Destiny's Blood (25 page)

Josmere stayed as she was, but turned her head to meet Avienne’s eyes. “Reason enough to get your father and the old engineer killed, too?”

Avienne shook her head without words, looking back at the nebula. It didn’t make much sense, she had to admit. Nothing made much sense anymore. Why did so many have to die for a dying star? Why couldn’t people just let nature be?

“Do you think Cailan will go?” Josmere asked.

Avienne sighed. “I really don’t know.” Though part of her hoped so, another part feared the disappointment and danger. She had had enough fun with this little adventure. She was ready for something that didn’t involve collapsing tunnels and the threat of being reduced to a one-dimensional state.

“There’s a story my aunts used to tell me,” Josmere began, looking at the nebula. “That the First Star feeds all the ether races, and that for the past few years, the races have been withering without its ether. No matter how many tried to reach it, none could, because only the protectors of Mirial can. And they had all vanished, presumed dead, and the First Star was helpless without their care. Most, including the Berganda, can’t be fertile without ether, so I always thought
 
—
 
I always accepted that my people were doomed, because no one could reach it, could revive it. And therefore, no one could seed children. But now, it’s so close, and my people might be saved. But Layela is all I have left, and…” she trailed off, looking a bit disgusted with how much she had revealed.

So that’s why people mess with nature.

Avienne pulled one of her knives free again and twirled it, watching it catch the light of the nebula. Struck by how small her weapons were, she sheathed them, sighed and leaned back into the old, creaky chair.

i

The length of the ship was hushed; whatever life she had once held was now mute. The great engines no longer pulsed in her belly, and the soft heartbeat of the beast lay silent. There was only the quiet hiss of oxygen releasing from the vents, growing more mournful with each exhale.

Even the flickering lights brought no life to the low hush of the
Destiny
, creating macabre dancing shadows out of the Mirialers who worked to repair her; she that had once been greatest among them.

The blows she had withstood to protect her crew had cost her dearly. Scars that would never heal crisscrossed the length of her hull, and holes were scattered along her beautiful sides, hidden by quick, ugly patch jobs of mismatched alloys, mocking the vision of her builders. Only one item did her repairers bother sifting through layers of mistreatment to find, and that was her old symbol, the symbol of Mirial herself, First Star of all the worlds.

Cailan remembered the First Star. And, as his hand softly stroked the cold door, he remembered promises made to her that had to be broken. Promises he had honoured, first blindly, but now by choice.

Cailan remembered the battle back then too, which had also cost the
Destiny
, not so much in scars then, but in people. Sixty-four dead: Captain Malavant amongst them, and Cailan’s wife, Ingrid. Her eyes flashed before him for a moment, and he took a deep breath and let the memory pass. Sixty-four on
Destiny
, and so many more in the rest of the fleet, and on Mirial…

“Stop it, old fool,” Cailan muttered to himself. The warmth of his hand vanished into the door, replaced by a soothing coldness. He wished it would spread to the rest of his body, dull his mind and slow the pain in his heart.

Sixty-eight dead now, and the main engineer among them, his body lost in space. Twenty years of unfailing loyalty and friendship. He, like Cailan, had devoted himself to serving a cause he thought no longer existed.

It had been years since he scanned that region of space. It was something he had done religiously, once a day. When such things still mattered.

And now, Gobran Kipso had turned his world upside down.

Two daughters, and only one can live
. That would save Mirial, he had said.

Then why do I feel like I murdered a child I was meant to protect?

With the rising of Mirial’s fleet and its shields
 
—
 
the great purple monster that lingered where once the first star had shone
 
—
 
it seemed that they would once more try to regain their homeworld.

He could no longer feel his hand, but instead of removing it, he placed his other one near it, as though attempting to open a door he knew led only to empty, dead space.

Rejoin a fleet, rejoin Mirial
...and bring the Malavant children into a life of military, loyalties and promises, betrayals and disappointments. Not what their father would want, not now, not after everything that had happened. He pressed his hands to the door, forcing his warmth to be replaced by fiery cold.

They would be made to pay for their father’s mistake. Such was law on Mirial.

I never imagined I would hope Mirial was actually dead.

Travan would have been able to lift this mood; Travan always could, with just a simple look. But Travan hadn’t lived to see these times.

“Maybe it’s better that way,” he whispered. He removed his numb fingers from the door and gazed as the moisture slowly froze in the shape of his palms, formed small crystals that soon vanished into the unforgiving cold of space.

“Rest in peace, old friend. Rest in peace.”

He turned and walked away, to meet his duty once again.

i

The knock on her door came softly at first, then increased in tempo and strength. It was accompanied by the soft whispering of her name. Layela wanted to fling the door open, but also to ignore it completely. She chose a less dramatic approach and simply spoke.

“I’m fine, Ardin.” She was surprised by the calmness of her own voice, surprised that it did not quiver or shake.

She heard him sigh in frustration and imagined him running his hand through his hair.

“Layela, I’m coming in.” She remained seated as the door opened and light poured into her room. She looked up and saw only his outline, leaned against the doorframe.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do,” he said after a moment.

She nodded. She wished he would come to her and hold her, so that she could lose herself in him and forget the grief she couldn’t feel. But he did not come to her, and she did not go to him.

“Captain Kipso insists on having you on his ship, but
Destiny
will follow.” He paused. “I could go with you aboard the
Victory
, if you’d like.”

She looked up at him. Her eyes, adjusting to the light, were able to make out the concern etching his features. “You’re needed here, Ardin. The
Destiny
can’t spare you.”

He hesitated a moment. “Will you at least take Josmere with you?”

