Every Star in the Sky Read online

  “They will take it from you. And show no one your strength unless it is needed. If they come to take you, let them take you. Do not put up a fight. Do not let them know what you are capable of.” Her voice is filled with an ultimate determination that I could only ever dream to possess myself.

  My resolve fades into sobs. “I’m scared, Mom.”

  She smiles, “That is because you are human.”

  I let myself collapse against her shoulder and she holds me tight, and we cry together. This beautiful woman, the only person I’ve ever truly known or loved. The only person who had ever told me in my sixteen years of life that it was okay for me to be myself. I can feel her bones easily underneath my palms. She is growing weaker by the day. I pray that the village will give her the strength she needs if I am to be gone.

  “There are times,” she says, “when you must let go of what you know so that you can find purpose you couldn’t even imagine. But there is never a time when I want you to let go of yourself.”

  “I promise.”

  Bear, who had been snoring soundly beside me, stirs a little only to yawn and rest his head in my lap, his big brown eyes gazing into my own. I laugh and let him lick the tears away as my mom moves to her bed and falls asleep.

  Try as I might, I cannot do the same.

  I lie starkly awake in my own bed, Bear resting his massive black body on my feet, snoring softly without a care in the world. I find myself fingering through poetry books, whispering the words out loud. I like the soft, stirring poetry the best. It sounds the way wildflowers smell-- like honey, a summery breeze, a shady oak, the precursor to a season of syrupy slowness and hibernation.

  I dream for a moment of owning a farm. I would grow apple trees the height of boats, and their honey would fill your mouth with spring. I would raise chickens and horses and cattle, and instead of slaughtering the livestock for meat, I would take the milk and eggs and let them live as they’d like-- freely, in an open field. I would plant acres of tulips, daisies, sunflowers, roses, and carnations. I would plant wildflowers in the backyard and when it rained, I would capture it in barrels, so that my plants and animals could have water from the gods. I would have a library in my home, with literature on farming, history, war, philosophy, and hundreds of books of poems. Maybe some of them my own.

  Because when I write poetry, I am vulnerable, but if I am safe and alone, it is a secret. Nobody needs to know who I am or how I feel. I would hide poems all over a village, and when someone found them, it would bloom in their hands from the rain of their eyes. Every day you could find a beam of sunshine tucked away in a bush or hidden between two buildings.

  And everybody I knew would be utterly, perfectly, happy.

  I look out at the moon through the window pane. Her great, voluminous body expresses a white phosphorescence that covers the top of the earth in a dim, fading light. It looks huge and present. Like if I reach out, I would feel the milky stone in the sky. The fingers of my right-hand twitch. I can barely stand to look at them. Red and purple, mottled with congealed blood, a cacophony of vulnerability, pain, suffering, and ugliness. How could Evan think I was beautiful? How could anyone? What if the right side of me looked like a monster forever? And since when did it matter? I’d never cared about my appearance before. I couldn’t even describe what I looked like. I had seen myself so few times that I couldn’t conjure a picture of my own image in my head. I knew the basics, sure-- black hair, green eyes, freckles, average height, average build. How could I be anything but a beast, let alone the purposeful creature my mother suggests?

  I feel self-conscious. Ashamed. I can feel my body flood with realization, the way Eve did when she realized she was naked. I have this vague feeling that I am very human and very, very alive.

  And very, very alone.

  I’ve talked primarily to my mother and my mother alone for years. I haven’t seen the kids from school in ages. Nobody ever hunted in our forest, by the cottage. Nobody even dared.

  I look to the moon again and I wonder who I am. I wonder who I’m supposed to be. All I’ve ever known is this village. This same group of 50 people. A lust for otherness comes over me and I grow tired. My eyes drift downward, and the last sound I hear before I sleep is Bear inching closer to me before he curls into my body.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  There are intruders in the village.

  I can feel it.

  My eyes shoot open and I find Evan standing before me, looking grim. I instinctively clutch tight to Bear.

  Mom is nowhere to be seen. I’m too afraid to ask Evan where she’s gone.

