Wandering Star: A Zodiac Novel

by Romina Russell

  Razorbill, an Imprint of Penguin Random House

  Penguin.com

  Copyright © 2015 Penguin Random House LLC

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  ISBN: 978-0-698-14615-0

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Para mi abuelo, Berek el Sabio Nunca serás olvidado

  For my grandpa, Sage Berek You will never be forgotten

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  The Constellations

  The Houses of the Zodiac Galaxy

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Acknowledgments

  THE HOUSES OF THE ZODIAC GALAXY

  THE FIRST HOUSE:

  ARIES, THE RAM CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Military

  Guardian: General Eurek

  THE SECOND HOUSE:

  TAURUS, THE BULL CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Industry

  Guardian: Chief Executive Purecell

  THE THIRD HOUSE:

  GEMINI, THE DOUBLE CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Imagination

  Guardians: Twins Caaseum (deceased) and Rubidum

  THE FOURTH HOUSE:

  CANCER, THE CRAB CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Nurture

  Guardian: Holy Mother Agatha (Interim)

  THE FIFTH HOUSE:

  LEO, THE LION CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Passion

  Guardian: Holy Leader Aurelius

  THE SIXTH HOUSE:

  VIRGO, THE TRIPLE VIRGIN CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Sustenance

  Guardian: Empress Moira (in critical condition)

  THE SEVENTH HOUSE:

  LIBRA, THE SCALES OF JUSTICE CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Justice

  Guardian: Lord Neith

  THE EIGHTH HOUSE:

  SCORPIO, THE SCORPION CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Innovation

  Guardian: Chieftain Skiff

  THE NINTH HOUSE:

  SAGITTARIUS, THE ARCHER CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Curiosity

  Guardian: Guardian Brynda

  THE TENTH HOUSE:

  CAPRICORN, THE SEAGOAT CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Wisdom

  Guardian: Sage Ferez

  THE ELEVENTH HOUSE: AQUARIUS, THE WATER BEARER CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Philosophy

  Guardian: Supreme Guardian Gortheaux the Thirty-Third

  THE TWELFTH HOUSE:

  PISCES, THE FISH CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Spirituality

  Guardian: Prophet Marinda

  THE THIRTEENTH HOUSE: OPHIUCHUS, THE SERPENT BEARER CONSTELLATION

  Strength: Unity

  Guardian: Master Ophiuchus

  PROLOGUE

  WHEN I THINK OF MOM, I think of the day she abandoned us. There are dozens of memories that still haunt me, but that one always shoves its way to the surface first, submerging all other thoughts with its power.

  I remember knowing something was wrong when Helios’s rays—and not Mom’s whistle—roused me. Every day, I’d awoken to the low-pitched call of the black seashell Dad had found for Mom on their first date; she kept it buried in her hair, pinning up her long locks, and plucked it out only for our daily drills.

  But this morning dawned unannounced. I clambered out of bed, changed into my school uniform, and searched the bungalow for my parents.

  The first person I spotted was Stanton. He was in his room across the hall, one side of his face glued to the wall. “Why are you—?”

  “Shhh.” He pointed to the crack in the sand-and-seashell wall through which he could listen into our parents’ room. “Something’s up,” he mouthed.

  I dutifully froze and awaited my big brother’s next cue. Stanton was ten, so he attended school on a pod city with our neighbor, Jewel Belger. Her mom would arrive any moment to pick him up, and Stanton was still in his nightclothes.

  The seconds of silence were agony, during which I imagined every possible scenario, from Mom being diagnosed with a deadly disease to Dad discovering a priceless pearl that would make us rich. When at last Stan backed away from the crack, he pulled me into the hallway with him right as Mom barreled out from her bedroom.

  “Stanton, come with me, please,” she said as she strode past. Lately whenever she and Dad fought, she sought solace in my brother. He eagerly bounded behind her, and though I longed to follow, I knew she wouldn’t approve. If she wanted me there, she would have said so.

  I looked out through one of the bungalow’s many windows as Mom led Stan into the crystal reading room Dad had built for her on the banks of the inner lagoon near his nar-clams; a miniature version of the crystal dome on Elara, it fit three people at most. I’d watch Mom go in there every night, her figure blurring into misty shadow behind the thick walls as she read her Ephemeris in the starlight.

  A small schooner pulled up to our dock, and Jewel jumped out, her frizzy curls blowing in the salty breeze. As she ran to our front door, Dad’s footsteps slapped down the stairs to meet her. I padded softly after him and hung on the staircase landing to listen.

  Dad traded the hand touch with Jewel and waved to Mrs. Belger in the distance. “Stan isn’t going in today,” he said as Mrs. Belger honked back a greeting from her schooner.

  “Oh,” said Jewel, sounding supremely disappointed. “Is he sick?”

