2. Specks of Cosmic Dust
Specks of Cosmic Dust
One hour earlier…
“There she is—the defect.”
My eyes snapped from the paragraph I’d been reading to land on a trio of snickering preteens.
I made eye contact with the tall, lanky blonde through the balusters around the library mezzanine.
She slowed her pace, holding my gaze with a smirk that dared me to look away.
Her friends? Total chaos on the stairs. Seriously, how did they even stay upright?
Sigh. Words were only weapons if you let them land. I'd told myself that so many times it almost felt true. Besides, I'd already catalogued a variety of fitting retorts and mentally filed them under ‘Beneath Me’—a folder that had grown considerably thicker over the years.
I returned my attention to the page.
The hypernova is a theoretical supernova, with kinetic energy an entire magnitude higher, and a luminosity…
The letters blurred. My fingers tightened on the worn edges of the book to avoid reaching up to wipe away the evidence that I was at all affected.
It’s just a word. A stupid, unimaginative word wielded by stupid, unimaginative children who probably thought a hypernova was something you ordered in a tavern.
I blinked back tears, fingers tightening on the book. Stellar explosions, gamma-ray bursts—focus, Wren.
…and a luminosity at least ten times greater than a typical core-collapse supernova. They are produced through several mechanisms, which are readily revealed…
My birthday couldn’t come soon enough. In less than one moon cycle, I’d be allowed to leave this place. No longer considered faulty or flawed. Out in the world, I wouldn’t be an anomaly.
I snapped the heavy book shut, sending a cloud of pulp dust into the air. At least books never called you names. They just silently judged you for skimming the boring parts. My fingers trailed along the ridges of the cover’s embossed letters.
The sudden whirring of the metal gears made me pause. I listened for the clicks. Click…click…whir…click…click-click.
Yep, time to go.
Ever so gently, I laid the book on top of my well-read volume on edible plants.
Even though I have yet to see a plant, it was one of my favorites.
I tended to get lost in beautiful things.
Like leaf venation. And seed coats. And the knowledge that somewhere out there, vegetation actually existed outside of dusty illustrations.
I slid out of my usual nook between two bookcases.
The alcove was away from the monks’ shuffling, yet close enough to spy the velvet night sky through the dome above.
The glass extended over the massive, clicking armillary sphere, and was the only window in the entire Citadel.
Its gold moldings traced the edges of a midnight-blue ceiling scattered with shiny painted stars.
I once wondered if the universe looked like that through the telescope. Pretty little gold stars with their five perfect points. Because from down here, they looked like only pinpricks of light. Specks of nothing more than cosmic dust.
Now that I’m older, Frater Andren lets me sneak peeks through the eyepiece when the children aren’t around. Unfortunately, right now, the massive reflector telescope is aimed at a cloudy sky. It didn’t look like there would be much viewing for the monks tonight.
I stepped over to the railing to spy the Empyrean Monks unrolling scrolls and turning knobs down below, their gray woolen robes swooshing as they bustled between instruments.
The armillary sphere, with its brass rings and multi-colored orbs, took up most of the two-story atrium.
A mechanical mimicry of the celestial dance happening above the domed glass.
But one ring held nothing at all. Where the asteroid’s orb should have ridden, there was only a bare brass fitting. Its empty collar catching the light. The monks polished it along with everything else, as if the orb might someday return to roost.
The second-floor encircled the massive mechanism, the rings just outside of reach no matter how far a ten-year-old stretched over the polished banister.
The pit of my stomach felt queazy as I looked down and let my gaze skip over the crack in the white marble tile that was still there to this day.
I drew a steady breath, tore my eyes from the reminder, and traced the balcony’s books with my fingertips as I moved on.
I ducked and peered through the polished balusters to the far end of the lower floor.
At least two of the study hall tables were occupied by students hunched over their scattered books.
The boy who’d tripped me last week tossed a wadded piece of parchment.
Across the way, two girls threw their heads back in laughter.
A part of me missed that. Missed being carefree—and having friends.
I scowled. Must be midterms. If I wanted to avoid attention, I’d have to pass by the monks instead.
