When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy) (5 page)

I close my eyes, hoping I can fall asleep to pass the time. If I can, then this trial will have proven itself to be far easier than the first one, though I suspect Mother Aurelia expects us to do more in these cells than sleep. I suppose she believes in the old adage that guilt is punishment enough if we don’t spend this time actually praying. Guilt is only punishment for me though when I hurt people I care about. What a terrible person I am. Only Deus knows. Mother Aurelia will never have to know, so on the outside I can appear like the best nun in the world, when on the inside I’m far from it.

#

A few restless hours pass, both my body and mind screaming to be set free from the confines of this cell. I’m pacing the few feet in front of the prie dieu, though this is not enough room to fully stretch. Pressure weighs my bladder down with uncomfortable pinpricks that shoot through me each time I take a step. Soon I’ll have to urinate, though I don’t know where I could.

Colette, on the other hand, has managed what I consider to be impossible for me. I believe she is in prayer, assuming she has decided to keep all thoughts in her head this time instead of saying them out loud like she usually does. To further pass time, I press my ear against the wall for any other sounds besides my own. I only hear murmurs of what sound like prayer. There must be someone in at least one of these cells that wishes to go as mad as me.  The rhythm of Theosodore’s plodding steps indicates otherwise. I suppose no one has cracked yet, and I’m even wondering what this trial is designed to do for us: make us pray all day or lose our sanity? I sit down next to Colette and lay my head on the prie dieu, willing for sleep to come.

Colette shifts next to me. She opens her eyes, staring down at her rosary beads. She opens her mouth to speak. “Do you know what I’ve been praying about?”

I sit up straighter, elated Colette has finally come out of her stupor. Whatever she prayed about should keep me captivated until we’re released from these cells. She’s prayed enough, after all, so she must have a lot to say. “What? Tell me everything.”

I expect her to smile, for her eyes to brighten, for her to look at me, but her voice comes out bland. “To not die.”

Losing my composure, I grab Colette by the shoulders. “What is wrong with you? Colette, please tell me why you’re suddenly feeling this way? What happened last night? I demand to know!”

She starts shuddering in my hold. Her voice comes out between small sobs and hiccups. “P-promise me that when I-I’m gone, you’ll keep t-trying to be p-professed.” The tears come, and she hides her face with her hands. Her voice now comes out controlled, though subdued. “I mean it, Amelia. No matter what happens to me, you can’t stop for my sake. You have to keep going.”

Only silence comes from my open mouth. I don’t know what to say. Colette insists on speaking as though she’s going to die within the hour. I loosen my hold on her, my hands remaining on her shoulders. “You’re not going to die Colette, so stop speaking like you’re going to…unless you have some chronic illness you’ve never told me about, some fatal disease you were born with that’s just been ticking your life away each day.”

Colette shudders once more, and what she does next sends the world spiraling away into darkness beneath my feet. She heaves blood all over the front of my dress, and falls in my arms, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling. My mouth opens in a scream, but the cell wavers and folds in on me in accordion pleats. The space around me pushes inward, crushing the breath from my lungs until I’m gasping for air, holding out my arm while the other clings to Colette, whose breathing comes out raspy. An intense heat swarms through my body and seems to travel under every edge of me. Smoke rises from beneath the hand that holds on to Colette. To my horror, I know what is going to happen next--even worse, I don’t have time to pull away.

Sister Colette bursts into flames.

I pull away too late, plastering myself against the wall. She falls against the wall opposite of me, her limbs jerking, her eyes rolling around like marbles, and her tongue lolling in her mouth like she can lick the flames away. The flames burn through her dress, then snake along her naked flesh. They blacken her skin at an unnatural rate. Beads of blood seep through cracked flesh. I cannot move, breathe, scream, feel anything. Neither fear, sadness, anger, nor hurt.

Reality flies by me in bits and pieces. It flies by me so fast I cannot process what I have done. All I can process is that Sister Colette is on fire, and there is a burgeoning scream that comes out as several loud screams, then one long scream. I leap from where I sit, throw myself against the door, and start pounding the iron so hard my fists want to crack from the force I exert.

