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Footsteps crunch in the sand behind us: Malix, already dressed with his pack slung over his shoulder. I look back to see him checking on thecaltan, leaving the two of us to talk.
He seems pretty confident, too.
Are we all pretending?
“You’re right,” I say, nodding. “I’m being silly. We should get going, there’s a long day of traveling ahead of us.”
“I didn’t say you were being silly,” Taraven starts.
But I’m already standing up and heading back inside, ready to hit the waves once again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
??
FRANKIE
Traveling is the worst part.
At first, the ride across the lakes was exhilarating—to be back on the water, salt encrusting in my eyebrows, these beautiful alien creatures underneath us. Now, I can’t wait to get off of their backs and into action, to forget what’s waiting for us.
I feel like this is a horrible mistake.
I feel like somethingterrifyingis just across the water.
But the day passes without incident, and I desperately try to take comfort in that. We find the next isthmus between lakes, the green waters of the Skoroian Sea washing onto the shore as crystalline blue waters take over. The sun sets and lights the next lake up like blood.
My skin crawls.
I don’t want to lose them.
The thought is impulsive, accidental, unwelcome. They’re soldiers—weallare—and we have to be prepared to die for our cause.
Is it selfish that I want to turn right back around and disappear into the big, empty universe?
Another shelter is waiting for us, thecaltanbringing us from point to point with perfect obedience. We take our packs and leave them to graze in the kelp, making our way up the sandy beach toward the shelter. Malix leads the way and Taraven flanks us, and I feel at least some safety in their presence on either side of me, listening to make sure I don’t lose track of Taraven’s clawed footsteps in the sand.
Malix’s hand goes up.
We pause.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Do you hear that?” he asks.
I’ve seen this movie before.
A thousand wings fluttering at once—a light spot on the horizon, where no sun or moon is supposed to be.
“Get back to thecaltan,” Malix hisses.
Shit.
It’s another weapon like the one on Raza-896, the bomb that went off and sent my head spinning. I don’t know how big they have to be to do more damage, but it looks like this one is about the same size as the one on that garden world, and it could have killed Malix and I if we hadn’t gotten the hell out of the way.
What is it doing here?
I turn and start sprinting, Taraven moving much faster than me toward thecaltan. He launches himself into the basket of one of them, gesturing at us to hurry, his eyes wide and dark, horrible purple.
