Stars Descend (A Game of Stars and Shadows Book 1) Read online

  Stars Descend

  Book 1 of a Game of Stars and Shadows

  Kara Jaynes

  Contents

  1. Stella

  2. Stella

  3. Stella

  4. Stella

  5. Stella

  6. Stella

  7. Stella

  8. Eldaren

  9. Dream Vagrant

  10. Stella

  11. Stella

  12. Stella

  13. Stella

  14. Stella

  15. Stella

  16. Stella

  17. Dream Vagrant

  18. Eldaren

  19. Stella

  20. Dream Vagrant

  21. Eldaren

  22. Wilder

  23. Wilder

  24. Stella

  25. Eldaren

  26. Stella

  27. Stella

  28. Stella

  29. Eldaren

  30. Stella

  31. Wilder

  32. Eldaren

  33. Stella

  About the Author

  1

  Stella

  I clamber up the side of the dumpster and heave myself over the edge. Falling into the trash, I tighten the scarf across the lower half of my face to help combat the stench. As quiet as any of the rats that sneak about the city of Liberty, I rifle through the garbage, searching for anything I can sell. There is nothing of value on the top layer, just leftover food, soggy cardboard, and the occasional used needle of the dream vagrants. I am careful not to touch those. I have no idea if I am free of disease; only the wealthy can afford doctors these days. If I am, I don’t want to take any chances with leftover needles.

  Gloved fingers pick through the leavings carefully as my eyes search. There! A glint of something shiny and flat. I pick it up. It’s a disc, the metallic looking surface scratched. Rummaging through the trash, I hum in satisfaction as I find several more. It’s an antique collection of DVDs. That’s convenient. They are in fair-to-poor condition, but should still fetch a price from Jonah.

  I freeze when I hear footsteps walking by the dumpster. They are not the familiar scuffle of other street-rats like myself, nor the plod of thugs. These footsteps are soft and sure and full of deadly confidence. I hold my breath, hoping they can't hear my pounding heart.

  Space elves. At least two.

  The elves don’t falter as they stalk past the dumpster. I flinch when a soda can hits me on the shoulder, some of the unfinished drink splashing on my hoodie. I barely stifle a scream but they are already moving on.

  I wait in complete silence for a full ten minutes before standing in the trash heap to peer around. No one is in sight, not even dream vagrants. That doesn’t surprise me. Anyone with half a brain will skedaddle when space elves are about.

  I stuff the DVDs in my pack and hoist myself over the dumpster’s edge, landing lightly on the pavement. I set off immediately, trying to exude confidence I don’t feel. Only brave—or foolish—women walk the streets of Liberty alone, especially this late at night. I would prefer to have someone with me, a friend to watch my back, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  I walk down to the harbor, breathing deeply. Liberty usually stinks like gasoline and human refuse, but this close to the water I can smell the salt and brine. I love it.

  Unfortunately, others seem to like it too. The homeless gather by the old abandoned docks, begging passersby for coin. I have nothing to spare, so I slink by as quickly as I can, keeping to the other side of the street. Sometimes the dock dwellers get violent.

  I come to a little old shop, one of several lining Harbor Street. It’s a curious place. Jonah says it is a historical monument, but I’ve never read about it in any of my history books. Of course, that doesn't mean it isn’t true, but looking at the dilapidated storefront, I wonder.

  I only pause a moment to peer around, to make sure no one is watching me before pushing open the door and walking in.

  I wrinkle my nose. The shop always stinks, but from what, I can never tell. Incense? Old animal furs? A combination of all the knickknacks in his shop, perhaps.

  Jonah stands behind the counter, his black eyes glittering as he watches me. He’s a tall man, rail-thin, stronger than he looks. He’s handsome, but at least twice my age of eighteen.

  “Hello.” I walk up to the counter, leaning an elbow casually on the surface. “You buying today?”

  Jonah winks at me, a grin splitting his face. “Depends on what you’re selling.”

  I chuckle. “Not today, old sport.” Or ever.

  The shopkeeper shrugs good-naturedly. “What did you find?”

  I loosen the straps on my pack. “I acquired something I think you’ll be interested in.”

  Jonah doesn’t reply, but his eyes have a hungry gleam in them as he watches me zip open the backpack.

  I pull out the DVDs. “A collection,” I say proudly. “Betcha don’t have anything like this.”

  The man rolls his thin shoulders, eyeing the DVDs blandly. “Already own plenty of those sorts.”

  This is the game we play. I talk up whatever scraps I bring in, and he acts like it’s worth less than the dirt on his shoes, which eventually leads to bartering a decent price we’re both happy with.

  “Yeah, but a collection?” I show him the front of the discs, each one a faded pink color, the title written in an elaborate cursive that’s hard to read. “Come on, Jonah, these are special.”

  “Hmm.” Jonah opens his inventory book, frowning pensively at the pages. “I’ll give you ten dollars for the lot.”

  I scowl at him. “Ten? That’s not nearly enough. They gotta be worth at least thirty.”

  The shopkeeper makes a big show of closing his book with a sense of finality. “Ten, or sell it somewhere else.”

