16

The sun disappeared over the Edarian rim. Though the storm beneath was wider than the continent, Caru could still make out chunks of land from this vantage if he focused. He had stood on those cliffs before, looking out over the world below, over the Tempest’s edge, but he had never considered flying down to look at it from the other direction. It was horrifying in its own way, how that lightning flashed and danced within those depths, the way that winds brushed against his face while still some miles out. The flight down to this point would have been a long one, but it was much longer walking. So much he had taken for granted.

As the sun passed the rear side of the Tempest hours later, Cirellias’s western half was perched high in the sky, followed by Rythellas, also about half full. They faced the west as twins as familiar stars appeared, twinkling in the twilight.

It really did seem as though they might finally escape their pursuers, that they would be able to plunge themselves into the storm and find freedom on the other side.

Caru watched as Kimke occasionally brushed against Martel as they continued westward. Mieta’s urging Martel to finally admit his feelings seemed to have relaxed Kimke a bit. Martel seemed refined enough, but Caru had noticed Kimke could be uptight at times. Healers were used to their own roles in society, Caru suspected. Perhaps that role wouldn’t keep a Sentinel and Healer from finding comfort in one another.

“Farm up ahead,” Martel said. He gestured with the slain soldier’s spear. They had passed through a few small towns—little more than four or five homes gathered around a central square—throughout the day, but this farm was far from any others. Caru strained to see lights or anything beyond, but there was nothing, not even a dirt path leading westward.

The storm was close, and this would be their last chance to rest before making a decision the following day. A field separated them from the farm’s barn by several hundred feet. The barn sat in the middle of the field, with a path leading from it to a farmhouse nearly half a mile away. Other farms dotted the landscape, but none farther west. These people seemed to like living as close to the world’s edge as they could, but Caru didn’t see how they could bear the constant storms slung out from the Tempest. “Want to take a break for a few minutes?” Martel said. “I want to get away from Ferrak and his men, but I could use a quick rest.”

“We can,” Caru said. “Should we cut across the field? Seems like it’d be quicker that way than to go all the way down and cut back upon that path.”

“Let’s take a look,” Martel said. He walked off the side of the road and studied the crops for a moment. It was hard to see without the sun, but the moons shone brightly enough. Martel brushed a hand over the short stalks before bringing it back with a wince. “No good,” he said. “Spinecorn.”

Caru flinched. Spinecorn may make for delicious bread, but it would be nearly impossible to walk through without protective equipment. It grew much like other forms of corn, but with barbs on each kernel instead of long husks. Individually, the barbs were no threat, but they could still cut, and walking through several rows of them would be worse than any briar patch. Though spinecorn was delicious, it had to be ground into a fine powder before it could be made edible, and eating it raw was never an option. “Looks like we’re not going that way, then,” Caru said. “What do you two think?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to the women.

Kimke looked first to the field, then to the farmhouse. “We can’t go through that field, but we do need to rest soon.”

“We can take the path around after, then,” Caru said. “And get some rest in the barn. I’ll keep watch when we get there. I’m not tired yet.”

“You’re sure?” Martel asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

The Sentinel nodded. “Then that settles it. Maybe it won’t be as far as it—“

“Light,” Mieta said.

Martel cut off and looked down the eastern road, back the way they’d come. Caru turned with Kimke and saw a strange light, moving so fast, almost like—

“Down!” Martel yelled.

Caru dropped to his stomach without a thought, pressing hands into the road’s dirt. He turned to make sure Mieta was alright and saw her frightened face illuminated as the ball of light—no, it was fire—sailed overhead and passed harmlessly into the distance. A moment passed, and the world dimmed to moonlight again as the flame died. The sound of men running made Caru push himself up to hands and knees to see three men sprinting in his direction.

“Go!” Martel yelled.

Caru quickly scanned to make sure that Kimke and Mieta heard the order, but they were already on their feet and rushing toward the spinecorn field. He did his best to catch up and pass them so he could try to clear a path, but they were gone and fleeing through the field. In a safer time, he could join them and they could stamp down the plants at the base, but for now, all they could do was cover their faces and dive in. Each row had a space of several feet between it and the next–enough for a farmer to walk through without slicing their skin to ribbons without protective gear–but shoving through haphazardly was the only path left to them. Caru joined them, kept his face covered as best he could, and tried to flatten a path. He already felt several deep scratches oozing blood as he stamped down another plant.

