[participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

“Zebulun! Zeb, wake up!” a frantic voice screams in my ear.

Who’s Zeb? I wonder, flinching away from the shrill, panicked shriek. I groan in pain as the fire of my broken ribs is superseded by the inferno of my inner world. My eyes flutter open. I stare up at a young woman’s concerned eyes, mere inches from my own. Her brows are pulled together in lines of worry, and her thin, angular face is covered with soot and ash.

I’m about to ask this stranger who Zeb is before I remember that I’m using an assumed identity while I travel. She knows who I am. So why can’t I remember her? There’s no faster way to blow my cover story than to forget my own new name, so I switch up tactics and start asking more clever questions.

“Mwht ahppened,” I slur. My tongue feels heavy and woolen in my mouth, and my head is ringing, but at least I didn’t rat myself out. I try to sit up. Immediately, the rush of blood makes me groan in pain and slump back down.

“You did some explodey magic after all,” the woman says. She dashes away a tear with the back of her hand, and I notice with a start that her cheek is a spider web of scars. “I thought you were dead. Don’t wanna lose anyone else in this hateful abyss.”

I open my mouth to reply, but my muscles feel weak and my mouth is dry. My head lolls to the side, and my vision starts to go dark. I startle back awake, refocusing on the pained look on her face. I try to wipe away the spittle from my lips with my hand so I can ask her another question, but my fingers touch nothing. I can feel them, though. They’re right—

My burned stump hits me in the mouth instead of my phantom fingers. I stare down at the burned, melted skin in horror, and memory comes rushing back to me. The Rift. The core. The luminous beauty of magic, burning me from the inside out.

Smoke. Her name is Smoke. She’s helping me.

I work my jaw a few times, not meeting her gaze. I survey the devastation around us in all directions, fighting against the pain of my body waging war against me. My ribs feel like there’s a knife stuck in my chest.

I don’t dare delve inward. I remember everything now. My Skills are all ash and salt. I can’t bear to take a look. The outside is bad enough as it is: we’re surrounded by flattened chunks of rocks blasted apart and scattered into rubble; uprooted trees, burned into ash; a gaping wound in reality where the core used to be. My head hurts looking at it, and I break off my gaze, unable to work up the courage to face life head-on at the moment.

I wheeze several times, forcing myself to breathe deeply despite the pain, and my mind and body start to slowly stabilize. I run my dry tongue back and forth across the roof of my mouth until I feel like I can physically speak again. Even so, my words come out in an exhausted croak. “Got anything to drink?”

She rummages through the pack belted to her side and pulls out a small flask. “Here, the last of my water. You’ve earned it.”

I take the flask in my right hand, but I struggle to hold it up to my lips to drink. My arm is shaking even though the water bottle doesn’t weigh much. I sip the water slowly, trying to sort out my jumble of thoughts. Finally I meet her eyes again and start with the most important question on my mind. “The core?”

Smoke smiles at me, although her eyes are strained. Her shoulders tense up, and she regards me warily. “Exploded. You did it, Zeb. You really did it.”

“Then why do you look so glum?” I say with forced cheer. What happened to her? Why is she staring at me like I’m a monster? “Guess you were right. I do have ‘explodey’ magic.”

“But your . . .” Smoke trails off. She swallows hard, pointedly not looking at my missing hand, and starts to pack up. “We gotta leave. Things are getting bad.”

I lift up my left arm and shrug, which sets my head spinning again. “Nothing I can do about it right now. Let’s get out of here. You get the sword I made for you?”

“The . . . what now?” she asks, turning back to me in confusion.

“I turned some spare mana into a sword since I had extra. To replace your old sword,” I say, gesturing with my right hand toward the general direction of the glasswork I’d made before burning through [Way of the Artisan: Architect of Unseen Worlds]. I take immense satisfaction in the look of excitement on my new friend’s face.

“All the way over here? You’re sure?” Smoke asks, her voice thick with wonder and barely-concealed fear. She walks where I indicated, turning in slow circles. Abruptly, Smoke crouches down, scrabbling through the ash and dust from the core’s explosion. “My Skill is going off! There’s something valuable here, all right.”