  “How about twenty?” I say, looking at him earnestly. I learned a long time ago that Jonah always buys my scraps when I give him that look.

  Jonah smirks at me. “I can buy for fifteen. Not a cent more.”

  I nod, eager to get the money in my fist. “Deal.”

  He grumbles softly as he opens his cash register. “You’re gonna put me outta business, Stella.”

  “I’ll always sell to you first.”

  “Good to know.” He winks at me and pulls out faded ten and five-dollar bills. “How’s Quinn doing these days?”

  “Same.” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice, but from the sympathetic look on Jonah’s face, I’m not successful. “Night, Jonah.”

  “Night.”

  I stuff the money in my jeans pocket. Shouldering my bag, I push open the door and re-enter the streets. It’s drawing close to ten o’clock, and the later the hour, the more dangerous Liberty becomes. I pull up my hoodie and march boldly up the hill, only pausing a moment to catch the faded scent of fried dough in a closed food truck. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it. I’ll eat when I get home.

  I pass Second and Third Avenue. I’m crossing Fourth when I look over, my steps slowing. The original name of the massive building off to my right has been lost in history. I know it used to belong to the Blood Jackals gang, but they have since been outed.

  The elves live there now.

  I pause, staring past the iron fence at the newly paved asphalt that surrounds the brick and stone building. They’ve added to it, the building now sporting turrets and battlements. It looks more like a castle from a fairy tale. Since the War, it is one of the tallest buildings in Liberty that’s still in use. Any building that was more than a few stories tall was looted and burned before the bombing started, by our own people, no less. At least we escaped the radiation, which is more than s
ome of the states back east can say.

  I imagine it’s because of the lack of radiation that the elves have set up their base here, though perhaps radiation doesn’t affect them. That wouldn’t surprise me.

  Their presence has stopped the worst of the gang feuding as they now have a common enemy. The elves have given us laws and regulations and strictly enforce them. No exceptions.

  I exhale and glare at the fortress. Yes, the space elves, as radiant as the stars in the heavens, have descended from the sky to reign over us. But their laws are harsh, and they care nothing for us humans. They are said to be immortal, wield magic, and rule with an iron fist.

  I draw closer to the gate, peering at the property beyond. There’s a dumpster several yards on the inside, and my gut clenches with anticipation. What treasures lay in that bin? How much money could I make selling the trash I might find in there? I frown, studying the fence. Trash diving is prohibited under the new elven rule, but it is the only way for my brother and me to survive, so I do it anyway. The elves never told us why they discourage it, but I suspect it’s to reduce the potential spread of disease. They also recycle or compost it, if the rumors are true. I don’t mind if they do, but not until I’ve had a chance to rummage through it.

  I stiffen as an elf comes into view behind the fence, a guard making the rounds. Tall, slender, with his hair pulled back in a tail. He doesn’t seem any different from a human from what I can see in the murky night.

  But he’s anything but human. My lip curls in derision before I continue walking, more quickly than before, as it’s technically past curfew, and I may be fined if I’m caught outside after ten. That’s something I can’t afford. Life is expensive enough in Liberty.

  The skyscrapers and space towers were burned and destroyed in the War, but a few of the gangs had rebuilt some of the lower levels, turning them into overpriced apartment complexes. I can’t afford one even on a good month of scavenging, so Quinn and I live in one of the several tent gatherings that are sprawled all over the city. You’d think it was free, but nothing is free in Liberty. We pay rent here, too, just not as much as those in proper apartments.

  I live in a small shack that’s part wood and part tarp, but we are lucky; most of it is wood, and the tarp roof is held in place with several rusty nails, keeping the rain out. We also have electricity from a generator that is shared by part of the poor community.

  When I unlock and open the front door, I find Quinn in the front room, sitting on our filthy sofa, his brown-eyed gaze glued to the flickering TV screen, clutching a video game controller. He’s rocking back and forth, a self-soothing technique I’ve long since given up on trying to cure him of. He’s only sixteen but is already a solid two inches taller than me. My brother doesn’t look up when I enter, his fingers rapidly pushing the buttons on his controller.

  “Quinn, I’m home.”

  “Hi, Stella.” Quinn briefly smiles up at me before turning back to his game.

  “You hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  I head over to the kitchen, which is just a corner of the same room. Our counter is cluttered with canned goods and dry food, with dirty dishes piled in the sink. I scrub out our only pot and a couple of mugs, then pull two packages of ramen out of the cupboard. When the noodles are ready, I walk over to the sofa with the cups and forks, sitting next to my brother. “Turn off the game.”

  My brother scowls but obliges, turning the TV off and switching on our lamp.

  “How was your day?” I ask out of habit. Not that his days have any variation because they don’t. I ask because it’s polite.

  “Good.” My younger brother eats quickly, seemingly impervious to heat.

  “That’s great.” I eat more slowly, blowing on each forkful. “Any episodes today?”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head.

  I exhale in relief. I shouldn’t be so concerned. This morning, I gave Quinn the medicine he needs to keep him free of seizures, but I still worry. He used to get them sometimes while I was gone. I shudder, pushing the memories away.

