Page 86 of Starside

My spine hits a rock, and light explodes behind my eyelids. There’s no time for pain. I’m immediately swept into the current’s relentless hold, my body turning, toppling, scraping against the daggerlike stones, sharpened into points by the rough water. I reach out blindly and manage to grab on to a rock, splitting my palm in the process.

With a desperate jolt, I grip it, nails breaking, and lift myself out of the shallow water, fighting the current, fighting for air. I turn the moment I can and see the flesh-stitched creature, peering into the water. Right over me. Waiting.

Head pounding, spine a lightning bolt of pain, I reach for another rock. Another. Slowly, I pull myself through the current, sword still clutched in my other palm, toward that narrow strip of land, until I can throw myself onto it, coughing up water. Whimpering as my tattered hand scrapes against the dirt.

The creature waits for several minutes at the edge of the river, staring me down, before slowly slinking back into the woods.

Trembling with cold, my pants rasped and loud, hot blood dripping all over me, I turn toward Raker. His back is still to me. His glorious sword is still dug into the ground right where he left it.

He had to have heard my struggle. The beast’s scream. He must be awake.

He didn’t move a single inch.

Of course he didn’t. He wants my map—but he must have decided the extra effort of saving me again simply isn’t worth it.

The sound of ripping fabric cuts through the night as I tear the extra length at the bottom of my shirt, and wrap it around my hand, wincing at the pain. Watching it soon turn crimson.

To heal, to prepare for another relentless day of walking, I need to sleep. Body shaking with cold, I lie on my side. Somehow, rest finds me.

The next morning, I’m awoken by the sound of Raker splashing through the current. He doesn’t even turn. Doesn’t even alert me to his leaving.

Heart in my throat, I rush to my feet and throw myself through the water in a hurry, boot slipping against a rock. Pain shoots through my limbs as my knees both hit the jagged bottom.

I grit my teeth and rise, then race onto the riverbank after him. He makes no move to check if I have followed.

Another day of silence. Another day of Harlan Raker completely ignoring me, as if I am below even a moment of his notice.

Good. I don’t want to hear about all my shortcomings anyway. My own voice inside my head is enough.

It tells me I’m too slow. Raker won’t adjust his speed for me. Either I match his pace … or I get left behind.

We don’t have creatures. Not anymore, at least. Most—if not all—of this journey will be made on foot. Just like the swimming, this is a weakness that needs to be strengthened. I need to be strengthened, like pouring high metal into a lesser blade. Like reinforcing it.

I vary between walking quickly, jogging, then resting. Sometimes, I lose sight of him altogether and run at top speed, only to crest a hill and see his unmistakable form below, armor glimmering beneath the sun.

My bleeding hand quickly becomes irritating. I replace the bandage again, using more torn fabric, knowing it could get infected. And then what? I have no medicine. And no illusions that Raker won’t leave me feverish and dying.

No, he won’t leave me. He’ll likely kill me and take my sword.

That’s fucking comforting.

Distractions prove to be their own medicines. I study the curve of the landscape, how this world is like an endless painting, each mile more sparkling than the last. Right now, the grass is dark green. Large rocks rise from the ground in sharp angles. Some form clusters of mountains. We walk by ruin after ruin. I feel the whisper of their histories as I pass them by, as if there are secrets hidden between those stones. As if they once formed a magnificent place.

Now they sit in forgotten piles.

The path tilts up and down, alongside craggy mountains, through wildflower-speckled glens. When the sun is shining brightly above, we reach a valley covered in violet.

Tears well up in my eyes. Lavender, foxglove, catmint—I count all the flowers I’ve previously only seen pressed into pages, in my mother’s book.

She loved flowers. They were so few on Stormside. But she had one plant, from a seed she said came from Starside. A flower she claimed had been passed down through our family for generations. Only something magical could survive so many centuries.

My sister and I would sneak away and search the fields of dirt for any wildflowers to bring back. Most of the time, we came home empty-handed, but finding one was a treasure. We would rush home and—after scolding us for going too far away—our mother would take us to the coveted book, and we would flip through the pages until we found one it resembled. Then we would press it into the parchment. Sign the date.

All of it is now ashes.

Over the hours, the grass lengthens. Its color brightens, until it’s light green, just as it was near the gates.

Our path tilts up, and my calves burn as we climb, Raker’s body blocking the sun. Blocking everything. I keep my head down, focused on the grass in front of me, on the blades that sparkle even in shadow. I don’t even realize we’ve reached a bluff, until Raker stops, and I almost run into him. I stumble to the side, to see what he’s staring at, and my breath catches.