Her fingers dig down, sweeping away a surprising amount of debris. With a triumphant shout, Smoke picks up a long, sweeping sword. She brushes off the ash, revealing a wide blade inlaid with a golden-colored cat mid-leap. The hilt bears a matching engraving.

The cat is a rough sketch, since I’m not an accomplished artist, but even from here I can tell that I hit my mark. It looks a bit like her, with angular lines built for speed and eyes that flash when they catch the light. Thanks to the transmutation, the weapon barely looks like glass, but I’m still nervous about leaving it behind.

I grunt at my stupidity. One more connection to Nuri, rather than Zebulun. Could you be any worse at sneaking?

When she closes her calloused fingers over the engraved hilt, the sword lights up faintly. I start to call out a warning in case the weapon is unstable. I crammed in so much mana from the Rift that it’s as likely to explode as anything else. I never got a chance to test if it’s safe.

My worry fades a moment later. Smoke swings the sword about in exploratory strokes, a grin on her face. Little ripples of light trail in the blade’s wake. It’s almost as quick as she is.

She runs the fingers of her other hand down the mirror-like flat of the blade, tracing the elegant length of the sword. Her jaw works, and she inhales a long, shuddering breath. When she speaks, her voice is a husky, regretful thing. “If I’d had this before, maybe I could have killed those crabs. My mates would still be here. No one would have—I could have—”

“It’s not your fault,” I say reflexively, but she throws me a biting look that tells me to shut up and stop acting like an idiot.

“I know that, Zeb,” Smoke spits out. Her heated words don’t seem aimed at me, though. She whirls, dashing toward the edge of the clearing and stabbing her new mana-forged sword into the gnarled remains of a smoldering tree. The blade buries a hand’s breadth deep into the charred wood as she lets out a wordless shout.

A moment later she’s back, still moving more quickly than seems humanly possible while under the effects of her Threshold Skill. She sniffs, wiping her nose with her forearm. “Doesn’t make me hurt any less.”

“I’m sorry. If I’d gotten here sooner, maybe I could have done something. I was on the road for a long time. Maybe I dilly dallied too much,” I say softly.

Smoke glowers at me. “Don’t you dare try to take this moment away from me, Zeb. Ain’t all about you.”

For some reason, her outrage makes me feel better. I chuckle, then almost immediately clutch my ribs with my right hand. “Fair. Let’s get out here so I can find a [Healer]. You can yell at me all you want when we’re out of this place.”

“Ready when you are,” Smoke says with a sloppy salute. “Gonna need to carry you out, huh? Don’t look like you can walk too well.”

“Only one way to find out,” I reply with bravado, pushing myself up to one knee. My legs give out as I try to stand up the rest of the way. I flop sideways as my vision swims. My head spins around like rising smoke from a furnace whipped about in a windstorm.

I thud to the ground on my side. My world goes dark for a moment. When I wake, Smoke is gripping my shoulders, her eyes wide.

“Zeb! We gotta get out of here right now,” Smoke screams, her face contorted in panic. “It’s all falling down around us. There’s no time to waste. I'm sorry for how much this is about to hurt you, but we don’t have any choice!”

My addled mind is still making sense of her words as she scoops me on her shoulders and takes off like a rock hurled from a catapult. Thunder booms around us. The little hairs on my arms stand on end.

Some distant, rational part of my brain tells me that I should be in pain right now, but I’m strangely numb. The bounding, desperate flight shakes me around, but all I can do is gurgle out quiet, choking laughter. There’s no mirth in it. It tastes like despair.

I can’t feel anything, only the absence of something—the phantom fingers on my left hand, the ache deep inside where my prized Skills resided, the ashes of my hopes for the glass competition in Grand Ile. Was it worth it? I ask myself. I wish I could say for sure.

My head bounces harshly to the side as Smoke runs and everything goes dark again. When I wake again, I don't recognize the area we’re stumbling through. I hope we’re on the right path, but I’m not going to stop Smoke’s heroic sprint so that I can ask if she’s got directions. If I remember correctly, she’s a resourceful, clever woman; she’ll figure it out.

