The Second Rebel, page 36
The hammer strikes her in the chest. A crack forms down her center. I swing again. And again. More cracks join the first. Pieces begin to fall. The air becomes choked with grit. A wing takes flight for precious seconds before crashing to the ground below. And though the muscles of my shoulders and arms protest, I swing until I am laughing and the tears run freely, mingling with dust and hardening on my cheeks.
I am not finished when I am exhausted; I am finished when she lies in pieces. The chunks are hardly recognizable. Perhaps there is a piece of fabric here, the metal bracket that braced her wings there, but she is Victory no longer, only a monument to defeat.
“Astrid!”
Lily’s voice is a tether tossed from a ship to where I float adrift in the black of space. I seize on to it, and it pulls me from the abyss and my single-minded focus on Victory, lets the rest of the world filter back in. I drop the sledgehammer and stumble over the marble pieces toward her.
“We have to take Eden down. You have to help me.”
She reaches for my hands, but I do not let her have them. “Goddess, Astrid… What have you done?”
“Help me,” I say again, because I do not care about anything but this.
Lily searches my hands, my dress, my face with her big doe eyes, but finally nods. “Okay, Astrid. Let’s go.”
* * *
LILY STARTS TO lead me, but I know the way. I walk alongside her in silence. When we arrive, I allow Lily to be the one to push open the door to Eden’s room. This time the sight does not shock me. It is exactly as I left it, seared into my mind. I will remember it forever.
Lily gasps, then lets out a wavering sob that masquerades as a sigh. She enters the room like it is hallowed space, footsteps light and considerate. She takes in Eden first, and I can see the pale body as a reflection in Lily’s dark eyes. When her gaze falls to the letter on the settee, she hesitates before picking it up.
“Is that—?”
“Read it.”
Lily picks it up by its corner using only thumb and forefinger. Her eyes scan the words before her expression twists. She too puts it back where she found it.
“That’s not from Eden, is it?”
“No.”
Lily looks toward a chair longingly, as if she wishes to sit, but instead she drags it toward Eden’s body. Hauls herself on top of it. Looks down at me expectantly. “Come on, Astrid,” she says softly, broken.
I grab a pair of scissors from Eden’s small desk before selecting another chair and joining Lily. Our silent work becomes perfunctory. If Lily feels anything, she does not let it show on her face. I use the scissors to cut through the rope, and the two of us struggle with Eden’s weight as first I and then Lily get down from the chairs and drop Eden to the carpet.
It is not graceful. It is not beautiful. Death never is. The body that used to be Eden is cold and stiff. I feel like these actions should hurt me more, but I am empty after all I have done to drain the rage, and I feel nothing.
I do not look at Eden’s face, not until she is lying on the floor. Then I allow myself one last glance at her before Lily carries over white sheets from the bed and we begin to wrap her. When we finish, she is draped in such a way that she could be just another one of the marble statues outside.
We sit beside Eden, our silence spooling out like shadows at sundown. Cousins will come for Eden’s body eventually, once we inform someone of her death. Aunt Marshae, the one behind this, would not have bothered; she would want us to suffer in every way possible.
When Lily finally speaks, it is not about Eden; I cannot tell her how thankful I am for that small kindness. “I don’t know what they’re going to do to you, Astrid, now that you’ve…” She does not finish, but I know what she means to say: now that I have destroyed so many of their precious belongings.
“At best, they would assign me to a starship, and I cannot…” My voice wavers as my throat goes dry. “I cannot go through that again.”
“I don’t know if they’ll even make you a Cousin now.”
“I doubt it. They will think I am unstable.” Somehow admitting it aloud makes me feel better.
Lily’s eyebrows furrow. The fear she wore on her face at the brothel returns.
“I am not unstable.” I meet her eyes without wavering. “I’m fucking pissed off.”
Lily just shakes her head. “Let me bandage your hands.”
With the sheets wrapping Eden and no other material in reach, she takes the scissors to the end of her skirt, cutting thin strips for bandages. I watch the careful ministrations of long fingers dotted with white scales.
