Destiny's Blood (The First Star Book 1)

by Marie Bilodeau

  “Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “I need one mid-ship compressed oxygen module, and make it really compressed. I don’t want to haul something large around.” The merchant scooted off to the side with a speed she had not anticipated, going to the back to fill the order.

  Avienne sighed and leaned against the counter. At least they still had the money for some oxygen. Half the ship — probably more than that — was cut off because they no longer pumped heat or oxygen to it.

  She hoped Ardin would have some luck. They could use that money. It could buy them a lot. Air. Warmth. Freedom.

  She felt giddy at the thought, but an old familiar ache snared her heart as well. The Destiny was the only home she remembered, with the only family she had ever known. Could she really abandon them? What if Ardin refused to join her, a fear that kept her awake at night and overshadowed all her imagined futures. Could she really abandon him, her brother and best friend?

  She shook her head. At least she could find a nicer place than Collar to live. Most places were nicer than Collar, really.

  The store was rocked by an explosion and Avienne crouched as she ran for the small window in the door.

  “Blood and bones, Ardin,” she swore as she saw troops past the shuttle, wielding dangerous fire power. Smoke, light and a sickening wail came from what remained of Sunrise Flowers.

  The merchant came out from the back, apparently able to hear well through the complex contraption. He — or she, or whatever it was — held the oxygen tightly in its agitated grasp.

  “Fi…Fire…Ba…Bad…” the computer voice intoned over and over again in its dull baritone. Avienne walked over to the merchant.

  “Fire, yes. Bad, yes.”

  So few weapons, so many challenges. She had one bullet, and a few knives. Not much of an arsenal for so many soldiers.

  Yet…She looked around and turned a charming smile on the merchant, hoping it was a male with some care for human females. “I think I’ve changed my mind on the oxygen. Do you have some Glotch gas, as compressed as you can get it in that tank?” She pointed to a cylindrical canister; it would roll nicely.

  “And as many personal oxygen tanks as this will afford,” she continued, putting all of Cailan’s money and her profits on the table. The merchant held up two fingers and was off again, moving even faster this time.

  She sighed.

  There went the money for her well-deserved drink, and she still didn’t even have enough to buy the oxygen masks necessary to save everyone in the shop.

  “We can’t go out the back,” Ardin said when the plaintive wail ended. The tall display with the colourful song-sensitive Lacile flowers had helped to shield the three from the blast of the Pomboms. Layela could only see the bright smile on a little girl’s face, when she had shown her the song that would make it bloom.

  A lifetime ago, she thought. The shortest life I have ever known. Tears welled in her eyes at the smell of burnt and burning plants around her, a bitter odour where before only the sweetest scents had intermingled. Her face was flushed from the heat and her clothing was sticky from sap, the blood of hours of care and love shed so easily. A sob caught in her throat. It was all gone. She felt naked and afraid, without security or haven. She had felt safe here. Only here.

  “Layela,” Josmere whispered, the Berganda’s green eyes searching out hers. Layela tried to smile, but failed, barely managing to stop the tears from shedding.

  “We need to go. Now,” Ardin said.

  “Give her a moment,” Josmere snapped. “You have no idea what she went through for this.”

  “I know what she’ll go through if we don’t get out of here now!” Ardin retorted.

  “There is no other way out,” Layela answered, breaking the two up. She gave Josmere a wry smile. “It was something Yoma hated about this place.”

  Plan your exits. Always plan your exits. It was too late now to regret not following her sister’s advice.

  “We might have a better chance with the back, if they’re even still there,” Ardin mused, looking toward the back door.

  “I would rather die than fall into the hands of that Kilita,” Layela spat venomously. Josmere looked at her with surprise. Layela had never revealed to Yoma and Josmere what had happened while she had been held captive years ago, choosing to let them draw their own conclusions.

