We walked down a central aisle, which forged a clear pathway through the worshippers. I peered into the darkness that stretched to either side, realizing that the walls themselves were carved from opaleine, the sapphire veins glinting in the low candlelight. Only, they no longer looked sapphire either—they looked black, just like the opaleine outside. I frowned, wondering what was going on to make the sapphire veins look that way. Was this a type of opaleine we hadn’t seen before, or was there something wrong with it?
“Do you feel that?” I whispered to Navan, brushing more tears away from my eyes. I hadn’t even known they were falling.
He nodded. “There’s something very wrong here.”
“It’s so sad,” I gasped, gazing down at the worshippers. Looking more closely, I could see tears falling from their eyes too. Some were rocking forward and backward, their movements agitated. Suddenly, it made sense: these people were grieving. I’d seen that kind of movement before, in people who’d lost a loved one. Had somebody died? They still had Freya, their leader, but that didn’t mean they weren’t mourning the loss of somebody very important.
I kept my questions to myself as we continued down the walkway, coming to a halt in front of a large doorway carved from pure opaleine. The door was shaped like a full moon, with two silvery crescents for handles. Freya opened one half of the moon door, ushering us inside with a regal flick of her wrist.
“The Celestial Room,” she announced, following us in.
My jaw dropped as I looked around. The room was shaped like the inside of an orb, with lights dancing through overhead, casting a galaxy of starlight onto the opaleine floor. Here, too, the sapphire seams had darkened to a shadowy black. Above us, there were four glowing lamps shaped like the four moons we’d seen on our way into Zai, as well as five brightly shining spheres. I guessed they were meant to be stars of some significance, like Earth’s sun.
From the back of the room, a figure emerged. He was small and slender, dressed in an emerald tunic, his face a shimmering shade of very pale gray, with silver scales running across his head and arms in the same pattern as Freya’s. From his height and size, I guessed he was the equivalent of a human thirteen- or fourteen-year-old, though I had no way of knowing for sure. Draconian ages were probably completely different.
In his hands, he carried a silver tray laden with six plates of a strange cake. Each piece was circular, with a mirrored sheen to the icing, dusted with a silver powder that glittered in the light. I’d never seen cakes more beautiful. Everything was beautiful here. Even grieving, these people were elegant and refined.
I guessed the boy must be an acolyte of some kind, from the way he was dressed and the fear in his eyes whenever he looked at Freya. She watched him closely, her reptilian eyes scrutinizing his every move as he hurried around the room handing out the cake. I almost felt sorry for him.
“Ginji, my disciple,” she explained, gesturing toward him.
He smiled proudly, though his expression morphed into a mask of resentment as he reached Navan and Bashrik. For a moment, I wasn’t even sure he’d give them their plates of cake. Casting a nervous glance back at Freya, I saw him visibly take a breath, steeling himself, before finally offering the plates to the coldbloods. Clearly, he was trying to hide his true feelings, wanting to mirror his leader’s calm demeanor.
“Do these moons and stars mean anything to your religion?” I asked, lifting the cake off the plate. It looked so tempting, but it made me nervous. What if they’d put something in it?
“Eat. It’s a gift,” Freya encouraged.
I looked at the others. Bashrik and Navan were holding their plates on their laps. The cake was not exactly enticing to their particular taste buds. Lauren and Angie, however, looked just as eager to take a bite as me.
“Thank you,” I said politely, deciding to brave it. After all, we didn’t want to offend the Draconians, and this cake looked so delicious after a week of freeze-dried packets. The first bite was heavenly, the sponge light and fluffy, the icing tasting like sweet, creamy marshmallow. “So, these moons and stars? What do they mean to you?” I tried again, swallowing the first bite.
“They are everything,” Freya replied. I was starting to realize this woman wasn’t exactly chatty.