—

Martel gripped his spear tightly as he advanced on the group of humans.

Bloodmage. Swordsman. Rifleman. He swallowed. It wouldn’t be easy, but he could buy the others some time. He didn’t know how Caru and Kimke had spent their weeks in captivity, but he had exercised. He had maintained his strength and grown more easily accustomed to his sense of balance without wings. Martel had known he would escape. He had been certain of it.

He positioned himself so that the swordsman was between him and the man with the gun. He tightened the grip on his spear and charged.

—

Ferrak hesitated. He saw the way the Sentinel moved with the spear, but he was one against three. Ferrak could stay behind and deal with him personally, but the others were escaping through the field. Spinecorn? He would cut himself to ribbons getting through it, but he didn’t mind shedding a little blood.

He turned to Dell, who already had his rifle leveled. They met eyes, and Ferrak nodded. He would chase after the other three while his men dealt with the lone soldier. He ran a finger along one of the frozen vials hanging from his belt and turned to the field. The blood within flashed gold for an instant, and Ferrak launched a ball of light into the air. It glowed a dark orange as it illuminated the area.

—

As he crushed his way through the third row of what he thought must be fifty, the sound of steel against steel echoed in the distance. Light flared again, but no one cried out in pain. He feared for Martel, but knew he would be a liability if he went back to try and help.. Another light rose, but this time it ascended and froze in the sky, suspended above the road and the field’s edge. Caru raced between another row of spinecorn. It bit into his arms again, but he shoved more plants aside. Mieta pushed through the gap and started working on the next row, blood already streaking along her arms.

—

Martel shifted to the right, mirroring the rifleman on the far side. The swordsman looked uncertain, but he held his blade before him. Single-edged, about two feet of Seranian steel glinting in the light of the bloodmage’s spell. Shadows danced erratically as the orb in the sky flickered and burned.

He looked from the swordsman to the rifleman, then to the sword itself. Martel glanced up to the man’s eyes. The man tightened his grip on the sword, and the moment they both knew would come finally arrived. They advanced toward each other, both shouting. Martel brought his spear down to prepare for an upward sweep.

They met, and the spear swept up, but the swordsman twisted to one side, angling to bring his blade down on Martel’s overextended arm. Both screamed. Martel moved to his left as the sword came down, and it missed him by inches. He swept his spear back to get some distance between them and then fell into a double handed stance. He wanted a moment to stabilize his footing, but the rifle was still a threat.

A shot rang out, but it missed wide. Hopefully, the shifting shadows the ball in the sky made would hinder the shooter. A curse sounded a moment before the casing was ejected. Martel didn’t have long. He circled around until the swordsman was in the middle again.

—

Ferrak swore. He was blind in the field, and the kernels drew more blood along his exposed forearms than he’d expected. Spilling blood was well enough for a bloodmage, but he could still die from blood loss if he wasn’t careful.

A drop of blood flashed gold, and lightning streaked from the clear sky. It arced to where Ferrak thought the fugitives might be, but no one cried out. Of course, he would never be that lucky.

The Sentinel could die, could pay for Seisk’s murder, but Ferrak wanted to bring the others in alive, if possible. Still, if necessary, the Blood Emperor would likely be satisfied with silencing them, as well. More beads of blood flashed gold, and more lighting flashed outward in a large arc before him.

—

Lightning stabbed from the open skies ahead in a rhythmic advance. Their pursuers must have seen them dive into the field but couldn’t tell which direction they went. Gunfire cracked, the sound nearly lost in the thunder. Plants rustled some twenty feet to Caru’s right, and the lightning began popping farther and farther away. It was lucky that the bloodmage had overestimated the speed they could make through the field.

The lightning stopped, and Caru feared that the bloodmage may have given up on them to focus on Martel. He paused for a moment, and the sound of steel pinged in the distance again as Martel’s fight continued. Caru entered what he thought was the seventh row of spinecorn. In the light of Ferrak’s light, Caru looked down and saw the blood trickling down his arms. He muttered something even he couldn’t hear and hoped Kimke and Mieta were in better condition. With a harsh wind and a brilliant light, a wide swath of fire carved a path through the field to his right. Apparently the man was going for a less targeted solution. Caru wanted to make for the open pathway, but that would only leave them open targets for both the bloodmage and the rifleman.

