Captain Kipso strolled down the walkway, his hands tightly clutched behind his back, his shoulders stiff and unswaying. Cailan waited patiently for him, the Malavant siblings flanking him. The rest of the crew was still inside the Destiny, tending to their dead and wounded.
All except Josmere, who lazily leaned against the side of the exit tube that linked the Destiny to the tired station. The docks that housed the Destiny were small, the farming community of the nearby planet of Vock rarely seeing traffic. Mostly self-sufficient, it was only sought out for its rarer plants, like the Booknots. Almost close enough to be a moon was the industrial planet of Lockor, where more resources were available and where they would have made berth had the Destiny been able to reach it with her wounds.
Josmere wished she could close her eyes for an instant. The song of so many Booknots tugged at her mind—a song so similar to that of the Berganda that it stirred her soul and threatened to trap her in the midst of sorrow and loss.
Kipso was almost upon Cailan, and she forced her mind to stop wandering. She had already lost everything: her family, her home…and a woman she considered a sister. She was not about to chance losing Layela too, and she knew that whatever was to be discussed here involved Layela’s future.
She pushed herself off the wall and approached as the two captains hesitantly greeted each other.
Her movement caught Captain Kipso’s eyes and he studied her, her green eyes, green hair half tied back, and green skin, before looking back inquiringly at Cailan.
“She’s a friend,” Cailan stated, not looking back, not backing down, and not asking Josmere to leave, even when Kipso’s slit eyes made it clear he did not want this meeting witnessed by outsiders. Cailan added nothing more. Josmere felt her respect for the man grow — a rare sensation for her.
“Why did you destroy that civilian freighter?” Cailan asked before Kipso could find something else to object about. The fat man’s eyes grew wide with disbelief.
“You don’t know? Of course you don’t know.” Then he mumbled, “Captain Malavant died too quickly to tell you anything, or properly pass down the captainship.”
Ardin stiffened visibly beside Cailan, but Avienne became as still as a cat waiting to pounce. Josmere watched with interest, her fingers itching for the switchblade strapped in her boot as the fat man spoke so lightly of Yoma’s murder.
Cailan whispered, each syllable falling like a sharp blade, “Captain Malavant died quickly at the hands of Mirialers, refusing to betray a man he considered to be his friend.”
Ardin’s eyes narrowed. Josmere wondered if perhaps the siblings had not been aware of how their father had died. Avienne didn’t budge, but Kipso kept a close eye on her.
Not the fool I would have believed him to be, Josmere thought. I hope Avienne doesn’t down him before we learn why Yoma had to die.
Kipso sighed, his belly rising and falling. Josmere wondered if he had once looked younger too, like Cailan had before this day.
“Cailan,” Kipso began. He paused, his eyes darting to the siblings before resting on the captain again. “Malavant knew what he was doing, but that meant betraying Mirial.”
“He would never betray the Mother Star,” Cailan hissed, so fiercely that Avienne even broke her watch on the fat captain to stare at him.
“No?” Kipso said, eyebrow arching. “You don’t even know why he had to die. Why do you believe you knew the man at all?”
Cailan took a step forward, but the round man stared him down, fighting to stay his ground. Cailan said nothing and the air sizzled around them. A few of Kipso’s crew came forward, hands on the weapons at their belts. Ardin’s hand lowered to his own gun and two knives appeared in Avienne’s hands. Josmere took a step forward to stand beside Avienne, her muscles relaxed and ready for action.
“Captain?” a woman behind Kipso asked. Her eyes were trained on the siblings, but her hand shook just enough above her gun to tell Josmere of her inexperience. She grinned and lifted her chin, looking at the young woman, whose hand trembled just a bit more.
Then a single angry word sliced through the silence and tension. “Stop!” Josmere’s grin disappeared as she turned to see Layela storming down the walkway towards them. The two captains exchanged a brief glance.
Layela caught up to them, her eyes dry but her closed fists trembling where they hugged her thighs. Her words, though softly spoken, cut the air.