The days dragged on endlessly here. But now was the best part of my day. I just had to make it there without getting caught.
The spiral staircase descended along the wrought-iron bars of the restricted section, and I let my feet thump heavily on each stair. The brilliant art of misdirection. If the monks heard me leaving, they’d assume I’d retired to my quarters for the night.
Frater Andren glanced up from the scroll he’d been squinting at as I clomped onto the bottom stair. His pale blue eyes lit up for just a moment, but then the look crumbled, his bushy eyebrows scrunched together.
“Wren,” he called.
I suppressed a cringe. “Yes, Elder?” Nothing good ever followed your name said in that particular tone of ‘concerned elderly monk’.
Frater Andren folded his wrinkled hands over his belly and fiddled with the brass astrolabe hanging from a leather cord around his neck. “I hope I don’t need to remind you that we will meet for our weekly chess match tomorrow instead of in two days’ time.”
I still found it odd that he had altered our usual chess match schedule. Frater Andren was nothing if not predictable. Over the years, I couldn’t think of one time our weekly appointment had varied.
“Of course not. I will arrive promptly after first meal.”
“Very well.”
Unfurling the chart again on the counter between us, he leaned back to focus on the blurry letters.
“Your glasses are hooked on your cincture.”
He glanced up at me questioningly and then looked down at the steely blue grosgrain sash around his waist. “Ah! There they are,” he chuckled. “I keep losing them.”
I smiled as he propped them on his round, ruddy nose. But when he looked back at the parchment, his face dropped like a stone into a well.
Leaning forward, I peeked at the scroll. It was April’s moon phase chart. I scanned across the columns for the phases, time of moonrise and moonset, altitudes, headings, and finally to the illumination percentages. Fifty-two percent.
“Third quarter moon tonight.” I glanced up through the glass to spy only pockets of stars as the clouds crowded the darkness. And that bright moon was set to rise soon.
“Yes, unfortunately,” he sighed, “we won’t have much luck again tonight. Can’t get a clear view with this cloud cover.”
“Do you really think those solar flares could affect its trajectory?”
“Maybe not. But until we can observe properly, we can’t be sure.”
“Well, I hope it’s still on schedule. That will put it only a few weeks after my birthday, so I’ll get to see it with the rest of the city.” I smiled despite having learned long ago that hope was a dangerous thing.
His hand froze on the astrolabe, knuckles whitening. The brass sphere trembled slightly—or maybe it was just him.
“The Ember Vigil,” I continued, “the feasts, the parades…”
With each word, his expression crumbled a little bit.
“I want to dance in the streets and see the fire-spinners…”
And a little bit more.
My voice trailed off. Well, that’s definitely not the reaction I’d hoped for. “Frater Andren, are you okay?”
His attention dropped to the scroll, though he wasn’t actually looking at it. After a moment, he cleared his throat. The look was gone, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, child. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if things don’t go as planned.”
A strange thing to say. Celestial mechanics is the most reliable thing in existence. Stars don’t just decide to change their minds.
“We should know the timing soon enough, right?” I asked. “The new moon should make it easier.”
“Of course. At least nothing can change the moon’s schedule,” he chuckled. “Predictability is why I do what I do, young one. You better go get some rest.” He raised a brow. “You never know what tomorrow will bring.”
He had that familiar glint in his eye and couldn’t help but smile. “Unless we’re talking about the moon.”
There was something up his sleeve. Probably dug up a dusty old gambit.
He nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Peaceful owl-light, child.”
“You as well, Elder.”
His sharp eyes remained on me as I turned to go—but he never actually asked where I was headed. Bless this man and his blind trust.
Frater Andren would be the only soul I’d miss when I leave. He always made me feel as though I was just fine the way I was. That I was enough.
I meandered toward the towering wooden doors, across the black and white checkerboard floor, stepping from black tile to black tile, zig-zagging in my usual pattern.
The white dark-squared bishop is my secret weapon.
Keeping to the black spaces, it slides diagonally—squeezing through rooks and knights as if it takes up no space at all.
The first time I ever beat Frater Andren, it was with that cunning bishop.
It was nice to be good at something for once.
Even if that something was a board game.