—

Martel grunted as the swordsman parried him again. He had to admit that the man was good, but he still thought he could take him in single combat.

But there was the gun.

If it had only been the swordsman, he would have many more options to get around his defenses. As it was, the swordsman kept angling to one side to give the other man a clear line of sight, so Martel had to keep outpacing him. The swordsman wasn’t even trying to close the gap.

Martel grunted and stabbed his spear at the man’s right knee. It was parried again, but Martel knew to expect that by now. He leaned into the momentum as the spear tip was pushed away, rushing forward and cracking the butt of the spear against the man’s jaw. The man shook his head, bewildered for a split second, and Martel was upon him.

—

Ferrak stepped into another row of spinecorn. Kernel spines were stuck into his uniform now.

He focused, and there was a golden flash as the rows ahead of him flattened in a line, following the path his fireball had taken a moment earlier. He thought he would have heard more gunfire, but then he paused and heard more grunts and curses from the fight behind him. His men could certainly handle one wingless erman in uneven combat, right? He nodded and advanced forward. More blood burned gold, and a fan of fire pushed out before him and into the accursed field.

—

Barbed kernels swatted against Caru’s face as he shoved another row of the devil plants down. Kimke didn’t say anything, and Mieta had been silent since they’d left the road.

Caru stood still in front of the women and held his breath as heat blasted against his face. There was more fire, but now it was spread out like a fan instead of a single cutting orb. A low metallic sound roared its fury, but the spell quickly died out. Small flames licked against charred plants, but the stalks were still too moist from the previous night’s rain for the fire to spread across the field.

Caru spun left between two rows of spinecorn, leading the women through a wide path. Ferrak still searched, but Caru could at least take a moment to bat down another row of plants. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay in the open for long, even if it meant letting the crops shred his skin again. They rushed to the far side of the charred arc, all low to the ground to give the rifleman a smaller target. When they burst into the opening, their feet crunched through piles of plant matter that crumbled to ash with each step.

—

The swordsman reeled for a moment and appeared to gain his bearings before Martel brought the butt of his spear into the man’s chin. He staggered backward, and Martel arced the metal end of his spear onto his right hand. The swordsman cursed, and the blade fell away onto the dirt path.

He looked up, horrified, but Martel had no time for it. He brought his spear back, then lunged it forward into his opponent’s belly with a double-handed grip. Blood leaked from his mouth as Martel ripped his spear back. When he fell to his knees, Martel shoved him aside and sprinted toward the gunman.

—

Another gunshot.

Ferrak paused, listening for a moment. It was oddly quiet back on the road. He considered going back to see what had happened, but he was almost upon the others. It was clear they were making for the barn.

But still…

He focused, and lightning rained upon the road. Not much, but it could upset the balance. Make the Sentinel think Ferrak was paying more attention to the fight or even returning to it.

Then he ran forward into the burned field and launched a weak ball of fire in the direction of the barn, not daring to destroy it. Let them find their sanctuary. He threw spells haphazardly, trying to level as much of the field as possible.

—

Their footsteps raced along the other side of the ashen ring. The blackened area covered a span of nearly twenty rows to the barn, but more rows remained untouched at the boundary. Mieta raced ahead of the others, tucking her body into a shoulder charge and ramming into the next row at the ash’s edge. Caru passed her as she stood, and he ran into the next row, rolling into a ball as he tumbled, no longer caring if it scraped or cut, only that he might give the others a wider area to run through. A single ball of flame carved a path through the field, but it missed far to the right.

A sound arose from Ferrak’s direction. Someone cursed, and more lightning flashed down. The attack faded, and there was another report from the rifle. Caru shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts clear in the cacophony. Another row fell before him. Another row, another row.

Spells flew in all directions, but each one pinpointed Ferrak’s location. How many spells could he cast? How did humans have so much blasted blood? Lightning, fire, even gusts of wind flattened patches of the field. Spinecorn ripped at Caru’s body, but the rows and rows of it kept the bloodmage blind. Someone behind cried out in pain. At least it didn’t sound like Martel. Ferrak shouted another curse, and Caru pressed forward, shoving down another row. A massive downburst of wind flattened rows of spinecorn for a hundred feet surrounding the bloodmage. Stalks slapped against Caru’s body as he fell, and he heard pained hisses from Kimke and Mieta.

