Page 211 of Lana Pecherczyk
“Ancient cultures believed it was a bridge to the afterlife,” Nikan added.
“Protection,” Manfri shot back, glaring. “It’s protection.”
Nikan’s lips curved. “If you say so.”
“Ugh.” He rolled his eyes. “Always so pessimistic.”
Cielo came to stand beside them, silent for once. He just stared.
Together, they watched the aurora’s lights fade with the coming dawn. They might have stared, awestruck for half a turn of the hourglass. When the pretty lights started to fade from the sky, Manfri’s gaze fixed on the long, dark jetty, a skeletal finger beckoning them into the endless abyss. There. That’s where they’d do it.
He started toward the jetty without a word. His boots crunched softly through the sand until they hit the damp wood with a loud, jarring thud.
This was it. No turning back now.
He didn’t look to see if they followed. They would.
As he continued along the jetty, he forced his eyes to focus ahead. He dared himself to chicken out. Water churned. Shadows slithered and coiled in the depths. The Inkeels, the Well Worms, or whatever their latest name was, waited for them. He tried not to think of the rumors of terror, whispers at storytellings of how they dragged Guardian tributes down, invaded them, and judged their souls.
As they reached the halfway point of the jetty, Nikan stumbled. Manfri’s hand shot out, steadying him. A beat later, Cielo was on his alternate side, shoulder brushing his.
Nikan hissed, “The whispers … they’re coming from the water. They know about the things we’ve done.”
“Worried about your soul, princeling?” Manfri joked.
Nikan flinched but kept his expression hard. Their fear was a mirror, and Manfri couldn’t afford to look too closely. He kept walking. Walking. Until he stood at the jetty’s end.
The vast lake stretched before them. Tiny flares of luminescence bubbled and rippled on the surface, disturbed by what swam beneath. The air was colder here, the silence more profound, broken only by the faint laps of water against the pilings.
He knew each of them was thinking of what Nikan had just said … wondering about the things they’d done, if any had made them unworthy of the blessing they each sought. Manfri thought of stolen kisses, bar fights, the reckless joy of breaking rules, and the shadows in his own heart. The guilt. The regret. The cowardice. He should have fought harder through the pain of crossing the wasteland to get to Crystal City. To rescue Cielo.
Will the Well see that?
“This is it,” he mumbled, staring down at his boots. “Do we strip?”
Would the Well Worms care?
No one had an answer.
Eventually, Cielo said, “You’re asking us to trust you with our lives.”
Not an accusation, just a statement of fact. The weight of it settled on Manfri’s shoulders.
Time. It was the greatest curse and blessing for the fae. So much space to drift, to be shaped by others, by circumstance, by regret. To feel powerless.
Nikan’s whispering wind told him what to do, yet he seemed to do nothing. He was stagnant, or rather, happy to drift. Cielo spent so much time in his head that Manfri noticed he sometimes struggled to do a single thing, or struggled to enjoy a simple moment before it passed them by.
But Manfri—he knew time was long. It flowed like a river. It could sweep him along to surprising places he might end up loving, or places he might end up hating. Either way, it made him feel as though he had no choice in his life, no say in his final destination.
Time could get fucked.
The only way to control it was to become it.
Become the river.
“You’re sure about this?” Nikan muttered.
So his wind wasn’t giving him the answers. Manfri supposed that was a good sign. Another beat of silence passed, laden with unspoken fears and the vastness of their decision. If they failed to return, even if they did return, their families would be left behind. Only the three of them could fly this direction.
