Every Star in the Sky Read online

  “She found you. The last daughter of Reya. Jayrose Hart.”

  “Jay, like… like Jacob. That’s what you think?”

  “There is no such thing as coincidence in this life, Rose. Will you join me? Join the Nightingales. We can stop this plague. We can save these innocent people from becoming pawns in Calico’s game. If we don’t… I don’t know what kind of world we’ll have left.”

  “And what if I said no?”

  He shrugs, “I’d let you go.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t force anybody to do anything. If you said no, that would mean you have no reason to care about what happens to the planet. You can’t motivate that kind of thing into somebody. It’s not feasible, and it’s a waste of time.”

  I had just made friends for the first time in my life. People who liked me for who I was. They weren’t here. They were back at the palace. But they were probably terrified, scared out of their minds. They probably thought I was dead.

  Evan, dead or alive, made this opaline dagger for me.

  My dad died fighting for my safety.

  My mom died on the inside fighting for my destiny.

  “I’ll do it,” I say. “I’ll be a Nightingale.”

  He smiles. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him, teeth and all, and he is beautiful. He floods my body with warmth. He makes me feel like I want to run away and like I want to be closer to him all at once.

  “Let’s get you some clean clothes. We can visit the cemetery in the morning.”

  He puts my room a few doors down from his. Just in case, he says. It isn’t what I expected. There’s carpet, red and soft against my toes. There’s a bookshelf with no books on it. A small bed, a nightstand, some candles and matches, an empty closet.

  “Are all the rooms like this?”

  “No. We’ve been waiting for you for a couple of years now. We figured we’d get the place ready for you while we waited.”

  “What about clothes? And this bookshelf is depressingly empty.”

  “You like to read?”

  I nod. “When I’m not outside it keeps me sane.”

  “I can help. For clothes, I’m going to have one of our seamstresses come in and fit you since we don’t have any extras for women at the moment, and I want to make sure you’re comfortable. The training we do isn’t physically possible if you’re uncomfortable.”

  “Training.”

  “Oh, yeah. Running, weight lifting, weapons training, that kind of thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know it sounds awful. Probably because it is. But it’ll keep you alive out there when we go on missions. Somebody’ll be here shortly, okay?”

  He closes the door behind him, and I flop backwards on the bed. A few days ago I was a villager in a nameless village. Today I’m “the last piece of the puzzle” for an underground organization that hunts cursed zombie bird people. Normally being enclosed like this would drive me nuts, but I’m so exhausted and overwhelmed that all I can do is lie on the bed and listen. I hear nothing so I make my own music.

  “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord, he is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored…”

  For some reason, most of the songs I knew were Christian hymns of some sort. I didn’t know if whatever religion I was in with all of the nature spirits even had a name, but it wasn’t Christianity. Maybe my dad was Christian. He loved these songs, he played them on the piano all the time. He’d be humming them on our way out to the forest for a day of hunting together. He said these songs, the ones he held in his heart, made him feel whole and peaceful, at one with the world. He said if you listened hard enough, you could hear a song in everything.

  I have yet to prove that theory right.

  “...glory, glory hallelujah, our god is marching on.”

  There’s a knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  A woman of about 35 comes in, her hair a thin, fading blonde. She carries a box of fabrics, clothes, and sewing supplies in her thin arms. “Rose?”

  I nod. I can’t help but smile. Her face looks so gentle.

  She smiles back, “I’m going to help you with your uniform… Thank you so much for joining us. We’ve been looking for you for a very long time now.”

  She takes some measurements of my limbs, waist, hips, and breasts. I feel exceedingly uncomfortable, so I try to picture her as my mom instead, and it helps me relax.

  “We actually already have enough for you. I’ll just make some slight alterations to the bottoms of the pants and the hood around the cloak and you’ll be all set.”

  She hands me a pile of clothing and a damp cloth so I can wash the mud from my skin and she turns around to leave me to my privacy.

  I feel so relieved to scrape the mud away from my feet, my fingers, even my hair. I wonder if I should’ve been more grateful about the ridiculous bath I was given at the palace, but this, though obviously less effective, feels so much safer. My own hands on my own body in a room with somebody whose eyes you cannot help but trust, tiny and faded gray in her soft face.

  After thoroughly rubbing myself with the cloth, I peel the dress away from my body and wash off what’s caked there too before pulling on the pants and tee shirt. The shirt is cotton and just loose enough to be comfortable without being too big. The pants are stretchy and soft, and they cling to my legs like cats to a catnip garden. I feel like I could run forever in them.

  I examine the cloak.

  It is light and made of something soft and flowing. Not quite silk, but not quite cotton. Only a single button pulls the two halves together-- on the button, the letter “N” is painted. On the back, There the white outline of a bird flying directly north, straight towards the neck of the hood. The phases of the moon have been printed on the bird’s back, simulating the bird’s spine. The full moon has been marked with the same black “N” as on the button. I pull the cloak over my head and push my arms out into the sleeves. It falls to my knees, though of course, much of my shirt and pants is showing with only one button keeping the garment together.

