“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.
In the hub, we meet a row of officers in the same dark blue uniforms of the Cancrian Royal Guard. They’re floating at attention in zero gravity, and I wonder how they keep so straight and still when they exchange the fist touch with Mathias.
One of them says to him, “Admiral Crius wants to see you and your party at once.”
“Very well.” Mathias grabs onto a stationary rope hanging from a steel bar that wraps along the ceiling. The moment he grips it, the rope heaves forward at a brisk pace, pulling him forward through the air. He turns and waves for us to join him, and we each take a different rope. The Zodai follow along behind us.
Since we’re lined up in a row, my friends and I can’t compare theories on what this meeting could be about. The station smells of ammonia, and the low-wattage lighting makes everything look beige. When the steel bar dead-ends, we let go of the rope and load into a monorail car. Soon there’s a rush of speed. This must be the express train to the rim.
The farther out we go, the more centrifugal force I feel, and it’s nothing like gravity. It’s more like a carnival ride that’s slinging us against the right-hand side of the train. When we reach our destination and I try standing up, I feel like I’m slanting into a strong wind.
Mathias catches my elbow when I almost slip. “You’ll get used to it,” he breathes in his low baritone.