Wandering Star: A Zodiac Novel (26 page)

When we cross the plank into the village, the three of us exchange looks of awe. The place has been completely transformed.

Representatives from the Houses have constructed simulation games, food stands, cultural booths, and gift stores on the front lawns of each embassy. The doors to every single building are open, and citizens of every House are visiting each other. Holographic wildlife from every constellation roams the village streets, the animals so lifelike that people in their paths are dodging out of their way. Above the embassies float the House glyphs, and the center of the sky reads
ZODIAC.

“Look,” says Stanton, pointing to the Plenum building in the middle of the village. “The Thirteenth House.”

Stanton leads the way toward a makeshift spot for House Ophiuchus that someone has cobbled together. Groups of people cluster the area, trading Ophiuchus stories, superstitions, and suspicions, as well as fictions and facts from their own Houses. Holographic screens depict the Ophiuchus myths from each world, and the new glyph that shows me wrangling the Snake is projected throughout.

At the very back of the improvised embassy, a panel of five people takes questions from a growing crowd. The panelists are all from different Houses, but they’re each dressed in identical white suits that make me think of the Marad. A hologram hovering by their heads reveals them to be representatives of the group 13.

Once dismissed as conspiracy theorists, their knowledge is now in high
demand by even the Chroniclers in the audience, and hands are shooting up with questions from the continuously expanding crowd. The Zodiac believes in Ophiuchus at last—right when I have to convince them that Ochus is not the master, that a far more elusive, intelligent, and
dangerous
threat exists, about whom we know nothing.

A teenage panelist abruptly abandons his seat at the table. “Rho!” he calls with familiarity in his voice. I squint, wondering how I might know him.

He smiles widely as he approaches, revealing two rows of perfect, sharp teeth. He’s a Leo—I can tell by the broad face, multiple eyebrow piercings, and striped sideburns. “I was hoping you’d come. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long. I’m Traxon Harwing, but friends call me Trax.”

We trade the hand touch. His skin is rough and calloused, most definitely from the adventuring life on Leo. His eyes travel down to my dress, and he smiles even wider. “You’re wearing his color, too.”

“Whose?”

“Ophiuchus—white was the Thirteenth House’s color. It’s the hue that contains all others. There’s a ton of lore I’d love to share with you whenever you have time. In exchange, maybe you could address some of our members—you know, tell us what it was like facing him?”

“Right now the Marad and the master are more pressing.”

I bite back my annoyance by reminding myself that
of course
people are more interested in a new House—a whole new constellation—that’s been hidden from us for ages. Of course they want to learn as much as possible about that lost world and its people. Of course they’re more concerned with an immortal, invincible Guardian who can crush planets with Dark Matter than some unknown master who couldn’t possibly be scarier than a children’s book monster come to life.

“Ophiuchus warned you before the last attack,” says Traxon. I’m not sure, but it almost sounds as if he’s
defending
the butcher. “If you give him a chance, he could lead you right to the Marad.”

“I did give him a chance. And he did lead me to them, and two of my friends got killed,” I snap. “He can’t help us. Ophiuchus is violent and unfeeling. His ways aren’t ours.”

“All the more reason you should learn as much as you can about him,” argues Trax, his tan face flushed with red. “He might know how to defeat the army—”

“We defeat the master and the Marad by bringing the Houses together and forming a unified plan,” I cut in. Even if this Leo has a point, I don’t like his pushiness or his unwavering fascination with Ophiuchus. “Ophiuchus is a
murderer
. He destroyed my House.”

“But you can’t shut him out, Rho!” he says almost pleadingly, pronouncing my name as if saying it is an old habit. “He’s chosen
you
to be his connection to our world. You have a responsibility—”

“I don’t need you to tell me about responsibility—”

“I think you do, actually—”

“Excuse us,” says Stanton, clapping his hand on my shoulder and pulling me back from a red-faced and disappointed Traxon. “We’re late for an appointment.”

When we’ve walked far enough away, Stanton lets go of me, and he and Aryll burst into barks of laughter.

“You should’ve seen your face, Rho!” says Stanton. “I didn’t think anyone could make you that angry, but I should have known getting a Leo on your back would do the trick—”

“
‘I don’t need you to tell me about responsibility!’
” says Aryll in an unflattering caricature.

