“Those who have succumbed to the dark will find themselves emptied of all they were before. Tirelessly will they chase their enemies, unyielding in their resolve and utterly without mercy. They have wholly and completely earned the name heretic as the great scourge of the galaxy. Those who would refer to heretics with weak names such as ‘the Marked’ would be better served put to death with those they wish to defend.”

—Indigal Faress, Founder of the Uzuai Valley Memorists

 

Zaina fired off another mapper. A pop pierced the stillness, making Kitali jump. Still no large life forms, still breathable air, and a few streams nearby. The hairs on the back of her neck were dancing as she advanced further into the foggy forest, unsure of what awaited her. It could be Beni, or other afflicted creatures, or that shadowy monster—

An icy shiver crawled down her spine. The last thing she wanted was to face whatever that thing was again. Her father had taught her about self-defense and survival, but this was beyond her scope.

The forest’s edge, a field of scorched stumps, was near. Fire had consumed the forest and plains ahead, leaving behind a wasteland blanketed by a veil of black ash.

Zaina streaked across the burnt plains. She came across a sharp, high-curving hill with all the grass stripped off. The hillside was covered in pock marks. She gasped.

This was our old practice spot.

She stared at it for a moment. For a second she lost herself in a pleasant memory—the first time she shot her father’s scrapshot. Back then it was the size of her arm—she was barely able to lift it.

“Why do I have to do this, Papa?”

“It’s a mad galaxy out there, darling. If you want to see it all, you have to be prepared.”

“All the other girls are going to the Ryrda Auditorium. I wanted to go with them.”

Her father knelt and placed a hand on her shoulder—Zaina almost felt its weight now.

“I promise, there’ll be another time. Besides, we’ll make it fun. If you can hit this center dot here, I’ll buy you ice cream at old man Sidora’s shop after dinner. Deal?”

Despite her situation, she smiled. She had always complained whenever he dragged her outside to practice shooting or martial arts. Now those were the moments she most wanted back.

She knew the way home from here by heart—it wasn’t far. Its silhouette stood atop the hill like a shining beacon. As she trekked up the hill, its normal outline gave way to a strange disconnect—this place was home for her entire life, and now it was something else. Little more than a rock or a tree—part of a soon-to-be-forgotten landscape.

Their farmland tucked into the hills below was destroyed—the wooden fences had fallen into disrepair. The world she loved was stranded in memory.

Moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes as she stepped onto the porch. The house was, aside from some busted windows and the open door, intact, but for the first time in Zaina’s life, it was empty, devoid of the life it once so lovingly held. It wasn’t truly home unless her family was there.

I’ll make it to them. Whatever it takes.

She crossed the threshold to the house. There, she witnessed a moment in time—a teakettle atop the stovetop, its bottom blackened by long burnt-out coals. On the table were unfinished drawings by Zaina’s younger brother and sister, their wax pencils strewn about on the table. One had fallen onto the floor—she reached down and picked it up to put it with the others.

Many of the items were usable. After putting a meal down for Kitali, Zaina picked up one of her mother’s canvas rucksacks and started grabbing supplies—food for Kitali, for herself, maps, clothes, soap, canteen, tent-kit, her brother’s hook-gun, and her father’s scan-band. Then she headed upstairs to her parents’ bedroom—there was one more thing she needed.

Zaina slid her father’s safe out from beneath the bed. Her eyes locked on the smooth metal exterior; somehow, this felt weird—wrong, even. It was like the passing of a torch too soon or trespassing on sacred ground. She’d always thought her father would be by her side the first time she saw inside the safe. Still, this was what her father had told her to do in an emergency.

Maybe no one ever feels ready.

The lock projected a blue screen that presented a single word: Password.

Here goes nothing. After a deep breath, she said one word in a shakier voice than she intended.

“Starlight.”

The screen changed, blaring a new word: Accepted.

The lock clicked, and the metal door popped open. Inside were three more peletins arranged on a small wooden platform, labeled: Spreadtip, Explosive, and Hypervelocity. She placed them in the peletin holsters of her father’s scrapshot belt slung over her shoulder. Then, before closing the safe, a picture of her family caught Zaina’s eye. She picked it up, her finger tracing the blanketed bundle in her mother’s arms.

That was right after Dessa was born.

They were all smiling, all together. She gently wrapped the photo in one of her spare shirts.

I’ll find you. I promise.

Her head jerked to the side as a strange sound came from the first floor—growling.

Kitali—

Zaina rushed downstairs. The limphor’s hackles were raised as she recoiled from a figure in the doorway. Zaina gasped and drew her scrapshot.

In a low, angry voice, Zaina said, “I knew you’d be back, you piece of shit.”

Beni Gardol smiled. He wore a long, black cloak over his old clothes and carried a long, black sword in one hand. He stepped through the threshold, eliciting loud, panicked barks from Kitali.

