“I told the others what we found,” Vera prompts. “About the unidentified fumes around Mount Kilmon and the blue-eyed apes. But… we don’t have to talk about any of that yet, if you’re not ready. We can sit and wait for—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve done enough sitting and waiting. I want to hear what everyone thinks.”
She blows out a breath and looks at the others. They give her encouraging nods. “Well,” Vera starts, tucking away a loose strand of hair, “I’m going to go out on a limb and say these two findings—the apes with blue eyes and the fumes around the volcano—are not a coincidence.”
“Which means we’ve identified our unidentified white space mist,” the Youvu Hums chime. “It’s actually a poisonous gas called voroxide, and it’s leaking out of Mount Kilmon.”
Lament was right, once again, Jester adds, his mouth somber.The voroxide caused Moon Dancer to crash. It’s what killed Bast.
“And,” Avi says, “when Kilmon erupts, it will kill everyone on this planet, too.”
A series of images flash in my vision: bloody raptor bodies, Moon Dancer’s mangled frame, Lament’s scars, Master Ira’s face. They swirltogether, making my insides harden. “The voroxide has probably already affected those around Mount Kilmon,” I say. “There are Masters of the Order on the volcano, living alongside initiates who’ve spent the last nine years preparing for this year’s eruption. If a dangerous gas is leaking from the mountain, they’ll be the first ones to inhale it.”
“Wait.” Vera twists to face me. “You’re saying people live on the volcano?”
“Order initiates, yeah.”
“But how do you know that?”
And then my brain fails me, because I say, “I used to live in the village beneath it.”
Silence.
“Keller.” Vera’s mouth hangs open. “What?”
But your transcripts, Jester says.I read them myself. They say you’re from Planet Monasai.
“Oh.” I’m suddenly hot all over, and why does my mouth taste like aftershave? “Um, yeah. Technically, I was born there. I moved to Venthros when I was nine.”
“Here?” Vera looks like she’s been slapped in the face. “You mean, we’re on your home planet? Like,right now?”
“Um … yes?”
“The volcano, the voroxide—we’ve been talking about your people this whole time? Your family?” Vera looks stricken. “Your friends? Neighbors?” With each word, my face burns harder. “Keller, I don’t—why didn’t yousayso?”
Because I didn’t want to have this conversation, I think miserably. I don’t have a family here. Anywhere. I’m alone, and I have been for a long time. Only, admitting that feels so positivelypathetic, and I’ve already had my heart flayed open so many times since joining the Sixth, and how do I even begin to explain my reasons without revealing even more of my own shameful past?
“I left on bad terms,” I say, picking at a loose thread on the couch. “I haven’t been back to this planet since I joined the Academy.”
“But—”
“Let it rest, Vera,” Toph interrupts. “It’s Keller’s choice whether he wants to share his history or not.”
“Of course.” Vera’s cheeks go slightly pink. “Of course, I don’t mean to push. But Keller, if you have family here—”
“I don’t,” I say firmly. I can feel my lifestone where it sits against my sternum. I think about how I saw my mother in Soto, how she met my eye and turned away. The messages I’ve left Master Ira, a thousand voicemails, all unanswered. “I don’t,” I say again, more quietly this time. “My family is gone.”
19
Illiviamona emerges from themedical room just after dawn, sweeping into the command center with the air of someone who’s just won an election. I’m on my feet at once, ready to pelt her with questions—How’s Lament? Is he awake? I thought you said you’d stay with him—when I notice the figure in the doorway behind her.
There’s a pause, followed by a sudden flurry of activity as the Sixers collectively drop what they’re doing (messing around on their handhelds, mostly, or in Vera’s case, reading one of her novels) and surround Lament. Vera pulls him in for a hug, Toph sets a (slightly too rough) hand on his shoulder, Avi batters him with questions (How are you? Does the wound hurt? Is it still bleeding? Can I see?).
I hover back, fighting a wave of relief and surprise and something else, something darker and deeper and big enough to swallow me whole. I wasn’t expecting this. Lament, awake again so soon after his procedure, looking tired and rumpled but nonetheless upright. He’s freshly showered and wearing what I can only think of asloungewear, long sleeves, buttons and pinstripes. There’s no sign of what he went through in the forest. What he went through before the forest.
I think of the note I left him. The raw, honest words inside. I tell myselfnot to be embarrassed, that I meant what I wrote and have no reason to feel ashamed, but my anxiety says otherwise. I wonder if he found it.
Suddenly, I’m kind of hoping he didn’t.
