Page 96 of Starside

“Then teach me,” I say, through ragged breaths. I want to learn how to wield this sword with even a whisper of the mastery he possesses. It’s the only way I stand a chance at killing the gods once I reach them.

He wrests his blade from the trunk, sending me sliding down the wood as the fabric is released. I barely keep myself upright.

“You aren’t worth even a moment of my time,” he spits, before turning around. “Besides. You’ll be dead soon.”

He leaves me seething and panting against the tree, wondering if it’s a threat, a promise, a prediction—or all three.

17

Just when I start thinking I have this land all figured out, the green ends.

It’s replaced by ash. Mile after mile of ash.

It looks just like the Prism Pass but ruined. It looks like Stormside. The trees in the forest are rotted. The branches are bare.

But there are streams. I rush toward one, my throat throbbing with thirst, and pause just before my fingers skim the surface.

The water is red as blood.

Even on Stormside, the water isn’t this shade. Most sitting water is murky and not safe to drink … but not crimson.

I look up at Raker. By the tilt of his head, I can tell he’s studying the liquid. Without a sound, he turns away from it. Undrinkable, then.

We walk until the sun hangs low, and then we find a cave, with a red sheet of water in front of it. Raker stalks off to either hunt or train.

He won’t teach me to wield my sword. Foolish, really, for me to even ask. But seeing how expertly he uses his has convinced me more than ever that I must learn.

Figure it out.

Under the fading sunlight, just beyond the cave, I lift my sword.

I haven’t practiced since my dragon. I almost smile, remembering how she helped me. How her magnificent tail struck over and over.

If I thought days of walking with it would have made the weapon feel lighter, I was wrong. No, the steel feels even heavier now. My arms feel weaker.

Maybe berries and mushrooms aren’t enough to sustain me on this journey. Maybe I should have asked for some of Raker’s food.

It isn’t just my lack of nourishment keeping me weak, I know. I’m resting every night, but not fully. I don’t trust Raker. I don’t trust this world. It’s hard to completely slip into sleep out here.

This is the Questral. Of course I’m tired. Of course I’m hungry. These excuses won’t matter when I reach the gods. I’ll have to train myself through them.

I grip the hilt of my sword with both hands. My arms tremble as I lift my weapon higher.

Raker’s voice cuts through my mind. You are unworthy of any blade. Your sword is just as pathetic as you are.

Rage simmers in my blood.

He’s wrong. I am not pathetic. And one day, I will wield this sword just as easily as he does.

A growl escapes my throat as I lunge forward, cutting through the air, attempting even a fraction of Raker’s speed. Instead of an elegant arc, the weight has me stumbling forward. Pain flashes through my biceps as I fight to keep it from piercing the ground.

Fuck, it’s heavy.

It must be weightless in my hand if I’m going to fight with it. And that, I think, just requires practice.

Even a beast can be eaten in small bites, Stellan used to say. I would wrinkle my nose at the phrase, finding the idea of eating a beast repulsive, but, as the years went on, I understood his meaning. Everything in life can be conquered in tiny steps.

So, I start from the beginning, just like I had to when I was first learning to wield a sword. I begin with simply raising and lowering my metal for half an hour, until my muscles burn, trying to get used to its weight.