1
Lina
Only a desperate soul would dare venture into the desert of Morteres expecting anything beyond death. Yet, we stand on the edge of the black sands, eagerly watching their shifting tides as if they hold our last remaining hope.
“It’s our only chance,” the old woman whispers, her wrinkled fingers gripping mine tightly. Her voice loses its calm. “Look around you!” she hisses.
One short glance over my shoulder is enough to prove her point. White, half-rotten trees pepper the pathway. The air is thick with warmth, but the sun is hidden behind a gray haze. There are no signs of animals. Only unnatural silence.
I swallow, feeling her pain and rage and knowing she is very likely right. There is little left on this side of the continent.
A gentle brush of skin against my other hand alerts me to my most important companion. Astella’s eyes are soft as she shakes her head.
She will not cross the desert.
She’s not old enough to have given up all other hope.
The woman barely seems to notice Astella. She’s a girl with a tiny frame, a matted brown braid, and eyes so dark they reflectthe sands beyond. Anyone could look at us and know we are not related, but she is my sister—blood be damned.
“We are not ready to make that journey,” I tell the old woman. My voice doesn’t carry weight, like my mother’s had. Its softness has often led others to believe I need their protection, or even their control.
But softness or not, I am a fighter, especially when it comes to protecting my loved ones. I will not yield, even to well-meaning pressures.
A grimace flashes across the woman’s face, but quickly morphs into despair, her lips trembling. “But we must.”
“Perhaps,” I say. “But not yet.”
I gently pull my hand from the woman’s. We’ve only just met, she and I. Lorraine and her family escaped the city of Ruthend as it fell to rebels last week and stumbled upon our hideout in an abandoned town yesterday morning.
Astella and I have been traveling together for nearly a year. A terrible year of hunger and grief and fear, where she was my only comfort.
She’s held me while I cried. Gently wrapped my wounds. Collected weeds I’d have never known were edible, let alone medicinal. She told me stories when I needed a distraction. She is my final anchor to this world.
“This is no life for a young girl, Lina.” Lorraine points to the shadowed lands looming before us, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. “Beyond that is true freedom. Don’t let fear hold you back from trying to find a new life.”
She may be right—if we could survive the journey. But where she sees hope, I see desperation.
“There is also hope in the south.”
“For how long?” she whispers, not bothering to meet my eye any longer. She turns to peer out into the desert. It is misleadingly calm.
Only lumps of sand for as far as the eye can see, but some of those dunes are mountainous. By looks alone it seems an easy summit, but that first major dune is actually a several-hour trek that would use all of our energy.
Then, it gets worse.
I take a long deep breath and turn to watch Lorraine’s husband and son work to repair their wagon. Lorraine and her family have spent their lives in a city. They’ve been rich enough to afford a horse-drawn wagon, and that tells me more than enough about their life before they fled. If the wagon is not repairable, they’ll have lost their best means of transportation. Is that when they intend to flee into the desert?
Suffocation in the acidic black sands is not a particularly pleasant way to die, but I do admit it would still be better than being shackled to a pyre and tormented for the joy of a sadistic cult.
And the longer we stand here, the more likely that fate becomes.
“The desert will swallow us whole,” Astella’s small voice says. “And the wagon will ride. For now.”
Lorraine’s eyes narrow with an expression that makes me uncomfortable.
Astella knows things others don’t. She sees more than the rest of us.
She’s not exactly psychic, but anyone would be a fool to ignore her warnings. These new companions don’t know of Astella’s abilities, and I don’t intend to share.