  This is why I trash-dive. My brother needs me. His personality quirks mean he doesn't mesh well in society. He spends his days playing and replaying video games, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and I don’t discourage it. It keeps him safe. My brother is brilliant, but I’m the only one who can see that. He can play a game with no mistakes, having practiced until his performance is flawless. He also has a heart of gold.

  Something happened to Quinn after our parents died. Something changed. He became anxious and withdrawn, astoundingly so. He freaks out whenever we have visitors—except for our friend Lyra—so I never invite people over. He became prone to seizures after our parents faded away from the disease that didn’t touch Quinn or me. Why he developed them, I’m not sure. I assume it’s from trauma, but we can’t afford a doctor. So I do the best I’m able, scrimping and saving for the medicine that holds back the meltdowns and seizures. Years ago, Jonah gave me a tip on where I could buy drugs to help my brother, so I now have a source to purchase it from. It’s not cheap, though, even if we can forgo actual exams.

  After dinner I put my brother to bed, giving him some of his medicine, and telling him a quick fairy tale from memory. He sleeps on the sofa, and I take the controller to my room to make sure he isn’t tempted to play while I’m asleep.

  I put the medicine bottle on a stack of books next to my mattress and eye it, my gut clenching with anxiety. There are only a few more doses left. I don’t have enough money to buy another bottle, buy food, and pay rent. Rent is due tomorrow, and Quinn will need medicine before the week is out. I look at my books, exhaling slowly. I could sell one of two of the volumes. They belonged to our parents, though, and they are all I have left of them. They are a collection of novels, history books, and a Bible. One of them is a local history book that tells me this city was once named Seattle. It was renamed Liberty shortly before the War. I snort and flop onto my bed. A more ridiculous name, our ancestors couldn’t have picked. Liberty is something this city has lacked for as long as I can remember.

  My gaze travels down the spines of the other books. A couple of the volumes date back to the nineteenth century. My parents both shared a love of the Victorian era. I share that love; the novels taking me hundreds of years back in time to a place that, while it had its own problems, wasn’t the complete and utter chaos that dictates my life. I carefully pull one of the volumes free and flip through it, sighing at the pictures of flouncy dresses and laced corsets. They are a far cry from my ripped jeans and worn out sneakers.

  No. I can’t sell these books. They won’t fetch a high enough price to make it worth it to me. I put the book back. A memory rises in my head.

  You and your books. Many girls aren’t interested in scholarly matters. But you are. It makes you interesting.

  I bite my lip. I miss Wilder. He would have helped me take care of Quinn. He would have made me feel secure in a world that was anything but safe.

  But he’s gone. The boy I love more than life chose to walk with the dream vagrants, leaving me alone with nothing but a glass-diamond ring to remember him. I scowl, looking under my pillow to make sure it’s still there.

  It is, and I leave it there. I’m afraid that if I wore it in public it might get stolen.

  Better that he left me before we got married, but the memory of him still hurts. I miss him. I shake my head, banishing thoughts of Wilder. I need to focus on my brother and getting more of the medicine that will help him.

  I will go dumpster diving again. Tonight. I think of the elven fortress and shiver.

  I know where I need to go.

  2

  Stella

  I zip my jacket, pulling up the hood. I wish I could afford a new one, something thicker to ward off the humid chill, but then, if I had the money for one, I’d probably spend it on food or medicine, anyway.

  I’m standing across the abandoned street from the old club, now the elven base. It’s strange that they adde
d onto the old structure with their own architecture, making it look like a castle plucked from the dark ages.

  I chew my lip, waiting anxiously as one of the elven guards walks his round, passing just inside the fence. He’s already strode by twice, and in ten minutes another guard will go by. I wait just long enough to know he’s gone before I sneak forward and climb the iron fence. They open the gate during daytime hours, but that obviously won't work for what I plan to do.

  It isn’t until I am clambering down the other side that it occurs to me they may have placed magic on this fence. I snort in derision. If they’d used enchantment, I’d be dead already, or something.

  Magic doesn’t exist.

  Quick, Stella. Dive, find, and get out. I scamper over to the trash bin, pulling myself up easily. A street lamp gives me decent light as I frantically search through their garbage.

  I’m surprised by how clean their trash is. Hardly any food, hardly any waste, and no drug needles to speak of. It’s probably the most low-risk-for-disease junk I’ve ever sorted through.

  I discover half a paper-wrapped package of stale rolls, and I stuff that into my pack. I also find some small copper tubes and some gold wire. Jonah is always up for buying scrap metal.

  My breath catches when my fingers wrap around something cold and shiny, glittering in the lamplight. I pull it loose from the heap, my heart thumping. It appears to be crystal, about the size of my fist. And not just any crystal, one of the elves’ crystals, the kind they use to power their ships. I stare at it, my body shaking with the revelation of what I’ve just discovered. It couldn’t work anymore, or they wouldn’t have thrown it away, but it is considered space material and will fetch a pretty price. A very pretty price. I shove it in my hoodie pocket and, after listening in silence for thirty seconds, hoist myself over the edge, hop, jump and sprint for the fence. When I reach it, I leap, clambering up with as much speed as I can manage.