The Black Stars Read online

  Mason cleared his throat. “Yes, hi, I am.”

  She folded her long, delicate fingers on the counter. “What can I assist you with?”

  “I … was hoping I could find a book on Aramore the Uniter.”

  Her cheek twitched at the name, but her smile didn’t break. “Aramore, huh? That is a broad subject, Mason—”

  “How do you know my name?”

  She lifted one eyebrow—Really?

  “Right,” he said. “One of two humans in the school. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Calora. Would you say we’re well met?”

  “Uh, yes—”

  “Now, several texts cover this history of the Uniter and the Divider. Some written by Bloods, some Stones, so you can imagine there may be a slight disparity in accounts.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  Her eyes lit up. “The United, by Sephaman. He remained neutral through everything. But what specifically are you looking for?”

  Mason licked his lips. “Information on his gloves. Where they came from, what they can do, that kind of thing.”

  “That kind of thing…” She quirked one side of her mouth. “You know what? I have just the thing.” She came out from behind the counter, moving as if she were walking on air, then stepped onto the nearest hover platform. It dipped slightly under her weight. “Be right back.” The platform rose up and away, cutting between stacks, disappearing from view. Mason stayed where he was, until Calora returned with a huge black book bound in leather. Gold and silver rivets adorned the front and back. She had to carry it with both hands. She placed it in Mason’s arms, and he almost dropped it. She and Mason were of the same height.

  “There you are,” she said. “There is a table in the back you can read at, if you like.” She went back behind the counter and bowed low over a sheaf of papers.

  Mason went to the table and set the book down. He opened it and began to read. Two hours later, Mason knew what he needed to do.

  Mason found Calora exactly how he’d left her. She tapped the counter without looking away from her papers.

  “Can I ask you something?” he blurted.

  She continued reading for another moment, then two, before looking up at him from behind her silvery eyelashes. “Hmm?”

  “Are you a Stone, or…?” Her purple tunic said yes, but she had been nice to him.

  “Does it matter?” she asked softly.

  He thought about it. “I guess not.”

  “Well, there you go. Take care, Mason Stark. Come see me again.” Her eyes fell back to her papers.

  * * *

  Mason got Po alone outside the refectory the next day. “Po, hold up,” he said.

  Po stopped and let a group of students slip past. The refectory was quieter than last time, a kind of thickness in the air that dampened the click of utensils and the clatter of plates. Everyone was still thinking about Jiric. And only I know where he is, Mason thought.

  “I’m going after the gloves of Aramore,” Mason said to Po. He waited for Po’s reaction. Mason expected him to laugh, but instead Po smiled widely.

  “My friend, join the club. That’s all I’ve been doing for the last year, is looking for clues. I already invited you, if you remember.”

  The plans that were canceled upon Jiric’s disappearance.

  Po’s grin fell away. “I have to warn you, it’s more for fun than anything. The chances of finding them…”

  “I have to try,” Mason said. “As soon as we can get back out there.”

  “Why the sudden interest?” Po asked.

  Mason had found something interesting in the book Calora had given him. A passage that described the gloves of Aramore. The Uniter had received his gloves from an outside source. No one knew from where. But they possessed a unique property. The electricity generated by the gloves was so powerful it could atomize anything. Any kind of matter at all. Scientists who studied the gloves, before they were lost, used their properties as a platform to develop the first shielding systems for spacecraft, even though the Tremist wouldn’t sail the stars for another fifty years.

  But it was the final line that made the path clear to Mason.

  There is no matter in this universe, no electromagnetic field, no force at all, that can withstand the power of Aramore’s gloves. Their origin is undoubtedly alien. Though I pray we never meet the species that created them.

  Mason couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. So he just shrugged. “You never know. We might need them.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The next morning was the weekend, a time when rhadjen could continue their independent studies in whatever specialty they chose. Po planned a study for the team: they were heading into the woods to search for the fabled gloves of Aramore the Uniter. Not on paper, of course. Officially, they were going to explore some nearby ruins for a history credit, that was all.

