The Continent (The Continent #1)(33)

“But what is the point?”

“The…point?”

“Why do you do it?”

“I…I love it.”

“Is this why you came? To map the Continent?”

I look beyond the fire at the dark, quiet wilderness. “Yes. I’ve studied the maps of this place for as long as I can remember. All I ever wanted was to tour the Continent, to see it with my own eyes. The trip was a birthday gift from my parents.”

The words sting as I speak them, and I’m swept away by a memory of the party, of the dancing and the music and the excitement I felt upon learning about the tour. In my mind’s eye, I see my mother and father standing on the dais beside me. I see the Shaws at the dinner table. I see Aaden watching me with whispery blue eyes.

Noro’s voice pulls me back. “Both of your parents were with you, then. They perished?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” He is quiet for a moment, then says, “May I ask, for I have been wondering…if the anzibatu was destroyed, how is it you survived?”

“There was an escape pod, a lifeboat of sorts. It was ejected from the plane before the crash.”

He sits up at once and leans forward. “Made of glass?”

My stomach twists. “How do you know that?”

“I saw it yesterday, many hours before I discovered you with the Topi, though I did not know what it was at the time.”

“Please,” I whisper, “can you take me to it? There’s a beacon inside—at least, I think there is—and if I return to it, there’s a chance I could go home.”

Noro shakes his head. “It is gone, girl. One of your planes collected it. That is how I saw it—rising into the sky, suspended by cable and pulley. The anzibatu swallowed it whole.”

I think of the red light in the pod, blinking once, twice, again and again, silently beckoning the search party to its location. Had I waited only a few hours more, I might be home by now. But the plane has come and gone; there has been no sign of it since yesterday afternoon. And although I have continued to watch the skies with restless hope, I already knew in my heart what Noro has just made clear.

The search has been conducted, the escape pod collected. They are not coming back.

The Spire has abandoned me.





CHAPTER 11





THREE DAYS MORE WE WALK ACROSS THE WILD southern face of the Continent. No map or tour could ever have prepared me for the sheer vastness of this place, with its great yawning valleys and glittering frozen lakes. Ice, snow, narrow passes walled in dark craggy rock, endless thickets full of pine and blackwood trees—the land stretches out before us, ever changing, ever the same.

Most of the time, we travel in silence. No matter the terrain, Noro is astoundingly surefooted, while I slip and stumble across the icy landscape. My fine leather boots were made to be fashionable; though practical enough for short-term exposure to the cold, they were not designed for tramping across country in several feet of snow. My toes are cold, always cold, but dry at least, which is more than I can say for the rest of my body.

While the days are quiet, the evenings are quite different. Always Noro finds some unexpected shelter; always he builds a blistering fire that melts away the chill and exhaustion of the day. There is meat and fruit, and savory nuts served with steaming teas that warm me from the inside out. Noro, I find, has an easy grace about him—a stillness in his presence. I am grateful for his company, for his words that fill the space where grief longs to dwell. He tells me a little of the Aven’ei, of their villages and strongholds, of how they came to adopt the language of the Four Nations so many years ago. Every evening I find myself wishing that he would talk all the night through, for when silence falls and I close my eyes to rest, my thoughts drift to the loss I know I cannot face.

Yet somehow, I sleep, and each morning the light of day dampens my despair—or, more accurately, allows me to bury it so that I might function. I tell myself that I can survive this—all of it, and that the time for grief will come soon enough. For now, I must merely put one foot in front of the other, focusing first on my own healing and second on forging a path home. I will return to the Spire. I will go home, and resume my work—though I hope never to see the Continent again—and somehow put the pieces of my life back together. And so, as we make our way ever southward, I do my best to forget that I am moving toward a future that is both invisible and frightening.

Four days into our journey, in the unexpected calm of a clear and sunny afternoon, I feel a weakness come upon me. I do my best to keep pace with Noro, but find myself falling farther and farther behind. Finally, he doubles back to investigate the delay.

“Are you well?” he says, squinting at me. “You do not look well.”

I lean one hand against the trunk of a giant spruce and wipe a fine misting of sweat from my forehead. “I’m all right. I just need a moment to rest.”

He stares at me for a second before retrieving the canteen from his belt. “Drink,” he says, pulling out the cork and thrusting the container into my hands. I take a few sips but do not feel recovered. I am at once hot and cold, shivering and uncomfortable.

Noro steps closer, scrutinizing my face. “You are ill.”

I shake my head and return the canteen. “It’s just the exertion.”