by Mary Fan
Because it wasn’t me. A chill creeps down my spine. If the pilot could plant thoughts into my head, then Erayet could have as well. I never imagined she’d break the law, but then again, I never imagined anything while in her presence. She must have put my mind in a fog to keep me focused on my new duties. And everyone else too… I suddenly recall how animated my two roommates were when I first met them. Their silence earlier was more than unusual; it was unnatural.
Erayet must have been manipulating all of us, and none of us suspected a thing. We couldn’t have—she would have erased the suspicion before it could land.
What else did she erase from my mind?
I try to bring up the memories of our conversations, but I keep drawing blanks. Frowning, I stare at the ground. My shoes—they made me think of something.
A shadow of a memory winds through my mind. I once told someone I’d never wear ballet slippers. And it was funny… part of some inside joke…
I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking as hard as I can about the first conversation with Erayet on the starship. That must have been when my thoughts first started slipping from me. Dámiul said that blocked memories could be recovered with enough focus. Whatever I was thinking of, it was important enough for Erayet to take it from me.
There was a face. A boy with gray eyes, blond curls, and a sad smile. Someone I was thinking of before Erayet put my mind in a haze…
I wrack my brain, but I can’t remember whose face that was. No wonder Dámiul was so insistent on the mind training. If the Adryil can make me forget someone who must have meant a lot to me, what else can they do?
Dámiul must have known that his kind would use their abilities to manipulate me despite the laws. Unless… Could there be an exception to the telepathy ban, one that allows the Adryil to command Artists? There was so much in that contract that I didn’t understand. Could I have signed away my own mind without realizing it? Why would they even need me to? The contract was already so restrictive. But I suppose rules and incentives don’t guarantee total obedience, which seems to be what the Adryil want from me.
An icy fist closes around my heart. This must have been why Dámiul was so afraid for me, why he said his people could erase me if they wished. They can take my memories and bend my will without me even realizing what’s happening until it’s too late. I want nothing more than to remember the boy with gray eyes, but since Erayet made me forget him, I must be careful. Dámiul warned me that the longer a person’s under the influence of Adryil telepathy, the easier it becomes to control them, and the less likely they are to recover their minds. Next time, he could be the one they make me forget.
I can’t let the Adryil take over my mind again. I don’t know if I’d be strong enough to resist if they enter my thoughts once more. Already, Erayet has kept me in a fog for more than two days, and I didn’t even notice until I was out of her presence.
As I gaze out the window, a light catches my attention—a bright sign that takes up the entire wall of a towering skyscraper. Only the left half is visible from my angle. Images of dancers and instrumentalists and acrobats flash in brilliant colors. They’re Artists—or rather, Ka’risil. Why is that building blazing with their pictures? Are the Adryil really so fascinated by us?
The transport turns, and the right half of the sign comes into view. I suppress a gasp. An older version of Dámiul stares at me. Same black hair, same handsome features—same blue eyes, even. Yet there’s something cold about the man’s expression. Who is he? Dámiul mentioned that his father was important—could this be him? But why would he be on a sign alongside all those Artists?
Giant Adryil symbols splash across the enormous screen, and I wish I could read them. If that is Dámiul’s father, then he must have something to do with the Artists. Maybe he arranges shows on Adrye. Or perhaps he’s some kind of liaison like Erayet, only more important.
Dámiul seemed ashamed of what his father’s company did. Is this why? Because his father profits from our labors while we’re left with debts so deep, we must sign away our freedom to repay them?
I have so many questions, but I can’t answer them through wild speculations. I need to seek Dámiul out and make him explain. I cling to the hope that he’s still in this city. Until I find proof that he left, I won’t stop looking.
The transport slows. We must be getting close. If the pilot or anyone else hears my thoughts, they could invade my mind and obliterate them.
My only choice is to play along and hope they don’t catch me—and wipe my memories completely.
CHAPTER 21
A BLACK CIRCULAR PLATFORM, LINED with blinking blue-and-white lights, hovers several stories above street level. The transport carrying me lands on it. A covered walkway extends from the platform to a gleaming black skyscraper. The door beside me opens. The pilot stands outside, and I’m overwhelmed by the need to go to his side.
