The real surprise, though, was Teka’s hand seizing mine from the other side. There was a giddy smile on her face.
“I am a Shotet,” she said, more to herself than to me. “I am sharp as a blade, and just as strong. . . .”
It was a variation on the other poem I had seen scrawled on a wall in Voa, the one penned as a criticism of the Noavek government:
I am a Shotet.
I am sharp as broken glass, and just as fragile.
I see all of the galaxy and never catch a glimpse of it.
I liked the other one better, because it was a reminder of my own fragility, my own tendency to see what I wanted to see. But this version was good, too.
I was surprised when Akos joined her in reciting the last lines:
“I see all of the galaxy,” he said, “and it is all mine.”
“Prepare yourselves!” came the shout from below.
Both Teka and Akos released my hands, almost in the same moment. And the ship was consumed by blue light.
EPILOGUE: EIJEH
WE RETURN TO HESSA in disguise.
For a time, it seemed like too much of a risk, to us. But it was also unavoidable. So we waited until the Shotet sojourned again, and we reserved a seat on the flight under a false name, the one we bought from a criminal on P1104 after we fled from Voa.
We rent a coat from the shabby tourist shop in the main square, because we don’t intend to stay long. We make the climb to the top of Hessa hill on foot, as it has always been. The Hall of Prophecy is closed for repairs, but we know all the ways in, the ones others don’t know. We remember that, at least.
There is a gaping hole in the domed roof of the Hall of Prophecy, with jagged edges of red glass. We don’t know what the Shotet used to break the dome, and their weapons of choice, whatever they were, have long since been cleaned up. We stand in the center of the floor, where one of our mothers once stood, barefoot, to receive the future.
We see—
A galaxy riven in two, oracles fleeing to Ogra and Tepes and Zold.
Assembly ships pursuing, pursuing, overtaking.
Small blasts of anticurrent.
Possibilities disappearing as lives find their endings.
We see—
Shotet descending on Tepes, dressed in special suits that protect against the heat.
Plugging their noses against the smell of white-hot garbage.
A man brushing sand from an intact compressor.
A woman holding a rounded piece of glass up to the sun.
We see—
Isae Benesit, wearing a gown in Thuvhesit red.
She stands behind a sheet of ice where there are hushflowers on the verge of blooming.
Behind her, in the same red, half-hidden by shadow, is Cisi Kereseth, wearing an enigmatic smile. Her head is adorned with a slim band of silver, the adornment of a chancellor’s spouse.
The flowers crack open, and unfurl.
We see—
Our hands seizing the straps that cover our chest as our ship falls, falls, falls through dense atmosphere.
The lines of light that mark Ogra’s surface like veins, appearing beneath us.
We are Shotet. We are not Shotet. But either way, we are an oracle, and that cannot change, so we are returning to the temple of Ogra, to learn.
To see what we might become next.
We see—
Them.
Older. The silverskin shining on one side of her head. His gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he looks at her.
They stand in a crowd beneath a mammoth ship. It towers, in patchwork metals, over the other ships on the loading bay. A new sojourn ship.
He takes her hand. They walk toward the ship together.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you—
Nelson, my partner in all things, for mourning with me when I mourn, and rejoicing with me when I rejoice.
Katherine Tegen, for always being supportive, honest, and exactly what I need in an editor. ?
Joanna Volpe, for her humor, guidance, and brainstorming superpowers.
Devin Ross, for enduring my email issues with good humor. Hilary Pecheone, for teaching me a whole lot of social media wisdom. Pouya Shahbazian, for having good instincts and patience. And Chris McEwen, for his savvy and for refereeing phone tag. Kathleen Ortiz, Maira Roman, and Veronica Grijalva, for navigating the entire world to find places for my books. Everyone at New Leaf Literary, for their general wonderfulness. Steve Younger, for keeping everything on the straight and narrow . . . but in a fun way.
Tori Hill, for her friendship and for remembering all the things!
Rosanne Romanello, for her excellent strategic mind and infectious laugh. Bess Braswell, for her good ideas and her warm heart. Cindy Hamilton, Nellie Kurtzman, Audrey Diestelkamp, and Sabrina Abballe in publicity and marketing, for all the planning and brainstorming and championing I could hope for. Mabel Hsu, for her patience with me, and her hard work. Andrea Pappenheimer, Kathy Faber, Kerry Moynagh, Kirstin Bowers, Heather Doss, Susan Yaeger, Jessica Abel, Fran Olson, Jessica Malone, Jennifer Wygand, Deborah Murphy, Jenny Sheridan, and Rick Starke in sales, for their enthusiasm and support. Brenna Franzitta, for keeping her eyes on my words and my worlds since Divergent; Alexandra Rakaczki, Valerie Shea, Josh Weiss, and Gwen Morton in managing editorial, for keeping every little thing on track. Amy Ryan, Joel Tippie, Erin Fitzsimmons, and Barb Fitzsimmons for taking critique and turning it into design ideas, like magic. Jean McGinley, for tirelessly working with our friends across the pond and the globe. Nicole Moulaison, Kristen Eckhardt, and Vanessa Nuttry in production, for putting this whole package together so well. And last but not least, Brian Murray, Kate Jackson, and Suzanne Murphy, for being our fearless leaders through it all.
Courtney Summers, Maurene Goo, and Somaiya Daud, for their early (and quick!) reads, thoughtful notes, and encouragement. Sarah Enni, for so. Many. Great. Chats. And for being there for me on tour . . . and everywhere else. Margie Stohl, for always looking out for my brain. Alexis Bass, Amy Lukavics, Debra Driza, Kaitlin Ward, Kara Thomas, Kate Hart, Kody Keplinger, Kristin Halbrook, Laurie Devore, Leila Austin, Lindsey Culli, Michelle Krys, Phoebe North, Samantha Mabry, Stephanie Sinkhorn, Stephanie Kuehn, and Kirsten Hubbard, for helping me weather the hard times and emoji-celebrating the not-so-hard times. (You all give me so much more than I can say.) All the YALLpeople, for the good work we do together . . . even when I’m late with the panels, which is always. A few writerly types—they know who they are—for reaching out with kindness and wisdom at just the right moments.
My family—the one I was born into, the one I acquired later, and the one I got as a bonus when I got married—for giving me places all over the world to feel safe and loved. My friends, for helping me out of hermit mode when I need it.
My readers, for following me to new worlds.
All the women in my life, for awing me with their resilience.
GLOSSARY
altetahak – A style of Shotet combat best suited for students who are strong in build, translates to “school of the arm.”
altos arva – A fruit from Trella known for its intense sweetness.
arzodae – A Zoldan word meaning literally “to mar, as with a knife,” though it is actually used as a very strong apology, ie, “what I did cut a piece out of me.”
Benesit – One of three fated families on the nation-planet of Thuvhe. One of the current generation is destined to be Thuvhe’s chancellor.
current – Both natural phenomena and, in some cases, religious symbol, the current is an invisible power that gives people abilities and can be channeled into ships, machines, weapons, etc.
currentgift – Thought to be a result of the current flowing through a person, currentgifts are abilities, unique to each person, that develop during puberty. They are not always benevolent.
currentstream – A visual representation of the current in the sky, the brightly colored currentstream flows between and around each planet in the solar system.
elmetahak – A style of Shotet combat that has fallen out of favor, emphasizing strategic thinking. Translates to “school of the mind.”