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Her soles skimmed over the stepping stone. Dust swirled. Her muscles burned as she slid across orange rock worn smooth by desert winds. With a skipping hop, she ramped into another run. Pumping her arms and legs, she leapt from one boulder top to the next.Don’t look down.Repeating the chant, Trulyvisualized the outcome she wanted instead — the initial jump, the landing, the physical coordination required to cycle into the next leap.
Her pace was good, her determination set. No faith required, just quick feet, working muscles, and the will to live. She heard Westvane running in her wake — footfalls silent, his breaths even and steady, the quiet rustle of feathers. Montrose made more noise, but she refused to look back. The pair stayed behind her for a reason. Probably to shield her from what dogged their trail.
Dwelling on the Hyraxes, however, wasn’t productive. She needed to concentrate and keep moving. Easier to do now as the rock field leveled out. No more jagged cliff faces and hard climbing. On the smaller side of tall, the towers in front of her turned into true stepping stones. The gaps between rounded edges continued to narrow, allowing her to jump from one to the next. Exhaustion dragged at her, though, threatening to pull her under as she made another leap.
Pain clawed through as she touched down.
Breathing so hard her chest hurt, her body urged her to take a break. Truly pushed harder instead. Slowing down would lead to disaster, so instead of listening to her muscles, she lined up the next stone. Tired legs propelled her forward. She eyed her target zone. The rock top slanted at a bad angle, down and to the left. Landing in the middle would be best. She needed to clear the edge while lining up her approach. If she didn’t, she might lose her footing and slide off the other side — right into Hyraxes’ claws.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Sweat dripped into her eye.
With a swipe, she rubbed the droplet away and refocused. Balls of her feet grinding over stone, she launched herself into the air. Her feet slammed down. Fatigue broke her stride. The toe of her boot caught a rough patch. Truly hissed as her body rocked forward. Her muscles flexed. Agony tightened its grip as she struggled to keep her feet under her.
Red-orange stone revolved beneath her.
Her shoulder slammed into the uneven surface. Air exploded from her lungs. Rock scraped across her hip, and she spun into an uncontrollable tumble.
Westvane cursed behind her.
Montrose shouted in alarm.
Truly fought to recover by digging her heels in. Her hands scraped over rock. Pain pushed panic past the pressure point as she clawed for a handhold. Blue shimmer bled from her fingertips, smearing red stone, leaving an uneven trail in her wake. She felt the heat on her skin. Sensed something fierce spike inside her as starbursts flashed behind her eyes. She recognized the pulse a split second before she embraced the meteoric rise of her magic. Potent, burning like wildfire, power streamed from her palms, trying to slow her down.
Digging her nails in, Truly directed the flow, using the magical shards like claws. Friction carved grooves in the stone, rubbing her fingertips raw. The trail of blue shimmer burst to flames, roaring across the rockface. Smoke billowed around her. The scent of scorched earth rose as dust fogged the air orange.
One moment tipped into the next.
Unable to stop the slide, she ran out of runway.
Gasping, grappling, she looked across the flat surface of stone. Dark eyes aglow with citrine light, Westvane yelled something. Too little, too late. She was already gone, spinning over the cliff edge, disappearing into the canyon below.
* * *
Too far away to stop it,Westvane watched Truly careen over the cliff.
The Door Master.
Over the edge.
Falling toward certain death.
Unless he reached her in time.
Powering through his alarm, he forced his muscles to unlock. To propel him toward the same edge she slid over. Footfalls hammering against stone, he focused on the spot she disappeared. An odd sensation slithered through him. He’d never felt anything like it — the urgent blood rush in his veins, the slamming thump against the inside of his chest, the roaring rush in his ears.
It took a moment for realization to strike. Understanding followed quick on its heels.Fear.Cloying. Awful. Clawing up his throat as he heard the pack of Hyraxes mobilized. Growls drifted up from down below, shifting fear into terror.
A new experience for him, foreign and unwelcome. Nothing raised his pulse point. He never allowed himself to care enough to get worked up about anything. Self-control had always been the goal. A necessary state of being in a place that viewed vulnerability as weakness. Strong. Silent. Suppress his feelings. He existed inside an emotionless void. The cocoon of ice-cold helped him survive every day. But the sound of Truly’s scream caused everything inside him to tightened. The usual calm abandoned him, shoving him into unknown territory.
She was his last hope. The one who would restore balance to Azlandia. The one with the power to change it all. Make it right. The possibility of equality and justice, the shattering of a caste system that served few and brutalized many, lay within his grasp. He could do what his mother and father hadn’t been able to — through her. Which meant Truly not only needed to live, she needed to thrive, so…
Like it or not, he must be the one to safeguard her.
Westvane snarled as the truth struck. No one would believe it.Him,(a hybrid, an abomination, loathed by his own kind) the self-professed protector of a Door Master. Somehow, though, that’s what he’d become — Truly’s shield. And now, when she needed him most, he was failing.
Baring his teeth, he ran harder. Air whistled though his feathers. An updraft grabbed hold of wings, lifting his bulk. His feet skated across stone. His muscles tightened as the seesawing motion threw him off balance.
