Phoebe North - Starbreak

Because there were times in my life when I thought I was very, very weak. Back when Momma died, and then Abba . . . back when Koen Maxwell broke my heart, and then I broke Silvan Rafferty’s. But I think I was never quite so afraid as the day we returned to the ship. I thought it might be the ending. I didn’t realize that it was the start of everything—like a seed, just sprouted, ready to grow into the mightiest of trees.

The air lock was empty upon our return. There were no crowds waiting for us, no family to greet us with open arms. Only dim lights that flickered on and off as we walked down the empty corridor. I hadn’t exactly expected a parade or banners to welcome us home, but some sign of life would have been a comfort. The air lock’s walls were as dark as a coffin. The path outside the craft was long and echoing. We shed our flight suits and made our way down the hallway, but cautiously. Mara Stone led the way.

“We need to be careful,” she said, bringing her hard voice down to a whisper. “There’s been violence since the riots. The Council hasn’t been able to contain it. Students roam the streets like packs of dogs, refusing to be tamed.”

I heard a whimper cut through the silence. Ettie reached up and grabbed Rebbe Davison’s hand. He touched the crown of her head.

“It’s all right,” he said, but from the look on his face, I could tell that he didn’t feel certain. So I squared my shoulders, standing tall.

“Have the shuttles been pillaged?” I asked. Mara gave her head a shake.

“I don’t believe the rebels realized what they contain. They were still fully stocked when I left two days ago,” she whispered.

“We’ll gather the sonic rifles from the shuttles. One for each of us. When we return to the districts, I want you to gather what remains of the guard and bring them down here to secure the rest of the weapons. We need to arm ourselves.”

“Arm ourselves,” Hannah said. Her voice was sharp, mired in confusion. She hadn’t seen the riots—didn’t know about the passions that lurked beneath the breast of every Asherati. “Is that really necessary? Silvan Rafferty’s a good Council boy. He wouldn’t harm us.”

Mara went to fetch our weapons, her steps brisk and officious against the narrow walkway.

“I taught Silvan myself,” Rebbe Davison told my sister-in-law, still clutching Ettie’s hand tight. “Since he was a boy, he’s been proud. Entitled, like many Council children. I hope you’re right, Hannah. I hope he won’t hurt us. But better safe than sorry.”

My brother’s wife hugged her arms around herself. She’d been a Council child herself once, dutifully following the Council’s laws. She’d never expected their safe, steady rule to be upended, and certainly not with such force.

Mara returned. She handed us one rifle each, all except for Ettie. She only clung to Rebbe Davison, her eyes owlish. She was too young for guns still—too young to face a shuttle crash or days out in the wilderness or the attack of a wild beast or the attempted escape from an alien city too. But she hadn’t had any choice. I held out my hand to her, wriggling my fingers.

“I’ll bring you home, Ettie.”

Her eyes widened. She flung herself at me, squeezing my fingers so tight, I thought they might fall off.

“I still wanna go back,” she whispered. My smile wavered. I thought of Vadix—down there in the city, hustling toward the towering senate building, his robes streaming after him. I wished I were standing beside him, preparing to fight my own battle. Instead of up here, fighting the Council. Again.

“I do too,” I said, prying my fingers away just long enough to flip the rifle’s safety off. “But we have business to see to. I need to go speak to Silvan, before he does something rash.”

But Rebbe Davison stepped forward, putting a hand on my rifle. He glanced toward the light of the main bay, feeble against all this darkness.

“Not yet. We should take tonight to sleep,” he said. “To be with our families. They must have been worried about us.” He paused, his gaze growing distant. “And I’ll want to break the news to Aleksandra’s family before I speak to her other advisers.”

Rebbe Davison winced, and I quickly realized why. Children. Aleksandra must have had a husband and children—a son and a daughter. I’d never imagined her as a wife, or a mother. But of course she must have been both. Like every Asherati woman, she would have had little choice in the matter.

“Do what you must,” I said, gazing down at his big, calloused hand still wrapped around my gun’s barrel. “But hurry. I need to see Silvan before—”

“Terra, these things take time,” Rebbe Davison cut in. “We need to see to it that the people are behind us first. We’ll call a meeting. Tomorrow night. Not in the library—the Council might be expecting that. The school. Nineteen o’clock.”

I gripped the gun, tight, pulling it away from his scarred hands. “A meeting. What good will a meeting do?”

“You can’t just march in there,” he said. “It could be dangerous. We need to wait. Plan. Aleksandra—”

“Aleksandra is dead ,” I hissed, as the others all turned away in the face of my words. I saw Jachin lift two fingers to his breast. Saluting his leader—even in death.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you,” Rebbe Davison said. His voice had gone chilly, stern. I clutched my gun against my breast, holding the cold metal tight. But then I exhaled, relenting.

“Fine.” I paused as the lights flickered above. “But you don’t know Silvan like I do, Rebbe.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I know. But I know our people better than anyone else. Anyone left alive, at least.”

I gave my head a slow shake. “I hope you’re right,” I said.

At first we stuck together as we roamed through the streets, taking in the broken glass and the windows boarded up with rotting, reclaimed wood. Solar lights flickered, making the whole street jitter and shake like an ember dying in a fire pit. It wasn’t just that the world of the Asherah seemed meager after the splendor of Raza Ait; our society had, in fact, been crushed by the riots. Once, the lift would have opened to the bustling commerce district, where the perfume of food and wine, where the sight of fine silks and sturdy wools, would have greeted us. We would have heard the music of the barter, the clamor of a sale. Now there was only the smell of dust and the low, constant whistle of the wind—circulating from starboard to aft over and over again, stirring the bare winter branches, rattling the shutters that hung loose on their hinges.

The faint glow of light in the dome meant that it had to be near midday—close to the thirteenth hour, when, once, children and workers would have all tumbled toward the districts for lunch. Now there were only a few timid eyes that peeked out from behind the curtains of nearby stores, then hastily hid again when we turned toward them.

“Where do you live?” I asked Ettie.

“Starboard. Ninth Street, between the vegetable garden and the—” But before she could finish, Hannah pushed by us, her boot heels hitting the cobblestone hard.

“I need to get to the bow,” she said in a low, nervous voice. “Find Ronen and Alyana.”

But Mara Stone called out to her. “Not so fast, Giveret Fineberg.”

Hannah stopped on the path, her eyes flitting left and right as she did.

“What is it, Mara?” she asked impatiently. I think my sister-in-law was done with rebels—done with us. Ready to rejoin her family, her people.