“Do they have any special significance, though? For example, does each of them symbolize a god or a goddess?” I pressed, taking another hungry bite. Angie had almost finished hers, while Lauren was nibbling daintily at the icing.
“They protect us,” she said, with a slight nod. Was that a yes? I wished she’d say more; this was just infuriating.
“And what do you call yourselves, as followers?” Navan asked, chiming in.
Freya tilted her head to one side. “We are Lunists.”
Lauren frowned, pausing in her nibbling. “Lunists? I haven’t read about that. The books mention certain rites and rituals, but they never gave that name. What religion do you follow, as Lunists?”
“Our religion is Lunaris,” Freya replied. Now we were getting somewhere.
“I suppose you choose not to reveal much about yourselves. Is that part of your belief system?” Lauren asked. It was nice to hear someone asking the right questions.
Freya nodded. “Brevity frees the soul.”
“That would explain why there wasn’t much written down about it,” Lauren conceded. I had to agree—they weren’t exactly forthcoming about themselves.
“With brevity in mind, I suppose we should get down to the reason we’re here,” Bashrik said, setting his cake to one side and flashing Navan a knowing look.
Navan nodded. “No time like the present.”
“Indeed not,” Freya agreed.
“I know that we coldbloods have no right to ask the Draconian race for anything, given our history, but we come bearing a gift, to exchange for what we need,” Navan continued, his voice calm. “The thing is, our request is a strange one.”
I smiled politely. “We need a sample of Draconian blood to add to our universal database. We’re putting together a comprehensive study of species so we can fully map the universe for the very first time, complete with details of each native variety,” I explained, hoping she would buy the lie.
“Eventually, we hope to gather information from each planet, listing every genus from the smallest creature to the largest, but for now we’re only looking for indigenous blood of the main sentient species,” Lauren added, her confident tone giving gravitas to the lie. “This is what we have to give you, in exchange,” she went on, unwrapping the bulky gift that Pandora had given her. I could sense her reluctance, considering what was inside. The trepidation bristled through the room. Everyone’s eyes turned toward Freya. Everything rested on her reaction—if it was bad, we were done for, and I couldn’t see it being positive.
I braced myself, knowing how insulting the gift was. Even now, I would rather have given them anything else in exchange, but it was all we had. Well, it was all Pandora had given us. Holding my breath, I watched as Lauren peeled the cloth away from the item, my heart sinking farther with each section she revealed.
Inside lay a bust of Queen Brisha hewn from a chunk of solid opaleine. I knew how it made us look, to give the Draconians a small amount of their sacred stone back to them, straight from the hands of those who had stolen it. Moreover, the stolen block of opaleine had been carved into the shape of a foreign ruler, descended from the people who had sent the coldbloods to mine and exploit Zai in the first place. The whole “gift” was borderline blasphemous, but what could we do? Pandora had insisted it was this or nothing.
With an embarrassed expression, Lauren took the bust over to Freya, kneeling in front of her. The high priestess glanced over it, sadness glimmering in her reptilian eyes. However, she didn’t seem as perturbed by the gift as I’d expected her to be. Yes, she showed a hint of grief, but no anger seemed to be left in her.
She slowly shook her head. “It is no use,” she said sadly.
“Would it help if w
e had more opaleine?” Navan asked, but Freya shook her head again. I glanced at him, conscious of what Pandora had said about bargaining, but what were we supposed to do? If Pandora wanted the blood, she was going to have to deal with a little negotiation.
“It is no use,” she repeated.
Ginji cleared his throat, startling the rest of us. He’d been standing in the shadows at the back of the room, the tray held behind his back, apparently listening in on the conversation.
“Opaleine is our gift from the deities. It is our energy source,” he explained, a note of bitterness in his words. “It is what gives us our wings. It is what gives us our true form. It is how we make fire. For it to work, we must be pure. Sinners cannot access such power.” I had never been more pleased to hear someone speak for more than a few seconds.
