Chapter 22 – The Edge of the World

  Along the Rainbow Mountain ridge – Drift 15

  David watched Remulus pace near the ridge, gun in one hand and his handheld flickering in the other. “That cat’s been there all night,” he said, looking back toward the camp. “Cleaning herself of blood and guts and whatever was left of the last drift’s meal. I barely slept a wink.”

  He looked the part, too. His beard stuck out in all directions, and the circles under his eyes were deep. David followed his gaze past the shimmering red sand and into the heat haze. He squinted, shielding his eyes with a hand, but saw no feline.

  “I don’t understand why that mammal isn’t in my Memory Vault,” he said. He’d browsed through all ground mammals listed in Lyra last night, then started on Bode Eight before he gave up and slept. “What did you say its name was?”

  “The Felidae?” Serendipity asked, strapping gear to her runner. She frowned, as if recalling this and packing her mount at once was too much to manage.

  “Yeah. Local or scientific?”

  “Um.” Her hands stilled, and she looked down. “They’re also called Desert Phantom, I think. By locals, maybe. I’m not sure. I only found a short description when I looked, myself.”

  He typed: Felidae (local). Possibly Desert Phantom. No record. Investigate.

  “Great,” Remulus growled. “Just what we need. A desert phantom. Perfect.”

  “I don’t think it means us harm,” Iliana said quietly, repacking a larger bag and cinching it to She Who Screams at the Ocean. Her color was better, but her movements were slow, unhurried.

  “And you’d know?” Remulus snapped, still watching the ridge.

  Everyone looked tired—sleepless, thin, and worn out. Patience was running out for all of them, including him. His skin had stopped peeling, but the new patches itched like fire. His hands were more pink than tan, so he quickly pulled on the gloves Hayam had given him.

  He had wanted to leave during the night, but they needed rest, and the mountain path was close enough to reach before midday.

  “Remi?” Serendipity called.

  “Don’t call me that,” he snapped. Just then, his handheld chimed. Dice’s voice came through, distorted and warped but still recognizable.

  “Cap—ain?”

  David straightened, instinctively.

  “Dice?” Remulus shouted into the handheld. “Goddamn this magnetic interference. I’ll try to get higher ground, see if she can hear us better.”

  “Hear you—hear… me?”

  “I’m going ahead,” Remulus said, already moving. “Foot of the mountain. Don’t take long. That cat looks hungry.”

  “She doesn’t,” David murmured to himself.

  Serendipity turned, one hand still on the runner’s back, a sly grin tugging at her mouth. “As if you could see it.”

  Everything inside him stilled. His stomach dropped. Did she know?

  “I...” He swallowed. “What?”

  “Kid.” Her voice was low but gentle. “Stop overthinking. I know what Nero’s radiation does to humans. I know you’re almost blind. I’m just surprised those two haven’t figured it out yet.”

  His shoulders sagged. She knew.

  “I guess they’re too busy fighting to notice.”

  A glance past her shoulder showed Iliana bent over her gear, Remulus halfway up the rocks, still yelling into static.

  He turned back. “Can you keep it a secret? Please? I don’t want them to worry. Or worse, decide to turn back.”

  She squinted east, then jabbed a finger toward the slope. “That depends. Can you climb that mountain half-blind?”

  He looked where she pointed. A steep, jagged path rose ahead, stone cracked in red and gold, taller than Aurelion’s towers and just as merciless. Heat shimmered along its blurred edges, merging with his failing sight.

  “I can,” he said, straightening up. He had to. “If you can... warn me about any obstacles I might run into?” He gave her that sheepish smile Emma always said earned him extra cafeteria rations.

  Serendipity rolled her eyes and sighed, looking like she wanted to protest but changed her mind. She swung onto Eat-Sand in one smooth motion, muttering something under her breath that might have been an insult. Or maybe something worse.

  He didn’t mind. And he took it as a yes.

  They rode in silence, not too fast but just enough to stay ahead of the rising heat. Serendipity led the way, her rusty runner limping over the sand. One foot kept snagging on the way down, and he finally understood its name. Eat-Sand looked like the kind of machine that could throw a rider face-first into the dunes without warning, maybe if one of its feet fell off. Or maybe something worse.

  But she rode it well. Tall, poised, hands relaxed on the handles, her body moving with the broken rhythm of the machine.

  He didn’t. He slouched, favoring his left side, which hurt only a little less than the right. His spine ached with every jolt until a dull pain settled at the base of his back. If he ever got back to Aurelion, he’d need physical therapy.

  Serendipity’s deep blue scarf hung loose around her shoulders, not yet needed for shade. Her wild curls caught the sun, flashing violet-black.

  His own scarf, a scratchy green one, was already draped over his head as if it could protect him from the heat, the sun, and maybe even his bad decisions. It probably wouldn’t.

