Under the Stars (9 page)

I pull back. “How are you so sure?”

“I just
know
. Mother’s instinct, I guess. You were always born to be a leader. And a better person couldn’t have been picked to represent this town.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. My cheeks grow hot.

“C’mon,” Mama says, corralling Mattie and me, “let’s go home.”

23.

I can’t sleep. This time, it’s not the psycho insects buzzing around the invisible protective wall or Mattie’s snoring. It’s the fact that I have no idea what will happen to me in a few hours. For once, I’ll be on a journey by myself. No Mama. No Mattie. Just
me
.

And I have no inkling as to how things will turn out.

Will the King reject my plea? Will he hear me out? Will he make a fool of me in front of his court? I may be the next jester.

I don’t know how chilly it is outside, but I want see the sky. I’m tired of looking at a wooden ceiling. Wrapping a blanket around my body, I take careful steps in the dark. It’s the usual bleak weather outside, but at least I have a cover. I’m almost positive the unseen barrier keeps most of the destructive cold out.

Something moves to my left; I notice it in my peripheral view.

“Is that you, Andy?” Malik whispers.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I reply. I won’t move off the front steps because I’m barefoot.

“What are you doing out here so late?”

“I should ask you the same question,” I retort.

Even though it’s dark, I know he’s smiling. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s my excuse, too.” I sigh. “I don’t know what’ll happen in a few hours.”

“Sure you do. You’ll meet the guards at the gate, they’ll escort you to the station, and you’ll be whisked off to a land filled with young men eager to meet you.” Somehow, deep in my heart, I know I wouldn’t want guys fighting for my attention. That’s not the purpose of my visit, anyway.

He adds, “Oh, and you get to meet the King, of course.”

“Yeah. Just the King. No big deal, right?”

“Listen, whatever happens out there, I know you’ll convince him. However long that may take.”

“Thanks.” My gratitude for him trying to cheer me up is only half-hearted. “I guess we’re about to find out, huh?”

“I guess so.”

We sit there, underneath the stars, for a long period of time. Long enough that we’re able to greet the sun, instead of it greeting him and me. Malik wraps his arm around my shoulders, my body pressed against his, keeping the warmth between us. He begins to hum a soft melody.

“You sing?” I ask, rising up.

He snorts. “No, not by a long shot. But I do write an occasional piece of poetry.”

“Read me some,” I insist.

“I don’t have any with me.”

“You don’t remember it by heart?”

“Just one. But that’s because I think about this place all the time,” he says. I raise my eyebrows. “Okay, fine. Here it is: Past the desert is a Palace of Dreams, Only reached in sleep, Beyond the sun-touched rise, Bury me there, Let no man take me elsewhere, I see it when I close my eyes.”

“That’s beautiful,” I say, wishing I could dream of it. “Is that where you believe people go when they die, to the Palace of Dreams?”

He surprises me by saying, “I do, because I’ve seen it.”

“So you’ve died and come back?” I almost smile, but stop myself.

“No, it’s just something my mind made up. I’d like to think there’s a place more beautiful than this world, waiting for us when we leave this life and enter the next.”

That makes sense, I guess. “I’d like to think so, too. What’s it like, then, this Palace of Dreams?”

“Pink blossoms and vibrant trees glow colors we’ve never seen in this existence, spreading across an endless landscape, tangled with a mist that sparkles in the never-ending sunlight. Not harsh sunlight like we’re used to,” he’s quick to add, “but sunlight that tenderly caresses your skin and warms you slowly.”

I close my eyes, letting his words replay in my head. Oh, how I wish this place existed here, on earth. How I wish things were that peaceful.

“Well, not much longer,” he says, clearing his throat and bringing me out of my reverie. “Are your bags ready?”

I exhale louder than normal. “I don’t have anything to pack, except for an extra set of clothes. But there is a small bag I’m taking. Mama bought me some perfume at the market. She gave it to me last night, saying I have to smell like I am fit for a king.”

“I think she’s right.”

I sit up and gape at him. “You do?”

“Why not? If you want to make a good impression, you can’t wear ragged clothing and smell like you hiked there.”

“I just don’t want him to think I’m trying too hard.”

“He won’t.” Malik squeezes me against his chest and presses his lips to my hair. “I have to get home. I don’t want my parents to wake and see I’m not there. They’ll worry about me.”

I nod, slightly dizzy. “I need to tell Mama and Mattie that I’m leaving.”

He brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Cheer up. It’s only for a little while.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” I say weakly.

I don’t know when or if I’ll see Malik again. What if something happens and I have to stay longer than expected? Will the King delay his verdict just to make Legora suffer?

Mama’s on the couch when I stroll through the front door.

“Make sure you wash your clothes—no matter if they provide amenities or not. You stay clean. Are you taking that fragrance I bought you?” Though she looks calm on the outside, I can tell by the edge of her words that she’s worried.

I ease down beside her on the couch. “Yes, I’m taking it, just as you suggested. Don’t worry about my clothing or what I’m going to eat or how they’ll treat me. I’ll be fine, Mama. I swear.”

She shakes her head sympathetically. “And keep your focus on the King. The sooner you convince him, the sooner you can return home to us. I know Mattie will miss you.”

“Mama…”

“Don’t forget to write if you can. I want to know your progress. It’ll be something Mattie and I can do at night, together, while you are away. It’ll comfort him and me.”

I take her hand in mine and squeeze.

“I have to go,” I say. “The guards are probably waiting for me now.” I stand, slowly taking my time up the stairs to gather my few belongings. I stuff them in the brown sack that held our potatoes the other night.

“I’ll see you off,” Mama says below.

I don’t argue with her.