Another telepathic order—I’d better obey. If he or anyone else finds out I know how to recognize and resist their telepathy, they could use more power to control me, and I might not be able to block them.
I pick up my viola, exit the vehicle, and approach the pilot, forcing my mind to remain as blank as possible. If he senses my fear, he’ll wonder why, and the last thing I want is for him to probe my thoughts.
He leads me down the walkway. The square doors at the end open, and he stops. I, however, should keep going—that’s what he’s telling me with his mind. I recall how I knew exactly what was expected of me back on the starship and obeyed unquestioningly. Erayet must have been sending me similar commands.
I step through the doors and find myself in a room reminiscent of the Grand Hall: a wide, open area with walls of polished white stone. Above me, a three-dimensional metal star hovers, shooting dazzling white light out of its long, silver rays. A transparent elevator shaft stands in the corner. Arched doorways lead to rooms whose interiors I can only glimpse. Everything is so beautiful. One thought swirls though my mind, a light amidst the cloud of fears.
I’m on Adrye.
“Welcome, little Ka’risil.” An Adryil woman with short, dark green hair and startlingly green eyes emerges from one of them. Her skin is almost as white as the wall behind her. Her high nose, sharp chin, and elegant black jacket-and-pants outfit give her an aristocratic appearance. She must be either Soraï or Gysát Ydaya—whichever of those names is a woman’s.
I put my case on the floor and curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Mistress Ydaya.”
The woman lets out a chuckle. “Oh, I’m not your mistress. I’m your Keeper, Puna.” She has a darker accent than Dámiul’s, and the way she rolls her Rs makes me think of Master Raucci.
A ding chimes through the atrium, and I glance at the elevator. The transparent door slides open, and an Adryil man and woman step out. The man’s eyes are blue, but not nearly as blue as Dámiul’s. Closer to cobalt than Dámiul’s brilliant azure. His cropped, dark red hair and smooth, ebony skin make him appear around thirty, but something about his stiff posture and harsh facial features tells me he’s significantly older.
The woman, who is somewhat taller than him and has a slighter build than his barrel-chested figure, possesses a similarly odd combination of old and young on her face. Cream skin and long, thick waves of gold sharply contrast her large, tilted purple eyes. A thin, straight mouth and arched black brows accent her severe, almost frightening, beauty.
Both are dressed in floor-length outfits. The woman’s purple-and-white one reminds me of a queen’s gown, while the man’s red-and-black garment has a straight shape and a wide, circular collar that makes it look anything but dress-like.
Puna bows her head slightly as they approach. I follow suit—those must be the Ydayas.
“Deh, tsot zaro Ka’rovyil dira.” Mistress Ydaya’s voice is low and rich. She puts her long, thin index finger under my chin and lifts it. I look up and meet her vivid purple gaze. “She is a pretty little one, isn’t she, Gysát?” She retracts her hand and turns to her husb
and. “Ganza stranone.”
Puna glances at me. “She’s saying you were well worth hiring.”
“Indeed.” Mistress Ydaya’s eyes warm. “I look forward to seeing you perform.”
Master Ydaya pulls his lips down and gives me an appraising look, then walks back to the elevator. Mistress Ydaya follows.
Wondering what Master Ydaya’s expression meant, I glance at Puna in question.
Puna gives me a small smile. “Do not be afraid, little one. I assure you, both your master and mistress are pleased with you.”
I nod, unsure of what to make of my new situation. All I know for certain is that I must keep my thoughts reined in until I have a moment to myself—away from these prying telepaths.
“Follow me.” Puna walks across the wide floor. I pick up my case and rush to catch up. She takes me through one of the arched doorways, which leads to a small, empty room, then stops before a rectangular silver door on the other side. She presses a pad on the wall, and the door slides open, revealing a circular car with a round window at the back. I imagine it’s another elevator.
I step in, and my guess is confirmed when we start descending.
