The Other Side of the Sky - Amie Kaufman Page 0,36

are no shadows of people around them, no signs of life.

The fire lights Nimh’s face as we crouch at the edge of the campsite, turning her skin golden and animating her features with every flicker and shift of the flames. I follow her gaze as she scans the camp, and now I can see little canvas tents clustered around the fires, along with cooking pots, bags, and a couple of crates. It might be basic, but it’s a setup for several people—and none of them seem to be present.

I’d think they were all out searching for Nimh, but she’s not acting like someone who thinks her friends are just a shout away. Tension sings through her. She picks up a stone, hefts it to make sure I know what she’s about to do, then lobs it out into the middle of the campsite.

It clangs off a metal cooking pot, and nobody emerges from the shadows to see what made the noise. Slowly, gesturing for me to remain where I am, Nimh rises to her feet.

Though I’m itching to follow her, I crouch obediently in place as she creeps into the abandoned camp to investigate. One by one, she lifts the flaps of the tents. At first she’s careful, spear raised in her free hand, but by the end of her search she’s hurrying—she’s tugged down her veil from her face, breath coming quickly, open confusion in her gaze.

Eventually, she turns toward me, and I rise from where I’m hiding and walk out to join her.

“I do not understand,” she whispers. “A guard should have remained at camp, even if the others went looking for me. I cannot believe that—”

Something dark falls onto her cheek, and her hand flies up to it. When her fingers come away from her skin, their tips are a vivid red. As our eyes meet, another droplet falls between us, spattering softly against the dirt.

As one, very slowly, we tilt our heads back, lifting our gazes.

I don’t know if the gasp I hear is hers or mine.

A series of bundles hang from the trees above us, slowly twisting on their ropes. I stare, not understanding, as another thick, dark droplet smacks the ground between us.

And then, as if they’re coming into focus, the shapes above us suddenly resolve. And I’m looking at a nightmare.

Each bundle is a mutilated body. The firelight casts monstrous shadows on their faces and flickers in their dull, staring eyes.

A sound of horror tears itself from my throat and I scramble back, away from the things overhead—but Nimh is still standing there, staring, like a sculpture in stone. All around her, the sound of dripping blood hisses into the campfires.

Her camp, her people, have been slaughtered.

A flicker of movement behind her draws my eye, a shadow in the dark. Then movement erupts all around the edge of the clearing, and before I can react, at least half a dozen black-clad figures emerge from the trees. They walk slowly, deliberately, and silently—and they’re all armed, the edges of their knives and spears glinting in the firelight.

Beside me Nimh draws a shaky breath, adjusting her grip on her own spear. “You cannot win,” she calls in ringing tones. “You can still turn back.” There’s a tremor underneath her voice, a rawness, and the words sit there in the silence, then vanish into nothing.

The cat yowls and spits his defiance, and like the sound is a signal, the shadowy figures attack.

A man with a shaved head covered in dark stubble lunges for me, sweeping his long knife around in a quick arc, forcing me to stumble back toward the fire. He doesn’t make a sound, coming after me in two quick steps, and I throw myself sideways as I dodge again.

All I can hear is my own rasping breath as I spread my arms for balance, and that’s when I remember I’m holding a knife too.

His lips draw back in a snarl, teeth gleaming white in the firelight, and I take a step back.

He springs forward, grabbing a handful of my flight suit, yanking me in close. His hand clamps down on my wrist, squeezing until pain shoots up my arm. My fingers are weakening—I’m hyperaware of the hilt in my hand—No. I can’t.

Then there’s a screech by his feet, and he shouts, dropping me as the cat latches onto his leg, hissing and spitting.

I have to.

I slash at the man with my knife, and there’s a quick resistance and then a sickening give as