  Po usually went with Risperdel, but Lore didn’t want to be left behind now that Jiric was gone and she’d be all alone with her studies. Lore and Jiric weren’t particularly close, Po told Mason, but as the only two Stones on the team, they usually stuck together.

  Lore had looked at Mason as if challenging him to have a problem with her tagging along, but Mason only smiled and said, “I’m glad, we’ll be safer.” Lore had turned away before he could see her expression.

  They left the sphere through a secret underground tunnel that ended a safe distance away.

  Tom eyed the trees as they got closer to the forest.

  Po noticed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “The killer vines are on the other side.”

  “I’m so reassured,” Tom said.

  Mason wondered if they were just going to wander the woods aimlessly, looking for a pair of gloves on the ground that said PROPERTY OF ARAMORE, THE GREAT UNITER. He felt guilty participating in something that seemed so trivial: his mother was back at the school, toiling away at a cure, and he should’ve been spending his time learning a new skill, anything that could help when the Fangborn finally attacked. But something told him he needed the gloves, that they would help him in the coming fight. Something told him they would be found.

  He looked to the yellow sky, where a space battle could already be underway. The fat clouds were rippled like vanilla custard, and they revealed nothing.

  The group marched through the woods, over dead leaves and under low-hanging branches. The branches didn’t seem to have vines, but Mason kept an eye on them anyway; once or twice he caught flitting movement among the dark branches.

  The group didn’t talk much, and when they did it was nothing of substance. Po told a story about the time his brother crashed the family sky car on the same day he got his license to fly. Risperdel talked about her first day at the school, when she had opened her chest after undergoing the test, but the chest had been completely empty. Grubare had come into the room with her robe in his hands, grumbling about some kind of lift malfunction under the chest.

  The story was interrupted when a vine uncoiled from above and slipped around Risperdel’s neck, jerking her off the ground. She gasped, both hands clawing at the vine, and it was Tom who attacked first, delivering twin blasts above Risperdel’s head.

  But more vines began to snake down from all sides, uncoiling and rearing back, looking for a limb to strike.

  Above them, the trees began to scream. In the sound was glee, anticipation … and hunger.

  “I thought you said they were on the other side!” Mason shouted to Po, eyeing the nearest vine, which dipped this way and that, thorns flexing.

  “Uh,” Po said, ducking under a vine that swung sideways at his face. “Maybe we’re closer than I thought.”

  “I’ll say,” Lore said, but there was laughter in her voice. The team assembled with their backs to each other, palms out, fingertips bristling with hot light. Whatever intelligence lay within the trunks, the foliage of Skars knew when it was outmatched. There came a grumble from above, a low moan of frustration. And the vines slowly
retracted into the canopy, more than a few scorched in places.

  Po kicked aside the severed tip of a vine. They all shared a look, the kind a group of survivors shares after a battle—We made it. No sweat.—and then carried on.

  After about an hour (the group bloodied, tired, and more than a little grumpy), Mason noticed a break in the trees ahead and what looked like some kind of stone structure.

  Tom sidled up beside him, as the group spread out ahead. “Hey, what’s your deal? You’ve barely talked. You usually can’t shut up.”

  “I can stop thinking about … everything.”

  Tom nodded. “Roger that. But remember I’ve got a stake in this, too. I’m not your sidekick, I’m right here in it with you.”

  Mason felt his cheeks heat up. “Do I treat you that way?”

  Tom shrugged. “I don’t think you mean to … you’re just a Stark. Born leader. You know what those are like.”

  Mason put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Tom.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m a great friend. Look at my shoe—I stepped in alien crap half a kilometer ago just so you wouldn’t be alone.”

