Chapter Text
They named their daughter Zella. Zella Arent Macen, combining their two surnames—Celaya’s and hers. Shadra’s first choice had been “Ellandra,” but her father had suggested another name, in honor of a little girl he’d known who would have been the same age as Shadra had she lived, and that name stuck. She was a frail, pale little creature, tiny in the crook of her arms. Shadra estimated she must be only a year old, at most. She crawled and could stand up, but she didn’t walk or talk yet.
“I wish I could say for sure,” the young woman lamented, with Zella’s head nestled against her neck. “Can you imagine? She’ll never know when she was born.”
Celaya, her partner, took her by the hand. The little girl turned her head toward her and looked at her with her big pink eyes. Gamilons sometimes had pink eyes—she knew this from having seen it before—but Shadra insisted, such a color didn’t exist among them. The Gamilons were a very striking blue, and that was reflected in all their colors. It was nothing like the little girl’s pallor—almost washed-out—right down to her pale pink eyes, which strangely brightened Zella’s face.
“You said one year. And the day we met her might as well be her birthday.”
It wasn’t perfect, of course, but what was?
“You know,” Baish, Shadra’s father, said one day, “I think she looks just like you.”
It was the eighth year since then. Zella was now three years old, in theory. Shadra frowned, and Baish gave her an amused look. He was an old man now, and despite his past as a warrior, he displayed remarkable calm after years spent doing nothing but raising Shadra and carrying out the tasks required of him. He loved making things with his hands, especially toys. Baish had always loved children, and Shadra knew that, deep down, he regretted having only one child. Lera, Shadra’s first mother, had never wanted any, and by the time he’d gotten to know Ora, they were both too old to hope to have any of their own. That was undoubtedly why he loved Vaci, Onore, and Zella so much.
“You think so? Really?”
“Not physically,” the old man corrected himself with a laugh. “But still… Look at her. You were just like that at her age.”
Shadra turned her head. Zella was playing, laughing, barefoot in the sand, her favorite toy in her hand. Her blonde hair fluttered around her head. It was light enough not to bother the child, so Shadra didn’t have it cut very often. And anyway, Zella’s long hair also protected her neck and shoulders from the sun, taking the sometimes harmful rays upon itself. And even though she wouldn’t admit it, she loved seeing her daughter with long hair—unlike herself. She loved its softness, taking pleasure in untangling it while admiring its color: chestnut at the roots and platinum at the ends. And that made Zella laugh. That was what mattered most.
“Do you remember?”
Baish gave her a tender smile.
“Of course I remember.”
“It must be about thirty years now.”
“Twenty-eight, to be exact.”
Baish paused, overcome by the nostalgia that had been striking him more and more often these days. How old was he? He himself said he didn’t remember exactly, having lost track of the time that had passed between his arrival on Leptapoda—when he was twenty-seven—and Shadra’s birth, thirty-one years earlier. He knew he was somewhere in his sixties, but he couldn’t be more specific.
“I remember the first time I held you in my arms,” he said tenderly.
Shadra waited in silence for him to continue. He’d told her this story a thousand times. You already knew a lot about Lera… But to her great surprise, this time the story took a different turn.
“She was already dying. She wasn’t eating anymore… She didn’t want to live anymore. Not here.”
It could have been a reproach. But Shadra didn’t feel that way at all. Her mother was dead, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault… except for those who had locked them up here, in the front. She was so glad that neither Zella nor Onore had lived through that time. Even Vaci remembered little of it.
“And him…” Baish continued, in a whisper. “He…”
“Don’t talk about him,” Shadra interrupted, knowing full well who this “he” was—the man who had never, ever deserved the title of father.
Even—and especially—because she was now a mother, Shadra had no feelings for him. Nor any desire to meet him one day, much less to know who he was. It even terrified her at times. She leaned down to kiss her father, who smiled faintly.
“You look just like him,” he said then. “Lera…”
And Shadra smiled back. She’d been expecting that. Then Zella approached them. Perhaps she had an idea of what was going on, or maybe she’d simply wanted to do something else. She asked for a hug, and before Shadra could bend down, Baish had already lifted her onto his lap. Shadra simply placed her hand on her daughter’s back and smiled.
The sun was setting when Shadra stepped out of the shade onto the large terrace. It was still extremely hot, but she left behind the jumpsuit she usually wore when going out into the sun and ventured along the terraces and staircases of the building where she lived—a structure vaguely similar to those on Gamilas but designed to suit the terrain and temperatures of Leptapoda. The wind was blowing, even at this altitude, and Shadra instinctively ducked her head to avoid the grains of sand. After what seemed like a long time, she finally reached the floor she was looking for. The light startled her for a moment, after the darkness outside.
