largely on ignoring everything around us. It worked well.
It worked well, that was, until Ogra came into view.
“Why,” Teka said, staring at the black hole of a planet we were headed toward, “would anyone ever settle here?”
Akos laughed. “You could say the same about Thuvhe.”
“Don’t call it that when we land,” I said, cocking an eyebrow. “It’s ‘Urek’ or nothing.”
“Right.”
Urek meant “empty,” but said with reverence, not like an insult. Empty, to us, meant possibility; it meant freedom.
Ogra had come into sight as a small, dark gap in the stars ahead, and then the gap had turned into a hole, like a stray ember burned through fabric. And now it loomed darkly above the nav deck, devouring every fragment of light in its vicinity. I wondered how the first settlers had even known it was a planet. It looked more like a yawn.
“I take it it’s not an easy landing,” Akos said.
“No.” Teka laughed. “No, it’s not. The only way to get through it without getting ripped to shreds is to completely disable the ship’s power and free-fall. Then I have to reactivate the ship’s power before we all liquify on impact.” She brought her hands together with a smack. “So we all need to strap in and say a prayer, or whatever makes you feel lucky.”
Akos looked paler than usual. I laughed.
Sifa came up behind us, clutching a book to her stomach. There were few books aboard the ship—what use would they have had?—but those she had been able to rummage, she had brought to Eijeh one by one, along with his food. Akos didn’t ask about him, and neither did I. I assumed his status was unchanged, and that the worst parts of my brother lived on in him. I needed no further updates.
“Luck,” Sifa said, “is simply a construct to make people believe they are in control of some aspect of their destinies.”
Teka appeared to consider this, but Akos just rolled his eyes.
“Or maybe it’s just a word for what fate looks like to the rest of us,” I said to her. I was the only one willing to argue with Sifa—Teka was too reverent, and Akos, too dismissive. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like to stare at the future from this angle instead of your own.”
Sifa smirked at me. She smirked at me often. “Perhaps you are correct.”
“Everybody strap in,” Teka said. “Oracle, I need you in the first officer’s chair. You know the most about flying.”
“Hey,” I said.
“Currentgifts go haywire on Ogra,” Teka said to me. “We’re not sure how yours will do, so you sit in the back. Keep the Kereseth boys in line.”
Sifa had escorted Eijeh to a landing seat already. He was strapped in and staring at the floor. I sighed, and made my way down to the main deck. Akos and I sat across from Eijeh, and I pulled the straps across my chest and lap. Akos fumbled with his own, but I didn’t help him—he knew how to do it, he just needed to practice.
I watched Teka and Sifa as they prepared for landing, poking buttons and flicking switches. It seemed routine for Teka. That was reassuring, at least. I didn’t want to free-fall through a hostile atmosphere with a captain who was panicking.
“Here we go!” Teka shouted, and with only that warning, all the lights in the ship switched off. The engine stopped its whirring and humming. Dark atmosphere struck the nav window like a wave of Pithar rain, and for a few long moments I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t feel anything. I wanted to scream.
Ogra’s gravity caught us, and it was worse, much worse than feeling nothing. My stomach and my body felt suddenly separate, one floating up and the other pulling hard to the ground. The craft shuddered, metal plates squeaking against their screws, the steps to the nav deck rattling. My teeth clacked together. It was still too dark to see anything, even the currentshadows that twisted around my arms.
Next to me, Akos let out a litany of curses under his breath, in three languages. I couldn’t speak. My flesh weighed too heavily on my bones.
A slamming sound, then, and the engine whirred again. Before the lights turned on, though, the planet lit up beneath us. It was still dark—neither sun nor currentstream could possibly penetrate Ogra’s atmosphere—but it was dotted with light, veined with it. The ship’s control panel glowed, and the horrible, heavy falling sensation disappeared as the ship moved forward instead of down, down, down.
And then, hot and sharp and strong: pain.
CYRA WAS SCREAMING.
Akos’s hands were shaking from the landing, but still undoing the straps that held him in place, almost without his permission. Right when Akos was free he launched himself from his seat and slid to his knees in front of Cyra. The shadows had pulled away from her body in a dark cloud, the same way they had when Vas forced her to touch him, down in the amphitheater’s prison where she had almost lost her life. Her hands were buried in her hair, clenched. She looked up at him, and a strange smile twisted her face.
He put his hands on hers. The shadows looked like smoke, in the air, but they pulled back into Cyra’s body like dozens of strings yanked at once.
Cyra’s odd smile was gone, and she was staring at their joined hands.
“What will happen when you let go?” she said quietly.
“You’ll be just fine,” he said. “You’ll learn to control it. You can do that now, remember?”
She let out an airy laugh.
“I can hang on as long as you like,” he said.
Her eyes hardened. When she spoke, it was with gritted teeth. “Let go.”
Akos couldn’t help but think back to something he’d read in one of the books Cyra had put in his room on the sojourn ship. He’d had to read it through a translator, because it was written in Shotet, and it had been called Tenets of Shotet Culture and Belief.
It said: The most marked characteristic of the Shotet people is directly translated as “armored,” but outsiders might call it “mettle.” It refers not to courageous acts in difficult situations—though the Shotet certainly hold valor in high regard—but to an inherent quality that cannot be learned or imitated; it is in the blood as surely as their revelatory language. Mettle is bearing up again and again under assaults. It is perseverance, acceptance of risk, and the unwillingness to surrender.
That paragraph had never made more sense to him than it did right now.
Akos obeyed. At first, when the currentshadows reappeared, they formed the smoky cloud around her body again, but Cyra set her jaw.
“Can’t meet the Ograns with a death cloud around me,” she said.
Her eyes held his as she breathed deeply. The shadows began to worm their way beneath her skin, traveling down her fingers, wriggling up her throat. She screamed again, right into her teeth, half a dozen izits from his face. But then the breath hissed out, same as it had come in, and she straightened. The cloud was gone.
“They’re back to how they were before,” he said to her. “Like they were when I met you.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s this planet. My gift is stronger here.”
“You’ve been here before?”
She shook her head. “No. But I can feel it.”
“Do you need a painkiller?” he said.
Another