Page 42 of Starside

I was so focused on the water, I barely looked at the trees. Now I see that they’re ancient and twisted, roots knotted together.

“You’re … offering us a place to stay?” Kira says, sounding the words out slowly, as if she still can’t make sense of them.

The immortal nods. “You’ll die out here,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Why?” Zane demands.

“Night is a deadly time, even for us.” What does that even mean?

Nothing in life is given freely, regardless of which side of the gates we’re on. I know that for certain. “And in exchange?”

The immortal’s purple eyes twinkle in the growing darkness. “Let me see your clothes. The contents of your pockets. Tell me about the other side.”

I blink, having expected anything but everything that just left his mouth. Also—why would an immortal care about our pockets?

“I’m not letting you see my clothes,” Kira practically spits at him.

The immortal shrugs. “Have it your way.” He turns his back to us. “I’ll search your bodies tomorrow. If there’s anything left.”

Then he makes his way back into the forest from which he came.

Zane looks over at us.

“He could be lying about night being deadly, just to get us to go with him,” I offer.

“Yes, but what if he’s not?” Kira retorts. “We aren’t close to the first village on your route, are we?”

Zane shakes his head. “We won’t reach it for days. I assumed we’d camp outside.” Because we didn’t know about the threat of night.

The person who made this map clearly didn’t face the same challenge, given their path. It could be proof the immortal is lying … but the last Questral was half a century ago. Things could have changed. I turn. The sun is almost touching the horizon.

My stomach twists with hunger. Already.

I wonder if the strange immortal’s offer comes with food. They don’t eat, do they? Would he have anything for us?

Evening wind whips the strands of hair that have gone loose. Chills ripple down my arms.

We all look at one another.

Without another word, we rush out of the pool and into the forest.

We catch up to the immortal quickly, and he brightens. “Good. Yes, good. Alive is better. I have so many questions for you.”

I frown. “Why?”

He glances at the sinking sun and hurries his pace, making me think the threat might actually be serious. “I’m a scholar, of course. Do they have those on the other side?”

I almost laugh. We don’t study—we survive. But historians did exist, once. I know, because Stellan had a book that he kept in his room, with a dusty cover and yellowed pages. About a year after he found me, I snuck in and started to read it, hoping it would be entertaining.

It wasn’t. I promptly slammed it closed and never opened it again. Maybe I should have.

The thought of Stellan makes my throat tight.

“No,” I say simply.

“Then my work is even more important,” he says, almost to himself. “I’m Pelas. Level Five.”

“Level Five?” Kira asks.