The Black Stars

by Dan Krokos

  Merrin looked at every inch of his face, as if searching for some deception. Mason was leaning on her now, a little. Their faces were so close.

  “Mason…”

  “I’ve never been so sure in my life,” he said. “I pick myself.”

  She became blurry as his eyes welled again: this was it. He had made it to this point in his life, and nothing would come after. And he was okay with that. There were worse deaths than sacrificing yourself for your best friend—and for your fellow soldiers. Mason blinked to clear his eyes.

  And when he opened them, she was gone.

  Mason fell forward onto his hands and knees. A tear dripped from his cheek, darkening the stone floor. He looked around the room, searching for her, but there was only the chest. It was glowing now, with a soft white light.

  Mason wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. He could barely move. Stupid, he thought. You’re stupid. Of course the Rhadgast would never kill the king’s daughter. They would never crush her hand. If he’d taken three seconds to think about it, he would’ve known it was an illusion. Somehow the Rhadgast had made him think his friend was here, in extreme agony. The implant in his brain felt hotter than before—maybe that was the thing responsible. Mason couldn’t think of anything crueler.

  But he found the strength to stand up.

  He looked around the room, expecting someone to be there, to tell him how he’d done, but there was no one. He walked to the chest slowly, as if approaching a live bomb. It seemed to glow brighter as he got closer, a gentle light that felt good to look at. It was the only thing that felt good.

  He kneeled in front of it, searching for some kind of clasp; there was none. So he gripped the top and lifted. The lid swung open on oiled, silent hinges. Inside was a folded piece of black fabric. He stared at the fabric, knowing what it was but not so sure he wanted it any longer.

  But after a few seconds, he decided he had to keep going. He pulled out the fabric, which was a simple black robe like those the other students wore. This one had crimson accents on the collar and wrists. And beneath the robe was a new set of Rhadgast gloves. These were red, too, a darker red, not purple like the ones he was used to.

  I am of the Blood, Mason thought.

  Still alone, he stripped out of his gray initiate shirt and pants, then put on his new gear with shaking hands. First pants and a shirt, both black, then the robe, which was closer to a long jacket, open in the front so his legs wouldn’t get tangled if he tried to leap on something. This is serious now. You made it. You’re a student.

  Right before he put the gloves on, his sleeves automatically retracted to right above his elbows, then stiffened. He pulled the gloves on, and they sealed against the fabric on his arms. He held them up to his face, then willed the gloves to peel away from his hands. Soon he had deep red armbands from elbow to wrist.

  “Not everyone can do that,” a voice said behind him.

  Mason turned around slowly, not wanting to show how startled he was. It was Reckful, smiling at him from across the room, wearing gear not unlike Mason’s. His red hair was pulled into a high ponytail.

  “Do what?” Mason asked.

  “Manipulate their gloves like that. We don’t teach that in the first year. You already impress us.”

  Mason didn’t care, but he didn’t want to say that, so he said nothing. Probably because a part of him really did care if the Rhadgast were impressed. Mason clearly wasn’t welcomed by many at Academy II, and he desperately wanted to feel welcome, even if it was in some creepy temple on Skars.

  “So, I guess I’m Blood now.”

  Reckful nodded. “Blood believes in the heart,” he said. That was Po’s clue right there, the heart. “When presented with the choice between sacrificing ourselves or saving a loved one, we will always put the other person first.”

  “And a Stone kills the strangers,” Mason said. Sounded about right.

  Reckful nodded again. “Or they let their loved one die, for the sake of whatever five strangers we tell them is on the other side of the door. Stones believe in strength. They believe in our might, our importance. We Bloods believe in that too, of course, but in a different way. We are servants. To be Stone, you have to believe your life is more important, more valuable, than the person or people you sentence to die.”

  “I’m glad I’m Blood, then,” Mason said, and he really meant it.

  “But that means they believe in the greater good, Mason. The Stones are not evil. They make hard choices better than us. They will sacrifice thousands for the sake of millions. And you can’t say they’re wrong. It’s no small thing to ask someone to die for people they’ve never met.”

