Every Star in the Sky Read online

  Brom looks confused, and Regan looks bored out of her mind as she bites her fingernails to little stubs.

  “We done here?” She asks to no one in particular.

  “We’ve been done here,” Leon hisses, muttering a string of profanities under his breath as he leads the way back to the horses.

  That’s when the crow people come.

  There’s at least twenty of them, and as we approach, they hiss and crawl towards us from all sides.

  “Goddammit, we’re surrounded,” Leon spits, pulling his sword from its sheath.

  “Ain’t nothing I can’t handle,” Brom says as he takes out his own sword, holding it at an angle away from his chest.

  Regan pulls a spiked glove from her pocket, as sharp as Satan’s tongue.

  All I have is my little opaline dagger, but as I look into the face of these monsters, I feel a sudden bloodthirsty rage, because that’s when it hits me.

  War killed my father. War with the crow people.

  Dad was a Nightingale.

  I can’t breathe or think, but damned if I can’t fight. I rush forward, screaming as I leap into the air and come down like a hungry hawk as I stuff the dagger in the crow’s heart. I swing backwards just in time to fend off another attacker, and slice its head from its bony black neck.

  They’re barely human anymore. The only human thing about them is their bipedal anatomy and their human faces, though their eyes, even the whites, are utterly black and their mouths and noses have been replaced with red beaks.

  Their breath is a visible purple smog, and when it hits my face, I am temporarily blinded.

  I feel the presence of a warm body next to me and hear a metallic fist make contact with obsidian bone, and the fiery evaporation that follows a crow person’s death.

  “Regan?” I ask, once I regain my eyesight.

  “Fight,” she says back, rushing in the middle of a group of the monsters.

  I nod. One larger than the others starts ambling towards me, and I wait for its claws to reach for my throat until I dart behind it and carve a line from the nape of its neck to the place where its rear should be, but there’s just bone that turns into a cloud of gas under my dagger.

  “ROSE!” Leon screams.

  It takes me a second to register that Rose is my name, and that an airborne crow person is aiming for my heart with its gnarled black claws.

  I roll out of the way just enough so that it pierces my back instead of my heart, but it has me trapped under its grip. I can’t help but scream from the searing pain. It feels like liquid black fire has infiltrated my lungs.

  I feel the sting of its purple smoggy breath against my ear as it cackles madly at my likely demise.

  Think quick think quick think quick…

  Remember the birds.

  I touch the bluebird feather on my chest, knowing I’m going to die--

  I feel my legs wrap back around the crow. I shift all of my body weight to the left, flipping it over in the grasp of my legs, and I cut its head clean off.

  There are only eight or so left, so I leap high into the air again and dive down, slicing off two of the gruesome creature’s heads at once.

  Soon, the battle is over, and we have won.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rolphe finishes patching up the wound on my back.

  “Please don’t tell me there’s gonna be more of these,” I groan, wincing as he tapes some gauze over the bloody skin cavity.

  He laughs, “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the crow people are not the gentlest creatures, and have a population of potentially hundreds by now.”

  I roll my eyes in fake disgust, “Wow, that’s it? What a rag tag team of losers. I could cut them all down in a day with my right hand.”

  Dr. Rolphe smiles, “You seem much more relaxed today, Miss Jay.”

  “I’m exhausted, if that qualifies as a synonym.” I didn’t mention that the way Leon talked about my former best friend had broken my heart, if only a little. I may have had my problems with Evan Olson, but he didn’t make these opal daggers with sloppy hands, nor did he do it with anything but the most generous intent. He knew something that we didn’t, and I want to know what he knew.

  How could he make these little daggers and have them not only kill the crow people, but so effectively? If they were even nicked with the blade, steam rose from their obsidian bones as a desperate cry of fury, and their eyes alit with flame. There was obviously more to the blades than what Leon thought, or at least, what he was willing to tell me.

  But why Evan Olson? What part of this whole mess was he? Where did his puzzle piece fit?

