Phoebe North: Starbreak

I climbed the narrow steps toward the central platform’s apex. There, dangling from two skinny posts, hung curving beast horns, hollowed out and yellow with age. Two long wires ran from their points down to some invisible power source hidden beneath the carpet. Vadix lifted one of the heavy things in his hand, letting its end wrap around his slender forearm. Then he gazed back and smiled. Though I could hardly hear my own thoughts in the chaos, his cut right through it all, nestling in the forefront of my mind.

Be strong, he told me. I gave a nod.

He put his lips against the bell of the horn. Soon his voice resounded through the entire enormous rotunda.

“Vhahasa zasum!” he shouted, calling for silence, but it wasn’t until his words echoed three or four times that the senators finally began to turn their attention forward. “Vaoso ezzu aum aukri esevhom zezekk tora?”

I am asking them if this woman will be permitted to speak before this sacred house.

When I turned to face the jumble of rows, I made sure to make my smile proud, to hold my jaw firm despite the fear that I felt. I needed to be brave in the face of them, to look worthy no matter the doubts that lurked inside me. Slowly a roar spread across the senate chamber: “Zhieseoui tore!” Yes, they would permit this.

Vadix turned toward me and indicated the horn. I reached forward and took it; like him I let the curled end envelop my arm. It was heavy; I nearly dropped it, and a few clicks of laughter rose up from the crowd. But Vadix helped me to steady myself. I stood straight and spoke into the hollow.

“My name is Terra Fineberg,” I said, speaking slowly, as Vadix had instructed. But even so, I couldn’t help but wince at the volume of my voice, bouncing off the glass ceiling and the girders that loomed high overhead. The horn was made for thin ekku voices, not a thick human alto like mine. “I come on behalf of the Asherati of Earth. Five hundred years ago our planet was destroyed. Now we are lost, without a home. And we need your help.”

Silence. Echoing silence. Vadix gazed at me, then put his own lips to his horn. The translation came out as fast and slick as oil. I kept my eyes on him. I couldn’t bear to look at the senators as he spoke. They were too scary, too intimidating. I only lifted the horn up again and went on.

“We are not invaders. We are refugees. We have no land to call our own. There are those among us who would drift into space again in search of a world with room to spare. I say let them go. But the rest of us are at your mercy. Though you owe us nothing—not land, not food, not even kindness—I ask that you might let us settle in your southern lands, upon the slip of earth called Zeddak Alaz.”

Vadix pressed his mouth to the horn again and began translating. But the murmurs of dismay began almost before he was done speaking. My throat tightened; my breathing grew shallow. Already so many of them had decided. I told myself that it didn’t matter. I would be heard.

“Esteemed senators,” I said. “I know it is a danger—for my people as well as yours. But your cities are crowded, and I know the Xollu are curious about what lies beyond the great sea. Before winter falls we will train with your Guardians. We will learn to take up prods and knives, learn to fell the wild beasts that would destroy us all. We will utilize Xollu building techniques to make our city strong against the wilds. And we would welcome any pairs who would join beside us as we strike out on this new endeavor.”

I tried to read their faces as Vadix spoke. Did those black eyes hold skepticism? Fear? Laughter at our expense? I couldn’t tell. Though I’d grown familiar with the boy who stood beside me, holding a carved horn against his mouth to catch his words, the emotions the others felt were strange to me. Foreign.

“My people are accustomed to sacrifice,” I said. “For five hundred years we have scrimped and rationed, all for our last, desperate hope: that we might find a world where we can live in peace. And that’s all we want here, a home where we can live good lives, rich with friends and love and work. We are not conquerors or tyrants. We are workers. Scientists. Artists. Mothers and fathers. Children, too. And we are at your mercy.”

Vadix spoke again, though now his voice was almost entirely swallowed up by theirs. When he was finished, he turned to me and gave his head a doubtful shake. I was about to let my mouth crease into a frown, when a voice cut through all the others. It was a Xollu senator who stood near the back on one of the highest risers. She stood, grabbing the horn that sat in front of her, and spoke into it.

“Etez arri aum auru sheseoa taura seosoi?”

Vadix squinted at her words, then cupped his hand over his horn and turned toward me.

“Senator Zera wishes to know how they can trust your words. How do we know you will not harm us as we sleep, animals that you are?”

I swallowed hard, looking up at the senator. In the filtered light her skin was as bright as rubies. She stood tall above us, that horn in her hand. But she wasn’t alone. Sitting beside her was her mate, an especially slender Xollu who watched her with large, pleased eyes. I saw in his expression the same emotions I felt when I looked at Vadix: wonder and joy, fascination and admiration. Not only had I been twinned, but twinned so well—as if my heart had been removed from my chest and doubled. Perfectly reproduced.

When I spoke, my voice was husky, low. We hadn’t discussed this, Vadix and I. We’d talked about the peace we’d broker, every aspect of the new law we were asking the senate to approve. But we hadn’t talked about us . Still, no words would better convince them. My confession was necessary—integral.

“You can trust my words because I would never harm my zeze . My bashert . My heart’s twin. My destiny. Translator Vadix is my mate, and we walk the dreamforests together. I might be a stranger, but surely you can trust in that. I cannot deny it, cannot deny my mate.”

The senators’ conversations rumbled and echoed all around us. But for the first time Vadix’s voice didn’t cut over theirs. He lowered his hand, letting the horn drop to beside his knees. He simply stared at me, mouth open, brow furrowed in dismay. We hadn’t planned this. He’d never consented to have his love revealed to the leaders of his world.

Tell them! I urged. It was our single best chance, and he knew it. So he lifted up the horn again and began to translate, even as his sad, confused eyes stayed on me.

“Taudiz voslax zhosoua, zozze ahadhazhi. Zeze aum voslax daudez. Dokk thosora, dokk eziz zhosoua. Tatoum taudiz sadl zhiahaolou zhosoua ut eziz Vadix. Taudiz voslax zhosoua, zozze ahadhazhi, aum eziz thosora.”

It was as if his words were a spell, some sort of incantation that could magically quiet the senate chamber. Because just like that, their voices died down. The senators who had sat bent over their desks, hiding behind their long hands to speak to one another, all began to turn toward us. Their black eyes were open. They were trying to understand.

“Taot?” one senator demanded. “Taidaz zhiahaoloa zeze aum vheseoazhi reraz. Taidaz saudsix aum taizzi zhiahaoloa okka taidaz?”

Vadix shut his eyes. He rested the horn against his bare forehead, steeling himself.

What ? I asked. I wanted to reach out, to take his hand in mine. But he was so far away.

Even if you are my zeze, she says, “What assurance do we have that the rest of them are any better than beasts?”

“Ettie!” I blurted, speaking into the horn without thinking. Vadix’s eyes flew open as my words resounded across the senate chamber. “Esther! Esther Schneider. The little girl. She’s walked the dreamforests. Her mate must be here somewhere. Your scientists saw that she was different from the others. We can’t be the only ones. Tell them, Vadix!”