He shook his head as he stood and lurched forward from the fallen plants. Their pursuer cried out as he spotted their flight to the next rows of spinecorn with the barn now so close. He rushed toward them, but the orb of light overhead suddenly winked out, and he vanished in the sudden darkness. Mieta stumbled and fell, but Caru quickly knelt beside her and helped her gain her footing. He was shocked at the amount of blood leaking from both of them.

Ground split open in a radiating pattern. Caru grunted as he tripped over one of the cracks and fell headfirst into the next row of spinecorn, multiple barbs raking against him as he stumbled. I’ll never eat another skullbashing hunk of bread in my life! He forced himself to stay on his feet and lunged forward, stomping down another row and another and another until he crushed the final one.

The barn loomed before them like a bastion of sanctuary. Caru knew it wouldn’t stop a bloodmage’s assault, but, with luck, the man would have bled himself out enough to keep from destroying it outright. Caru made staggering progress toward the building before stumbling into the wall. He leaned against it as he shuffled his way into darkness.

Another flame rushed overhead, striking above where he had stood a moment earlier. The spell felt weak, hasty. Paint peeled away from the fire, but the wood didn’t burn. Caru led the women around the corner to the front of the barn. Blood slicked his own hands as he pried the barn’s double doors open and ducked inside. Without the open area outside, Caru thought he might have a chance to make an attack against the bloodmage. He feared it would likely be a suicidal attack, unsure of his ability to kill the man with a single blow.

The three of them stood together against the back wall in a defensive position. Caru didn’t know what they were all planning to do, but he scanned the barn interior looking for anything to use as a weapon. A pitchfork and shovel leaned against the door opposite them next to a heavily padded single-piece suit designed for spinecorn work.

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—

Martel didn’t know how long it took the man to ready another shot, but it wouldn’t be more than a few seconds. Of all the things he knew, he suddenly wished he’d learned more about rifles. From what he’d seen, the soldier would fire, then pull a bolt to eject the cartridge, and then aim to fire again. He didn’t know how many bullets a gun like that could hold, but he did know he’d been shot at four times.

The barrel swept in his direction, so he tried to randomize his movement. The end of the barrel swayed a bit as Martel advanced, but then it froze for a moment. Rather than weave back into his path, he instead suddenly dodged far right. The soldier fired before he had a chance to correct, and the bullet sank into the dirt several hundred feet to Martel’s rear.

Only a few seconds.

Martel ran forward as the soldier ejected the cartridge. He tried bringing the gun down, but Martel was already on him. He held his spear to keep the gun from descending further, and then kneed the rifleman in the stomach. The other man grunted, but he held onto his gun. Standing in that pose, with each struggling against the other’s weapon, Martel suddenly leaned forward and slammed his forehead into his opponent’s.

His vision swam for a moment, but the other had been too blindsided to expect it. He dropped his gun to the ground. Martel brought his spear back, and rammed it into the man’s chest. The soldier slumped and fell to his side on the ground.

As the man lay bleeding out into the dirt, Martel kicked him onto his back. With a foot planted on the soldier’s shoulder, Martel braced himself and pulled the spear free.

Two down, and only a bloodmage remained.

One attack is all it takes, he reassured himself as he ran into the destroyed spinecorn field.

—

After an agonizing delay, the bloodmage’s hand wrapped itself around the outer door jamb, and he pulled himself into full view. Long hair hung loose about his face, partially consuming the mad gaze within his eyes. His arms bore many scrapes and cuts, but few of those bled. Amazing with how deep they were, but they remained dry. Hopefully in his fury, he had burned himself dry. His right hand held a dagger in a tight grip, the blade pressed high against his own left arm. A new cut would give enough blood for at least one spell, that much Caru knew.

