Under the Stars

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  “Sssh. It’s going to be okay, Mattie. Everything’s going to be all right.” I glance up at Mama. She’s in disarray. A complete and hopeless disaster.

  “You have to take care of Mama while I’m gone. She’s going to need your help,” I say, pulling back from him. “Can you do that for me?”

  He wipes the tears from his cheeks and nods.

  “Good.” I ruffle his hair and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, bud.”

  He gasps for more air, ready to cry again. “Love you-u too.”

  Mama croaks, “C’mon, Mattie. Come stand with me.” She smiles through the tears and open her arms to him. He runs over to her, burying his face in her dress.

  That moment will be carved into my memory for the remainder of this trip. I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want to utter one word to the King. But if this visit means that my family is fed and well-kept, then I have no choice but to go.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, I climb on my horse and ride through the ocean of sand.

  24.

  Two days. That’s how long it takes to reach the station; it was once painted white, with the border a shade of deep ruby. But now the sun has ripped nearly all the paint off the building. Pieces here and there remain undamaged. Mostly, though, it’s cracked and scaly.

  A middle-aged man—with a heavy gut and a faded blue cap—operates a booth inside the station. The stall area is large enough to hold three, maybe four, ticket vendors. At one time, this must’ve been a hub for travelers. People in and out to visit family. Maybe some were on vacation, taking in the local sites.

  The guards don’t waste any time sending me off. When the train screeches to a halt in front of the post, they hand me my potato sack without speaking. I guess I’ll get off at the next stop…

  I hesitate on the steps leading up into the box on wheels. More than anything, I want to jump on my horse and ride back to Legora to be with Mama and Mattie. But these people need me.

  Flimsy is how I’d describe the inside of the train. Most of the booth seats are worn like my couch back home. Holes picked and chewed to the point of being unfixable. Window frames cling to spider-webbed glass and some of the floorboards are missing. I can see directly to the tracks below. Is this safe?

  Guess I’m about to find out.

  Before I have a chance to find a seat, the train jerks, and I fumble for support, almost diving face-first into the leaky floorboards. I slide into the nearest booth—no matter that its sliced leather sticks through my pants and into my skin.

  I sit by the window, a breeze catching my rebellious curls as the train picks up speed. Nothing but desert stretches as far as my eyes can see. No notable landmarks or an oasis. The view is, needless to say, boring.

  It’s then I realize I have no idea how long this trip is or how far away from home I’ll be.

  Doesn’t matter, really. I shouldn’t worry about such trivial problems. My mind needs to stay focused on what I’ll say when I meet the King. With no idea how I’m going to act, I guess I should concentrate on that too. I’ll try to remember behavior Mama taught me growing up. She used to say, “Having good manners shows you have dignity, and are a spot above the rest.” Yeah, we’ll see how that works out.

  Staying up the night before has taken its toll on my body. I notice this when I have nothing to stare at but dead land. Although I’d love to fall asleep and dream until we arrive, I must stay awake. Keeping my eyes open might help in my adventure to the New World Kingdom. If I can devise a plan along the way, then my trip might be quicker than I expected.

  But as more minutes pass, my eyes are weighed down. I’m soon enveloped in a fog of black and green dots. They linger for several seconds, then vanish as I’m drawn—no, pulled—away to another world.

  And as swiftly as they fluttered shut, my eyes spring open when the train’s wheels grind to a halt. I squint against the devilish sun, giving time for my dreamlike vision to adjust.

  Four men—dressed in black from head to toe—wait beside a platform that is a complete one-eighty from the station I departed from. For starters, this place holds scores of people layered in lavish garments. All of which are clean, modest. They chat as if the world we live in doesn’t have tired travelers searching for new homes so they can provide a better life for their families. The suits and dresses of these men and women standing just outside my window could be sold, and the money used to enhance other towns. Like, Legora.

  An operator sticks his head through the cart door, his body only halfway in. “You coming, miss?”

  I nod and grab my pitiful sack.

