Land of Masks and Moonlight (Glimpsing Stars, #2)

by S. K. Falls

  "How did it go?" he whispers in my ear as we head outside into the frosty night.

  "Later," I say. I smooth Ceres's hair back as we walk, apologizing to her silently for the disruption I will wreak on her life shortly. "Later."

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Back in the truck Shale keeps tossing questioning glances my way. I shake my head, lay it against his chest so I cannot see his face anymore. I want to pretend I don't have to say what I am about to say. I want to pretend, just for a little while longer, that everything is normal. I watch my sister sing to herself in the darkness. I remember how she was with Dr. Phoebe. I remind myself this is for the best. Then I close my eyes and drift to sleep, breathing in Shale's scent of lye soap and the soft warmth of his skin.

  When Shale wakes me, I change quickly and then we walk back to our wopung in silence. I wonder what he must be thinking, how much the wait is making him suffer. I know I can’t delay it any longer. So I ask Ceres if she’d mind waiting for me at home. She agrees quickly, eager for this little bit of independence. When she is gone, I turn to Shale.

  "Sit," he says, gesturing to his cot. "Do you want water?"

  "Please."

  I gather my thoughts as he gets me a glass. I take it from him and look him straight in the eye. "I told her yes."

  He stares at me for a long moment, then he shakes his head once, as if to clear it. "Yes...yes, you're going to stay here—at this compound?"

  I shake my head slowly, my heart breaking into a million pieces. I imagine each piece pricking the inside of my chest, drawing blood. "I told her we'd go with her."

  He continues to stare at me. "Without me." A pause. "You're leaving me."

  I shake my head again. Actually, I realize, I never stopped. Tears begin to fall like rain drops. They are like the acid rain I am used to; they sting my skin. "I don't want to. But...but she can offer Ceres and the baby so much. Safety. Protection. But more than that, Shale. She can offer them a life. A life of being normal, feeling normal things. Besides, they’re doing pregnancy tests. It’s like you said before. How much longer until they get more information about me, about us? And then where will we be?"

  "We could run away." He says it in a breathless rush, taking my hands. "That was my other plan, Vika. We could run away, into the wilderness, farther past the big cities. They'll never find us. The more I’ve thought about it, the more it makes sense. We—"

  I stand up, cover his mouth with mine. "We'd still be running. They'd still be scared. You didn't see her with the doctor Elara brought, Shale. Ceres opened up, actually spoke to her. She looked alive for the first time. She said things she hasn't told me. That she wouldn't tell me. They can give her medication so her fits—epilepsy—never return. The doctor checked on the baby. They can give me vitamins. What if the baby is sick when it's born?" I breathe out slowly, trying to get control of my emotions. "We're being selfish."

  I can see desperation and sadness turning to anger in him, a self-defense strategy, perhaps. He puts his hands down by his sides, steps away. "If loving you is selfish, then so be it. Have you even thought about where the Monitors got the information that the pregnant fugitive is here, on this compound? Why they got just that nugget of information and nothing else—no name, no description of the fugitive? And don’t you think it’s strange that they got it right after Elara asked you to choose? Don’t you see what she’s doing, Vika? She’s turning you away from me. She’s making it so you don’t actually have a choice. And you’re falling for it.”

  He may have a point; these were questions I asked myself. Maybe Elara did leak them that information about me. But does that change the way things are? I look at him, his eyes wide, his nostrils flared, shoulders squared. And I know right now he just needs to hate someone, anyone. He isn’t really listening to what I’m saying, my reasoning.

  "You're angry," I say softly. "We'll speak tomorrow."

  I walk back home in the stillness of the night, crying all the way.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The next two days at the compound—also my last two days here—pass quickly. I haven’t seen Shale except in the morning and I have a feeling he’s avoiding me. It is hurtful, but I imagine he needs the time to deal with what I’m sure he sees as a betrayal. And if I am being honest, I don’t disagree with him. The only difference is I view it as a necessary evil, to keep our family safe.

