Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(38)

I just can’t get it out of my head. I wish I could deny it, but O’Malley’s information opened up just enough of Matilda’s memories for me to know the truth. She was born a slave. Is that why she led the rebellion on the Xolotl? To free herself, to free her kind? But if so, then why did all the dead people we saw have the same symbol as her? The same symbol as me?



The setting sun casts a warm light on Farrar and the thirty-odd young circle-stars that aren’t exploring. They are arranged in formation, Farrar facing them. He squats, yells and punches a big fist straight out into the air while tucking his other tight against his body. He yells again, the fists change position, over and over. The children match his sounds and motions.

While the slaves cut and haul, while the halves organize and the gears study, the soldiers drill. Something tells me this is the way things were for a long time, even before the Xolotl left whatever planet it came from.

All the buildings cast lengthening shadows, but one shadow stretches farther and faster, gobbling up the buildings before it—the big ziggurat blocks out the light long before night completely falls. Bishop is somewhere in that shadow. Is he injured? Is he dead? My chest hurts when I think about that. What if he needs help?

Omeyocan’s two moons slowly reveal themselves. The explorer teams stop searching. Cabral and Okereke smile and wave at me as they return to the shuttle with their young circle-star helpers. Aramovsky completely ignores me, as do the kids on his team. Coyotl sends his kids into the shuttle, then sits down next to me. He’s filthy. In addition to his thighbone, he carries a crowbar he got from the storeroom.

“We didn’t find anything,” he says. “We searched twenty buildings, total. A few were open, but most”—he wiggles the crowbar—“we had to break into. Nothing in any of them. No people, no furniture, no power…nothing. Sorry, Em.”

“Why are you apologizing? You looked, and now we know more than we did before.”



He thinks on this, shrugs.

“We should at least go back to the ramp,” he says. “I’ll sit with you if you want.”

I would like that. The landing pad was full of activity; now it is empty, the newly cleared metal dully reflecting the light of two moons. We climb the ramp, then sit on the metal platform, our legs dangling off the edge.

Together, Coyotl and I watch darkness claim the city. The smell of mint is strong from all the cut vines. We watch the stars come out. I wonder if one of them is the Xolotl.

I notice him looking at me.

Oh, no, not him, too.

“Coyotl, you’re not going to try to kiss me, are you?”

The redhead gives me a wry smile. “You’re very nice, Em, but you’re not really my type. I was looking at your spear.”

My grip tightens on my weapon. “Why?”

“Because it looks dull.”

He reaches into one of his coveralls’ many pockets and pulls out a rectangular gray stone. He raises it up to show me, then draws his knife from its sheath and holds it flat against his thigh. He slides the stone against the blade, slowly, methodically, again and again.

After a time, he holds the knife up so I can see it; moonlight plays brightly along the silvery edge.

“Feel how sharp this is, but don’t slide your hand down it,” he says. “Drag your thumb against it, like this.” He gently pulls the pad of his thumb perpendicular against the blade, then offers the knife to me, hilt-first.

I use my thumb as he did. The blade feels very sharp. I hand him back the knife. He reaches into his bag and produces a second stone, which he passes to me.

It takes me a few tries to position the long spear in a way where I can slide the stone against the blade. It makes a small grinding noise when I do.



Coyotl smiles and nods. “That’s it.”

He didn’t want to kiss me, he didn’t want my spear—he just wanted my spear to be sharp. Together, we slide stones across steel. Ten strokes. A hundred. Slow and steady. My world narrows to the stone, the metal.

He stops. “I know you and Aramovsky are fighting.”

His words pull me out of it. I realize that when I sharpen the spear, I’m not thinking of anything else. In a way, I guess doing this gave my mind a break. I feel more relaxed now.

“We’re not fighting,” I say. “We have different ideas. We’re trying to figure out the best way to take care of everyone.”

Coyotl thinks on this for a minute. He nods, goes back to sharpening.

“That’s good,” he says. “Because this place…I love Omeyocan, but it’s—” he stops and looks at me “—it’s scary.”

It is at that. I nod.

He smiles wide, like I have just helped him with a big problem.

“Aramovsky helps me not be afraid,” he says. “There’s a lot of us who are afraid. He talks to us, tells us that the gods will protect us.”

I again put the stone to my spear. I sharpen. I think.

Aramovsky is helping people? He’s trying to turn people against me. Could it be both things at once? I think of what he said to me in the pilothouse. He seemed so genuine, so sincere. Maybe he’s talking nonsense, but he believes that nonsense.

The scrape of stone on metal chases away my thoughts. I lose myself in the task. I don’t know how much time has gone by when Coyotl stands suddenly, staring out toward the vine wall.