=+=

Smoke’s incredible running Skill runs out about five minutes later, less than a quarter of the way back to the opening of the Rift. She assures me that she knows the way, thanks to another Skill for thieves—[Exit Plan: A Hundred Ways of Escape]. That knowledge is little comfort when she stumbles mid-step and jars every bone in my body.

Stars flash across my vision as we stagger to a crawl. Somehow, Smoke keeps me from falling off her back as she catches her balance, but I smash my nose and mouth into the back of her skull. The sudden drop in speed hits me like an angry mule kicking me in the gut.

“Why are we walking? Aren’t we supposed to be running?” I ask Smoke with my hoarse, rasping voice as I hold my nose. My words come out in a wheeze. I’m not sure if she can even understand me at all. I can’t form my words properly, my body wracked with painful coughs.

“Sorry, Zeb,” Smoke says as she shifts me to the ground. She rubs the back of her head, and I feel compelled to apologize in kind. She waves me off. “Nah, none of that. My passenger, my responsibility. Now let’s rig up a travois and get you out of here. I can’t run with your weight on my back without my Skill.”

Ah. Her Skill ran out. I narrow my eyes at her. “You calling me fat?”

“Nah, I’m just not very big. While my Skill is running, it doesn’t matter. Without it, I’m only a little slip of a woman. I’m built for speed, not for hauling a heavy load.”

“Just be glad you’re carrying me now. You might say that I was, ah, a handful of pounds heavier a little while ago,” I quip, holding up my left arm. The dark humor is a breaker, a sandbar keeping the rising tide of panic at bay.

Smoke snorts, then frowns at me. “How can you joke about that?”

“It’s either that or cry,” I reply softly, my voice cracking at the end. I cough, spit out a wad of phlegm, and put my arm down. I’m not able to look at the melted flesh any longer. “A friend of mine taught me that. No matter how bad things get, he has a good attitude. I haven’t seen him in a while, and the way things are going, I’m not sure when I’ll see him again. I guess I feel closer to him by acting a bit more like him.”

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“I like that,” Smoke says, grinning at me with her crooked smile. “Might have to steal that idea. I’ll honor my mates that passed in here by copying their best qualities. That way, a little bit of them will live on in me. Thanks, Zeb.”

She hums to herself while she ties her cloak into a little sled to drag me on, since I’m still too weak to walk. My words seem to have buoyed her up; I don’t have the heart to tell Smoke that it’s all an act. I’m putting on a brave face, but inwardly I’m falling apart. How am I supposed to work with glass with one hand? How am I ever supposed to use magic again? My inner being is torn to shreds, my channels seared apart.

Grand Ile feels like an impossibly distant hope now. I can’t win a glass competition with only one hand. I’m not sure I can even enter it at this point, let alone make anything worthy of consideration by the judges. This stupid, desperate plan is already a failure, and I haven’t even reached my destination yet.

Overhead, the sky rumbles ominously. The atmosphere charges up, as though a lighting strike is imminent. Smoke’s hair stands on end. The threat of violence breaks into my pity party, scaring me back into my senses. “Gotta hurry, Smoke. We aren’t gonna make it at this rate.”

“Doing the best I can,” she mutters, hastily tying a last knot in the length of rope she’s using to rig the travois.

I gave her a funny look when she first unwrapped the rope from where she kept it coiled around her waist, but she grinned and told me that no good thief is ever unprepared. Right now, I’m grateful for her foresight. Without her, escape wouldn’t have been possible. I’d be dead.

Smoke tests her knotwork, grunting as she pulls it all a bit tighter, and nods at me. “Just keep it together, all right? I know it’s hard, but we’re almost out. Trust me.”

I let out a weak laugh. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Either trust you or die.”

“Nope. Not much choice,” Smoke replies placidly, although her eyes narrow.

We’re passing through a small copse of trees, and a quick bit of bladework transforms a few nearby saplings into carrying poles. Her new sword slices the trees into rough-hewn staves, cut down to just the right size. She helps roll me into position on the back of the little travois she made out of her guard jacket and the poles. She lashes me in place.

