Page 111 of Failed Future

But she couldn’t die. For in her was the power of Yargen. Wasn’t that what the goddess had said? And that power condemned her to remain adrift in the sands of time.

Vi gasped for air, opening her eyes wide. She lurched upward, the watch around her neck thumping dully against her chest. The world around her was bright—uncomfortably so—but not the same brightness she had just endured.

And certainly not the same brightness that peeled off her skin like some primordial, godly afterbirth.

Rubbing her hands over her arms and shivering in the heat, Vi looked around. She’d thought of herself in the sands of time… but now she was just in regular sand. Hay was scattered at her side, damp-smelling and foul. Whatever animal lived here would need something fresh, if the animal was still alive at all. The stables she was in were completely empty.

People drifted past on the other side of the gate. None of them noticed her or looked her way. Perhaps they couldn’t see her at all.

Vi stared down at her trembling hands. She opened and closed her fingers slowly. They still worked. She could keenly feel her nails digging into her palms when she balled them, just as she could feel the thin layer of sand shifting over hard-packed earth beneath as Vi pushed herself off the ground.

Swaying, she took one step forward, then another. She knew where she was before she emerged from the stable. The people were easy enough to identify, the architecture of the city even easier.

The city stables of Norin stretched on either side of her as Vi emerged along the main road. She remembered passing through these markets and streets with Jayme. At least, she thought she remembered…

Perhaps this whole time she’d been in one endless fever dream. Perhaps none of it had been real. Perhaps she’d been marching home with her family, took a detour to Norin she couldn’t recall at this moment, and suffered heat fainting. She’d only dreamt her father gone, her mother ill. She’d only dreamt of Taavin and Meru and—

“What do you think will be in the proclamation?” a wife asked her husband as they passed. Her voice was low, and as weak as her body looked.

Vi turned and stared. Luckily, the woman didn’t notice, because Vi didn’t think she could wipe the shock off her face if she tried. The wife hadn’t been speaking common. She was speaking the old language of Mhashan—and Vi could understand it with perfect fluency.

“Hopefully an end to this war,” the man murmured in reply.

War. Vi’s whole body continued to tremble. She ran her hands over her arms, trying to comfort herself. But her palms smoothed over fabrics she hadn’t ever owned in a style she didn’t recognize.

Dragging one foot forward, then the next, Vi began to march with the rest of them. Ahead was a castle. Her gaze drifted over familiar spires, working to make sense of them. She’d read enough to know the architecture of the castle of Norin anywhere. But seeing it now was impossible.

She had just been in Risen. Her head ached as her head tipped back and her eyes lifted. She squinted at the sun, wondering if Yargen was watching her right now—watching her attempt to complete the task she’d been given.

Watching her attempt to make sense of what on the Goddess’s earth had just happened.

A crowd collected in an open area at the end of a long bridge that connected the castle and city over a dry moat. Guards were gathered in a semi-circle, blocking entry to the bridge. None of the populous seemed interested in fighting them. The people were harrowed and gaunt. Every man, woman, and child had the haunted eyes of a soldier who had seen far too much.

Without warning, a woman stepped up onto a tall box that had no doubt been carried out expressly for this purpose. She was just high enough to see over the people. Vi stared, slack-jawed, at an oddly familiar face. It was not identical to hers. But it was so close that it was like looking into a mirror.

Even from Vi’s distance, she could see the woman had angular black eyes, jutting cheekbones, and a sharp chin. Her skin, a deep tan darker than Vi’s own, paired with straight black hair. Hair identical to Vi’s.

Vi opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t form words. Not that she knew what she would have said, anyway.

“People of the West,” the woman began, “this siege has gone on for nearly ten long years. But I am Fiera, Princess of Mhashan, youngest daughter to King Rocham, and head of the Knights of Jadar, and I have received a vision from the Mother above. The end is near, and we must be ready for it.”

* * *