First Light

by Rebecca Stead

  “Go on. I don't want you wandering off again. Your mom is waiting.” But when Peter's eyes closed a few minutes later, the puppy was still beside him.

  Thea had been listening to Aurora and Lana talk for nearly two hours. Her aunts. These are my two aunts, she said to herself. My mother's sisters. She still found it strange to look at Aurora: It was like seeing Lana and Mai mixed up together.

  The greenhouse where Lana bred her plants was wet and warm, and the three of them had stripped off their furs and twisted their hair up on top of their heads, pinning it there with the sticks Lana used to stake her smallest plants. While they talked, Lana walked amongher flowers, stopping to pinch a few leaves off one or to spray water mist on another with a tiny pump she kept in the pocket of her apron. Thea stayed out of the way, sitting on a low stool and kneading her knot of ambergris. She had discovered long ago that she could often learn more by holding her questions and letting the adults forget she was listening. This was especially true when Lana was one of the adults.

  Lana and Aurora fed each other information carefully, as if they were dosing each other with strong medicine. Aurora talked about the wider world: There were huge machines that flew people around the world, and tiny ones that could keep a heart beating. Humans had walked on the moon. She described New York City, where more than eight million people lived. Eight million people.

  Flattening one side of her ambergris with her thumb, Thea tried to hold the number in her mind. Eight rows of a million people. Eighty rows of one hundred thousand. Eight hundred rows of ten thousand.

  Thea also learned that Lana had to beg Dolan to attend the first-line suppers, that she often had lunch with Lu-cian, and that she had all but given up hope for a baby. Neither of Thea's aunts talked about her mother, or about what might happen at Launch tomorrow.

  After a couple of hours, Lana straightened up and said that the backways would be getting busy soon. They hadto be careful about the hours they traveled. There was always the chance that Aurora would be discovered, even lying in the well of the sleigh with a blanket over her.

  They were stepping into their furs when Aurora looked up as if she had just remembered something. “Lucian looks …he's so diminished.”

  Lana nodded without looking up, her face tight. “But he's better than he was, Aurora. He's so much better than he was. Dexna brought him back. Years, it took. He couldn't go back to teaching, but he's working again. He's nearly himself, sometimes.”

  Aurora shook her head. “When I think of how I last saw him. I've never forgotten the look on his face.”

  Lana glanced at Thea, who was doing her best to blend in among the ferns. “It's getting late,” Lana said. “You two should be off. I'll be home for supper, Thea.”

  “No,” Thea said. “I want to know what you two are talking about. Or aren't talking about.”

  Lana looked at her fingers. “All right.” But she didn't seem to know where to start. “Did Lucian tell you anything about what happened after Rowen ordered …right before your mother and Aurora …left? For the surface?”

  Aurora put her hand over Lana's. “Lucian met us at the tunnel. He had a vial of sealant, and he threatened Rowen with it. He said he would burn her if she didn'tallow Mai to stay and be nursed in Gracehope. It was insane, desperate.”

  It was just the sort of thing someone should have done, Thea thought. “What did Rowen do?”

  “Nothing,” Lana said quietly. “Rowen didn't have to do anything, because Mai reached out and took the vial from Lucian's hand herself. She just reached out and took it, and then he kissed her.” She turned to Aurora. “And then you and Mai were gone.”

  Thea drove Aurora back to the archive in silence. Lu-cian was outside with a sleigh and a team. She pulled her sleigh alongside his. “Good afternoon,” he said, as if to the dogs. He was avoiding her eyes again, she thought. Or maybe it was Aurora he couldn't bear to see.

  Aurora threw back her blanket and smiled at him. “Hello, Lucian. Are you coming or going?”

  “In fact, I'm off to fetch Peter from the breeding grounds.”

  Thea offered to go instead. “Are you sure?” Aurora asked. “You've been ferrying us about all day.”

  “I'm very sure,” Thea said. “I have to get Peg anyway.” She also wanted to see if the runt had opened his eyes.

