Page 109 of Starside

I follow in silence.

He’s going north. He must see what I do—that although this village was overcome, there are the faintest signs that the rot is lessening the farther north we travel. There are a few blades of grass peeking through the dirt, and the occasional sparse tree.

The Land of the Gods is northeast, anyway. We aren’t going too far off the path. And we both know we won’t make it there without food or water. We just need a lucky break.

After hours of walking, we finally reach a river that is only slightly clouded in color. Not clean enough to drink, though I’m almost desperate enough to try. I reach my hand inside, just to smell it—and Raker snarls at me. Begrudgingly, I remove my fingers.

There’s an old bridge made of crumbling gray stone that curves over the water. It isn’t wide. It isn’t long either.

We’re both exhausted, but still, he says, “Unsheathe your blade.”

I expect another position. But Raker just stares at me, and says, “Again. Shoulders down, this time.”

I do it again.

He shakes his head, reaches back. Then, all at once, his silver is in front of him. He’s so fast, it becomes just a streak of metal. He sheaths it again. “Like that.”

I grind my teeth. I didn’t even fucking see what he did, since it was so quick. I try again.

He exhales deeply. Then, far slower than before, he reaches back again. This time, he uses both hands. It’s for my own benefit, I know, since he only unsheathes his with one.

I watch the angles of his arms. His posture. His stance. I try again.

“Better,” he admits, and I’m beaming.

“But you’re so slow, your head will hit the ground before you even get your blade out.”

I scowl at him, and try again, faster.

He shakes his head. “Dead.”

Teeth gritted, I do it again, arms screaming.

“Still dead.”

Irritation flares through me, and this time I’m so fast, I surprise myself with my speed. My blade blurs.

I’m panting, but the bastard still says, “Dead.”

“You’re wrong,” I snarl, chest rising and falling.

“Am I?”

“Yes.” To prove it, I sheath my blade, then take it out again, and this time, I’m more than half a second faster than I was before, my metal arcing and—

It’s still in the air, pointed toward the sky, not even in front of me at all.

And Raker’s sword is at my throat.

His metal skims my pulse. “Dead without question,” he says from the other end of it, his voice a rough whisper in the darkness. I swallow, his blade following the movement. All it would take is a millimeter less precision, and I would be bleeding out in seconds. My lips part.

Then, in a flash, his sword is gone, and I’m left burning in frustration. But instead of stalking off, like I expect, he says, “Again.”

And this time, we do it together. He sheaths and unsheathes his weapon, so much faster than I am, but strangely, with him doing it at the same time, it pushes my limits. Makes me quicker than I ever thought possible.

“Good,” he finally says, and I think I might keel over in shock. He notices my surprise and happiness, and makes sure to snuff it out by adding, “For you.”

I glare at him.