“My men are dead,” the bloodmage wheezed. The man couldn’t be used to so much physical exertion, and the blood loss had to be mounting. The dagger trembled in his grasp as he prepared himself to open his arm again. “I heard one of them die a moment ago, and there are no more gunshots. Farren and Dell are both gone. We were supposed to bring you back to Theop, but your Sentinel killed us.” The blade pressed into his arm, digging deep before dragging across, and a thick bead of blood swelled and slid down his bicep, his forearm, and into his left hand. “We were supposed to bring you back alive, but I think you’ll understand our grudge, Caru.” Gold flashed in his hands as blood burned, but it vanished as quickly.

Martel lunged from behind, sweeping the butt of his spear through the backs of the man’s knees, sending the bloodmage down in a heap. “Get out of here!” Martel said, looking at Caru before rolling the bloodmage over on the barn floor. “We don’t have much time.” The bloodmage tried to regain footing, but he staggered, either from blood loss or Martel’s blow. He pushed himself to one knee, then swayed for a moment before dropping into a huddled position.

Caru nodded, and the three of them crossed the room to the entrance.

Martel pressed a boot against the bloodmage’s chest and shoved back, sending him pinwheeling awkwardly before falling against a support beam in the middle of the barn. Caru stood in the doorway watching as the women hurried around the corner.

“You took away who we were,” Martel growled, bringing his spear up and angling the tip toward the bloodmage’s throat. “I want to know why, but I don’t think you’re important enough to know.” The Sentinel’s muscles tensed, and he stabbed the spear point forward.

Ferrak raised a hand to defend himself, and it was enough. The spear glanced along his forearm, sliding it off target from his sternum and into his stomach. Ferrak howled in agony, throwing his head back and gripping the spear with both hands. No spells came. Shock. Ferrak was already delirious, but now squirming in a pool of his own blood as he and Martel fought for control of the spear.

Martel turned, and Caru saw the fear in his eyes. “Get them out of here! Now!” he bellowed.

Kimke took a step forward, looking at the impaled figure on its back before Martel. “What happened?” she asked, softly despite the dying screams pouring from the bloodmage.

Martel turned and glared at her. “I’m keeping you safe. Now go!”

Caru pulled her away, and they were gone.

—

Martel found himself with several options. The spear in his hands, which was now jammed between two ribs in the bloodmage’s back, the pitchfork and shovel at the door, at the rear of the barn, where the three others had stood, a machete hung from a peg on the wall, or his own fists.

The machete was the best option, but it was far enough away that he would have to leave Ferrak unattended for a few seconds.

So Martel planted a hand on Ferrak’s chest, stamped down hard, and yanked the spear out. A part of him hoped that the trauma would cause the bloodmage to pass out until he died, but sometimes people held on for a moment longer than they should. Sometimes people found one last reserve of strength or one instant of clarity. The bloodmage’s eyes cleared, and the two of them shared one look into each other’s eyes. One look, and they knew their fate was inexorably tied together, that any paths their lives might have taken would have led to this moment.

Martel remembered.

He remembered the cries from his brother and sister when he told them that their mother had died, gone to join their father in whatever came next. He remembered being little more than a child and raising them while he tried to raise himself. He remembered seeing them finally grown into adulthood and realizing that protection was his role in life now. He remembered going to the Sentinel recruiter, telling them that he was shifted Destruction, and that he was willing to fight to protect.

He had killed a handful of people in his life, and he had admitted as much to the others. Once, things had gotten out of control in a fight in a bar in eastern Garenesh. A drunken erman had taken offense to something a group of humans had said. Sentinels were often stationed near bars in order to maintain Edaria’s peace to those in other lands. No matter where an erman went, they were bound to be watched by local Sentinels. Someone in the bar had run out to the street to cry for help, and Martel had gone inside as the drunken erman’s wings had spread wide, and sent a ball of fire into his agitator’s chest. The man had lived, though he’d later sworn off drinking for good, and had hopefully never entered another bar or tavern in his life. The erman hadn’t been as fortunate, and his life had ended with Martel’s spear jammed through his back.

Two others had been Soulless ermen, and those situations were always kept quiet. Caru had once mentioned in their walk from Lieve that they were probably the first to be Soulless and uncontrolled in centuries, but that wasn’t true. “Make friends quick” was the advice given to erman prisoners. Those that didn’t… All ermen returned to Edaria during Soulless, and that included Sentinels. With nothing to do in the human world below, they were stationed to prisons for the night. A group of Sentinels could restrain a Soulless erman, but it was often too difficult to maintain. Martel had been a part of six of those operations, and he had killed two of them himself.

