Under the Stars (5 page)

Malik nods. “They come from the West, a branch of our people.”

Even the wagons are different. Basic wooden things. But the people look much like Malik’s group, and are eager to help.

Plenty of water and food. We practically gorge ourselves while recuperating. One man to my right thanks another, saying, “I don’t know if we would’ve made it had it not been for you and your people.” He speaks the truth. We might’ve died in that cave.

I watch Mama and Mattie drink water like today’s the last day they’ll ever swallow it.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“He’s fine,” Mama replies. She strokes Mattie’s untidy hair away from his eyes. “We’re all fine.”

I nod.

After everyone has relaxed, we’re assigned to certain wagons. Some of us have to share them with the gypsies who aren’t driving.

I can’t help it, but after the past two day’s events, I’m beyond exhausted. My body and mind need a break. It seems like I close my eyes for only a few minutes, when I feel the wagon stop. The back door opens, and Malik simply says, “We’re here.”

I groan. “Where?”

“Legora.”

12.

My heart spins and expands against my chest cavity.

Legora? Can it really be true? We’ve made it at last.

I turn to wake up Mama and Mattie, but Mama’s already awake. Her eyes are packed with fresh tears, threatening to spill.

“Let’s wake Mattie,” I say.

She bobs her head once, and then gently stirs him.

“We’re here,” she says. “Come see your new home.”

Everyone has gathered outside the wagons. Ahead, the road we’re on leads directly toward the city. Sand-colored walls protect the town. When we near, I notice the walls are made of clay and bricks.

The guard at the entrance checks our wrists for the brand—a mark we receive as citizens of society, which looks as if two lazy cobras are intertwined and about to fight each other. If someone doesn’t have the symbol, they aren’t allowed entrance to cities. Vagabonds are usually the ones who don’t possess these.

One by one we enter the gates. Citizens freely walk about, arms full of fresh produce. There’s another wall ahead, and the city splits left and right.

“Which way do we go?” I ask.

Mama glances in both directions. “I’m not sure.”

I point toward the right corridor. “This way?”

Mama smiles. “Yeah, sure.”

The inside wall is lined with tents selling anything imaginable—pottery, jewelry, clothing, food. In Fortune, we didn’t have this kind of luxury; we had to obtain supplies ourselves. Weekly hunting was a must. Indulgences such as jewelry and clothing were rarely heard of.

We follow the walkway until it wraps around, opening up to reveal a square with more merchants. I didn’t expect to see a place brimming with nomads, but I was wrong. This place is infested with people. It’s a refuge in the middle of the desert.

Lazy havens are clustered together amid the sand and sun. Each tiny place holds a family—and shade. All of which are sitting on a petite hill to our right. I glance down at Mattie. His face is beaming. I squeeze his hand and say, “What do you think?” He only nods at me, his eyes never leaving the food stands.

The rest of our group stands behind us, relishing in their new home. An elderly man—draped in garments from head to foot—hobbles forward, using his cane for support.

“New citizens,” he bellows, “please, make yourselves at home! As you can see, we have many amenities to provide you comfort. Several jobs are available, if you wish to give your family the life they need. My office is located at the base of the housing rise. Come see me. Your future won’t wait!”

Okay, he’s kind of creepy. I know he’s trying to help, but he could’ve told us his speech in a totally different way. Does he do that with all the new arrivals?

“I’m going to speak to him about a job,” Mama says. “We need these things.” She glimpses at the marketplace.

“All right,” I say to her, holding on tight to Mattie. I whisper to him, “What should we do?”

Of course, he doesn’t respond.

Malik walks up beside me. “I don’t know about you, but I want to check out the houses.”

“Good idea.”

Strolling beside some of the vendors, I can’t help but overhear murmured conversations. Some speak about, what I assume to be, other merchants in the market. Some speak about their families. But mostly, they speak about how low their supplies are, and they don’t know how much longer Legora will endure. If they’re already questioning this, then how long will the food and water last with all of us newcomers?

Up on the hill, children play games on the main road. I’m guessing their parents are the people in the market. Where else can they work around here?

Two wrinkled-faced women sit on one of the tiny porches, rocking in their chairs, knitting. They give us cold glares. Maybe because we’re more mouths to feed.

Malik has found someone who will let us visit their house, so we can see what we’re in for. They’re hesitant on inviting strangers in, and I don’t blame them. But, eventually, Malik convinces them we’re harmless.

Inside, everything is made of wood—the floors, the ceiling, the walls. Upon entering, the kitchen and living room are the first things we see. One wide, open space sits on the second floor, used as a sleeping area, I guess.

Malik catches my eye and asks, “What do you think?”

“It’s better than living as a nomad in the desert.”

That comment seems to suffice.

“Thank you for letting us look,” he tells the owner.

When we’re in the street again, I bend over and say, “Mattie, look. You’ll be able to play with these kids soon.” He just stares at them like he’s never seen other children before. Or maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with them…

“I know this is crazy, but you never told me your name,” Malik says.

Had I not? “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Andrina, but you can call me Andy. That’s what my family calls me. Well, just Mama.” I glance at Mattie. “He hasn’t spoken since our father died.”

Malik’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I see.”

“Yeah, it’s been kind of tough.”

“You know I’m not gypsy-born, right?”

I shake my head.

He continues. “The gypsies found me as a baby, alone in the desert after my parents were killed by falling stars. They don’t know how I survived, but said it was definitely a miracle. A couple who couldn’t bear children adopted me as their own.”

