The Star Dwellers (7 page)

“It’ll take more than a traitor prison camp
to kill me.”

“And Anna?”

“Anna is below. My daughter is going after
her.”

“Do you think she’s—”

“Yes,” Ben says firmly, glancing at us.
“She’s alive, I know it.”

“Adele has been all over the news,” the voice
says.

“Look, Jinny, I’d love to catch up, but…”

“Right, sorry. I’ll get you moving right
away. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later…but Ben?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure glad you’re alive—and we’ll be
pulling for Anna, too.”

“Thanks. Over.”

Before Ben can sit down, the train starts
moving, beginning slowly and picking up speed as the lights flash
off and we’re thrust into absolute darkness.

I feel a scrape against my arm as Ben sits
next to me, grunting slightly. “Mr. Rose—I mean Ben—are you okay?”
I ask, handing him the strips of my tunic.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the fabric. “I
think so. I’m not sure, but I think the bullet missed the bone and
lodged in the muscle. At least that’s what I’m hoping.”

“What happened to your ear?” I ask in the
dark.

“That horrible soldier with the sword sliced
it off,” Elsey interrupts from my other side. I turn,
half-expecting to see that face that reminds me so much of Adele,
but see only a black void.

I turn back and say, “He cut your ear
off?”

Ben chuckles, which seems odd given we’re
talking about his missing ear, which is likely being examined by
the star dweller soldiers as we speak. “Nah. Just the tip, I
reckon.”

“Oh,
just
the tip. No big deal then,”
Roc says. “Sorry, guys, I’m not used to all this violence. I think
I might just catch a transfer back to the Sun Realm at the next
stop.”

I laugh and it hurts my throat, but still
feels good somehow. “Oh, I think you fit right in, buddy. I’m not
sure what won you the battle—your clunky sword work, or the
deranged look on your face while you swung that pointy hunk of
metal like a madman.”

“You taught me everything I know.”

“I don’t remember the day I taught you
Fearsome Expressions 101.”

“Yeah, you were absent that day, so I had to
do self-study,” Roc retorts. Elsey giggles. I can sense Roc
grinning in the dark. Somehow we are always able to joke. Somehow
it makes things easier.

“Ben, can I ask you something?” I say.

“I’ll tell you all about things later,” he
says.

“No, not that,” I say. “Something else. About
Adele.”

“Sure.”

“Why’d you teach Adele to fight?”

“Because she wanted to,” he replies simply.
It’s not the answer I expected at all. I thought he might say
So
she could defend herself
, or
Because it’s all I know
, or
even
Because it’s a dangerous world out there, son.
I don’t
know, something like that.

“How’d you know that she wanted to
learn?”

“Because one morning I took Adele out back,
behind our house, and showed her a few things. You know, how to
kick, how to punch, that sort of thing. I was mostly just messing
around, having fun with her. Roughhousing. The next morning when I
went out back to train, Adele was already there, practicing her
kicking. She always loved to kick. Every day after that she showed
up, without being told. When Elsey was born, she never seemed
interested, so I didn’t push her. We did other things together, but
with Adele it was all about the training.”

“I liked cooking with Mom,” Elsey
interrupts.

“And your doll.”

“Molly!” Elsey exclaims. “Oh, dearest Molly,
my only doll. She and I used to go on the most incredible
adventures together. To defeat evil witches and dark wizards and
meet fantastically handsome knights.”

I can’t help but to laugh. Roc’s cracking up,
too, and Ben’s deep chortle rises above us all. A proud father.

“How’d you learn to talk like that, El?” Roc
asks.

“Like what?” Elsey says innocently.

Ben chuckles. “She loved reading old
throwback books with my wife, about princes and princesses and
kings and queens. Something about the formal way they spoke just
stuck with her.”

“Well, I think it’s pretty silly,” Roc says,
tickling Elsey on her stomach, which earns another squeal of
laughter from her.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, each
lost in our own thoughts. I think back to what Ben said.
Because
she wanted to.
He’s the opposite of my own father, who always
encouraged
us to do certain activities with the back of his
hand or his belt. It was never a choice. Learn to fight or face his
wrath. Ben is a good man. The best kind of man. A role model. I’ve
barely just met him, but already I want to be like him. I’ll follow
him to the molten core of the earth if he asks me to.