“There will be no more killing over this.” In turn she looked at both captains, her eyes lingering for a moment longer on Kipso, who looked away from her. “No more, captains.”
Cailan nodded respectfully and backed down, Ardin’s limbs were stiff as he did the same. Avienne sighed as she, too, followed suit. Kipso held out his hand and spread his fingers before lowering it. His own troops looked visibly relieved.
Layela took one more step forward, her hands no longer trembling, her fingers unclenched as she came to stand before the two captains, looking at Kipso. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible over the distant roar of departing ships.
“Why did you kill my sister?”
Kipso’s eyes strayed from hers, as though he could not stand to focus on the night in them. The casual way Layela chose to confront her sister’s killer tore at Josmere’s heart and she had to look away, choosing instead to keep an eye on the Mirialers.
The stale, old air of the station heavily draped the Berganda’s mind, the coldness of space tingling on her skin until all she could yearn for was sun. Sun, and the feel of strong earth beneath her. Kipso broke the spell with his words.
“Because only one can live, Lady.” He looked at Cailan pleadingly, but the captain did not even meet his eyes, focusing instead on Layela. Kipso sighed, running his fingers through his hair and revealing hidden white. “Only one daughter of the queen can live, if Mirial is to survive.”
Layela did not move, did not look away, and said nothing. Her silence was heavier than all the ships in the universe. To his credit, Kipso did not look away this time, his voice soothing as he continued, his words dimming his eyes just a bit.
“It is written in the texts, Lady. Only one queen can wield the ether of the First Star, lest the balance be lost, between light and darkness, night and day. Even your names say as much, in old Mirialer — Yoma means day, Layela night. Usually one of the daughters is killed at birth, but this time…”
A voice broke through and interrupted him. “This time the queen did not wish one of her daughters to die. She foresaw something different than death, Captain Kipso.”
Kipso’s eyes flared at Zortan, who strolled up to join them. Kipso flung his words like poison. “I would end your life now, traitor, if the Lady was not present.”
Layela ignored his words. Josmere, who was steadily moving closer, could not help but note the honorary title he had given her. She wondered how much Layela would lose for it.
Layela whispered a single word, one syllable that conveyed the weariness that clutched her soul. Josmere fought the urge to kill them all and take her to safety, far from here, where they could properly grieve and live again.
“Why?”
Zortan’s dark eyes met hers before bowing his head respectfully. “Your mother, the queen, had great visions, as did all queens before her. And she asked me to ensure your safety. Both of yours.” He paused. “I am sorry I failed you and your sister.”
“Captain of the Royal Guards,” Kipso spat out the words. “You kidnapped the daughters and then killed the weakened queen.”
His words were barely ended before Zortan was upon him. His long knife was in his left hand and his right hand clutched the front of Kipso’s shirt, their faces barely an inch apart.
“I may have my own haunted memories, Gobran Kipso, but the death of the queen is not among them. I would have laid down my life for her.”
“Nonetheless,” Kipso stood firm, despite the taller man’s grip on his shirt. “The First Star must be reborn, or we will all lose more than we already have.”
Zortan sliced the man with his gaze for a few more seconds before letting go. He moved back a few feet to stand behind Layela. The flower girl cast a tired look at Josmere as Kipso addressed her.
“Beyond these shields,” he waved towards the great purple mass that sprawled in the space beside them, “beyond that, is Mirial. And it is dying. And with it...” his gaze flickered to Josmere. “And with it, it will take all ether, all ether creatures, and possibly more.”
Layela’s eyes locked with Josmere’s, a question deep within them. Josmere managed a half grin and a shrug, but knew she had not fooled her friend.
“You must come with us to Mirial to help restore the balance.” Kipso’s voice lifted in a plea. No one said anything for a few seconds. Layela looked at Josmere, and Josmere hated herself for not being able to meet the blue eyes, unable to hide her own plea from Layela.