  Elara sends word with Trigger that she is ready for me to go to her the next night. I accept the news somewhat numbly. But Trigger doesn’t leave after giving me this information. He clears his throat. “Ah, another thing. There’s a rooftop get-together tonight.”

  “Another one?” I frown. “I thought you only did those once a month.”

  He shrugs, his eyes darting away from mine. “Just...you know. Some things we have to discuss. Be there at eight, and don’t bring the little one.” He means Ceres.

  I nod, but before I can ask any more questions, he scurries off.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  At seven minutes till eight, I walk past Shale’s wopung and look in the window, but he isn’t there. It stands empty and desolate. I hope Shale will be at the gathering tonight. Surely he doesn’t intend to stay away until I am gone? Surely he would say goodbye in spite of his hurt and anger? But I am not certain of anything anymore. I don’t even know what I would say, were he to come.

  I make the trek to the abandoned building alone, pulling my jacket around me, thinking about how much of a contrast this is compared to the last time. The stars are a bit sharper tonight. They seem to me to be watchful eyes, cognizant of my actions. I shiver.

  I climb up the rusty stairs, listening for the sound of people, but there is no laughter, no trace of conversation this time. All I hear is the howling wind and the creaking of the metal door at the top.

  I step onto the roof and look around. There are lanterns everywhere—many more than there were last time—and a table has been set up in the middle with two chairs. There are plates and cans of food, a pitcher of water, a sprig of green in a small tin cup in the center.

  But there is no one around. I turn in a slow circle, the wind playing with my hair, a small smile playing at my lips. Bittersweet hope surges in my chest.

  Shale steps forward from the shadows. There is an answering smile on his face, and my breath catches in my throat.

  "I apologize for the deception," he says. "But I wanted it to be a surprise."

  I smile and walk closer. I wonder how I can feel so happy and so much agony at the same time. "I'm certainly surprised."

  "Good." He takes my hands; his skin instantly warms them. His face serious now, he says, "I'm sorry. For the way I acted. For how angry I was. For not understanding. For being selfish."

  I walk closer still, so I am in the circle of his strong arms. "I'm sorry," I say. "For the way I acted. For telling her yes. For choosing their safety over our happiness." I am crying so hard I'm barely able to finish.

  Shale's mouth closes over mine. He releases my hands and puts his on either of my cheeks. We are so hungry; we try to devour each other. Sorrow turns to heat, and his hands slip to my waist, caress the curve of my breasts. Finally, he pulls away. He does not smile. "I thought we could have dinner. And talk." He gestures to the table.

  We are quiet while we eat, though our eyes rarely leave the other’s. There is not much to say when there is everything to say. I see, out of the corner of my eye, that there are stars flying across the sky. But when I tip my head back and try to actually see them, they evade me. The wind blowing across the roof is cold and icy, but I have never felt warmer. Or safer. It is a cruel joke to realize just how right this is, just how much Shale and I belong together, on the eve of our separation.

  When we are finished, Shale says, "I thought we might set up and watch the stars. There's supposed to be a meteorite shower later."

  I force a smile, though my heart is breaking. With every passing minute, I’m reminded that this is goodbye. “Okay.” I love him so much for what he�
��s doing, for his gargantuan effort to not speak of the barren future.

  He sets up a small bedroll in a corner of the rooftop, insisting that he doesn’t need my help. Then he wraps a blanket around me. I lie back and he lies with me so we’re staring straight up at the black sky strewn with strands of twinkling stars. He reaches between us to hold my hand.

  In the distance, I hear the wind rushing through the paddy fields. I wonder what the Monitors will think of me being gone. Elara said they will be told Ceres and I ran away and died in the wilderness.

  "What will you name the baby?" Shale asks the sky.

  I turn my head to look at him. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

  He is silent as he ponders this.

  "You should have a say in naming her. I'll ask Elara to let me see you after the baby comes. I'm sure she'll agree."

  He doesn't say anything.