“There’s something wrong with the opaleine?” Navan prompted, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. Knowing him, there was no way he’d be convinced by the idea of gods and deities. Instead, he’d be seeking some scientific explanation for the opaleine phenomenon.
“It judges us harshly,” Ginji replied quietly.
I frowned. “Wait, but your species is morally pure. You’re pacifists, right? You don’t get involved in conflict?”
Ginji looked nervous. “We have tried to be peaceful. The stone judges our kind on the sins of us all,” he replied, falling silent as Freya gave him a scolding look. “My apologies, High Priestess,” he mumbled, stepping back into the shadows, keeping his head down and his mouth shut.
She sighed. Ginji had clearly let the vague cat out of the bag. “It is true,” she said solemnly.
“What do you mean when you say the opaleine isn’t any use?” Lauren asked, her hands still clutching the stone bust of Queen Brisha.
Freya leaned forward and touched the sculpture. Beneath her fingers, the sapphire veins instantly turned black. “Corrupted. The power is gone,” she explained, her amber eyes gleaming with tears.
“Why is the stone reacting like that?” Angie wondered, asking the very question that had been on my mind.
“Punishment,” Freya said, with no sign of elaboration.
In my mind, I fit their fractured words together, like pieces of a puzzle. From what Ginji had said, I assumed the Draconians had “sinned” in some way, preventing them from using the stone’s power. He’d said they were being judged for the actions of all their kind, which meant they were only as sinless as their least pure member. That really did seem harsh, especially if it meant everyone had to suffer. But I guessed that “sinner” had something to do with it.
“If the opaleine is no good, is there something else we can do in exchange for a sample of your blood?” I asked, remembering Pandora’s threat—no matter what happened, we had to return to the ship with the sample. True, she’d forbidden us from bargaining with these people, but I figured the blood was a priority. Besides, if she did have a problem with it, she hadn’t said anything. The earpieces remained silent.
Freya’s amber eyes burned into mine. “Yes,” she said.
“What?” I asked, feeling suddenly nervous.
“Help us leave Zai.”
Chapter Eight
What do you mean, ‘leave Zai’?” I asked. It wasn’t the answer I had been expecting.
“Follow me,” Freya instructed, leading us back out into the main body of the temple. The moon doors of the Celestial Room closed shut behind us. The haunting song still echoed between the opaleine walls, the sight of the faded sapphire veins making it even sadder. It didn’t seem fair that something like this could happen to a species as peaceful as the Draconians.
We walked on through the temple, passing endless praying Draconians, their scales a variety of colors and textures and shapes. None of them lifted their eyes to look at us as we passed, their minds too focused on their worship. Perhaps they thought they could fix the problem if they just prayed hard enough.
After fifteen minutes of wandering through the cavernous expanse of the temple, we reached another entrance at the back, which led out into the humid heat of the Zaian afternoon. The sun was still beaming down, its rays warm on my face, the aquamarine sky cloudless above my head. Somewhere close by, a mysterious creature called out, sending up a warning that made the jungle canopy flutter with dispersing animals. If I closed my eyes tight enough, I could pretend I was in Costa Rica, on vacation with my handsome boyfriend and my incredible friends.
Upon reopening them, however, reality came crashing back down onto my shoulders. This wasn’t a vacation. This was a serious mission that seemed to be getting more critical by the minute. What was supposed to be a quick get-in, get-out trade was now turning into something else. It was becoming the potential exodus of an entire species.
Following a winding path that led away from the temple, the road peppered with statues of Draconians transforming into their true forms, we reached the lip of a broad valley stretching away in front of us. Once upon a time, I figured there must have been a river here, but not anymore. Now, it was filled with gigantic ships in various stages of completion, each one looking like an enormous chrome Viking longship, complete with dragon heads at the front and metal wings that spread out to the sides.
