The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,153
in the air above, glowing from a set of fingerprints against it—Nimh’s, painting the surface with my blood. Inshara strains to reach up for it, her fingertips just missing its surface. I find Nimh’s eyes as her toes leave the ground, hair drifting away from her shoulders like she’s suspended in water.
For the first time since she defended her divinity, Nimh’s eyes flash with panic as she sees me. She opens her mouth to shout, her lips forming my name, but no sound comes out—I cry out her name in response, and I see her eyes widen when she hears nothing.
I scramble to my feet and sprint for the two of them, throwing one arm up toward Nimh as she reaches down. Her fingers strain toward mine, and I rise up onto my toes, willing myself to find that tiniest bit of extra reach.
Our fingers come so close to touching that they eclipse the crown’s brilliance for an instant before a sunburst of white light peeks between them, then explodes against my half-blinded eyes.
And then all of it—Inshara, the column of gold light, the roiling mist, and Nimh … my Nimh … is gone.
THIRTY-FIVE
NORTH
The crown clatters to the ground, bouncing once and slowly rolling to a halt against my shoe as I stare at the place Nimh was just a moment before. Or rather, it was once a crown—now it’s twisted, melted into a dull mass of gold, scorched sky-steel circuitry exposed. The afterimage of Nimh, a silhouette of her reaching for me, is burned into my eyes, still glowing.
“No!” I grab what’s left of the crown and shake it, disbelieving. I touch my fingertips to my face, ignoring the stab of pain that runs down from my cheek, and smear the crown’s surface with my own blood.
Nothing.
“Take me to her, do it again!”
Techeki is walking forward, his face ashen. “It is ruined,” he manages to say. “Your blood will not help us now.”
“Do you know what Inshara can do to my world? Nobody believes in magic there. They wouldn’t have any idea how to defend themselves against a magician.”
Techeki gives a shiver. “Gods know what she is now. The mist has changed her into something else—I fear for your people and mine, cloudlander.”
I give the sky-steel crown another frantic shake. “Nimh, do something!”
A remnant of Nimh’s mist curls around me, seems almost to caress me. Just for an instant, it feels as though fingers brush my cheek. I’m haunted by the strange certainty that the touch is Nimh’s—though she’s never touched me before, somehow the way the mist curves against my skin is all hers.
And then the sensation is gone.
I’m still sitting on the ground, holding the melted crown. If I stand up, if I move, I acknowledge that this has really happened. That Nimh and Inshara are gone, far beyond where I can follow. I can’t do that.
Then something brushes against my leg and I start. It’s the cat. He’s limping as he moves, clearly in pain, but his steps are deliberate as he makes his way along my body until I can carefully gather him up in my arms. There he settles without protest, which is how I know he really must be hurting.
“We’ll find her,” I tell him quietly. “I promise. This isn’t over.”
Because I know she’s alive, and she’s in my world. And I know that was her touch just a few moments ago.
I know what I have to do, and I won’t fail her.
Techeki offers me his hand to help me up as he speaks. “We’ll search,” he says quietly. “We’ll find another way to the cloudlands.”
Someone clears her throat behind me and I jump. When I whirl around, I’m face-to-face with a woman a little older than me, her hair shorn close to her head. She’s dressed like a riverstrider—she’s standing with half a dozen other riverstriders gathered just behind her.
“Forgive me, cloudlander,” she says, inclining her head in a gesture of respect. “My name is Hiret, and I am a friend of your goddess. I bring greetings from the Fisher King of the riverstriders. He would meet with you, if you will see him.”
Irritation sears through me. “No. I can’t,” I blurt. “What use are stories to me right now? I don’t have time for your Fisher King.”
“Not even if you knew him by another name?” The voice is resonant, rich, and grave.
The riverstriders step away, revealing the figure standing in their midst—and my mouth falls open.