  “Advance!” The cry came from outside the shop, beyond the melted bars that had once protected it from petty thieves.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to lose this contract,” was all Ardin could whisper, and Layela was too busy frantically trying to think of an escape route to ask him to elaborate. The soldiers were near, their boots scraping on the pavement outside, their stealth non-existent as they stepped over broken shards of glass. Glass. She could fight with glass, but it would cut her as much as her assailants.

  As though reading her thoughts, Ardin handed her the gun she had dropped earlier and clutched his own close to his chest. Josmere removed her gloves. Ardin looked at her in disbelief and was rewarded with a nasty look.

  Ardin shifted, and so did the two friends, waiting to attack as one. They could figure out loyalties later.

  Then a woman outside yelped in delight and a shot was fired. An explosion ripped through the broken windows and the air turned a bright yellow, powdered specks falling and dancing around them like snowflakes. The air was burned and ripped out of Layela’s lungs. She gasped, her hands reaching for her throat as she dropped her gun and desperately tried to find a pocket of air. Tears streaked down her face as her eyes burned and her body suffocated and grew numb.

  She turned at the touch of a hand on her back, recognizing Avienne despite the dust and the air tank in the woman’s mouth. She offered Layela a tank of her own, gesturing for her to breathe quickly and give it back to her. Layela gulped greedily, taking a deep breath before giving the small tank back to Avienne, who passed it to her brother. She motioned to Josmere to offer her some of hers.

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” the Berganda said, unaffected by the strange acrid gas Avienne had unleashed upon them. Ardin signalled to his sister to lead the way and he handed the oxygen to Layela. She gulped again and passed it back to him, and they both stood and followed Avienne.

  With little oxygen and too many wounds, running was out of the question, so they staggered after Avienne, Josmere somewhere behind them. The yellow air stung Layela’s eyes, but Avienne’s lack of concern comforted her. The woman might be reckless, but she certainly didn’t strike her as stupid enough to render herself blind.

  Wisps of white suddenly graced the thick yellow air, and the sight of the soldiers littering the streets, their lips blue and eyes wide open and accusing, made Layela forget for a moment that she couldn’t breathe. The white mists dissipated as quickly as they had come, and the bodies were gone, leaving in their stead only writhing soldiers, clutching their throats on the ground, some still standing and bent in two.

  She had seen how it would end for them, in but a few moments. She felt some sadness at their deaths, but quickly hardened her heart. Mama Knot had been a friend too, and they had probably destroyed it with their energy weapons. And the Booknots that Mama Knot had loved so much that it had smothered them. And the Lacile, with its gentle glow on cold nights, and the Growall’s perseverance…She staggered under the weight of loss, realizing that there was nothing for her to go back to now.

  Ardin felt her weaken and his arm was around her in an instant. He passed the oxygen back to her, and for a moment, she leaned into his strength and let herself be partly carried. The burden of shattered dreams was too much for her to bear alone.

  For just one moment.

  Through the thick haze, Avienne somehow found the shuttle, waving at them to make sure they followed her. Ardin and Layela were just coming into sight when a soldier stepped out from beside the shuttle and threw Avienne into it. The side of her head bounced off of the metal, her oxygen flying away. She didn’t lose her footing, using the mome
ntum of her rebound to turn and hit the large soldier, only to be met by a grinning Glotch, tall, scaly and as yellow as the air, who easily sidestepped her blow.

  A Glotch, here? Of all the rotten luck! Avienne pulled two knives free, but her eyes stung and the tears were making it hard to aim. She let the blades fly, not needing to see to know that she had missed.

  Her body was already weakening, already begging her to take a deep breath, but she fought back, knowing the instant she let the atmosphere into her lungs and began coughing, he would down her.

  “Cute little one, aren’t you?” The Glotch grinned, its large yellow teeth and protruding canines clear even with her impaired vision. She let another knife fly. Again, no luck, and he was getting closer.

  Ardin was nowhere to be seen, and she guessed he had not seen the encounter.

  Dying this way is too stupid! her mind screamed as she lunged at him. This filthy little planet would not be her grave. She had so much to live for, so many things still to do!