  Mason was about to respond that he’d also stepped in a suspicious substance, but right then they broke through the tree line. Mason lost his breath. A magnificent array of ruins spread out before them, rising and falling over hills, the stone structures glowing a soft yellow in the light. It was clearly once a large city. The wide streets were now overgrown with tough grasses. Trees now grew taller than the buildings, but it was hard to tell how large the buildings had been. Everything was worn by weather and time, and it reminded Mason of the skyscraper on Nori-Blue, Child’s home, a building that made these feel new by comparison.

  “I present to you the city of Darkai,” Po said, flourishing his hand. Risperdel toed a crumble of ancient stone.

  “How much area have you covered?” Tom said. “Do you think the gloves will just be under a rock or something?”

  “Well, no,” Po said. “I think they’re going to be in the Tomb of Aramore, but that’s sealed. Maybe with you guys here we can figure something out. We just have to document the stuff we find so it looks like we’re doing homework.”

  “I thought Aramore disappeared?” Tom said. “Never to be seen again.”

  Po shrugged. “He did. But the lore books call it his tomb. Doesn’t mean he has to be inside of it.”

  “What’s the tomb sealed with?” Mason asked. Po was right. The gloves would be in the tomb, if they were anywhere.

  “A very large stone,” Risperdel said, pushing aside a few strands of the midnight hair sweat-stuck to her face.

  “So we move it,” Mason said.

  Risperdel rolled her eyes. “Never thought of that one! It’s sealed somehow, genius. And if we got caught tampering with it they’d probably put us to death or something.” Her golden eyes brightened, as if this idea were somehow exciting and not terrifying. “Look but don’t touch are the rules regarding the Darkai ruins.”

  Po seemed embarrassed, his cheeks a light shade of purple. “So, we just search in the other parts of the ruins in case we’re wrong. We’ve already covered half the city. Hunt for clues that might lead to the tomb. There has to be some way to open it.”

  Mason and Tom shared a look. They were already here. So they joined the search. Mason went with Po deeper into the city, only to find many dusty rooms filled with collections of rocks and dirt. An hour went by, Po not saying much, consumed with the quest. Mason found that he was, too: every new room was another chance at a clue.

  But every hour was an hour closer to the inevitable Fangborn attack. Mason made a decision then. He would get word to the king. He assumed the king didn’t know what was coming, otherwise he wouldn’t let Merrin stay on the Will, which would almost certainly be one of the Fangborn’s first targets upon their arrival.

  They had to be ready, and his mother would understand that. If both sides couldn’t keep their cool as they prepared, then they didn’t really deserve to win.

  Already feeling lighter with the decision, Mason entered the next room of the castle they were combing. And that was when he heard the scream.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Mason rushed out of the room and into the street, which was filled with knee-high grass. The others were right behind him.

  “That sounded like Risperdel!” Po said.

  They took off down the hill, listening for another scream, but instead Risperdel began shouting, “Help! I need help!”

  The street wended through buildings and under arches that looked ready to collapse. Risperdel was still shouting when they reached the clearing at the front of the city. She stood side by side with Tom and Lore. They were facing off against something—a dark shape hunkered in the grass.

  The monster was down on all fours, his head held low to the ground, drool dripping from jaws too big to close. The Fangborn jerked his head up as Mason and the others ran into the clearing. Slowly, the rhadjen began to spread out around the Fangborn.

  “What is it doing here?” Lore shouted.

  “Quiet!” Po said. “Stay calm!”

  Mason’s heart was pounding, but he forced himself to breathe and study his enemy. The Fangborn had bluish-gray skin like the last two he’d seen. And this one had the same strange purple layer of skin on his hands and forearms. It’s a Tremist!

  “Don’t hurt him!” Mason shouted. “He’s one of us!”

  “What? How can you tell?” Po said. Each rhadjen had their gloves over their hands, palms alight with energy.

  The team continued to box in the Fangborn. The creature spun with them, sizing up each possible threat/meal in turn, his eyes seeming to glow yellow from within.

