Page 134 of The Orc Outcast's Miracle

Their house on the outskirts came into view and the laughter died away, but the tension wasn’t nearly as high as it had been. Govek took her hand and guided her into the house.

The seer was already inside, lounging on the couch. “Hello. I hope you don’t mind that I came inside to wait. Your door is still torn off, so I figured you wouldn’t care.”

Govek grumbled, but Miranda patted his hand and then went to join the seer. As she settled next to him, her anxiety grew so high she was almost vibrating from it.

Govek sat down beside her, crowded in, and pulled her against his chest. She leaned into him for comfort.

“So... um.” Miranda gripped Govek’s hand and pulled it around her waist. The seer sat up, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his cloudy eyes blinked. “How does this work?”

“You just take my hand.” He readjusted and held up his large white palm to her view. “And the dredging will begin.”

“Right,” Miranda said as he reached out to her. Her stomach turned nauseous, and her mouth went dry. “Okay.” Her whole body thrummed with the yearning to take it. Her palm heated, and her fingers twitched.

She couldn’t bring herself to move.

Govek, noting her hesitation, asked gruffly, “Are you certain?”

Fear trembled through her, but longing did too. The soul-deep need to fill in these gaps. To discover the truth. To finally know what happened.

And what to do next. To know why she had really been brought here to Faeda.

To her new home.

“Keep hold of her, Govek,” the seer said. “It will help tie her to this world.”

Her stomach plummeted and Govek tightened his grip and all the terror and determination mounted in her mind.

She arched her neck, looked into Govek’s eyes. “I love you.”

His throat worked and he managed, “I love you.”

She reached out and took Evythiken’s hand.

She was flying through the air. Air that was brisk before suddenly turning stagnant, polluted. Mud and char coated her tongue.

Miranda’s body rose higher, spiraled upward. Her hair whipped around her face, eyes streamed.

She saw the Pacific Ocean again, or where it was meant to be, rather. The endless boiled sand. The stench of rotting fish was so strong she felt like she was drowning in it. She couldn’t get a breath.

She was on the cliffside, teetering, looking down at the dead Earth. She was surrounded by carnage. She began to scream but could not make a sound, wanted to look away but could not control her movements.

She scratched and fought and pleaded and the memories burned on anyway. She could feel dirt beneath her feet, her sticky skin, her matted hair. Her mouth tasted of mud, and her nose was burned from the bleach she’d used to keep the dogs at bay.

Her body jerked, flung around, forcing her to face those dogs again. Those rotting monsters. Those horrible wretched beasts that had chased her endlessly. Screamed at her. Snapped at her. Threatened death.

But they weren’t dogs now. They weren’t animals.

They were light.

A beam of white light.

Her mind scrambled to make sense of what this was. What she was seeing. She writhed and fought and continued backward through her memories. Working in reverse, running down the hill. To the cars she’d raided. To the milepost signs she’d passed.

To the camp she’d made the night before. Huddled on the ground. She clutched her bag. Eyes wide in the darkness with nothing but the endless howling horror of those dogs. All around her. Distant but close. Corralling her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

But it wasn’t howls, it was voices. Wailing voices.

“Keep going. Keep walking. Move.”

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