“What did the Agora tell you?” I ask.
“Hmm?” She does not look up from her work. “Oh, nothing. A reminder to play by their rules… Now give me your hands.”
I offer them to her, palms up. She pulls a salve from her pockets, most likely something for her own skin, and tends to my hands as gently as she did Eden.
“What are you going to do, Astrid?” she whispers as she ties off the last bandage.
“I tried, Lily… I tried to change things from the inside,” I say, though it does not answer her question. What am I supposed to do now?
I look at Eden beside us. What would she tell me to do? To wait and see what the Agora plans for me? To flee before they can take me?
I want to change things, she said on Ceres, but Eden cannot tell me anything now because she is dead.
“It was always going to come to this, little sister,” Ringer says, and behind Lily, I can see him appear, a blur at first that gains weight as the shadows cling to him. As he becomes real, at least to me. “Even if you had done as Eden asked you to, Aunt Marshae would never have allowed you to become the Mother.”
Every part of me knows that he is right. That Aunt Marshae, willing to lie, to blackmail, to kill, would always come out on top. Unless I work from outside the Sisterhood.
If there is one thing I have learned in this life, it’s that there is no going back. There is only forward. A verse comes to me, unbidden.
Nature may be bent by mankind, but never broken. What is plucked may yet bloom. What is burned may yet nourish. What lies fallow may yet grow. Meditations 1:12–13.
I was only ever meant to destroy.
“I am going to kill Aunt Marshae,” I say, and there is a current of steel running through my words.
The fear returns to Lily’s face for but a moment—remembering the man at the brothel?—before it disappears. “I can’t help you any longer, Astrid,” she says sadly. “I won’t repeat what you’ve told me, but I have to consider my own future in the Sisterhood.”
I expect to feel anger at her words, or perhaps disappointment, but I feel nothing at all. I understand her. I would even do what she is doing, were our positions reversed.
She pushes herself to her feet, and her shadow falls over me where I sit with Eden. “Aunt Marshae and I are to return to Ceres on the Juno tomorrow,” she says, and the words twist like a knife in my back. But then I think, as she moves to the door, that she is offering me one last piece of help after all.
“Goodbye, Astrid,” she says.
“Goodbye, Lily,” I return.
And then she leaves me alone with Eden’s body.
CHAPTER 32 LUCE
FLAGGED: When one takes in the whole of the piece, the canvas appears to be a mess of overlapping blues and reds, mixing into purple where they meet, seemingly without care. But when the viewer focuses on one color or the other, the artist’s detailed planning becomes apparent. When looking solely at the red, a laughing figure appears. At the blue, a different sitter is seen, pensive and thoughtful. NOTE: Subjects are Lito sol Lucius and Hiro val Akira.
Description of Martyr, painting by Lucinia sol Lucius
Because of the blockade, it takes us much longer than planned to arrive. It’s evening by the time we land on Vesta, and my first impression is that it’s not a beautiful place but a natural one. Stone pathways lead us from the metal hangar into rocky tunnels beneath the surface of the asteroid. The sound of running water is a constant song, a soothing white noise that seeks to calm my restlessness, and with the crew around me, Lotus in the lead and Castor at my side, it somewhat succeeds.
When we reach the heart of Vesta, my opinion radically changes. The branching tunnels, while still cave-like, widen enough for us to walk as a group. Plant life and fungi appear, carefully cultivated to climb the walls and hang from the ceiling. Each leaf has delicate, glowing green veins. Every flower shimmers in pink, red, or blue. Fat toadstools grow close to the ground, clustered and reaching for the light above. The air is warm and fragrant, caressing me with an artificial wind. It feels more like a greenhouse than a mine.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, and the entire crew seems pleased with my compliment.
