Page 97 of Starside

Then I attempt a simple cutting motion, one I’ve done a thousand times. This sword changes every detail and calculation. My stance. The energy needed. The strain.

I stagger forward—shit—then straighten. Shift my grip on the hilt, my right hand up against the guard, the other at its end. Grit my teeth. Try a second time.

And nearly fall on my face, the full heaviness of the weapon pulling me forward. I barely keep from dropping it.

Bent over my knees, I pant. Get yourself together.

Again.

Again.

This is the focus I find in the forge, and in early-morning training sessions with Stellan. I sink into a rhythm, and the world washes away, taking all my problems with it. It’s only me and this sheet of sparkling metal. Nothing else matters. Nothing else gets my attention.

I shift my approaches, learning, then adjusting, until finally, I can do the move without compromising my stance. It’s a simple victory, but pride seeps through my chest. I hold the sword in place, chest rising and falling, sweat sliding down my brow. I did it.

I’m just about to set it down when Raker emerges from the rotting trees. He has a creature on his back. I stare at him, breathing hard, forcing every bit of strength into my arms to keep my sword up.

He just strides past me, toward the cave up the hill, shaking his head, as though I am utterly ridiculous.

Screw him.

I continue, through the sounds of a fire being built, through the mouthwatering smell of roasting meat, through the crackle of the flames and the pattering of the crimson water. I train until my body is boneless, and the last shred of light fades away.

And then I drag myself through the bloodred waterfall and collapse into sleep.

I dream of a crackling hearth. Just beyond it, I can hear laughter, echoing through a full house. I smell burnt sugar and feel my sticky fingers curling around cards.

The fire burns out. The house is quiet again.

The darkness is thick as a blanket. The world is silent, and sleeping, and perfect.

All at once, it’s burning.

Everything I’ve ever loved is up in flames, and I can’t stop it, and I’m gasping, and coughing, and everything, everyone is—

I’m knocked out of my nightmare by a breath, right against my forehead.

I reach for my sword, but a firm hand is tied around my wrist, as if someone knew that was the first thing I would do.

Their other hand is covering my mouth.

I struggle, my scream muted, until I blink and see familiar gray eyes in front of mine. The rest of him is still cased in shadow. But the fact that I could feel his breath … it means he’s not wearing his mask.

Raker’s voice is a growl. “You were screaming.”

He lowers his hand quickly, like touching me for even a moment is revolting.

It happened again. The nightmares.

I tremble against the ground, the remnants of that panic still running through my blood. I can feel the prick of tears in the corners of my eyes.

“You’re going to get us killed,” Raker snarls, before stalking away to his side of the cave.

Like Raker’s mood, the rot worsens.

The ash-spun ground turns to mud. Every river, creek, and waterfall is red.

It isn’t long before the juice from my berries isn’t enough to quench my thirst. Raker drinks from the liquid in his pouch, offering none to me.