  I crept out a little farther from behind the banister, and Jewel’s piercing periwinkle eyes flashed to me. Her chestnut cheeks darkened, and she looked away, either from shyness or to keep Dad from noticing I was there.

  “A little,” said Dad.

  I nearly gasped in shock—I’d never heard one of my parents tell a lie before. Cancrians don’t deceive.

  “Can I . . . can you tell him I hope he gets better?”

  I stared
at the back of Dad’s prematurely balding head as he nodded. “I will. Have a good day at school, Jewel.” As he waved again to Mrs. Belger, I soundlessly slipped behind him and went out a side door.

  Tracing the outer walls of our bungalow, I found Jewel waiting for me by a small pond of water lilies that Mom tended to so much, she always smelled of them.

  “Is Stanton okay?” she blurted as I came closer. Her skin flushed darker in embarrassment again.

  “Yeah,” I said, shrugging.

  “He told me your parents are fighting a lot. . . .” She let her sentence hang gently between us, an invitation to talk to her as a friend, even though I was only seven and she was Stanton’s age. Her attention made me feel important, so I wanted to share something special—a secret.

  “Stanton’s not really sick. He’s with my mom. She and my dad just fought.”

  This seemed to mean more to Jewel than me, because her chestnut features pulled together with concern, and she said, “I don’t think it’s good for him . . . being brought into their arguments. I think it’s making him old.”

  Then she ran off to her mom’s schooner, and as they sailed away, Jewel’s face pressed into the glass window, staring back longingly at our bungalow. Her words worried me, even if I didn’t fully get their meaning, and I looked toward the crystal reading room, wondering.

  I found myself moving closer to the place, the thick sparkly walls reflecting me in the sunlight instead of illuminating what was going on inside. I edged around it, careful to stay low in case Mom or Stanton looked out, and then I peeked in, cupping my eyes and squinting so I could see.

  Stanton had just received his first Wave at school, and he was sitting on the reading room’s floor, recording information into it. Mom had switched on her Ephemeris, and she was orbiting the space while rattling words off to Stanton, words I couldn’t hear.

  I took a chance and opened the door a crack, as slowly and carefully as possible.

  “After you’ve cleaned the three changelings, toss them on the griller with a sprinkling of sea salt and sweet-water honeysuckles from the garden. I think that should be plenty of recipes. Let’s move on to Rho’s morning drills.”

  “Mom, but why are you telling me this?” Stanton spoke in the whiny tone of repetition. Even though he sounded unhappy, his fingers obediently ticked away on his Wave’s holographic screen, logging the information.

  “I like to wake Rho three hours early with rapid-fire drills about the Houses,” continued Mom, as though Stanton hadn’t interrupted. “After cycling through all twelve Yarrot poses, she must Center herself and commune with the stars for at least one hour—”

  Mom stopped speaking suddenly, and every molecule of my being liquefied beneath her glacial glare. Through the sliver of a gap in the doorway, she was staring straight at me.

  The door swept inward, and I nearly fell inside. Scrambling upright, I snuck a quick glance at my brother, who was looking from Mom to me with bated breath. I braced myself for Mom’s fury at my eavesdropping—only she didn’t look upset.

  “You should be on your way to class, Rho.” She searched behind me for a sign of Dad. I turned, too, but he was still inside the bungalow. When I looked back at Mom, she wore the same intense stare I’d seen on her face a week ago, when she warned me my fears were real.

  They certainly felt real in that moment. Every fearful possibility I’d dreaded earlier swam in my head once more, and I wondered what could have made Mom decide to dictate the details of her daily life to Stanton. Something was happening—something awful. My gut churned and sizzled, like I’d eaten too much sugared seaweed at once, and I couldn’t stand the not-knowing.

  Mom reached out and caressed my face, her touch more whisper than words. “Your teachers are wrong, you know.” It was one of her favorite phrases. “There aren’t twelve types of people in the universe—there are two.” She stared at the pearl necklace on my chest, which I hadn’t taken off all week. Cancer’s pearl wasn’t centered, but for the first time, she didn’t reach out to adjust it. “The ones that stand still and try to fit in . . . and the ones that go seek out where they belong.”

  That’s the last thing my mother ever said to me. When Dad sailed me to school that morning on the Strider—late—neither of us knew he would return to find Mom gone.

  Dad lived life mostly inside his head, so he wasn’t a big talker. But that morning he broke our usual silence by saying, “Rho . . . your mom and I love you very much. If we argue, it has nothing to do with you or your brother. You know that?”

  I nodded. He was speaking softly, in the comforting tone he always adopted post-fight. So I took a chance. “Dad . . . why did you lie to Jewel? What’s really happening with Stanton and Mom?”