“I am
not
that shrill!” I protest. Once the guys have calmed down, we make our way past the Ophiuchus crowds and emerge near the Aquarian embassy, a majestic royal palace with turrets shooting high into the air. It’s the tallest structure in the village.

Stanton goes straight to the simulation games. He and Aryll line up to try an aural tonic, a small vial of highly concentrated Abyssthe that
wears off almost instantly, but the moment its hits your system, it projects a glimpse of your soul. The glimpse—a mix of images and words, like a freeze-frame of your brain in a single moment in time—is fleeting, and it appears on a huge wallscreen hanging over the stand.

While we’re in line, Gyzer and Ezra come up to greet us. “Hey, Aryll!” says Ezra, trading the hand touch with him.

“Ezra, this is Stanton. Rho’s brother.” She looks from Aryll to Stan and trades the hand touch with him, too. When she finally turns to me, she nods a subtle greeting but keeps her distance. Either she hasn’t forgiven me, or she’s not sure how to make amends.

Gyzer trades the hand touch with me. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he says in his mournful tone.

“Thank you.”

“Do you still believe you’re not ready to lead?” he asks, and I think I spy a smile in his deep eyes.

“I don’t think anyone ever is.” I think of Vecily and Hysan and Brynda and so many other young leaders like us who weren’t expecting the stars’ call. “I think the most any of us can do is try,” I add, shrugging. “What have you and Ezra been up to?”

“A Stargazer discovered one of Ezra’s inventions, and next thing we knew, we were guests on Guardian Brynda’s ship to the Plenum session. Ezra’s device helped track part of the signal of the Marad’s universal transmission. It might be the key to breaking the code the army is hiding behind and capturing them.”

We all look at her, and I can’t help but be impressed. Aryll asks, “How did you do it?”

“Sometimes, when you get too clever, you overlook the simple stuff,” says Ezra, shrugging so casually it’s as if she’s unaware that she’s a Hysan-level genius. “The Marad is so technologically advanced, I thought there was a good chance its soldiers had forgotten the old ways. So I started looking at old wartime strategies in history texts. I read up on this ancient spy
language that used basic sound waves to ping a location, which gave me the idea for a more primitive kind of Tracker.”

“Brilliant,” I say.

Ezra tilts her chin up. “Thank you.”

The line moves up, and Stanton and Aryll go with it, while Gyzer trails away a little, leaving us girls alone. I’m not sure what to say, since I don’t want to take all the blame for our argument in Starry City when I think Ezra was also in the wrong, but before my brain can analyze the words, my mouth blurts out a question.

“Are you still mad at me?”

Ezra’s proud expression melts into an impish smile. “Not what I was expecting you to say.” She laughs a little. “You know, I think Sagittarius rubbed off on you.”

“I’m glad,” I say, smiling back. “I’m also glad you found your own way to fight the Marad. I have a feeling you’re going to be a force.” I hold out my hand, and at last, she gives me a fist bump.

“Not so weak yourself,” she says to me, her wide eyes traveling down my bandaged arm. “I’m sorry for stepping out of line before. But I’m not sorry for fighting for my chance to fight. If that makes sense.”

“It does. I respect that.”

“Rho, I’m up!” shouts Stanton. I look over and realize he and Aryll have reached the head of the line. I say bye to Ezra and join my brother as he eagerly downs his aural tonic. His eyes are closed, brow furrowed with focus, and soon an image pops onto the wallscreen.

Four faces smile at me from the fog of time—Mom, Dad, Stanton, and me, at least ten years ago. There’s also a jumble of words, but only a few of them are legible.
Cancer. Rho. Jewel.
Like a true Cancrian, Stanton thinks of his home and loved ones to Center himself.

My brother grins at the sight of the projection, then looks at me. When our eyes meet, his smile grows sad, and I know we’re both thinking of home, in the days when it still was a home. The image dissolves.

Stanton steps aside and grabs another vial for Aryll. “Nah, I hate the way that stuff tastes. Let’s check out holographic wrestling in the Aries tent instead.”

“Oh, come on, we’re already here,” says Stanton. “It doesn’t taste
that
bad, and it only takes a second.”

Aryll seems on the verge of arguing, but when his eye lands on mine, a change comes over his expression. “
Fine
,” he says, as if he’s doing Stan a favor. “But I’ve told you before I have a hard time Centering.”

