The Star Dwellers (9 page)

I
wake up thinking
about secrets. My secrets; Ben’s secrets; whether Adele has any
secrets. Heck, I am even starting to get paranoid about whether
there are things I don’t know about Roc, who I think I know
everything about. I guess I’m just used to knowing things, because
of my father. How could I be so stupid, so naïve? After everything
my father has done, after everything I know about him, how could I
have trusted him so blindly? How could I have actually believed
that he told me the truth about our world? Could it be that he
doesn’t know the truth? I doubt it. I think he was just too
arrogant to admit the truth to his own son.

And so now I wonder what other secrets he has
kept from me.

When we left the train, we followed Ram and
the others through a stone archway and into a tunnel lit by
staggered torches on either side. I wanted information, to ask the
zillions of questions I’d been thinking about on the train, but
they took me directly to a stone box room with a dozen beds,
leaving Roc and Elsey and me to get some rest. I didn’t want to
sleep, didn’t think I
could
sleep, but as soon as they
turned the lights out and closed the door, my head sank into the
pillow and I drifted away. I guess I was more tired than I
thought.

I hear movement to my left. Roc, shifting in
his sleep, or perhaps—

“Roc, you awake?”

A grunt. “Barely.”

“Oh.”

“Are you awake?” Roc asks.

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“I’ve heard you talk in your sleep before,”
Roc says. I can feel the grin in his voice.

“Shut up, I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want. It’s true. Especially
recently. You keep saying some name in between snores. What name
was it again? Oh yeah—Adele.”

“You’re full of it,” I scoff.

“Something about how you want to kiss her and
hug her and marry her.”

“Dork.”

“Butt monkey.”

I can’t stop myself from laughing. “
Butt
monkey?
Really, Roc?”

“I never said I was mature.”

“Good point.”

“What are we doing here, Tristan?” Roc asks,
his tone turning serious in an instant.

“I wish I knew.”

“That Ram guy didn’t seem to like you too
much.”

“You think? I was thinking he might be my new
best friend,” I say.

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

“Do you miss her?” Roc asks cryptically.

“Who?”

“Adele?”

“I don’t know,” I say slowly.

“So yes then.”

“Yes,” I say.

“We’ll see her again, don’t worry.” Easy to
say; hard to do. I want to believe she’ll be fine, but any one of a
million different terrible and tragic things could befall her in
the Star Realm. I try not to think about it.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” I say.

“It’s okay. You go. I’ll stay with Elsey. I’m
not really into all that political stuff anyway.”

I don’t need any more encouragement than
that. Throwing off the thin sheet I’m under, I roll off the bed and
stumble blindly to the door. Locating the iron handle, I pull hard.
Nothing happens. I try pushing and am met with the same result. The
door won’t budge.

We’re locked in. Like prisoners. We are sun
dwellers in the Moon Realm, after all. Not welcome.

“It’s locked,” I say.

“Great,” Roc says, “and I’m starving.” Just
like that, my hunger from the train comes raging back.

“Me, too.”

“What’s going on?” a small voice asks.

“Everything’s fine, El,” Roc says.

We hear her yawn. “I’m famished,” she
says.

“Join the club,” Roc grumbles.

I pound on the stone door.
Thud, thud,
thud!
The sound is dull and likely doesn’t carry more than a
few feet into the hall. I turn to feel my way back to my bed when I
hear a metallic click and a grinding sound as the door moves away
from me, letting a growing triangle of light into the room. I
flinch back when I see who’s standing in the doorway.

Ram.

His gigantic, dark frame takes up the entire
gap between the door and the frame. His lips are turned up in the
center, nearly touching his nose, as if he’s just caught a whiff of
dirty socks. “Your presence has been requested,” he says
robotically.

“We’re hungry,” I say.

“Food will be provided,” he says.

“And my friends?”

“They’ll go somewhere else for food.”

“Roc, Elsey—c’mon,” I say.

I step into the tunnel hall, slipping past
Ram as if he isn’t there. Giving me a look, he starts down the hall
without looking back to see if we’re following.
He’s better than
a bunch of random girls asking you to marry them
, I think to
myself. Which is true—but being hated still kinda sucks.

