The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,23

the idea that there could be a reason, some purpose to this torture of a half-life.

I was empty, without aspect, because fate had chosen me for something far greater than I had guessed, surrounded by the rising, swift gray tide of dissenters… .

The time of the Lightbringer’s return had come—and I was the one who would discover him.

Just to think it is almost too much to bear, much less speak the idea aloud, as if the telling would somehow rob it of meaning.

Or you’re afraid, my mind whispers. Too scared of failure to let anyone know how hard you’re trying …

As my thoughts threaten to tangle themselves together, I draw in a deep breath of the fresh air and lift my chin. I cannot afford to indulge my worries. I can worry when I’ve returned.

Fireflies glint among the reeds and over the water, a dazzling arrhythmic display. As if in answer, their larval offspring nestled in the creases of the river lettuce glow in a gentler, softer dance.

Like stars lured down and held spellbound by their reflections in the water, the fireflies sing a song of light and dark.

The river is one of the only places within the forest-sea that one can see the sky unimpeded by branches and canopy. It reminds me of the view from the temple spire, though there the sky feels only half-real, like a backdrop for the rich architecture and comforts of the temple itself.

Here, with the water lapping around me and the leaves along the bank whispering to each other in the river breeze, the sky feels so close and so real I could touch it. The big, dark shape of the cloudlands blocks out a section of stars, dimly purple with the last hints of sunlight shed from below the horizon.

I’m tracing the constellations of the deities who lived and died before me when I see a spark of light—there, where there ought to be none. Tiny at first, so dim my mind cannot tell if it’s real or imagined, the light seems suspended at the edge of the cloudlands like a firefly in a spider’s web.

But then I realize the light is growing, coming closer, gaining speed and definition as it travels in an increasingly steep arc across the sky. My heart seizes as it catches up to my eyes, and my breath stops as I stare skyward so hard my eyes begin to water.

Unbidden, for I would not dare to think the words for fear of hopes dashed, comes the thought:

The empty one will keep the star as a brand against the darkness… .

It is no ordinary shooting star, no thin arc of silver that streaks across the sky and vanishes into the darkness—this light lingers and grows, and just as I wonder if it’s headed straight to me, it plummets, streaming fire and ash, into the forest-sea beyond the river.

Even the bindle cat has seen it. And when he chirps a question at me, it’s all I need to affirm that what I’ve seen is real.

The Last Star. The star of prophecy.

Without thinking, without letting myself think, I use the sharp edge on my spearstaff to sever the lines binding this raft to the barge. I take up the oar and set off toward the opposite bank of the river.

Excitement propels me on as I hurry through the trees, though all logic is telling me to turn back and fetch my guards. Haring off into the forest-sea after a falling star would seem like utter foolishness to them, but they did not read the lost stanza—they didn’t feel it seep into them like warmth into a cold-numbed body.

It could be a trap, though I know of no magic that could summon such a vision. This is my divine purpose—I know it so deeply in my being that I might more easily be convinced I could fly than that I’m wrong. Finally, I will have something to offer the people who look to me every day for relief from the constant barrage of famine and plague and mist-storms. Finally, I can promise them an end to this cycle, and the beginning of a new one, free of suffering.

I can give them hope.

Lightbringer, I pray, I will find this star. I will bring it to the lost stanza—I’ll find the one who must read it by fallen starlight. Just … let it all be true.

Night insects swarm at me, prevented from reaching my nose and mouth by the muffling veils I’ve tied