Chapter One
In my seventeen years I have never seen a Tavdorian. And for every year I have left to breathe on this planet Earth that is my home, I hope to never meet one.
An orange August sun sinks beyond the fields as I haul my basket of corn down the road. Long shadows stretch across the farm, making it appear arcane. With grass crawling on the cracked pavement and tall winding weeds filling what used to be a gutter, I’m surprised this place hasn’t disintegrated out of existence like the rest of the old world.
Out in the fields, the others in our community begin heading back to the house, carrying their own baskets. This is the last harvest of the season. Summer’s ending. Winter’s beginning. Another year gone by and another ahead, and I can’t help but wonder whether the Human race will ever be free from Tavdorians.
A warm breeze rushes in, and I inhale the scent of dirt still wet from a summer storm. The smell of home. But it does little to take away my apprehension. The wind is foreboding, strange and restless, an omen. Something dangerous is coming.
Or maybe it was the airships flying overhead this morning that make me feel like chaos is about to hit the tide.
A bead of sweat rolls down my spine as I mount the steps to the farmhouse and set my basket down beside Rika.
She grins as she shoves her crutches aside to make room for me.
“Last basket for the day,” I say.
“Finally. I don’t think my hands can take another hour of shucking corn.” At eleven years old, Rika is the closest thing I have to a little sister. Wisps of red hair frame her pale face. “Do you think those airships came to set us free?”
“Only Tavdorians fly that kind of ship, Rika.” My voice comes out in a cautious whisper. “What makes you think a parasite would even care for our freedom?”
“I ain’t never seen one fly that close before. Maybe—maybe Terrence is riding on it and come to free us.”
“Terrence is gone.” I try, but fail, to mask the bitterness in my voice. “He’s never coming back.”
I squint upward and wonder if the ships will fly back over soon—and see us this time. We get plenty of air traffic around here. The ships are usually tiny specks in the sky, flying too high for their pilots to spot our farm. But this one flew close enough for me to make out the cluster of five diamond-shaped stars painted on the belly of the ship. And thank those lucky stars it flew right past us. We’re one of the few remaining free communities on Earth. Finding us would be like finding a rare treasure. According to Johnson, Human natives are worth twice as much to the Tavdorians as Humans born as slaves. We’re fresh. Wild. Unmarked and untamed.
“Maybe those Tavdorians came to fight for our people,” Rika whispers.
I tear my gaze from the sky. “Tavdorians don’t think like us,” I say, repeating everything I’ve heard growing up. I chuck the corn husks onto the discarded pile and pick up the last unpeeled ear. “They’re a whole different kind of cruel. Just ask Johnson. If one of those parasites ever sympathized with Humans…” My sentence ends in a short laugh, though there’s nothing funny about such a foolish thought. “I understand your hope, Rika. I’ve been where you are. Dreaming impossible dreams.” I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “But that’s all they are. Dreams. After hundreds of years of slavery, the parasites won’t suddenly take pity on our people.”
“You ain’t never even met a Tavdorian, Lark.” Her face turns a deeper shade of red, and she shreds a stubborn leaf off the corn. “Just because the ones we’ve heard about are meaner than an infected dog doesn’t mean they’re all evil. You can’t judge ’em all based on stories you heard from one bitter runaway like Johnson.”
Rika—always looking for the good in even the worst of species. Sometimes I wonder how such purity could exist in so cruel a universe, and why the most virtuous heart could be the one born with a disadvantage.
She’s right not to judge. But that doesn’t stop me from cowering in these forests of Midwestern America, where I’ll be happy passing out of existence without ever catching a glimpse of the parasites.
According to Johnson, they look kind of like Humans. But he says they’re exceptionally tall and lithely built, with strange pointed ears and eyes the color of crazy. Whatever that means. They use Human labor to excavate the land and send resources to their home planet, Tavdora. And from what I’ve heard from travelers, and Johnson, and every other person who’s been around the parasites, they don’t have a single grain of humanity.