We set out again a moment later. Smoke doesn’t complain about the weight, but I know she’s got to be feeling the effort. Each step jostles my ribs, but I bite my tongue every time I’m tempted to complain. I should be dead right now, but by some miracle, I’m alive. Smoke is doing her best to keep me that way. A bit of discomfort is nothing compared to that.

“I’m happy to trust you, Smoke,” I murmur. “I want you to know that. Sorry I’m grumpy.”

“Suppose you’ve got a right to be grumpy. Now hold on tight. This is gonna be a bumpy ride, Zeb. Nothing I can do about it.”

She takes off running again, this time without the empowered speed of her Skill. We’re skimming along faster than I can run, but my stomach still clenches up with fear as the ground starts to sizzle and fall apart in great, smoking patches. It’s disconcerting, watching as the world itself collapses.

“The Rift is falling apart all around us. Hurry!” I urge her onward through clenched teeth. What I don’t add, what hangs unspoken and heavy and ominous between us, is that I don’t think we’re going to make it. I won’t poison her hope by saying it aloud, but I can tell she’s tiring, no matter what I say to encourage her.

“I think I see something up ahead,” Smoke says suddenly. She slows down, slips off the harness, and falls back beside me. She drops to one knee, squinting into the distance for a brief moment. She growls and turns to me. “If it’s a monster, can you throw some magic at it?”

Tears well up in the corners of my eyes before I can master my composure. I shake my head slightly at Smoke. A terrible light of comprehension dawns on her face. She takes my right hand in hers and squeezes. Words of encouragement will ring hollow, but in that moment of sharp, aching grief, simply having someone nearby inexplicably makes me feel better.

She heaves a sigh of relief. “Looks like people. Maybe they finally sent someone through to check up on us.” She squints, shading her eyes with her free hand against the garish glare of the chaotic, flickering light. The Rift is steadily degrading, disintegrating into pieces around us, torn apart now that it has no source of power to anchor it to this plane.

Idly, part of me wonders if this is all I’m good for. Breaking and entering, killing whichever creatures stand in my way, destroying whatever I find. Will I ever be able to leave it all behind? A part of me wants to run away, to get back to glass and do nothing but create. I don’t want to tear down; I want to build up. I don’t want to break things; I want to be caught up in artistry and skill. I want to earn an honest living and toil by the sweat of my brow.

I shake off my morose thoughts. “I want to see. Help me up?”

Smoke leverages me up to a sitting position. Standing is too much, but I can lean against her for support and see what she sees. Half a dozen men pick their way forward through the broken landscape. They’re moving cautiously, wearing thick leather aprons and helmed with iron. Each one carries a hammer as big as my leg slung over his or her back.

“I think it’s a local mining crew,” Smoke says with a relieved chuckle. “Bet they thought they could get rich harvesting rare metals and gems from the Rift before it collapsed. Joke’s on them. They better turn around now or none of us are making it out.”

“Can you signal them?” I ask, struggling to crane my neck and peek over the edge of the makeshift travois. I want to look at the group of miners she’s talking about, as though seeing the people with my own eyes will make them more real.

Smoke jumps up and down, waving and shouting at the top of her lungs. They all duck down, turning toward us, and a few bring their hammers to bear. Moments later, they’re running toward our position, their hammers returned to their work harnesses.

“They’ve seen us! They’re coming for us now! We’re gonna get out of here, Zeb. We’re gonna go home.”

I wave weakly as they draw near, but they don’t return the greeting. They’re not [Warriors] or any sort of martial class based on what I can see, but they look tough and capable. They have to be, to dare delving into a Rift. That, or stupid.

Each member of the team carries a tool, but now that they’re closer, I realize that only half of them have hammers. Others have drills or massive tongs. Regardless, their industrial, magitech-reinforced equipment looks like it can pack a serious punch. Faint wisps of mana wafts off the scripted hammer heads and drill bits, although if I try to focus on it, I instantly get a blinding headache.

