stay up
till midnight. Last night I was happy, but today I’m sad. Because
today is Roc’s eighth birthday. The day he becomes a man. My father
calls it the age of accountability, which for me is awesome,
because I get to stay up later, start real sword training, and brag
to my brother about how I’m a man now.

But for a kid born into a servant family,
like Roc, turning eight means no more fun, no more playing, time to
work. Today he’s my best friend, my playmate, like a brother to me;
and tomorrow he’ll be my servant, charged with cleaning my armor
after training, serving me my meals, answering my every beck and
call. Father sat me down and explained everything. Roc has to call
me
sir
, and he can’t laugh around me. We can’t joke around,
or play tricks on my brother, Killen, or do anything fun together.
No more friendship, no more brotherhood. So I’m sad.

I slip out of bed and pad down the white,
stone hallway. The lights are on in the presidential house, making
the place feel bright and cheery. In the Sun Realm, things always
seem bright and cheery. Roc said he hears his dad talking about the
other Realms sometimes. That they aren’t bright…or cheery. That he
and Roc are lucky to be living up here, even if only as servants.
That the Moon and Star Realms are dreary and not a place you’d want
to visit—not even for a day. All that just makes Roc and me want to
visit the other Realms even more. But I’m not even sure I believe
him. Roc can be a bit of a fibber sometimes, but I don’t mind.

The long dining table is empty when I arrive.
Everyone else had to stick to the schedule, and they have long
since finished their breakfast. But not me, not today. Because of
my birthday, and because of Roc’s. My mom’s orders.

I even take a risk and sit down at one end of
the table, instead of in the middle like I’m supposed to. I sit
impatiently, sliding the bottoms of my socked feet against the
floor as I swing my legs. A minute later I feel a tap on my right
shoulder and I swing my head around to catch the culprit. No one’s
there. Someone snorts to my left, a clear attempt to disguise a
laugh.
Roc
.

I turn sharply to the left, wrenching my
elbow to the side and behind me.
“Oomf!”
Roc hollers, as my
bony elbow cracks him in the shoulder. Now it’s my turn to laugh.
Roc may be a better prankster, but I’ll beat him in a fight any
day.

Roc is rubbing his bruised shoulder, but his
brown-skinned face isn’t angry—he knows he had it coming. He’s even
sort of grinning, but wincing too, like he wants to laugh but is in
too much pain to do it properly. What a dork.

He sits down next to me, still massaging his
shoulder. “You should have seen your face,” he says. “You were
like, ‘what the heck!’”

“Like you can talk,” I say, pointing at his
pained expression.

We are interrupted when one of the servant
girls brings us our breakfasts. She’s one of my father’s personal
servants, blond-haired and blue-eyed, with legs that are longer
than my whole body, and big bumps on her chest. Roc calls them her
pillows and they’re way bigger than my mom’s. She looks like what I
think an elf would look like, except a whole lot taller, if there
even are elves anymore. I’m not sure what she helps my father with,
but it must be important.

We devour our breakfasts without speaking,
occasionally flicking bits of food at each other with our forks and
laughing. Good old Roc. My best friend. At least for one more
day.

We hurry off to find my mom. It isn’t hard
because she’s always in the palace gardens, and we find her at her
favorite spot, sitting with her back against the biggest tree in
all the Tri-Realms, with a thick trunk and gnarled branches that
are perfect for climbing. She tells me she loves the gardens
because they’re peaceful, away from all the politics and hubbub of
the government buildings. I like that word,
hubbub
—it sounds
funny when you say it.

When my mom speaks of the gardens it’s all
about the beauty of nature and the
serenity
—which I think
means peaceful—of wasting away the day dreaming on the lawn. When
my father speaks of the gardens all he cares about is how smart his
engineers are who figured out how to make artificial sun powerful
enough to grow plants underground. My parents are so different.