  She hit the soldier as his arm struck out, catching her hard across her ribs and blowing all the remaining air out of her. She knew it was over the second she instinctively drew in air, the atmosphere burning the soft tissue of her lungs. Her entire body convulsed, the taste of bitter metal coating her failing senses.

  That’ll teach me to play with dangerous chemicals, she thought as the Glotch picked her up. He grinned again; she coughed and her body heaved.

  “Let me taste those final breaths,” he whispered, bringing her mouth close to his. Anger gave her limbs new life. She pulled a knife free and jabbed it into one of his yellow eyes. He screamed and threw her to the ground, where she gasped, her lungs and eyes burning.

  “I’ll kill you now, before this air does, fire-girl.” He pulled the knife out of his eye, thick yellow blood oozing down his cheek. Avienne feebly kicked at him as he sauntered towards her, but with little effect. He grinned and stood over her, the knife dripping yellow blood on her cheek.

  Really stupid way to die!

  A shot fired and the Glotch’s eyes widened. Another one and he lurched and fell, half on top of Avienne, crushing her aching lungs. She tried to push him off, but her limbs barely moved, sleep teasing her weakened mind and blackness dancing in the yellow atmosphere all around her.

  “Men.” Josmere shook her head as she pushed him off Avienne. The Berganda handed the oxygen to Avienne, who weakly brought the canister to her mouth, but she couldn’t force her tired lungs to take in the air. She realized her hand was cold, and she dropped the canister, unable to even hold it.

  “This is a bit of a funny twist,” the Berganda said as she picked up Avienne with a strength the smuggler would never have imagined the slight green woman to possess. In what felt like seconds stretching into eternity, Avienne was in the shuttle, surrounded only by clean oxygen, and being injected with an oxygen compound directly into her blood.

  “Enough fun for you yet?” Ardin asked as he looked down at her, his narrowed eyes failing to hide the worry and care in them.

  “What’d I miss?” she heard Lang slur in the background, and was glad that she managed to grin before passing out.

  9

  The shuttle skimmed the surface of the land, its thrusters aimed down to keep them afloat. The gentle hum of the recycled air was the only noise in the cramped quarters. The restricting space contained only four seats. Lang slumbered in his seat, his stench beaten back by the large quantities of chemical cleaners Ardin had poured, while mumbling his distaste, on the shuttle floor.

  The shuttle glided effortlessly and the autopilot indicator blinked softly on the dash, its light dim and barely reinforced from a few other lighted settings. Only the red light of Collar pulsated the shadows into life.

  Avienne coughed from the front seat, where she had sat quietly after waking from her ordeal. She had yet to swear once.

  Layela sat in the seat next to Lang at Josmere’s insistence.

  “Your lungs took a beating, too,” Josmere had whispered after dragging Avienne on board. Layela had been too weary to argue.

  The Berganda sat wedged between Ardin’s seat and Layela’s legs, leaning against the side of the shuttle and staring at the other wall.

  Layela felt drained to the core, her head too heavy to lift from the chair. She looked ahead towards the red, bleak landscape. Only a few mushroom farms marked the horizon, the giant purple fungi dotting the land.

  It was gone.

  All gone.

  Before, when she’d had to leave an area, when she’d had to move to evade law enforcers, Yoma had always been with her. Laughing it away, soothing the pain of having to uproot once again with a gentle giggle or a well-timed joke. But Yoma wasn’t here now. She was elsewhere, possibly in worse danger than Layela.

  She felt her throat constrict and she closed her eyes, picturing her sister and reaching out with her mind. They had always had that deep connection, through their powers of vision, to feel each other’s presence and moods. But, despite all that had happened to her and her desperate need to feel the soothing touch of her sister, Layela’s link remained quiet.

  As though feeling what Layela forced her weary mind to seek, Josmere placed her hand on Layela’s folded hands and lowered her head to her lap, green hair spreading wildly.