  “I’m still glad.” Mason thought back to when he was ready to sacrifice his crew against the Fangborn ship, in order to save the Olympus and the Will. Was that something a Blood would do, or a Stone?

  “I am as well.” Reckful crossed the room and extended his gloveless fist, pale and corpselike in the dim light.

  Mason touched his fist to Reckful’s, as a terrible thought occurred. Mason knew the answer before he asked. “What about Tom? What did Tom do?”

  “What do you think?” Reckful said, raising an eyebrow.

  “He sacrificed,” Mason said.

  “Indeed. You are both strong in your desire to help others. Stone is no place for you, though I have no doubt your conviction would let you excel there. Stone was also … no place for me.”

  “You were Stone?” Mason said.

  Reckful looked away for a moment. “I am Blood, as you can see.”

  Mason decided not to push the idea. “It was still wrong. To make me see that and feel that. I thought it was really Merrin. How did you do that?”

  “How is not relevant. We find the person most important to you and make you see that person. And you’re right, it is a terrible thing. But how else do we find out what’s truly inside you?”

  Mason didn’t know.

  The light had faded from the now-empty chest. It was just a regular old chest.

  “Are you ready to begin?” Reckful said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tom was waiting for him outside the room. Next to him was another teacher, also Blood, a younger man with a cherry goatee and sculpted eyebrows. Tom was pale, eyes on the rock floor. He didn’t even notice Mason at first, until Mason said his name.

  Tom looked up, as if being woken from a dream. “Stark. Hey.”

  “You okay?” Mason said.

  “He’s fine,” the teacher next to him said. “He did well.”

  “This is Karn,” Reckful said. “You’ll learn from him soon.”

  “The entire school watched both of you complete your tests,” Karn said flatly.

  The cold hand of embarrassment gripped the back of Mason’s neck. He’d been crying during the test. Or maybe not crying, but there were definitely a few tears. Just some minor precipitation. Nothing noticeable. Probably.

  “What?” Tom said. “You have got to be kidding.”

  “I don’t kid,” Karn said. “And you will have to soon learn the proper way to speak to your teachers. The first day you get a pass, because you’re human.”

  “Our apologies,” Mason said, when it didn’t seem like Tom was going to reply.

  “Give them a break, Karn,” Reckful said. He guided Mason and Tom back toward the elevator. “Come. Tomorrow is your first day of class. You need your rest.”

  They got into the elevator together and rode in the darkness back to the main level. The Inner Chamber was once again packed with students. When Mason and Tom appeared, everyone on the Blood side of the room stood up. They didn’t clap like humans, but standing seemed like some form of recognition. Next to Mason stood two more new initiates: one a young boy who was wearing Stone robes, and a girl wearing Blood, like Mason and Tom were. The girl—who had reddish pink hair, smiled widely at Mason and Tom; the boy looked at them like they were a piece of gum stuck to his shoe.

  Mason elbowed Tom and whispered from the
side of his mouth, “So, Stones are pretty friendly types, eh?”

  The students on the Blood side of the room sat back down. Master Zin was walking up the aisle toward them. Up close, he appeared neither old nor young, but there was something ancient about him.

  “I am no longer shocked the Stones kept trying to kill us last summer,” Tom said.

  Mason couldn’t hate the Stones. One had given Mason his old gloves. The very same Stone had told him to seek the Rhadgast out if he wanted the truth about his parents. They couldn’t all be bad. And maybe “bad” was the wrong word. Different. The Stones had the same goals, same desires, just a different philosophy about doing what was necessary to win.

  Master Zin took center stage. He cleared his throat, looking out over his students. “Today, we glimpsed the hearts of our four newest students. Some of you know what they will experience in the coming days, weeks, and months, and some of you have also just started your journey. Remember who they are. Remember who you are. And remember why we’re all here. To learn … and better ourselves … and become defenders of the things we hold most precious in this world. Though we may wear different colors and believe different things, we are the same.… We are Rhadgast.”