Puna folds her hands neatly before her. “I am taking you to the Ka’risil quarters on the ground level, where you will be living with the rest of the quartet as well as the other Earthlings. There are about two hundred Ka’risil in this complex under the employ of various local patrons.”
A faint thought glimmers—there was someone I was hoping to find among the Ka’risil on Adrye. The only idea that makes sense is that I was searching for an alum from Papilio.
Puna must have read my thought, because she gives me an amused look. “Of course there are a few here who also attended the Papilio School, although the majority are from other institutions. It’s possible you’ll recognize a former schoolmate, though doubtful. Adrye is a vast place.”
It doesn’t matter anyway. I need to focus on the present, and the past will only hold me back. Anyone I knew previously is irrelevant.
There it is again—irrelevant. Erayet told me the same thing once, possibly about the gray-eyed boy haunting my memory. But I can’t think about that now. Puna’s in my head; I can sense her.
I keep quiet, and her presence soon fades. Not wanting her to enter my mind again, I focus on the blur of the city outside and think about nothing.
The elevator doors open, and Puna leads me across a rectangular courtyard. Two smooth, black walls extend from the building we just left. On one of them, I make out the outlines of a rectangular door. A wide, one-story house with several rectangular windows and doors forms the fourth wall.
“Is this where the others live?” I ask.
“Yes.” Puna stops and glances at a circular device on her wrist. “I’ve called the rest of the quartet. You must be excited to meet them.”
“Of course, ma’am.” A dark thought looms within me. What if I do recognize a former Papilian? If Erayet erased the gray-eyed boy from my memory, could someone have erased me from an alum’s mind? I don’t think I was close enough to any who were hired to merit that—after all, Erayet left my memories of Estelle, Beka, and several others intact—but the feeling that I meant to find someone here keeps clawing at me. What if I come face-to-face with that person, only to find that neither of us remembers the other?
I sense Puna’s presence penetrating my mind. I must calm my thoughts before she realizes how suspicious I am.
“Find something that brings you peace,” Dámiul told me once. “Something simple, boring even. Picture that and only that. The other thoughts will fall way.”
In our training, I found that picturing my viola warm-ups worked best. I imagine myself, alone with my instrument, playing a four-octave scale. Each long, vibrating note rings in my head. Soon, it’s all I hear.
Puna’s presence retreats. She must be satisfied that I’m not asking questions I shouldn’t be.
One of the doors to the house before me slides open. A tall man with dark skin, black hair, and a narrow build steps out, followed closely by a stockier man with brown hair and a tan complexion. They both appear to be in their mid-thirties and wear white shirts paired with navy blue pants.
A girl in a dress identical to mine emerges behind them. She’s probably older than me, but next to the two men, she looks very young. I’m instantly jealous of her gorgeous chestnut hair, which cascades in large waves down her shoulders. Her thick bangs nearly reach her wide-set green eyes, which appear narrowed, as if she’s permanently appraising whatever lies before her. Her strong cheekbones, athletic build, and proud posture give her an air of authority. Although she’s several inches shorter than the men, she’s by far the most powerful presence among the three. Something about her reminds me of Estelle.
“Sorry about the delay.” Her dry tone tells me she’s not sorry at all. “We wanted to finish the piece we were rehearsing.”
Puna puts her hands on my shoulders. “Everyone, this is Iris Lei, your new violist.”
The dark-skinned man, who is at least a foot taller than me, raises his eyebrow. “The Ydayas brought us a child?”
Puna lets out a slight laugh. “I know she’s tiny compared to you, Temir, but she’s fifteen.”
Temir raises his eyebrows. “I would have guessed ten.”
My jaw drops with indignation. “I don’t look that young!”
“Of course you don’t.” The brown-haired man nudges Temir. “Only compared to this old man.”
“Iris, this is the cellist, Temir Kader”—Puna gestures at the tall man—“and the first violinist, Andreas Konstantin.” She gestures at the brown-haired man. “This is the second violinist, Cara Vittoria.” She nods at the girl. “That’s Carr-a, not Care-a. Be sure not to mispronounce her name, or she’ll become quite cross. She’s seventeen.” She gives Cara a small smile. “Cara, isn’t it nice to have a companion your own age?”