He sounds more embarrassed than annoyed, and then he throws his head back and takes the aural tonic. He stares at the ground in a pose of great concentration for several moments, but nothing happens on the wallscreen.

“It’s okay, sometimes we end up with weak batches,” says the white-haired Aquarian running the stand. “Here, try this one.” He hands Aryll another vial. The line grows longer behind us, and Aryll tosses back the new aural tonic. As his face grows redder with renewed effort, I start to feel bad that Stanton pressured him into this—if there’s anything Cancrians don’t like, it’s the spotlight. Stanton seems to be thinking the same thing, because his face creases with concern, and he seems about to speak, when an image flashes out.

It’s unintelligible. The screen is shaded with tones of gray and charcoal, which muffle a series of shapes and letters in the background, like a veil of interference on a transmission. The projection disappears too quickly to register much, but I do catch part of his name in it:
ARY.

Aryll doesn’t speak as we leave the Aquarian embassy and head to the First House. The line for holographic wrestling is so long it spills out onto the Taurian and Geminin embassy lawns, but Stanton and I still follow Aryll there without complaint.

“I’m not mad,” he says when he finally turns to look at us, scratching at the skin under his eye patch. “It’s just that Centering—concentrating on
anything, really—has always been hard for me. That’s why I didn’t get into the Academy.”

“I’m sorry,” says Stanton, “I didn’t mean to push—”

“I’m not mad,” repeats Aryll, shoving my brother into the girls in line ahead of us. Two ticked-off Scorp teens turn around.

“Sorry,” says Aryll to the Scorps.

“No,
I’m
sorry,” says Stanton, slinging an arm around Aryll’s neck. “We were just wondering whose suit you like better.”

The girls giggle, giving Stanton a green light to keep flirting. “I’m Aryll, and he’s Stanton,” he says.

Aryll laughs. “He means
I’m
Aryll, and
he’s
Stanton.”

“What’d I say?” asks Stanton. He used to do that with me when we were kids all the time—talk to people as if he were Rho and I were Stanton.

“I’m Maura,” says one of the girls.

“Hayden,” says the taller of the two. She has red eyes, like a Maw—she must be from one of the deeper waterworlds of Scorpio. Like most Scorps, they’re both thin and wiry, and their skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent. Since their populations live in underwater cities, they don’t get a lot of sun.

While Aryll and Stanton flirt, my mind drifts off, and I start to wonder what Hysan and Mathias are up to. “Think I’ll wander,” I tell Stanton.

“We’ll be here,” he says, gesturing at the hopelessly long line.

I walk past a band performing from the balcony of the elevated theater that is the Leonine embassy, and people from every House are dancing on the front lawn. When the song ends, the musicians take a break, but the singer stays onstage and starts to belt out a slow ballad. A pack of rowdy teenage boys groan loudly with displeasure, but I stop to listen to the sad melody.

A familiar husky voice speaks in my ear. “Never did get that dance on Starry City.”

Hysan holds out his hand, and I gaze into his lively green eyes as I rest my palm against his. We step onto the Leonine playhouse lawn, and he slides his other hand around my waist, pulling me toward him until our chests are touching.

“Thanks for being there for Nishi today,” I say, my bandaged arm draped around his neck.

“No need to thank me, Rho. I like being helpful.” He pulls me into the crook of his neck, where I can’t see his eyes, and speaks into my ear. “But these past few days, I’ve been at a loss. I couldn’t help Twain. I can’t truly help Nishi. And I don’t know how to help you.”

“That’s not true,” I say, raising my face to look at him. “You rescued us—”

“That’s not what I mean.” We’re so close that all I can smell is the cedary scent of his hair. “Maybe it’s because a robot raised me, but I’ve always been ruled by my mind. I don’t react to feelings—I think first, feel later. Except ever since meeting you, all I want to do is be near you, even when it goes against my better judgment.”

I stare into his eyes, and everything around his face fades out of focus. “Rho, even though I’ve been alone all my life, I’d never been lonely . . . not until I met you.”

Twain was right: Hysan is so outwardly focused that no one can ever look in. This is the first time he’s let me see past his golden reflection . . . and the first time I’ve seen he’s just as breakable as I am.