“I’ll come,” Layela said, her heavy words sealing her fate. Josmere closed her eyes, knowing Layela had made the choice for her; for her people. She couldn’t bear to hear it, but didn’t dare stop it either. She remembered a time when she was young and the song of the Berganda was strong within all the worlds.
“We’ll leave in one hour,” Josmere heard Gobran say, his words far away. “Cailan, the Destiny is welcome to trek home with us as well, now that our...differences are put aside.” Josmere did not hear Cailan’s answer, only the retreating steps. Knowing Layela was walking away pulled at every string in her heart. Still, she kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, allowing the Booknots to soothe her mind. She longed to hear the familiar call of the Berganda.
She felt a hand on her arm. “Time to go,” Avienne said softly, and Josmere opened her eyes, surprised when a tear escaped them.
If Avienne noticed she said nothing, and they walked together back towards the Destiny.
***
The blade of the knife reflected the few remaining lights as it twirled up, spinning suspended for a moment in the air before falling back down, caught in a lazy motion.
“Do you always flip knives when you’re bored?” the Berganda asked from the other end of the bridge.
“Shouldn’t you be rooting somewhere?” Avienne asked. The knife vanished in one swift motion.
Josmere shrugged. “Gardens are airless and Layela wants to be alone.”
Avienne raised an eyebrow. “So you’re hanging here with me, instead?”
Josmere’s slender shoulders rose again. “It’s the only other place I know here, except the docks, which are overrun now.”
The smuggler girl sighed and leaned back against her seat, the old metal moaning in protest as she stretched back, her hands behind her head, gazing up at the barely lit ceiling, as dim as the future seemed.
The fleet of Mirial pretty much ran the Destiny now, repairing her. In under an hour that would change, when Layela and the Mirialers would leave them in peace. For now, the bridge was the only place free of them — Cailan had forbidden them access.
Avienne’s eyes ran the length of the nebula displayed clearly through the view screens. It was a beauty. Purple reflected down to its core, as thin as fairy dust from here, but Avienne knew it was quite thick up close. Lights shimmered at the edges of it, made visible by Destiny’s ultraviolet and infrared eye. At the centre of the spherical beast lay a faded light, presumably the sun named Mirial, from which many old men had recently claimed to come.
“Now that’s hard to believe,” Avienne mumbled. She leaned forward again, her skin tingling with anticipation. A place to call home.
“What’s hard to believe? That someone would willingly hang out with you?”
“That we come from there,” Avienne responded, ignoring the Berganda’s sweet smile. “And that we want to go back. It’s a planetary nebula. What could still be alive in there?”
“Ah, how you enlighten me with your wisdom, my smuggling friend.”
“Don’t you know anything about space?” Avienne shot Josmere an annoyed look.
“Plant. Like planets and fresh earth.”
“A planetary nebula,” Avienne said, leaning back again, “means the star burped, shed its top layer, effectively destroyed its star system, and is now dying a slow, meaningless death.”
“Cheerful,” Josmere mumbled, her eyes trained on the nebula. “But I can still see the star.”
“It’s dying, not dead.”
Josmere sat back in her chair, her eyes still on the star. “Do you really believe that?”
“Believe what?”
“That the First Star could be dying? That Layela could save it?”
“Why do you care? No offence, but aside from your two little friends — my sympathies, by the way — you don’t exactly seem like the, ah, heroic type to me.”
Josmere shot her a crooked smile. “Takes one to know one?”
Avienne smiled back. Protect your own and let the rest rot, had always been her motto.
The Berganda shook her head, still gazing out at the star. “It’s just, why would they take such a risky journey, and why would they need to bring Layela, and why did Yoma have to die?”
Avienne sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “You’re asking the wrong girl.” She looked down at the Berganda. Josmere was folded in two and hugging her knees, looking more vulnerable than Avienne had believed possible. Or she was about to be sick. Avienne softened her voice. “I really don’t know, but I do know that Cailan is no fool. He would not believe in this if he didn’t have good reason.”
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.
***
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.
***
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.