Under the Stars

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  I continue with the tent. Part of me feels like I crushed the dreams of my parents. Another part of me says it’s not my fault.

  Mama continues. “And later, Mattie came along. Unexpectedly, I might add, but your father and I welcomed him all the same.”

  I only nod to that.

  Mama clears her throat and says, “Well, it won’t be much longer until we’re able to call Legora our home.” She runs her fingers through Mattie’s unkempt hair, straightening out his bangs.

  “You excited, Mattie?” I ask, with an inkling of hope he might respond.

  He doesn’t.

  Instead, he gives me a look from beneath his full, black lashes. His eyes linger on mine for a moment, and then he redirects them. I can’t read them like I used to. I know one day he’ll reply to me.

  But not today.

  “Well, I, for one, am ecstatic,” Mama says. “I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities waiting for us in Legora.”

  “Jobs, you mean?”

  “Well, not just that. We’ll be around people, so socializing and gossiping are a given. Then there’s the prospect of men for you, Andy, and women, eventually, for Mattie.”

  Mattie scrunches his face like he smells something foul. I don’t blame him. He’s too young to think about girls.

  “How about friends, Mattie? Little boys that you can play ball with. How does that sound?” I ask.

  The corner of his mouth moves slightly, but not a full grin. I know that excites him more. Perhaps he’ll open up if there are other kids his age.

  Once the tent is up, we slide in for an afternoon nap. The shade from the tent provides enough cover that it’s tolerable. Mama and Mattie quickly fall asleep, and I’m left keeping watch. I miss the wagon. And Malik.

  8.

  When night shrouds the daylight, my eyelids become heavy. I struggle to hold them open. My mind says stay alert, just in case. But my body fights against me. Winning.

  9.

  Something with a slimy yet rough exterior wakes me up by crawling into my ear. I immediately move my hands to keep this creature out. I don’t want my brains eaten or anything.

  Then I see what it is.

  A tongue. A camel’s tongue.

  Its head is sticking through the tent opening. Some men outside laugh. I shoo it and crawl outside. I’m stopped cold in my tracks when I see caravans upon caravans of weary travelers headed in the same direction.

  “What’s this?” I ask to no one in particular.

  “They’re all heading to Legora,” the camel’s owner states.

  We can travel with them. Safety in numbers—that’s what Mama always said. I go back inside the tent to wake Mama and Mattie.

  “Look! Come look!” I shout.

  Mama’s the first to wake. “What is it, Andy?”

  “A sea of travelers headed to Legora.” I point outside. Mama ducks her head so she can see out of the tent’s opening. Her eyes grow large, and she reaches over to shake Mattie.

  “Today’s the day, Mattie. We’re going to make it,” she says, rousing him from a deep slumber. “Look.” She pulls a flap of the tent back.

  Breath catches in his throat. His eyes lust after the wandering soldiers like they’re forgotten pieces of a treasure.

  “C’mon,” I say, pulling Mattie up. We watch the crowd parade through the sands, leaving only their footprints behind. These people are in a hurry to get to Legora, and we need to be with them.

  After Mama and Mattie step out of the tent, I hurriedly take it apart. They roll the sleeping bag, hooking it to the backpack Mattie’s been carrying.

  “Oh, it’s finally happening,” Mama says, unable to contain her excitement.

  We fall in formation with the other travelers to start the beginning of our new life. We’re so close, yet so far. Legora is finally within our grasp.

  Tonight, everyone camps together. There are at least one hundred people, all with their personal belongings—animals, clothing, painted flagons. I even see one woman toting an ornamented jewelry box; it’s covered in red velvet, and the edges are lined in gold twine and jewels.

  The people are more than welcoming. Children play tag through the maze of wagons and carts. Some of the men have gathered around a campfire and drink to the exhilarating occasion. Women begin to dance around another fire like the gypsies.