  “Then I accept your kind offer.” Lucian's eyes flickered over her face and then down again. It was a start.

  Thea started along the quiet backways with her sleigh.The pup's eyes are open, she chanted to herself, his eyes are open. Ten minutes later, her sleigh pulled up in front of the breeding grounds' double doors.

  “Well?” she asked when she had knocked and Dolan peered out at her. But he just shook his head and let the door swing open.

  She tried not to let him see her disappointment.

  “There's still time,” Dolan said quietly.

  But not before tomorrow morning, Thea thought. Not before Launch. And then she realized that she was seeing the pup as a decoration that wouldn't be ready in time for her show. What was wrong with her? Dolan would never think about a dog that way.

  She glanced around the main house. “Where's Peter?”

  “Out there.” He pointed.

  She could just make out Peter's form against the glow of dimmed lightglobes. “He fell asleep?”

  Dolan nodded. “Thought I'd leave him until someone came to get him.”

  Thea looked to where Mattias's companion, Ham, lay near Sasha in one of the stalls.

  Dolan grunted. “Those two are nearly inseparable.”

  “Really? Do you …do you think we should …separate them? What if…”

  Dolan looked at her. “I think it's none of our business. You'd better gather your cousin. He may take a minute to come to.”

  Thea stood over Cassie's box, where the pups and their mother had fallen asleep. She looked instinctively for the legend pup under Cassie's chin, but he wasn't there. She couldn't see him anywhere.

  How could Cassie have fallen asleep without knowing her runt was safe? It wasn't like her. Anxiously, she felt among the bodies of the bigger pups; he must be tucked between two of them somewhere. No. She glanced to where Peter slept with his head resting on one arm.

  And there, curled up under Peter's chin, was the legend pup.

  The next day, Thea woke early. She slipped out the dock door and ducked into the Chikchu shelter for a few minutes of comfort. Peg was already awake. Thea caressed her companion's ears absently, drawing strength from Peg's peacefulness. The Launch celebration would start in an hour, but she wasn't thinking about the passage, or Rowen, or any of that.

  She was thinking about the runt. Thea couldn't help wondering about the night of his birth, of those long moments when he wasn't breathing, of the elation shehad felt when he shuddered and finally took in air. Could she have done something differently?

  A blind legend pup. Sela said that the rumors had already begun to circulate—something was wrong. For just a moment, she wondered whether the pup might truly be some sort of bad sign. Perhaps she never should have gone to the surface, or brought Peter back to Gracehope with her. What if things weren't supposed to change at all?

  It was time to go back inside. She began to disentangle herself from Peg's warmth. Lynx, companion to Rowen, woke briefly just as Thea was getting to her feet. The dog raised his head sleepily.

  Lynx began to signal, which was odd—he almost never addressed himself to Thea. The dog's thin noises rose and fell, his meaning weaving itself together slowly.

  Swimwarm.

  “Swimwarm” was the Chikchu signal for swimming in the lake. The water wasn't exactly warm, in truth, but that was what they called it. Thea had never met a Chikchu who didn't love to swim.

  Swimwarm, Lynx signaled again. There was an air of self-congratulation about him: He closed his eyes in the slow blink the Chikchu used when they were satisfied.

  Eyebrows raised hopefully, Peg turned to Thea. Swimwarm?


  Thea shook her head before giving her companion a final kiss on the forehead. “No, love, not today.”

  Lana was just setting out breakfast. Dexna was next door having breakfast at home with Rowen. She said that nothing must appear out of the ordinary.

  “I think Lynx could use some going out,” Thea said. “The poor thing has an idea he's just been to the lake. Swimming, he says.”

  “At this hour?” Lana drew her chair to the table. “A dream, no doubt.”

  Mattias waited in front of his chambers alone. “My mother went ahead with Ezra,” he said. “He insisted on skating. It will take him an age.”

