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  Destiny’s Blood

  Copyright © 2010 Marie Bilodeau

  Cover Art © 2010 Kari-Ann Anderson

  All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First of all, I’d like to thank the fine folk of Dragon Moon Press for making Destiny’s Blood all that it could be. Thanks to Gwen Gades for cheerfully accepting the manuscript (and for being a hoot), to Gabrielle Harbowy for her careful edits and mad word-wielding skillz, and to Kari-Ann Anderson for designing the wicked cover.

  And of course the story would never have happened without family and friends. Destiny’s Blood has been in the works since I finished the first tentatively titled manuscript Night Blooms in 2003. Only two scenes from that manuscript made it in the final version of Destiny’s Blood, and my friends and family made the pain of slaughtering the first manuscript bearable and even fun. A big thank you to my brother for many hours of brainstorming and discussing plot ideas and for coming up with feasible ways of destroying solar systems. My mother, Suzanne Desjardins, for always ensuring that I ate properly and regularly during writing sprees. My father, Gilles Bilodeau, and my stepmother, Nicole Caouette, for cheering from afar. The YTBNT — Karen Force, Kerri Elizabeth Gerow, Katherine Graham and Jessica Torrance — for providing countless hours of silliness and inspiration.

  Thanks to those who provided writing space and quiet to finish the novel, including Martin Gallant, Doug Force, Greg and Ronda Jo Graham, and Francis Rounding and June Shopian. And to the wicked staff of the Second Cup at Lisgar and Elgin who provided a perfect writing space every morning.

  This manuscript wouldn’t have made it to final format without my many test readers which, though many are already thanked above, included the wonderfully high-heeled Sarah Watts-Rynard, as well as Hubert Chan and Réjean Loyer.

  And a big thank you to those in the writing community who provided guidance, encouragement and feedback, including Robert J. Sawyer, Kristine Kathryn Rusch and Anne Perry. They are a few of the fine writers in the community who lend their time, energy and expertise to new and upcoming writers, helping them to harvest their own dreams.

  Thanks to those who inspired, encouraged and cheered on, whether they recall it or not: Nicole Soucy, David Kelly, John Saliba, Ida Miller, Trevor Banks and Tasha Currier, Larry Stewart, Brian and Anita Hades, Megan Postin, Laurie Clement, Sean Zio, Kathryn Hunt, Ruthanne Edward, and the many others that I’ll later swear loudly later for having forgotten to include here. A special thanks to Jean-Pierre Giroux for his unfailing enthusiasm for the word “blood.”

  Finally, I’d like to acknowledge the tireless contributions of Utnapishim II, known to friends as Utnu, who laboured on this and many other manuscripts until his little digital brain gave out. Your non-Windows ways are deeply missed.

  DEDICATION

  To my brother, Jean-François Bilodeau, who always encouraged me to reach for the stars (and for explaining to me just how bad an idea that was in astronomical terms).

  PART I

  NIGHT BLOOMS

  CHAPTER 1

  Layela had already jammed the key in the lock when she noticed that Yoma, her twin sister, was no longer beside her. Resisting the urge to simply walk into their flower shop and lose the last threads of her dream in the various exotic scents, Layela took a deep, stale breath and turned around.

  The night was still thick, the darkness not yet pierced by the weak sun of Collar, but she still easily spotted her sister under a flickering streetlight. Yoma’s features bore the same deep look of indecision that had been etched on her face since she had broken Layela free of the dark vision that had ensnared her dreams.

  Darkness. A shiver ran down her spine and Layela wished she could remember more of her vision than just a vague impression of thick tar smothering her mind and clutching her stomach. She tucked her hands into her pockets to ward off the cool night air and walked back towards her sister, one quick step after another falling on the dark, familiar pavement.

  She came to a stop beside Yoma, who was looking up towards the sign of their shop. Layela glanced sideways at her, ignored the clinging nausea left behind by the vision and lack of sleep, and forced a smile as she spoke.

  “It reads Sunrise Flowers, Yoma. Maybe glasses would be in order?”

  “Maybe it should be Sunset Flowers,” Yoma said, so softly that Layela strained to hear.

  “What do you mean?”

  Yoma lowered her gaze, focusing on the palm of her right hand, curling her fingers into a fist before flexing them again, her green eyes flickering with indecision.

  “Yoma, are you all right?” Layela asked, wishing she could laugh her sister’s behaviour away and dispel the growing queasiness of her stomach. Too much was at stake now and everything should be going smoothly. Had she not planned for every eventuality? Wasn’t today supposed to be the start of something new and safe for both of them?

  Her sister gazed, eyes unfocused, at the sign. Growing increasingly worried, Layela put her hand on her sister’s arm and whispered her childhood nickname, the same name Layela used to whisper when calling out to her sister after waking from a dark dream.

  “Feathers?”

  “Some things should end, and others never begin,” Yoma whispered, turning to face Layela, all hesitation vanishing as they locked eyes. A new edge lined her voice as she spoke. “These hands are meant for thieving, Layela, not for cutting flowers!”

