Page 36 of Starside

Faint at first. Nearly masked by the wind.

Then it’s a roaring. Yelling. Running.

Challengers, screaming. My body stills, trying to hear the words they’re belting out, but I can’t. I can see them, though, in the distance. There’s a wall of them, running for their lives—

Only to be overcome and crushed by nothing short of a stampede. Creatures with horns like javelins are running toward us, heads dipped low, cutting down everything in their path.

“Oryx,” I hear someone say.

“Run.”

The crowd around me scatters. I take off after them, then stop myself. I remember the first trial of the Culling, in the forest. How some challengers ran and were killed by the archers who scaled the trees.

I won’t be fast enough. I’ll be crushed.

Just sheathing my new blade nearly makes me fall over, but in a rush of panic, I do, then race to the closest trunk and begin to scale it. Some around me have the same idea. Others flee.

The lower branches aren’t stable. My sword adds too much weight. Wood snaps below my foot, and my back hits the ground, stealing my breath. I gasp for air, fighting to move, but I can’t. They’re coming. The ground rattles beneath my spine.

Fucking move!

I throw my body around another tree and force my way up, nails shredding, the bark scraping my hands raw. I turn. The first of the oryx are almost here. I’m still too low.

With a groan that scrapes the back of my throat, I reach for a higher branch and hope it doesn’t snap this time. My fingers lock around it, and then I’m hanging.

A thud sounds a few yards away. A challenger has fallen from her tree. She’s scrambling to get up.

Too late. The oryx are here. She’s crushed beneath their hooves.

I’m still too low. I fight to pull myself up, but my new blade is pulling me down. My arms tremble as I lift, inch by inch, and reach for the next branch.

If it snaps, I’m done. It’s a risk. As it stands, though, the creatures will tear my legs to ribbons.

I wrap my hand around the wood and pull—

My entire body lifts, just out of the way of the first pair of horns. I swing wildly, bending my knees, feet barely clearing the oryx’s head.

I reach to the side, shifting my grip, muscles clenching and burning, until my legs can wrap around the trunk.

Then they’re all right below me, and I hold on for dear life.

The stampede tears through the forest, and my very bones rattle. My teeth chatter. The tree sways from side to side, but I hold on, my fingernails slicing through the wood. Branches snap around me. Another challenger falls and is skewered on a pair of horns. Her body rides the charge like a wave, her eyes wide, blood spurting everywhere.

The swords trapped in the trees clash together. I look up—and barely swing out of the way of a fallen blade, cutting branches on its way down. My grip loosens.

One of my hands slips.

My stomach drops as I hang, feet kicking, just above the sea of horns. There’s no gap in the stampede. If I fall, I’m dead. My palms go slick.

No. I will not let fear be my death. My eyes close. I think of climbing trees with my sister, in that rare stretch of forest. I think of running and playing games until we had to lie down because our hearts were beating too fast. I think of smiling up at the sun and being excited to do it all again tomorrow.

This will not kill me. I will survive this. I will hold on.

With all the strength I can summon, I pull myself back up, arms shaking, until I reach a steadier branch. I wrap my limbs around the trunk again and will the tree to hold. It shakes so wildly I nearly retch from the movement. My hands begin to bleed, and my fingers almost slip, but I hold on. With every tremor, I hold on. As trees fall around me, I hold on.

Until the forest stills. It’s several moments before I open my eyes and slowly look down.

All that’s left are bodies, mangled beyond recognition, and a few gleaming swords that were shaken from the branches. Some remain on the ground; others fly up and are trapped yet again. None rivals my new weapon. The remaining tombstones are now just piles of ruin.