  “I’m done,” I say to the woman.

  She turns around and immediately begins to examine the fit of the outfit, her fingers everywhere. She nods in approval, even after checking the fit of the pants, but the hood droops so far over my face I can barely see whether there’s light in the room or not, let alone the face of the person in front of me. I hear the door open as she stitches the hood into place, so that it nearly covers my eyes, but not quite. Instead, it merely shades my face, so that I can see others, but they can’t see me.

  I hear the thud of a box on the ground and a dog panting. I turn to see Leon and Bear, but the box is what catches my attention the most.

  I can smell it.

  Weathered paper and ink.

  I feel a ravenous joy run through my body as I kneel down and dig through the box, taking the books only after reading their title and author. I try to sort them alphabetically by author on the shelf, all the while filled with a happiness I rarely feel.

  I know these names.

  Whitman, Bronte, Frost, DuMaurier, Shakespeare, Paine, Milton. Each new name, whether I’ve heard it before or not, fills me with a great, round hope that encompasses my entire heart.

  I suddenly feel Leon’s gaze on me and I stop, my cheeks growing ripe red.

  “Er, thanks. For the books,” I say.

  “I’ve never had anyone so enthusiastically accept a gift of books,” Leon says, in an awe-like way, like he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening.

  “You read?”

  He nods. “For a long time, girls and booze was the way I escaped. Now, it’s books and training. And booze, I suppose.”

  “Poor girls, abandoned like that,” I say sarcastically.

  “Eh, they can see me in their dreams if they want. Not many girls down here, that’s for sure.”

  “They’re trying to preserve the excitement, I’m sure. Eye ca
ndy is much better than personality candy. Much catchier.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make a joke before.”

  “Well, you did talk to me one whole time before.”

  He smirks a little. “Fair enough. But while we’re talking about my sex appeal, I should warn you that the guys out there are a little… thirsty. They’re all nice. Just be careful. If any of them do something stupid, tell me and they’re gone. It’s the same with the other four, so don’t think you’re getting special treatment, but--”

  “The other four?”

  “Your sisters.”

  Sisters…? I have sisters? I have sisters. A blood family.

  “Where are they?” I ask, suddenly desperate for connection to the family I’ve never known or heard of until today.

  “They’re training right now, I think. As soon as they get back, I’ll make sure you guys get to meet. They’ll be… they’ll be really happy,” Leon says, suddenly quiet.

  My stomach roars like a dying whale.

  “Hungry?”

  I nod.

  He tips his head to the hallway. “Mess hall’s waiting for you whenever you want.”

  “Are there pancakes?” I ask.

  “In the morning, yeah.”

  I smile. “I love pancakes.”

  He shakes his head, smiling, “You’re so weird.”

  “And I never said you were sexy, while we’re at it.”

  “You never said I wasn’t though, did you?”

  I laugh, “I wouldn’t know what sexy was if it slapped me in the face. I don’t understand any of that.”

  “Can I at least be a seven?”

  “If I say you’re a seven, can I get chocolate chips in my pancakes in the morning?”

  He smiles again. Three. Three smiles. “I will personally ensure that your flapjacks are chocolate-chip infested.”

  “You’re a seven.”

  He makes a mock victory fist. “Go eat.”

  “Leon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s my name now?”

  “Whatever the hell you want it to be. It’s your name.”

  “I… I want to be Jay for a little while longer.”

  He nods, “I understand. I’ll have some more casual clothes and pajamas ready for you when I get back from the palace tomorrow. For now go eat, and you can meet your sisters in a bit. I have to go for a run. If you need anything, find somebody with a gold button on their cloak. They’ll help you out.”

  As he leaves, all I can think about is how I wish he would’ve touched my hand, his bright silver eyes, and I wonder, if I asked him, if maybe he would’ve called me a seven too.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The mess hall is loud and warm. Everybody has already gotten their food, so I fork some cold chicken, potatoes, and beans onto a paper plate and grab a lukewarm glass of milk. It’s so busy, I can’t find an opening to sit anywhere. I walk around the edge of the room, shoulders risen and stiff. I finally see an empty chair at the end of an empty table, next to a garbage can. I set the food on the table as far away from the garbage as possible, and move the chair there.

  I eat very slowly. I don’t know how else to eat. I felt so excited and joyful back in my room with all of the books, Bear, and Leon. I don’t know a soul in this room. These men, yelling and drinking whiskey and playing poker.

  I eat as quickly as possible, so that hopefully I can leave as quickly as possible. I manage to shovel all of the food in my mouth in a few minutes and chase it with the lukewarm milk. There. All done. Social activity for the day complete.

  A boy of about 15 or so comes up to me. “You look awful lonely. Do you know how to play poker?”

  I shake my head.

  “Maybe you wanna learn? It’s really easy. You don’t have to bet anything if you don’t want to.”

  “I, um… Okay.”

  He has shaggy white blonde hair, summer blue eyes, and a smile the size of the universe.

