More Than Dust

By Cortney Manning

“We’re more than dust,” Auntie Nadya asserted.

Eight-year-old Pevka sniffled and swiped his fist under his nose.

Without dropping her shovel, Auntie pressed her handkerchief into his hand. Then she shoved her spade into the pile of silver stardust beside her, expertly hefting it to determine its weight before tossing the load into the train’s rumbling engine.

“Don’t listen to those boys,” she said. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Frustration boiled in Pevka’s gut, and he tossed a clump of stardust at the window, feeling as empty as the black expanse of space outside. “But they’re right. I am just a duster. They have everything—moon-tossers, private cabins… parents.”

Auntie Nadya set aside her shovel to wrap her arms around Pevka in an embrace that smothered his sorrow. Nadya wasn’t really his aunt, but she was the closest thing to family he had. “They don’t have everything, you know.”

Her fierce hug ended too quickly, and Pevka felt himself leaning into vacant air as she returned to her work without breaking rhythm. He understood why she released him so quickly. Dusters couldn’t abandon their posts. Their work was taxing, requiring knowledge and timing. Too little stardust, and the train would stall, creating hours of back-breaking labor and angry passengers. Too much, and the engine could explode.

Still, Pevka’s young heart longed for more. “What don’t they have?”

Auntie leaned against the handle of her shovel to observe him. Gray streaked through her chestnut hair—some from age, some from spent stardust coating the strands.

“They taunt you because they sense you have a purpose. One they don’t share.”

“Me?” Pevka scoffed. “I’m an assistant duster. I’m nobody.”

Auntie’s arm dropped to her hip. “Even nobodies can do amazing things. How would this train run without us?”

Pevka swallowed and looked at the pinpricks of stars dotting the expanse beyond the windowpane. “It wouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Come, Pevka. Let me tell you a story.”

He stepped beside her as she hefted another shovelful of dust. Auntie’s stories always carried him far from the close walls of the engine room. Through her tales, he explored distant cities and massive planets. Her words seemed to transform the floating specks of stardust into royal courts with dashing rulers.

“There once was a kindly king with many sons.”

“Were they strong?” Pevka prompted, settling into the rhythm of the story.

“Some were.” Auntie tossed a large clump from her shovel into the hungry engine and shrugged. “Others were smart or artistic. They were happy, and so were their servants.”

Pevka’s brow scrunched into a frown. “Why were the servants happy?”

“They enjoyed their work because it was valued. They were valued.” The corners of her mouth turned down as she wiped the protective fabric of her armband across her sweaty face. “Until the king remarried.”

“Was the new queen evil?”

Auntie’s jaw tightened, and Pevka felt the chill of space through the window glass. “Her choices were. Soon the king grew ill, and it became clear the kingdom would pass to his sons.”

“Was it a large kingdom?”

“It stretched across the galaxy.”

Pevka’s eyes widened. “Did the king die?”

For a moment, Auntie didn’t speak, and only the growls of the engine filled the air.

“Yes,” she murmured at last, “but the queen didn’t want to lose her power. She threw a feast for her stepsons, ‘an opportunity to celebrate their father’s life,’ she claimed.”

Pevka felt his stomach growl. “Was there lots of food?”

Auntie grinned and patted his waist. “Only the finest delicacies from every planet. But there was poison in the food as well.”

A gasp escaped his lips. “Did the princes die?”

“Those who came. Her guards hunted and slew the rest.”

Pevka swallowed. “All the princes died? But that’s not right!” He crossed his arms. “The story needs a happy ending!”

For a moment Auntie’s eyes clouded, as if her mind had traveled far away. “Some stories need time to be written.”

“She really killed the whole royal family?”

“She tried.” Auntie nodded, then straightened her shoulders. “The king’s young grandchild was in the care of a nurse, but the queen focused only on royalty and ignored the servants.”

Pevka’s mouth dropped open. “Did she kill the baby, too?”

“Almost. But she underestimated his caretaker.”

Pevka leaned closer. “What did she do?”

“Barred the door and carried the child through a window.” Auntie tossed another load of dust, and her eyes reflected the light from the engine.

“Did she get away?”

“No.” Auntie’s shovel struck the floor with a thud. “The guards found her boarding a train. One drew his energy rod and slammed it against her arm.”

Pevka cringed. “Did she drop the baby?”

“No, she held tightly as the rod’s crescent tip bored into her skin. Then the safety dome dropped over the train’s railing, and they were off.”

As she spoke, she straightened her armband, and Pevka glimpsed the imprint of a crescent-shaped scar.

His stomach flipped as if the train had plummeted. Implications flooded his mind, and he swallowed the panic rising in his throat.

“What if I—what if the prince isn’t a good leader? What if he can’t help his people? What if—”

“If a nurse can defy a queen, what do you think a prince can do?”

Pevka leaned against the window, unsure he wanted to be anything other than a duster anymore. “Must the prince return one day?”

“If he chooses to.” Auntie’s razor-sharp gaze nicked Pevka’s soul. “And he won’t be ashamed of who he is.”

“I wish I was brave,” Pevka whispered. “Like you, Auntie.”

“If dusters can bring light to darkness”—Auntie gestured to the flaring engine—“and move a dormant machine across the stars, then you can learn to be brave.” She planted a kiss against his cheek. “You are more than dust.”

Her words resonated with new meaning in Pevka’s heart as he returned his gaze to the stars.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cortney Manning resides in Missouri but has always loved traveling the world. She holds a master’s degree in Victorian Literature from the University of Glasgow and has a not-so-secret love of fantasy as well. Her writing can be found on her website and in the Rooglewood Press anthology, Five Poisoned Apples. In her free time, Cortney enjoys walking, drawing, and afternoon tea.

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