  “Evan.”

  “They’re here. Put this on, okay?” He pushes a black, long-sleeved cloak into my hands and I hastily pull it over my head.

  “What’s this for?”

  He sighs. “I just figure if they can’t see the damage from the accident, they won’t think you’re weak and then…” He shivers. I don’t ask what he’s thinking. I don’t want to know.

  “Don’t show them your capability, but don’t show them your strength, either, until you know exactly what they want. Personally, I have no leads. But just keep your right hand in the pocket when you can, stand straight, and try your best to walk normally.”

  “Normal,” I say quietly, beckoning Bear to my side.

  “Wait, you’re not… Bringing that dog with, are you?” Evan asks.

  “Of course I am. C’mon Bear. Let’s go.” I walk out the door, the big fur ball trotting joyously beside me.

  We walk in silence, though our quiet peace is shattered as the deafening sounds of the village overwhelm our arrival. Everyone in the village, young and old, is clustered in the square facing the fountain.

  Cowering.

  Sobbing.

  Screaming.

  Except for my mother. I pray she is safe, in Evan’s house at the southern end of the village. As we get closer, I can see a handful of men on anxious horses. Their great red nostrils flare with fear, the whites of their eyes are stark on their dark bodies.

  “Mom?” I whisper.

  “Safe,” Evan says.

  Bear pins his ears back and cowers beside me, pulling as close to my body as possible. “Shh, boy,” I say, scratching his ears. “I’ve got you.”

  That’s when the carriage arrives. The revolt of the villagers is almost immediately quieted as the dark, hearse-like vehicle is pulled before the fountain by a quartet of white horses.

  A young woman steps out of the carriage, her purple and gold gown shimmering like dew in the morning air. Her hair is long and blonde, naturally wavy and glistening like the sun. Everything about her sparkles, except for the forlorn expression on her face. Some mixture of anger, helplessness, and fear. I watch as she blinks her expression into stoicism.

  One of the soldiers, wearing different armor than the rest, bows to her. “To the people of village 24 of the Northern District, I present to you, Princess Anastasia!”

  Everyone falls to their knees to bow down to her. I follow their movements, trembling with fear. Trembling with the realization that this could be the end.

  I forget the weakness of my leg as I fall against the cold ground, wrists and knees in the snow. I grit my teeth and try to ignore the flare of pain on the right half of my body. I realize that I haven’t much questioned what they were going to do with whoever they took up until this point, and I felt a shudder of fear take the crest of my back. Would I be a slave, a soldier, a sexual plaything? What did they want me for? Medical research? I feel bile rise in my throat and force it back down.

  Suddenly the world is a dream. I am a figure in a snow globe and there is nothing to breathe. Just snow and the words of the princess.

  “Would all women age fifteen to twenty-five stand, please?” Her voice was beautiful, in a strange way. It was like cold rose quartz. Stern and soft and quiet, but it also demanded respect. And she was beautiful. Unquestionably so. She hardly looked real.

  Wait.

  Oh shit.

&nbs
p; That’s me.

  How do I get up? I watch as other girls fitting the necessary description get to their feet. I have to. If I don’t, they’ll think I’m lying and they’ll kill me. But if I get up and can’t stay up, if I slip and fall… They’ll kill me. I gulp, my heart heaving, pleading for oxygen with the roaring in my chest and ears. It’s so simple. Just get up. Just get up. A tear of frustration leaks out of my eye.

  I shove my knuckles into the snow and push up my upper body, gradually moving the rest of me with it--

  Ice patch. I am on the floor in a broken daze, holding in tears from the excruciating pain and embarrassment.

  I can hear some of the knights and soldiers laugh, and then a very sudden silence. Reverent silence. The soft crunching of snow beneath light feet.

  “Are you okay?”

  It is the princess. Her bright blue eyes show sincere concern and I nearly laugh. Who is she?

  I nod softly, breathless, and she holds out a hand.

  I use the wrong hand.

  I take her hand with the wrong hand.