Worse, the whispers were back—a low chorus of voices, all her own, gnawed at Zaina’s brain from the inside. Beni’s words carved through the noise, drilling into her ears.

“And we knew you’d return somewhere familiar—seeking comfort in a broken world.”

Zaina’s eyes wandered through the room, settling on her father’s metal walking stick leaning against the near wall before returning her gaze to Beni. “So what now? You going to kill me?”

Beni shook his head. “No, of course not—we’re here to lead you to your destiny, Zaina. You have been chosen by the Prophet of the Shining Will. Come with us to the Hollow, and you will be host to power beyond what you can imagine.”

“What’s all this ‘we’ shit?” she asked.

Beni spread his arms. “We have become one with the Shining Will. And soon, you will too.”

Zaina’s hands twitched, waiting for the right moment to make her move. Beni was fixated on her, but his eyes occasionally flicked over to Kitali, who was still yapping up a storm. Zaina blinked, trying to keep her focus intact despite the voices clawing for her attention.

He stalked toward the defiant limphor.

“Silence, beast!”

It was enough for Zaina. She surged forward, grabbed the stick, and charged Beni. His eyes widened as he took notice a moment too late—with a shriek, Zaina swung and connected with a crack, hitting him in the side of the head. Beni careened into the back wall of the house with a loud crash and the splintering of wooden walls.

Zaina marveled at the metal stick for a second—it was bent.

Weird.

She glanced over at the crumpled Beni, and another rush of murderous intent coursed through her system. She wanted to break the stick off in his skull.

Kitali barked, snapping her out of it. Zaina shook her head.

“Come on, girl! Run!”

The limphor followed Zaina out of the house. Maddened bellows erupted from inside—Beni. Zaina ran straight for Ildegor. Kitali was at her side, running at full tilt and struggling to keep up. Zaina slowed her pace.

Weirder still, as they neared Ildegor, she wasn’t tiring. With a shake of her head, Zaina put it out of her mind. She’d heard of people getting sudden bursts of strength and speed in emergencies before.

Zaina fired a mapper over Ildegor, and the reading showed no life forms.

Still running, she pulled out the Spreadtip peletin and swapped it into her scrapshot, holstering the one labeled Scrappers. She glanced over her shoulder—Beni was nowhere in sight. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Ready for anything, she ventured into the abandoned town.

Aiming the scrapshot and staring down its line of sight, she made her way through the city’s darkened roads and alleyways, her other hand still tightly grasping the stick. Her pace was brisk but measured.

The town was ruined, with only the stone buildings remaining. Debris and rubble littered the streets, intermixed with personal belongings lost amid the chaos.

Zaina’s gaze lingered on a burnt doll atop a pile of charred planks and shattered glass—it was almost exactly like the one she’d had as a little girl. It was scorched black on one side, its hair singed. Zaina frowned and moved on.

When she arrived at Ildegor’s town circle, droplets of rain pattered on her shoulder. More fell from the sky as she wandered the desolation. An overturned flowerbed caught her eye—nothing remained but shrunken gray stems and black petals half-crumbled into ash.

That flowerbed was once the pride of a local shopkeeper and had teemed with colorful, aromatic life. The elderly woman spent hours creating the perfect floral arrangements.

Kitali whined. Zaina leaned down. “I know, girl. I don’t like the rain, either.”

Zaina led Kitali into a side alley branching off from Ildegor’s town circle. Stretching her cloak to cover both of them, she huddled over the shaking limphor, contemplating what she’d do once the shower passed. Since she had stepped foot in Ildegor, there was no sign of Beni.

Zaina pulled out a snack bar—mashed glutia fruit in a pastry—and glanced around. The entire planet was falling apart. With a sigh, she folded the wrapper and put it in her pocket. Even at the end of the world, her home wasn’t a dump.

She nibbled at the bar and thought on her next move. Any stragglers would surely gather in Ryrda, Demelia’s capital. It was just beyond Mount Dialemor, looming in the distance. If there was a chance to get offworld, Zaina had to take it—especially for Kitali’s sake. If anything happened to the limphor, Zaina knew she’d never forgive herself.

The rain stopped and the sky darkened as the last refuge of daylight died out. A thin layer of haze obfuscated Demelia’s twin moons and the stars, though the fog had cleared near to the ground. It was unusually dark.

Zaina decided to use the cover of night to begin their journey to Ryrda. Adjusting her knapsack, she nodded to Kitali and set out. The limphor followed closely, and Zaina massaged her companion’s head as they stepped out of the alleyway.

A voice came from the other side of the town circle. “You’re heading in the right direction.”

Zaina froze. She turned to face Beni, who was casually holding the black sword in his hand. His eyes glowed with a malice that matched his wicked smile. The voices increased in volume, and her heart skipped a beat.