We trek to the front gate of the city. There, as I had been told, are four guards waiting for my arrival. Armored black horses are tethered to a stake just outside the entrance.

“I’m ready,” I say. I turn back to Mama and give her a hug. She clutches me so tightly I can’t breathe. And then I’m helped onto the back of a horse, my pathetic bag dangling from a notch on the saddle.

The guards mount their horses—one in front, one behind, and one on either side of me. We began at a slow canter, dust kicking up from hooves. I wave goodbye.

“Andy, don’t go! Pleeeeease.” I hear the gut-wrenching cry from behind me.

I tug at the horse’s reigns, ordering it to stop and turn around.

It’s Mattie. He’s at Mama’s side. He gives me this sorrowful look, like he’s going to fall apart.

While I dismount the horse, he runs over to me, throwing his miniature arms around my neck.

“It’s okay. I’ll only be gone for a few weeks,” I reassure him, rubbing his back.

But his tears won’t stop. “I-I’ll dooo anything,” he strangles out. His breath catches several times. He sucks in another one and manages to say, “Pleeease don’t leeeave.” More unyielding, pitiful tears.

“Sssh. It’s going to be okay, Mattie. Everything’s going to be all right.” I glance up at Mama. She’s in disarray. A complete and hopeless disaster.

“You have to take care of Mama while I’m gone. She’s going to need your help,” I say, pulling back from him. “Can you do that for me?”

He wipes the tears from his cheeks and nods.

“Good.” I ruffle his hair and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, bud.”

He gasps for more air, ready to cry again. “Love you-u too.”

Mama croaks, “C’mon, Mattie. Come stand with me.” She smiles through the tears and open her arms to him. He runs over to her, burying his face in her dress.

That moment will be carved into my memory for the remainder of this trip. I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want to utter one word to the King. But if this visit means that my family is fed and well-kept, then I have no choice but to go.

Without another moment’s hesitation, I climb on my horse and ride through the ocean of sand.
 

24.

Two days. That’s how long it takes to reach the station; it was once painted white, with the border a shade of deep ruby. But now the sun has ripped nearly all the paint off the building. Pieces here and there remain undamaged. Mostly, though, it’s cracked and scaly.

A middle-aged man—with a heavy gut and a faded blue cap—operates a booth inside the station. The stall area is large enough to hold three, maybe four, ticket vendors. At one time, this must’ve been a hub for travelers. People in and out to visit family. Maybe some were on vacation, taking in the local sites.

The guards don’t waste any time sending me off. When the train screeches to a halt in front of the post, they hand me my potato sack without speaking. I guess I’ll get off at the next stop…

I hesitate on the steps leading up into the box on wheels. More than anything, I want to jump on my horse and ride back to Legora to be with Mama and Mattie. But these people
need
me.

Flimsy is how I’d describe the inside of the train. Most of the booth seats are worn like my couch back home. Holes picked and chewed to the point of being unfixable. Window frames cling to spider-webbed glass and some of the floorboards are missing. I can see directly to the tracks below. Is this safe?

Guess I’m about to find out.

Before I have a chance to find a seat, the train jerks, and I fumble for support, almost diving face-first into the leaky floorboards. I slide into the nearest booth—no matter that its sliced leather sticks through my pants and into my skin.

I sit by the window, a breeze catching my rebellious curls as the train picks up speed. Nothing but desert stretches as far as my eyes can see. No notable landmarks or an oasis. The view is, needless to say,
boring
.

It’s then I realize I have no idea how long this trip is or how far away from home I’ll be.

Doesn’t matter, really. I shouldn’t worry about such trivial problems. My mind needs to stay focused on what I’ll say when I meet the King. With no idea how I’m going to act, I guess I should concentrate on that too. I’ll try to remember behavior Mama taught me growing up. She used to say, “Having good manners shows you have dignity, and are a spot above the rest.” Yeah, we’ll see how that works out.

Staying up the night before has taken its toll on my body. I notice this when I have nothing to stare at but dead land. Although I’d love to fall asleep and dream until we arrive, I must stay awake. Keeping my eyes open might help in my adventure to the New World Kingdom. If I can devise a plan along the way, then my trip might be quicker than I expected.

But as more minutes pass, my eyes are weighed down. I’m soon enveloped in a fog of black and green dots. They linger for several seconds, then vanish as I’m drawn—no,
pulled
—away to another world.

And as swiftly as they fluttered shut, my eyes spring open when the train’s wheels grind to a halt. I squint against the devilish sun, giving time for my dreamlike vision to adjust.

Four men—dressed in black from head to toe—wait beside a platform that is a complete one-eighty from the station I departed from. For starters, this place holds scores of people layered in lavish garments. All of which are clean, modest. They chat as if the world we live in doesn’t have tired travelers searching for new homes so they can provide a better life for their families. The suits and dresses of these men and women standing just outside my window could be sold, and the money used to enhance other towns. Like, Legora.

An operator sticks his head through the cart door, his body only halfway in. “You coming, miss?”

I nod and grab my pitiful sack.

As soon as I place one foot onto a wooden board outside, I’m met with whispers and exploratory glares.

“Andrina Stevens?” one of the men on a stallion asks.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“We’re the King’s footmen. Some call us Black Riders.” He gauges my reaction to this. Why? I don’t know.

“Oh, that’s…uh…that’s good?” What else am I supposed to say? Please don’t kill me? They look menacing enough, with their masks and weapons. The knife handle glimmers from the edge of his boot, and the gun is
so
obvious on his belt.

They all have guns.

He dismounts. “Please. Allow me,” he says, extending a hand to help me onto the horse. Even their animals are black. Seems like they take this title seriously.