  I think of the story Marisa gave me, Alice in Wonderland. The line when Alice follows the white rabbit into the rabbit hole reads: “In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.” I wonder if that is me, now, going after Elara without thinking about how I will ever get out again. But I don’t say this to Shale. Instead, I say, "We're going to find a way to see each other."

  "I wish I were as confident as you about that." When he speaks again there is a tremor in his voice that tears at my heart. "Just tell the baby about me. Let her know her father loved her. More than anything. More than himself."

  I prop myself up on my elbow. Then I bend down and kiss him softly.

  As we make love, the meteor shower begins. It's raining stars and light.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  The work day rushes by, breathless. The sun is an eye in the sky. I am certain I am being watched. Monitor Ng seems to linger closer to me, her gaze a physical, heavy thing. But somehow I make it to the horn undetected.

  Ceres and I walk home, and I am not the least bit fatigued. My blood is lava, my muscles are wires stretched taut.

  To make it seem plausible that Ceres and I ran away, we are taking some canned food, water, and warm clothes with us. I have everything in a cloth bag, ready to go, hours before we leave.

  I glance at Ceres, but she busies herself with washing our dinner dishes. I go to her and hold out my hand but she shakes her head; she will not let me help.

  Leaning against the counter, I study her profile. “Are you angry? At me?”

  She continues scrubbing the plate. “N-no. Y-you’re keeping us...s-safe.”

  But there is no time to discuss it—the TV blares on. Eight o’clock. It’s time to leave.

  Ceres sets the dishes down and wipes her hands. I pick up the bag; we close the front door behind us as if it is any other day, as if the world is not tilting on its very axis. We walk past Shale’s wopung—the light from the lampposts turning everything a silver-purple—but it is empty. I wonder where he is, what he is doing to ease the pain. Ceres refuses to talk about him, about the fact that we are leaving him behind. Perhaps it’s easier for her this way.

  The world feels especially still and silent tonight, as though we are encased in a picture frame, motionless. The moon is a button in the sky, flat and white. There is not a hint of a Monitor anywhere. Does Elara’s reach extend this far? Has she somehow ensured us safe passage, from our compound to hers? Perhaps it is simply my imagination.

  When we arrive at the depot, Trigger stands waiting for us. His face is kind, sympathetic. But he remains silent, and I am thankful for this. Once Ceres and I have boarded the truck and climbed into our usual crate, the last of my resolve breaks. I grab Trigger’s sleeve before he can close the false front. “Where is Shale?”

  "He's keeping away." Trigger sighs. "But he told me to tell you he...he loves you."

  I swallow the aching lump in my throat and sit in the darkness with Ceres. We clasp our hands between us. There is nothing to say.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  When the false front opens again, I realize I have been asleep. Just another way pregnancy has taken me by surprise: even when I am anxious and heartbroken, even when my entire world is collapsing in on itself, my body can somehow manage to sleep. I start awake, sit up, and blink at the sudden brightness. Ceres cowers against my side.

  A New Amanian man looks in on us, unsmiling. “Come on out.”

  My muscles are stiff as I stand and walk to the open trailer door behind him. I climb down, look around, but there is no sign of Trigger. My heart hurts at the fact that I didn’t get to say goodbye.

  When Ceres has climbed down, too, I hear a familiar voice say, "Welcome."

  Elara. She stands in the depot, a few feet away. I wouldn’t have recognized her if she hadn’t spoken, unmasked and devoid of her usual fancy dresses. She looks odd to me in the wool tunic and pants, the gray drab and making her look older. I notice with detached interest that there is a small mole above her eyebrow, diamond-shaped. It is odd Shale doesn’t know this about her when I do, I think numbly. This is the start of our separate lives here, the moment when everything cleaves in two. I’m officially leaving him behind.

  Ceres presses into me, her eyes wide. It is bright here, exceptionally bright, so unlike the small, dingy depot where the truck was kept on the other compound. This one bustles with activity and noise.