Stop trying to look closer, you idiot. [Manasight] won’t activate. Not now, maybe not ever.

A short, barrel-chested man pushes his way to the front of the group. He nods at me, and pulls off his helmet to reveal a heavy jawline and thick, bushy black eyebrows. “I’m Captain Raya. [Miner]. I’d say it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but well. Given the circumstances, that feels like a lie, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, captain,” a few of his team chorus in unison. They follow his lead and take off their helmets. Most of them are sporting wild, unkempt beards, except for a woman who stands off to the side with her arms crossed. The lot of them appear stocky and resolute.

“Can you help us, Captain Raya?” Smoke asks. “We’re in a bad way.”

Raya grunts, but he nods his head. “Found the others. Glad you made it. Terrible thing to lose an entire crew.”

“Terrible to lose anyone,” Smoke fires back.

“True. Let’s get you outside while we still can. Looks like this place ain’t for long.”

I fall back against the travois and let out a small whimper of relief. It’s over. And against all odds, we’re somehow still alive. They close ranks around us. A half dozen pairs of hands reach out for me. They hoist me up onto their shoulders and begin to march.

Weariness and gratitude crash over me like ocean waves. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

=+=

“You made it,” Ash says, his usually melodious voice hoarse. Deep bags hang under his amber eyes. His gaze roves across my bandages, and he heaves a heavy sigh. “They tell me you’ll live, most likely.”

“World can’t get rid of me yet,” I agree. “You’re stuck with me.”

Ash eases himself into a chair next to my bed in the healing ward, his joints creaking on the way down. He lets out an enormous, exaggerated sigh. “Well, I am ashamed to admit that I almost left without you, Zebulun. But friends don’t abandon each other in their hour of need!”

“I thank you for your steadfast loyalty. It came in handy inside the Rift,” I say, wheezing with the effort as I turn to face him. I grunt, holding my still-healing ribs gingerly.

“Are you fit to travel?” Ash asks, his brows furrowing. He nods toward my bandages. “I’ll not have you dying under my watch. My boat’s not equipped for a funeral.”

“Not to mention that I can’t settle up our debt if I’m dead. I’m sure you kept a bill for the borrowed goods,” I say, grinning up at Ash from the hospital bed as I try to cover up my pain with a poor attempt at humor. My head is spinning, and every breath makes my ribcage scream in agony. I’m slowly mending, or so the [Healer] told me, but it doesn’t feel like it when I sit upright.

Ash slaps me gently on the shoulder. “Ha! I like the way you think. Rest assured, young friend: my gifts to you were freely given.”

I nod gratefully, swaying slightly before leaning on his arm for support. Even sitting up in the bed is making me woozy. He frets over me like a mother hen, looping his big arm around my back and holding me steady as I get my bearings. With his help, I lie back down in the bed, but he gives me a look of concern.

“I need to see the [Healer] for a few more sessions,” I admit. “I may not be able to travel for a week or two—maybe more—if I remain on foot, and that may be pushing it already. Might be able to lie down on a boat a few days sooner, though. Are you still willing to take me down river if it means a delay?”

“After you saved everyone?” Ash asks, sounding a bit scandalized. “You’re the town hero. If I help you now, they’ll remember it for years when I come back through town.”

“Sounds like you’re making good sales thanks to my endorsement. Glad to be of service, Ash.” I wheeze with the effort of talking, and we lapse into affable silence.

Ash rings the service bell at my bedside to summon an [Assistant Healer]. His big eyes twinkle with mischief. “Naturally, my friend. You’re a veritable gold mine.”

=+=

Three days of fitful convalescence pass in a daze. I drift in and out of uncomfortable sleep. My body is on the mend thanks to the [Healer], although there’s nothing they can do for my hand. I don’t know if even the Singing Azure Rod can regenerate missing limbs. By the second day I can shuffle back and forth along the length of my room in the hospital ward, and I should be back to normal within a few more days. My mind is far from at rest, however, and I still don’t dare catalog the state of my Skills.

