“How’d you convince these people to come?” I ask when we’re out of earshot.
“I didn’t have to convince them, Rho,” he says, clearly surprised by my question. “All I had to say was that you would probably be leading the charge.”
“For Helios’s sake, why do you think I came?” interjects Rubi.
“Right, because things went so well the last time I led us into battle,” I snap at them.
“Rho . . . you don’t get it.” Hysan steps up to me so that I’m forced to focus on his face. “The Plenum is yesterday; these students are tomorrow—and they’re here because they believe in your vision for the Zodiac. Today is our chance to unite our universe, and it starts with them.”
“Hysan, I had my chance. I’m responsible for enough deaths. The armada is known as mine, and what happened to it will be my fault forever. . . .” Thoughts of the Trinary Axis crowd my mind, and I shake my head to clear it. Everyone here wants me to lead, but I seem to be the only one who doesn’t know where I’m going.
“You’re the one who doesn’t get it,” I say, my sudden anger surprising even me. “Cancer is already responsible for the Axis, and a thousand years haven’t been long enough for us to move past that guilt. Thanks to me, we’re now going down for the armada, and if anyone ever found out I broke the Tab—”
I stop speaking, not just because Rubi’s listening, but because of Hysan’s face. It appears that I just confirmed something for him, something he suspected—and he looks hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I say, no longer even sure what I’m apologizing for. “I can’t make Cancer the face of another war.”
“It’s a little late for that,” says Rubi, pointing to the sky.
I squint as my gaze follows her finger to a holographic image that looks like the serpent from the old Ophiuchus glyph . . . only there’s something else there. A girl is wrangling the snake into submission, and she looks a lot like—
“Rho!”
Aryll runs over, pointing at the moving image overhead. The snake writhes and struggles against the girl’s powerful hold. “You’re in the sky!”
“What is that?” I ask.
“A glyph. It’s the sign brandished by your supporters, and it’s been popping up everywhere,” says Brynda, joining us. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it stamped on the walls of the Capital. It’s you kicking Ophiuchus’s ass. Now, can we please get back to the meeting, and can you save your personal dramas for when we’re not at war?”
Aryll sticks by me as we rejoin the others—I can see Stanton written all over this gesture—and Hysan looks disgruntled about it. The crew leaders from each House introduce themselves and exchange the hand touch with me.
“I’m Candela Snowe,” says the Cancrian. She has crunchy curls and a heart-shaped face.
“Thank you so much for coming, Candela.” We bump fists—and then I notice she’s wearing a Zodai University uniform.
“I was also on Elara when we were attacked,” she says quietly, seeing where my eyes have strayed. “The ship I boarded landed on Oceon 4, and by the time I got to Oceon 6, you had already taken off for Gemini. I watched you on the newsfeeds addressing the Plenum after Virgo was attacked, and I can’t agree with you more—we have to unite to survive.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, and we bump fists again.
The olive-skinned Virgo touches hands with me next, introducing himself as Twain. He has windswept auburn hair and, like all Virgos, eyes the color of moss. “Thank you for staying with Empress Moira when she was wounded,” he says, bowing and touching his heart in the Virgo sign of friendship. I mimic the gesture. “You must be a rare talent to have detected Dark Matter in the Psy when our Empress did not.”
His words remind me of how useless I am to them now, so I don’t say anything. “I’m sorry,” he goes on, filling the silence. “I know we Virgos aren’t exactly beloved. We hide behind mirage walls and rarely interact with the other Houses. I can see how we might not come off as the friendliest. But my friends and I came because we believe our isolationism isn’t right anymore, and the attack on our House proves it.”
He smirks, and it suddenly strikes me that he’s handsome. “Alone, we’re not perfect, but together, we can be.”
The openness and sincerity in his mossy gaze somehow pierces past my shell to the real me—perhaps the effect of a Virgo admitting fault, a rare occurrence in our galaxy. Nishi was right: Only part of me came to join the fight on Sagittarius. The other part hasn’t woken up yet.
