5. Lina #2
The old paths are gone. The halfway houses destroyed, with the symbol of the Drak’yn etched into the stone.
We are trapped.
A gust of wind sends dark sand through the air. I wrap the thin fabric of my scarf carefully around my nose and mouth. Astella does the same.
We are always in a state of slow suffocation this close to the desert, and this is only on the edge. I cannot imagine the pain of a sandstorm on the dunes.
There is no sign of Drak’yn anywhere in the following hours. We walk, ignoring the pain in our legs and the burning in our lungs.
When Astella begins coughing deep, I worry for her health. The sands burn through everything it touches, including your body, if you remain in it for too long.
If the poison begins to harm our bodies, we can heal it later. We cannot escape if we are taken by the death cult. So, we keep pushing beyond the warning signs our bodies send. We continue pushing through the biting winds and soft earth beneath our feet.
Astella and I are quiet as we walk beside the imposing lands that have suffocated everything we knew.
In the south, there are some remaining free towns. There are villages taking in refugees, like ours did years ago. But much like Lorraine’s former home of Ruthend, they are only able to sustain based on trade from Ayrinth. Their time may be limited too.
But Astella has family, aunts and uncles, in the mountains between. It’s there we’ll find a home. Astella assures me that we are going to survive. Somehow.
Astella says she can see it—our future, safe in the mountains with her people. Because she found her blessing in me, we’ll make it to the safe lands, hidden where the magic of the Morteres and the curse of the Drak’yn cannot reach us.
I choose to believe her.
“We won’t make it far at this rate,” I mutter, my voice muffled by the wind.
Astella sighs. “No, we won’t.”
Will we sleep in another hollow beneath a fallen tree tonight? We will need water soon.
She squeezes my hand, a gesture that is supposed to be comforting, but it’s too tight. She holds it too long.
I study her face. She is too focused, brow pinched and gaze distant.
I stop. “Astella?”
“Hmm?” She continues walking, her hand slipping from mine.
“What is it?”
“We have to keep moving, Lina.” She doesn’t want to answer at all. Is it because she simply doesn’t like the truth she must share?
I groan. It’s frustrating to be the caretaker of a girl with more knowledge than you could ever hope to gain. I rely on her too much.
“If we keep moving, will we find a safe place to sleep tonight?” I ask as I rush to catch up. My calves are already burning from the extra effort of pushing through the soft sand.
She doesn’t respond.
“Astella,” I bark. I grab her arm and force her to face me.
“I don’t know,” she finally admits. “Our… our path is not certain.” She blinks rapidly. Even that is a half-truth.
“Tell me,” I say, voice too quiet. I need to be firmer to be taken seriously. Instead, I beg. “Please.”
She shakes her head. This time, the tears in her eyes cause my stomach to churn.
“Are they near?”
“Not yet.”
My brow furrows.
“Something changed,” she forces out, voice strained.
“I don’t know what, exactly, but… I don’t know if we can escape it.”
The hair on my arm rises, and I don’t even know why.
“So, they’re—” They’re coming back for us , is what I was going to say, but…
“—hunting us,” she says instead.
And it’s those words that sink their teeth into my soul, robbing my mind of rational thought. Instantly, my heart is racing. My mind spinning, unable to stop.
I close my eyes and try to control the emotions rolling through me. She’s not psychic , I remind myself. She just… knows things. She can be wrong.
She has to be wrong.
My chest begins moving up and down too fast. I can’t get enough air in through the cloth covering my mouth and nose. I press my eyes closed so tightly it hurts and force my mind to obey.
Some people believe the death cult is good. Some believe they will be treated well inside their walls. Many refugees seek them out in these desperate times.
But Astella has made it clear they are anything but good. And Lucca’s screams echo through my mind, the priestess’s laughter. The stomping of their boots.
They terrify me.
One look at the panicked expression in Astella’s dark brown eyes and my spinning thoughts instantly clear.
For a long moment, despair washes over me. She told me I was blessed. She promised that one day, we’d be safe.
I want to cry. I want to fall to my knees and scream into the void. I want to rage and throw things, destroy anything.
But I don’t do any of that.
For her.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” I grip her arms tightly. “Astella, look at me.”
She obeys. Her big eyes searching mine, filled with tears. Right now, she looks like a little girl. Not the brave girl who distracted a death cult yesterday. Not the sorceress who protected us from the shadowscelp.
Right now, she is a child that I must protect. “We—we just need to get to water.” It’s my first thought. I have no real reason to think it will work, but it doesn’t much matter. We need something to do. A goal to reach. Panic will do neither of us any good.
“They’ll lose our trail if we can get to water.” My voice is far more confident than I feel.
She nods rapidly. I grip her hand.
“We do not give up,” I tell her. “If this world takes us, so be it. But while we have life, we have hope. And when we have hope, we fight for it.”
I’m moving before I even finish my sentence. I pull her with me, up the small dune to our right, and across the barren plain between us and the forest.
We run as fast as we can. I know my steps are likely louder than they should be, but I can’t think past the fear.
Astella doesn’t correct me or tell me to hush, so I take that as a sign that speed is more important than stealth.
Soon, the half-rotten branches are over our heads, blocking the hazy sun from view.
A raven caws. Astella gasps, but I don’t stop.
We cross one path to another, farther from the desert, toward where I know the wild stream meanders. I know the maps of this part of the world well, but with the shifting tides of the desert, the stream could be a mile west, or it could be ten.
After only a few minutes of running through the forest, I hear the gentle rush of water. Hope floods my veins, and I pick up speed despite my exhaustion.
But as we turn the corner, the stream just in sight, I realize it was always a fool’s hope.
Just before the stream, a man with a hood and mask is waiting for us, his axe still crusted with blood.
That’s when I realize that Lorraine was right. There is no life left west of the Morteres.