Starglass

Silvan wasn’t getting any closer.

“Wait!” I called. “Where are you going?”

“To Zehava!” he shouted, his voice laced with laughter. I paused for a moment, looking up. It wasn’t right. We were on the second level of the atrium. I shouldn’t have been able to see the dome here or space beyond it. But there it was, gleaming black and pinpricked with light.

“Do you see that?” I asked Silvan. Suddenly he sat beside me on my branch. I felt him there, his presence. A wave of warmth began to crest within me. But somehow I knew not to turn and look at him.

Because he’d changed. He put his three smooth, soft fingers against my cheek, and I felt how weird they were, unmarred by the ridges of fingerprints.

Who are you? he said. He didn’t speak through words. I couldn’t hear his voice at all. But I felt him, reaching out to me through the darkness.

Bashert, I thought back. Bashert. Bashert. Bashert. Your heart’s twin. Your destiny.

But when I answered him, he recoiled from me. Surprised or shocked. I don’t know. I felt it again, a hollow echo, as if he hadn’t heard me at all.

Who are you? You’re not supposed to be here.

I turned, but when I did, he was gone, the uncountable stars my only companions.

* * *

“Terra?”

I woke with a gasp. My room was black, lit only by the sliver of light that fell through the open door. But then my eyes adjusted, and I saw my brother’s broad-shouldered silhouette against the door frame.

“Ronen,” I mumbled, pulling myself up. “What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“Five thirty in the morning. You need to get up.” His voice was grave. I peeled off my covers. The cold of morning hit me.

I slid from bed, fumbling for the lights. When they came on, I had to blink away the brightness. But Ronen didn’t seem to notice the sudden glare. His mouth was an almost invisible line.

“There’s been an accident. Benjamin Jacobi was found dead last night.”

I froze in place, my feet glued to the cold metal floor. Ronen must have seen the blood drain from my face. “His talmid found him in the library,” he offered. “Underneath a stack of books. Seems he went for one on the top shelf and the whole bookcase toppled on him.”

“Is that what they’re saying?” I blurted.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Lines settled in on his forehead, underneath the line of his thinning hair. That frown made him look very much like my father.

“Nothing,” I said. “Never mind.”

“We have to hurry, Terra,” he said. “They’re doing the funeral before work hours today.”

I squinted into the darkness. We always held funerals soon after death so that the body would have no time to decompose. But it was so early.

“What if I don’t want to go?” I asked, but the set of his lips, so like Abba’s, silenced me.

“Abba said you have to. It’s a mitzvah. He’s gone to ring the bells. He asked me and Hannah to walk you to the field.”

“I can walk by myself,” I said, giving my head a firm shake. But Ronen only shrugged.

“Abba said we should take you.”

I was nearly old enough to earn a wage—old enough, almost, to be wed. But our father still didn’t trust me to walk from the districts out to the pastures under the cover of night. And I knew there would be no fighting with Ronen about it. He always lived just enough within our father’s rules to avoid scrutiny. After Momma died, they even stopped bickering, like her death had drafted a peace between them.

But not between us. There was never any friendship between my brother and me.

“Fine,” I said, gritting my teeth. I reached into the bottom of my dresser for my funerary clothes—an old set I’d inherited from Momma, but they would have to do—and huffed off toward the bathroom to change.

* * *

Another funeral, another white-wrapped body lowered into the ground. I stood at the back with Rachel, chewing my nails.

We went together to the edge of the grave, knelt in the dirt, and threw handfuls of black soil down. When I rose up from the grass, a pair of bright green eyes caught mine. Van Hofstadter. He was standing at the other end of the unmarked grave, holding a child in his arms. It must have been his son—red hair curled up from his neck, a shock of color in the dim predawn light. But even though Van clutched the little boy to his chest and even though his wife leaned against him, his attention was fixed on me.

Those eyes flared a wild warning.

“Are you okay?” Rachel asked, leaning close. She went to grab my hand, but I didn’t want to let her see how mine was shaking. I pretended not to notice, wiping my palm against my trousers.

“Last night,” I said, “I saw him, with Mar Jacobi, on the way home from work.”

“Oh, that’s so sad,” she replied. “That must have been right before he died, right?”

I turned to look at her. Her eyes were large and shining. Everything was so simple for Rachel—black and white.

“Must have been,” I said quickly as I started off across the field.

* * *

After the funeral Rachel asked me to go with her to Mar Jacobi’s quarters to pay our respects.

Normally, it wouldn’t have even been a question. No matter how many times my father had tried to force me to become a proper, respectful daughter, I just wasn’t that kind of person. I was bored at weddings, at parties, at harvest celebrations. At school I sighed and doodled in the margins of my notebooks. And funerals were even worse. Everyone always stared at me sidelong, waiting for some morsel of wisdom to spill from the mouth of the girl whose mother had died.

But this funeral was different. I had business to attend to.

As soon as we stepped through the door, Rachel rushed forward, kissing the wet cheeks of Giveret Jacobi. Rachel shoved a small box of homemade cookies into the woman’s hands. I don’t know when she’d had time to bake. The sun had just barely begun to rise.

But the curtains were drawn tight, bathing the corners of their quarters in inky black. Even the mirrors were covered, holey sheets thrown over them. Mar Jacobi’s children sat on low stools. Their round faces were blank, as stiff as concrete statues. I saw his daughter, a fawn-haired child who picked at the embroidery on her woven cushion. I suddenly felt like the metal floor was sinking beneath me, like the entire ship had tipped right out of space. Of course, that was impossible. I crouched down beside her.

“I’m sorry,” I offered, shrugging as I said it.

“Why?” she asked. Then she looked at me, her gaze piercing. Her eyes were pale gray, nothing like her father’s. “You didn’t kill him.”

“That’s right,” I said after a moment, swallowing the lump in my throat. It was almost funny. I had said those words myself many, many times before.

I didn’t find what I was looking for in the Jacobis’ dark, crowded quarters. I thought he would be there— Van Hofstadter, the librarian’s copper-haired student. But there was no sign of him with the other men, who shared raunchy stories of Benjamin’s younger days. And he didn’t stand beside the old ladies who clucked their tongues over losing such a fine citizen so young. Finally Rachel leaned forward, squeezing my hand.

“I have to go,” she said. Her mouth formed an apologetic smile. “I need to get ready for work, you know?”

I did know. I had work to attend to too. But for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to take off for the labs, not yet. Not with so many questions weighing heavy on my heart.

“I’ll see you soon,” I told her.

After she left, I went outside and sat down on the Jacobis’ front steps to watch dawn light up the districts.