Текст книги "The Star Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tristan

The world is black, but when I open my eyes all I see is white, the underside of my sheets. Flickering orange light dances through the thin fabric. I have no words to say to her; I have no words to say to anyone.

I pull the covers tighter around me, like a cocoon. Inside I feel safe. Outside is only death and pain and a black, black world. A world created by my father.

Anger plumes within in me, hot and gritty. My fists tighten, my knuckles turning as white as the sheets. I close my eyes, trying to control the fire building within me.

After all, Adele needs me now more than ever. Breathe.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

As the fogginess of sleep clouds my mind, my last thought is:

Adele first, revenge second.

Adele

Waking and sleeping are the same to me, a swirl of confusing madness, one disorienting and dizzying blur of time where my face is always wet, my nightmares are constant, and spots of red flash before my vision, whether I’m awake or not.

My muscles ache and my head is throbbing, but those pains are minor compared to the ache in my chest. The awful, awful ache in my heart, where it’s split in two, rattling around. I can almost hear it clanging around in there.

I’m broken.

And I may never be fixed again.

I slip into another fitful sleep. Or perhaps I’ve just woken up from a nightmare. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Adele

Everyone dies sometime. You would think that would make it easier when you lose someone, but it doesn’t. As I lie in bed I let the tears flow freely. I’m not ashamed of them. I’d cry a thousand more if I could, but eventually I’m all cried out and I just roll over and jam my face between my two pillows.

They say his death was instantaneous, that he didn’t feel any pain. A single gunshot to the head. There’s nothing you could do, they said to try to make me feel better. But that’s not the point. The point is he’s dead and I’ll never see him again, never hug him again, never learn from him again.

They say it’s a miracle that Elsey survived. The bullet hit her elbow, shattering it and deflecting before tearing into her ribcage, narrowly missing a handful of vital organs. They could save her, but not her arm. Now she has to learn to do everything with her left hand.

After surviving the Pen, being pursued by Rivet, watching cities being bombed, trekking through the Star Realm, I thought I had proved I didn’t have a breaking point. I was wrong. Everyone has a breaking point. This is mine. The world is dead to me. All that I cared about. All that I loved. Ripped away from me. Wrenched from my shaking hands.

Tristan is here and I know I should talk to him. I haven’t said a word since it all happened. Not to him; not to my mother. Elsey’s still too unwell for visitors, not even family.

But still Tristan comes every day, sits on my bed, talks to me. Lies to me and tells me everything’s going to be okay, even though we both know it’s not.

He told me all about what happened afterwards. How the Resistance somehow managed to kill enough of the sun dweller troops to overwhelm them, eventually driving them away. How they fought like wild animals, with tenacity and heart. How they found us clinging together, amidst the dead, me and Elsey, my teeth chattering as I rocked her back and forth while Tristan used his tunic to put pressure on her gunshot wound. Roc and Tawni, of all people, stood guard over us while Trevor ran to get help. I don’t remember any of that. Although I was apparently conscious for it, my subconscious protected me from the memory.

His father was never there, was just a voice through a speaker. A madman using his pawns to do his bidding.

He sits on my bed, in his normal spot, rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’m here, Adele,” he says.

A day earlier his touch would have sent tendrils of excitement all through me, but now, it’s just a touch, cold and meaningless.

Finally, I break my silence, although the words come from a new Adele. The old Adele is gone, dead. “I’m toxic, Tristan. Everything and everyone that gets close to me dies. First Cole, now Dad. Stay away from me. STAY AWAY!” My body’s trembling and my fists are ready for a fight, against whoever is in my way, Tristan or his father or whoever.

But he doesn’t leave like I expect him to, like he should do. He stays right there, grabs my hands, pries my claw-like fingers apart. I’ve got nothing left. No fight. My body goes slack and I fall apart in his arms as he holds me, rubs his hands along my back. He doesn’t try to soothe me with words or shush my tortured sobs, just lets me get it all out.

I need something to take the pain away. Just for a minute, a second. My lips find his and I kiss him hard, then harder, practically throwing myself at him. He lets me at first, but then pulls away while still hugging me. “Not this way,” he says. “We need to give it some time.”

I’m glad he’s still thinking clearly.

