I’m surprised to hear the interest in Kai’s tone, since he looks as defeated as Deke. Then again, I probably do, too. Maybe we all look exactly the same—like corpses who are inexplicably still breathing.
“Even stars leave faint impressions of their trajectories in the Psy,” says Mathias. “Those small, fading lines are enough for an Astralator to measure a movement’s unique astrological footprint. Similarly, a person’s consciousness also leaves its mark. Have you taken Abyssthe in your classes yet?”
The word is a dagger. It stabs us all in the gut, so that not even Nishi can answer. We just nod.
“Abyssthe uses your mind as the receiver of Psynergy, same as the Ring. Both work by activating parts of your brain normally dormant, and they can help you stay Centered.”
A memory escapes the wall that blocks out my early years. Beyond Centering, Mom’s training also involved memorizing everything there is to know about each House of the Zodiac—traits, constellations, histories. But she only brought up Psynergy once.
She told me Psynergy is the magic that makes star reading possible. She said the brain is most susceptible to Psynergy in children, while it’s still forming, and that’s why she had to make me work as hard as she did.
Mom was certain if I practiced every day, I would one day be able to assert myself fully in the astral plane and see more than any other Zodai. By the time I was five, our lessons were lasting up to ten hours a day.
Two years later, she disappeared. For a while, I kept practicing, even harder than when she was around. I thought if I impressed her enough, she would give us another chance. I thought I could locate her on the star map and convince her to come home.
I bite down on the inside of my lip, shoving the memory deep into my subconscious, somewhere it can’t touch me again.
Mathias turns to go. “There’s an observation turret two decks up, and the captain has given permission for you to visit if you’d like.”
A little later, Deke and I press our faces against the thick, scarred glass of the turret, looking out at Cancer. We’ve already passed the moon rubble, but every now and then we catch chunks of rock flaming through Cancer’s atmosphere and crashing into the ocean. From this distance, it’s hard to make out the tsunamis that must be wracking life on our pods and islands. Cancer appears the same as ever, eternally blue and changeless.
“That moon rubble will form a ring,” says Deke. “We’ll be a ringed planet.”
“So now you’re reading omens?”
“Not omens. Physics.” His turquoise eyes droop at the corners, and he has a puffy, rumpled look. “Our tides will change.”
Our tides nourish the shores around our islands, and every sea farmer knows three-quarters of our planet’s creatures live near shorelines. If our tides shift, what will happen to the plants and fish that feed the rest of the ecosystem? How will Dad’s nar-clams survive?
“Nishiko says people become gods after they die,” I whisper. “That’s what Sagittarians believe. They celebrate death, like it’s a happy event.”
“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.