Page 175 of Starside

They can have my blade.

Covered in their silver blood.

I almost trip, and Raker’s hand steadies me. He drops it the second I’m on my feet again. The roots are thick here, snaking across the powdery dirt. I have to step over them every few minutes, and my knees ache with the effort.

We’re moving too slowly, thanks to me. The rest of the group passes us in the line, chatting with excitement.

I’m surprised Raker isn’t telling me to hurry up, or leaving me. I know he can walk faster, even with the lack of sleep, and all the armor.

We should have taken more of those flowers, I think. The ones from the Traveling City. I wish I could ask Raker to carry my sword, but of course I can’t. I wonder if he would be able to take it from me. I think about the blacksmith’s warning.

If Raker knew it was a godsword, would he kill me, map be damned? Even after everything?

Wait. Is Raker’s blade a godsword too?

A sharp gasp drags me from my thoughts. I hear it, even at the end of the line.

It’s followed by a sickening crack.

Everyone ahead lurches to a sudden stop. The music cuts off on a shrill note. The boy must have tripped.

He dropped the orb.

And shattered it.

In a flash, silver light races to the sky in high-pitched shrieks, as if the previously contained stars are eager to return home. It’s a brilliant brushstroke of blinding starlight.

Followed by darkness.

The line goes deathly quiet.

The only remaining light is around my neck. But it isn’t large enough to cloak us all. Not like the orb.

One second of silence. Two.

Then the scraping begins, as if the demons have been crawling along the fringes of the light, waiting. Waiting.

My heart hammers as that slicing continues. Closer. The carving is closing in.

Then—the first mind-splintering scream echoes through the woods, followed by the sounds of ripping flesh and splitting bone. An immortal is being torn apart.

Chaos erupts.

My head jerks back as someone grabs my necklace. I gasp then choke as the immortal tries to rip it straight through my neck.

“Human bitch,” a voice I don’t recognize shrieks. “Hand it here. Your life is worthless, anyway.” Other hands, clutching. Ripping. I hear Raker’s blade unsheathing.

Before he can strike anyone, the grip goes limp. Gasping for breath, I turn to see Daphne standing there, knife in hand. She plunged it through the immortal’s back.

“Run!” she says, and I grip her hand, pulling her into the safety of the light. “They’re beneath us!”

I squint at the ground. Shit. She’s right.

Onyx blades are stabbing up through the dirt. Bone-white claws are breaking through, grabbing anyone they can. An immortal runs right into that grip—and is dragged through the dirt before I can even try to help.

Fuck.

“Stab through the ground!” I bellow, plunging my sword in and out as I go, but it’s too late. And so few have weapons. They had blind faith in the starlight. They thought it would keep them safe.