chapter twenty-five #2
I HAVE VAGUE MEMORIES OF the night when I wake. Of pulling my cloak tight around me, knees to chest, teeth clattering, wanting to ward off the cold but too lost in sleep to do anything about it. And then an unexpected warmth enveloped me, as if I was wrapped in fur.
Pushing myself into a seated position, I stare at the large paw prints surrounding the spot where I’ve been sleeping. Reaching out, my fingers brush against the cool, damp earth of the enormous paw print. It’s the same type I saw when waking by the river my first night outside of the Voidlands.
I’ve always feared wolves. In Bronich, people were killed by wolves on more than one occasion, and the minister constantly warned against them.
How much heed I should give the minister’s words is an entirely different matter.
Between him and the wolves, it’s becoming quite clear who’s more dangerous.
My stomach growls, and I turn my attention to the more peculiar part of my morning: the winged hare—what I now know to be a flutterhare—lying on the ground next to me. Dead. Someone may be watching out for me after all.
I’m still weak from my wound—if anything, its edges have darkened, and it continues to leak a steady stream of blood—but knowing I’ll die if I don’t find heat and shelter, I wrap my cloak around myself, hang my satchel across my shoulder, and grab the flutterhare by its ears.
Although I can barely manage a straight walk, it would be foolish to stay up here on top of the peak, where my silhouette stands out for all to see if they’re looking—which they most certainly are.
A short walk down the mountain, I find a nice sheltered cave next to a small waterfall, and soon my waterskin is filled up, my thirst is quenched, and I have a fire going, thawing my frozen bones. It appears luck is finally on my side.
Gnawing on a leg of freshly grilled flutterhare, I consider my options.
I’m not doing great, but after sleeping and with food and water in my belly, I am feeling better.
Still, my situation is far from ideal. Not that my situation ever has been, but it’s certainly been better than this.
Not only am I wounded, but I’ve also lost Maeve, and without her, I don’t know if I’ll make it in time, even with my best efforts.
I could try to steal a horse, but with the severity of my wound, a healer should be a priority over a horse, if I want to live at all.
And then there’s the growing list of those who want me dead.
I let out a heavy sigh. I’ll be lucky if I make it halfway there without a knife finding my back. Life surely wasn’t this complicated as a property in Bronich. Having someone else command you doesn’t leave you with many choices.
I wrap the remaining flutterhare in cloth and put it in my satchel to eat later. Would it be better to give up and give in? To stop fighting?
No, I decide. But my guilt over Reü’s death needs to end.
He decided to join the Void, after all. And whatever intentions Llyr has, I don’t believe he’s working to advance the Void.
He always acts with the greater good in mind.
If he thinks that sacrificing me is the best course of action, that my soul pieces will make Astēr strong enough to defeat Casimir, hinder the Void from taking over Reā, he would do that. Then why did he let me go?
I tear off another piece of the robe and wince as I wrap my broken pinkie. In the morning light, it looks grotesque—twisted at an unnatural angle, swollen to twice its normal size, and painted in shades of deep purple and sickly yellow.
Why me? Why was I the one chosen to die for their cause? Because I’m human? Because I’m weak? Because they thought I wouldn’t fight back? Well, they were wrong.
I close my eyes, my choice weighing on my shoulders.
Is my selfishness risking the entire existence of this beautiful planet?
Am I condemning the mountains in front of me to be forever shrouded in fog, their majestic snow-clad peaks hidden from view by a low-hanging gray cloud cover?
There would be no more shining souls twinkling in the night sky. No moons. No rays of sunshine.
If they were honest from the beginning, would I have stayed? Everyone dies eventually, and my sacrifice would have ensured others got to live in a world that was alive—not in the dreary world I was raised in, which was as good as dead.
But would that have been the right choice? Maybe they don’t know what’s right either, although they sure act like they do. The dark-eyed lady wanted me to go to Anam’gate, after all. And so did Ero. If it tells me anything, it’s that this situation is not as black or white as they would have it be.
I told Llyr the truth back at the Arc: I’m worth saving too. Not because I’m special. Not because I’m powerful. But because I’m alive, and my life has value. They raised me to believe I was nothing but a property. But I am a person. I have thoughts, dreams, fears. I matter.
So no, I decide. I will make it to Anam’gate if it’s the last thing I do. I want those pieces. Want answers. Then I can die.
SOMEHOW, I MAKE IT DOWN the mountain’s northern face. Parts of the decline were so steep that I had to cling to roots and pieces of rock—not an easy feat with one hand injured and the other clutching my side, keeping my bandages in check.
Situated on a lower ridge, I stare at the valley below, wind whipping through my hair as I locate the caravan trail snaking its way through the rugged, mountainous terrain. With the general direction in hand, I push onward, following the stream that cuts through the tight cluster of birch trees.