  I put my scabby red hand in her beautiful, porcelain fairy hand and I don’t know what to do. I try not to look at her, but she is trying to catch my eyes and I can feel it, I can feel everything, everything is wrong, I have already failed whatever it is that I am supposed to do.

  I stuff it quickly into the pocket of the cloak once I am up, and then I see her face. A gentle, hummingbird smile. She saw it. She saw the hand. But she is being kind and… sympathetic, maybe?

  “I’ll help you up to the fountain. That looked like quite the nasty spill.”

  “My dog,” I say.

  Her brow furrows. “Your… Your dog? What about your dog?”

  “Am I being taken away?”

  She looks away. “Well--”

  “Please, I need my dog.”

  Her butler or servant of sorts, old and silvery, with a face lined like notebook paper, strides to the Princess’s side and whispers in her ear for a few moments.

  Meanwhile, Bear has crawled between my legs, looking up at me with fearful eyes. I rub his head with my hand, ignoring the stares of the villagers. Most of them probably didn’t even remember me, since I dropped out of school after Dad left and stopped talking. I cared about them as much as they did about me. Not at all.

  The princess looks down at Bear and smiles. “What’s his name?”

  “Um… I-it’s Bear.”

  She giggles, “I can see the resemblance. Very well. He may join us.”

  I feel nearly giddy with relief. I want to hug her tighter than my arms will even allow.

  I bow my head in respect, “Thank you very much, your majesty.”

  I am led up to an empty bench to sit on. I am the first to be chosen.

  Eighteen others have stood up, and the princess goes through them with her servant. When she decides on someone, she lightly taps their shoulder and her servant guides them to the benches in front, beside me. Six others are chosen. I don’t see their faces or hair or eyes. I see shapes against a backdrop of white, my hands sunk deep into Bear’s fur.

  But I try to look at them and compare them to the girls who will likely spend the rest of their lives in this little nameless village. There is an obvious link between the benched girls and I am terrified.

  They are all beautiful. Stunningly gorgeous in their own way. With lips like autumn and eyes like spring, they look like gazelle grazing beside me. I feel completely out of place. Why am I here? It isn’t a self-esteem issue. I do not look like these girls. I do not fit in.

  I look desperately for Evan in the crowd. I want to see him. But all I can see are the horrified faces of the parents, siblings, boyfriends, and husbands who are losing a piece of themselves.

  I look down to Bear. You’re all I need, buddy.

  The other girls don’t look at me. They look straight ahead. I may have been staring at them for too long because one of the girls shoots me a nasty look, and another has a humorous smile on her face that she sends my way.

  I straighten myself in my chair as the princess returns to the fountain and try to have some posture, try to look as elegantly perched on a bench as the others.

  The princess speaks. “Unfortunately, I am not allowed to say why we have need for these women today. However, I implore you to congratulate yourselves for knowing them. They will be safe and well taken care of, and their contributions will immensely help the kingdom. I am sorry that this had to be done, but I…”

  I hear sobbing in her voice. She’s crying. Why is she crying?

  My fear sparks back to life.

  “I will personally be sending food, clean water, and workers to help repair your beautiful village. I don’t know why there was a fire, but I assure you, I will help you all as much as I can.”

  “Like you care!” An older man yells from the audience, his voice a torrent of fury and fear. “You’re kidnapping our children, you filthy fucking royals! Your father is a disgrace! We live in squalor and you live in a fucking castle-- you know nothing. Get the fuck out of our village, you dirty bitch.”

  I feel sick to my stomach.

  One of the armed cavalryman rushes over to the man, unsheathing his sword.

  Princess Anastasia screams, “No, this isn’t necessary, please don’t--”

  “King’s orders, miss,” the knight says, his voice a storm cloud.

  I look away as the man’s throat is cut, holding tightly onto Bear. Screaming and sobbing and disbelief swarm around my ears like poison bees.

  The princess is escorted back into her carriage, seemingly against her will, as the people begin to riot. I don’t care. I can’t look at them anymore. I don’t want to see the blood. Smelling it is more than enough.