  A large bird darted overhead, too fast for him to name. He turned just in time to catch Iliana fiddling with her implant again.

  He slowed Archivist’s Folly and pulled up beside her.

  “Still bothering you?” he asked, voice low.

  “Not really.” She scratched behind her ear. “It’s just… this silicone glue Remulus used itches like crazy.”

  “But now you can breathe fine,” he said, not quite a question.

  “I can.” She lowered her hand to the handlebars again, her voice calm, unbothered. “Serendipity told me what you said.”

  His gut twisted. Just a little.

  “You don’t need to feel guilty over anything, David,” she added, smiling at him. A gentle, genuine smile. She looked him straight in the eyes. “I think we’re all here for our own selfish reasons. And I also think… those reasons just happen to line up with what you asked of us.”

  She moved with that same quiet grace that always seemed effortless. The wind tugged at her gradient hair where it fell around her face, casting soft shadows across her cheeks. No helmet, just one of Serendipity’s scarves tied loosely around her head. Bright yellow. Nearly the same shade as the roots of her hair.

  “I think we should be thanking you instead,” she murmured, turning her eyes back to the road.

  He stayed quiet. He didn’t know how to respond to kindness that came without a price, or to loyalty that wasn’t tied to family.

  Or with the way she’d said we.

  It didn’t make sense to him. He’d asked for help from all of them. He’d brought Iliana here from the back of her bar, Remulus from that dirty, greasy dock, and Serendipity from her father’s home, where she would have been safer.

  He couldn’t imagine any other reasons besides asking for their help. But...

  He also couldn’t understand why they had come.

  He was out of value.

  Nobody cared who the next Librarian was. It could have been him, or Emma, or even Giorgia—the blonde viper Emma always threw a little too hard during sparring.

  “Will this all make sense when I’m older?” he asked, giving her a smile he knew would charm her.

  “All right, smartass,” Iliana laughed. “Go see if Serendipity can spot Remulus or if he left us here.”

  He’d never met another Sulei. But he really liked this one.

  He made a mental note to include additional information about them in his vault. His private vault.

  He sped up and caught up with Serendipity. She was still looking ahead, still silent.

  “Do you see Remulus?” he asked. “Iliana’s asking.”

  “Did you piss her off, or is she genuinely worried?” Serendipity asked without looking at him.

  “I’d say both, but I don’t even know at this point.”

  He pulled out his notebook and scribbled: Felidae. Then flipped the page; he hadn’t actually seen the mammal. Below that, he wrote: desert fire.

  He slouched over his runner, sketching an image that lingered in his mind: a small tower of stones, thin and rough-edged, balanced perfectly on top of each other.

  “Half blind, but that you saw?” Serendipity asked, a little amused.

  He didn’t look up. Just kept drawing. “It was by the fire this morning. Yours?”

  “Starsongs,” she said. “Some people here say they were part of something older, that they have a resonance, but no known purpose. Others say they’re meteorites.”

  “It’s unlikely they’re meteorites,” he said. “Finding even one is rare. Several in one region? I haven’t seen any data to support that.” He made a note.

  He paused, pencil hovering. “The people here?” he repeated. “That’s... a strange way to put it.”

  “I’m probably not from around here,” she replied simply, still looking ahead. “Hayam got me from the monastery when I was just a baby.”

  “But you two look alike,” he said, glancing up at her.

  She laughed, a real, warm sound. “We do, don’t we? People say that all the time. Perhaps it’s fate.”

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  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a similar stone, another starsong, rubbing her thumb along its surface. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “A keepsake from Devon Five.”

  “Does that bother you?” he asked as he took the stone, warm from her hand, smooth, almost organic. He eased the runner to a crawl, giving her his full attention. The stone did not sing for him.

  “Not at all,” she said, still cheerful. “But sometimes it makes me feel separated from the rest of the market.”

  “Like you don’t belong?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. He knew that feeling too well.

  “Did you feel like you didn’t belong? In that school you mentioned last night?” she asked.

  He looked away, pulling the scarf lower over his eyes. He’d revealed something he hadn’t meant to. Serendipity seemed sharper than his sister. “Doesn’t matter anymore,” he muttered, then added dryly, “Chances are we don’t make it out of this alive.”

  He pocketed the stone, and the knife Serendipity had given him slipped from its loose tie. He twisted, almost falling off Archivist’s Folly, one foot off the peg.

  “Leave it,” Serendipity said, jumping off her runner. She landed gracefully and picked it up, seeming to consider for a moment whether or not to return it.

  “Don’t you know?” she smirked, handing it to him, hilt first. “A falling knife has no handle.”

  “Does it look like I have any of this together?” he sighed, looking at the weapon. He took it, and she handed him a leather sheath with a clip for a belt he didn’t have.

  “I don’t have a mother either,” she said softly.

