Page 82 of Starside

Dying is peaceful. It’s so quiet. So cold. It is like flying. I seize, my lungs burning with water, my throat contracting.

If I die, I’ll be with her. But will I be able to face her, and my parents, and Stellan, without anything to show for it? Will I be able to explain that I failed them all yet again?

Their deaths cannot be meaningless. They will be the spark of the flame that ends the gods once and for all, and then, maybe, all this suffering will have had a purpose.

I can’t die. Not yet.

I reach—reach. For in me is a flame desperate to live. Wanting to see just how far this rage might take me.

But I’m too far down. I kick my legs, but it’s useless. I’m fighting so hard, but I have no idea how to make it mean something.

My fingers are numb. They separate as my reaching hand begins to sink. My chest lurches. My heartbeat stutters.

The fire in me begins to die, every ember burning out, one by one. The world goes still and silent.

Far above, the water parts as something heavy breaks through it. Death has come to claim me.

He wears a hood.

It slips off his head as he swims, revealing a mask of glinting metal. That’s when I see them. Steel-gray eyes alit with fury, just like they were that day in the rain. I fight to keep hold of reality, so I can see more of him.

But I can’t. I blink and see only impending darkness. Only fingertips, inches apart, reaching—reaching—but not touching. Too late.

The water rushes in to fill my lungs as the darkness wins.

15

“Of course you can’t fucking swim,” a voice says above me as I seize, then promptly empty the limited contents of my stomach. “Of course you take a fucking gulp of water in shock. Like an idiot.”

That gulp of water burns my throat as I retch it up.

When I’m done, I look at him through my dripping eyelashes, wondering what I’m going to do with two massive swords when I murder him.

He doesn’t move an inch. All he says is, “Of course, mere hours into working together, you almost get us both killed. Over an illusion.” He shakes his head and curses.

My eyes prickle, remembering that illusion. My throat is raw from the retching. “You … you are a bastard. Do you know that?”

He tilts his head. His hood moves with it. Now, though, it’s firmly in place. I remember the sliver mask, though. I remember gray eyes. “What an interesting way to thank me for saving your pathetic life.”

“Thank you?” I laugh, then cough some more. My ribs ache. My skin is ice-cold. “We both know you would let me drown in an instant if you didn’t need the map.”

He doesn’t deny it.

The water was freezing. I shiver in spite of myself, my teeth chattering. He doesn’t give a damn. Of course he doesn’t.

He doesn’t seem cold at all. He’s prepared. He must have layers on beneath that armor.

I lean forward, nails sinking into the ground for purchase as another wave of nausea rocks through me. At the sound of gentle lapping, I look to my right. We’re on a tiny island, right in the middle of the lake.

And we are surrounded. Every inch of shoreline is covered by rancid, flesh-rotted demons. Waiting. Watching. I grab my sword.

Raker’s voice is grating. “Don’t waste what little energy you possess. They cannot cross. They’ll be gone when the sun rises.” I look over at him, sitting, his sword dug into the dirt in front of him.

He isn’t worried in the slightest that I might take it. I probably can’t, I think, after having seen so many people try to take my own.

Could he move mine? He’s Harlan Raker. Maybe he’s capable of moving any sword.

I don’t plan on finding out.