unbroken chain of life and death and rebirth. There will be beauty again. There will be people, just as there are people now—but the world will be full of life and hope and bounty, and the people will no longer be starving or sick or huddled against the mist-storms.”
I want to crawl away from her. I want to throw up. I know I’m not concealing my expression—she must see the horror and the disgust I’m feeling. She takes a deep, bracing breath. “This world was meant to end centuries ago, North—that is why these lands are so sick, their people so full of suffering. We had a Lightbringer once, and he fled to the skies with the rest of the gods, leaving us with no hope, no end to the infinite decline of our home. Until now.” Her eyes are burning with a kind of dark fire, hope and certainty and pleading all at once.
“But there are ways to fix your problems,” I say, hearing the desperation in my own voice. “If I am the Star, I can show you so many things! In Alciel, we have technology that could help feed your people. We can turn bad water to fresh, we grow large amounts of food on small stretches of land. We probably have sky-steel all over the place without realizing it—maybe enough to shield everyone here from the mist! Maybe with the changes my people could bring to this place, it would be as if the old world had ended and a new one had come. After all, if nobody’s ever seen this cycle happen, how can we know? That is what I could show you. That’s how I could light your way.”
“You sound like the Graycloaks!” she blurts. “Trying to postpone what is already a thousand years too late. We have suffered for centuries, North—we have starved and died and pitted brother against brother in wars over clean water to drink and a safe place to live, because we had no choice. But the world still falters, and my people are still dying, and the ones who live still do so in agony. You have seen only a fraction of our suffering, and only for a few days. I have witnessed it my entire life. My people have lived it for generations.”
There are tears in her eyes now, but she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. The dawn light catches them, making them diamonds as she continues speaking. “All my life, I have wanted nothing more than to find a way to help my people, and all my life, I have had to watch, powerless, with no hope of change. This is our hope. I am our hope. If I am the one destined to bring this gift to my people, how can I not do so?”
“How can you do it at the expense of my people?” I demand. “They don’t want to die. They don’t want to be reborn. You don’t get to decide this on your own, Nimh!”
“I am deciding nothing,” she replies, her voice rising to match mine. “This is not some foolish belief. Have you not seen all that has happened to bring us here, to this moment? The Star fell, the empty one found it, together they brought forth the Lightbringer … None of it is happening the way I thought it would, but still, here we stand!”
“Coincidence,” I mutter, dizzy and sick.
“Destiny,” she retorts. “Where do you think these prophecies come from? Do you think they are just pretty stories, written by delusional fools? Delusional fools like me?”
I wish I could deny it—I wish I could tell her I don’t think she’s delusional and I don’t think she’s a fool. The Nimh I know is clever and caring and resourceful and brave beyond anything I’ve ever had to imagine.
But maybe my idea of her was never real. My voice shaking, I try one last appeal. “All those people, Nimh. Yours and mine. They would all die. How can that be something you want to happen?”
“What choice do I have?” she cries.
“There is always a choice!” I snap in reply.
She exhales slowly, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I don’t want anyone to die. But everything, everything, is part of the cycle of death and rebirth. Even the most beautiful, massive hirta tree in the forest-sea cannot live forever. When it dies, it decomposes, returning its life to the earth, and clearing a space for the sun, and a hundred new plants