I screech. “Someone, help! Anyone!” Heavy footsteps plod by, but they don’t stop at my cell. Of course he wouldn’t stop. This is what he expects after our being in these cells for so long. So I muster my remaining energy to scream out what I know will have Theosodore pulling the door open and getting us out. “The cell is on fire!”

I look behind me one more time at Colette who lies in a rumpled pile while fading flames lick at what remains of her. The weight of being alive while she burns with my being unable to do anything takes its toll on me, and blackness envelops me in a warm sleep I never want to wake from.

Chapter Five

There was nothing special about the day I found out Nathaniel was a witch. We went about our usual routine: breakfast, afternoon lessons with our tutor, adventures in our grotto, evening study before dinner. The same routine, day after day after day. Father was an accountant, our mother a seamstress. They had little time for us, so Nathaniel and I kept to ourselves most days. The time they did spend with us was precious though.

Nathaniel and I were in his room after dinner, studying a language called French with origins we didn’t understand but a language our tutor expected us to learn. My little brother rose to close the curtains since the sun was dipping behind the rolling green hills on the horizon and blinding our eyes. When he touched the curtain, smoke started to rise beneath his palm, and the curtain caught aflame.

That day I learned there is no warning when one will find out whether or not one is a witch, so Nathaniel and I left the next day, my mind set on Cathedral Reims. Our tutor gave us an extensive lesson of this cathedral, and my heart told me this was the best place for us. I knew that whatever Seven Deadly Sin my parents committed would catch up and tear our family apart one day, and I didn’t want to subject my little brother and I to that potential disaster.

#

A warm light tickles my cheek, rousing me from sleep. When I open my eyes, I’m in the infirmary. Since sleep still cradles my mind in a fog, I have to blink and stretch several times before I realize Oliver is next to me on a small stool. His presence should comfort me, but all I want to do is retreat back beneath the blankets and forget what I did. Nathaniel was lucky to find out he was a witch the way he did. Why did I have to find out practically through murder--and my best friend no less? A stabbing heat courses through my entire being as the sickening reality of what happened in the cell settles in my mind. I wish I could deny and say it was a nightmare, but I am not one for denial. I am one who does not choose to escape to fantasies to elude reality. I ground myself so much in reality I’ve grown cynical.

It seems to make sense now why those shadows are after me. Do they want witches? It looks as if they do. But I don’t know and won’t ponder on it too much.

Oliver brings out a wet rag and dabs my face. “Seems your fever’s gone down.” He pulls the rag away and wrings the cloth, looking down at his fidgety action.

“Olly--” A sob cuts off my words, and I throw my face into Oliver’s lap, letting the tears come. My words come out choked. “I--I--”

Oliver looks away from me and averts his gaze to the corner of the infirmary. On tired arms, I pull myself up and look where he looks. Colette lies in bed beneath a white blanket, burnt arms, face, and neck exposed. Her appearance brings bile to my throat that I quell with deep breathing.

I bring my fingers to my face as the horror of what I did plays as a clear slideshow in my mind. “Sister Colette--” I set her on fire. I killed her. “She--she--”

Oliver grabs my hands with his slim, cool fingers, and pulls them away from my face. “It’s all right, Amelia. Sister Colette only fainted. Mother Aurelia said she had an epileptic fit, that it’s an affliction she’s had since she was a child. It’s not uncommon for epileptics to have fits in tight spaces.”

I shoot up straight and look at Colette, blinking my eyes at the pace of a bee’s wings to assure my reality hasn’t become distorted. “Epilepsy?” No. What happened in the cell was not epilepsy. I saw fire on her, real raw fire that came from me. Now she lies in bed with unmistakable burns and no bandages to stop the bleeding. “But she…No, she…” I don’t even know how to get out the words without sounding like a complete loon.

Oliver brushes his bangs out of eyes that have taken on a patient look. “She what?”