  And then I think of Malik, wondering where he’s at this very moment, wondering if I’ll ever see him again. I don’t know if he ever got over killing that man, or the devastating loss of his people. I’ve tried to block that memory from my mind. One day my conscience will get the best of me, but for now, I have to stay tough for Mama and Mattie. Just until we get to Legora.

  “I wonder how long it’ll be before the cold reaches us tonight,” Mama says.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. Some nights, I wish it wouldn’t come at all.”

  She softly pats my arm.

  “At least we only have until tomorrow,” I say. “Everything in the past two weeks has led us to this point. I don’t want anything to ruin it for us.”

  “I don’t either, dear.”

  I glance over at Mattie, who watches the crowd in awe. Does he think about the gypsies like I do?

  When I look up, my eyes catch sight of a boy with rippled dark brown hair grazing the tips of his ears. Malik?

  I jump up and stride over to him. He’s surrounded by a group of other boys his age. Grabbing the boy’s shoulder, I say, “Hey, Malik!” But as soon as he turns, I realize the face is unfamiliar.

  I’m greeted by laughter.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, and stumble back toward my family’s small encampment.

  “Who was that?” Mama asks.

  I sit beside Mattie. “Nobody. I thought he was someone else.”

  “He looks like that gypsy boy.”

  That boy. She doesn’t even know his name.

  “Yeah, he does,” is all I say. She doesn’t pursue the conversation further. Nor I. She just whispers to Mattie promises of a time we have yet to see, a life we have longed to live, and dreams that will soon become reality.

  10.

  I stir when the screams and pounding of feet reach my ears.

  My eyes flutter open, seeing that chaos is headed our way in the form of falling stars. Rolling over, I realize Mama and Mattie are still fast asleep. Dawn hasn’t even broken the horizon.

  “Get up, we have to move!” I screech, shaking Mama.

  “What—” Her eyes squint, heavy from sleep, opening at a snail’s pace. Then she sees them, too. She seizes Mattie without waking him, and begins to run in the direction everyone else is going.

  The terrain far behind us explodes each time a fiery ball hits.

  VOMPH. Craaacckk.

  Stray fragments of the stars collide with the frozen desert ground, creating a symphony of sputtering hoarfrost as the pieces bounce across the land. More star rubble sizzles on patches of ice, melting solid sheets wherever they fall.

  Someone screams, “They’re catching up!”

  I run. It seems my legs won’t move fast enough, though, and they burn from overexertion. Everyone slides across the ice. Some fall down. Others try to balance.

  And all I can think about is how we’re not going to make it.

  Mama has Mattie clutched so close to her body I’m not sure he can breathe. He’s awake now. His head is positioned against her chest, but his eyes are watching everything unfold behind us.

  “Mattie, don’t look!” I shout, but he’s so fascinated with the streaming fire it’s as if his mind doesn’t comprehend my words.

  Up ahead, there’s a lone mountain; its mouth is open to let us in. I can only pray that the peak isn’t destroyed, and the cave doesn’t collapse while we huddle in our refuge.

  More cracking and popping of ice sheets indicate devastation behind me. I want to see, to watch Mother Nature’s wrath, but I don’t want to see what little we have left ruined.

  The hollow, black hole isn’
t far ahead now. Mama slips, catching herself.

  “Put him down. We can make it!” I yell over the crashing debris.

  “No. I can’t risk it.” She wraps her arms tighter, if that’s possible.

  We barely make it inside the opening before screams echo like shrill caws of mangals. I catch a glimpse of the destruction through the gap, but realize there are many others falling behind. They won’t make it.

  I can’t watch them die.

  I raise my voice a couple of octaves so Mama can hear me over the pandemonium. “Take Mattie further in. I’ll be back.”

  She clutches my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. “No. You’re not going back out there. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Would you rather watch them die?” I point to the civilians scrambling to make it across the thick ice. A mother slides on the glossy cover, trying frantically to coax her hysterical child to move. I can’t just stand here, powerless.

  Something in me shifts my wobbly legs toward them. I trip twice on my way. Without thinking, I snatch the little boy and grasp his mother’s hand, trying with everything in my control to pull them to safety.