* * *

The next day I finally go to visit Elsey, who is recovering. With each step I take my heart is breaking. It’s like despite everything I’ve been through, I can’t bear one more tragedy. Tristan holds my hand to make it easier. It’s strange, how different it is holding his hand now from the first time. I mean, I still get the tingles, the tiny bursts of electricity up my forearm, but now it feels so normal, so safe, like we’ve been holding hands for a million years plus a million more. I like the subtle change.

But the strength of the magnetic pull I feel toward him has not subsided whatsoever. When he is near I can always feel him on my skin, in my bones, particularly around my head and down my back. It’s the weirdest thing.

We enter a dim room—only a clouded lantern provides a soft glow. We see the thin outline of my mother, sitting on a bed, looking down at a bump under the covers. Tristan releases my hand and I kneel next to her, gaze at the pale face of my sister, who’s sleeping. She almost looks dead and for a moment I think she might be, but then I see the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.

“How is she?” I breathe.

My mom has one hand on my sister, and now she places the other on my shoulder. “She’s a little trooper, hanging in there. She can barely eat because she just throws it back up. The trauma of it all is affecting her entire body. But she’s so positive about everything, it’s hard to keep her down.”

I manage a smile. That’s my sister—a little firecracker. Even with the covers over her, I can tell she’s lost weight. Weight she doesn’t have to lose.

“How’s she taking…”—my voice catches in my throat and I swallow—“Dad?”

Mom’s eyes are misty but she doesn’t cry. She’s tough—like I used to be. “You’ll have to ask her that, but I think she’s handling it better than you or I.”

I nod. “Do you think he’s still somewhere?” I ask, surprising myself, because I didn’t even realize the question was on my mind.

“Elsey does,” she says. “I think that’s one of the reasons she’s handling it so well.”

“Yeah, but do you?”

She tilts her head to the side and chews on the side of her mouth, like she’s really giving my question some serious thought. “You know, I want to believe it and sometimes I do, because I can still remember him, can still feel him here”—she motions to her heart—“but other times I just feel this void and it’s as if he’s disappeared from within the caverns of the earth.”

I nod. I appreciate her honesty. She’s treating me like an adult.

Elsey stirs in her bed, yawns, and then her eyes blink open. “Hi, Adele!” Although her voice is weak, there’s a certain energy in it, but the same energy doesn’t make it to her face, which is ashen. She looks so pale she almost appears dead, if not for her half-open eyes and limp smile.

“Hey, El,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and the waiting tears from my eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just lost an arm,” she says, smiling weakly.

I bite my lip, wishing I could laugh, if only to make her happy. Underneath the covers it’s easy to forget that she’s not whole anymore.

“It’s okay, Adele,” she says, acting the role of the big sister, as usual. “I survived. Because of you.”

Despite my efforts, a tear rolls down my cheek, stinging my skin. “But you lost…and Dad is….” I can’t get the words out, even now.

“I’m fine,” she says, sticking her jaw out. “And Dad is…in a better place. Away from all the bad people.” Away from all the good people, too, I want to say, but I don’t. How can she be so strong when she’s the one who lost an arm and a father? Why do I feel so weak? I try to think about my sister’s words, try to take strength from them, like she does. Dad is in a better place. Is it true? Is he somewhere, his soul flying high, away from his broken body, away from the turmoil and strife of the Tri-Realms? Is he on Earth, aboveground, seeing the real moon and real sun and real stars for the first time, feeling the wind through his hair, the sunlight on his skin, the rain on his face? Maybe he is. Who am I to say Elsey is wrong? Warmth suddenly fills my chest and I know I’ll get through this, just like all the bad times before. It’s not about what I don’t have, it’s about what I do. My mom. My sister. Tristan. Tawni and Roc and even Trevor. Family and friends—that’s all I’ll ever need.

* * *

The funeral is a blur of tears and speeches and emotions and I don’t remember any of it when it’s over. As is the custom of the moon dwellers, they cremate him, which is good because I couldn’t have handled seeing his face again, not like that. I prefer to remember him as the man who showed me how to kick and punch on our back patio.

Tristan’s been following the news but I’ve stayed away from it. I’m just not that concerned with politics and rebellions and wars at the moment. I’m just trying to spend as much time with my family as possible. Half the moon dweller VPs are dead, but a vote will be held in a week’s time to replace them. After everything that’s happened, everyone’s expecting that once the new leaders are elected, the VPs will unanimously vote to unite with the Star Realm and support the rebellion. Evidently the Sun Realm has already officially declared war on us, which I’m not too surprised about. Tristan tells me that people are saying the first battle could occur in as soon as week’s time.