“Shadra,” Ilit, Vaci’s mother, greeted her with a smile.
Her skin was yellow, and she went out into the sun so rarely that Shadra could count on her fingers the number of times she’d run into Ilit during the day since the first day of the afternoon. As a general rule, they all avoided the sun’s bite as much as possible, but some were forced to do so more than others. Shadra’s bluish skin, a Gamilon trait, protected her better than Ilit’s did.
“How are you? Would you like something to drink?”
She glanced at Shadra’s outfit and added:
“Is it nighttime already?”
Shadra could barely keep from laughing as she settled in.
“Fine, no, and yes.”
“Why did you come?” Ilit asked, pouring her a glass of water anyway.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to talk.”
Shadra took barely a sip.
“Do you remember when I was that age…?”
Ilit’s face darkened immediately.
“Yes, of course I do.”
“Malira,” Shadra realized at once. She should have thought of that. She was about to say something—perhaps to apologize—when Ilit held out her arm.
“Do you want to go outside?” she suggested, pointing toward the door.
The next moment, they found themselves under the stars. The sky dotted with fireflies had always been Shadra’s favorite sight, for as long as she could remember, even as a little girl in her cell. No outside light filtered in, so it could appear in all its glory. She glanced at her friend and saw that Ilit was smiling, too.
“Why are you asking me this now?” Ilit asked, meeting her gaze.
Shadra didn’t answer.
“Is it because of Zella?”
“Partly,” the young woman finally admitted. “Baish says I was just like that back then.”
Ilit lowered her head slightly. She had been very young when Shadra was three. And Malira… Shadra didn’t remember her, but Malira had been born not long after she was.
"I suppose so. It’s funny watching her. She already acts just like you. …Didn’t you bring her? She usually follows you everywhere.”
“She’s with her other mother and she’s sleeping.”
“I would have liked to see her again.”
“I think she would, too. Another time.”
Ilit nodded silently. In the moonlight, she looked almost ghostly, a bit like Shadra imagined Zella would look when she were older. Yet they didn’t look alike, and weren’t even the same species… well, at least Shadra didn’t think so. Ilit was yellow, and Zella was silvery.
“Do you want to go downstairs?” Ilit asked.
“Go down? Where to?”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s walk together. It’s been so long since we’ve done that."
When had that last happened? Maybe never. But Shadra followed her anyway. The difference in temperature on the ground was already clearly noticeable. The stars, however, hadn’t moved.
“I didn’t ask you how your father was doing.”
“Fine, most of the time. But he doesn’t like getting old.”
Before she even had a chance to ask, Shadra added spontaneously:
“Ora finds it very amusing—at his expense. She says he complains about the smallest things.”
“She’s been here longer,” Ilit pointed out.
“He had a more eventful life than she did, back then.”
“And Vaci? Do you still see each other?”
The question drew a wry smile from Shadra. Yes, Vaci still came to see her. Alone, often. The boy they knew was always just turning eighteen, and his plans for the future were constantly multiplying. Was Ilit the last to know that he wouldn’t be staying?
“He wants to leave,” she whispered in the darkness.
The idea had been floated a long time ago, but it was becoming more and more real. Vaci had always wanted to leave… because while Shadra had some of Lera’s features, Vaci himself didn’t resemble anyone else in their family. Not even Ilit.
“Leave?” Ilit repeated.
“No, that’s not what I meant. He wants to leave the fortress. To see if we can build homes somewhere else, out in the desert.”
Ilit’s face regained some color, but when she spoke again, there was a tremor in her voice that Shadra didn’t fail to notice.
“He doesn’t need to do that.”
“Maybe not. But he wants to.”
“Are you encouraging him?”
“I don’t intend to stop him.”
“He’s my son.”
“And my brother. That’s not an argument. It doesn’t mean I have to tell him what to do.”
Ilit nodded reluctantly, looking away. Shadra wondered if she was angry.
“He can't be far,” she said, without really knowing why—perhaps it was an attempt at reconciliation.
The woman gave her a faint smile, without saying a word.
“Maybe we should head back,” Shadra suggested. “It’s getting late.”
“Not for me,” Ilit replied in a strangely soft voice. “But I can walk you back, if you want.”
Shadra shook her head. There was no need. She left Ilit without another word, preferring to walk back alone.