by Amy Ewing
Leela’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “That was rather vain of her.”
“I thought so too at the time, but was it? I am not sure I believe anything I was taught anymore. I feel as if I do not even trust the very air around me.” Kandra stood and brought the lantern with her to the open door. “Estelle had a sharp mind, and her magic was strong. I could feel it when we blood bonded, a heartbeat that was more powerful than mine. Her heart spoke to me of the desire to know more, to be more. Sera was always looking to the planet for escape, but Estelle looked to the stars. She wanted more than just the knowledge of Mother Sun’s existence. She wanted tangible proof; she wanted a voice in her ear or a hand on her shoulder. She felt there was something missing in this City and that she alone could discover the cause and fill the void. She began to frighten me a little. And then I fell in love with Seetha and Otess—I found my missing tokens, that’s how I always put it to Sera. They completed me. My life changed, my purpose became clear, and Estelle and I drifted apart.
“And so I was not by her side when she died of the sleeping sickness.”
Leela gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The sleeping sickness was the only disease that could kill a Cerulean, the only virus resistant to the healing power in their blood because it fed on their very magic. It came on suddenly, leeching a Cerulean dry until she was nothing but an empty husk. There had been spells of it throughout the years, though none in Leela’s lifetime. It would run through the City like a fever, usually taking several lives before running its course. There was no cure for it.
“The bodies of those with the sickness must be destroyed, so Estelle’s body was not wrapped in a pale blue shroud and released from the Night Gardens to find a home among the stars. One day she was simply gone. Hers was the third and final death, the sickness receding as it always did. It has not come back since. Only a few days after she died, a birthing season was announced. Otess and Seetha and I had been married for two years and were eager to have a child, though I confess it felt wrong to have such joy come on the heels of such sorrow.”
Kandra left the house and walked across the small field of grass. Leela scrambled to her feet to follow.
“I came here one afternoon, before any purple mother had been blessed, when these houses were still empty. I was scared and sad, and I hoped I might find comfort in the place where a new life would develop, where I would meet my daughter. I felt guilt at losing my friend, not just due to death but also neglect. Friendships must be tended if they are to flourish, and I realized I had been a poor gardener. I made a vow then and there that I would teach my daughter to value all her relationships in life and not take anyone for granted. I walked from house to house, wondering which would be mine, and I found myself speaking out loud, talking to Estelle as I once had, sharing my fears with her, and my shame at the fading of our bond. I recalled little things from times past, jokes we shared and games we played.
“I came to the last house and knew it was time to leave, that this place could not give me the comfort I yearned for. And as I turned, I saw her.”
Kandra held the lantern up to the obelisk. Ribbons of colors shot across its surface. “She stood right here,” she said, gesturing to the space beside the stone. “Her hair moved as if by a light breeze, though the air was still, and her cloudspun dress was threadbare and tattered, like it was disintegrating. She looked wan and pale but alive. Very much alive. ‘Kandra,’ she said to me. ‘I heard you.’”
At this, Kandra fell to her knees, a sob ripping from her chest. Leela knelt beside her, afraid to touch her, afraid to say anything.
“I thought I had gone mad,” she continued. “‘You are dead,’ I said to her. ‘No,’ she replied. Her eyes were so dark, like a night sky with no moon or stars. ‘And yes,’ she said. “‘We are all dying. It cannot continue. She will not stop.’” Tears spilled down Kandra’s cheeks. “Forgive me, Leela. I was so afraid. I ran away.” She crumpled, her head falling onto Leela’s shoulder. “I ran away,” she whimpered. “She called my name, she called for me to come back, and I ran and ran.”
“It’s all right,” Leela said, rubbing her back. She had never comforted a purple mother—or any mother, for that matter. It was usually the other way around. “You should feel no shame. You were frightened. You were seeing things.”