  “Hey guys, she says she wants to learn to play!” He says as he leads me up to a group of maybe five men of varying ages.

  “Name?” One of them asks. I can’t figure out who asked it, so I just look at the middle of the table.

  “Oh, um, I’m Jay. N-nice to meet you all.”

  The younger boy pulls my sleeve, “Hey, don’t be nervous! It’s just poker. Sit down.”

  The oldest looking one at the table, though he’s still probably only 25, pulls out a chair next to him as he scratches his dark beard. “Sit next to me. I’ll keep you safe from these poonhounds.”

  I feel better almost immediately and take the chair.

  “You probably won’t win for a while, but that’s fine. Don’t need to win to have fun. Unless you’re Jack over there and you’ve bet everything you own in a game you’ve never won.” The guys all laugh and slap Jack on the back, as though to show that they’re just teasing him. His cheeks are bright red.

  “I’m Otto, that’s Jack, Harry, Robert, Simon, and this here’s Nick.”

  Nick sits next to me, his face still alight with excitement. “We haven’t gotten a new girl recruit in a while,” he says, “You must be really good.”

  “I don’t know how good I am at fighting, but I’m about to be the best at poker,” I say.

  *

  I was not the best at poker, but I still won. I kept getting straights, full houses, four of a kinds with kickers. I even drew a natural royal flush. My face was naturally so stoic that I just didn’t make a move. Not a facial muscle twitched the slightest bit.

  I didn’t bet anything, even while the others did, so Otto rewarded me with $5 worth of dimes and quarters so I could really play next time.

  “Knock us dead tomorrow, kiddo. I don’t mind. But this here’s a betting game,” he says as he slides the coins across the table. “Play it right.” He winks, and I can’t help but smile a bit, my hands shaky as I put the coins in my pocket.

  “What are you shaking like that for?” Nick asks, quietly, in my ear.

  “I’ve never had money before,” I say back, feeling as though I’m on the surface of some foreign planet. “Are there other games like this? I… I want more.”

  Otto laughs heartily, slapping his knee. “So she’s got the bug! Good thing, because most of what we do in our free time here is play games. We’ve got dirty clubs, darts, Scrabble, and there’s always somethin’ you can bet on. Lotta guys get into these arm wrestling matches. Real silly if you ask me, but it makes money.”

  “I’ve never bought anything before. What can I buy? I… I want to buy something.”

  “There are some shops in a village a little bit away from here. I try to stay away from the capitol. Bad prices. I’m sure Leon’d let ya go out sometime. Can’t get a helluva lot for five dollars, though.”

  I smile. “Five dollars.”

  I’m shaken when I realize a handful of the men are staring at me like there are horns growing out of my head. I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to act like myself. Childish and excited, naive and strange.

  “I-I have to go,” I mutter, smiling at Nick before I go back to my room, closing the door behind me as I put my beautiful silvery coins on the nightstand and make little stacks with them. I’d never needed money for anything. We got our food from hunting, our vegetables from the garden, and everything else, like milk and fruit, we traded furs and meat for. Dad probably had to buy his piano music from somewhere, but there was nowhere in the village that you could get sheet music. I don’t think anybody else in the village but our little family could even read music. The books came from my parents, before they moved to the village. I didn’t know anything about their lives before they came there-- I’d never been curious to ask.

  It hits me like a stone to the chest that I didn’t really know my parents, biological or otherwise. With Dad, I didn’t have enough time, but with Mom… I guess I just never asked.

  I feel a sudden pang of guilt as I run my hands through Bear’s matted coat. He rolls over onto h
is back and I smile, scratching his tummy and telling him how much I love him.

  His tongue lolls out and he closes his eyes, joyous with the fact that somebody is rubbing him and he’s on a nice soft floor. Being a dog would be so easy. So much easier than being a human, at least.

  I wonder what he’s thinking, what’s going on in his head. I wonder if he knows my name, or if he can sense the deep emptiness that gets out of the bed in my heart once in a while, but always comes back to rest. I wonder if he knows that he’s twelve years old and probably doesn’t have much life left to live, and if he knew, whether he’d even care.

  Maybe dog philosophy is the same as Mom’s. Things happen and you have to do your best to be happy despite the bad things, because being alive is the best thing, and the best gift you can be given.

  I think of the burning piano in our backyard. Did she feel anger, anxiety, fear, resentment, as she set her husband’s greatest treasure on fire? Or did she want the ashes to mix in with the air so that his music would be preserved forever on the wind?

  If I had a husband that died, I think I would get rid of everything that reminded me of him. How could you live life peacefully with the broken shards of what your life was supposed to be littering the floor of your home, constantly reminding you that what you want is irrelevant in the face of fate?

  And yet, right now, I want to breathe in the ivory of the keys of that burnt piano. If I could touch the same places where his hands had been, maybe I could hear the music he played, or smell the thick pine aroma of his clothing, the smell of meat and earth on his breath, and he would be right there next to me, smiling and guiding my fingers over the keys so I could feel love the way he did-- through music.