“Well, you’re here now,” I say, to both of us. “When Cancer was attacked, Empress Moira sent us twelve ships of grain. We haven’t forgotten Virgo’s generosity.”
Before Twain can say more, a Geminin girl with lustrous tawny skin sticks her hand out to touch mine. “I’m Imogen.” Her elaborately choreographed greeting involves a long sequence of knocking knuckles, bumping elbows, and slapping hands.
“What you did was so brave.” Unlike her House’s artificially youthful centenarians, teenage Imogen seems to ooze sexuality, from her pouty red lips to her curve-hugging suit to her high, spindly heels.
“Thanks—and thanks for coming.”
“I believed you from the start, you know.” Her copper-flecked eyes sparkle in the light, like the gemstones we’re standing on. “I mean, even the most imaginative Dreamcaster couldn’t have devised an immortal Thirteenth Guardian carved from ice who attacks through the Psy. No offense.”
“None taken,” I say, nearly grinning.
“You knew the Plenum would laugh at your tale, but you stuck with it. That takes more than Aerian bravery or Leonine passion . . . it takes Cancrian heart.”
I give her a hug because there are no words.
Once I’ve met the Capricorn, Libran, and Piscene leaders, Brynda quiets the group and gives us our orders.
“This is how we’re breaking things down. Capricorn, Libra, and Virgo will study strategy with me to see if we’ve missed anything. Cancer, Sagittarius, and Gemini will train for combat with our Stargazers. Pisces will focus on reading the stars’ forecast for tomorrow. We’re lifting the Psy shield over this sector of the Capital for a few hours. We’ll work in the Centaurion building.”
While the captains update their crews, Rubi takes my arm and strolls me away from the noise and activity. “So. How are you, Rho?”
“I saw Ophiuchus again,” I say. Since Rubi believes in Ophiuchus, I know she’s a good person to consult. “He claims he’s turned against his master, and to prove it he said the Marad is going to attack Capricorn, not Sagittarius. I don’t know whether to trust him and warn Capricorn, or treat him just like the liar and butcher I know him to be.”
“A few months ago, you saw an impossible vision in your Ephemeris, and you fought against me and every other Guardian in our galaxy to reveal it—and now you’re asking for advice?” Her eyes are so deep and dark they almost look like Ochus’s black holes. “Rho, you’re looking outward for answers you’ll only find within. To learn the truth about Ophiuchus, you have to find your voice again.”
I sigh. “And how do I do that, Rubi?”
“What the Helios did they teach you kids at the Academy? All holograms and no common sense!”
She gestures to the students surrounding us, as if the answer couldn’t be more obvious. “Look around you: These people heard your voice and committed their lives to your cause. You start right here, with them. Visit with the crews. You’ll give them confidence—and if you let yourself believe that, you might even catch some yourself.”
11
EACH GROUP MEETS IN ITS designated area of the Centaurion building and grounds. While the Stargazers train their troops outdoors, Brynda’s Advisors meet with the teams from Libra, Virgo, and Capricorn in her office, and I join the Piscenes in Brynda’s reading room, where we’ll access the astral plane.
The silver-veiled st
udents gather around the lights, and a charge fills the air as we tap into our Centers and activate the Psynergy surrounding us. The Piscenes hold out their Astralators to take measurements, and one by one their bodies fold down to the floor to work out the math. They look like puddles of silver gleaming in the dappled dark.
Only I remain standing.
Mom once told me that Piscenes, who only travel beyond their House when they’re on altruistic missions, wrap themselves in fabrics of woven silver because they believe that, in order to be truly selfless, one must not show off one’s self. Beneath the veils, Piscenes of both genders have delicate, feminine features with small frames and statures.
It’s easy to Center myself in this crowd, with so much Psynergy buzzing in the air. As the balls of light around me ascend and decline, I focus my read on the Archer constellation. I dig down into my deepest depths and reach into the Psy for a glimpse of tomorrow, focusing so hard that a headache blossoms, but nothing else happens. I still can’t access the stars’ secrets.