Layela felt the mists tugging at her vision, just as when Gobran had spoken of the end of the Berganda. She could hear laughter, feel warm sap flow onto her, and knew that it was Josmere’s death she recalled in her vision. She could sense it, feel it, raw like a fresh wound. She could taste her grief and knew she was meant to witness it.

“No. Josmere will stay here.”
Away from me. Safer.

“Either she goes with you, or I go. You can’t go with them alone.”

“Ardin,” she protested. He crossed the floor and crouched in front of her, looking deep into her eyes. He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“Why, Layela? Why do you insist?”

She shrugged, trying to find an explanation, but no lie jumped to mind. She wasn’t interested in the lies anymore. There had already been too many.

“I have visions,” she whispered, keeping her eyes locked on his. He didn’t react, keeping his features smooth. “I, I don’t usually remember them, because I only have them in dreams. My sister remembers,” she caught herself and swallowed hard, “could remember them, since she had them when she was awake. But, there are certain visions I received, once.” She didn’t want to give him those details, the violation of her mind still too fresh. “Visions of death. I saw those guards’ death outside
Sunrise Flowers
, and Yoma’s, and now I see Josmere’s. Not clearly, but an impression of it. I’m going to be with her when she dies, Ardin. If I don’t get away from her, then...”

She trailed off, having said much more than she intended. Ardin’s eyes remained locked on hers for a second longer before he spoke.

“Then it’s settled. I’m going with you.” He stood up and was gone, plunging Layela into darkness once again. Spots of light danced before her eyes and a protest hovered unspoken on her lips.

She allowed herself a slight smile and remained seated, counting her breaths and waiting.

The darkness had always frightened Layela
 
—
 
it was in darkness that her mind was captured by visions, in dreams she could not recall on her own.

But now, she found some solace as she sat in the darkness in her cramped, windowless room, with only the sound of her breath for company. She sat in the middle of her quarters, her legs crossed and aching from touching the cold floor, her hands numb where they had rested too long on her thighs, her open eyes straining for light and seeing nothing but imagined ghosts and shadows.

Yoma had loved the darkness. The safest place for a thief to breathe, she had always said. The safest place to hide, to dwell, to wait. The safest place to sleep, with her sister’s troubled breath by her side. And it was in this darkness that Layela sought her sister, the feeling of her sister, to let go of her and grieve. She wondered if Ardin had noticed the lack of grief in her eyes. She knew part of her needed to scream and break, but another, stronger part refused to let her do so. It held her captive in this battlefield, where every emotion cancelled the other, leaving her cold and numb.

She took another deep breath, trying to recall the good times with Yoma, and the bad, and found that the ghosts before her eyes refused to take the shape of memories. They stagnated in her mind instead, half-formed whispers of what had once been.

Layela felt her sister near, as she always had when she was most frightened, but the essence of her seemed lost forever: her loyalty, her laughter, her stubbornness…and the last chance to hold her that had been taken from her.

A small sob escaped her lips as she remembered the feel of the hot shuttle engines, the relief of the Malavants’ rescue, and the sight of her sister vanishing through another door. Drops of blood had been the only sign that she had even been there; blood she had shed for Layela’s safety.

Now she remembered the smell of burnt rubber that pumped through the
Destiny
as she lost power, and the sight of Avienne’s long finger about to fire on the small ship, Cailan’s stern order to destroy them quickly before they destroyed the
Meltor
…And feeling Avienne buckling, falling; her accusing eyes, the ship dancing in the wake of the
Meltor’s
destruction…

Numb. She felt numb again. She frowned. She could not feel her sister, and could not grieve her. Her legs hurt and needed to stretch, and that was a greater reality than her sister’s death.

She heard a knock at the door and a low voice telling her the hour was up, but still she did not move.

 
Maybe I’m the selfish sister,
she thought with regret. Hot breath tickled her ear with a whisper of sound. “What is it with you and darkness, Layl?”

Her eyes grew wide as she recognized the voice. She returned the fierce hug with vigour, wishing there was light so that she could see and know she was not dreaming.

She had just shed her first tear of relief when she thought she heard the word “sorry,” and the darkness conquered her mind.

C
HAPTER
24

I
grow weary of this, Romero.” Seela leaned back against the cushioned chair, letting herself sink into the feather-stuffed padding. Despite her words, she sighed. A smile graced her green lips, and they entertained a deep cup, the colour of human blood. She closed her eyes as she swallowed the nutrient-seeded lukewarm water. Her body’s response to the liquid coursing through her was immediate, from the tip of her toes to the ends of her hair
 
—
 
which, unlike human hair, was still alive. She remembered her family, and how alike they all were: all females, all nature-coloured, all long-haired. Never aging.

But never aging did not mean never dying.

Romero shifted in the chair beside hers, uncomfortable with what he called the unnecessary opulence of the shuttle. He pushed himself forward and tried to sit perfectly erect, but the cushioned seat swallowed his backside and pulled him back again.

Seela took another drink and watched the graceful movement of his fingers on the console, the strong hands freed from the constricting gloves. She watched the short fingers, built for power, the tips of each extremity vivid orange. The colour accentuated the dark, thick nails, which his race had once sharpened into weapons. His were perfectly groomed, every nail carefully filed to the same short length, so that the gloves would not prove more uncomfortable than necessary.

She felt the cool ceramic in her own uncovered hands. Her slender, long fingers, so different from Romero’s, wrapped loosely around the large cup.

“I think the colonel’s troops found something,” Romero reported, tearing Seela from her reverie. She unlocked her chair and turned. Her crossed legs rested against his chair, the loose fabric of his pants lightly touching the tight material of hers. She leaned forward. Her gaze devoured the sight of his bare, forbidden hands as they slowed to a halt, the orange lit by a life of its own.