Phoebe North - Starbreak

Vadix pulled out a long scroll of paper from his robe. It had handles carved in the shapes of wild beasts, each one so real-looking I thought they might walk across the table as he unraveled it. Ahadizhi work, surely. As he pulled them apart, he revealed continents. White-licked seas. Zehava. Or Aur Evez, depending on how you looked at it. He pointed to an area in the south close to the wide central ocean, a long peninsula of dark vegetation and apparently little else. But because I knew Vadix, I knew that there were dangers waiting there for us. The native Ahadizhi. The beasts. The long ravages of winter.

“We call this place Zeddak Alaz. The lost land. I will ask the senate to give you this place,” he said, and then his black eyes flitted up at me. Once I would have called them unreadable, but now I knew the passions—the fear, the hope, the intensity—that lurked behind them. “But the decision is up to them.”

We plotted well into the evening, long after all the senators had returned to their homes for the night. Vadix explained the intricacies of senate procedure, and detailed, with a flourish, the contentious relationship between the Ahadizhi of the southern continent and their northern counterparts. Though Ahadizhi learned language far faster than any Xollu—a facility I’d seen myself over my days in Raza Ait—those in the south were ascetics. They saw no need for the lavish city dwellings of their northern counterparts and so had no reason to speak to the Xollu, either. And no Xollu had broken the language barrier that stood like a wall between them. For thousands of years they’d been at a stalemate. No new Guardians, and none willing to cross the wild sea, straying far from their sprouted fields. So no new cities, either.

“You will have to recruit northern Ahadizhi,” Vadix said. “And have them train you in the role of Guardian before your departure for the southern continent. Perhaps someday the southern Ahadizhi could be persuaded to join the thirteenth city, but this would take time and skill. Diplomacy.”

It would be easier if we had you there to translate for us, I thought. Then, when Vadix looked sharply at me, I clamped a hand down over my mouth. Of course, he was the only one who had heard. The others merely gazed at me, puzzled. Mara let out a tired sigh.

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” she said. Vadix rose to his feet.

“I believe we have planned all we can for this evening. Terra must speak to the senate early tomorrow, and we all need our rest,” Vadix said. Did I imagine it, or had his reedy voice gone cold at my rejoinder? But it was late. Maybe he was only tired. I definitely was. My neck and back ached against the stone chair.

“Yes,” Silvan said, a little too loudly. When the conversation had turned away from the ship’s resources, he’d stopped trying to feign the slightest interest. “Show us to our accommodations.”

“Very well,” Vadix said.

He led us into the hall of the empty, echoing senate building, then down the wide steps to the mosaic-dotted pavilion below. It was strange seeing this space so empty, as if the life had been drained right out of it. The night was cool, as fragrant as spring as we walked out into the city. Peaceful. I was glad we hadn’t brought a guard.

“It’s emptier than it was a few days ago,” Mara said, stepping quickly down the stone staircase. She was right—fewer Xollu pairs now strolled arm in arm, though the Ahadizhi still loitered and lazed outside each residential building. The pungent smell of meat hung heavily in the air. I suspected that would only get worse as winter wore on and the hunt began in earnest.

“Some of the crèches have already gone to the winter caves,” Vadix said. “And the elderly as well. As the cold sets in, the urge to sleep overtakes us. Soon all but the most necessary Xollu will sleep. And then we all will.”

“Well,” Mordecai said, “we appreciate that you’ve stayed behind for us.”

“You have no idea,” I murmured, and though they all gazed at me strangely as we headed beneath a curving overpass, I ducked my head and didn’t answer.

Maybe I should have taken his hand in my hand, savoring every precious moment we still had together. But as Vadix led us through a cluster of commercial buildings, toward the enclave of round houses at the city’s heart, I couldn’t help but be aware of how every step we took brought me closer to his ultimate end. Not just winter, not merely sleep, but death. If all went according to plan, our safety would soon be assured. He’d depart for the funerary fields knowing that he’d done his part for me, helping me to establish this home for my people on Aur Evez. He’d rend his flesh, destroy himself, just to be with Velsa—and he would rest well too, knowing he’d helped me, knowing he’d secured my fate, just as promised. In the grove the boughs had all begun to curl up, shielding themselves from the cold. I wished that I could do the same, staving off this future. But I couldn’t. If my people’s settlement was to be secured, I’d have to risk losing him. I knew it in my gut. There was no use in hiding.

He took us all to his own house. As they saw the walls, which were dark and sparkling in the moonless night, and the delicate, curving shape of the architecture, even Silvan had to draw in a breath.

“Lavatory,” Vadix said, pointing to a slender door. “Kitchen. Do not drink from the golden spigot. I’m not certain it’s safe. I have placed cooked meat for you there on ice in a small refrigeration unit. You will sleep here.” He led us toward the sitting room, where he gathered blankets and small, round pillows from beneath the seats. As the others began to make their beds, I started to trail after Vadix, away from the round room.

“Terra,” Silvan called, flopping his body down against the circular sofa, “aren’t you going to sleep?”

Vadix stood, halfway to his bedroom, his tired shoulders squared.

“She’s to sleep with me,” he announced. I hesitated, standing in the door between the two worlds. Then I took one look into Vadix’s black, sad eyes and shook my head at Silvan.

“I’ll see you all in the morning,” I said. I saw Mara arch an eyebrow, heard Mordecai and Silvan share a snicker. But what did that matter? Hastily I closed the door behind me.

“I hear your thoughts,” he said as he sat down at the edge of his round bed. The clouds seemed to be bright silver through two layers of glass. Even with the lights off, the thread in his robes caught the light and scattered it.

Do you? I replied. But when I did, he gave a wince. He was so, so sad. I could feel it in every cell. He lifted two fingers and pressed them to his mouth.

“Speak like this,” he said.

But I was tired. Sad, too.

Taot? I said.

For a long time he didn’t answer. Instead he bent over, taking his cloth slippers off his feet. His long blue toes flexed against the floor. I could feel how they wanted to be rooted there, to make themselves permanent. He set his shoes in a line at the end of his bed, rose, and began to unknot the belt of his robe. But he didn’t watch the progress of his own hands as he did. He watched me.

“Because it hurts too much right now,” he said as the cloth slipped off his shoulders, revealing his body, as gnarled as an old dome tree that had been marked by the thoughts and wishes of too many long-dead lovers. I wanted to go to him, to slip my arms under his and press my face to the cool surface of his chest. But it didn’t seem right.

“I am not angry,” he said. “You think I am angry, but I am not angry.”

“What, then?” I asked as I edged closer, finally sitting on the edge of the bed myself. I glanced down at my own robe and slippers. They were too big on me, meant for him. He let out a baleful hum.