  It felt like a peace offering, a way to change the subject. He accepted it.

  “Figured,” he replied, gentler now. “Your place didn’t look like one where a mother lives. I didn’t want to pry.”

  “You didn’t mean to pry?” she teased, laughter breaking the tension.

  He had told the truth, she’d searched for it.

  “What’s a vat?” she asked suddenly, catching him off guard. “Iliana said you were vat-grown.”

  They’d reached the foot of the mountain. No sign of Remulus.

  “Oh. It’s like a pod...”

  “Do these climb?” Iliana asked, rolling up beside them.

  “Yeah, if you ask nicely.” came Remulus’s voice from behind a boulder. “What took you guys so long?”

  “David had to pee,” Serendipity said, deadpan, shielding her eyes from the sun to look up at Remulus. “Repeatedly.”

  “Not cool,” he muttered, dismounting. He forgot to bend his knees again as he landed, and the jolt from the hard ground traveled up his body all the way to his teeth. He wanted to shout. Curse the ground and the mount. He did no such thing. Emma would definitely scold him.

  He joined the others at the base of a narrow pass, where rainbow-colored rock warped into brittle spires and jagged switchbacks. From here, they couldn’t ride anymore. Now they climbed.

  Remulus studied the route. “We’ll walk the runners until we hit flat trail again. Don’t lag. This ridge drops fast.”

  Serendipity nodded and took the lead.

  He followed, one hand gripping his runner’s collar and the other bracing against the quartz-slick rock. The mountain looked beautiful through his still-blurred vision, but also brutal, as if it wanted to shake him off at every turn.

  Sharp ridges scraped his palms and knees. Brittle fragments slid under his boots, making him stumble more than once. He’d already fallen half a dozen times, and every muscle ached. They’d been climbing for what felt like hours, and the summit still didn’t appear. Maybe it was there, and he just couldn’t see it.

  Ahead, Remulus cursed and reached back to steady Iliana. Even her nimble footing struggled with the narrow paths.

  Serendipity leaped from one boulder to another, her feet leaving not even dust behind her, while he stumbled on solid ground. She was a few steps ahead and never out of reach. It seemed she was looking after him like he’d asked.

  He was still looking at her when Archivist’s Folly stepped too far left.

  The ledge crumbled.

  David’s foot plunged into nothing.

  The world dropped out, and he fell.

  Stone sheared away. Wind howled in his ears. He took a single, frozen, weightless breath.

  Snap!

  Something lashed his wrist with searing pressure.

  He was yanked sideways. Slammed into the side of the mountain.

  Air vanished. Thought scattered.

  He looked up at whatever had caught him, but couldn’t make sense of it.

  A thick purple coil.

  Then he was rising.

  Dragged back above the edge.

  He hit the ground hard. Rolled. Coughed.

  Serendipity crouched beside him, her arm, no… her tail looped tight around his arm.

  Rough, scaled like armor. Thick. Purple.

  Unheard of.

  She didn’t speak. Just retracted it slowly, like a rope uncoiling. A heart-shaped tip flicked in the air, either as a wave or a warning. It looked as deadly as her stare in that moment.

  Remulus made a sound halfway between a curse and a prayer.

  Iliana stared. Didn’t blink.

  Remulus cursed under his breath, “Tha—” He shook his head. “Are you all right?” he asked David.

  Serendipity exhaled, took a step back while still crouched, and muttered, “You’re welcome.”

  Nobody answered. Though David saw Remulus’s hand reach for his gun.

  The wind scraped over the ridge in low, sharp bursts, scattering fine dust across the ledge.

  Archivist’s Folly hissed somewhere behind them, shifting from foot to foot.

  No one moved.

  His pulse was still roaring in his ears.

  Iliana watched him with worried eyes, her hand outstretched as if she might catch him if he fell again.

  Remulus pursed his lips, forcing himself to stay quiet. He kept squinting, as if he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  Serendipity stood up slowly. Brushed off her gloved hands.

  Her right pant leg was shredded, and beneath it, tight grooves marked her skin where the tail had been wrapped around her leg.

  He had always seen that binding, but never questioned it.

  She turned. Her tail curled behind her as if it had always been there.

  “Watch your step,” she said dryly.

  And David realized his life had been the price of her secret.

  They set up camp in a large alcove carved into the side of the mountain, half-sheltered from the worst of the wind. The suns had dipped behind the ridge hours ago, but their heat still radiated from the stone, trapped underfoot like a ghost of the day. Now, as night crept in, the air turned sharp and dry, a cutting chill replacing the earlier heat.

  The wind wailed down the slope in bursts, strong enough to rattle their bags and scatter what little kindling they had. Every attempt at fire sputtered and died. Eventually, they gave up, ate a few pieces of dried fruit and hard almond cheese with Hayam’s crackers, and went to bed, stiff, cold, and unspeaking.