  “Hey Dr. Rolphe?” I sit up in the cot and face him.

  He nods, slipping his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a small sniffle.

  “Is there anything about my dagger that would make it more effective than a normal weapon against the crow people?”

  “Well, opal in itself means “precious,” so obviously a lot of love went into it. In fact, it often symbolizes love. Whoever made it clearly had strong affection for you.”

  I gulp and bite my lip. Don’t think about him right now.

  He seems to notice my discomfort and changes the subject. “However, opal is also the stone of creativity. It’s also largely based in water, and water stones generally pertain to meanings having to do with transformation-- the way the river can flow on forever and still become clouds or rain or the ocean, for example. There’s a lot of hogwash about it curing diseases as well, but I’ve never paid attention to that.”

  “What do you know about Evan Olson?”

  “I know that he wasn’t who he said he was, and that’s about it.”

  I feel my heart ram into my ribcage, my pulse as quick as rain slapping a roof. I lean forward, fingers clinging to the edge of the cot. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he says he was from this little nameless town, and he somehow enlisted as a soldier and never did any soldierly duties. He most of his time in the barracks working on little projects. That man may have been in the army, but he could not call himself a soldier with a straight face, I don’t think.”

  “But he wasn’t a Nightingale either.”

  “Nope. Leo asked him multiple times to join us, but he always declined. Said it wasn’t his time or something.”

  “And Evan Olson died.”

  Dr. Rolphe smiles, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  He shrugs, “All I’m saying is, it takes some sort of cause for somebody to die. He fell asleep at night and was gone in the morning, a dead body riddled with stab wounds left in his place. But if you found four blades, a letter, and a journal in his coffin where that dead body should’ve been, then maybe he didn’t die after all. Seems feasible, no?”

  I narrow my eyes. “How do you know what we found in his coffin?”

  “Because he told me before he died exactly what he needed to leave in his coffin.”

  “Rolphe. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’m not ‘not’ telling you anything. You have a letter with your name on it. I’m sure that has at least some of the answers you’re looking for.” He walks away, like nothing happened, and fiddles with a dead bird’s body on a small metal table.

  I knew I would have to open the letter at some point. I just didn’t want it to be so soon. I put it from my pocket, peel the red wax from the back of the envelope, and pull out a folded over piece of notebook paper.

  Dear Rose,

  Thank you for finding me. Or, what I’ve left behind. I hope you’re still using your dagger. Quite the weapon, isn’t it? I spent nearly all of my time in my enlistment finding the right stones and creating it just for you. I have always loved you so, and so I made your blade with the most care.

  Here’s a secret. Lightness always trumps darkness. And here’s another secret. By the time you read this, I will be dead. For real this time, of course. I implore you, Rose, do not fall in love with anyone.
Because they may not love you back, or they may use you. I have done terrible things to give you and your sisters the opaline daggers, and that’s why you have to use them well.

  Have you ever tried stabbing yourself in the heart before? No? Just as I thought. You shouldn’t do that. Or maybe you should. At this point in time, it’s not relevant. What is relevant is that for every molecule of darkness there is in this universe, there is also a molecule of light. And sometimes, the light is hidden in strange places. Sealed in boxes or envelopes, locked tightly away in coffins and souls. Or hearts.

  Have you heard of the Newtonian laws of motion? For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

  Riddle for you: if a crow represents darkness, then what ever would represent light? It’s quite simple. Have you been to an aviary before? Maybe look around one sometime. They’re quite lovely, especially in spring.

  I will always miss you and think of you always. The days we spent together as best friends, I will treasure always. Remember that it is okay to be different, it is okay to be yourself, and you owe nothing to anyone. Nobody can decide your worth but you. I wish I could be less cryptic, but this is the best I can do for you right now. You will learn why soon enough. And briefly, there is nothing stronger than love. It can defeat evil, but it could also defeat you. Be careful and trust in yourself and your own judgment.