  The stars show no signs of stopping their frenzied shower. Closer they become. Closer. Closer.

  VOMPH. VOMPH. Craaacckk.

  I don’t think I’ll ever get that sound out of my mind. Not ever.

  A mass of people wait for us at the entrance of the cleft, wheedling us with their hands. I set the kid down just as we enter. The rest of us run to the back of the cavity, fearing for our lives, yet praying we’ll make it somehow.

  Parents and children huddle together, possibly wondering if these will be their last valuable moments together, their last breaths.

  The thundering collisions outside become stronger, louder. We are utterly helpless. I hold on to Mama and Mattie.

  “We’re going to make it,” I whisper, but I’m not certain there is any truth behind my words.

  Ancient dirt dislodges from the walls, powdering us in a blanket of ash. Whimpers of fear spiral through the air. The mountain grunts with each new hit. Our barriers are losing their defenses, cracking bit by bit.

  11.

  Behind the rubble, there’s a single vein of sun leaking through a fissure. A few people cough from lack of oxygen, and from the cinders that encrust the backs of our throats. Faces are covered in a mantle of grey.

  Then, like the ray shooting through the rock debris, voices reach us.

  “Is anyone in there?” someone yells.

  I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is so void of moisture that I’m not sure talking is an option.

  Forcing myself is, however, a necessity.

  “Here!” I wheeze. “We’re in here…” My voice catches on the last two words.

  It’s enough to garner attention.

  The outsiders begin lugging the rocks away one by one. I don’t know how much time passes, but they’re able to clear most of the ruins and get us out.

  One of the rescuers is the boy with the wavy hair and aqua-blue eyes.

  Malik.

  “Didn’t think I’d see you again,” I choke out.

  “You never know what fate has in store,” he says, and hands me a canteen of water. When it hits the back of my throat, I almost spew; the lack of water for the past twenty-four hours has completely dried up my esophagus, thus rejecting anything that’ll change its surface.

  He continues. “We’ve found an oasis nearby, unless you want to keep this”—he brushes a finger across my face—“grey suit.”

  “No, I definitely don’t want to keep it.”

  He smirks. “It’s good to see you.”

  “How are your people?” I know I shouldn’t ask because it might still be a touchy subject, but maybe it’s because I do care about the gypsies. They did, after all, save my family and me.

  “We’re…holding up.”

  I produce a faint smile. “That’s expected.”

  Some of Malik’s community has encouraged our group of nomads to trek toward the oasis. They say it’s at least one mile to the north. Doesn’t sound very far, but after being trapped with only dust to inhale, it strains normal body function. Plus, the sun’s heat is worse, if that’s even possible.

  The oasis is exactly how I pictured it, though. Minus the palm trees. Since this used to be a forest, there are still some pines left behind, guarding a pool of untainted water. How that happened, I’m not entirely sure.

  Green grass puckers from the ground. Water lilies float atop the crystal clear pond. I look at my clothing, how dirty I am, and suddenly feel bad about contaminating it.

  Mama carries Mattie to the pool, where she and him both glide into the water, washing away the filth. Others follow.

  “Aren’t you going to clean up?” Malik asks.

  “Yeah, I guess I could.”

  He gently pushes me forward. The water cools the burns from the sun, and washes away the impurities gained over the past two weeks.

  After everyone takes a dip, we survey the damage done the day before. Gaping holes now reside in the sides of the mountain that protected us. The endless desert has permanent dimples where stars landed.

  “Looks like you guys had a rough time,” Malik says.

  “It was one of the worst.”

  With the sun on our backs, we begin yet another new journey. We’re lucky no deaths occurred during this stint. Everyone walked away with minor scratches, bruises, and dirt-filled lungs.

  “We have more of my people meeting us ahead,” Malik says, pointing toward the boundary.

  “Oh?” I squint, attempting to see people who aren’t there. “Where did you go after we last saw you?”

