Zodiac (Zodiac, #1)(15)
“Ask her how she feels about it when her own turn comes.”
He sounds so cold, but I have to remind myself it’s actually pain. He’s hurting as much as the rest of us.
We Cancrians believe those who pass on with settled souls move into Empyrean, a paradise of blissful tranquility reached through a portal in Helios. Some Houses don’t believe in Empyrean at all, and others think it’s a canal from one life to the next, a kind of rebirth. Nishi’s people believe Empyrean is a real planet full of mansions and banquets and dancing in the streets.
Even though it feels like a betrayal to my people, the truth is, I don’t know what I believe.
“There. That’s Oceon 6.” Deke points toward a wheel-shaped satellite floating above our northern pole. It looks like a pinprick of light in an Ephemeris, but it’s growing larger. “The Lodestar said the wheel’s constant spinning creates centrifugal force in its outer rim to simulate gravity. They were on the far side of Cancer when the moons collided, so they didn’t feel the effects.”
I don’t know what to say to all that, so I don’t say anything at all. After a while, he whispers, “When we get there, they’ll have survivor lists.”
I hook an arm around his elbow. “Where were your sisters when it hit?”
“At the factory, probably.” Deke’s family produces a line of pearlescent paint from fish scales that’s very popular, especially among artist circles on House Gemini, where imagination is prized above all.
“Your island’s got hills,” I remind him. “I’m sure they made it to your parents’ house on higher ground.” His parents recently retired and gave the company to their children. Deke lets his twin sisters run it however they want. He looks up to them the way I look up to Stanton.
“They won’t find another Guardian,” he says, changing the subject. His crabby mood is growing contagious. “We have too few Zodai, and qualifying is too tough. And then what?”
“Then the most senior Zodai in Mother Origene’s Council of Advisors will step in until they find one,” I say, pulling the fact from my sea of repressed memories.
Guardians are the spiritual leaders of the Zodiac, and the position is always a lifetime appointment. On some Houses, like Virgo, the Guardian is also the government—Empress Moira rules her whole constellation—but Cancer is run by consensus. Our Holy Mother acts as an arbiter and advisor to our governing body, and she has an equal vote with the rest of our House’s representatives.
“They say a Guardian has to embody the noblest traits of our House,” says Deke. “Compassion, loyalty, selflessness . . .”
“Brooding, clinging, self-absorption,” I add, trying to lighten the mood.
“The Guardian also needs to be a natural at reading the stars. To protect us. You know how rare that is?”
I close my eyes. “Come on, Deke. They’ll find somebody.”
The automated voice speaks through the ship’s intercom: “All passengers, return to crew quarters and prepare for landing.”
My elbow still linked with Deke’s, I pull him away from the view.
Back in the smelly bunkroom, Kai has stopped crying, though he’s still gloomy. Nishiko has cleaned her face and braided her dark hair. I haven’t even thought of my hair.
Growing up, I was always jealous of Stanton, who kept his blond curls close-cropped. So when I got to the Academy, I chopped mine off at the chin. My curls have been growing back ever since, and now they fall to my breasts. I usually keep them pulled back in a bushy ponytail or tucked beneath the gray hood of Stanton’s jacket . . . the one I took with me when I moved to Elara.
Back then, it fell to my knees. Now it’s just the right size—and gone forever.
I strap into the same seat as the start of the trip, barely recognizing the girl I was ten hours ago. The world was a mess of horror and confusion, but even in the face of what we were escaping, at least we were moving toward light and not darkness. The light of Cancer.
Home is on Kalymnos, a small coral atoll in the Northern Hemisphere. Our airy bungalow faces the inner lagoon where we keep our nar-clam beds. At night, bioluminescent microbes glow pale green in the water, creating constellations to rival the night sky. I grew up tending the beds alongside Stanton. We took turns driving off the hungry hookcrabs, but it was Dad alone who beaded the young nar-clams and harvested the pearls by hand.
I never wanted to leave. Becoming an Acolyte was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. Dad and Stanton didn’t understand—they knew how much I loved the fresh air and the Cancer Sea. But it wasn’t for my sake I left. . . . I did it for Dad.
He’s always been quiet, but after Mom took off, he barely spoke. Stanton could always find a subject to engage him with, but Dad’s shyer around me. It wasn’t until I was eleven and found an old picture of Mom that I understood why.
I looked just like her.
So I applied to the Academy. If I couldn’t bring her back, I could at least free Dad of her memory.
The ship gives a sharp lurch on touchdown, and something jabs into my hip. I peel open my compression suit and dig into an inner pocket. Mathias’s Astralator.
“All clear,” says the automated voice. We unbuckle and float out of our hammocks, still weightless. Since we’ve docked at the hub, we won’t experience the wheel’s fake gravity until we reach the rim.