I expect us to come across other Asters, for the crew’s families or friends to welcome them home, but, as if our presence has sent off a signal, we encounter no one. It would seem like a ghost town if not for the obviously cared-for vegetation. When we do finally come to a stop, we’re not in a house or barracks—though I’m not sure what a house would look like down here—we’re in a large room, cavern-like in size only. The natural unevenness of the floor present in the rest of Vesta has been tamed here. The ground is covered with natural slabs of stone cobbled into spiral patterns, soft moss filling the gaps between bricks. The center opens to a trickling abstract fountain of stacked blocks, and running along one side is a platform made of stone, raised to look down on the rest of the room.
I swallow a gasp at sudden movement in the corner of my eye, but calm a moment later. Three Asters move from the shadows to the edge of the platform. Each wears a white tunic and brown, leathery trousers and boots. Around their shoulders are blue half cloaks. They’re the oldest Asters I’ve ever seen, looking simultaneously like welcoming grandparents and ancient statues hewn of stone.
The foremost among them makes a hand gesture I don’t recognize, and the crew steps to the edge of the platform. “Mother Anemone,” Lotus says, hugging the old woman around her waist. She kisses Lotus’s brow before guiding her to the next in line. Lotus repeats the same steps twice more. “Father Cedar. Nother Rue.” The rest of the crew follow Lotus’s example, starting with Anemone—all except Castor, who stands at my side with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Anemone looks at Castor, and something silent passes between the two of them—the pheromones, I’m sure. But it’s impossible for me to read Anemone’s body language or facial expressions; unlike the Asters who have lived on Cytherea, Anemone doesn’t bother to express herself using any Icarii norms.
“You’re not my fucking mom,” Castor says at last. The break from the oppressive silence startles me.
Anemone’s pupils narrow. “But we are the Elders, and that alone is deserving of your respect.”
Castor shrugs.
When it’s clear he’s not going to budge, Anemone turns her gaze toward me. “We must discuss what we will do with her,” she begins.
Father Cedar jumps in, just as expressionless. “We did not invite her here. We did not welcome her. And look what happened when we welcomed the last Icarii. We should decide whether she will be imprisoned or cast out.”
“No!” Castor snaps, taking one step closer to the platform, and I reach for his biceps, knowing his posturing will only hurt my chances.
“If I may, Elders,” Lotus says, stepping in front of Castor. Now that the greeting is over, Lotus approaches them more like one would a captain than a parent. “Lucinia sol Lucius is part of our crew.”
This statement is met with more silence, and I wish now, more than ever, that I could understand the Asters’ pheromones.
“Can I say something?” I ask. Castor bristles at my side, as if daring them to stop me. I don’t know what’s between them, but it’s nothing good.
Anemone gestures assent. The gaze of the Elders is a heavy thing.
“I came to Vesta to help,” I say. “That’s all I’ve wanted to do. When Castor told me why he needed the data from Val Akira Labs, I knew I had to do what I could to get it.” I fight the urge to look at Castor, knowing he’s not going to like the next thing I say. “When we approached Vesta, we knew there would be no leaving, and still, we chose to land—all of us, me included—instead of going after Lito. So I may not be welcome here, or trusted here—and I understand that, I can’t expect you to trust an Icarii after everything you’ve suffered—but I hope you don’t take that out on the others.” My gaze wanders to Lotus, Violet, Poppy, and Sage briefly. “Castor has brought the data for you to use, and if you need to lock me up because you don’t know me…” I sigh, resigning myself to their decision, even if they decide on casting me out. “Do what you need to do, because the Icarii camped outside of Vesta are far more important, and you can’t afford to be divided right now.”
Again the room plunges into silence, the only sound the trickling of the fountain behind us. Anemone looks at Cedar and Rue, and while I can’t understand them, I see something passing between them, their expressions changing in an almost imperceptible way. A hand brushes against mine, and I grab it. I’m momentarily surprised to find it’s Lotus’s and not Castor’s, but the comfort is welcome.
“We have decided,” Anemone says, turning back to our group. “Lucinia sol Lucius is part of your crew. That makes her part of ours.”
The tension washes away from the bodies surrounding me, and I release a shuddering breath.
