“I know, I just…” I don’t have words anymore. The relief from earlier, the connection with Finn, I’ve cycled through it all, and now I only have grief. Overwhelming, nauseating, all-encompassing grief. For Carter. For ourselves. Even, in a way, for Liva too. I don’t know how to stop shaking. I don’t know how to keep my eyes from burning and my head from pounding and the world from turning.
We’re all so tired.
Finn drops his crutches and pulls me close, his own arms trembling but strong around me. His presence undoes me. He reaches through me and sees me at my core. He protects me even if he has to protect me from myself.
At the sound of the crutches hitting the ground, Maddy turns around, and when she sees the two of us, she immediately rushes back and we all cling to one another, like a scared and hurting huddle.
At least we’re not alone. At least we can all hold on to one another.
At least we’re here.
Finn pulls me closer. “I know I have no right to ask this of you, but…I would fight anyone who threatens to hurt you, including yourself. Please promise me you will still talk to Damien about that internship?”
I shake my head. “I doubt they want or need high school dropouts.”
“They need brave voices.”
I won’t lie. “I’m scared.”
“I promised I wouldn’t let you be scared. You have so much talent, Ev. Elle wouldn’t want you to sacrifice it all for her. And selfishly, I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t have your worlds to disappear to. They make our world a better place.”
“I’m not a developer, though.” It’s one of the reasons why I haven’t taken Damien up on his offer. One of many. “Or that into computer games.”
“There are other options. He could help you with design too, or creative writing. He knows the con circuit. He could help you build contacts in the tabletop industry.”
Maddy pipes up. “You are talented and dedicated and loving. You were always the best of us.”
Finn squeezes my hand. “Besides, world-building makes you happy. You know you’re allowed to be happy, right?”
I do, rationally. But at the same time, I don’t.
I’ve always considered happiness a luxury. A bonus. Not something I should be focused on beyond scarce, hidden moments. “I don’t know what is waiting for us at the foot of this mountain. I’m not sure I can handle more than we already have to face. I can’t wrap my mind around it now.”
“You don’t have to. It doesn’t have to be immediately. It doesn’t have to be now. But sometime before I leave for college.”
“I…”
“I know it’s scary. Trust me, Maddy and I both do. All we ask is for you to try. Can you do that? For me, if not for yourself?”
To trust is such a radical decision.
With her good hand, Maddy brushes mine. “You are allowed to be happy. Please try.”
“You are too,” I whisper.
She breathes in sharply—and nods.
And for a while there, I stare at her—then at Finn. In the pale light of dawn, his hair seems to shimmer, but his eyes are still haunted.
We live on. We have tomorrow. We’re still going to have to figure out what all of that means. But we owe it to ourselves and our friends to try. If we can face this together, we can face anything. Or, if nothing else, we can face the next step.
And some days, that’s enough.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe hope isn’t a muscle you can train. Maybe life happens, and there is nothing more to it. But the truth is, I don’t want to believe that. I don’t want to believe that life is nothing more than a pile of accidents and there’s nothing I can do to influence it. I want to believe the world is malleable, if not for me, then at least for the people around me.
Because they deserve the whole universe.
I want them to be able to chase their happily-ever-afters. And I should extend that kindness to myself too.
When the darkness comes and the shadows gnaw and even the night has teeth, we fill those voids with love.
“How about—how about I try for both of us?”
“I’d like that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
* * *
The path evens out. The city has disappeared behind the horizon. We’re headed back into pine growth again, though sparser than the grove on the summit. Grass has taken over the gravel path. Our makeshift parking lot behind a last set of boulders is nearly in sight; we’re maybe half a mile out which is all at once so close and so far. A narrow stream appears alongside the path, and Maddy drops to her knees next to it. Without any hesitation, she cups up a handful of water and splashes it into her blotched face. She shivers. She sobs. And I wish I could cry as easily as she can.
The water looks like a solid plan, though. Disentangling myself from Finn, I walk up next to Maddy and slowly lower myself.
I stick one hand in and let the water drip over my face. It feels heavenly, refreshing. I wish I could wash all the dirt and fear off me. Or the hot pain that’s crawling up my other arm.
When I look up again, Finn folds himself onto the ground, cross-legged, crutches resting on his knees. He places his hands up to his wrists into the stream, and he closes his eyes.
Once we’re all sitting, it feels impossible to get up again. The pale blue morning light is restful. The chirping of the birds is almost relaxing. We can take a short rest here, before we head into a new world. Recover some of our stamina. Shore up our defenses. Discuss strategy, even if that strategy is nothing more than how to get to the parking lot and alert the authorities from there.
“I hope we never come back here,” Maddy says. Still she glances back at the road as though she’s waiting for someone to follow us.
“I don’t think I’ll ever look at the mountains the same way again,” Finn says.
His words may be meant jokingly, but at the same time, we’re all broken and empty, sitting on the grass on the bank of a stream. Now that morning has arrived, the sky warms up rapidly, but the only thing I can do is shiver. “Me neither.”
Maddy splashes the water. “What do we do from here?”
“We stick together,” Finn says.
“What will we find back in Stardust?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to expect anymore.”
“I’m so fracking tired of adventures and uncertainties,” Maddy mutters. “You know what I told Carter once, after he tripped that arcane circle in Kilspindle Fort? I told him, let’s retire and raise clockwork goats.”
It’s such an absurd comment and we’re all so exhausted, that we’re laughing until we’re crying, and crying until we’re laughing again, and the rising sun brightens the sky.