Roc steps through the doorway, his black hair
full of sleepy disarray. “Nice do,” I say.

“Your blond curls could use a good brushing
too, my friend.”

Elsey’s right behind him, her eyes tired but
alert, her long, straight black hair falling perfectly down her
back, like she’s just combed it. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she
says brightly.

“Your chariot awaits,” I say with a smile,
extending a hand. She takes it and links her other hand with Roc’s,
walking between us. Ram is well out in front of us, waiting for us
to catch up with his back to us, but we take our time, as if we’re
just out for a leisurely stroll. Making him wait gives me childish
satisfaction.

When we are a few steps away, Ram moves
forward, leading us away from our sleeping quarters. He’s wearing
heavy black boots with dark brown camouflage pants tucked into
them. He’s got a few inches and more than a few pounds on me, but I
still think I could take him. Not that he’s the enemy, although
it’s starting to feel that way.

The tunnel is plain, roughly cut through the
rock, just high enough so Ram doesn’t have to stoop and just wide
enough so the three of us can walk in a row. The ground is
hard-packed dirt and smells earthy. Water trickles from cracks in
the roof, staining the walls black.

A few minutes later, we exit the tunnel into
a tall cylindrical space, full of long, gray, stone tables and
people.
The Resistance
. Eating breakfast. Men and women,
laughing and talking, eating and drinking. If I didn’t know better,
I would say the scene looked rather normal.

The aroma of fried rice and potatoes sends my
stomach into a frenzy.

Squeezing my stomach muscles to quell my
demanding gut, I gaze upwards and see that the room rises six or
seven stories high, ending in a craggy roof full of stalactites.
Magnificent. The circular walls contain dozens of cave mouths at
every level up to the ceiling, like an open air theater with layer
upon layer of balconies. It reminds me of something I once saw as a
kid. My father took me and Killen to the bee plantations, where
they make honey. The bees swarmed around their hives, hard at work.
I guess that’s where the expression
busy as a bee
, comes
from. My mom liked to use that one. Anyway, the head beekeeper
cracked open one of the hives for us and the inside looked like a
miniature replica of what I’m seeing now.
A honeycomb
, he
called it.

My attention is pulled away from the
honeycomb walls as a familiar face stands up from one of the tables
and approaches us. “Mornin’, sleep well?” Jinny says.

“Oh, yes, Aunty, the bed was surprisingly
soft, and I had the most wonderful dream about Mother. Father was
there, too, and Adele, and you. We were all together again.”

I watch Jinny’s eyes as Elsey talks about her
dream. Her amber eyes cloud over, and although her face wears a
smile, I can tell the tale troubles her, like she knows it’s just a
dream, one that will likely never come to pass. The hard lines of
her face tell me that this is a woman who has been through violent
times, and come through them hardened and pessimistic. Maybe she
still believes that her cause can be achieved, but it is a clinging
hope, just a thread of faith left holding her together. I am just
guessing, but my thoughts feel right.

“Come, El,” she says, taking Elsey’s hand.
“You can tell me all about it at breakfast.” She leads her away to
the table.

“Follow me,” Ram says.

I start to follow, with Roc next to me, but
Ram bars his path with an arm. “Not you,” he says.

“Roc’s coming,” I say firmly.

“No—he wasn’t invited.”

“I won’t go without him,” I say. Roc and I
might argue a lot, but he’s still my friend and advisor. I want him
there with me.

Ram shrugs and says, “Fine. But it’s on your
head.”

As Ram leads us through the honeycomb room,
Roc whispers, “Thanks.” It’s not necessary.

We pass Elsey, who is sitting next to her
aunt, laughing at something she said. She looks happy. This, I
remind myself, is what we’re fighting for.

Under another stone archway, through a short
tunnel that curves gently to the right, up a set of jagged stairs:
We approach a heavy, metal door. It’s the first thing I’ve seen
that isn’t stone. Whatever room it is guarding is more important
than the others. To the right of the door is an open space and I
can see that we’re up a level, overlooking the common area where
the people are eating. They can see us, and we can see them. We’re
in the honeycomb.

