Fragments of a Fallen Star by Viano Oniomoh

Author:Viano Oniomoh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Viano Oniomoh

14 . A CERTAIN SHIP

MOIRA BLINKED, TOO STARTLED TO respond coherently. “What?”

Malcom smiled encouragingly. “Would you like to share your story with us, Moira?”

Moira swallowed. Her stomach lurched sickeningly at having all those eyes on her. She happened to glance in Nailah’s direction—she’d almost forgotten Nailah was even there, silent and still as she was in the corner—and found Nailah looking at her worriedly. Her eyes seemed to say Moira didn’t have to. But Moira thought maybe she needed to.

Aratope echoed Nailah’s silent assurance, placing a gentle hand on Moira’s. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. Or you can share something funny that has nothing to do with how you got here.” Aratope lowered her voice even further, so only Moira would hear, “We know you’re probably not here to stay, so please don’t feel obliged to share anything serious, okay? The crew will understand.”

The assumption was true, but for some reason it stung.

“Hey.” Moira glanced at Kelechi. They were smirking. “It’s all right to be nervous. After all, it is your first time.” They leered.

Practically the entire cabin groaned. Didi threw a sock. Moira wondered where the fuck Didi was getting her seemingly endless supply of socks, and it was that thought that broke the tension.

Snorting out a quiet laugh, she said, a bit nervously, “Okay. Um. Okay.”

“Woot, woot!”

Some of them began to clap and wolf-whistle, while Moira blushed hotly, her heart pounding with anxiety. She couldn’t help but glance at Nailah again, and saw that Nailah had relaxed a little, though her stare was now intense, focused. Those eyes spoke of wanting to know her—everything about her.

Trembling, Moira forced herself to look away, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress.

She’d planned to parrot the same story she’d told Nailah when they’d met; a sanitized version of her running away from Thinkell because of the pity and the judgment without going in too deeply about the whys and the hows and the what happeneds; maybe she’d add some theatrics to the story by talking about finding herself in Motule Budbeer’s clutches until Nailah had saved her from certain death.

But when she opened her mouth, what she said was:

“It was early spring, back at my home, on the tiny independent island known as Thinkell. I’d just graduated from secondary school and was apprenticing to be a captain like my father.”

Maybe it was the softness in the air, the fact that it didn’t matter how the crew had gotten here, just that they had, and they were together, and Moira desperately wanted to be a part of that. Maybe it was because, for some reason, some part of her knew she could unburden herself here without feeling wretched about it, without having to defend and explain and sanitize. No one had commented on the other’s stories; they’d listened, they’d accepted it, and their cheers and quiet applause had been their validation.

Moira couldn’t look any of them in the eye, had to grip her hands together tightly between her legs to keep them from shaking.

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