My mother asked for and was granted a couple of days off, and she wants to use it to visit our old subchapter, 14. Elsey is still too unwell to travel with us, but Roc and Tawni agreed to keep her company while we’re away. Tristan insisted on coming. He seems afraid to leave my side, maybe ever again, which is cute. Despite his good intentions, however, Mom said we needed to do this alone, and after much discussion and debate, he conceded, promising to tear the Moon Realm apart looking for us if we don’t return within two days. I thought it a bad time to remind him that the Moon Realm is already torn apart, so I just agreed with him.

Although the train ride only takes half a day and we arrive in the afternoon, the lights are off in the big cavern I used to call home. The sun dwellers have cut off all electricity to the Lower Realms and for now we have to use flashlights and lanterns until the Moon Realm engineers come up with a solution to the problem.

As we walk through the city, the beams from our bouncing and bobbing flashlights reveal the destruction that took place a lifetime ago. Memories of the explosions as we climbed the fence to escape from prison flash through my mind like a slideshow. Buildings crumbling, cracks in the streets, the toppling of the fence. All distant memories now.

We pass a number of work crews, busily repairing the damage. They stare at us as we pass, and while outwardly they look haggard, tired, I see the fire of determination in their eyes. These are the men and women who will rebuild and then go to war for their very survival, and for the survival of their families.

The houses in our old suburb didn’t fare much better than the city. Many of them have shattered windows and crumbling roofs. Some even have gaping holes in their sides which allow us to see inside. I’m surprised to find entire families inside, sitting down to have a meal together, to play games together, to simply be together.

“They can break our things, can break our bodies, but they can’t break our spirits,” my mother says.

I feel a shot of heat in my belly, as if a match has been lit within my gut.

We reach our house, which is in shambles, the entire front wall caved in. As we step over the threshold, I can’t help but feel a twinge of pain as I remember the way my father used to look when he came through the door after work, tired but happy. We’d run to him, Elsey and I, and hug him.

When I lean against the wall, shocked by what I see, a memory is unlocked from some safe deposit box in my head, more vivid than if I was living it right now.

I’m ten years old and it’s my birthday, but it’s just like any other day. My dad wakes me up at six in the morning for training. It’s still dark in the caverns, although even at midday, the thin, pale lighting from the overhead cavern lights is dim at best. We train on the tiny stone patio behind our shoebox house. My mom is already up and getting breakfast ready, but she doesn’t say anything as I pass her. She does glance at me, however, and I can tell from the slight curl on one side of her lip that she knows it’s my birthday and wants to surprise me. I pretend not to notice.

My dad is already outside, stretching his arms and legs. I follow his lead, because if I don’t, I’ll be sore tomorrow. As I stretch my arms above my head, I see the glittering flutter of wings as a bat slides noiselessly above us. The rough, gray cave ceiling is slowly coming into focus as the cavern lights begin to brighten right on schedule.

We start with hand-to-hand combat—my favorite—and, according to my dad, the most important part of training, because “you can always count on your own hands and feet,” as he likes to say. I’m feeling energetic, which I try to use to my advantage, striking quickly with sharp stabs of my feet. But my dad is always up to the task, faster than me, blocking each attack with ease. Even when I start inventing my own moves, my dad just swats away my roundhouse kicks and judo chops like pesky gnats. He says my invented moves are creative and effective, although they never seem to work on him.

It gets frustrating sometimes, not being able to beat him, especially considering how hard I work. He says he pushes me harder than Elsey because I’m the older sister, and I can protect myself and her. That just seems like a free pass for El. He also says I’m getting stronger and faster with each training session, which sometimes is the only thing that keeps me motivated.

So I keep at it, chucking fists and feet at him faster and faster, until a thin sheen of salty sweat is coating my bare arms and legs, where my pale blue tunic won’t cover. As I begin to tire, I become bolder, lunging forward and aiming a knotted fist at his sternum, at one of the places that he told me will hurt the most. To my absolute shock, my clenched fingers slide smoothly past my dad’s blocking arms, connecting with his chest, and I feel the solid thud of bone on bone and muscle.

My dad grunts and lifts a hand to his chest, massaging it gingerly. I can’t help but to lift my offending hand to my mouth as my lips form an O. “Dad, I’m so…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

My dad laughs and I stop talking, my eyebrows rising along with my confusion. “Don’t ever apologize for winning a fight, Adele,” he says.

