Chapter 15 #3
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.
The Prism Path.
Endless, towering mountains ripple in steep waves, all covered in that light green grass, as if the god that created this place coveted the color.
In between each sit long, thin waterfalls, like towering blades, sunlight skipping from one to the next in rainbow arcs.
I’ve never seen so many colors. I didn’t think the world could look like this.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
Raker makes a sound of contempt next to me.
Soon, we’re in the middle of it, walking through a valley. I feel so small down here, just a pebble compared with these mountains that stand tall like rows of knights, wielding their sparkling swords.
There’s an energy to this place, a pull. Something different from everywhere else I’ve been. Even if I wanted to ask Raker if he feels it too—even if I thought he would respond to anything I say, and if I even wanted to speak to him in the first place—I wouldn’t know how.
The feeling is wordless. It’s pure emotion, bleeding through my chest. An ancient, long-lost sense, awakening.
We walk a mile through the valley, until Raker turns, shifting our path into the mountains.
I know better than to ask where we’re going.
He stops in front of one of the many waterfalls.
A cave sits just behind it. Raker unceremoniously throws his pack through the water and walks away, in a different direction.
He’s gone before I can even think about speaking.
“Bastard” is what I eventually say, far too late for him to hear it.
Slowly, I unpeel my makeshift bandage, wincing, but grateful that I don’t see any signs of infection. Yet. I carefully wash off the blood and dirt in the cool water, before wrapping my hand again. The inside of the cave is dark, smooth stone.
I sink down onto it. The cold is a balm against my sore calves.
If only I still had my dragon, I wouldn’t have to do this all on foot. I wouldn’t have to work with Raker.
More than that … more than the help she offered …
I miss her.
My stomach twists with hunger.
I glance over at Raker’s pack and have half a mind to search it for food, before deciding against it. He’s made it very clear how he feels about me touching his things.
Figure it out.
To forage is to survive on Stormside. Barely anything grows. You have to be clever and patient enough to seek out the small fertile patches. It’s late afternoon. I still have an hour or so until sunset.
I leave the cave, then follow the slope of the hill, down into a forest.
Mushrooms are rare on the other side. I once found a bundle beneath a rotted tree stump and felt the joy of discovering gold in a rock.
Here—here, they’re everywhere.
Some are as large as my hand, others are thin and small, bunched together in a bouquet. Some have thick stalks and curved edges. There must be hundreds of them.
Relief rolls through my empty stomach … along with a flash of bitterness. This is all untouched. This place … it’s abandoned. How many villages could this forest feed on Stormside?
I look up at the sky. If the gods were fair, they wouldn’t allow this all to go to waste. They wouldn’t allow one side to be brimming with food while the other goes hungry.
And maybe I’m no better than the immortals, because when I see all this food …
I take it. I grab it all, tucking everything I can fit into my pockets. Then, I keep wandering, until I reach a streak of color.
Berries. A rainbow of them. Purple, blue, pink, red. Red. The same type my dragon found for me. Just like I did then, I grab them by the handful. I put some in my mouth.
I bite down and groan.
They’re sweeter than the previous berries, even. Anything on Stormside is a cheap comparison. Watered down. This is straight from the source. Perfect, a sugar that melts through my marrow. I groan as juice slides across my tongue. I pack as many berries as I can into my pockets.
Wildflowers bloom in a petal-swept trail, and I follow them into a grove, filled with blossoms.
I go rigid. Before now, I could count on my fingers how many flowers I’d seen in my life.
But here …
In a place like this, every page in our book would have been filled within hours. We would have needed an entire library of them.
I start picking some of them, weaving their stems into a bracelet, then a chain, then a crown, the way my sister and I used to weave together limp sticks we found outside.
These are much more pliable. I rest the ring of daisies on my head, knowing it’s stupid, knowing it’s a waste of time, but remembering my promise to myself to soak up all the wonder I can on this quest.
“I wish you could see this …” I whisper, my voice getting lost in a gentle wind.
The trees are farther away from each other here, in two rows, but their tops lean together, making a canopy. Thick shards of sunlight filter through, in glimmering crosses. I run through them, leaving a path of petals in my wake, turn into another grove—then stop in my tracks.