“Ya’ll didn’t think you’d get outta workin’ that easily, did ya?”
All bleak emotions evolve into butterflies at the sound of Josiah’s deep voice. He’s walking our way, a basket full of un-shucked corn in his arms. His shirt is off, revealing an athletic build the color of tree sap, and his hair is a sweaty haystack of a mess from working in the fields. He drops another basket between me and Rika.
“Jo-si-uuuh!” Rika whines. “We just finished our basket!”
He grins. “Oh, c’mon, sis. Help me with mine and I’ll get ya another rabbit foot.”
She rolls her eyes. “If you kill another innocent rabbit, I’m going to carve your fingernails out in your sleep,” she vows, but she begins helping anyway.
Not ready to head inside yet, I pick up another ear and begin shucking as well. I’ve known Josiah my whole life, and more intimately now than ever. This past year was a devastating time when the feelings between us took form. My brother, Terrence, left and shortly after, Mom got chronically ill. I guess Josiah became an escape. The frequent nights we found solace in each other’s company kept the harsh realities at bay.
“What are you two goin’ on about?” he asks.
“The ship,” Rika pipes up. “Do you think they saw us?”
“Hard to tell. If they did, they didn’t show any interest in landing.”
“Maybe they thought Tavdorian farmers lived here,” I say.
“Tavdorian farmers?” Josiah laughs. “Ya think they ever do manual labor? They use our people to do all the hard work, suck up our resources for their use.” He chucks my chin gently. “We don’t call ’em parasites for nothin’, lil’ Larkita.”
My cheeks warm at the nickname only Josiah uses for me. He leans in for a quick peck on the lips, and Rika mumbles something about Mother of Mars sparing her.
“Mila thinks they landed in Alno’s plantation,” he says, pulling away.
The warmth in my stomach condenses into a cold, hard potato at the mention of Mila. With flowing obsidian hair and dark slanted eyes, she’s the prettiest girl in our community.
Me? I’m pale. Scrawny as a stray cat. I have…freckles. Even my hair is dull auburn. Why can’t it be a bolder shade of red, like Rika’s? Like autumn leaves. Like fire.
Sighing, I pick up another ear, then peel back the leaves cocooning the corn. I may be plain, compared to Mila, and I may be quiet, compared to most. But when Josiah talks to me, I feel like I’m the only person around. He burns in my mind like stars in the night sky—
A blood-chilling scream pierces the air. Terror flickers through me as I glance down the road. My heart stops.
Then it beats. Once. Twice.
Two women are racing toward our house. One appears to be limping. Pepper starts barking wildly and bolts toward them. Rising to my feet, I start to follow.
“Lark, stop!” Josiah shouts.
I slow down as he passes me. The limping woman falls to her knees and starts weeping when Josiah reaches them. I hold my breath and try to hear what the woman is saying, but from this distance all I can make out is mumbling and an uncontrollable sobbing that shreds my heart.
They must be travelers headed to the fabled mountains of Colorado. There’s a legendary tribe there, a camp slowly growing into an army that plans to take on the Tavdorians, according to rumors. Terrence took off to join that tribe. I never understood why he would rather risk getting killed than grow old here, safe, with his family. Especially when no one knows if the Colorado tribe even exists.
The strangers say something, and Josiah shakes his head. But they keep talking, weeping, begging. Finally, Josiah swoops the woman up in his arms, and they make their way toward the house. Blood coats the woman’s right leg, seeping out of a wound in her calf, and I’m suddenly breathing twice as fast.
“Eck blethian…” she says between gasps. “Eck blethian…eck blethian…”
And then I’m not breathing at all. Because if she’s speaking Tavdorian, if the words coming out of her mouth are the native tongue of those foul parasites, then these are no travelers.
They’re runaways. Slaves.
“They can’t stay here,” Rika whispers to me, grabbing her crutches. “If the parasites find out—”
“We’re dead.”