“No,” Kandra said, sitting up. “I was not. She was real. I know it in my bones, in the very magic that lives inside me. When I finally collected myself enough to speak, I went directly to the High Priestess. I told her what I had seen. I remember being startled at how quickly she seemed to take my account seriously—she bade me to stay in the temple and left. When she returned, she said she had searched high and low but there was no sign of Estelle anywhere in the Forest of Dawn. “Your mind is stretched to impossible limits,” she said. “Estelle is dead, Kandra. Grief can be a powerful thing. But do not fear. I can take the pain away.” And then she put her hands on either side of my head, and I felt a . . . a glow, a pulse, a gentle whisper inside my mind. Her hands were so hot, I remember thinking it was as if she was truly filled with Mother Sun’s light.
“When I woke, it was daylight and I was in my own bed, with my wives. They told me I had been out late at the temple conversing with the High Priestess, hopeful that I would soon be blessed to bear a child. Otess warned of being too pushy, but Seetha thought me very brave. I smiled and pretended I remembered what they were talking about. In truth, I could not recall a thing after deciding to go to the forest. I assumed I must have changed my mind.
“The very next day I was chosen by the High Priestess along with several other purple mothers, and I went to the birthing houses. They held no special significance to me. I had no memory of the previous day spent there. The only thing that felt any different was that if ever I thought of Estelle, she would fade quickly, her face out of focus, my memories pale and distant, like echoes. Until I simply stopped thinking about her.” Kandra pressed her forehead against the obelisk. “Until she vanished from my thoughts almost completely. Almost,” she whispered.
“So what happened?” Leela asked in a hushed voice. “How did you come to recall this? Why now?”
Kandra gathered herself slowly, her hands clutching the folds of her dress, her face twisted in pain.
“When Sera died, something inside me broke. Whatever hold the High Priestess’s magic had over me, whatever spell she may have cast, my grief for my daughter shattered it. I thought I was going mad when the memories came back, as clear as if they had just happened yesterday. I could not conceive of the High Priestess lying to me, or erasing my experiences. It simply did not make sense—she is our hope and our guide and she would never do such a thing, I told myself. I thought whatever these visions were had to be false. And they had happened nearly nineteen years ago, so how was I to even trust them? But it felt so real. And then you told me what you overheard in the Moon Gardens and I thought, ‘I am not crazy. The High Priestess is not who she seems to be. And my daughter became ensnared in her web.’
“I kept hearing Estelle’s voice, over and over, saying, ‘She will not stop.’”
They both sat in silence. Leela reached out and touched the moonstone, surprised to find it cold—her own pendant had always been warm when she held it. “Do you think she is still here?” she asked. “That Estelle is in this forest somewhere?”
“I do not know. I think not. How could she escape detection all these years?”
“Perhaps the High Priestess has hidden her.”
“But where? And for what purpose? What could she have possibly wanted with Estelle?”
Leela thought for a moment. “You said she was like Sera. What if Estelle was also chosen to be the High Priestess? What if the High Priestess has been keeping any potential successor away?”
Kandra wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “But why keep her alive at all then? If she was so willing to sacrifice my daughter, why not Estelle also?”
Leela did not have an answer to that. S
he could not help but think the two were related somehow. And the High Priestess’s lies were at the very heart of the matter.
But why, and to what end, Leela could not see.
27
THE WEDDING SEASON LASTED ONLY ANOTHER SEVEN days, one of the shortest in recent history.
Even so, Leela felt relieved when it ended.
All the dancing and feasting and protestations of love were wearing on her. She saw her City in a new light, afflicted by a wrong so subtle that Leela herself could not put a finger on it. She watched helplessly at every wedding as the High Priestess blessed the happy triads, and tried to see beneath her mask, to find some clue as to the reason behind her lies, but it was impossible.