He wondered how many humans he had killed during his escape from his cell in the Seranian training facility in northeastern Garenesh. He wondered, but only to himself. Killing was dark business, and he didn’t want to know.

He remembered one night after a Soulless moon almost two years ago, when he had killed the second Soulless inmate. He remembered going to a bar in southern Garenesh and trying to forget. He had been off-duty, and many of the other Sentinels had recommended it. He remembered sitting on a stool at the bar in the dim light, staring into a mug of beer. He remembered a blonde erman sitting on the chair next to him, a pretty woman, a Healer.

“What’s got you so down?” she’d asked before calling the bartender over and ordering a drink.

He’d wanted to tell her.

Instead, he’d laughed softly. “Nothing,” he’d said after a moment. “Just trying to decide if I’ve had too much to drink.” He’d looked over to her and smiled, and she’d smiled back. “I think I’ve got room for one more,” he’d said before motioning the bartender over and ordering one more.

They’d talked, and it had been nice. She’d talked about her day as a Healer. She’d watched someone die, someone beyond saving. She’d known it wasn’t her fault, that not everyone could be saved, but she’d needed to go back out and recall what it meant to be alive for an hour or two.

He remembered making plans to do it again the next week, then the next week, and so on. He remembered enjoying her company. He remembered his friends urging him to ask her out for something more. He remembered feeling inadequate, feeling that she deserved better, feeling everything that made him look for always one more damned excuse.

And then he remembered Mieta finally doing what no one else had thought of—asking her out on his behalf. He remembered the flutter in his heart when she’d agreed, and he remembered the quiet relief that had come after that, and the lingering sense of joy that remained even now. He remembered wondering if he’d loved Kimke all that time.

He stood and angled his spear at the dying bloodmage’s neck. As he lunged, the sea of blood that surrounded them flashed gold.

He was glad that he had bought Kimke enough time to get away. He thought of the others, Caru, Kimke, his brother, his sister, his friends, all the people that had helped him throughout his life.

But in that last instant, he thought of Kimke, and he smiled.

And then he was gone.

—

A flash overtook the field as Caru, Mieta, and Kimke ran back through the trampled and burned rows of spinecorn. In an instant, the flash collapsed in on itself, forming into a massive ball of pure white that shattered the windows of the barn before incinerating the walls. The light throbbed, expanding with each pulse, eating more of the land each time. Heat blasted against Caru’s back, and he struggled to stay upright.

With a piercing howl, the bubble of light shattered, focusing into a westward beam. The howl faded and shifted into a high wailing sound as though hell had opened up onto thousands of damned souls. The world lit up around them, and the ground quaked under their feet, buckling in a wave as the light ripped through the earth, shrieking louder as it fanned outward.

As the land buckled, Mieta fell sprawling. Caru turned, bellowing words even he couldn’t hear. He tried shielding his eyes from the intense light, but his forearm made for a weak barrier. He squinted against it as he made his way to Mieta. How long do these damned things last?

Martel.

He gritted his teeth as he pulled his forearm from his face, lending Mieta a hand as she stood. The beam still raged, but the spread stopped, leaving it as a wide column that pierced the Tempest.

As Caru stood at her side, Kimke shuffled past with slow, disjointed steps. Her hands twitched at her sides, sometimes opening completely, other times balling into tight fists, other times flexing unevenly, only two or three fingers extending. Not a good sign. She did not shield her eyes from Ferrak’s deathflare. It shone brighter than the sun, but still she stared forward.

Caru fell into a long stride, rushing toward her as he tried not to look at the shaft of light. It finally abated slightly, but the beam still burned hot. He thought he shouted her name, but he couldn’t hear over the dying spell. Pure white light collapsed into myriad spiraling colors.

He placed his hand on Kimke’s shoulder, and he tried to turn her around, to at least make her stop staring into the light. He opened his mouth to speak, but took a backward step as a full-armed slap blurred his vision. He drew his hand back and instinctively balled it into a fist without thought as he took a staggering step away. Strength of will reminded him that this wasn’t a fight, and he unclenched his fist. No, the fight was over. Now he faced a woman who’d lost more than he could imagine.