I’m in the game.

* * *

A few hours later the lights come back on and
the train slows, pulling to a stop next to a dimly lit stone
platform. A half-dozen people are gathered to meet us. They remind
me of Ben: strong and capable, heads held high, tight lips that are
quick to smile and then spring back to serious again. They are each
wearing various shades of brown tunics that have seen better days,
littered with patches and ragged edges.

To my left, Elsey is asleep on Roc’s
shoulder, and he on her head. To my right, Ben is wide-eyed and
alert, as if he hasn’t slept at all. I couldn’t sleep either, but
chose to pass the time in silence.

As the train doors ease open I feel my
stomach lurch with hunger. The greeters push their way inside.
“Ben!” the woman in front shouts as she sees us. Ben is on his feet
in an instant as the woman charges him, hugging him fiercely. She
looks to be in her early forties, with the beginning of wrinkles
under her amber eyes and creasing her broad forehead. She wears a
long, brown ponytail with just a touch of gray around the edges.
Her jaw is firm, her lips full. I stand up next to them and wait in
uncomfortable silence as they embrace. I feel somewhat embarrassed
at the emotion they display, especially given Ben is a married
man.

My confusion is erased when Ben releases the
woman and says, “Tristan—meet my sister, Jinny.”

I break into a smile and extend a hand.
Smack

Instead of shaking my hand,
she slaps me across the face, stunning me. “That’s for being the
son of the President,” she says. Then she hugs me tightly, pulling
her head into my chest. I don’t hug back—my arms flail helplessly
past her back—because I’m too shocked.

When she releases me, she says, “And that’s
for joining the Resistance.”

“I, um, I, well…” I blubber.

“What he’s trying to say is that he’s pleased
to meet you,” Roc says, extending his hand. When Jinny takes it, he
says, “Can you show me how to do that slap you just laid on Tristy
here? It could definitely come in handy.”

Jinny laughs while I continue to try to
figure out what the hell is going on.

“My sister can be rather opinionated,” Ben
says.

“Father?” Elsey says, rubbing her eyes
groggily.

Ben’s head whips around, as if he’s forgotten
about his youngest daughter. With a single large step, he moves to
her side, puts a tender arm around her shoulder, and says,
“Elsey—there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Jinny steps forward, reaching her hand out
slowly, as if she’s afraid she might frighten her. “Hi, Elsey, I’m
your Aunt Jinny.”

For a second I think Elsey might be angry as
her eyes narrow, but then she rushes forward past Jinny’s
outstretched arm and throws her petite hands around her back. When
she pushes back to look up at her aunt’s face, she says, “But why
didn’t you ever visit?”—her head swivels to face her dad—“And why
didn’t you ever tell me you had a sister, Father?”

Ben’s eyebrows arch and he smiles lightly.
“I’m so sorry, El. I had to keep Jinny’s existence a secret for
everyone’s safety. There are bad people that wanted to take
her.”

“Like they took you and Mother?”

“Exactly like that.”

As she pulls away from Jinny, Elsey’s hands
move to her hips and a scowl appears on her face. The expression
reminds me so much of Adele. “Are there any other relatives I
should know about?”

Ben laughs. “I’m afraid not,” he says. “Your
mom is an only child and it is just Jinny and me.”

“Then I suppose I can forgive you…this time,”
Elsey says, once more smiling.

“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat at the
train door. I turn to see a towering, dark-skinned guy with a day’s
worth of stubble. He’s wearing a dark brown tunic cut off at the
shoulders. Powerful, muscular arms hang loosely at each side, like
rock-crushing sledgehammers. “We should really move inside,” he
says.

“Ram,” Ben says, “it’s good to see you
again.”

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Thank you.”

“Ramseys—meet Tristan Nailin.”

“I know who he is,” Ram says, his eyes dark
and glaring. “Follow me.” Without another word he leaves the train,
clearly expecting us to follow. He doesn’t like me—that much is
obvious.

“Sorry about him,” Ben says.

