Page 88 of Prince of the Sun

As we plunge toward Elaërion, I glance back over my shoulder. The guards have regained their ground. One of them crouches low and dives forward, following in our wake. The portal’s edges flicker dangerously. Just as the guard’s hand closes around my elbow, the portal closes around his wrist, and we tumble into shadow.

There is no sunshine in Elaërion. When I roll over in the dirt and blink up at the sky, I see only the stark, pale light of the moon.

I turn my head and find Berendir and Cara groaning and pushing themselves up onto their elbows. Behind them, a cliff face rises up to a mountain peak. Moonlight shines over the whole scene, casting it in an eerie white glow.

When I look down, a severed hand lies beside my knee.

“Poor guy,” says Berendir. “How is he supposed to jerk off now?”

“We just stumbled onto a different planet, and the first thing you bring up is jerking off?” Cara rolls her eyes. “Nice.”

I push myself up off the ground. My torso tips sideways, and I lose my balance, taking a step backward to steady myself.

“Whoa, there.” A hand catches my shoulder. Daerios’s voice is right beside my ear, warm and smooth in the night air. “The point of this mission is for younotto die, Kallister.”

“What do you—” I turn around, only to find that Daerios and I stand less than a foot away from a ledge that would send me over a sheer cliff’s face. I take a step back, pushing his hand offmy shoulder. “Holy shit.”

The ledge upon which we stand must be three or four thousand feet high. It juts out of a rocky peak that slopes steeply downward, ending in a forested valley far below. A river runs through the center of the valley, splitting it in two. Buried amongst the trees are shadowy hints of the city within: stone spires and columns, boxy shapes that almost look like treehouses. Overhead, large black birds turn circles in the sky. The whole thing is cloaked in darkness, but I can imagine that, before the shadows took over, the sight was magnificent.

What should be gorgeous mountain peaks across the valley look craggy and menacing. Branches rustle in the trees below. Rocks skitter down the cliff face upon which we stand, making me jump; I have no idea if it’s just scree or the sound of a beast sneaking up from behind.

“Shouldn’t we be, like, running down this mountain as fast as we can?” Cara asks. “Those guards are just going to open up another portal and grab Quinn.”

“They won’t attempt to come here without backup,” says Daerios. “Not with the land cloaked in shadow and beasts roaming everywhere. In their minds, it would be a death sentence.”

“Yet here we are, two braindead elves and two humans who only started training in combat seven days ago,” I say. “How comforting.”

Ignoring me, Daerios says, “They’ll head back to camp and alert my father. If I know the king, he’ll want to build out a plan, and onlythenwill they cross over.” He readjusts his satchel. “But they won’t be able to use the Unity Tower; if anything, we just proved that crossing over at that low of an altitude is extremely unstable. They’ll have to gather their forces somewhere in the Appalachians.” He casts his eyes out over the valley. “I’d say we have a day’s lead.”

“A day,” I repeat. “Great. Fabulous. Well. Let’s not waste any more time, then.”

The journey down the mountain should be treacherous. The jagged steps carved into the rock barely qualify as steps at all. They’re six inches wide, pocked with gashes, chipped at the edges. Some have crumbled away entirely. Any normal human would almost certainly slip and tumble over the ridge to their death.

Of course, Daerios and Berendir aren’t normal or human. They navigate the mountain with extraordinary deftness, toes barely making contact with stone as they leap from step to step. Though I’m no elf, I manage the staircase just fine, thanking every god in heaven above for my two-year stint on the gymnastics team.

Cara, on the other hand—

I love my best friend, but athletics have never been her strong suit. She tip-toes down the steps, grabbing the rocks protruding from the mountainside for balance. Her pace requires that we move painfully slowly. After an hour, we’re barely a quarter of a way down. I keep glancing over my shoulder, certain that, at any moment, the king and his army will materialize.

Ten minutes later, Berendir comes to a sudden halt, causing the rest of us to nearly crash into his backside. Cara wobbles dangerously, and my heart rockets up into my throat as I picture her tumbling over the edge. I grab her elbow just in time.

“All right,” Berendir announces, spinning to face us. “That’s enough of this.”

“Enough of what?” I ask.

Before any of us can react, he marches back up the few steps separating him from Cara, gently nudging Daerios and me aside as he walks, grabs Cara by the waist, hoists her up, throws her over his shoulder, turns around, and continues down the mountain.

“What in the—?” Cara hits Berendir’s backside with both her fists. “Put me down this instant!”

“Nope.”

“I’m serious, Ber! I’m not going to let you carry me down this mountain like some damsel in—”

“Respectfully, Cara,” Berendir says, hopping over a gap in the staircase where a step used to be, “you’re slower than a snail in ninety-degree heat. If we have any hope of reaching Árrion before the king does, we need to hurry.”

This shuts Cara up. Though it doesn’t stop her from folding her arms over Berendir’s shoulders and pouting for the rest of the way down.

We descend the final three-fourths of the mountain in less time than it took us to do the first quarter. When we leap onto the ground—the last three stairs have crumbled away entirely—our feet land in soft earth, tall grass tickling our bare ankles. The blades are dark grey, same as the leaves waving about the pitch-black tree trunks. It’s as if the entire scene has been sucked of color.