  “What are you talking about, Yoma?” Layela asked, fighting to keep her hands at her side; they twitched to slap sense into her sister. “You love flowers, too. You’re the one who always stole them for me!”

  Yoma looked away and Layela’s stomach somersaulted. She could feel her sister slipping out of her grasp. She struggled silently for the right words to bring her back, but Yoma answered before she could find them.

  “I love them because you do,” Yoma said, her voice picking up speed. “But they aren’t me. You’re finally taken care of. Maybe it’s time I take care of myself, now.”

  “What in the forty bloody Solarian Stars do you mean I’m finally taken care of?” Layela’s voice echoed across the empty buildings. “We take care of each other — it’s always been that way. And this,” she said, wildly pointing at the shop, “is the result of that! What do you bloody think we’ve been working so hard to achieve?”

  She paused, fighting hard to regain control of her seething anger. Yoma had pulled stupid stunts before and had always been too stubborn for her own good, but the twins had always supported each other and stuck together. That was how they had survived since they were orphans living on the streets. What game was Yoma playing at now?

  “You’re right, Layela. We do always take care of each other.” Layela released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

  Layela grinned at Yoma — her sister was coming to her senses. She walked towards the door and opened it, but when she turned around, Yoma was gone, her thief’s steps too silent for even her sister to hear.

  i

  The bell chimed as some customers walked out, and Layela couldn’t help but look at the door, in case her sister also happened to wander in at the
same time. She sighed when no one else walked in, and focused back on her young customer and the exotic bloom she now held. She began to sing, wishing her heart didn’t feel so heavy.

  Rise gentle flower, rise with the rain,

  Rise my love, dare to bloom again,

  Shine like the sun, like the light of day,

  Shine, shine forever, always with me stay.

  The Lacile flower’s petals bowed and opened, responding to Layela’s gentle urgings. She whispered the final words, the girl’s look of wonder more beautiful to her than any light produced by the Lacile. She remembered the look of wonder on Yoma’s face, years ago, when she had shown her twin the hidden beauty of the Lacile. Where was Yoma? She needed — no, she just wanted her sister by her side. This was their accomplishment, and she should be here to see it take flight!

  “Does it always do that?” the young girl whispered, as if afraid of frightening the flower into hiding.

  Layela knelt beside her, lowering the flower so that the child could fully see it.

  “It only blooms once, but it lasts for a long time, if you take care of it and sing to it often.”

  Gently the girl touched the petals, a bit of the glowing pollen clinging to her fingers. She looked up at her mother, her small face imploring. Layela struggled back to her feet, still feeling sluggish from the lack of sleep.

  “We’ll take it,” the mother said briskly, her foot tapping on the floor.

  Layela nodded and carefully wrapped the flower in dark fabrics to preserve its glow. Even the weak sun of this planet could be enough to harm the Lacile, unlike the rest of her flowers. If not for strong lights in the growing rooms and special fertilizers to help promote photosynthesis, she doubted any of her flowers would live.

  “Thank you,” Layela said to the last two customers of the day as they left. She smiled as she stood behind the counter, looking at her already depleted stocks. It was a beautiful sight. She had been right, after all. Flowers were needed to brighten up the dark, bleak landscape of Collar.

  As she looked around and found herself alone with her remaining blooms, her sense of elation was quickly crushed. The twins argued fairly regularly, but Yoma had never before left for so long without first warning Layela. Would Yoma really endanger all of their hard work for the adrenaline rush of thieving? Could she be in trouble?

  She locked the shop, closing time having come and gone. Worry and anger strained her every breath. This was supposed to be for both of them. This was their work, years of planning, of sacrificing what little they had gained, and now Yoma decided she didn’t want it anymore? Granted, Yoma had always been more reckless, but this was ridiculous.

  She forced a deep breath into her lungs. Yoma would be fine, and would come back. Layela was only letting worry get the best of her because she was tired from last night’s vision. She released the breath, her anger dissipating and numbness clutching her limbs.

  She took another deep breath, trying to coax the more recent vision to her mind, but, as usual, she remembered nothing. Not this vision, nor older ones. She remembered very little about the visions imposed on her years ago, but she did remember how she had felt at the time, afraid and alone. Not fulfilled and secured like she felt now.

  “I’m so happy for you, Layl,” the voice came from behind her, and Layela quickly turned around, her mind racing to identify the familiar voice, disappointed it was not her sister’s.

  “Josmere,” she said as she spotted the Berganda leaning against a wall, her skin and hair blending in with the surroundings. Her physique was human, but her skin was green, her hair revealed long curled leaves when examined closely enough, and her veins were filled with chlorophyll, not blood. By her simple travelling clothes, brown pants and loose beige shirt, Layela guessed she had just recently returned to Collar.

  The day that Yoma left, her best friend happened to show up, after an absence of almost a year? Layela had never believed in coincidences, and this deepened her disbelief. At least Josmere’s appearance proved two things to Layela: that Yoma probably had no intention of giving up her old ways as she had promised Layela she would, and that she was planning something probably stupid and more than likely dangerous.

  “I’d have announced my presence sooner, but I was enjoying your singing,” Josmere said with a slight grin, her eyes searching out Layela’s.

