Maybe he’s better off without me.
CHAPTER 34
Gehenna hasn’t changed.
Five turns isn’t a long time for the dome city, I suppose. Part of its charm is that it doesn’t shift. There are no gorgeous sunsets or sunrises, only the endless titian swirl of the gases in the sky above. Today they are especially dramatic with bursts of red and orange, mingled with paler cream. Zeeka stares up, mute with wonder.
I have to translate any conversation that occurs for him, which means he needs a chip and a vocalizer, as soon as possible, if he qualifies as a jumper according to Carvati’s tests.
Mentally I switch to Mareq, and say, “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
“I was reborn here,” he answers.
True enough. But how remarkable he knows that.
The Big Bad Sue passes all the locks without difficulty, and soon we disembark at the spaceport. I watch Zeeka to make sure he’s not overwhelmed by it all, but he appears entranced rather than terrified. Hit leads us through the customary searches with a minimum of fuss, then we look for a place to stay near the market, which is colorful, as always, full of diaphanous fabrics and belly jewels, totemic carvings and sacred kirpan. That much has not changed, but the air is smoky today, full of burning kosh. It makes my eyes water. I remember when I lived here before, how I would come to the market to shop before I began my shift at Hidden Rue. Old thoughts fill my head.
It’s like penance. There’s a reason I ended up here. I didn’t do right by Baby-Z, so I’ll make it up as best I can. It’s not what I’d choose to do, but I don’t even know what that would be. The most important thing is that I’m accomplishing it by myself.
As I turn to leave the market, an old woman catches me by the arm. “Your shadow troubles you.”
I expect to find a fortune-teller soliciting me, reading cards or bones or peering into a cup to glimpse my future in sodden leaves. But this woman is simply garbed in black; she might be a cook or a housekeeper, certainly someone’s grandmother, for her back is bent and her face withered.
“My shadow’s fine,” I reply with a frown.
“She is not,” the stranger insists. “She has gone away and dreams another dream. You shift what lives inside your skin until she does not know you. And without her, I do not know how you will face this destiny hanging on you. So many ghosts walk behind you, so many ghosts . . .” She shakes her head and sighs. “I will light a candle for you at Mary’s shrine.”
At that she releases my arm, and I expect her to ask me to pay for her blessing or insight, but she merely wraps her black shawl around her head and hurries on, as if she’s tarried too long.
This feels as if things have come full circle. In guilt over what happened to Baby-Z, I fled to Gehenna to seek my own path, and now, here Zeeka stands, gazing around at all the marvels. Aliens are common enough in the dome that he’s not drawing undue attention. I suspect people don’t realize he’s the first Mareq to travel thus, or he’d be bombarded with attention from the paparazzi.
Then I realize why I’ve got that old woman in my head; she’s watching me from across the market. She’s even more stooped and wizened than she was when she accosted me, a black shawl wound around her slight body. I murmur an excuse and cut across to meet her. She stands patiently, as if she expected me.
“Good day,” I say, for that’s the accepted greeting on Gehenna, where there are neither nights nor mornings. “Do you remember me?”
“Should I?” Maybe my mind’s playing tricks on me. I mutter an apology and turn, but her voice stops me. “You found your shadow, and you faced your destiny, and came out stronger on the other side. But at what cost, Sirantha Jax? At what cost? Yet you are nearly to the end of your road, so have no fear.”
Nearly at the end of my road. What does that mean? I wonder if she’s saying I’m going to die soon. It would almost be a respite at this point. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I am so fragging tired.
I spin to question her, but there’s only a vendor selling lovely, hand-painted fans. She raises a brow at me, but I shake my head and return to the others. After chiding me for wandering off, Hit finds us a berth for the night, a hostel with a club attached; their musicians are paid to provide an appealing background, not make conversation impossible. Mikhail’s is a sophisticated establishment, known for good food, expensive wine, and quiet entertainment, making it a rarity in Gehenna; dark faux-wood and wine red upholstery adds to the upscale ambience.
In the warm amber light, I study my companions. Hit shows the least signs of aging; her dark skin looks much the same, her features strong and elegant. I realize I have no idea how old she is. Argus, too, has changed since I saw him on New Terra; he’s a man now, not an eager boy. His shoulders are broad, and he’s lost the hint of gangly youth. From what he said on the way from the port, he spent the last five turns working with Dina and Hit as their navigator, and he wears that experience in the form of a little swagger in his stride that makes women turn as he passes.
“Is there anyone special?” I ask him, over drinks.
Argus shakes his head. “Not since Esme.”
He’s not as carefree as he seems, then. The memory of the girl he lost haunts him still. First love can hit you like that, though for me it’s the loves who came after Sebastian that have caused me the most pain.
For the first time, I understand something of what it must be like for Vel, watching everything change around you while you remain the same. It isn’t a blessing as some people would imply; it’s a curse. Anyone who wished for immortality is out of his head, as it means constant loss.
“So you just vanished,” Dina says eventually. “You want to tell me how that happened? We searched for ages before leaving the beacon in case you found your way back to the village.”
If they hadn’t, Vel and I would’ve been stranded on Marakeq until the next ship arrived, which could’ve been a hundred turns. I might’ve died there. A cold shudder works through me.
“Thanks for that. You saved our asses.”
Dina smirks. “Like usual.”
After the food arrives, I tell our story. That carries us through until the desserts. The others listen with silent astonishment, interjecting only the occasional question. I don’t think Zeeka is paying any attention at all; he’s too busy soaking everything in.
“The Makers,” Argus says, shaking his head in wonder. “You’re going to be famous. Well. More famous.”
Just what I need.