She and Kandra would meet every night in the Forest of Dawn, searching for a sign of Estelle or where she might have come from, talking themselves in circles, repeating their stories until they knew each other’s tales by heart. They never found any hint of a Cerulean or a hiding place or a secret lair. Sometimes they would simply sit by one of the ponds in the light of the frogs and remember Sera—her big, bold laugh, her insatiable appetite for fried squash blossoms, her thirst for knowledge, her longing to see another planet. Other times Kandra would tell stories about Estelle, things she had forgotten that were rising to the surface of her mind now.
When the last wedding had come and gone, the City was quiet the next morning, a drowsy calm settling in the air, as if even the blades of grass were exhausted. Leela could hear her mothers still in bed, the murmurs of conversation interspersed with kisses. She wondered what they would think if she told them everything, about the High Priestess, about Sera and Estelle, and her late-night meetings with Kandra. They would listen, she thought, but they would not believe. They would likely pity her and attribute the stories to shared grief over Sera. Worst case, they would take the matter up with the High Priestess herself, and that was something Leela could not risk. Not when she still knew so little.
We are all dying. It cannot continue. She will not stop. Leela and Kandra had puzzled over this for hours. “She” was likely the High Priestess, but what was “it”? What was Estelle warning could not continue?
It was proof she needed, something concrete, and not just for herself. Even if the other Cerulean were not aware, Leela knew there was something wrong in the City Above the Sky, and while she would rather anyone else have been the one to have overheard what the High Priestess said, the fact was that it had fallen on her shoulders. She might only be Leela Starcatcher, but she was a Cerulean and her blood was magic and she was not going to be afraid anymore. Sera had died for some secret, possibly sordid reason, and Leela would know why and make sure it would never happen again.
At least she knew where the High Priestess would be now. During the wedding season she had not kept a strict schedule, and so Leela would come upon her in the orchards or the meadows or the mines with no warning. But life would return to normal, and the High Priestess would be where she usually was—the temple. That was where Leela must start. She got dressed and went into the kitchen, where her orange mother was making licorice root tea.
“Good morning, darling,” she said as Leela took a seat at the round wooden table. “I must admit, I am glad the wedding season has ended, as brief as it was. It was a delight to witness but so tiring!”
“Indeed, Orange Mother. The City feels very quiet today.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She sighed as she poured cups of tea for the two of them, filling the kitchen with the scent of anise. “You know, the season when your mothers and I got married lasted nearly a month. I thought I never wished to see another feast again as long as I lived.”
Leela smiled. “I would like to have seen that,” she said. “You and Mothers getting married.”
Her orange mother sat at the table across from her and took a sip of tea. “I was so young then,” she said wistfully. “If you can imagine.” She winked. “Your purple mother loved to laze in bed in the morning as much as she does now. That hasn’t changed. I don’t believe she will come out of the bedroom today until the hour of the light.”
“I can hear you, Lastra!” her purple mother called out, and Leela and her orange mother exchanged quiet laughter.
“And what are your plans for the day?” her orange mother asked. “Your next apprenticeship is the stargem mines, is it not? But I don’t think anyone in the City is expected to jump right back into their routines.”
“No,” Leela agreed. And she had no interest in apprenticeships any longer. Most of her friends had found their calling and she had found hers—she simply could not tell anyone about it. So she would have to concoct a story, but with some truth to it. She could not bear to think of herself being as deceitful as the High Priestess.
“I thought I would go to the temple,” she said. “It has been so long since I have prayed.”
Her orange mother looked delighted. “What a fine idea! I can accompany you if you wish.”
Leela bit her lip. “If it is all right with you, Orange Mother, I would like to go alone.”
Her mother looked crestfallen for a second but recovered quickly. “Of course. You are grown now. Your silly old mother keeps forgetting. I suppose I want to keep you as my child for as long as I can.”
“I will always be your child,” Leela said, reaching across the table for her hand, “no matter where I live or how old I am or what I call you.” Once a daughter left her mothers’ house to live on her own, she no longer called them Mother, but their given names. It was strange to Leela to think of calling her orange mother Lastra. “Shall I stop by the Apiary and bring some honey home for our bread tonight?”