When the sharp pain in my frontal lobe grows too strong to ignore, I pull away from the lights of House Sagittarius. I don’t know how long I was staring—could have been seconds, minutes, hours. I bury my burning eyes in my hands, massaging my forehead until the worst of the effects pass. When I open my eyelids, twenty Piscene faces are looking up from their math at me.
“What do you See?” whispers Hexel, the leader.
I don’t answer.
“You can tell us. We won’t turn on you,” she assures me. “We believe you.”
I shake my head and whisper, “Nothing.”
“Please. Trust us. Whatever it is, we can handle it.”
“No, that’s what I saw,” I say, a little louder this time. “Nothing.” I drop my gaze to the floor, feeling powerless and angry and betrayed by the stars. I’m a complete fraud for even being here. Rubi said my mere presence would inspire confidence, but these students risked their lives to follow a true seer, and now they’ll know they’ve been duped.
I’m supposed to be better than this—the stars said so, they chose me to be Guardian. So why are they punishing me this way?
“Well . . . you have been through a lot.”
I glance up. Rather than angry or hurt, Hexel looks sympathetic, and her voice is gentle.
“What . . . what does that have to do with my reads?” I ask, sitting down among them.
“Everything,” she says, sounding every bit like the spiritual being she is. “Piscenes are taught that our reads come from our souls. The more honest we are with ourselves, the more we can See. When your life was smaller, it was probably easier to see concepts clearly, as either black or white. But everything you’ve lived through has confused your inner compass. And when your own vision of yourself becomes unclear, your Sight suffers.”
“How am I supposed to fix that?” I’m embarrassed by how fragile I sound, when not so long ago I felt I was strong enough to take on the whole Zodiac.
“By being honest,” says a guy named Jox. “If you face the things you’re avoiding instead of putting up more walls, you’ll find yourself again.”
I think of who I became the last time I led others. I was blind, stubborn, careless—and people who didn’t deserve it paid a far worse price for my decisions. “What if I don’t like who I find?”
“You’ll like her because we like her,” Jox says kindly. “Enough to give our lives for her.”
I smile at him gratefully and think of my trust Talismans, and Vecily’s story, and what Nishi, Hysan, Rubi, and now the Piscenes have said. And it all boils down to the same conclusion: If I’m going to help the Zodiac, I need to come out from this shell. I need to forgive myself for Dad’s and Mathias’s deaths. And then I need to let them go.
Brynda’s spiky-haired Advisor walks in carrying a tray of spongy-looking cakes, and the hungry Piscenes leap up to sample the sweets. I use the distraction of food to slip out. The reading room is on the ground floor, and I cross the lobby, busy with government workers, to the training zone behind the building. This time, the harried Stargazers know who I am and pay curious attention as I walk past them.
Outside, Sagittarians, Cancrians, and Geminin are learning how to handle an Arclight, the Ninth House’s signature weapon. It shoots out bullets that burst into flames on contact. Every Stargazer has the metallic device implanted into his or her Tracker, and now these new troops have them on their wrists as well.
“Third House!” shouts a Stargazer. He’s calling the students up in teams to practice hitting human-sized holographic targets.
The Geminin group lines up. About half of them hit near or on their marks; the other half miss theirs completely. The Cancrians are next. They’re all wearing blue university suits—like Candela, Nishi, Deke, and myself, they’re survivors of the attack on Elara. When they fire, only Aryll comes close to grazing his target, but none of the bullets connect. We’re not natural fighters—not by far.
Deke takes his turn with Nishi and the Sagittarians. Before the attack on Cancer, Deke’s devotion to the Cancrian way of life was as ardent as Stanton’s and Aryll’s. But now he’s living on Sagittarius, in love with a Sagittarian, and wearing a House Helios suit—only instead of being sad because our House is losing him, I feel proud of his courage. He’s changing the norm by breaking it.
Every person in the Sagittarian group hits their mark—even Deke. Nishi’s been training him. But Ezra and Gyzer are easily the best shots of them all. Even the Stargazers look impressed by their marksmanship. They call a five-minute break, and as everyone disperses, they pull Gyzer and Ezra aside, no doubt to discuss their Zodai ambitions.