With a sharp tap on the metal, Ram announces
our arrival, and the door swings open with a creak. Four faces are
framed by the doorway, all staring at us as we enter the long,
rectangular room. Ignoring the faces, I scan the area. On one wall
is a large map, dotted with orange, yellow, and blue pins. On
another wall hangs a giant mural, woven from black thread, etched
with symbols in white: a hammer; a chisel; a sword; a harp. In the
center of the tapestry is a large symbol I have never seen before,
made up of three smaller symbols that I know well. The sun dweller
symbol: a red and orange sun with curling heat lines churning from
the edges; the moon dweller insignia: a bright yellow crescent moon
crossed by a black sword; the star dweller emblem: a blue star
outlined in dark black. The marks of each of the Tri-Realms. Each
is encircled by gold thread, overlapping and meeting in the middle.
Beneath them, the words
Forever United
.

A cough. My gaze has lingered too long and
everyone’s waiting for me. It was Roc who coughed to get my
attention. He’s already sitting on one side of the table. I take a
seat next to him.

“Welcome, Tristan—Roc.” It’s Ben who speaks
from the head of the table. His green eyes are sparkling from the
candlelight and I can only think of Adele, her pale skin and
vibrant lips, her fearless eyes, her slim figure and great
legs—

“Tristan?” It’s Ben again and I think I’ve
missed something.

“Uh, yeah?” I say, sounding exactly how I
feel: stupid.

“Would you please introduce yourself and Roc
to the group?”

“Yes, sir—I mean Mr. Rose—I mean Ben,” I say,
glancing at Roc, who’s grinning at me like I’ve got sauce all over
my face.

I clear my throat. Clear it again. Finally,
take a moment to look at the other faces in the room. First, a
woman, probably in her twenties, sitting across from me, smiling at
me with soft pale blue eyes. She’s pretty, in a sisterly sort of
way. A friend, I hope. Next to her is a guy who looks about her
age, with a buzz cut that is the same length as his well-trimmed
beard. He looks athletic, like me. I make a silent bet with myself
that he’s a good swordfighter. His expression is unreadable. Friend
or foe? The jury’s out. At the other head is another woman, with
deep blue eyes that remind me of my own. Her hair is short and red
and spiky. I’d know her anywhere.

“Vice President Morgan,” I say with a
nod.

“Tristan Nailin—fancy meeting you here,” she
says with a slight wink. I’ve always liked her. She’s one of the
few moon dweller VPs who have tried to stand up to my father’s
obscene politics. Now that I know the Resistance is still in
operation, it doesn’t surprise me that she would be one of them, or
at least in communication with them. She nods for me to speak.

“I am Tristan Nailin, reluctant son of
President Nailin, ruler of the Tri-Realms.” My voice is
surprisingly firm and I gain confidence from it. “This is my
friend, Roc, and we’ve come to help the Resistance in any way that
we can.”

Standing in the corner, Ram snorts. “You
expect us to believe that?”

All heads turn toward him. “I don’t expect
you to believe anything,” I say, my voice rising. “But I hope that
you will let me prove it to you.”

“And allow you to sabotage all of our careful
planning?”—Ram snorts again—“We would be better served to simply
turn ourselves in.”

“He wouldn’t do that!” Roc shouts. I look at
him. His nose is slightly turned up and his fists are clenched
together on the table. A hint of the protectiveness I saw from him
in subchapter 26 has once more manifested itself. He is my brother
to the end.

“It’s okay, Roc,” I say, putting an arm on
his shoulder. “Let it play out.” He shrugs and his fingers
relax.

I look around the table, meeting each
person’s eyes for a moment before moving on. I end with Ben. “Is
that what you all think? Because, if so, I’m clearly wasting my
time.”

Ben is silent and I wonder if I’ve misjudged
him. He had seemed so supportive of me being a part of this—had
seemed to want it—and now, silent. His face is a puzzle that can’t
be solved, emotionless.

The young brunette across from me says, “I’m
Maia.”

I don’t know what to say, so I allow the good
manners taught by my mother to kick in. “It’s nice to meet
you.”

“And you. I for one think we should hear
Tristan out. I mean, what do we have to lose?”