Many hundreds of followers straggled behind Ariock Dovanack; a line of bobbing lanterns vanishing into the darkness of the river cavern. The hollow boom of rushing water drowned out the creaking of wagons, and the complaints of people who were exhausted from walking nonstop.

“Aonswa.” Jinishta had an edge to her tone, despite the messiah title she used for him. “Your army is having trouble keeping this pace.” She peered up at him, her albino face pallid in the darkness.

“They’re not my army,” Ariock pointed out.

He had not asked people to abandon their families and march with him towards danger. Just the opposite. Ariock had begged everyone to turn around and go home. Why should he worry about protecting fools? He had enough to worry about, with keeping Thomas alive.

The boy lay in his arms, fighting for every shallow breath. Ariock could sense Thomas’s heartbeat with his powers, and it was a sluggish arrhythmia. Vy had said that Thomas needed life support machinery. He ought to be in a hospital.

Instead, he was stuck with a steam-power level of technology, along with the rest of them.

The Alashani healers refused to help. Orla, their most skilled healer, refused to get close enough to Thomas to heal him.

So Ariock marched towards other worlds.

The River of Tears connected all cities and settlements of the Alashani underworld together. If the hidden civilization was a leaf, then the mighty river was its central artery. As Ariock passed aqueducts which fed mushroom farms, fisheries, and riverside villages, the messianic army swelled in size.

A holy prophet had proclaimed Ariock to be “The One” before her dramatic death. Now zealots believed that his heroic future was inevitable, and Ariock was losing the energy to argue with them. He had marched for nonstop for more than two days. Healing Thomas left him exhausted, and the intervals were becoming more frequent.

“Ariock? Listen to me.” Jinishta sounded kinder than usual.

Ariock did not slow. Every second mattered for Thomas’s life.

The riverside was lined with crumbling blocks, the most ancient of which were etched with script-writing and mold. The last exit had to show up soon. Ariock was looking for the skyward path, which would take him to the rainy surface; to the Stratower.

“No one has infinite strength,” Jinishta said.

That was easy for her to say. No one’s life depended on her strength.

Ariock sent another wave of healing energy through Thomas’s frail body. It affected the boy like a drop of water to someone dying from pneumonia. Passageways temporarily opened up, but the underlying failures remained.

Jinishta jogged to keep pace with him. “Ariock, I will be proud to help you fight Torth. I will be glad to fight by your side. But in your current condition?” Concern weighted her words. “You are guaranteed to lose.”

Ariock felt as if he was already fighting a savage battle. And losing.

For the first time in days, he slowed a little bit, his feet screaming for a rest.

Just the sight of Thomas, looking so deathly ill, stoked his helpless rage. It wasn’t fair. Hadn’t Thomas gone against his own best interests in order to save Ariock? Repeatedly. Thomas had risked his life to keep his friends alive and safe.

And Ariock had repaid his telepathic friend by letting him rot, uncared for, ignoring his frail condition.

“Aonswa!” The shout came from Gav, the albino who served as Ariock’s guide. “The exit is here.” Gav pointed to a decrepit causeway bridge that spanned the river, leading to an unlit tunnel.

Judging by the fallen rocks and general look of dilapidation, this exit had not been used for many centuries.

Everyone was afraid of Torth realms. Nevertheless, Ariock approached the bridge with a surge of hope. He was done with caves. He would obtain help for Thomas, and medicine, even if he had to battle a space armada on the way.

Only a few people looked the least bit eager to follow him beyond this point. Yuey wore a huge grin on her rubbery nussian face. Next to her, Weptolyso, the former hall guard, looked formidable and ready to kill Torth. He had already killed quite a few, and he had also fought kamikaze members of his own tank-like species, killing them in self-defense. He had said that he wanted to try to persuade nussians to turn against their Torth masters.

Kessa looked more cautious than enthused.

Vy sat next to her in the wagon bed, and she looked just as cautious.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Everyone else looked terrified. Cherise and Flen. Orla. Shevrael. Haz. Nulshta. So many others.

Ariock hoped they would listen to their own misgivings and turn around. He didn’t think he could protect a thousand followers while fending off bombs and climbing the Stratower and keeping Thomas alive. He might be strong enough, but his multitasking had limits.

Gav offered an apologetic smile. “This is as far as I will go. Sorry.” He dipped his knees, the common gesture of respect.

“Thank you, Gav,” Ariock said with sincerity.

“Fare well.” The guide was already hurrying away in the opposite direction of the army. At least that albino was wise enough to head home instead of having faith in prophecy.

The crumbling bridge might fall into the river if Ariock marched across without firming it up first. He wanted to sit and rest, but instead, he probed outward with his powers, binding stones together. He interlocked rocks in order to strengthen submerged pillars.

A worry, deep inside his mind, tried to negate his urgency. Didn’t he need a plan?

Kessa had said as much, several times. So had Thomas.

But they offered no suggestions. All Kessa did was click her beak and shoot worried looks at Thomas. Perhaps Thomas could lay out a plan, but he hardly woke up anymore. All he did was take tiny sips of water, give dire warnings, and sleep.

We’ll be fine, Ariock assured himself.

