We all sit for a second, unnatural quiet inside the ship filled with every gasping breath coming out of me, every drop of sweat and blood that hits the floor.
A dull thud echoes up through the shuddering heli-plane, the walls echoing like a bell. Tai-ge scrambles up from the floor to the captain’s chair and the wall of blinking lights surrounding the cockpit window, almost tipping over as his feet try to run faster than his body can unfold from the ground.
Another crash rings through our craft, and the floor seems to bend underneath me, the screech of metal drowning the children’s screams. But Tai-ge whoops from the front as we finally move. Up.
I can still hear banging on the metal hull, the people attached to the ladder outside crying to be let in or too far gone to know they need to jump. But soon all the sound dies down, nothing but smoke choking out the blue sky in front of us and the insistent whir of propellers snaking in through the vents.
The force of the aircraft moving upward pins me to the floor, but I don’t even want to get up. Screams still echo in my ears, the scratch and pull of frantic compulsions and those just trying to escape. But it isn’t enough to block out the memory of those gunshots, of Howl slumped on the floor. I take a deep breath, trying to force the air into my lungs, but it’s too quiet, too still in this little room to try and blank out the misery threatening to drag me under.
Howl took me to the Mountain to die. He was going to let me die. I keep saying it, over and over, as if the dull singsong voice in my head will blank out everything else I’m trying not to feel. Was he somehow still alive after those bullets hit him? Is he now, in the middle of that riot?
June puts a hand on my shoulder, her eyebrows drawn down. “We’re alive.” It sounds like an argument.
We. I’m not alone.
Tai-ge tears his eyes away from the smoke streaming past the cockpit’s clear glass just long enough to ask, “North?”
I try to sit up, to smile at Peishan and the cluster of children still softly crying into their masks. June is right. We’re alive. Alive to go get the cure. Alive to help all the Sephs who will flood through the forest, infecting those they don’t kill. Alive to make sure nothing like the full-out war beneath our feet ever happens again. Alive to stop Dr. Yang from tricking the world just like he tricked me, and forcing us to accept a new world set on his terms.
Alive and ready to fight. I am no longer a piece in someone else’s game. I am ready to play this game of weiqi. And this time, I need to win.
I wipe a hand across my face, dirt-smudged palm coming away wet. “Yes. Go north.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
There are three things I should probably make clear about this book.
First, I wrote Last Star Burning in English with an English-speaking audience in mind. The language in this book is supposed to be a version of Mandarin, or what Mandarin could look like after it’s been isolated and changed over a hundred years. That being said, if we’re going to compare the way language is handled in this book to Mandarin as it is spoken today, there are some things that don’t make sense. For instance, you can’t abbreviate things with a single letter in Mandarin. Mandarin doesn’t have letters. Each syllable is a single character, so abbreviating Sleeping Sickness to SS doesn’t really make sense. I’ve treated most issues like that as a translation problem. If I were a translator adapting this book from Mandarin, I’d have to make decisions about which words to use and how, knowing a literal translation wouldn’t make sense, or a translation without a little bit of extra explanation wouldn’t be accessible. Hyphens are stuck here and there to help separate out syllables when it seems like correct pronunciation would be impossible for English speakers without them.
Second, encephalitis lethargica is a real disease. We don’t know what causes it exactly, but it has very real effects on those who suffer from it. The disease as it appears in this book is just my idea of how, if scientists had the tools and the desire, it could be refined and weaponized. Sleepy sickness (as it is called in the real world) is not contagious, can cause a paralyzed sort of sleep, and, in some cases, can cause episodes of both self-harm and violence against others that seems almost compulsive. If you’re interested in learning more, the first book I read about encephalitis lethargica is called Asleep: The Forgotten Epidemic that Remains One of Medicine’s Greatest Mysteries by Molly Caldwell Crosby. It’s full of case studies and information about real people and real doctors who dealt with this disease both after the Spanish flu epidemic and during other periods of history.
And third, there are some elements of Chinese history, especially the Cultural Revolution under Mao Zedong, that influenced me as I was building Sev’s world. This isn’t meant to be a direct representation of anything in particular that happened in the People’s Republic of China. If you’d like to read about what actually happened during the Cultural Revolution, Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China by Jung Chang and The Private Life of Chairman Mao by Dr. Li Zhisui are both a good start. There is a reference to a Mao quote in the first line of the book, which Sev bungles. Mao originally said, “A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery; it cannot be so refined, so leisurely and gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained, and magnanimous. A revolution is an insurrection, an act of violence by which one class overthrows another.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are so many people who had a hand in this book that it feels as if we could probably take over the world Menghu-style, but maybe with books instead of guns. Victoria Wells-Arms, my lovely agent, wouldn’t need a weapon at all, disarming people with her incurable perkiness and killer instincts. My wonderful editor at Simon Pulse, Sarah McCabe, would probably use the cutest picture ever of a pug as a distraction, then go for the jugular with her red pencil. Both of these ladies pushed me to sharpen Sev’s story until it could draw blood.