Milling about the grassy earth were Draconians of all shapes and sizes, lugging huge chunks of material, demonstrating their impressive strength. It seemed they were putting the ships together with nothing but brute force, one person easily carrying a plate of metal that looked like it ought to have crushed them. From the looks of them, they were twice as strong as coldbloods, if not more.
“What the—?” Bashrik gasped, visibly freaked out by the sight of their superior strength.
“Are these like the Vanquish?” I asked Navan, intrigued by the engineering and design of these peculiar-looking ships. They were massive in comparison to the ship we’d arrived on, and they were definitely bigger than any vessel I’d seen before, even in the hangars where the queens kept all their warships.
Navan shook his head. “These are the types of ships that would be used for long-term, long-distance civilian travel.”
“So more like a luxury cruise liner than a fighter jet?” I asked, trying to imagine putting a whole species into a fleet of these ships and sending them away, across the universe, to wherever they planned to go.
Navan smiled. “Yes, they’re built for comfort and size, not speed or power. Ordinarily, ships like this will have a gun or two on board, just in case, but I doubt the Draconians will have added any weapons.”
“No weapons, only life,” Freya concurred, her amber eyes fixed on the scene.
Angie whistled. “You want to fit everyone on those?”
“Yes,” Freya replied.
“How long will they have to be on board?” Lauren asked. I imagined them as sardines, crammed into a tin can, waiting for someone to peel back the lid on the other side.
“One year,” she said. I supposed, in the grand scheme of things, a year wasn’t that long to wait if it meant there was something good to look forward to. Then again, I couldn’t understand why they’d want to abandon a beautiful planet like this. Yes, their power source was fading, but surely they could find a way to exist in their half-forms? I wanted to ask about it, but I didn’t think I could bear a series of short, unsatisfying answers. Ginji was still with us, but he had clearly learned his lesson, and his mouth was sealed shut. I’d get no answers out of him, either—at least not while Freya was monitoring him.
Bashrik frowned. “Where are you headed?”
“A place with vitality,” Freya answered wistfully.
“Yes, but where are you actually headed?” Bashrik pressed impatiently. “Where in the universe is the place you’re going to?”
“We located it by satellite,” she said, maintaining her perpetually calm demeanor.
“You found a place that has opaleine?” I asked, intrigued. If there was another planet in the universe that held stores of opaleine, I was surprised the Vysantheans hadn’t already
found it.
Freya smiled. “A similar stone.”
“Do you think it will work in the same way, to fuel your powers?” I continued, wanting a more complete answer.
“Our geologists say so,” she replied.
“What’s the planet called?” Lauren asked. “I might have read about it somewhere,” she added, a little shyly. It always troubled me when she acted like that in front of new people. Her love of books and learning new things was nothing to be embarrassed about.
Freya looked up at the sky. “Irrith,” she said in her thick accent.
Wherever this planet was, I hoped it held some promise for the poor Draconians. They deserved it, after everything they had been through. Now, I realized why there were so many grieving worshippers inside the temple. They were being forced to leave their home planet because of something they likely weren’t personally responsible for. I knew, firsthand, how devastating that could be. After all, I’d been forced to leave my home planet because of something I had no power over.
“How can we help you?” I asked. The Draconians seemed to have all the heavy lifting covered, so what else was there to do?
“Improvements must be made,” she explained in her frustratingly brief manner.
Bashrik raised an eyebrow. “Improvements? You want us to work on your ships, to make them—what? Faster, stealthier, bigger?”
“Speed and safety are key,” Freya replied, showing the first hint of earnestness. For a brief second, her calm exterior flickered, revealing the true fear beneath. I understood there was a lot resting on her shoulders, as this was likely her decision.
“You want us to adapt the ships with our Vysanthean technology?” Navan pressed.
She nodded. “In technology, you are superior,” she conceded.
Bashrik seemed pleased by the sentiment, though a stern look from Angie wiped the smug expression off his face. Unlike Navan, he seemed to have a sense of Vysanthean superiority left in him.