But Anemone is not finished. “There are many things you will not understand about us, Lucinia sol Lucius,” she continues, “but we hope you learn quickly. Here is your first lesson: The Icarii see their families as separate units, never acknowledging that they are part of a whole. We, however, are one family, and we do not betray our family.”
I don’t know what to say to that, whether it’s a threat or merely good advice. I settle on saying something safe. “Thank you, Elder.”
“You’re free to find yourselves empty beds,” Anemone says, making a gesture similar to waving us away. Dismissing us, most likely. “And Castor…” He looks up at his name. “Hemlock is here and would welcome your counsel.”
* * *
WE DON’T MAKE it far in the glowing tunnels before we’re forced to stop. Now that the Elders have welcomed us—me, I mean—other Asters emerge from wherever they had been hiding and greet us with high spirits. They cluster around my friends, hugging and pressing foreheads together, and while the young members of the crew disappear into frantic conversations I can’t follow in a language I don’t understand, Lotus waves me over to her group. “These are my partners,” she says, introducing three others. “While I was on Cytherea, we received wonderful news.”
One leans into Lotus, deep purple cheeks darker with excited color. “We’ve been approved to pass on our genetic material,” they blurt out.
I don’t quite understand, and Lotus must be able to tell. “The four of us are having a child,” she explains.
“Congratulations!” I say, knowing children tend to be a universal subject for celebration. The three partners preen at my happy smile. “Will this be your first?”
Lotus chuckles a bit pityingly while the others share looks of confusion. “Children are raised by everyone in the community, regardless of whether they share our genetic material or not, so we’ve had kids before. However, this one will be the first that combines all of our genetic material in the birthing vat.”
Now that we’re on the subject of children, I realize I don’t see any in the crowd that has gathered around the crew. I wonder if it’s because they’re in a different location, or because I’m not quite welcome enough to see them yet.
“Speaking of family…” Lotus points with her chin to where Castor stands talking with the strangest Aster I’ve ever seen. “You should meet your boy’s family.”
I flush at her calling Castor my boy, but she’s right that I want to meet Hemlock. After bidding Lotus and her partners farewell, I slip through the crowd, taking care not to step on any of the plants, and make my way toward Castor. Many Asters watch me with open curiosity, but I don’t mind the staring; I know they’re not the hostile eyes of the Icarii I left behind.
Instead, I think of everything I know about Hemlock. The man who raised me, Castor called him. Between his poor reaction to the Elders and his bond with Hemlock, I wonder if Castor is different from other Asters who are raised in a communal setting. The other thing I know about Hemlock sends a shiver down my spine: for the past thirty years, he’s been amassing weapons and allies to fight the Icarii.
Hemlock notices me before Castor does. He cuts Castor off midsentence as he turns to me and offers his hand. “Ah, you must be Lucinia sol Lucius,” he says, his voice a soft hiss.
From far away, I thought he was strange. Up close, I see he is ugly. Patches of hair are missing from his stringy white locks. His alabaster skin is lumpy and scarred, like a burn victim’s. His eyes are black from corner to corner. Oddest of all, he’s wearing a black velvet suit with a frilly cream shirt beneath, nothing like the leathery outfits the Vesta Asters wear and nothing like the current Icarii fashions.
“And you must be Castor’s… Hemlock.” I place my hand in his to shake, but instead, he dips his head and kisses the air over my knuckles.
“Enchanted,” he says.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to kiss his hand or bow or what. This isn’t a traditional greeting even in the Icarii sense. Along with his dress, it gives Hemlock the aura of a man out of time. “So you raised Castor?” I ask.
“There are important things we need to talk about—” Castor starts.
Hemlock cuts him off. “I did. I was responsible for him and his twin sister. You see, Pollux was ill from birth, which brought her to Ceres under my care, and—”
“Stop,” Castor barks. I’m not sure whether he looks more like he wants to murder someone or die of embarrassment. “It’s too much to explain right now. Just… Pollux couldn’t stay on Vesta, and I didn’t want to be here without her, so we both went to live on Ceres with Hemlock.”