  Mason heard a girl snicker from the Stone side and say under her breath, “Does he think he’s the Great Uniter?” Which got a few hushed giggles.

  Master Zin raised his hands, choosing to ignore this. “Now get to sleep. Tomorrow the sun will rise again.”

  The rhadjen rose in unison and began to file out of the Inner Chamber. The girl who had made the joke stood up, too, but Master Zin pointed at her and she froze. “You and your friends will be in my office within five minutes.” Mason made a note: Master Zin does not ignore things.

  “Yes, Master,” the girl said, before joining the queue.

  Master Zin turned toward Mason and Tom. Mason looked around: it was just the three of them up there. “Well done. Truly, well done.” And then he walked away, his gray robes billowing behind him.

  Mason and Tom followed the line back to their dorm. The halls were mostly empty, save for a few random rhadjen who were taking their time getting back to the dorms. No one looked at them for more than a few seconds, but it was clear they wanted to. One bigger boy, a Blood, stared at them the entire time they walked down one section of hallway. Mason asked him, “Do you have a problem?” before Tom pulled Mason along. The boy still seemed to be searching for an appropriate response.

  When they were alone, Mason said, “Tell me about your test.” They followed the line up the spiral staircase.

  “It’s personal,” Tom replied.

  Mason didn’t say anything for five seconds. Then he said, “I’ll tell you about mine.”

  Tom wouldn’t look at him directly. “It was … it’s stupid.”

  “You can tell me,” Mason said, putting his hand on Tom’s shoulder. When Tom remained silent, Mason let his hand fall and they climbed in silence. “It’s just me and you, buddy. We have to trust each other if we’re going to survive—”

  “My mom.”

  “What?” Mason said.

  Tom balled his hands into fists. “They convinced me my mom was still alive, that they brought her back to life, they … I believed it. It was her. She was wearing this armor that—”

  “—began to hurt her,” Mason finished.

  Tom nodded, eyes brightening. “The same thing happened to you? Who did you see?”

  “Merrin.”

  Tom’s eyebrows shot up.

  Mason only shrugged.

  “Not Susan?”

  “No.”

  They were almost to the dorm now.

  “But—”

  “How did yours end?” Mason said, before Tom could ask another question.

  “I … told my mom I couldn’t watch her die again, and that I wouldn’t let the POWs die either. And then she disappeared.”

  “At least we’re not Stones,” Mason said as they reached the door. It slid open on their approach.

  Po stood in the doorway. “Welcome! Nice robes you got there. Or nice colors, I should say. Come inside.”

  Mason and Tom walked through the doorway; Mason fought the urge to examine the room again. Searching for traps or listening devices would not make the best first impression.

  Most of the rhadjen were already in their bunks. Two were hunched over a workbench in the corner, tinkering with a pair of gloves. Every eye went to Mason and Tom.

  One boy on a top bunk on the left, a Stone, said, “Oh good, the humans get to stay with us.” Which confirmed that the Tremist had a firm grasp on sarcasm.

  Mason met every gaze without faltering, without looking away. He would not show weakness, not an ounce.

  “This is your bed,” Po said, pointing at a bottom bunk on the left. He pointed to Tom’s bed, which was right next to Mason’s, but Mason didn’t hear what Po said. He was staring at Lore, and she was staring back. She was right above his bed, up on one elbow with a paper book open on her chest. She had taken her two violet braids and twisted them together. Up close, Mason noticed the sharpness of her eyebrows, which gave her a look more severe than the other Stone, like she was always staring intently. Maybe she hadn’t been glaring at Mason at all, and that was just how her face looked. There was nothing soft about her.

  Mason held her gaze, and soon he felt everyone in the room staring at them. But he didn’t look away, and neither did she. She was a pro, but she didn’t know what human children did at Academy I. They had staring contests. They arm wrestled. They competed all the time, in everything.

  Po cleared his throat.

  Finally, Lore’s eyes flicked away, then back to him. But it was enough. Mason had won the stare-down. I will not be intimidated.