“That would be lovely.” Her orange mother tucked a lock of hair behind Leela’s ear. “I am very proud of the woman you have become, Leela. The loss you have suffered, especially for one so young . . . yet you have forged ahead with light and love in your heart. You are an inspiration. I hope you know that.”
Leela felt her throat tighten. “Thank you, Orange Mother.” She finished her tea in silence, then took her leave of the dwelling.
The temple was nearly empty when she arrived, mostly novices and a handful of tired-looking orange mothers. Heena was among them, leaving just as Leela entered.
“Good morning, Leela,” she said warmly. “I did not know you were so devout. Most of the girls our age are still in bed.”
“I wished to pray for Sera at the Altar of the Lost,” Leela replied, astonished at how smoothly the lie slipped out. Was this how lying worked, becoming easier the more you did it?
Heena blinked and her lips twitched. “Oh. Yes, of course.”
“And you?” Leela asked.
“I am praying for a birthing season to begin.”
“Already?”
She laughed. “I know. But Plenna is eager to bear a child. Though I have reminded her over and over that it can be years between a wedding season and a birthing season.” Heena smiled indulgently.
“Then I hope Mother Sun hears your prayers,” Leela said.
“We have already been so lucky in that we did not have to wait long to be married, like some other triads. Plenna may have to learn some patience.” She gave Leela a playful nudge. “Have any Cerulean caught your eye? You are such a caring and thoughtful girl.”
“I . . .” Leela had so much on her mind, she had not thought about love or desire at all since Sera had died. Those feelings seemed foreign to her now, fragments of a life that no longer existed. “No, not as yet. But I thank you for the compliment. Excuse me, I must pray.”
Heena watched her walk away with a mixture of confusion and pity on her face. But Leela’s mind had already bent to more important matters. She knelt before the Altar of the Lost. The intertwining threads of sungold and moonsilver that formed the shape of a sun shone in the late morning light, the blue stargems representing each life lost in the Great Sadness sparkling at her as she waited. She would sit here and pretend to pray all day if she had to. The High Priestess woul
d have to appear at some point. Wouldn’t she? Leela wondered if she should feign interest in becoming a novice. That might bring her closer to the High Priestess physically, but it was no guarantee that she would learn anything of significance.
She ran her fingers across the altar’s surface, the gems catching on her skin.
Mother Sun, she prayed. Something is wrong here. The City is run by a liar and I do not know for what purpose, or how to expose her. I know that I am no one of any importance, really, just one young Cerulean among a thousand. But I fear this task has fallen to me, and I will find the answers if I can. If you can hear my prayer . . . help me. Please. Show me the way. Give me a sign.
She waited, holding her breath, hoping her prayer had been heard. But the minutes passed until they turned into an hour and nothing happened. She shouldn’t have expected it to. She thought about what Kandra had told her of Estelle, of how she had hoped to speak directly to Mother Sun. It was hubris. Mother Sun spoke to the High Priestess. It made Leela’s head hurt to think of what that might mean. Was Mother Sun aware of the lies?
Just then, a stargem caught her eye. It was all the way on the far edge of the altar, and the color was leaching from it, its facets dissolving and becoming smooth until it looked like . . . a tear. An actual, salty, wet tear. The one beside it shimmered and became clear, then the next, then the next, until all the stargems were changing, paling, and Leela stared at an altar filled with tears.
She reached out a trembling hand to touch them when suddenly Elorin was at her side.
“I thought that was you, Leela! What a joy to see you here.”
Leela started, pulling her hand back, and the stargems were as they had always been, dark blue and glittering. She flexed her fingers, wishing the young novice had left her alone for a just a few seconds longer.
“It is nice to see you too, Elorin,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Oh, I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt you,” Elorin said, her silver cheeks darkening. “A novice must never interrupt a Cerulean at prayer.”