Nishi, Deke, and Candela run up to me. “How were the Piscenes?” asks Deke, taking a swig from his water canteen. “You show them what a real seer looks like?”
“No, actually . . . they showed me.”
“You look different,” says Nishi, scrutinizing my face. “More . . . aware. Did they make you drink one of their Piscene tonics, Kappa what’s-it-called?”
I laugh, and then the spiky-haired Advisor bounces into the training space with another platter of cakes. Deke grabs Nishi’s hand, mumbles something that sounds like “food first,” and together they join the stampede toward the Advisor, whose face is growing increasingly alarmed at the oncoming rush.
Candela hangs back with me. “I’m sorry Cancer didn’t stand with you,” she says, her curls pulled up in a puff atop her head. “Ambassador Sirna should have been as brave as you.”
“She did what she had to do to save me from worse. Don’t judge her harshly—she was actually helping me.” Just beyond Candela, I watch Deke raise Nishi onto his shoulders so she can reach over the crowd for cakes.
“Then if you’re not upset with our House, why are you avoiding us?”
“I’m not avoiding anyone,” I say, focusing back on her heart-shaped face. “I’m just doing what the Plenum wants and staying away from politics . . . and keeping to myself.”
“Forget politics,” snaps Candela, her voice full of fight. “We need leadership.”
In her sea-colored eyes, I see the same idealism and hope that sent me all over the Zodiac. The belief that I could change worlds. “I once thought leadership could exist without politics, too. But that’s just not the way it works, Candela. I’m proof of that.”
“Then change the way it works!” she says fiercely. “Otherwise, why the Helios are we here?”
“Break’s over!” shouts one of the Stargazers. Candela bows at me stiffly, then walks away and joins the Cancrians, who are lining up in front of their targets. I’m happy to be spared from having to respond to Candela’s accusation, but I can’t escape the truth of her words. I asked for the Zodiac’s support, and when the Plenum turned its back on me, I turned my back on the Zodiac.
I’m guilty of the same crime as the ambassadors: I put my pride ahead of wh
at’s best for my people.
I leave the training area and head up the elevator to the building’s top floor. Brynda’s door is open, and she and Hysan are in the front of the room projecting holograms, while the Libran, Capricorn, and Virgo students sprawl across the floor on pillows and take notes.
Hysan’s face lights up when he sees me. “My lady. Welcome.”
Students straighten and stare as I thread through them. Twain springs to his feet and offers me his spot on a plush pillow, but I smile and shake my head, joining Hysan and Brynda instead. Hysan frowns at the Virgo.
“You’re just in time to see our new attack scenario,” says Brynda brightly. “Stargazer reads project this one at seventy-two percent probability. It involves the Marad striking our Abyssthe factories. Our whole economy depends on them, so if they really want to bring us down, they’d be a good place to hit.”
The Virgos are the first to jump in and offer feedback.
“Have you stationed Stargazers there?”
“Have your Zodai completed focused reads in the Psy for the future of those factories?”
“Have you presented this scenario to Zodai from other Houses, to compare it with what they’ve seen?”
Brynda answers yes to all three questions, but soon there are three more and then another three, and so on. Like Sagittarians, Virgos prefer a spitfire questioning approach for solving problems—but where the former use curiosity as fuel for their inquiries, Virgos use their pragmatism.
Once the Virgos have exhausted themselves, the Librans begin offering their feedback. “Have you contacted the factory managers to see if they’ve noticed strange behavior among their employees, in case the Marad have been working with people on the inside?” asks blond-haired Numen, whom I met at the park. She’s in charge of the Libran crew.
Instead of examining the plan under a microscope—like the Virgos—the Librans seem to take a wide step back so they can assess the full picture—along with its framing and the wall it’s hanging on—before speaking. The Capricorns haven’t contributed yet because most are consulting the holographic data they’re screening from their Sensethysers. They’re reviewing information from the Zodiax, searching for stored wisdom that might apply to this latest scenario. A few of the Librans are intrigued by the Capricorns’ texts and are leaning over to read along with them.
Wandering Star: A Zodiac Novel Page 11
