As she moved down the path between the fields, rich and green with corn and wheat, the potential for danger stood dark at every turn. Whenever she closed her eyes, even to blink, she feared she’d open them to see the rancor standing directly before her. Hanne’s heart was a hummingbird’s wings.
A rickety granary loomed against the starry sky. She hurried inside, but not to rest; there was no time. Instead, she stole a sack of grain, a rake, and the farmer’s only horse. She needed it more than he did. After all, even though this family was clearly poor (and now relieved of their only animal), they had not been trapped in a malsite for the last three or four—or maybe more?—weeks. So Hanne’s need was greater.
She considered leaving a piece of jewelry in its place, so that she could tell herself that she was buying the horse, but unfortunately she had nothing of low value—even Nadine’s rings were worth more than the entire farm—which meant that anything she left was of considerably more worth than the near-motionless nag. It wouldn’t be a fair trade.
With those thoughts churning through her mind, Hanne climbed onto the horse, which came alive at her touch, and didn’t pause one moment more to reflect upon her options. The rancor’s instructions had been clear. She kicked the horse and left the farm as fast as possible.
She was out.
That was all that mattered.
Somewhere along the Brink Way, she dropped the stolen rake. It wouldn’t actually be a useful weapon if she was accosted on the road, and its bulk only slowed her pace. If the rancor changed its mind about sending her out of the time slip, nothing would save her.
The violence of the rancor’s voice; the agonized hiss of withering grass as acid dripped from its mushroom skin: those were the memories she dragged along behind her as she fled for her very life.
And after those came the actual moment of her escape, even more terrifying. The rancor had lumbered in her direction—and she’d feared it would send her back to the Dark Shard—but then it veered around her, a rancid smell in its wake. It stopped at the edge of the malsite, peeled the pellicle open, as though splitting the skin of a peach, and pulled back a flap big enough for her to fit through.
But that slit in the malsite was somehow even more appalling than the smooth, unbreakable wall had been, because where the two realities collided, a mossy, oil-slick shimmer coated the air. It got in her lungs, sticking to all the tissue-thin layers of those delicate organs, so that when she inhaled and exhaled, there was an audible slurp.
Nevertheless, she’d thrown herself out of the malsite without a second thought, because it seemed entirely possible the rancor would have second thoughts.
Now, she urged the horse faster, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the malsite as possible. If she could have flown to the other side of the world, it still wouldn’t be far enough. (Everyone knew the other side of the world was covered in darkness and would never be habitable again, but that was beside the point.)
Hooves thumped against the packed dirt road. Sweat soaked both Hanne and her stolen horse. But she would not—could not—slow. Even when she felt lightheaded. Even when the horse heaved long, tormented breaths. She would not let either of them stop.
“Faster,” she urged.
Scholars gave lectures on the speed of light, demonstrating how instantly a candle’s glow reached the far side of the room, while a person would need several seconds to walk there. They said nothing was faster than light, but Hanne knew better: darkness flew on the swiftest wings of all.
“Faster,” she begged, but there was no outrunning fear. It kept pace no matter where she went.
Still, she had survived this. She had endured the sort of trauma that few could imagine. Yes, she would always be afraid, but from this new height of terror, she could see that everything else was small. Because she knew this darkness so intimately, nothing else was worthy of her fear.
“I am not afraid,” she whispered.
But she was.
* * *
Hours later, the horse stumbled.
She pulled up his hooves to check for rocks, and then felt along the knobby legs in search of cuts or knots. Nothing. He was just exhausted, and she understood that feeling well enough. She could barely keep on her own feet.
Somehow she guided him toward a slow but deep stream, its water like glass ripples in the moonlight, and both of them drank until their bellies could hold no more. For weeks she’d been rationing water, too scared to drink more than a sip or three. Splashing water on her face, letting it dribble down her chin as she gulped greedily: it felt wildly indulgent.
When the horse lowered himself to the bank and slept, Hanne went with him, leaning against his sweaty flank as she drifted toward the nightmares clawing through her mind. Only as her eyes fell closed did she finally register the fact that the sky was still dark, studded with a spiral of stars and a halo of moonlight, even though she’d been riding for hours. It sent a small jolt of concern through her, a warning that something was wrong, but then sleep took her, blanketing those concerns in cool fog.
Dreams came swiftly, all jagged with the horror of the Dark Shard. Wrongness vibrated through her bones, rattling her thoughts and breaths and the whole world around her. While she slept, the grass beneath her turned brown and brittle.
It was dark again—or perhaps still?—when she awakened, and she did not linger beyond another delirious gulp of water. Then she mounted her horse and they were running.
Always running.
She rode along the Brink Way for a time, but soon came to a crossroad: the Brink Way continued east, toward the Caberwilline capital, Nadine, and an army; another king’s road ran from north to south toward Ivasland, slipping between the mountains and curving around the dark glow of the Malstop. A tall signpost listed the major towns she would travel through in either direction.
Near the signpost stood a small shrine to Vunimmi, the Numen of Crossroads. Trinkets, candle stubs, and low-value coins littered the surface, all offerings to Vunimmi in hopes of safe passage and good weather regardless of the path taken.
The only Numen Hanne worshipped was Tuluna, but this seemed like a good opportunity to gain favor with another. She nudged her horse toward the shrine and sprinkled a small amount of grain across the stone. She didn’t notice the way it slowed when it left her fingers; she was too exhausted, too torn.
“Which way should I go, Tuluna?” she whispered. Now that she was out of the malsite, surely the Numen would speak to her again.
But there was only silence in the back of her mind.
She would have to decide for herself.
East meant the path she’d intended to take before all this started. South meant the path the rancor had directed.
Uncertainty swallowed her whole. What the rancor had demanded of her was abhorrent. Treasonous, even for a princess. But it had promised to send her to the Dark Shard if she didn’t obey.