Page 52 of Starside

Zane pulls out his ax.

Another figure steps from the trees. Another. All wearing masks and armor.

“Mortals,” a woman says from behind a glimmering red mask, a slice of ruby. She turns to the second man. His mask is emerald green. “They didn’t hear the screaming from the last ones, then.”

Shit.

Kira makes to run into the forest, and the green-masked man produces a bow and arrow so quickly, he blurs.

The scholars were hardly a good example of their kind. Immortals are faster. Stronger.

Kira goes still.

“What do you want?” Zane spits, still wielding his ax.

The first man tilts his head. “Payment.”

With sinking regret, I take the coin from my pack and hold it up. “Here. You can have it. We don’t want any problems.”

The woman just laughs. It’s a beautiful, melodic sound. “Our god has no use for coins, stupid girl.”

God. My body stills.

“Who is your god?” Kira demands, voice trembling.

“The god with many names,” she says. “The god of journeys and in-betweens and thieving. She controls the roads. All must pay her price.”

“And what is that?”

“A face,” she says simply.

Silence.

“What do you mean, ‘a face’?” Kira asks.

The one with the green mask opens a bag at his hip. He lifts something up. Kira tenses.

A head, held by the hair. Eyes wide in fear. Blood dripping from the neck.

I recognize that face. It’s a man from Eros, a southern town that was abandoned during the droughts. Their villagers now wander Stormside, in search of water. His group was so happy when he made it onto the platform. His cobalt cape had been a patchwork of history, generations of stories stitched into it.

That cape is now probably soaked in blood.

The woman tilts her head, considering us. Her voice is bored. “Just one. You can choose. Or we’ll choose for you.”

Zane turns to look at me. For a split second, I think he might be getting ready to chop my head off with his ax and toss it at the thieves in front of us, pact be damned, but instead he mouths something.

“Your blade,” he says.

I blink. What does he want me to do? Unsheathe it? Offer it as payment?

His words barely make a sound. “Throw it. Like he did.”

Like he did. He’s talking about Raker, when he threw his sword at Waldron and somehow called it back to his hand.

He thinks just because I claimed this ancient sword I know how to use it? I can barely hold it upright. I haven’t even had time to look at it properly, let alone learn how to do anything like that.

I can’t, I mouth back. Still, I try. Nothing happens.