The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,122
have been lost to that desperate era when writing itself was a luxury denied those trying to survive.
My trembling fingers hover just above the page.
This is older than anything anyone alive has ever read.
And only I—so desperate for my manifestation and so late to find it that my studies ran the full gamut of our history—could have read and understood it. Finally, I understand what none of my priests and tutors could ever tell me: this is what it feels like to discover my divine aspect.
To manifest, to have purpose.
To know my destiny.
My mind, which had been soaking in the words like parched soil drinks in rain, is suddenly full—the words dribble in and away, my thirst slaked, my soil saturated. And still, I cannot take my eyes from the page, cannot stop reading. My eyes move faster and faster, my heart racing. The page blurs, for I cannot even pause to blink, but the words still make their way into my mind, bypassing sight entirely.
I try to pull away, but my body will not respond—North has given up trying to interrupt my studying, and I cannot hear him nearby. All I can hear is the whispering of ancient words in my thoughts, louder each moment.
They wash over me and through me, leaving searing fire in their wake, until I am certain I am dying, burning from within, about to explode into a pillar of flame—and then comes a silence so complete that I would gasp, if I could move.
Lightbringer, the scroll whispers to me. Listen well … for this is how you will end the world.
TWENTY-EIGHT
NORTH
Wisps and curls of mist are gathering in the hollows around the clearing, slowly swirling into larger sections, coming together and then breaking apart. It’s hypnotic to watch.
Nimh is still motionless, a statue—I can’t even tell if she’s breathing. So I focus on the mist and try to fight off the worry that wants to unfurl into panic.
How long do I leave her like this? Is she even capable of coming back from wherever she’s gone? What’s happening to her now, and what happens next? I almost find myself missing her, though she sits just feet away.
I’ve been staring at the mist tendrils for hours when I slowly begin to realize that something’s changing. They’re moving with more purpose than they were before, writhing sections of the stuff joining together and swelling larger with a sort of restlessness that says, Something’s coming. The stars above us are fading, not just because dawn is near, but because the air above us is thickening. It takes me far too long to understand what I’m seeing, and when I do, I scramble up from where I was sitting against a tree.
There’s a storm coming. It isn’t safe to be here. How much time have I wasted, thinking about Nimh instead of properly keeping watch?
“Nimh!” I hurry over to kneel in front of where she sits, still caught in a sort of ecstatic trance. She doesn’t even twitch as I raise my voice. “Nimh, listen to me, I need you to wake up!” The cat adds a yowl to my pleas, stalking in a figure eight with me at the center, his fur fluffed up in every direction.
Nimh stays perfectly still, sitting cross-legged, one hand lifted to hold her spearstaff upright at her side, the other hovering over the scroll she’s still reading, her lips moving soundlessly, her eyes wide.
“Nimh, please!”
I don’t dare touch her, so I push at the haft of the spearstaff where it rests on the ground, until the whole thing slides backward and falls over. As the spear topples, her hand glides up until it reaches the place where the pointy end’s attached. My eyes trace its movement. I see her palm slide over the dried blood I left when I cut myself.
Instantly, her head snaps back, her unseeing gaze fixed on the mist swirling above us. She spreads her arms wide and the mist begins to move. I skitter back on my hands and knees, shoving myself away from her as the mist turns a pure, pearlescent white. It lights up the clearing like it’s daytime, a brilliant flash stinging my eyes.
The mist is radiant, clinging to her like an aura, curling around her arms and legs like the cat does when he’s angling to be petted. It’s a living thing, and a part of her. The sight makes the hair on my arms stand up on end.