  Arms and legs swinging in perfect rhythm, Thea and Mattias skated to the council chamber. Thea was nervous, but she felt more clear-minded than she had for a long time. There was no speech running through her head, no script. She skated with a sense of purpose that was much simpler than that, and was happy to have Mattias beside her.

  Her calm evaporated when the lake came into view. Two engineering apprentices were posted near the tunnel entrance, their bright blue sashes visible from a distance. “Mattias,” she said.

  “Don't stop.” He turned onto the lake path. “I'll catch up to you!”

  She went slowly, and soon Mattias skated up beside her. “Gas escaping the fissure again,” he explained breathlessly. “They were posted early this morning to make sure no one gets too close.”

  “Are you sure? Did you look at the… entrance?” Thea asked. She glanced around. There were a lot of people on the Mainway, all going to the Launch celebration.

  “Just a quick look. But everything was just the same. Lucian repacked the wall very carefully. Don't worry.” He gave her a broad smile as they took the last turn together, and then the council's courtyard was before them.

  Though she had attended Launch every year of her life, Thea thought she had never seen the place so crowded. People were everywhere. They talked in small groups, mothers and uncles unpacking wrapped rice cakes and pieces of fruit for younger children. The Chikchu crowded around both sleigh docks and nestled together at the edges of the courtyard, where large water bowls had been set out for them. Among and around everyone, children darted, some already in costume, all giddy with excitement.

  “Are you all right?” Mattias asked anxiously as they surveyed the crowd.

  “I'm fine.” Thea was trying to tug her sleeves down to her wrists. She should have worn a bigger fur.

  “Let Launch begin!” someone called. The doors swung forward.

  Peter and his mother were at the breeding grounds, waiting for the others to return with news. Sasha had been fed and watered, and their sled stood packed and near the door, in case they had to leave quickly.

  “You aren't going?” Peter asked Dolan. Mattias said that even Chief Berling, who hardly went anywhere, attended Launch every year. But Dolan shook his head. “No reason to go. But plenty of reasons to stay.” He glanced around. “Look at this mess.”

  Peter's mother gave Dolan a long look. “It is rathera mess,” she said. “What you need is a proper apprentice.” He gave her a half-smile. “Perhaps you're right.”

  Peter helped Dolan clean the main house while his mother sat out on the sands with Norma, writing in her red notebook.

  He saved Sasha's stall for last. “Hey, girl.” He tickled her ears and laughed when she dropped and flipped over to have her belly rubbed.

  Ham peered around the side of Sasha's stall, his expression so carefully nonchalant that Peter had to tell himself not to laugh. Never injure a Chikchu's dignity, Thea said.

  After forking dog manure into a pile for later use in the gardens, Peter was ready for a walk. He washed up at the pump.

  He was still tired from yesterday's training sessions with Dexna—she had insisted on another one after dinner—but his sight came a little more easily each time he tried it, and he knew that she deserved most of the credit. Thea said that he was getting off easy, that he had no idea how many hours she had spent learning the meanings of the Chikchus' signals. “It's like listening to a flute,” she'd told him, “and having to translate into English.”

  He walked out to where his mom was sitting, the runt cradled in one hand while she wrote with the other. With a stab of worry, he recognized her glazed expression. Norma was stretched out alongside her, chin on her paws.

  He sat down. “Still working on that?”

  Half-asleep, Feet raised his head, staggered over to Peter's lap, and collapsed dramatically.

  “He knows your voice.” His mom laughed and snapped her notebook shut.

  “I was thinking you could tell me about Launch,” Peter said, “since I can't see the real thing, I mean.”

  She smiled slowly. “The real thing happened a long time ago. What's going on today is theater, a reenact-ment of the morning the Settlers escaped the old world. Younger children play all of the parts, and everyone has the morning off and goes to watch. It's a gruesome story, but you should know it, because the story of Launch is the story of William.”

  “And William is … ?”

  “William was the last eye adept. Before you, I mean. He was the one who warned Grace that the hunters were coming.”

  Peter felt a sudden sense of foreboding.