  “Why don’t I believe your showing up here is a coincidence?” Layela snapped, walking towards the cash register to tally the day’s sales.

  Josmere’s confusion did nothing to calm Layela. “What do you mean, coincidence?”

  Layela shook her head, not willing to play along. She used to, when she was younger and more stupid. She had also once convinced herself that her sister would give up thieving, and that her powers of vision could be of use.

  But not this time. She wanted nothing to do with whatever scheme they were involved in. She just wanted Josmere to leave and never come again. To leave her in peace with her flowers and satisfaction, without interference, without intrigue and without illegal activities. Visions tugged at her mind, refusing to show themselves but refusing to stay silent.

  “Where’s Yoma?” Josmere finally asked.

  Layela looked up, disbelief pulsing through her like venom. But the green eyes looking back at her were sincere and lined with concern. If nothing else, after being tricked so often, Layela had learned how to tell when Josmere and Yoma were lying. They hadn’t always excluded her, after all. Layela had been hurt badly a few years ago, and it had taken her months to recover. Ever since then, her sister and Josmere had been secretive, as though her protection relied on her knowing less.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Layela asked, her voice rising. “She left this morning without a word, and I haven’t seen her since. And now you’re here? Come on, Josmere, you can’t expect me to believe that you don’t know anything about this!”

  “I was supposed to meet her here today,” the Berganda responded, her head shaking her loose hair back and forth, intensity dripping from every word. “Here. Now. She’s supposed to be here, Layl.”

  “What were you two planning that’s so important?” Layela demanded. In all of the years that she, her sister and Josmere had survived together, never once had she known Yoma and Josmere to miss a set meeting. It was a practice that had saved their lives on more than one occasion.

  Josmere shrugged and focused on some Booknot plants. They were well known for their sentient qualities, and were by far her favourite type of plant life. As a Berganda, Josmere had the ability to communicate telepathically with others from her race and with certain types of plant.

  “They’re very happy here,” Josmere said, smiling at the plants. Layela resisted the urge to hit the woman in the back of the head. She had tried that too, once, and had learned that Josmere was not as weak as she looked.

  “You can have them, if you’d like,” Layela said, keeping her hands busy rearranging some blue flowers with rotating hearts. “It’s illegal to sell them in these parts, since they’re sentient, but I had to buy them when some smugglers brought them in. The poor things needed a lot of care. Kind of like a Berganda would, were she to be beaten up by her friend.”

  Josmere ignored Layela’s sarcastic comment, making Layela even angrier. “I think they’re fine here,” Josmere looked around the shop some more, her careful steps telling Layela that she was deciding what to do next.

  Josmere stopped before some blooms kept in a locked glass case.

  “Pomboms? You keep Pomboms in your shop?” Josmere asked, shooting an incredulous look at Layela, who simply shrugged.

  “They’re safe enough behind the glass, and in another two nights they won’t be explosive anymore. They’ll bloom beautifully and sell well.” Josmere shot her a grin and continued looking around. Layela felt her patience dripping faster than the ink from the pen with which she was tallying sales.

  Layela sighed. There was no use pushing for information, and if she kept Jo
smere close, then chances were she would see Yoma again soon. And then she could beat them both up.

  Three loud knocks sounded on the protective outside metal door, scattering her thoughts.

  Josmere reacted instinctively and was beside the door in moments, looking through a small window.

  “Josmere, we’re not on the streets anymore,” Layela said, annoyed. “Normal people don’t do that. They open the door.”

  “They don’t look friendly to me,” Josmere whispered, backing away out of sight. Layela sighed and opened the door, making sure not to show any hesitation to Josmere. Over. It was over, this life of running and hiding. It was why they had founded Sunrise Flowers — to mark the beginning of a new life. She had never before thought that she might have to pursue her dream alone. She clutched the side of the door, fighting the hollowness in her stomach.

  Three men stood in the doorway. One, she guessed, was a government official, dressed in an expensive suit with an air to match it, fatigue plastered in the dark rims under his eyes and in the sparse growth of his beard. He jingled keys in his hands. The two others were marked by dark smoky uniforms and a sun symbol. Layela swallowed hard. Solarian soldiers had full jurisdiction on Collar.

  She forced herself to keep her ground, her feet aching with the need to back up, to move, to run away. Every encounter she had ever had with Solarian soldiers had not been pleasant.

  “Layela Delamores?” the government official asked, flashing his badge at her. Layela barely had the time to read his name, Coyal something or other, from the Ministry of Solarian Defence.

  She smiled and nodded. She was not a criminal. She was a business owner. A flower shop owner. There was no need to act like anything else.

  “May I see your Interplanetary Passport?”

  No introduction, no hellos. It seemed like an arrest, but all they wanted was to see her passport, and the soldiers were not holding their guns. Not yet, anyway. Layela walked back towards the counter, her hands in plain sight and every step paced so as not to give the two soldiers any reason to believe she posed a threat. The two soldiers walked into the shop, their footsteps soft but still echoing on the clean floor. They followed her closely, their black and grey uniforms invading her peripheral vision on both sides, and she fought the urge to hunch her back.