  “So that was super awkward,” Po said.

  No one laughed.

  Po did introductions right then. The room housed four rhadjen, not including Mason and Tom, but there were enough bunk beds for twelve, three on each side. Two Bloods and two Stones, before Mason and Tom had to mess the whole balance up. Mason suddenly missed his crew very much. He missed Jeremy and Stellan the most, but also Willa and the other cadets who had helped him save the Olympus and the Will. He wanted his Egypt 18.

  He made a mental list so he wouldn’t forget a name and offend someone. Or just look plain dumb and forgetful. First there was Po, of course, but Mason didn’t think he’d be forgetting Po anytime soon. The only other Blood was a girl named Risperdel. Her hair was black, which made her appear human, if you ignored the supernaturally translucent skin. She was the only Blood besides Po who didn’t look upon Mason and Tom with some level of suspicion.

  “Risperdel is the fastest girl in the school,” Po said. “That’s about all she’s good at. That, and getting into trouble, or getting us into trouble.” He laughed and ducked as Risperdel threw a sock at him. But she must’ve been fast, because it still hit him in the face.

  Po threw it back at her. “The first of our two stony friends here is Lore, who you’ve already met. Hmm, what can I tell you about Lore that you don’t already know? Lore … wins. Anytime there’s a competition, she wins. Be on her team.”

  Mason nodded at Lore; he would not be forgetting her either, the girl who had called him out in front of the entire school five seconds after his first appearance. When they made eye contact a second time, she gave a grudging kind of nod, as if she had decided to accept his presence, but barely.

  “And Jiric is the smartest person I know,” Po said. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “In fact, we’re all kind of the best of the school, now that I think about it. I wonder if that’s why you guys were put here.”

  Risperdel grinned. “So we make the humans look bad.”

  “That won’t be so difficult,” Jiric said.

  Jiric’s face was pinched, like he was smelling something terrible. He wore a pair of simple eyeglasses, which enlarged his eyes and made him appear human. When Mason looked closer, he could see data scrolling dow
n the lenses. What data Jiric would need to be monitoring, Mason had no idea. The human look was helped along by the fact that he was the first Tremist Mason had ever seen to have shoulder-length brown hair.

  Mason learned that a Tremist only had one name, but if he or she was part of a family descended from royalty, the full name held a part of that royal name. Like Risperdel was directly related to the House of Del, a minor royal family from a faraway kingdom.

  The door opened. Reckful stepped inside their dorm.

  “Sir,” Po said. Risperdel, Jiric, and Lore slipped from their beds to stand at attention. It was so like the ESC that Mason had to blink the idea away.

  “Stand easy,” Reckful replied, “It’s after hours.” The students relaxed, Jiric and Lore crawling back into bed. “I’d like to have a word with our newest brothers for a moment.”

  Mason’s heart began to pound: there was something about the way he said it. His usual smile was gone.

  Reckful gestured toward the door, and Mason and Tom stepped past him into the hallway. Reckful followed, and the door shut behind them.

  “This way, please,” Reckful said, starting down the corridor. Mason and Tom shared a brief look, but Reckful called over his shoulder, “Move like you have legs.”

  Something was wrong. Very wrong. Mason began to sweat, but he took a series of calming breaths, his mind already picturing their escape route. He knew which direction to run for the exit, but then what? The school was surrounded by a living forest of trees intent on sucking them up into the branches.

  Mason and Tom caught up to Reckful, who led them into a new hallway—not wood, but a metal that reminded him of the Egypt’s decks, silvery and polished. A door opened in the wall, and Mason and Tom stepped through. The room began to brighten from everywhere, that strange ambient lighting present throughout what they had seen of the school. The room was some kind of storage unit, full of equipment Mason didn’t recognize or understand.

  When it was bright enough to see well, Mason looked at Reckful, then down at Reckful’s hands. On each palm rested a small black disk. Their communicators. He had found them. Or someone had found them and given them to Reckful.