“No problem,” I say. “I’m used to all kinds
of reactions to me. I think I prefer Ram’s to most.”

Ben’s head cocks to the side, as if he’s
surprised by my statement. “I have a feeling you’re just like an
onion,” he says, taking Elsey’s hand and pulling her off the train
before I can ask what he means.

T
he fourth hour
passes and we don’t stop. Neither of us speaks. The only sounds are
from our heavy breathing and the scuff of our shoes on the rock
tunnel. The fifth hour passes and my headache escalates into a
fever. I feel cold and shivery and empty, but my head is boiling.
Sweat drips in my eyes, and when I blink it stings.

I sneak a look at Tawni. Her face is so gaunt
and pale that she looks like a ghost. A thin sheen of sweat coats
her skin.

Somehow we manage to maintain a steady pace
to the sixth hour. My muscles are on fire, but not because of our
long, strenuous hike. The virus is attacking my body, and from the
feel of things, my body’s not putting up much of a fight.

Next to me, Tawni stumbles. She manages to
stay on her feet, but then a minute later, she stumbles again.

“You okay?” I ask.

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words
come out. She points to her legs.
Her muscles are failing
her.
Mine will do the same soon. We have to hurry.

“Here.” I reach out and grasp her hand. We’re
going to have to support each other the rest of the way.

We keep walking. Tawni stumbles every few
minutes, but I keep her up. Her right leg is doing this weird
dragging thing with each step. Left foot up, step, right foot drag,
repeat. It makes for slow going.

I stumble for the first time, but Tawni holds
me up this time, which I acknowledge with a nod. Speaking will
waste precious energy. It is weird, losing control of your body. It
almost feels like I’ve been sucked into the past, when I was a
toddler, unable to fully control my arms and legs. It’s like I know
they’re there, and capable of doing cool things, but I just can’t
quite get them to do what I want. My left arm is no longer swinging
while I walk, like it should; rather it hangs lifeless at my side.
Dead. Like it’s not part of my body anymore, just a strange growth.
My other arm is only held up because I’m holding Tawni’s hand.

I know my headache is bad, but I can’t really
feel it anymore. My muscles are aching more.

Seven hours pass, but I know we aren’t moving
fast enough to make it to subchapter 30 in only eight hours. Even
if Tawni’s guess as to the distance was correct, we might be four
hours away still. We won’t last that long. Not without water. Not
without medicine.

“Ahhhhh!” Tawni screams next to me and I
practically jump out of my skin. Instinctively I release her hand
and pull away, moving flush with the tunnel wall. She is clawing at
her face, tearing light scratches down her cheeks with her
fingernails. A thin layer of blood rises to the surface. “Get them
the hell off!” she screams.

I know she’s hallucinating, but I don’t know
what she’s seeing. It doesn’t really matter—just that she’s scared
and needs my help. Without hesitation, I grab her hands and pull
them away from her damaged face. She’s lucky. Somehow she missed
poking herself in the eye.

She struggles against me, tries to lift her
hands back to her face, tries to claw at herself. Having no other
choice, I release one of her hands and slap her hard across the
face before she can raise it to her cheek. She stops struggling and
collapses into my arms. Gently, gently, gently I lower her to the
unforgiving rock bed. Her eyes are wide open, watery and red. She
makes a weird gurgling, squealing sound from the back of her
throat. “Shhh,” I say. “You’re okay, Tawni. They’re not real.”
Whatever
they
are.

Tawni’s chest is heaving but as I talk her
breathing seems to slow, so I keep doing it, speaking softly, like
I’m talking to a child. “Hush, hush, hush, my friend, danger’s far
away…Hush, hush, hush, my friend, the monsters go away.” It’s part
of a poem my mom used to sing to me when I had nightmares, although
my mom used to say
my princess
instead of
my
friend
.

Not knowing what else to say, I cradle
Tawni’s head in the crook of my arm and hum to her, finishing the
rest of the poem without words. Partway through, her eyes close and
her body relaxes, going limp in my arms. The worst of the
hallucination is over. When I finish I think she might be asleep,
but when I move, her eyes open, blue and misty, but snaked with red
veins, brought to the surface by the virus.