  As soon as I place one foot onto a wooden board outside, I’m met with whispers and exploratory glares.

  “Andrina Stevens?” one of the men on a stallion asks.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “We’re the King’s footmen. Some call us Black Riders.” He gauges my reaction to this. Why? I don’t know.

  “Oh, that’s…uh…that’s good?” What else am I supposed to say? Please don’t kill me? They look menacing enough, with their masks and weapons. The knife handle glimmers from the edge of his boot, and the gun is so obvious on his belt.

  They all have guns.

  He dismounts. “Please. Allow me,” he says, extending a hand to help me onto the horse. Even their animals are black. Seems like they take this title seriously.

  The rider leaps onto the saddle directly behind me, clutching the reins. The others don’t say a word; they just begin to gallop alongside. I swallow a lump in my throat.

  We ride through desert, which looks exactly the same as the barren land surrounding Legora. I might easily be twenty miles away, but I know that’s not the reality of it.

  “Is it far? Where we’re going, I mean.”

  “No, not far,” he replies with a grin. “Not far at all.”

  Before my eyes, the wasteland disappears and life emerges. Green grass, green plants—everything’s glowing to the extent of a cobalt hue. Trees become closer and closer the faster we traverse. In the distance, on an emerald hill, is the fortress I expected. Yet, somehow, it’s even more beautiful than I’d ever dreamed.

  The castle is fenced by a wall of iron and grey stone. So far, there is only one entrance, and it’s heavily guarded. On the rise, there are tanks and weapons of devastation that I’ve never seen before. Metal birds litter the sky, roaring in unison and performing some sort of acrobatic show.

  We near the reinforced iron gate. Guards are dressed in armor that glows like the stars. They let the Black Riders through, giving me a cynical glare as I pass.

  Trotting up to the main citadel, the riders dismount, since it’s clear we’ll be taking stairs to the second landing. Apparently that’s where the main entrance is. And even though the place is secured by grey-stone walls, the castle itself is built with white granite. We enter through an arched opening. Slabs have been laid in place for the wide steps leading to the next story.

  I can’t help but run my hand along the rough texture of the stones. It’s like my mind won’t remember if I don’t touch and feel and breathe in this precise heartbeat.

  My fascination must be written across my face, because one of the footmen chuckles.

  “Do you like it?” he asks, stopping a few steps ahead. Over the short wall, I’m amazed by continuous greenery.

  “I think like is an understatement. This place is beautiful.”

  “Wait ‘til you see the gardens.” He winks at me.

  “There’s a garden here?”

  A smile covers half of his face. “Not a garden. There are several. Flowers bloom despite the harsh environment, and the birds chirp in conversation together. Sometimes it’s like the world never changed.” He glances away from me and his face drops all emotion, like he’s said too much. “Anyway, we are to escort you to your new chambers for the duration of your stay. There, you will meet your servant.”

  “Servant?” I can feel my face tighten and scrunch up. “That won’t be n
ecessary. I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s by order of the King. He likes for all of his guests to be attended to. However, if you desire to blatantly disregard the King’s wishes, then I’ll leave that up to you.” He turns toward the stairs, guiding his hand up the miniature wall.

  “No, I wouldn’t want to upset him.”

  He stops long enough to glance over his shoulder and say, “I think that’d be a wise decision.”

  Already it’s too much. I mean, I can take care of myself. It’s not like I’m twelve anymore. Plus, I promised Mama I’d stay clean and wash my clothes. But now I might have someone else taking care of those things? I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.

  “Follow me, please,” the footman says, urging me forward. My feet are completely rooted. I want to stand here and drink the moist air, but mostly listen to the birds singing. I haven’t heard their tunes since I was a child.

  Instead, I obey the Black Rider. This is his jurisdiction, his home. I can’t come here and act selfish if I want to impress the King.

  When we reach the landing, two guards stand at the top of the stairs, another two facing each other across the wide walkway, and two additional by the substantial door. The footman props the bulky, wooden entrance open for me. “This way,” he orders.