  I could see from Dad’s face he would rather not answer, but he was always more forthcoming post-fight. With a slight sigh, he said, “I shouldn’t have lied, Rho. I’m sorry you heard that. I’m also sorry I can’t give you an answer, because I don’t have one. You know how your mom is . . . she’s having a spell. She’ll be fine when you get home.”

  It was then I understood what Jewel meant about too much information making someone old. I wanted to believe Dad—to push off the doubt and worry and the queasiness in my stomach that still hadn’t gone away. But the absence of the black seashell’s song that morning felt more like an omen.

  Mom was right.

  (She usually was.)

  Fears are real.

  1

  TWELVE FLAGS, EACH BEARING THE symbol of a Zodiac House, lie in tatters before me, on a barren field that extends endlessly in every direction.

  I can just make out a crest neatly sewn beneath each House name—a dark blue Crab, a royal purple Lion, an inky black Scorpion. Caked in blood and grime, the defeated fabrics sprawl across the lifeless land like corpses from a forgotten battle.

  There are no sounds; nothing moves in the dusty distance. Even the sky is devoid of expression—it’s just a constant colorless expanse. But the stillness in the air is far from calm. It feels like the day is holding its breath.

  I turn in a small circle to survey my surroundings, and in the eastern distance I see a steep hill that’s the only disruption to the flat landscape. I concentrate hard on the hill, envisioning myself cresting it to survey the valley below, and soon my view begins to transform. As the vast valley sharpens into focus, I choke on a horrified gasp—

  Thousands of dead bodies litter the powdery earth below, their uniforms a rainbow of colors. Like a gruesome quilt made from people parts.

  I slump to the floor, nearly crushing the glass orb in my hand, and shut my eyes, forgetting that nightmares thrive in darkness. Corpses crowd my view in here, too.

  Hundreds of frozen Cancrian teens in flashy suits float through the black space of my mind, forever suspended there. I shake my head, and the vision flips to Virgo’s ships going up in flames, the air almost thick with the stench of burning flesh and metal.

  Then the tiny burned bodies of the once-lively Geminin people.

  The wreckage of vessels from what was once our united armada.

  I suck in a ragged breath as the next picture forms: the familiar wavy black locks, alabaster face, indigo blue—

  My eyes snap open, and I squeeze the glowing glass orb in my fist. The valley of bodies vanishes as the sights and sounds of reality rush into my head, as if I’ve just broken the sea’s surface after a deep dive.

  The barren field has transformed back into a large, sterile room lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves that house hundreds of thousands of identical glass orbs. They’re called Snow Globes, and each one stores a re-creation of a moment in time.

  I replace the memory I was just reviewing in its spot on the shelf:

  House Capricorn

  Trinary Axis

  Sage Huxler’s recollections

  After a moment, the orb’s white
light dims out.

  I’ve been coming to Membrex 1206 for two weeks, combing through House Capricorn’s memories of the Trinary Axis, searching for answers to any of my millions of questions. I’m desperate for any signs that could lead me to Ophiuchus, or help us defeat the Marad, or bring back hope to the Zodiac.

  So far, I’ve found none of the above.

  My Wave buzzes on the table, and I snap it open, anxious for news. A twenty-year-old guy with my identical blond curls, sun-kissed skin, and pale green eyes beams his hologram into the room.

  “Rho—where are you?”

  Stanton looks confusedly at the Membrex (a room outfitted with the technology to unlock Snow Globes) surrounding us. He’s wearing his wet suit and squinting against Helios’s rays, so he must still be at the beach helping out.

  “I’m in the Zodiax . . . just looking something up.”

  I haven’t told my brother what I’m really up to here—deep within the earth of House Capricorn’s sole planet, Tierre—while he volunteers at the Cancrian settlement on the surface. “Any sign of his ship yet?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “Like I told you twelve times this hour, I’ll let you know when he’s here. You shouldn’t worry so much.” Stanton looks like he wants to say more, but he glances off to the side, to something happening on the beach. “Gotta go; last ark of the day’s just dropped off more crates. When are you heading over?”

  “On my way.” Capricorns have been shuttling our people back and forth from here to Cancer on their arks, braving the planet’s stormy surface to save our world’s wildlife. The Cancrians on the settlement have been helping our species adapt to Tierre’s smaller ocean.

  Stanton’s hologram winks out, and I pull up the ledger on my Wave where I’ve been keeping track of the Snow Globes I’ve examined, and input today’s updates. To exit the room, I pass through a biometric body scan that ensures the only memories I’m taking with me are my own.

  Out in the dimly lit passage, I brush my hand along the smooth stone wall until my fingers close on a square metal latch. I pull on it to open a hidden door, and when I slip through, the ground falls away.

  My stomach tickles as I glide down a steep, narrow tube that shoots me out onto the springy floor of a train platform. Its bounciness reminds me of my drum mat, except this one’s riddled with rows of symmetrical circles that light up either red or green, depending on whether that spot on the train is available.