As I pause to sip some water, the sound of muffled voices reaches me from somewhere deeper in the birch woods to my left.
“Remind me again why I decided to come with you.”
I freeze, heart pounding in my chest. That voice.
“Only if you remind me why I asked you in the first place,” comes the grumbling answer, followed by, “Ouch!”
I blink. Am I losing my mind? Beginning to hear things that aren’t there?
At the orphanage, Mistress Andrine often read us a story—one of the two the orphanage possessed—about a man lost at sea. Trapped on his boat for days without water, he became so delusional from dehydration that he started to envision fresh barrels of water everywhere. Have I become that man?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Seniia. Could you be any more annoying?”
My lips twitch upward in a brief smile before it’s replaced by a wave of fear. My smile vanishes.
Were they sent here to retrieve me? Llyr knows we’re close, so who better to send if they want to lure me back to the Arc? Did he offer them lucrative deals, whisper promises of power, or even threaten violence to sway them to his side?
The thought of the two of them betraying my trust the way Reü did leaves me with a hollow, empty feeling. My heart sinks like a stone into the pit of my stomach. One thing is certain: I can’t bring myself to harm either of them, no matter their intentions.
It takes all my willpower to resist running straight toward them. Instead, I quietly slip my boots off and step into the cold river, trusting it to hide my trail. If I’m lucky, they’ll trace me up to the top of the mountain where I spent the night, and by then I’ll be far ahead of them.
Silent tears run down my cheeks as I walk, and I don’t even bother wiping them away. Seniia and Vilder felt like the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had, and the absence of their laughter and constant banter has left a gaping hole in my heart.
I pause. Could it be that they traveled all this way because they want to help me?
No. Although I would’ve done that for either of them in a heartbeat, I doubt that’s the case.
They are Accepted. It would ruin their training at best and make them outlaws at worst. There is no way they would risk their futures for me.
Reaching the narrow dirt road, barely wide enough for a horse cart, I pray this is the main road into Chì. Increasingly lightheaded, I’m happy to pull my boots back on and have even ground below my feet.
AS THE DAY CONTINUES, THE weight of my exhaustion settles in, making even the smallest movement monumental, but I keep pushing forward, even as night approaches.
It’s the third night of the dark moons, and although the soul stars don’t provide any actual light, the road is easy enough to navigate in the dark. Besides, I need to get as far away from Seniia and Vilder as possible, and that means walking through the night if I have to.
When I finally stop, it isn’t a decision, but a collapse, my body giving out. The throbbing ache of my wound has intensified, and the burning sensation in my eyes and the overall discomfort in my body indicate that I’m succumbing to a fever.
Noticing a cave structure to my right, I pull myself into its cool, damp interior with a final surge of effort. For a while, all I can do is lie there on my back, the silence of the night punctuated only by the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water.
Get up, La?na. Get up and tend to your wound.
I manage a seat, and to my delight, there’s a small firepit and even some pieces of wood strewn around the cave floor. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.
Fire going, I lift my tunic with trembling hands.
Even the barest brush of my fingers over the infected wound sends an agonizing white-hot pain through my body, stealing my breath.
Should I have used fire to seal it like I did to Llyr’s wound?
Maybe. Although I doubt I could have inflicted such burning pain on myself.
Removing my makeshift bandages, a wave of nausea washes over me at the cloying smell of rotting flesh, thick and suffocating.
Scooching closer to the light of the fire, I inspect the wound in the dim light.
Its edges are still a deep black that continues to spread, and the spindly black veins now cover most of my abdomen, stopping about an inch from my heart.
You should have cut away the infected parts when you had the chance.
Biting down on a piece of wood, I clean the wound, wrap it, and then lie down next to the fire. Huddling in my woolen cloak, trembling uncontrollably despite the warmth of the flames, I’m well aware the cool night air isn’t the sole cause of my shivers.
It doesn’t take long before the fever has me in its relentless hold. Whimpering, I writhe in agony, every ragged breath a knife twisting in my side.
On and on it goes, the torment preventing any chance of sleep.
At some point, I’m thinking I cannot possibly take any more, and then I finally succumb to the darkness, plunging into a deep feverish slumber.
I’m drifting, fading in and out of awareness as the bells pass by. I notice the rosy dawn of a new day, but the next time I glance out, it’s dark, the silent skies graced by five thin slivers of the crescent moons, and then I’m gone again.
Amidst this hazy state, I faintly perceive a flurry of frantic voices, but I’m too lost in lucid fever dreams to care. And then, as yet another day breaks, my fever breaks with it. Grateful for the cessation of physical torment, I surrender myself to a deep, dreamless sleep.