Page 73 of The Darkening (The Darkening)

A trembling shock rings in Izamal’s voice. “You would turn your back on your people?”

“I have no people. Not anymore.”

“They’resuffering.They’redying.” Iz’s fists are clenched, his arms trembling.

“And you are a fool.”

Izamal punches him.

Time slows as Pa wrenches himself backwards and the rock speeds to life, nearly catching Izamal’s fist before he heaves back. But the stone doesn’t stop. It grows over Pa’s neck, over his mouth, over his eyes that stare down at me.

I stagger back from what was once my father and is now a coffin of rock. I shove Izamal aside and reach for the rock. I’ll tear Pa out with my hands.

Izamal grabs me before I can touch.“It’ll take you, too—”

A high, piercing shriek rings through the air, cutting off the rest of his words.

“An alarm. Vesper, we have to go—” Izamal reaches for me, and I slap his hand aside. What has he done?

The alarm sets off others. Izamal’s mouth moves, but no sound reaches my ears over the din that fills the air. He tugs me close by the collar of my shirt. “RUN!”

Stumbling over my own feet, I break into a run, sprinting along the thin bridge. I glance back only once, to see that Izamal isn’t behind me. I shove down the worry—he’ll find his own way.

A flash of blood-red turns my attention—a Wardana sprints toward me, light behind them so I can’t make out their face, only that they wear no cloak. I don’t recognize them by their build—but they definitely see me.

I can’t go forward. I can’t go back.

I look down. There’s another path, a bridge, ten feet down and four feet over. Between the gap, far below, the dark water of the underworld gleams.

I jump.

My stomach rises into my throat mid-jump—my reflection doesn’t appear in the water. I crash into the lower walkway, nearly sliding off, but I scramble to my feet and launch myself into a sprint.Please, I beg the Great King,let this path lead out into the city above.

A quick glance back tells me that the Wardana didn’t try the jump—guess they’re not so brave without a cloak. The walkway before me leads to a set of stairs. I take them by twos and threes, my breath stupidly loud, my footsteps louder, too afraid to look back, too afraid to stop.

The stairs end, and I sprint ahead through pitch-darkness until I smack into a wall, bruising my cheek. My breath comes out in quick pants, and I run my hands along the stone. Come on, come on. Don’t tell me I have to complete an ikon.

My fingers brush a handle, and I yank at the door. It groans open by inches, as heavy as a slab of marble and as unwilling to move. Footfalls sound behind me.

I squeeze through the six-inch gap, scraping my other cheek, and burst into an alley, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the dark wall of the Storm above—I made it, I’m outside. I shove the door behind me with all my strength. It snaps shut, all but disappearing into the wall, and I touch my forehead to the stone, catching my breath.

The stone touching my skin rumbles, vibrations going to my teeth, as the door begins to grind open.

I jump back and stagger out of the alley, clutching the stitch in myside, running through a market street, into strange alleyways and winding side streets. I have to get away, but where can I go?

Everywhere I turn, people gape at me and turn away. The black wall of the Storm looms over me, and the hair on the back of my neck stands tall.

Without rhyme or reason, I run like a rat in a maze, getting lost in the third ring.I’ve screwed up.If only I run fast enough, maybe I’ll outrun my stupidity. If I run fast enough, I’ll turn back time. I don’t know what to do—I don’t even know what I’ve done. If Pa’s dead—what was all this for?

My heartbeat’s loud in my ears, and my thighs burn. My shoes slip on wet cobblestone, and I go down on one knee, only then feeling the raindrops hitting my cheeks, soaking my hair, chilling my skin.

I get to my feet and stagger to the alley’s end. My breath comes out in sobs.

A single black feather falls before me. It twists in the wind until it’s shot down by the rain, falling into a puddle. Ripples fan out from it, distorting the watery reflection of a figure in red descending from above.

I look up.

Black boots, red leather, summer-sky eyes. Descending like a bird of prey, black cloak spread out like wings. Even from here, I see the fire in his eyes, the electric gleam of hatred. A new twist in a face that’s become familiar to me.