Thanks are also required for the extended members of the Last Star Burning battalion at Simon Pulse: Mara Anastas, Mary Marotta, Liesa Abrams, Jessica Handelman, Michael Rosamilia, Carolyn Swerdloff, Catherine Hayden, Michelle Leo and her team, Christina Pecorale and the rest of the S&S sales team, Katherine Devendorf, Chelsea Morgan, Rebecca Vitkus, Sara Berko, and Aubrey Churchward.
There are so many people who read various awful stages of Last Star Burning, and I am grateful to all of you for encouraging me rather than trying to kill my book. A special thank you to Shenwei Chang for the insights they provided on language, culture, and many other things.
I’m so grateful for my mom and dad, who made books part of our family culture. I still hear Tolkien in my dad’s voice as I read because he’s the one who read it to me first. They taught me from a very young age that I could accomplish anything I wanted to, so long as I was prepared to work for it, and were suitably not surprised when I told them Last Star Burning was going to get printed on actual paper with a cover and everything. Thanks to both of them for knowing I could do it, telling me I was doing it, and then saying they were proud of me afterward.
My mother- and father-in-law are also very much a part of this list. Sherri Sangster listened to me talk about writing ad naseum, watched my children while I wrote, jumped up and down for me when things moved, and sent me on dates with my husband when they didn’t. She waded through my first drafts, gave me honest feedback, and still was okay with me being married to her son at the end, so that’s something. Thanks to Greg Sangster for always having a new book idea for me should I run out, usually involving mud, knives, and communist Southeast Asian countries.
Thanks to my oldest sister, Sarah Dunster, who, though she is blond and quite stubborn, is a much better person to look up to than Cale. She proved to me that writing isn’t a dream so much as an accomplishment, and you should probably read her books. Also to my other siblings who are fabulously supportive and encouraging, including Juan, Bailian, and Zhongying, who mostly make fun of my Chinese.
Most of all, thanks and all the props and acknowledg
ment in the world to my children. They gave me some lovely titles that, though they did not make it to the final cover, still make me happy. (My favorite is Fight the Bad Guys. Maybe when I write my father-in-law’s crawling-through-the-jungle book, that’s what it will be called.) To my wonderful, patient, perfect husband, who dealt with all the craziness, obsessiveness, ups and downs and unders, thank you, thank you, thank you. He shares all his time, confidence, honest opinions, and love, and there aren’t words to express how grateful I am for him. I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect partner in life.
And, last of all, though certainly not least, thank you to whoever is holding this book. You are awesome. I wrote this book for you. Please don’t use it as a weapon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CAITLIN SANGSTER grew up in northern California, moved to Xinjiang when she was eighteen, and has been fascinated with how much she doesn’t know about the world ever since. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in Asian Studies and is the person you avoid at parties because she will probably start talking about Shang dynasty oracle bones. Caitlin lives with her husband and four children in Utah. Visit her at caitlinsangster.com, @caitsangster on Twitter, or facebook.com/caitlinsangsterauthor.
SIMON PULSE
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition October 2017
Text copyright © 2017 by Caitlin Sangster
Jacket illustration copyright © 2017 by Aaron Limonick and David Field
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Jacket designed by Jessica Handelman
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
Jacket designed by Jessica Handelman
Jacket illustration copyright © 2017 by Aaron Limonick and David Field
Author photo by Sherri Sangster
The text of this book was set in Venetian 301 BT Std.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Sangster, Caitlin, author.
Title: Last star burning / by Caitlin Sangster.
Description: First Simon Pulse hardcover edition. | New York : Simon Pulse, 2017. |
Summary: “To escape execution for a crime she didn’t commit, seventeen-year-old Sev is forced to run away from her city into the wilderness. With nowhere to turn, Sev has to figure out who she can trust in a world where trusting the wrong person could mean not only her life but the lives of everyone she loves”— Provided by publisher. |
Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016046285 (print) | LCCN 2017021830 (eBook) | ISBN 9781481486156 (eBook) | ISBN 9781481486132 (hardcover)
Subjects: | CYAC: Epidemics—Fiction. | Fugitives from justice—Fiction. |
Survival—Fiction. | Fantasy.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S263 (eBook) | LCC PZ7.1.S263 Las 2017 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016046285
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