  Layela smiled, feeling closer to Josmere than ever before. Bergandas were not renowned for their loyalty, usually sticking only with their race, a people in self-imposed exile for reasons no one knew. She was grateful now that Josmere had seen something in the twins that had made her treat them as her own. Whether their connection was through ether, or simply because none of them had a home, she would never know. It hardly mattered.

  What mattered to Layela was that her lap was blanketed and comforted by the spread of green hair, and she didn’t feel quite as alone. Visions whispered near her mind, unwilling to be quiet now as they had been at Sunrise Flowers, when she had felt safe. A tremor settled deep into her spine and she doubted it would ever leave.

  The vision of the dying soldiers had been awakened in her years ago, under the whims of the Kilita. She hadn’t fully remembered it until seconds before it happened, but now she knew her fears weren’t unfounded. The visions locked in her mind would come to pass, and unless she could remember them, she doubted she could stop them.

  But then, even if she could remember them, could she stop them? Idly, she wondered if that was why she had founded Sunrise Flowers in the first place. It had been safe, because no death lingered there. But the visions had still found her. She had been unable to escape them.

  What other visions had she seen? All that she remembered of those days of assaulting visions was death. A thousand, maybe millions of lives streaming by her mind in a blur, only capturing the final breath. And then nothing. Nothing at all.

  She looked down at Josmere, and as her heartbeat accelerated and sweat beaded on her brow, she was certain she had seen how her friend would die. But she couldn’t recall the details. She could only taste the fear, and thought maybe that meant she would be there to witness it.

  If I could see your death, could I even prevent it? Is it already written in the history books of the future, or is the pen still waiting to ink the page?

  The shuttle slowed and she looked up to see that they had arrived by the docks of Smuggler’s Cove. Hardly a cove, with neither mountain nor bay gracing the landscape, it was nonetheless filled with smugglers. Ship after ship, unmarked and suspicious-looking, were lined perfectly against a metal structure. The ships were never too close to one another, as though a silent vow had been taken: Keep away from mine, and I’ll keep away from yours.

  Ardin expertly navigated the busy streets, people and shuttles crowding the entrance to the market, appropriately named the Black Market.

  “They really don’t care that people know, do they?” Layela asked, shaking her head.

  Avienne gave a short laugh. “Imagine the government trying to shut this place down. Gomar himself wouldn’
t want to go against this army of smugglers. Besides, the government accounts for about half the sales here!”

  Layela glanced outside. People were laughing and joking, not the dark brooding souls some might imagine this so-called cove would hide. Smuggling had never appealed to her, and even thievery had been Yoma and Josmere’s specialty. She wondered what the job entailed exactly, and whether she would be any good at it. She had to begin rebuilding somehow. She had to get away from the uncertainty that now clouded her mind. Her visions were useless, anyhow. What difference could she possibly make when she couldn’t even recall them, save for seconds before the final breath or with a Berganda’s careful touch?

  She needed the few answers the Malavants might be able to give her.

  “Why were you looking for me?” Layela asked, breaking the silence.

  Ardin shrugged. “We were hired to protect you.”

  “That’s it?” Layela asked suspiciously, Josmere raising her head in interest.

  “There she is. The Destiny,” Ardin replied, sidestepping the question and pointing to a ship.

  Although Layela did not know much about ships, she knew that what she was looking at was old, beautiful, and very different from any other ship she’d ever seen before. Rejecting the modern shipbuilders’ sleek and dull visions, the ship’s sculpted design suggested the ancient grace of sea ships, from keel to mast, all depicted or hinted at on her massive metal shell. Her obsidian hull gleamed in the sunlight, the carvings giving the impression that the sails might start flapping in the wind at any moment. Even the poor red sun of Collar could not undermine her beauty, the shadows only accentuating and defining each port and plank.

  She was sturdy, solid and battle-scarred. All of her markings had been removed long ago, leading Layela to believe that she was a stolen ship. Layela was, after all, dealing with smugglers, dealers in illegal goods, or perhaps even pirates, a most dangerous lot who pillaged and plundered without rhyme or reason.