  She tugs away from one of the knights’ grasps to turn back to the crowd. “I will keep good on my promise. Thank you for your sacrifices today. I am sorry for everything. I will not let this loss go unnoticed.”

  She turns back and lets the knights help her into her carriage. She looks back and I am almost positive she is looking directly at me. Specifically me.

  A single nod. A small smile.

  And she is gone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Once the carriage leaves, the seven of us are led around the corner, away from the mob, to see a covered wagon, the fabric thick and utterly black.

  We are shuffled in without a word and the fabric doors are zipped shut. The wagon is completely dark and empty besides our bodies. I keep Bear in my lap, our frames hugging the wall. The other girls are silent, except for an occasional cough, and the constant presence of crying. I don’t cry. I have nothing to cry about yet. My mom is safe and my dog is with me. That’s all that matters.

  The roads are bumpy and they shake all of our bodies together, all at once. Nobody talks to each other. I wonder if the others know each other. I don’t know any of them by face, though if I heard their names I might know more. My mom likes to talk about everybody in town and the general goings on’s, but the people in particular. She likes their voices, their hair, the way they walk. She would pick up on all of that, and then tell me a story about her time in the village every day, even if it was just a few words. I shouldn’t have, but I enjoyed hearing about the world outside of my little cottage and forest back then. My interest never faded. That desire for the stories of a regular life always haunted me. I guess I wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.

  I don’t know if I’m uncomfortable because there are other people, nameless and faceless, stowed on this wagon with me, or if it’s because I know at some point I will have to talk to them. They will realize I am a total freak, laugh at me until I become invisible, and I will be alone again. It is a very tiring process I am all too familiar with. I don’t know whether I would rather have the potential companionship, or the knowledge that somebody doesn’t think I’m too weird to talk to.

  “Hey, dog girl,” somebody says from the other side of the wagon.

  I flinch. “Hi.”
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  “What’s your name? I’ve never seen you in the village before.”

  “Jay. My dog is Bear.”

  The girl laughs, “I like it. He doesn’t look like a dog anyway, that’s for sure. Is he nice?”

  I smile, “You bet. He just gets scared when I’m not around him. I couldn’t have left him there by himself.”

  “I can’t believe Princess Anastasia let you bring a dog,” another girl says. I’m too terrified of words to note anything about the girls. Their voices all sound the same, and they definitely all look the same in the darkness of the wagon.

  “I wonder where we’re going,” another says, wistfully.

  “Let’s hope it’s straight to the palace and they’re giving us crowns and money and sending us back home.”

  Most of the girls laugh, one even laughs through quiet tears, but the girl beside me tenses up. I can feel the shift in the air as she tucks her chin into her knees. I can’t tell if it’s real or imagined when I hear her whisper, “I don’t want to die.”

  I hold Bear tighter.

  I can’t keep track of time. We could have been in this wagon for 10 minutes, we could have been in here for 3 hours. I’m hoping it’s the latter, and then my estimation of eternity would feel less exaggerated.

  “Can I pet your dog?” The trembling voice beside me asks.

  “Mhm. Give me your hand,” I say, holding my own out in the darkness.

  “What? Why?”

  “Well I mean… It’s dark. And if you touch my boob or something, that’d be a weird start to this relationship.”

  She giggles through her obvious distress and lets me guide her hand to Bear’s head. He perks up, knowing somebody else likes him too. I can imagine how happy he must feel to know he is loved. Dogs must have beautiful lives. Beautiful minds. I think she perks up a little bit too.

  I know before I had Bear, I always brought a piece of rabbit pelt to school with me, in my pocket, so that if I ever got scared I could touch the fur. It somehow made everything feel more and less real at the same time. Either way, it made me feel safe. Rabbit fur turned into a puppy in a picnic basket on my tenth birthday. My parents supposedly found him just roaming in the forest, looking for food. Nobody in the village knew where he came from, and I’d always wanted a dog, so he became mine.