  She inhaled. “The story of Launch. The Settlers were almost ready to leave England for the cold world— Greenland, I mean. After years of preparation, Gracehad two whaling ships chartered, along with everything they would need to settle their new land: tools, wood, plants and seeds, cloth, furs, medicines, books, enormous stockpiles of food, everything. They even had freshwater fish to stock the lake.”

  “They were pretending to hunt for whales?”

  “Yes. Grace had posted some of her people to whaling crews for the past few years. They learned how to navigate a ship to Greenland.”

  “Smart,” Peter said.

  She nodded. “Grace tried not to take too many chances,” she said. “But there was one risk she couldn't avoid. Grace had to trust outsiders to help with the launch itself. Every last one of her people was to board the ships to the cold world. She had a few trusted allies among the townsfolk, people who had helped them in the past.

  “Before dawn, Grace and her people were collected at the docks. Their friends were to arrive soon to help them launch the ships. Grace had posted her eye adepts around the docks to watch for hunters. William was the youngest, about seventeen.

  “What almost no one knew was that William was in love with one of the daughters of their allies. They had already said their private good-byes, but naturally he looked for her on the path. Finally, using his sight, he saw her walking toward the docks with her family, and crying.

  “The crying didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was that at the girl's side was a dog William had never seen before. The girl's family had a number of dogs, but he couldn't place this one. It bothered him.

  “He watched the girl and waited. A minute later, the dog raised its head quickly, as if barking. He saw the girl look over at the dog, and he realized that her expression wasn't one of sadness, but fear.

  “William hesitated. To sound the call of alarm was a serious thing—it jeopardized everything, and what he had seen was possibly nothing. One dog, one bark, one look. But he had known this girl his entire life, and he loved her, and he was sure she was afraid.

  “Grace accepted his judgment without question. She directed her people to abandon what was left of the supplies on the dock and to board just one of the ships. As the last of them was boarding, the hunters' dogs appeared, converging on the docks. Grace's allies had betrayed her.

  “There was no time left. Grace jumped from the ship, and about ten others followed her down. They launched it themselves, pushing it off into the sea with what supplies it had. Then they turned to face the dogs.

  “Sarah, Grace's granddaughter, was twelve years old. She watched from the deck of the ship as Grace was killed, along with others who had sacrificed themselves to launch the shi
p. That's why Grace never made it here.

  But Sarah lived, and her children, and their children, and so on, down to us.”

  Peter shook his head. “They reenact this horror show every year?”

  “Yes,” his mother said. “The children adore it. Everyone wears costumes, and the betrayers march down the Mainway to the council's courtyard, and there's a big platform that serves as the dock. But it's not just a story, Peter. It's been a lesson to people here for a long time.”

  “A lesson that … what? The world is evil?”

  His mother said nothing.

  “What happened to William?”

  “He was one of those who jumped down to launch the ship. He was killed by the dogs on the dock.”

  “Oh, that's good to hear,” Peter said. “The self-sacrificing hero. He'll be an easy act to follow.”

  His mother looked at him. “Or maybe he was just a boy. And Peter, you aren't following anyone's act.”

  They were interrupted by Dolan. “Peter! Aurora!”

  “Something's happened!” Peter's mother jumped up.

  Peter gently replaced Feet in Cassie's whelping box and ran. His heart leapt when he saw that Dolan was standing in front of Sasha's stall.

  But Sasha was in her usual corner, looking up at them peacefully. It was Ham who seemed to be in trouble. He was gagging, it looked like, throwing his head up violently and then lowering it, over and over, and making asound between a regular growl and something much more guttural.

  “What's happening? Is he choking?” Peter looked at Dolan.

  “No,” Dolan said.

  Ham's nose came almost to the ground and stayed there. He started to make a noise like a cat trying to get a hairball out of his throat. And then he threw up on the ground, right in front of Sasha.

  “Oh, yuck,” Peter said.

  His mother wrapped her hand around his forearm. “Ham is telling us that he and Sasha have mated. He's offering to provide for her, to be her partner.”