“Yes.” Cara speaks through gritted teeth, and I can tell she means, “No.”
I make a mental note to be careful around Cara. I don’t know what I’ve done to offend her already, but from the cold look she’s giving me, I can tell she wants me gone. She and Estelle really do seem to be kindred spirits.
Temir extends his hand toward me. “Pleased to meet you, Iris. Where are you from?”
I try not to wince as his large hand squeezes mine. “The Papilio School.”
He releases my hand. “I’m a Papilio alum as well! Though I left well before your time. Alan, your predecessor, was a Papilian too.”
Puna turns to me. “I’m sure someone already informed you that our previous violist wished to retire early.”
Cara lets out a disdainful noise. She catches Puna’s eye and says, “Sorry.” She sounds anything but sincere.
Puna narrows her eyes at Cara. Cara’s expression goes blank, and I wonder if it’s because Puna has entered her mind, keeping her from whatever scornful thoughts she was thinking before. The idea sends a shiver down my spine. That Puna’s so freely commanding us reinforces the idea that, for whatever reason, the Adryil must be allowed to use telepathy on Artists. If I find Dámiul, I’ll have to ask him why he didn’t warn me explicitly about this danger.
Puna puts her hand on my shoulder, and I quickly push these notions out of my head. “Let me take you to your room so you can get settled. The rest of you may go back to your rehearsal.”
The other three return to the room they came from while Puna leads me to a door at the end of the one-story house. She looks at a pad on its right, and the door slides open. “This is where you’ll be living. Isn’t it nice?”
“Yes, thank you.” The small, cozy room reminds me of my dorm.
“To enter and exit, simply press your hand against the pad.”
I find it both fascinating and frightening that the Adryil can control technology with their minds.
“Do not worry, little one. Your room is quite secure. Only certain Adryil—namely, myself and the Ydayas—can open your door t
elepathically. There are safeguards to prevent anyone else from doing so.”
Puna must have read my unease. I nod with understanding and set my viola case down. A second door lies across the room from the first; I incline my chin toward it. “Where does that lead?”
“To the Ka’risil courtyard.” Puna approaches the door, and it opens before her.
A wide, flat area lies outside. White tables and benches sit in a tidy row in the center, and a large screen, which displays a choral scene from an unfamiliar opera, towers over one corner. A handful of people sit at one of the tables, laughing as they chat in a language that sounds European.
Puna gestures at them. “During your free time, you are welcome to associate with the other Ka’risil here.” She closes the door and points at the monitor on the desk. “I’m sure you’re familiar with this from your time at the Papilio School?”
“Yes.” I glance at the monitor, which displays a schedule just like the one I used to have.
“Good. It will tell you everything else you need to know.” She heads to the door, turning her bright green gaze on me over her shoulder. “You have the rest of the day to adjust to your new home. Tomorrow, you will begin rehearsing with the others. Understand?”
“Yes.” That seems to be the only acceptable answer to all Puna’s questions.
She leaves, and the door shuts behind her.
I approach what looks like a closet door and open it. Inside lies a metal rack with a number of colorful outfits hanging off it. They all look my size—Puna must have prepared them in advance. A red light sits on each of the hangers except the empty one directly in front of me, which has a green light on it. Recalling how Cara and I have the same dress, which match the outfits of the men, I realize that we must be expected to wear uniforms.
Your new home. Puna’s words sound hollow in my head. I don’t think it’s quite hit me yet, that everything I knew is lightyears away. Further than I can even imagine.
Now that she’s gone, I have a chance to collect my thoughts without her interfering. My mind whirls at the idea that even my homesickness was stolen from me aboard that starship. I recall being on the verge of tears when I followed that bot toward the East Gate. I must have been leaving behind something—or someone—that meant a lot to me. Yet every time my mind turns to the past, one of my Adryil watchers steers me back to the present and erases whatever I was thinking about. The same must have happened to the others, like Temir, Cara, and Andreas, and because they don’t know it’s possible, they simply accept their new lives.