  We coil our way through halls of uneven stone. Ornate tapestries drape the walls from ceiling to floor. Doors leading to other rooms in the castle are sporadically opened and closed as courtiers go about their duties. The ladies are clothed in plain dresses. Men wear ruffled shirts, black pants and black boots that end at their knees.

  Circling through more seemingly never-ending hallways, the footman leads me to an area that opens wide; its view of the gardens is spectacular. I can see everything from here—the maze of jade hedges, vivid, pink roses and a fountain. There’s actually a fountain! Oh, and a vaulted structure with clear windows looms to my right, looping the entire length of the corridor. The architecture doesn’t look like it’d hold glass, since it’s so spotless. But the pane is definitely there. Guards line the left of the hall, standing at attention. More are gathered just outside an exaggerated door with chiseled designs.

  “The King asked to meet you immediately upon your arrival,” the footman states. “It was my responsibility to see you here.” He motions for me to enter, twirling his hands in a show.

  “How does he know I’m here?” I ask.

  “His Majesty was alerted before your town had the drawing. He knew it was time for someone from that city to come begging again.”

  “I didn’t come here to beg; I came to negotiate. But thank you for your help,” I say. His eyebrows rise, like he’s astonished I’d say such a thing. I smile.

  One of the guards opens the door for me. Inside, the fireplace is lit, even though it’s too muggy outside to require its use. Off to my right—behind fuzzy-glass surrounding an entryway—shelves upon shelves of books snuggle against each other, tightly squeezed into their places. More books cover a table in the center of the nook. Some lay face open on the floor.

  “Do you admire books?”

  I inhale a sharp breath, almost jumping out of my skin when I hear the voice.

  “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here,” I say.

  The man strolls around the room, finally resting his arm atop a chair that sits by the fire. His long tresses shadow his features, but the room is dark anyway. He’s garbed in a loose, white shirt—untucked from his pants. He wears a heavy ring with a crest in the center, rubies lining the edges.

  “Oh, you like it?” he asks, glancing down at his ring. “It almost matches your hair.” He twists one of his fingers through my red curls.

  I pull away, somewhat appalled. “Yeah, I guess it does.” Glancing around the room, I don’t assign anything to memory; it’s just something to keep me distracted from the thick air between us.

  “You’re Andrina, I take it?”

  “I am.”

  “I am King Zarek,” he calmly states, “ruler of the New World.”

  I stifle a giggle. “I know who you are. I just didn’t know what you looked like.”

  His eyebrows reach his forehead, surprise dancing in his dark eyes. “Oh? Well,” he huffs, “I was certain most of the New World knew my face.”

  “Most. Not all.” Obviously. Though it may be a handsome one, he does come off as a bit arrogant.

  He grins. “I think I like you. You don’t seem afraid of me. Most lack that type of courage when they are in my presence. And I’ll tell you that you’re not the first to come to my kingdom and beg for supplies. Other cities are failing, too. With the dramatic weather changes, it’s almost impossible to harvest food.”

  “And what do you tell these other people?” I ask, hoping this will be the quickest trip I’ve ever made.

  But he only forces a smile to his lips, a vague one at that. “We’ll talk of these matters later. I’ve had an exhausting day. I trust you have, too.” He snaps his fingers, and the door opens. “You are more than welcome here, Andrina. Anything you want is yours.”

  I’m grateful for his hospitality, but wonder to what extent it’ll reach. I can’t delay the fact that the people of Legora are depending on me for extra provisions.

  “Sir,” I begin, but am interrupted.

  A footman standing at the door clears his throat and says, “You will address King Zarek as Majesty, Highness or Your Grace.”

  Ignoring him, I blurt, “I don’t plan to stay for long. I only came to—”

  “Nonsense!” King Zarek waves his hand dismissively. “We will be more than happy to have you for as long as you wish. It isn’t every day that someone new arrives in my realm, let alone my court. Daphne will help you.” He motions toward a woman standing near the room’s entrance, her head bowed.

