by Cheree Alsop
“Let’s go to the Gathering.”
The moment the words left my lips, a cheer erupted in the room. Everyone stood.
Jack shook my hand, saying, “I’m thinking you’ve made the best decision.”
The woman with the beads told me, “It’ll be an honor to stand with you, Orion.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
Doc leaned close to me and said in a sultry voice, “Time to put those gorgeous things to work, right, pretty boy?”
I fought back the urge to grimace and managed a nod instead.
Captain Dawes held out a hand as the rest of the crew left the room to tell the others the plan. “Glad to have you join our cause,” he said as we shook.
“I’m glad to be of service,” I replied.
He looked at his niece. “TK should have the room ready. See our hero here to bed, won’t you? He looks ready to drop, and if Doc’s right, not all the bullets missed him.” He shot me a knowing look.
I gave him a grim smile and admitted, “Are you sure you want a figurehead for your cause who bleeds?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the captain replied.
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that, but before I could say so, Zyla grabbed my arm and steered me toward the door.
“Don’t worry about them. They’re just enthusiastic. According to Jemi, they’ve been wandering the skies for months, ransacking Trader ships and giving everything to the few remaining free city ships just to keep them going.”
I studied her back as she led the way to the decks that housed the living quarters. “Is that where you used to live?”
“That’s where everyone used to live,” she replied without looking at me. She ran a hand along a wooden railing, her fingers sweeping lightly as though her touch was more for reassurance than need. “Back when the rising waters forced all cities to the skies, they were free, but ships cost a lot and most lost everything they owned to the floods. And so they needed help.”
Her hand tensed into a fist. “The Solariats and Lunarians were founded by the rich. Those who needed money and a ship to live on were given loans in return for their loyalty. Families were able to stay together and found a way to thrive on the city ships. They then pay tribute in the form of taxes as a way to recompense their debts. Needless to say, the upper classes live quite well on those taxes.”
Zyla’s hand lingered on the knob of the door that led to the living quarters. The half circle on her right hand caught my eye.
“And the brand? Did they mark everyone they loaned money to?”
Zyla glanced at it as she shouldered her way through the door. “No,” she replied quietly. She paused and looked back at me. “Those who couldn’t find a way to repay their debts were then given a choice. Someone in their family could choose to enter the service of the royalty and fight in the war, or their families would be cast off on a glider to their own fate.”
I stared at her. “That’s horrible.”
She nodded. “Needless to say, many husbands, mothers, or older siblings accepted service to protect their families. A gift of money was given to their loved ones in recompense, and they entered into either the Airborne Defense or as an enforcer. The brand was a mark of that.”
I shook my head. “That’s horrible. Forcing people to fight so that their families can be safe? What’s the point of this war?”
“Is there ever a point to war besides selfishness?” Zyla asked. “If one ruling class wins over the other, what does it matter to us except for the cost in lives?” She shook her head. “Trading one master for another doesn’t improve our lot, so we fight to end their control.”
“The Revolters,” I said.
She nodded. “Exactly. We’re revolting against their ways and trying to make life better for ourselves.”
I hoped she wouldn’t take offense when I asked, “If you win and cast the overlords out, or kill them all, what’s to keep someone else from taking their place?”
A small smile touched her lips as if she had been anticipating that exact question. “We’ve been planning and preparing for our freedom for years. As soon as the Solariats and Lunarians began branding their servants and soldiers, uprisings started. Families who didn’t need the loans built strong, independent city ships. The overlords have been trying for years to find them at fault so they can make the city ships their own, but the civilians are too smart.”
There was a hint of wistfulness to her tone. It made sense when she said, “Before my father attacked the Orion, we were civilians. He made clocks and I worked on the massive Class Five Growers that they towed behind.” The corner of one lip tipped up. “It was a simple life, but it was ours.”
I leaned against the door frame and asked, “What made him do it?”
“Turn Revolter?” At my nod, she said, “He hated the idea that anyone could own someone else, and the Lunarians and Solariats were choking off the civilians’ abilities to resupply.” She gestured behind her. “He tried to get his brother involved, but Uncle Demetri refused. He said he had his family to protect and told my dad to do the same. He said there was no reason to throw ourselves into a fight that didn’t involve us.” She swallowed. “That is, until the night the Orion didn’t fall.”
The haunted tone of her voice gripped my heart. “What happened that night?”
She shook her head. “That’s a story for another time.” She forced a smile and gestured to the closest door. “That’s your quarters. Enjoy.”
Taking a cue from her obvious need for a change of conversation, I smiled. “Thank you for walking me here. I’m sure you could use some sleep as well.”
She gave a weary sigh. “I suppose. I’d like to say that after the excitement of the day I’ll be up all night, but I’m pretty sure I’m done for the second my head hits the pillow.” She raised her hand, hesitated, then touched my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Orion.”
I watched her leave up the hallway. The scent of rosewater lingered. I pushed open the door to my room and made my way into the waiting, welcoming darkness, and the aroma of a bowl of hearty stew resting on the small table.