Even trying to draw in ambient mana burns like drinking acid, although I know it will help me heal in the long run. I practice external mana manipulation for extremely short periods each day. My level of control has improved drastically for the few seconds I can stand to let the energy of the world incinerate my channels.

Nonetheless, I need to get moving soon. I don’t know exactly how I’m going to overcome my current predicament, but I have to try. If I don’t make it to Grand Ile in time for the competition, then this trek has all been for nothing.

That’s not strictly true, I admonish myself, shifting in my bed and glancing at the clock. I am on the schedule to leave in an hour, after one last checkup, and it feels like an eternity to wait in place. My legs feel sore from the constant sitting and lying down; I’m anxious to move around again. But I’ve learned patience over the last few days, so I take a deep breath, ignoring the faint twinge in my side, and close my eyes.

“It hasn’t been for nothing,” I whisper to myself, anxious to prove the truth of those words. I’ve grown since my prison break last month. I’ve seen more of the world, made friends, learned new skills, and discovered fascinating new applications for Skills I already have. I will get them all back one day. I swear it.

My fingers delicately trace the bruised ridges left from my previously-fractured ribs, and I chuckle softly. I’ve also learned more about my limits than I care to admit. It’s probably healthy for me to learn a little fear, however. No, this strange journey hasn’t been for nothing, even if all my dreams and aspirations of becoming a [Master Glass Smith] end here. I have to remember that.

The [Healer] performs one last check and declares me fit to leave. Physically, I’m back on my feet and in decent shape, though my body is still tender. My mind and spirit are still wounded, but I’ll work on them in time. For now, I have a boat to catch.

I insist on walking down to the dock by myself. I’m sore from the healing magic, and my tortured muscles feel like dirty, wrung-out dishwashing towels, but my stride never wavers. Ash is waiting for me, as ready to be on his way as I am. He can’t afford to linger any longer, not if he wants to make a profit on his goods.

My farewell to the townspeople is awkward. A small part of me wants to stay, basking in the adulation. I’m a hero here. They love me. I could join the guard and work tricky cases with my new friend Smoke. Once my Skills heal up, I could make money on the side by traveling back to visit Vicario, Iriye, and Maire during my time off, creating glass works together.

I sigh. It’s a fine dream. But it’s not the path for me.

We climb aboard Ash’s ship. I offer Smoke a regretful smile when it’s time to leave. She barely meets my eyes, and I’m not sure I blame her. She’s just lost all her comrades, and now her newest friend is leaving, too. I’m not really sure what to do to make things better, though.

Then she darts up the gangplank and squeezes me tight in a crushing hug. “Thanks for saving my life, Zeb. You’re always welcome here.”

I hug her back awkwardly, blushing. “I’ll never forget that run, not until the day I die. You’re remarkable, Smoke.”

“Well, don’t expect I’m going to make a habit of carrying you around like a big baby,” she says, trying and failing to smile. The joy on her face is brittle, revealing the pain lurking beneath the surface. “Besides, I ain’t never gonna find anything that fast again.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I say, forcing a chuckle to try to lighten the mood. “Hey, if I ever make it rich, I’ll bring you a pet peregrine falcon so you can rank up your Skill in style. You’ll run so fast that you’ll blow the doors right off the houses!”

She hooks her arm through mine. “Promise, Zeb?”

“I promise,” I say seriously, meeting her gaze.

Smoke steps forward and plants a kiss on my cheek. Then she’s gone in a flash, moving too quickly for me to see her face—although for a brief moment I’m sure I see tears sparkling on her cheeks.

My heart skips a beat, and I almost go after her. She deserves a friend—and she’s been an anchor of comfort in my sea of distress the last few days. I’ll be back, I promise myself. But for now, I set my jaw and march to the prow of Ash’s barge, staring out across the water. I’m starting to hate farewells.

I turn my face downriver, pretending I can see Grand Ile in the distance. Eyes on the prize. I let out a long breath. It’s time for me to prepare for the next chapter in my life. It’s time to return to glass. Let others deal with the aftermath of the Rifts for now. Me? I’m off to Grand Ile, bound for my next great adventure.

End Book Two