  With all of my undying affection and well-wishes, your friend,

  -Evan Olson, AKA Jericho Exodus

  P.S. I’ll be buried in a forest village called Rowena if you’d like to visit. It’s a lovely little place just outside the capital.

  My fingers tremble in rage and sorrow and confusion and sheer madness as I finish reading the letter. So he wasn’t dead, but he is now, and before he died he wrote me a letter with a shit ton of cryptic riddles just to tell me that he’s always loved me. And his name was Jericho Exodus.

  I should’ve known. Just as there are five daughters of Reya, there should be five sons of Deno, lords of darkness, animators of the dead. I know I should tell Leon, but right now, all I feel is anger.

  I tear open the journal and the entire thing is empty. Every last page is empty except for the last one, which has a doodle of five crows, one with a big red ‘X’ through it. On the inside back cover, he’s taped a black feather.

  I know what to do with it, of course. I pull the string with Dad’s bluebird feather serving as a pendant from my head, untie the loop enclosing it, and re-tie it around the bluebird feather and now the crow feather, soft and shiny and the color of an oil spill at night.

  So far, two people have died for me, then. Maybe that’s what this necklace is. The collection of deaths in my honor. The way native americans wore belts of scalps, I wore a necklace of bird feathers. A necklace of death.

  It would be easier to run, which is exactly what I want to do. I want to take Bear, get on Lucky and gallop as far away as I can be taken. I never want to see this place again. If more people are going to die for this cause, whatever the cause even is, though I know I am a puzzle piece and therefore I am at fault, I don’t want to be a part of this anymore.

  I walk to my room, where Leon is waiting outside, leaned casually against the wall and looking bored. He blinks himself back to a mildly interested expression as I approach.

  “Back better?”

  “No.” I shove the letter in his hands, “Where’s the training room? I want to run.”

  “Jay--”

  “That’s not my name. That’s never been my name. I want to run. Where.”

  “There’s a track outside. Walk west for about five minutes.”

  I shove past him and walk up the stairs to get out of the barracks.

  “I left clothes in your room,” he calls after me, and I start west.

  I find the track, just rough patches of soil in a large oval, maybe a quarter-mile in length. I walk for about five seconds before jogging, and jog another ten seconds before running. It is about 40 degrees outside, the sun shaded by cloud, and I run. My leg screams out in pain and my back roars in dissent and my arm sobs for mercy and I run faster.

  There is music in everything, but today the song within me has died. I tear through the dirt, out of form and kicking back chunks of soil. I run faster and faster and faster, my head pounding, my heart throbbing, every pore of my body screaming for me to stop but I don’t, and soon the voices of my body go away, and there is just my empty mind and a track and sweat and tears that don’t need to be tears because they blend in with the sweat.

  My breathing is a battle cry, my feet are toy soldiers, my heart is Atlas bearing the weight of the world and somehow not collapsing. I hear someone yelling and I think they’re yelling my name and telling me to stop, so I go faster. Maybe if I run fast enough I can break some dimensional wall and I will evaporate into nothingness, and I will never have to feel again.

  After running with every tool in my possession for forty-five minutes, my body collapses and I tumble to the ground, rolling several times.

  All I feel is anger. I scream and cry and scream more and punch the sandy earth beneath me.

  I have been a pawn my entire life. I was born to fit into some grand scheme and there is nothing I can do about it.

  “Hey, knock it off, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Regan yells at me as she kneels at my side. I throw a fist towards her face but she grabs my wrist mid-swing and slaps me, hard, in the face.

  “What the hell are you doing, Rose! Wake the hell up and stop it before you break a fucking lung!”

  I am crying and coughing and heaving for air.

