It has never felt as dark as this. Now I’m also a murderer. A killer. No better than those I’m running from. Do I evendeserveto live?
My depressing train of thought is interrupted as convulsions run through my body, forcing me onto my hands and knees for yet another round of vomiting up my guts. I’ve barely had a handful of berries to eat all day, but it’s all coming back up.
Then, as the sun sets and the darkness of a moonless night envelops me, I collapse onto the ground. Lying on my side, I stare at the soul star of Mah, now twinkling above the tall summits. It’s easier to see her now during the dark moons.
I let out a dry laugh.Of coursethat’s where I’m going. Too weary to even consider the arduous journey through the massive mountain range, I flip onto my back and stare at the night sky as one soul after another lights up the dark canvas.
My last thoughts before my eyelids droop are that I can’t stay there. That I’m too exposed. That I need to find shelter. Make a fire. That I’ll freeze to death. And then I don’t remember thinking anymore.
I HAVE VAGUE MEMORIES OF the night when I wake. Of pulling my cloak tight around me, knees to chest, teeth clattering, wanting to ward off the cold but too lost in sleep to do anything about it. And then an unexpected warmth enveloped me, as if I was wrapped in fur.
Pushing myself into a seated position, I stare at the large paw prints surrounding the spot where I’ve been sleeping. Reaching out, my fingers brush against the cool, damp earth of the enormous paw print. It’s the same type I saw when waking by the river my first night outside of the Voidlands.
I’ve always feared wolves. In Bronich, people were killed by wolves on more than one occasion, and the minister constantly warned against them. How much heed I should give the minister’s words is an entirely different matter. Between him and the wolves, it’s becoming quite clear who’s more dangerous.
My stomach growls, and I turn my attention to the more peculiar part of my morning: the winged hare—what I now know to be a flutterhare—lying on the ground next to me. Dead. Someone may be watching out for me after all.
I’m still weak from my wound—if anything, its edges have darkened, and it continues to leak a steady stream of blood—but knowing I’ll die if I don’t find heat and shelter, I wrap my cloak around myself, hang my satchel across my shoulder, and grab the flutterhare by its ears. Although I can barely manage a straight walk, it would be foolish to stay up here on top of the peak, where my silhouette stands out for all to see if they’re looking—which they most certainly are.
A short walk down the mountain, I find a nice sheltered cave next to a small waterfall, and soon my waterskin is filled up, my thirst is quenched, and I have a fire going, thawing my frozen bones. It appears luck is finally on my side.
Gnawing on a leg of freshly grilled flutterhare, I consider my options. I’m not doing great, but after sleeping and with food and water in my belly, Iamfeeling better. Still, my situation is far from ideal. Not that my situation ever has been, but it’s certainly been better than this. Not only am I wounded, but I’ve also lost Maeve, and without her, I don’t know if I’ll make it in time, even with my best efforts. I could try to steal a horse, but with the severity of my wound, a healer should be a priority over a horse, if I want to live at all. And then there’s the growing list of those who want me dead.
I let out a heavy sigh. I’ll be lucky if I make it halfway there without a knife finding my back. Life surely wasn’t this complicated as a property in Bronich. Having someone else command you doesn’t leave you with many choices.
I wrap the remaining flutterhare in cloth and put it in my satchel to eat later. Would it be better to give up and give in? To stop fighting?
No, I decide. But my guilt over Reü’s death needs to end. He decided to join the Void, after all. And whatever intentions Llyr has, I don’t believe he’s working to advance the Void. He always acts with the greater good in mind. If he thinks that sacrificing me is the best course of action, that my soul pieces will make Aster strong enough to defeat Casimir, hinder the Void from taking over Rea, he would do that. Then why did helet me go?
I tear off another piece of the robe and wince as I wrap my broken pinkie. In the morning light, it looks grotesque—twisted at an unnatural angle, swollen to twice its normal size, and painted in shades of deep purple and sickly yellow.
Why me? Why was I the one chosen to die for their cause? Because I’m human? Because I’m weak? Because they thought I wouldn’t fight back? Well, they were wrong.
I close my eyes, my choice weighing on my shoulders. Is my selfishness risking the entire existence of this beautiful planet? Am I condemning the mountains in front of me to be forever shrouded in fog, their majestic snow-clad peaks hidden from view by a low-hanging gray cloud cover? There would be no more shining souls twinkling in the night sky. No moons. No rays of sunshine.
If they were honest from the beginning, would I have stayed? Everyone dies eventually, and my sacrifice would have ensured others got to live in a world that was alive—not in the dreary world I was raised in, which was as good as dead.
But would that have been the right choice? Maybe they don’t know what’s right either, although they sure act like they do. The dark-eyed lady wanted me to go to Anam’gate, after all. And so did Ero. If it tells me anything, it’s that this situation is not as black or white as they would have it be.
I told Llyr the truth back at the Arc: I’m worth saving too. Not because I’m special. Not because I’m powerful. But because I’m alive, and my life has value. They raised me to believe I was nothing but a property. But I am a person. I have thoughts, dreams, fears.I matter.
So no, I decide. I will make it to Anam’gate if it’s the last thing I do. I want those pieces. Want answers. Then I can die.
SOMEHOW, I MAKE IT DOWN the mountain’s northern face. Parts of the decline were so steep that I had to cling to roots and pieces ofrock—not an easy feat with one hand injured and the other clutching my side, keeping my bandages in check.
Situated on a lower ridge, I stare at the valley below, wind whipping through my hair as I locate the caravan trail snaking its way through the rugged, mountainous terrain. With the general direction in hand, I push onward, following the stream that cuts through the tight cluster of birch trees.
As I pause to sip some water, the sound of muffled voices reaches me from somewhere deeper in the birch woods to my left.
“Remind me again why I decided to come with you.”
I freeze, heart pounding in my chest.That voice.
“Only if you remind me why I asked you in the first place,” comes the grumbling answer, followed by, “Ouch!”
I blink. Am I losing my mind? Beginning to hear things that aren’t there?
At the orphanage, Mistress Andrine often read us a story—one of the two the orphanage possessed—about a man lost at sea. Trapped on his boat for days without water, he became so delusional from dehydration that he started to envision fresh barrels of water everywhere. Have I become that man?
