Of Beast and Beauty, стр. 16
of this story.
It’s a love story. Gem has never told me a love story. It feels more
intimate than his other tales. Sadder, too. I haven’t imagined the
Monstrous loving the way we love, but I suppose they must. It makes me
wonder if there is someone Gem left behind, a Monstrous girl whose arms
he imagines holding him until morning.…
“The next morning, the girl awoke to find the star weeping in the
grass,” Gem continues. “He had already grown tired of the girl’s arms. He
craved the eyes of every creature of this world and the next and the next.
He mourned the loss of his spark and shine and the glory of burning
brighter than anything else in the night. He cursed the girl, blaming her for
his fall, and left her so he could find his way back to the sky, abandoning
her long before the girl’s belly began to round with the new star he had put
inside her.”
I blush so hard, my cheeks tingle. Heat spreads from my face, down
my neck, to make my skin itch beneath my clothes. The new star he had put
inside her. By the moons. Yuan’s storytellers would never say such a bold
thing. If Needle were here, she’d be scandalized.
The knowledge makes the story a bit more delicious.
“Months passed, and the time came for the baby to be born. It was a
cold night, near the end of winter, and both of the tribe’s midwives came to
the girl’s hut, but the girl could not be saved,” Gem says. “After hours of
suffering, the star baby came from her in a rush of fire, killing his mother as
he shot toward the sky.”
I lift my head, lips parting in silent protest. Surely this can’t be the
end of the story, the poor girl dying in childbirth?
“The west wind saw the tragic birth,” Gem continues, “and wished he
had never carried the girl’s whispers to the star father. He plucked the girl’s
soul from her burning flesh and held her in his arms, offering her a breath
of his own magic to prove how sorry he was for the part he’d played. The
girl used the magic to steal the language of our people from the stars,
ensuring that no other Desert Girl would hear a star’s false promises or fall
in love with one of the fickle creatures ever again.
“But still, the west wind felt his debt had not been paid. And so, from
that day forward, he has continued to share his magic. He still comes to the
Desert People as their funeral fires burn, granting each of us one last wish.
And that is how we were given death magic, and why our deaths are cause
for celebration as well as sadness.”
He falls silent, but the air still hums with the power of the legend.
“That is a happy story?” I ask after an outraged moment.
“It is,” he says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “One of our happiest.”
“You’re mad!” I protest. “That poor girl. And whatever happened to
the star?”
“He became the star of the true north,” Gem says. “And, in honor of
his mother, he has guided the lost home to the tribal lands for hundreds of
years.”
“No. I meant the other star, the one who left the girl alone to die.”
“He returned to the heavens,” Gem says. “He continues to fill the
summer sky with orange and red, and unsuspecting women with babies. He
put a baby in the harvest moon that has refused to be born for hundreds of
years, for fear of hurting its mother, but that’s another legend.”
I’m about to say how unfair it was for the girl to die and the star to
live on unpunished, but I stop myself before the words can leave my
mouth. Of course it’s not fair, but … that’s the way life is. Gem and I know
that as well as anyone.
Gem and I. We have more in common than I ever dreamed we
would. Sometimes, it feels like I have more in common with him than I do
my own people. Sometimes, I wish he wasn’t my prisoner and that we were
more than polite acquaintances. Sometimes, I wish we could be friends.
But we can’t. And my only true friend is alone in the tower, waiting
for me to apologize for acting like a spoiled child.
“I should go. Thank you for the story,” I say, tossing the words over
my shoulder as I unwind my legs and start down the path, trailing my
fingers along the wall to guide me.
“Good night, Isra,” Gem calls, something in the way he says my name
making the hairs on my neck prickle.
I lift my hand and wave good-bye as I make my way into the heart of
the royal garden, careful to give the rose bed a wide berth. Gem may have
guessed that the roses allow me to see, but I’m not prepared for an
audience while availing myself of their magic.
I didn’t plan to stop here tonight, anyway. I haven’t pricked my finger
since the night the Monstrous invaded the city five weeks past. The
unrelieved darkness weighs on me, but not as heavy as the memory of the
hunger I felt pulling at me that night. The roses are tired of being teased
with a drop or two of what they crave; they grow eager for a proper
feeding.
“It isn’t time,” I whisper as I pass them by. It isn’t. Not for years and
years.
I know I’m right, but still, I shiver as I step into the orchard. The air
beneath the dome feels colder than it did a few moments ago, and I wish
I’d brought the shawl Needle tried to press into my hands as we left the
tower.
Autumn is dying, and winter will be here all too soon, a fact I would
be wise to remember the next time I’m tempted to throw my shoes into a
flower bed or linger listening to stories that have nothing to do with my
people or our life beneath the dome.
SEVEN
ISRA
“THE ground will be ready soon,” Gem says, his words underscored
by the steady chip, chap of his hoe as it breaks up the soil that has proven
too stubborn for our plow.
I follow behind him on my hands and knees, gathering clumps of
grass, rocks, and springy roots in my giant pockets. Needle stitched me a
new pair of overalls—in mourning green—but I wear them only out here, in
the loneliest corner of the city, by the Desert Gate. I like it out here. It’s
quiet and peaceful, and the guards hardly bother Gem and me at all
anymore.
After a month with no show of claws, the soldiers began taking turns
at Gem’s side. After eight weeks, they watch our progress from chairs at
the edge of the field. Bo tells me one of them always has a blow tube and a
sedative dart ready, but I’m not so sure. I catch snippets of their
conversations, and it sounds like they’re more focused on card games than
protecting their queen.
No matter how valuable my life is to the city, boredom eventually
won out over duty. Knowing Gem as I do, I’m betting that’s part of his plan.
He has a plan. A secret. I’d bet my hands on it. I know him better
than he thinks I do. You don’t spend every afternoon with
someone—listening to his stories and teaching him songs—without
learning a thing or two about the way his mind works.
“The herbs can be put off a month or two, but not the bulbs.” Gem
speaks our language like he was raised in the city now. There is nothing
growly or rough about him. He is the perfect gentleman. Gentle-Monstrous.
“We need to get them into the ground,” he continues. “They should
be planted while it’s still cold.”
“It will be cold forever.” A part of me believes it. Spring is a promise