Page 42 of On Burning Paths

We shake our heads. It rarely storms like this where I’m from. The most we get is the occasional rain. I wonder about where Thorian and Talon are from, then about the volume of storms Fenric must get if he knows about something like this.

“Lightning,” the berserker says, pointing at the sky, “is electricity. And electricity likes to run through the tallest object. That’s why he—” he gestures to the bridge, the scorch mark where the shifter once was, “—was struck. He was the tallest thing out there. But the lightning is attracted to metal, and if we can make this tall enough, it will strike here instead.”

“Sounds… like it could work,” Thorian says, sounding more bolstered now that he’s heard the explanation. “So, let’s finish it.”

Thorian and I get busy digging a hole near the start of the bridge, while Talon and Fenric work on the long string of swords, laying it on its side in the mud. They work quickly, tying more weapons together with the vines until the contraption is impossibly tall.

The silence of everything but the storm sends my thoughts back to before, for some strange reason. Maybe because it’s cold. Maybe because I remember the last time I felt warm. I don’t know. But my mind goes to Talon pulling me in close, and it feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

In fact, being around all of them has started to feel like the most natural thing in the world. Thorian, impossibly strong and stoic. Fenric, bright and thoughtful. Talon, with his clever remarks and flirting ways.

The way the three of them move around me feels natural, with an ease I never expected and still can't quite explain. It’s like the spaces between us have always been shaped this way. Like we fit.

I find myself thinking, for the first time, about going home. Not the version I've been carrying since I left, the one where I find Lyra and bring her back and things slowly, painfully rebuild. This is a different version. One where I walk back through the doors of the manor and I'm not alone.

I wonder if Thorian would still be the way he is now, that quiet watchfulness, that instinct to put himself between me and whatever is coming. If he would still make me feel like nothing could get to me while he was nearby. I wonder if Fenric would still make me feel safe in that warmer, easier way of his, like the world is manageable, like there's always a next step worth taking. And Talon. Whether he would still find ways to make me laugh at the moments I needed it most.

It's silly. I know that. I've known these men for days, not years, and the Trials have a way of compressing time, of making everything feel more significant than it might otherwise. My mother would have raised an eyebrow at me.

But I can't unknow how it feels to be cared for. Not just to care for others, which is all I've done for so long I've stopped noticing the weight of it, but to have someone looking back. To have three someones looking back.

I can't help but think that if my mother were here, and she saw them, she might just understand.

“We’re done,” Fenric announces, breathing hard.

“So are we,” Talon says.

I look up to see Fenric and Talon dragging the tower of swords through the mud. Thorian stands, helping them to lift it, and they place it in the hole while I quickly shovel as much of the mud in as I can.

When I stand, hands dripping with muck, Thorian and Talon return with large rocks, which they gather around the base of the thing.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Thorian says, after shaking it with a hand.

“Don’t!” Fenric reaches out, grabbing the demi-god’s arm. If Thorian didn’t allow it, his arm wouldn’t move, but he must because Fenric snatches it away from the lightning rod. Breathing hard, Fenric says, “We all need to get back from this thing⁠—”

At that moment, the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand. Silently, we all understand what it is that Fenric is trying to communicate to us.

The lightning is going to strike the pole.

“I’ve memorized the pattern of the wind, the lightning!” Fenric shouts through the wind, holding his hand up to his forehead to keep his hair from dripping into his eyes. “I’ll cue when to go, and when to stop and hold on.”

At that moment, the air around us seems to fritz with a strange dryness, even with the rain falling all around us, and there’s a crack of energy as a lightning bolt seems to reach up from the top of the tower and to the sky, like a long, reaching splinter through a glass window.

It strikes again and again, each time hitting the tower.

Fenric jumps, pumping a hand into the air. “It worked! Now, come on! Before the lightning singes through the vines!”

“I’ll go first, since the bridge can only handle one of us at a time,” Thorian says, pushing up his sleeves. I start to protest, but he holds up a hand. “I have the best chance of surviving the fall. After me comes Nyx, then Talon, and Fenric, you’ll have to be last, because you know the pattern.”

I want to protest again, but I realize it’s because I don’t want to cross the bridge at all. Swallowing down the trepidation, I nod and take a breath. The other men accept the directive without question, nodding solemnly.

Thorian moves to the start of the bridge, knocking his elbow against Fenric’s, then nodding at him once before facing forward.

Bouncing on his heels, his hands shaking with nervous energy, Fenric watches the sky.

“Wait!”

I can’t stop myself. Thorian turns back from the start of the bridge, and the other two look to me, concern and defense instantly lighting in their faces, eyes darting to the other teams, as though they might not have sensed an attack on me.