A green dragon is sleeping on a bed of clover.
I tense. It could be vicious. Or … it could be friendly. Having a dragon would mean I wouldn’t need Raker. It would reduce my travel time significantly. Maybe, it could help me find my silver one.
I step forward, and its eyes open immediately.
They’re green. They sharpen, a ring of fire flashing through the irises—before they close again. That simple movement is a clear warning.
It doesn’t want to be claimed. It will kill me if I try.
Hint taken.
The dragon continues sleeping. I step around it carefully, and the more I walk, the more the forest thickens. Sunlight strains through the treetops.
Something lands on my nose, and I startle. But it’s only a grasshopper with a pink, blooming flower on its back. The flower … it’s part of its body. I slowly reach up to touch its petals. The moment I do, it flies away.
Then, the insects melded with flowers are suddenly everywhere, taking off from the trees, and swirling around me like a living bouquet. I whisper the names of the ones I know. Bluebell. Bloodroot. Honeysuckle. Cowslip. Daisy. They wear their blossoms on their backs.
Some fly around my head, sweeping down, examining the flowers I wear in my hair, then leaving. I almost smile.
Then something zips by my ear, nicking it, and I gasp, reaching up. There’s a tiny spot of blood on my finger.
I unsheathe my sword and whirl around. An arrow. Cadoc.
But no one’s there.
Something else buzzes by, too fast and loud to be one of the floral insects. I turn quickly, reach out—and catch it. I’m expecting another type of bug.
When my fingers uncurl, a tiny being is sitting in my palm. It looks like a child with the wings of a dragonfly. It bites my thumb, and I startle, loosening my hold.
It zips away in a rush of sparkling light.
Suddenly, the light is everywhere.
Shit. My hair is pulled in all directions, out of its braids. I turn and see only my own brown locks, being smothered right against my eyes and mouth, suffocating me. I trip over a rock and fall into the grass.
I swear I hear laughing.
“Stop,” I say, picking the creatures out of my hair and trying my best not to crush them as I throw them back into the breeze.
They don’t. They pull harder, and I clench my teeth in pain. It’s like they’re trying to rip my hair from my skull.
“Enough,” I growl. My nails dig into the ground until I clutch dirt, then I throw it into the air, into my own face.
Release.
There’s soft coughing and what sounds like cursing as they’re momentarily stunned, and I use that chance to fucking bolt. I push the loosened strands out of my face and rub the dirt from my eyes with my arm as I tear through the grove.
I sprint, panting, until … silence. There aren’t whispers in the trees. There aren’t any winged insects buzzing. There aren’t even grasshoppers. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair to ensure I’ve lost them.
A branch snaps behind me.
My hand on the hilt of my sword, I whirl around—
An elk stands just two feet in front of my nose.
Its fur is green, just like the dragon. Its horns are a crown of white, flowers caught on every point.
Its eyes are large and sparkling. It blinks at me and takes a gentle step forward.
It isn’t afraid. Even though my sword is halfway out of its scabbard. It doesn’t even look at the weapon; it just looks at me.
Slowly, I lower my blade back down. Something within me is called forward. I extend my hand toward it, the same way I did to my dragon.
This creature isn’t meant to be claimed, no … But still, it steps toward me, as if allowing me to touch it.
Its horns glisten in the fading sunlight. It leans into my touch—
And seizes. Its sparkling green eyes widen. No.
The creature collapses, a sword sticking out of its side. I fall to my knees, still reaching, eyes still locked with a gaze that is now unblinking. A horrified gasp spills from my lips.
I twist sharply. “What have you done?”
Raker ignores me as he walks to retrieve his sword. He cleans it on the grass, then reaches down and effortlessly lifts the creature onto his shoulders.
I remain in the dirt, next to a hot puddle of blood. “You didn’t have to kill it! We have food!”
He doesn’t even look at the mushrooms and berries in my shaking hands.
Finally, after a day of silence, he speaks. “Everything dies,” he says. “Get over it.”
Then he turns and walks back to the cave.