  He shrugs. “Nowhere, really. We continued the same way for miles, but there was nothing, so we decided to come back. We found the remainder of abandoned caravans and thought the worst. That’s when one of our men saw the cave.”

  “Well, I’m glad you came when you did. None of us had the energy or the guts to move that barricade.”

  After at least thirty minutes passes, the gypsies are in sight. Except these aren’t the same people that we met before.

  “Totally different clan?” I ask.

  Malik nods. “They come from the West, a branch of our people.”

  Even the wagons are different. Basic wooden things. But the people look much like Malik’s group, and are eager to help.

  Plenty of water and food. We practically gorge ourselves while recuperating. One man to my right thanks another, saying, “I don’t know if we would’ve made it had it not been for you and your people.” He speaks the truth. We might’ve died in that cave.

  I watch Mama and Mattie drink water like today’s the last day they’ll ever swallow it.

  “Is he okay?” I ask.

  “He’s fine,” Mama replies. She strokes Mattie’s untidy hair away from his eyes. “We’re all fine.”

  I nod.

  After everyone has relaxed, we’re assigned to certain wagons. Some of us have to share them with the gypsies who aren’t driving.

  I can’t help it, but after the past two day’s events, I’m beyond exhausted. My body and mind need a break. It seems like I close my eyes for only a few minutes, when I feel the wagon stop. The back door opens, and Malik simply says, “We’re here.”

  I groan. “Where?”

  “Legora.”

  12.

  My heart spins and expands against my chest cavity.

  Legora? Can it really be true? We’ve made it at last.

  I turn to wake up Mama and Mattie, but Mama’s already awake. Her eyes are packed with fresh tears, threatening to spill.

  “Let’s wake Mattie,” I say.

  She bobs her head once, and then gently stirs him.

  “We’re here,” she says. “Come see your new home.”

  Everyone has gathered outside the wagons. Ahead, the road we’re on leads directly toward the city. Sand-colored walls protect the town. When we near, I notice the walls are ma
de of clay and bricks.

  The guard at the entrance checks our wrists for the brand—a mark we receive as citizens of society, which looks as if two lazy cobras are intertwined and about to fight each other. If someone doesn’t have the symbol, they aren’t allowed entrance to cities. Vagabonds are usually the ones who don’t possess these.

  One by one we enter the gates. Citizens freely walk about, arms full of fresh produce. There’s another wall ahead, and the city splits left and right.

  “Which way do we go?” I ask.

  Mama glances in both directions. “I’m not sure.”

  I point toward the right corridor. “This way?”

  Mama smiles. “Yeah, sure.”

  The inside wall is lined with tents selling anything imaginable—pottery, jewelry, clothing, food. In Fortune, we didn’t have this kind of luxury; we had to obtain supplies ourselves. Weekly hunting was a must. Indulgences such as jewelry and clothing were rarely heard of.

  We follow the walkway until it wraps around, opening up to reveal a square with more merchants. I didn’t expect to see a place brimming with nomads, but I was wrong. This place is infested with people. It’s a refuge in the middle of the desert.

  Lazy havens are clustered together amid the sand and sun. Each tiny place holds a family—and shade. All of which are sitting on a petite hill to our right. I glance down at Mattie. His face is beaming. I squeeze his hand and say, “What do you think?” He only nods at me, his eyes never leaving the food stands.

  The rest of our group stands behind us, relishing in their new home. An elderly man—draped in garments from head to foot—hobbles forward, using his cane for support.

  “New citizens,” he bellows, “please, make yourselves at home! As you can see, we have many amenities to provide you comfort. Several jobs are available, if you wish to give your family the life they need. My office is located at the base of the housing rise. Come see me. Your future won’t wait!”

  Okay, he’s kind of creepy. I know he’s trying to help, but he could’ve told us his speech in a totally different way. Does he do that with all the new arrivals?

  “I’m going to speak to him about a job,” Mama says. “We need these things.” She glimpses at the marketplace.