“I keep expecting Carter will catch up with us,” Maddy says softly.
“Yeah.”
I wipe at my eyes, though the tears keep coming, and I lie back in the grass. The movement leaves me with a spell of vertigo, and the uneven ground is an uncomfortable reminder of my hiding spot amid the trees. Before we fought Liva. Before we even knew it was her.
Under normal circumstances, we could stay here for hours. Play games. Get into fandom arguments. Eat endless cookies. No one thought to bring the bag from the living room, though, and honestly I’m not sure I’ll ever be hungry again. I’m too restless to be hungry.
This isn’t normal.
And we can’t stay here. “Let’s go home.”
As I get up, I nearly lose my balance, unused to moving with only one side. Finn clambers to his feet. He reaches out for me and pulls me close. I rest my head against his shoulder.
“Can I lean on you?” I ask.
“Always.”
He takes one of his crutches and hooks it on the leather straps that Liva once carefully fashione
d across his back. The straps make the crutch look like a badass sword and Finn like a rogue knight. While Maddy brushes the dirt from her clothes, Finn wraps his arm around mine. “One step in front of the other.”
His hand brushes mine and I hold on to it. I plan to never let go.
The sun rises to a new day, and you leave Yester Tower behind. You leave the mountain behind. Your quest isn’t done. In many ways, it’s just starting. You don’t have all the answers yet and you have a hundred more questions. You don’t know what you’ll face when you get home.
But the three of you are still here to face it.
You are relieved and mourning. You are alive, against the odds. You didn’t expect to be here—none of you, none of us. But, you are. As the sun rises, Gonfalon glows in hues of deepest, bloodiest reds and orange. The early morning rays draw the night’s chill from the air. The lantern lights blink out of existence and make way for daylight.
And you can’t help but wonder if survival is a skill, or if it’s nothing more than luck of the dice. Maybe you’re an inquisitor, maybe you’re an adventurer, because in being someone else, you can better learn to be yourself.
Maybe it’s never been about winning, maybe it’s about failing and getting up again.
Maybe survival is living on.
The dark shadows of the mountains behind you dissipate. You hear the song of birds and the buzz of cicadas.
And then you walk out from under the tree cover, and the sun’s rays catch you. It’s warm already and tender, like a cloak of woven starlight. You stand silent. You hold one another’s hands and you listen to one another’s breathing.
And you take the next step.
Acknowledgments
When I was Maddy’s age, I read every book on body language I could get my hands on. Human interaction didn’t always make sense to me, and I hoped studying all those nonverbal aspects of communication would help me better understand people. Spoiler: it did and it didn’t, because as it turns out, humans are complicated beings, and neurotypical humans in particular just…don’t always make sense.
But (semi)understanding body language did give me a sense of security when social interactions around me were overwhelming and chaotic and I was still figuring out how and who to be.
I never saw something like it in books. I very rarely saw realistic neurodivergent characters in books. Being able to include that weird quirk of mine in a book with an autistic main character now would not have been possible without the tireless work of so many autistic writers reclaiming our narratives. To them—thank you.
And because figuring out how and who to be takes a lifetime: to my fellow trans and nonbinary writers who put pieces of themselves in books—thank you.
My spectacular agent, Jennifer Udden, is one of the cornerstones of my career. Thank you for being an advocate, a voice of reason, but especially for taking my ridiculous ideas and running with them, instead of running away screaming.
I had the good fortune to work with two editors on this book. Annette Pollert-Morgan, who encouraged me to write it, and Eliza Swift, who took it on, fell in love, and made me make it so much better (and probably changed the way I write books in the process). Thank you both.
Thank you to everyone at Sourcebooks for continuing to make my dreams come true: Dominique Raccah, Barb Briel, Todd Stocke, Steve Geck, Annie Berger, Sarah Kasman, Cassie Gutman, Christa Desir, Bret Kehoe, Nicole Hower, Kelly Lawler, Sarah Cardillo, Danielle McNaughton, Deve McLemore, Heather Moore, Valerie Pierce, Beth Oleniczak, Chris Bauerle, Chuck Deane, Sean Murray, Tim Golden, Bill Preston, Margaret Coffee, Sierra Stovall, Jennifer Sterkowitz, Kacie Blackburn, Tina Wilson, Christy Droege. You’re all absolutely wonderful, and I am so lucky.
Thank you to my publishers around the world. I can’t believe how much my books get to travel, and I spend way too much time petting my foreign editions. I’m infinitely grateful.
To my earlier readers, who told me what worked and especially what didn’t. In particular, to those of you who untangled my many mistakes with endless patience and grace, thank you.
Writing would be a lonely business without a community, and I am so grateful for mine, both online and off-line. For endless chats, rants, generous criticism, cups of coffee/tea/other, cons, castles. Thank you.
Thank you to all my friends with whom I had the joy of sharing a gaming table, across countless systems and many years (and even the occasional Satanic Panic). I know I’ve said this before, but I would not be the writer I am today without you, and I certainly would not be the person I am today without you.
Thank you to my readers. To you, reading this right now. Chase your dreams. You never know where it’ll lead you.
And to my Council of Wyrms, my found family, and my family. Thank you, always.
About the Author
Marieke Nijkamp is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of This Is Where It Ends and Before I Let Go and the writer of The Oracle Code. She has served as an executive member of We Need Diverse Books. She lives in the Netherlands. Visit her at mariekenijkamp.com.
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