“That’s so awful about your family.” I shake my head slowly, in disbelief. “But it’s great they took you in as one of their own. I wondered why you had blue eyes. Most of the gypsies I’ve seen have brown eyes, and darker complexions.”

He grins. “Now you know.”

“Andy! Mattie!” Mama’s voice carries from down below us.

“Up here, Mama!”

She scrambles up the hill. “I have a job! I’m the newest jewelry merchant.” She kisses both my forehead and Mattie’s. “We’re going to make it after all.”

I don’t want to mention the fact that produce and clothing might sell better than jewelry. I’m not sure anyone is in dire need of necklaces and bracelets.

Faking a smile, I say, “That’s great.”

“We’ll be assigned our new home in a couple of hours.”

I forgot about Malik standing off to the side. “Oh, Mama, did I ever introduce you to Malik? He’s the boy who lives with the gypsies.”

“Nice to meet you, Malik. I remember you.” She warmly smiles at him.

“Same to you,” he says. “Andy, I’ve got to find my own family and see what news they have. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yep.”

He waves over his shoulder, then disappears in the marketplace.

Mama bumps my arm. “He’s cute. Future husband material?”

I groan. “No. I’m not thinking about a husband yet. You know that. Why can’t we just be friends?”

“Mmm. If you say so.” She grasps Mattie’s hand, leading him through the village filled with happy children and inexpressive homes, with the bland smell of the desert sand hanging thick in the air, reminding us of our places.

13.

Sure enough, within a couple of hours, all the new recruits are settled into their new abodes. The only possessions any of us have are the clothes on our backs. Everything that had our name on it was demolished during the falling stars incident, including the baseball cap that was Dad’s. So, there’s nothing to move in. Furniture is already supplied.

“Once I start this job, we’ll be able to buy food,” Mama says, standing in the doorway of our new wood-paneled house.

“I’m sure we’ll get by until then.”

She meanders toward the couch and plops down. Its cushions are picked apart, and the white-cotton filling pokes out in assorted places. I don’t like it. In truth, I think the grey is bland, as if it’s there to remind us nothing in our lives will ever be majestic.

“Come sit,” Mama orders.

There’s yet another piece of furniture that’s wooden in the room—a coffee table.

“I think I’m going to find Malik,” I say to escape the mundane walls and rat-eaten furniture.

“Okay, honey.”

Most of the children have resorted to the comfort of their own home, most likely eating dinner at this hour. A few have congregated in the middle of the dirt road, repeating the stories of old.

The moon is just above the edge of the endless desert, intimidating us with its insipid face. I’ve only heard what happened because of wagging tongues. People like to gossip. Stories are passed down through generations. But the white sphere has been in that same exact region of the sky for as long as I can remember.

Supposedly, years ago, when the world was vaporized by military weapons, the layer surrounding Earth was nicked in certain areas due to the toxic air. I’m still unsure as to why the moon hangs so low in the night sky, but I know the atmosphere was affected, too—hence broiling days and arctic nights.

“What are you doing?”

I’m caught off-guard. Malik stands shoulder to shoulder with me, his hands buried in his pockets.

“Wondering how the moon came to be so close to us,” I reply.

As the second tick by, we’re both eerily quiet.

“I’ve heard different stories. None of them are even close to each other,” he says.

“Yeah, same here. Do you think, maybe, our world will ever change?”

He turns his full attention to me now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, could we go back to the way things were before the wars? What if everything was peaceful again? What if we didn’t fear the creatures or the weather?”

A short breath slips across the tip of his teeth. “Not sure.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Although, I’d like to imagine one day the world will be in harmony.”

I agree. I can see large houses lined up and down streets, back to back, picturing a world where vagabonds don’t exist because the law prohibits them. Where everyone will have three meals a day, and watch their kids and grandkids grow.

I sigh.

Malik takes the opportunity to speak. “So, did you and your family get settled in?”

“Yeah, I’m still not too impressed with the housing. But it’s not like I can complain. I mean, we could still be out there somewhere.” I motion toward the vast desert outside the city’s walls.

Malik raises his eyebrows in a
duh
way.

“Okay, okay. I get it. It’s not so bad,” I admit. “I’ll just have to get used to living here. It’s different, ya know?”

“It is.”

We gaze at the moon for an uncertain amount of time. Questions whip through my head: Were we
really
meant to live here? Will we have to pick up and move again soon?

I don’t actually see this place as where I want to spend the rest of my life. It’s like one of those strange feelings you get when you just know you don’t belong somewhere.

“Will you be attending the meeting?” Malik asks, pulling me away from my thoughts again.

“What meeting?”

“They’re holding one for all citizens tomorrow night. Funding, supplies, housing talk. I’m pretty sure it’s mandatory.”

“Doesn’t sound like I have a choice, then.”

He grins. “No, I guess not.” Staring toward the inner city, he says, “I need to go home. My parents will wonder where I am. Can’t be out when the cold sets in.”

“Ah, yes. The inevitable cold.” I sock him lightly in the arm. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

My eyes stay glued to his back as he disappears into the maze of brown tent-stands, chatty people and sand-colored walls.

Well, that didn’t last long. Now what am I going to do with my time?

A leisurely walk through the confusing bends and curves of the city ought to do it. Anything to stay away from home right now. I just
can’t
be there.

Whispers coil through the air, spiraling from ear to ear, gushing about provocative subjects and timid plans. Is everyone worried Legora won’t remain a major refuge? Even though I hear the
psssts
and the prickly edge of words, I can’t pin down the exact lines. But the tone is disheartening, negative almost.