  I nod. If it takes me one week, or two weeks, to get through to him, then so be it. But my stay is limited—no matter what he says. I have to push for Legora’s help as soon as possible.

  “Follow me, miss,” Daphne says. She escorts me out of the King’s library and to another area of the building. Winding corridors almost make me dizzy. It seems as if one twisting passage is met with another and another.

  Finally, we reach the guest room. “If ya need anything at all, ring this bell,”—she nods at a cord near the wall of my bed—“an’ I’ll come quickly.”

  “Okay,” I say. Daphne bows at me and then leaves the room. Actually bows. Who does that? This is 2032. Plus, I’m only a commoner, not someone of importance.

  I run my hand along the uneven bedspread; it plumps up into squares filled with cotton, or feathers. Either way, it’s soft to the touch. I don’t remember the last time I saw something so elaborate.

  The bed has four posts—each displaying an intricately carved design swirling to the tips. The room’s ceiling is too high for a ladder to reach. My guess is at least twenty feet, if not more. An armoire sits against a far wall. I near it, pulling on the copper-painted, crackled handles. Within it are dresses with no holes, some sort of sweet, prickly fragrance and a painful reminder that none of this is mine.

  25.

  The exhilaration of the day has finally overtaken me. I’m in a palace, of all places. One with guards, a king, riches and power. I’d never really thought about it until now because I was too focused on how I’d convince King Zarek to offer his aid.

  But it’s as if the world has unfastened before me. Settings and dreams have merged into one, only to be separated by an indistinct line.

  I stand at my giant window, gazing up at the stars. None are falling. No birds or bugs or any other nighttime creatures threaten to harm the city.

  All is quiet tonight.

  26.

  Cling, cling. Cling, cling.

  A faint noise echoes deep in my subconscious mind, reverberating over and over again until my eyelids stretch open.

  “Sorry, miss. Had to wake ya,” says Daphne.

  A long, over-exercised groan rol
ls from the back of my throat. She throws open the curtains, sunlight filling the entire room.

  I hastily bury my face under the sheets. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Rise ‘n shine. Wipe away the sleep from those eyes.” I watch her run around the room, tidying things here and there. “Don’ jus’ lay there.”

  “Why didn’t you nudge me? It would’ve been better than waking to that angry bell.”

  “We’re not allowed to touch guests, miss.” She stops at the foot of my bed, hands on hips. “Ya have a big day ahead of ya. Ya can’t jus’ lay there, wastin’ away.”

  “I don’t know… Sleeping in a bed—no, in a room—like this could be addictive.”

  She grins and tosses a garment at me.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “What you’ll be wearin’ today. Can’t have ya lookin’ like the cats dragged ya in.”

  It’s a mauve-colored, woven dress with a hand-beaded edge that twinkles when the sun’s rays hit it just right. The back is embroidered in a beige flower pattern. Due to the extreme heat, the sleeves are kept short, yet poof up. Like the squares on my comforter.

  “Oh, I didn’t bring this,” I say to Daphne, shaking my head.

  She regards me for a moment. “I like ya. Yer honest. We don’ see that much around ‘ere.”

  “Am I allowed to wear this?”

  “Listen to ya. Actin’ as if I jus’ throw clothes ta needy people. Of course ya can wear it. That’s what it’s there for.”

  I want to bounce up and down on the bed, like Mattie and I used to do when we were younger. I’ve never worn anything this nice before.

  Ever.

  Mama would freak. She’d want to touch it, oohing and ahhing over the pattern and fine stitching. I can’t wait to tell her all about it. Which reminds me…

  “Hey, do you think there’s a way I could write a letter to my family back in Legora?” I ask.

  Daphne shrugs. “I don’ see why not.”

  “I’m sure they’re worried about me and whether I’ve made it safely.” I think about Mattie before I left and how pitiful he was. I hope that when I return, our days will be filled with smiles and laughter, and that he’ll carry conversations.