The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,93
be more. Sera was always looking to the planet for escape, but Estelle looked to the stars. She wanted more than just the knowledge of Mother Sun’s existence. She wanted tangible proof; she wanted a voice in her ear or a hand on her shoulder. She felt there was something missing in this City and that she alone could discover the cause and fill the void. She began to frighten me a little. And then I fell in love with Seetha and Otess—I found my missing tokens, that’s how I always put it to Sera. They completed me. My life changed, my purpose became clear, and Estelle and I drifted apart.
“And so I was not by her side when she died of the sleeping sickness.”
Leela gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The sleeping sickness was the only disease that could kill a Cerulean, the only virus resistant to the healing power in their blood because it fed on their very magic. It came on suddenly, leeching a Cerulean dry until she was nothing but an empty husk. There had been spells of it throughout the years, though none in Leela’s lifetime. It would run through the City like a fever, usually taking several lives before running its course. There was no cure for it.
“The bodies of those with the sickness must be destroyed, so Estelle’s body was not wrapped in a pale blue shroud and released from the Night Gardens to find a home among the stars. One day she was simply gone. Hers was the third and final death, the sickness receding as it always did. It has not come back since. Only a few days after she died, a birthing season was announced. Otess and Seetha and I had been married for two years and were eager to have a child, though I confess it felt wrong to have such joy come on the heels of such sorrow.”
Kandra left the house and walked across the small field of grass. Leela scrambled to her feet to follow.
“I came here one afternoon, before any purple mother had been blessed, when these houses were still empty. I was scared and sad, and I hoped I might find comfort in the place where a new life would develop, where I would meet my daughter. I felt guilt at losing my friend, not just due to death but also neglect. Friendships must be tended if they are to flourish, and I realized I had been a poor gardener. I made a vow then and there that I would teach my daughter to value all her relationships in life and not take anyone for granted. I walked from house to house, wondering which would be mine, and I found myself speaking out loud, talking to Estelle as I once had, sharing my fears with her, and my shame at the fading of our bond. I recalled little things from times past, jokes we shared and games we played.
“I came to the last house and knew it was time to leave, that this place could not give me the comfort I yearned for. And as I turned, I saw her.”
Kandra held the lantern up to the obelisk. Ribbons of colors shot across its surface. “She stood right here,” she said, gesturing to the space beside the stone. “Her hair moved as if by a light breeze, though the air was still, and her cloudspun dress was threadbare and tattered, like it was disintegrating. She looked wan and pale but alive. Very much alive. ‘Kandra,’ she said to me. ‘I heard you.’”
At this, Kandra fell to her knees, a sob ripping from her chest. Leela knelt beside her, afraid to touch her, afraid to say anything.
“I thought I had gone mad,” she continued. “‘You are dead,’ I said to her. ‘No,’ she replied. Her eyes were so dark, like a night sky with no moon or stars. ‘And yes,’ she said. “‘We are all dying. It cannot continue. She will not stop.’” Tears spilled down Kandra’s cheeks. “Forgive me, Leela. I was so afraid. I ran away.” She crumpled, her head falling onto Leela’s shoulder. “I ran away,” she whimpered. “She called my name, she called for me to come back, and I ran and ran.”
“It’s all right,” Leela said, rubbing her back. She had never comforted a purple mother—or any mother, for that matter. It was usually the other way around. “You should feel no shame. You were frightened. You were seeing things.”