Chapter Nine
Zyla
Zyla shut the door to her room, then leaned against it. Most of the crew of the Circinus shared the crew bunk rooms in the decks below. The fact that Captain Dawes had given Orion a private room like she had was a testament to all he had done and all Uncle Demetri thought he would do. It was a lot of pressure, and she hoped Orion could handle it.
The question was whether he wanted to. This wasn’t Orion’s fight, much the same as the Volters battle wasn’t Demetri’s until the tragic day that had changed him completely. She had only heard whispers of her uncle’s doings, but tales of Captain Dawes and the Circinus raged alongside those of the fiercest Revolters. He wouldn’t give up until both ruling classes fell.
But was it fair to include Orion in that battle? No matter where he came from, she had the distinct impression he wasn’t from the same place as she. He spoke with a subtle lilt that didn’t match any accent she had ever heard, and everything from the orbs to the solar sails to the birds who flew alongside the ships drew his attention in a way that told her he was seeing them for the first time. It made no sense, but she knew in her heart that he was a stranger in her world.
She sighed and sat on her bed. The feeling of the blanket beneath her fingers was soothing. It was one of Aunt Lisandra’s, patched together in the pattern the woman had loved so much. The fact that Uncle Demetri had put it on her bed the day before wasn’t lost on her, and she loved him all the more for it.
It had been such a tragedy when he lost his true love. The Battle of Oversea was the first war to overthrow the ruling class, but the branded and citizens had been outmatched horribly by the Airborne Defense and many ships had been burned.
Uncle Demetri’s was one of those. He had been forced to watch from a Solariat Warship as his crew and his love went up in flames. His determination to steal from the ruli
ng classes and provide the Revolters and citizens with what they needed to survive had changed him into a risk-taking pirate. When the stars aligned according to the Orion prophecy, Zyla’s father had begged him to breech the great ruling ship. Zyla still didn’t know why her uncle had turned his brother down. She tried to keep her resentment at bay, especially in light of her rescue, but it lingered deep inside.
Stories from the chaos that erupted the day the Orion didn’t fall had been slow to reach Zyla. Freshly branded and chained in the tradition newly branded were in order to confirm their loyalty, she had been stuck in the galley of the Taurus for weeks without word of the outside world. Alone with the pain of losing her father, Zyla was at her very lowest.
She wondered if that was why the dreams of Orion came so powerfully or felt so insistent. It wasn’t just his glowing eyes or the metallic tattoos that gave him away. If they had taken his eyes or skinned his chest, she still would have recognized him by the strength in his jaw, the curve of his cheek, or the sound of his voice.
She settled back on the bed and closed her eyes tightly. There was one part of the dream she hadn’t told anyone, not Uncle Demetri and especially not Orion. She squeezed her closed eyes with one hand and let the scene take over.
“You’ve already taken everything from me.”
The pain in Orion’s voice when he replied to King Tolier in the dream felt like a dagger to Zyla’s heart. His eyes shifted to the right, and she saw herself on the glass floor of the Orion. A blade stuck through her chest and the glass beneath her was coated in a dark red puddle. Her eyes were open and looking at him, but there was no life in them.
On the bed in the quiet room aboard the AS Circinus, Zyla’s heart clenched painfully. In every dream she’d had about that moment, no matter how it happened, she ended up dying on the floor of the great ship. There was one painful truth she had to admit to herself. Bringing Orion to the ruling ship might give the world the freedom her father had fought so hard for, but in doing so, she would forfeit her life.
Her breath caught in her throat and she curled onto her side. She put her fist to her mouth and bit down hard enough to keep from making a sound, but she couldn’t deny the tears of fear that filled her eyes. When she closed them, the sight of her body lying cold and still on the glass floor stayed with her. Her own eyes, glassy and blank, stared unblinking back.
No one should have to see their own death. She knew what would happen, so she should leave. It would be simple to sneak out to one of the gliders and drift off into the night, a silent wraith against the midnight sky. She might get rescued, she might be taken as a branded again, she might even be captured by the Solariats and put to death for wearing the wrong brand; but at least on the glider she would be in charge of her own very rocky fate. Aboard the Circinus on course for the Gathering left her no such hope.
A knock sounded on the door before she could get too lost in her emotions. Relieved, Zyla pushed up to a sitting position and scrubbed her face hard with her sleeve.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Dawes? The Cap’n says there are some preparations that need to be made before we reach the Gathering.” Lou’s voice was uncertain. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
Zyla rose to her feet and crossed to the door. She pulled it open to reveal the young man with his gaze respectfully on the ground.
“It’s alright, Lou,” she told him. “I needed a distraction.”
Lou grimaced and shook his head. “Not this kind of distraction. Nobody needs this.”
Zyla knew better than to press him for more information. Though he filled in when Hayes was out of commission, he hated the job. Lou was content scrubbing decks and polishing the rails. He was the only one she knew who was happy to clean the galley after Cook Seamus could no longer stand the mess he created.
A strange, sharp smell wafted through the air when they neared the main deck. Zyla fought back the urge to pinch her nose. She reached the deck in time to see Tower cringe away from whatever Captain Dawes held, though he was careful to keep his hand on the barrel someone had brought forward.