All he had to do was get to the spaceport atop the Stratower. That was the only spaceport he knew was functional, after the Torth had self-sabotaged their more accessible spaceport. He would find the launchpads. Steal a streamship. Maybe steal some medical supplies along the way. What could go wrong?

“Ariock. Can we rest for a minute?”

If that voice had come from anyone other than Vy, he would have ignored it. But Vy understood exactly what he was trying to do, and why.

She slid off the wagon bed.

Wagons would be useless once they entered Stratower City, Ariock realized. Wheels of bent iron could not compete with the speed and instant maneuverability of frictionless hoverbikes and hovercarts. He needed to figure out a comfortable way to carry both Vy and Thomas.

“I don’t see how we can get home,” Vy said. Her gaze slid to Thomas, then back up to Ariock. “Without a pilot.”

“He’s still alive,” Ariock pointed out.

Thomas was the only person among them who could read Torth glyphs and operate Torth machinery. Slaves were forbidden from learning how to use advanced technology. Ariock and his friends had watched the boy operate a Torth spacecraft, and it was all holographs and incomprehensible menus floating in the air. Thomas must contain knowledge from a million Torth pilots.

“And if he has trouble,” Ariock went on, “you can figure it out.”

Vy looked extremely doubtful.

Well, hadn’t she gone to school? She had even graduated from a university. She must know things about computers.

“With help from Cherise,” Ariock amended. “And Kessa.” She was smart. “And maybe that ummin who was interested in learning about Torth technology?” He ought to remember the gawky adolescent, but more than one hundred and fifty refugees had come with him from Duin. “What was his name?”

“Varktezo?” Vy still looked skeptical.

“Right,” Ariock said. “Varktezo.” The adolescent ummin had mimicked Thomas’s every motion.

“I’m not even sure he’s here,” Vy said. “Most of the refugee ummins stayed back in Hufti, with Pung.”

An adolescent ummin hurried towards them, shoving past adventurers. Ariock’s deep voice tended to carry. Varktezo must have heard his name mentioned. “Does the Teacher need me?”

When Varktezo saw the sickly figure of Thomas, he lost some of his enthusiasm. “Teacher?” He looked towards Vy. “Will he be okay?”

“Varktezo,” Ariock said. “Can you fly a spaceship?”

The adolescent blinked. As he processed the question, he looked taken aback, then terrified, then self-assured, all in quick succession. Those fast-shifting facial expressions evoked Thomas, who sometimes ran through a range of reactions in the space of a second. There was a lot going on behind Varktezo’s gray eyes.

In the end, the adolescent ummin stood straighter, his beak screwed tight in a determined way. “I’ll figure it out.”

Ariock wanted to clap Varktezo on the back for being so willing to brave danger, despite his obvious fears. But ummins were too small for back-clapping, so Ariock settled for a grateful nod. “Thanks.”

Vy bit at her lower lip. “I’m not sure anything can revive Thomas.” The anguish in her voice revealed her guilt. “I’m just not sure, Ariock. He’s really sick.”

Ariock shared the same guilt, the same despair. From what little he understood about Thomas’s NAI-12 medicine, it stabilized the neuromuscular disease, but it did not reverse any damage done by the disease. Just as Ariock could not undo scars or amputations by using his Yeresunsa powers, injections of NAI-12 could not undo muscular deterioration that had already happened.

Every second Thomas lived without his medicine, chain reactions of failures happened at a cellular level inside his body.

Even if Ariock managed to sneak inside the spaceport atop the Stratower … even if Vy and Varktezo proved to be capable pilots, and even if they landed safely on Earth … by the time they got there, a refresher supply of NAI-12 might not be enough to save Thomas.

Their quest might be futile.

“I have to try.” That was all Ariock could say. “Thomas deserves a chance. I owe him this.”

Beyond Vy, hundreds of albino people unpacked wagons, illuminated by lanterns. Some relaxed or chatted. The messianic army was making camp for the first time in nearly three wake cycles. They assumed Ariock was stopping to rest.

He turned to the bridge, eager to leave the worshipers behind.

“Wait.” Jinishta sounded frustrated and pleading. “Ariock, it is madness to rush up there when you are exhausted.”

Ariock used to respect her opinions.

Jinishta had taught him better methods for controlling his powers. She was his cousin, and he had assumed she was kind. But now? She hindered him. She would not even force Orla, the teenaged healer, to help him.

Jinishta loved her people. And her people hated Thomas as nothing but an evil, worthless burden.

“Don’t come with me,” Ariock told her. “Stay underground.”

A formidable look entered Jinishta’s lavender eyes. Ariock recognized that stubbornness. She wasn’t planning to yield in this sparring match.

But he just didn’t have time to fight.

So he straightened to his full height, his hair brushing the ceiling stalactites, and he amplified his voice by manipulating the air flow acoustics. The last thing he wanted to do was pretend to be their messiah. But he was running out of time, and choices.

“Stay underground.” Ariock’s words filled the cavern, overpowering the rush of the river. “I refuse to lead this army to death. All of you must stay behind.” He felt like a fraud, but he forced himself to sound like a demigod. “I ... I command it.”