  “Everything,” I hiss, “Everything is wrong with me. I was born just to kill crow people and disappoint the people I love, and maybe I’ve killed them too. I can’t talk normally, I can’t act normally, and my best friend was in love with me and I couldn’t love him back because I don’t feel like a normal human being. There is no shred of a fucking soul inside me. I have no family. I have no friends, I have NOTHING and I am expected to live up to expectations I don’t even UNDERSTAND. Leave me be-- let me run until my heart gives out. It’s the only way I can leave this place. I don’t understand why I’m here and what I’m supposed to be doing, and people keep telling me to not forget who I am but I don’t even know who I am! I… I don’t even know what my name is anymore! I d-don’t w-w-want this anym-more.”

  I would be sobbing if my body had that kind of energy, but all my body can do is let oceans of pain free from my eyes. The water stings my eyes and cheeks, and there is nothing left to feel.

  “I never loved him back and now he’s dead. I ruined his life, Regan,” I whisper, desperately choking for air.

  She looks uncomfortable for a few seconds, confused, but then I see the watery glaze over her eyes. She wraps her strong arms around me and pulls me close and I sob into her body until there is no water left to give.

  The sun is lowering beneath the horizon, an orange falling into a pot of dark soup. My breath has come back. I wipe a hand over my sweaty, tear-stained face, but now all I want is a shower and sleep.

  “I treated you so poorly,” Regan whispers. She looks away. “I was just… I don’t know what we’re doing either. And it’s scary. And you’re so beautiful, just the way you are, and I can tell the way other people feel about you-- they like you right away, and I have to work, and work, and sometimes I get nowhere. I just… Nobody understands me, and it’s hard. I don’t know why I am the way I am. I wish I wasn’t. I’ve tried to change, but it’s not… it’s just not possible.”

  She pulls her hair over her shoulder and begins to braid and unbraid her thick ginger locks. “I just… I don’t know what love is. Guys look at me and see a one-night stand, not a wife. Girls look at me and see a bitch. That guy you were talking about, you say he loved you. Nobody’s ever loved me, Rose. No friends, no family… I’m unlovable. I was broken from the day I was born.”

  I slap her in the face. “You’re stupid.”

  She reels back, surpri
sed, and then she laughs, and I laugh, and we laugh together under the sinking sun.

  “I’ve been jealous of you this entire time. You’re so perfect. You’re gorgeous, smart, strong, confident…”

  “Well, so are you.”

  Maybe there’s something wrong with the way people perceive the world. But all I know in this moment is that this woman, broken as she may be, is beautiful and worthy, and maybe to be worthy of love and kindness, all you really need to do is be yourself and do what the world intended for you to do.

  “Maybe.”

  “Hey, c’mon. Wanna meet your family?”

  I smile and nod. “But I need a shower first. I feel like shit.”

  “You look like shit. There’s blood and dirt all over you.”

  “Thanks Regan.”

  She smiles, “Let’s go, kiddo.”

  We walk back in the dusky afternoon to the headquarters. She shows me to the shower stalls and I vigorously scrub the dirt away from my skin under the caress of the smooth, warm rain from the shower head. The soap in the women’s shower area smells like wildflowers, and I make sure that I do too by the time I’m done washing myself. I towel my hair, gently soak the water away from my body, and slip into a t-shirt, shorts, bra, new underwear, and socks-- all garments that Leon had left in a box in my room. I loved the feel of the clean cotton against my newly soft, ivory skin. Maybe the running actually did kill me, and this is how showers in the afterlife feel.

  Regan is waiting for me in a similar outfit outside of a door I’ve never noticed before, but the names carved into the door very clearly read ‘Kira, Lynn, Regan, Charlotte.’

  “Wait a sec,” I say as Regan starts to reach for the door handle, “I’m scared. What are we, anyway? Like… quintuplets? Or sorta quintuplets, since we weren’t really, y’know, born the right way I guess. Are we all eighteen? Kira is knowledge, Lynn is nature, Charlotte is… uh…”

  “Spirituality.”

  “What the hell does that even mean.”

  “Sort of a blend of a bunch of things. Positive energy, meditation, religion, peace, love, relationships, that kind of thing. You’ll get it when you meet her.”