“Wha…what? You mean I…?”

“Won—yes.” My dad is grinning. “You are learning so fast, Adele. In a couple of years I will have nothing left to teach you.”

“So the student will become the master?” I joke. I am such a dork—but I don’t care.

He laughs, deep and throaty. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, but yes, you are doing well.” Sometimes Dad can be so serious.

But I am grinning, too. I’ve never even come close to hurting him during training. The familiar rhythm of my hands and fists smacking against his hands and fists has become like a soundtrack for our mornings together. But I’ve added a thud to the mix, and for that, I am proud. I couldn’t ask for a better present on my birthday.

“We’ll finish early to celebrate your success,” my dad says.

I frown. “No, Dad, I want to finish the whole session, please.”

Dad laughs. “That’s my girl,” he says. “You’re so much like your mother.” I never understand what he means by that. My mom is a quiet, generous soul who would never hurt a fly. Me, I’m tenacious, feisty, and sarcastic. A redhead with black hair, my mom always says.

I’m not able to beat him again during training, but once was enough for me. When we come inside I’m exhausted but happy. Somehow our tiny stone house looks even smaller than before, but to me it’s cozy, it’s home.

A warm and tempting aroma fills my nostrils when we cross the threshold. My birthday surprise. Freshly warmed bread, not more than a few days old, from the bakery in the subchapter. Only half a loaf, but more than I’ve ever seen in our house before. A real birthday treat.

“Happy birthday, Adele,” Mom says. “Go wake your sister.”

I smile and sigh. Yes, we live underground. And don’t have much money. And live in constant fear of the Enforcers, who ceaselessly roam the streets. But we have each other: my mom, my dad, my sister, Elsey, and me—a family. We’re all we really need. Oh, and a warm half-loaf of bread for a birthday treat. For a moment, I am happy.

“Adele,” my mom says, and the memory fades. Remembering my father, how things used to be, makes the flame that started in my belly flare up, heating my chest. It’s a fire I haven’t felt in a while. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head and the cobwebs disappear. “Yeah. I was just remembering.”

“Your father?”

“And you,” I say. “All of us. Before…”

“I know. This place is so full of memories. That’s why I wanted to come here one more time.”

My mom moves away from me, rummaging through the rubble, looking at old pictures and trinkets. I watch her for a minute.

When she turns around, there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “There’s something I want to give you.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Give me? Mom, I just need you.”

“Just follow me.” She walks the three steps across the living area to the door to the bedroom that my sister and I shared with my parents. The door is hanging by a single hinge. My mom pushes it aside and enters. When I slip in behind her, I’m surprised to find the bedroom mostly intact, although there is glass everywhere from the shattered window.

Using the hem of her tunic, Mom brushes the glass from atop the bed and motions for me to sit down. I do, wondering what in the Tri-Realms she could possibly want to give to me. I watch her while she scans the ground, as if looking for something she dropped, and then bends down. She uses her fingers to pry at a loose stone in the floor, which wobbles and then lifts. The gray rectangular rock is heavy and I see her straining at it, so I get up and help her lift it out and roll it to the side.

Beneath where the stone used to be is a wooden box. When I look at my mom, she offers me a slight smile and then reaches down to retrieve the chest. It’s small and looks like it couldn’t hold more than a few marbles at most. However, when she lifts the lid, I see a slight sparkle under the glow of the flashlight I’m holding. Using a single delicate finger, she lifts a necklace from the box. I gasp. Its band is thin and silver, polished and gleaming and well cared for, but that’s not what makes me gasp, nor is that what sparkled when she first opened it.

Dangling from the end is a gem, big, perhaps the size of a gold Nailin, beautifully cut and a brilliant green hue that seems to catch every bit of light offered and then shine it all back tenfold in a dazzling array of green slivers. An emerald.

“Mom, I…I don’t understand. Whose is this?”

“It’s yours now,” she says, handing it to me.

“But this must be worth hundreds—no, thousands—of Nailins. Where did you get this?”

Mom’s smile is almost as brilliant as the emerald I’m holding. “It was your father’s gift to me after you were born. I don’t know where he got it and I didn’t ask. When he saw those emerald-green eyes of yours, he just knew you were going to be something special, so he gave me this necklace as a keepsake, something for me to pass down to you.”

My eyes are watering. “But this is too much. I can’t accept this,” I say, knowing that I will.