Zyla’s stomach turned over when she realized what was going on. Tower had been branded by the Lunarians. The particular Gathering they needed to attend was Solariat hosted only. Any Lunarian branded that showed their faces would be promptly beheaded as spies. If they had any chance of getting to the Orion, it hinged on no suspicions being cast toward the Circinus.
Zyla brought her right hand up and looked at the crescent moon on the back. A brand was a brand. It didn’t matter to her whether it was Solariat or Lunarian. She wished secretly that she had no brand at all. That would have been the easiest. Fortunately for most of the Circinus crew, they had been civilians when they joined the Revolters. Others, like Captain Dawes, already bore the Solariat sunburst. Jack stood in one corner nursing his new brand, and Tower soon joined him.
Captain Dawes looked around the main deck. His lips were a straight line instead of their usual smile. It was clear by the look in his eyes that he didn’t like what he had to do, but he knew the safety of his crew depended on it.
Zyla took a steeling breath and stepped forward. “My turn.”
Her uncle’s eyes found her and he immediately shook his head. “No, Zyla. I’m not going to let you do it.”
“But Uncle Demetri, I’ve got a Lunarian brand.” She held up her hand. “I need to—”
“Do nothing,” Demetri replied. “You don’t need to do anything.”
Zyla shook her head. She fought back the feeling of her cheeks heating up at the fact that crew watched their exchange. She crossed to the barrel and said in a determined tone, “You said I’m a member of the Circinus, correct?”
Captain Dawes nodded slowly. “Yes, but—”
Zyla cut him off to say, “I’m not about to endanger the crew by not wearing the Solariat brand.” She held her hand out on the barrel top. “I’m ready.”
Pleading pulled her uncle’s eyebrows together when he protested, “But you can hide your brand, or stay on board, or—”
“Anything I do at the Gathering that questions our validity puts everyone at risk.” Zyla shook her head. “I won’t have that on my head. Do it.”
Demetri’s gaze scanned the crowd as if he waited for someone to intervene, but the downcast gazes of his crew said she was right.
“It’ll hurt,” he told her quietly.
Zyla’s eyes lifted to meet his. “I remember. I can take it. Just make it fast.”
That lifted his lips a little bit. “Just hold steady.”
“I’ll help her,” Tower said.
Zyla threw him a grateful smile. The sight of the raw, red brand on the back of his right hand made her cringe inside, but she kept a strong façade. The giant of a man held her wrist with a gentleness belied by his size.
“You’ve got this, little miss,” he told her.
“Thanks, Tower,” she replied.
Her uncle lifted the brand from the smoldering fire barrel in the corner. The sunburst glowed red at the end of the long metal shaft. The faint scent of singed skin from Tower made Zyla’s stomach turn over. At Demetri’s questioning look, she nodded and closed her eyes.
“How did you end up getting branded by the Lunarians when your father was captured breaking into the Solariat ship?” Tower asked.
Zyla recognized the man’s attempt to distract her. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and replied, “They wanted to kill me with him, but he begged for my life.” The memory made her breath shudder in her throat. She swallowed past the tightness and said, “When they decided I hadn’t done enough to be put to death, they figured the next worst thing was to sell me to their enemies because of the Lunarian tales of mistreating their branded.”
Masters of the branded always threatened to sell them to the other side because Solariats or Lunarians respectively were so much worse in their treatment. The branded pretended to be horrified and would redouble their efforts, but at markets and Gatherings, it was clear;
both sides were cruel or kind in their own ways.
The comment brought a few dry chuckles from the crew.
A yelp escaped Zyla when the hot brand was pressed to the back of her hand, but she managed to keep still. The feeling of her flesh melting away from the hot metal was almost more than she could take. Stars burst behind her eyes and she forgot to breathe until Tower whispered for her to do so.
“Done,” Demetri said.
In truth, it had taken only a matter of seconds, but to Zyla, it had felt like hours before he pulled the brand away.
“You’re alright,” Tower said quietly, his deep voice reassuring. “You took it like a champ.”
“I’m thinking you did better than me,” Jack said.
Zyla opened her eyes to see the tinker give her a watery smile. The fact that he had cried during his branding did help her. She blinked back the tears that burned in her eyes and sucked in a breath to steel her nerves.
“It hurt,” she said.
Tower gave a deep chuckle. “That’s an understatement.”
“You did great,” her uncle said. He put the iron back in the barrel with a look of distaste for the foul brand.
Doc held out a tin of something that smelled of lavender and a strange odor Zyla didn’t recognize. “Put this on it,” she instructed them. “It’ll take away the pain and help it heal quickly.”
Zyla couldn’t help thinking of Orion’s reaction to the ship doctor. Jack and Tower gave her beaming grins as they scooped up the salve and rubbed it onto their raw brands. Most everyone took to Doc that way. The fact that Orion was uneasy around her actually made Zyla smile as she dabbed the salve carefully onto her new brand.
Her thoughts shifted. Orion had trusted her to sew the bullet wound closed along his shoulder. The way he had held himself and the trust he had placed in her was sobering and made her question the situation she had pulled him into. Orion was truly alone in this world. She couldn’t imagine having no memory of where she had been or what made her who she was.