As his vision refocused, Caru stepped forward and behind her. The deathflare finally dissipated; the twisting colors collapsed into cascading points of light, and then even those were gone. It would have been beautiful under different circumstances. Darkness again engulfed the countryside, leaving it lit only by the two moons. Shadows danced as his vision returned.

Kimke broke into a sprint, but quickly fell as she tripped over a fold in the land. Caru slid into a kneeling position at her side and placed a hand on her left arm, which she promptly brushed away before standing again. She ran to where the barn had stood, now the epicenter of a crater that marked a bloodmage’s death.

Caru chased after her.

Land provided difficult footing after the last and largest fold, which was nearly three feet high. Beyond that—

Glass, or something like it.

The reflective surface stretched out in an arc over the remaining miles between the farm and the Tempest. Several warped reflections of the moon and stars shone up from it. Caru slipped on it, skidding several feet forward before catching himself. It was too slick for his shoes, so he removed both so his feet could find better traction. The ground was slick, but the glassy substance wasn’t thick. It crunched beneath his footsteps like walking over a thin layer of ice.

“Kimke!” he shouted, but she never slowed. Instead, she broke into a run, shaking her head in denial.

Her footing slipped, and she fell, sliding to her knees. She scrambled forward on all fours, pulling herself along by her hands as she tried to get her feet beneath her again. Her frustrated cry made Caru wince, but he lunged forward again, this time wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, voice cracking into a ragged sob on the last syllable. She bowed her head, long blonde hair pooling against the cool, reflective ground. The world seemed to hold its breath as Kimke sucked in air with long, ragged gasps. A tapping sound accompanied her breathing, the sound of tears splashing onto the surface. Tik! Tik-tik! She bunched her right hand into a fist and brought it down against the ground. The surface did not shatter like glass but instead cracked into a large web. Stars, moons, her own image, all broke and multiplied, divided in the reflection. Kimke spat against the network of her own reflection, bringing her fist upon it again and again, breaking herself further.

“What happened?” she asked. Her voice hitched again.

“Kimke, I–” Caru said before realizing he did not know the words.

“Where is he?” A whisper.

Caru let his arm slide from her shoulders as he stood. There was nothing to say. Lightning flashed in the Tempest’s depths as though it tried to heal itself from the gash Ferrak had carved into its side. The storm’s deadly rhythm pulsed within.

“There’s nothing left,” Kimke said. “It’s all gone. Everything is gone. Him. He’s gone.”

Caru didn’t want to accept Martel’s death. Something about having the Sentinel in their retinue seemed to stabilize their flight. The man was so damned capable.

Now Caru felt lost again, as he had on the day after his escape from the armory, wandering the streets of Garenesh. Martel had been the man watching over them, protecting them. He’d singlehandedly exterminated their pursuers. More may come, but he’d killed the ones nearest to them, including a bloodmage at the expense of his own life. Martel had even bought them enough time to dive into the storm.

Everything between the barn and the stormwall was simply gone. No sign of Martel, no sign of Ferrak. Nothing. No sound except that of Kimke’s breathing and the tears against the ground, both punctuated by the Tempest’s wailing. Footfalls approached ever closer, coming from behind.

“I’m useless,” Kimke whispered.

Caru steeled himself at her side. He had expected this conversation for some time, and he supposed now was inappropriate but inevitable.

“I know what you want to say,” she said. Her voice hitched, but she hammered a fist into the ground, defying her anguish and forcing herself forward. “You want to tell me… I don’t know. You probably want to tell me that I’m a good person, that I hold us together, that I’m good moral support, something like that.”

“Kimke,” he began again.

“No!” she said. “You can still do your job. Martel could still do his, and Mieta can still do hers. What do I have left?” she asked. “I can’t even heal a small cut anymore!” Her voice gained strength. “I was a Healer! Now if I so much as start a small fire, I pass out for hours? A spark is all it takes to spend me? Where is the justice? I lost the one I love—I can say that now—and there’s nothing I could have done. With wings… With wings, maybe I could have healed the bloodmage, stopped his blood flow somehow. But… But then the deathflare.”

“Kimke, there was—“

“You can come back here and build a statue in his honor if you want,” she said. “No matter how many bandages I make—“ She spat on the ground. “—Nothing will bring him back. I can’t even honor his memory!”