  “He’s crazy,” Lore said, glaring at Mason. “This thing isn’t one of us!”

  “Look at the gloves under his skin!” Mason said. The Fangborn also had a black mane of hair down his neck and onto his back. And those eyes …

  Mason almost recognized him, but not quite.

  The Fangborn, however, seemed to recognize Mason. It wasn’t looking at anyone else.

  “We need to capture it,” Mason said, trying to muster as much authority in his words as possible. He hadn’t used his captain voice since he was on the Egypt with his crew.

  “Are you kidding? How do you suggest we do that?” Lore said.

  “Imagine if we brought it in alive,” Tom said. “We’d be heroes.”

  Risperdel and Po perked up at that. Tom looked at Mason as if to say Hey, we have to convince them any way we can.

  The Fangborn was sinking lower to the ground, his muscles bunching up: he was coiling to strike.

  “Well we can’t hug it into submission,” Po said.

  “Stun it!” Mason roared, as the Fangborn launched himself off the ground. In the next instant, lances of electricity shot across the clearing, converging on a central point.

  A point the Fangborn was no longer occupying.

  The monster sailed over Mason’s head, kicking out with his back legs and hitting Mason right between the shoulder blades. Mason’s feet left the ground. He landed face-first ten feet away, attempting a roll but gouging the dirt with his shoulder instead. Mason staggered to his feet as the Fangborn jumped again. This time the rhadjen aimed true; purple and red electricity sparked over his skin. Smoke curled off his entire body. But the monster wouldn’t go down. He planted his feet and arched his back, roaring at the yellow sky.

  “More power!” Mason shouted once he could breathe. The Fangborn plowed into Po, who couldn’t dive out of the way fast enough. He swiped his huge, veiny arm at Risperdel, who nimbly stepped back without breaking the coils of electricity flowing from her palms. The Fangborn lunged at Tom, who jumped straight up, using Skars’s weaker gravity to his advantage, pushing off with one foot against the Fangborn’s shoulder and executing a perfect backflip that momentarily put him at a safe distance. The Fangborn clawed air: the electricity was starting to have an effe
ct.

  But the beast wasn’t ready to give up.

  The Fangborn spun, tearing up clods of dirt and grass with his claws. He leapt directly over Po, who had to duck to keep his head. The Fangborn took off for the tree line; electricity crackled around his body, scorching the grass around him.

  “Don’t let it escape!” Po said, clutching his chest where his robes were shredded.

  The rhadjen took off as one, giving chase. The Fangborn was much faster under normal circumstances, Mason assumed, and even though it was running on all fours, it was weaving, slowed by their initial assault. They followed the Fangborn into the gloomy woods, taking care not to trip over the bulbous roots that rolled in and out of the forest floor like waves. Vines unfurled as before, but the rhadjen were moving too fast to get caught. The Fangborn’s claws tore through the roots, peppering his pursuers with sharp wooden splinters. Mason and the others knew what was at stake: if the Fangborn escaped and happened across a student or even a teacher that was all alone …

  Mason and his team chased the monster all the way back to the school. They lost it three times and had to split up, and Mason thought his lungs were going to catch fire, but none of them slowed. The Fangborn crossed into the school’s clearing, and Mason put on a final burst of speed, willing his glove to make a whip like before. He swung it sideways, flicking his wrist, and it shot forward and curled around the Fangborn’s trailing leg. Mason tugged as hard as he could, digging his heels into the grass, and the Fangborn tripped and rolled. The rhadjen converged around it, delivering more power with their gloves, until the Fangborn was twitching and jerking on his back, clawing at the air.

  “Enough!” Mason shouted after another moment. The rhadjen stopped their attack. The air smelled acrid, like burnt plastic. The Fangborn’s eyes rolled back in his head and then closed, but his breathing became slow and steady.

  “At least we don’t have to carry it the whole way,” Mason said.

  Everyone looked at him.