  "A little different than what you're used to, I'm sure." Elara looks around with a smile, and I realize there is pride in her voice. She beams at Ceres. "Are you ready to see your room?"

  Ceres looks at her blankly. "R-room?"

  "Yes. You get your own room. You can decorate it as you please. We'll get you materials from the black market if you'd like."

  Is it my imagination or does Ceres brighten at the mention of her own space? She looks at Elara with a renewed interest. Children are resilient. The difference between Ceres and me is striking—I am clinging to the past, and she is already letting go, looking toward the future.

  We follow Elara to a big silver vehicle that looks like a cross between a van and a car. We get in the back with her. A short woman sits in the driver’s seat and she gives us a small smile. “This is my trusted driver,” Elara says.

  The driver glances briefly at us in the rearview mirror and then back out at the road, as if she’s forgotten about us already. Ceres sits wedged between Elara and me as she takes in the interior of the vehicle with large, bright eyes.

  Elara touches her lightly on the elbow. "Would you like to go to school, Ceres?"

  Ceres gapes. "S-school?"

  "Yes. We have a teacher here who gathers the children in the compound and teaches them basic skills—mathematics, reading, some New Amanian policy. All the things you've missed out on while you were in the Asylum." Elara's eyes darken. "You don't ever have to worry about that now. You're safe."

  Ceres moves closer to me so her skin takes warmth from mine. Elara's eyes move to mine. "The obstetrician has been informed of your arrival. We'll get you taken care of just as soon as you've settled in."

  "Thank you." I turn and look out the window, at buildings and cars flying by. The compound isn’t big by Ursa's standards, but it is rather large compared to our small agrarian compound. It's a mini-city, all on its own, like an island in the middle of hostile China. "What does the Chinese government make of this place?" I ask after a moment.

  "This is one of the bigger compounds, ostensibly dedicated to New Amanian leadership. Since our governments are working together to clean New Amana, we get better facilities than other immigrants." Elara says this without a hint of remorse or irony.

  "And what do you do instead of working in the fields?"

  "We have meetings." There is a hint of a smile about her mouth. "Meetings about fugitives, meetings about which ships are coming when, meetings about meetings."

  I wonder if she is joking, but she doesn't seem to be. Resentment simmers inside me. While Shale is rebuilding a wall with cracked and bleeding hands and gunshot wounds that don't hav
e a chance to heal all the way, Elara sits indoors and has meetings.

  My chest squeezes so tight I feel I cannot breathe, simply at the thought of Shale. What is he doing now? But I shove the thought away, lock it tight in that part of my brain I’ve decided will store those memories most cherished and too painful to think about.

  The vehicle drives up a small hill and pulls up to a sprawling brick house. It is like nothing I've seen before—a house much too big for only three people. Outside it is bordered by swaths of lawn, well-kept and manicured, though the grass is dormant in winter.

  Once we pile out of the vehicle, the driver pulls away without a word.

  "Welcome," Elara says, striding up confidently to the front door. It swings open and we step into the warm interior. "You're home now."

  Elara shows us all the rooms; the expansive kitchen where the food is fresh even though this isn’t an agrarian compound, the living room with windows that face the front lawn and a TV set that plays more than just the nightly reading from the Book of Laws, a small extra room which she calls her "library" and where she says she has meetings occasionally, and a bedroom that has been set up for Ceres. There is a bed with flowers on the headboard and a small desk and chair. I dig deep inside to find a hint of gratitude for Elara trying to make this place welcoming for my sister.

  Finally, she leads me to her—now our—bedroom. It is much larger than Ceres's, and the bed is clearly intended for two people. I feel sick but manage to keep my face calm.

  "And when the baby comes, we can have a crib in here as well," Elara says.

  "Thank you." It comes out flat, unfeeling.

  Elara stares at me for a long moment. "Aren't you happy about this? About being here instead of that hovel of a wopung?"

  I swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm grateful."

  She is silent as she considers this. "Perhaps that is enough for now," she says finally.

  ◊ ◊ ◊