I just have to come out and say what I saw. My voice trembles, tears threatening to pour down my face. I bring my voice to a soft, audible whisper. “I-I’m a witch. I set her on fire.”

Oliver pulls me up fast and plants his hands on either side of my face. Though I know he is naturally cold, the iciness of his hands nonetheless brings a yelp from me. I grab his wrists, instinct goading me to pull them off, but I leave them there. His eyes bear down on me. “Don’t speak such nonsense. It’s these trials. I shouldn’t have made that promise with you, should have figured it was too much to expect. Besides you’re--”

He lets go of my face, but I keep a grip on him. “I’m what?”

He disentangles my fingers from his wrists and looks away from me, darting his eyes to the white ceramic tiles. “Mother Aurelia removed you from the initiation process. I overheard her speaking with Theosodore about this decision. They thought it was best. It was nothing personal against you. They just didn’t want you…damaged, so to speak. Mother Aurelia thinks you need another year, some more maturity before you can pick up the process again.”

Too stunned to speak or even process what he told me, I look back at Colette who is now surrounded by other visitors. A nun with a vase of roses leans into another nun and smiles. She puts the vase down and begins to speak. Though her voice is a whisper, I can still hear what she has to say.

“Her epileptic fit must have been caused by all the excitement. My grandfather was an epileptic, and he was an easily excitable old man. We could never keep a fit away from him, not even for a mere week.”

The nun who isn’t holding anything fingers the petals. “It was still frightening though, to see her like that. Deus will be kind to her. She’s been a good girl since coming here, and there’s no sense in Deus doing away with her when she will be such an asset to the Professed Order.”

They continue prattling, but I’ve had enough. I know what I saw. I did not see an epileptic fit. I saw fire. Either everyone is in denial about Colette’s condition, or I have gone mad.

Oliver puts a hand on my shoulder and draws me down on to the bed. He pulls the covers up to my chin, and pulls away with a small smile. “You need your rest too, Amelia. I can tell you’re still not convinced, but I promise you’re just really stressed. You’ll feel much better when you wake up, and when you do, I’ll be out in the plum orchard, the usual place. You can vent then. It’s not the end of the world. You still have a chance to be professed. Just not right now.”

This is just a nightmare, that is all. I am not one for denial, but this reality is too surreal to be anything but. This is one of the many nightmares I’ve had about failing ever since I started the initiation process. When I wake from my nap, Colette will be asleep in our cell, her skin lily white, untainted. I’ll hug her, cherish her clover scent, and we’ll face the next trial with combined determination no one can break.

With this on my thoughts, I soon fall into a quiet sleep.

#

A groan punctures the membrane of what was a peaceful sleep. The groan is soft, insistent. I find it peculiar such a soft noise could even wake me, but I nonetheless sit up in bed to investigate. Because my limbs and mind are still bathed in drowsiness, a large part of me is unsure whether or not this is reality. I’m certain I fell asleep in my cell and just had a previous nightmare about waking up in this exact infirmary, Oliver telling me I’m no longer in the initiation for the Professed Order, seeing Colette with burns while Oliver convinces me she had an epileptic fit. Even so, there is a frightening realness to this that has my mind doing the spins of a whirling dervish.

The infirmary is empty, a hollow shell that echoes the moan. I look in Colette’s direction. A curtain surrounds her bed. I see her shadow through the white fabric, and she’s sitting upright, her chest rising and falling.

Pulling in a deep breath, I slip away from the warmth of my bed and slowly approach her. I hold out a hand, my fingers trembling, ready to grab the curtain when I near. My throat goes dry. “C-Colette? Are you all right?”

Her voice is raspy as she answers. “Amelia, come here.”

I dig my fingers into the folds of the curtain, my heart tightening in my chest over what I may find. Will I find Colette free of burns, or will my mind keep playing tricks on me? I pray for the former. No girl wants to admit she is insane. The insane end up in asylums that often become permanent homes. I just want this all to end well, dream or not.