He wanted to say more, but he held back. It would only make things worse.

“You know,” she said after a moment. “I could have done it. You— You always talked about maybe setting up a life again somewhere. Learning to sculpt and pretending to be a human, right? I thought I wouldn’t be able to Heal again. I was wrong. I could have put it together. I… I know anatomy. I know a few basic salves I could make. I… With him, I could have done it. I would have found a way to make it work. But now.” She exhaled and gave herself a moment to weep. “I can’t. Not like this. Not without him.” Another breath. “It was finally coming together! The idiot man.” She laughed twice before it fell into ragged sobs again. “That stupid man waited so long to take a chance with me that he could have taken over a year ago. I wanted him to, and I would have made the first move eventually. But I wanted him to, you know. And I had him. Finally, I had him. And now, there’s nothing. I could have done it, and now I can’t.”

She punched the ground a third time, breaking a small section into shards. Kimke plucked one as though picking a flower, holding it in her right hand, gripping until rivulets of blood seeped between her slim, delicate fingers. The shard flashed in the moonlight, first reflecting Rythellas, then a wide swath of stars, and finally settling on the image of her face. Her voice was distant. “It killed him,” she said. The shard twisted in her hand as she lowered it against her left wrist. “It should kill me too.”

Caru shoved forward as her muscles tensed, hand ready to drag the glassy shard over her wrist. He pressed down, knocking Kimke onto her side. “Let me do it!” she screamed as the shard fell from her grip. Kimke toppled, and her mangled right palm smeared blood over the ground. “Let me do it!” she screamed again. “I’m useless. Let me die. I’m nothing!” Sobbing wracked through her body as she pushed Caru away and raised herself to hands and knees. “Please. Why?”

“We’re in this together,” Caru said.

“He’s not!”

The words stung. “Not now,” Caru said. “But he got us as far as he could.” It was hard to mask his own grief, to wear the brave face for her sake. “If we don’t press on, he died for nothing.” The footsteps behind quickened as Mieta saw the expanse of blood. She staggered to Caru’s side, standing beside him, ready to kneel beside Kimke. She was still breathing hard. She’d lost a lot of blood to the spinecorn field, almost as much as Caru himself. Caru wanted to tell her to wait, but the words didn’t come soon enough.

When Mieta’s hand touched Kimke’s shoulder, the erman woman slapped it away. “Get your hand off of me, human.”

Mieta spun, locking her confused and hurt gaze against Caru’s eyes. It pained him, seeing her like that. She’d tried so hard to not be set aside as something different from the others. He sighed and took a step closer to Kimke.

“Humans have brought us nothing but pain,” Kimke said, standing so she could face Mieta. “Took our wings, tortured us, beat us, chased us, killed us! What we should do is repay them in kind.” She spat. “Humans.”

“Kimke,” Mieta said.

“Shut up!” Kimke took a step forward and stared into Mieta’s face. Mieta was tall for a human, but she still looked small against a looming erman woman. “I want to kill a human for the sake of justice.” She poked a finger against Mieta’s chest. Mieta shrank away, obviously not wanting to hear any more of what Kimke had to say. “You should be thankful for your guardian.” Kimke turned to Caru. “We should leave her here, but I know you won’t stand for it. You’re a fool for that. I’ll protect you if I can—Martel would want it that way—but you’ll have to be careful on your own. Martel swore to protect ermen.” She turned again to Mieta. “Only ermen.” With that, she shoved her way between the two of them, plodding against the glassy road that led from Martel’s last stand and the destination he was taking them to. The storm wall flashed.

Caru and Mieta stood in silence, watching Kimke dwindle with each step. His body ached as he watched her moving away, a horrid mix of despair and bloody injuries. A small hand intertwined against his own, but it didn’t draw back from the blood in his palm. He gave it a squeeze. He needed comfort.

“I loved him, too,” Mieta said. She sniffed and brought the heel of her free hand to scrub tears from her cheeks.

“I know,” Caru said. Tears now leaked from his own eyes. How could he comfort anyone when he hurt so much himself? Maybe he could sculpt again one day, but for now he was as useless as Kimke felt. “I know,” he said. “I did, too.”