  Nobody had asked. Not about what they saw. And not about what they thought they saw.

  Remulus kept looking at her as if he expected her to grow another head or something.

  Maybe she should. That would be easier than telling them she’d been reading their lies—or lack of them—since the day they met. He also never took his hand off his gun. If by fear or the habit of an old soldier, she didn’t want to ask.

  She’d walked in silence ahead of the group, still keeping an eye on blind David.

  She hadn’t meant to do that. Not even a little.

  But the relief that came after he was back on his feet… that made her question herself.

  Could she lie to herself? She’d never felt one of her own lies before. But maybe that was something you learned with age.

  A gust of wind hit her face, stinging her eyes. She blinked, the cold biting through her coat.

  Was his life worth her secret?

  Hayam would say no. Firmly. And still be conflicted.

  She… had clearly decided yes.

  A strong yes.

  Her tail tightened around her leg. There was no hiding it now. Warmth wrapped her calf, grounding her. It felt like home.

  For as long as she still had it.

  Part of her expected Remulus to cut it off. Or push her off the edge.

  Maybe not tonight. Maybe after she finished making the compound.

  Maybe once she fell asleep.

  So she stayed awake.

  Even though Remulus had taken her watch, no surprise there, even though he looked half-dead.

  She let the hours stretch long, reaching back to when she first started learning who she was.

  At home, Hayam’s home, far away from the market and any humans who might have spotted her.

  She could be herself there. All wild and dusty and curious.

  Testing the limits of her tail.

  A fifth limb, but better. Powerful. Nimble. Ready for anything.

  She’d once hung by it from a tree, though she never told Hayam about it.

  She’d stood like that, head upside down, feet pressed together on the tail.

  Her hands had latched onto it at first, then slowly released, hanging loose around her face.

  She’d laughed and laughed, wondering what else it could do.

  Until the day she learned it wasn’t something she could use.

  That no one else had one.

  That people wouldn’t understand.

  That it had to be hidden. Always.

  It hurt, at first. Binding it.

  Muscles rebelled. Twitched in protest. The tail never stopped pushing against the wraps.

  But over time, its strength faded.

  It settled.

  She wasn’t even sure it could still hold David. Not until it snapped free on its own and coiled around his arm.

  She hadn’t even decided she would catch him when the thing ripped free of its wrap and whipped through the air, coiling around his arm.

  The relief was immediate. The grief was incomprehensible.

  Both at having to use it, and at having it be seen.

  Remulus shifted nearby, boots scraping stone. No one spoke. The cold wind pressed in from the slope.

  After all, this was what she’d always wanted.

  To be seen.

  A memory bloomed.

  A white house with a blue door.

  It stood alone at the edge of the flats, where red sands seemed to swallow the world. Its walls were scarred by wind, and a crooked tree clung to the side, bent by time and weather.

  When the suns dipped, Nero’s cold blue light, Hikari trailing in soft gold, the house glowed like magic. Rose, cobalt, violet bleeding into sand.

  She used to sit there for hours.

  In the shallow basin, where sand turned cool beneath her palms, she’d press stones into spirals. Build driftwood fences. Circle after circle, like shellkrat shells.

  When she found something bright, glass, twisted metal, she’d press it into the wet sand like treasure.

  She named them all. Each scrap. Each stick. Each fragment.

  They were alive in her mind. A quiet kingdom of patient things that kept her secrets.

  Even then, she’d known how to be alone.

  That’s all she’d ever done, really.

  Build. Hide. Hope.

  Pretend that if she arranged it all just right, the loneliness would turn into something beautiful.

  But that was then.

  Now, reality had hit like a punch to the ribs. And the walls that had begun to crumble stone by stone, thanks to the people around her, shook.

  A pebble bounced down the alcove, disturbed by someone shifting in their sleep. She wanted to cry.

  To scream at the wind to shut up.

  To hear their footsteps if they chose to leave without her.

  But the wind didn’t care.

  It picked up, louder and louder, until rustle and whistle and whisper were all that remained…

  And then, beneath her bedroll, a cold wetness.

  She froze.

  Water, thin but steady, was slipping through the fabric and soaking into her clothes, threading down from somewhere higher. Flowing through their camp like the start of a river.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  The mountain was bleeding.

  She didn’t call out.

  Just pulled her knees closer and breathed in. Her tail coiled around her calves and ankles, uselessly trying to keep herself warm. She rubbed her hands together in their gloves, wondering what else this mountain would claim of her.

  The air smelled like wet dirt and storm and cold, cold wind.

  That scent before the sky cracked open, deep and old and nameless.

  A runner stamped somewhere in the dark, restless. She listened.

  To the wind.

  To the water.

  To the silence of the camp.

  Waiting to see what or who would break first.