Rhae crouched on the steps, chest heaving. Hours bled into each other until she wasn’t sure if she had been in the tower forever. She dragged one foot up to the next step, resting periodically to hum and clear away the cobwebs in her mind. She drew in a deep breath and hopped up the next three steps to collapse on a narrow landing.

“Sixty-two!” she shouted up into the darkness, challenging the storm to stop her. She’d started counting the flights after her second rest, but she estimated that she’d climbed at least a few dozen more flights of stairs on top of the sixty-two that she’d verified. The tower showed no signs of ending. Just how high up was she, anyway?

The pressure on her head told her that she had to be close to her goal. Surely the storm couldn’t get much worse, or else Thenxi would have passed out from the strain, unless she had a way to combat it like Rhae did with her music. Rhae glanced around again, keeping an eye out for her erstwhile companion. Humans were bigger and stronger than Qeren, but they didn’t seem to have quite as sturdy of a constitution, particularly not against the spiritual forces that assaulted the tower.

Thoughts of Thenxi almost brought tears, but Rhae blinked them back. If the woman had tried to help her through the hailstorm, then they’d probably both be dead right now. Probably. In a tiny corner of her mind, she protested that it was still mean to leave her, but Rhae knew that if she hadn’t been forced to improvise, then she wouldn’t have discovered firesong. It was harsher than her usual compositions, born from a desperation to fight back against certain death.

In a way, she owed Thenxi. Rhae brightened at the thought. “I forgive you!” she whispered into the dark tower, and she meant it. They were both better off because Thenxi had run to the tower. Unless. Unless that awful caterpillar monster had eaten her, and that’s why Rhae couldn’t find any sign of the crèche mother. After all, the door hadn’t been open when she’d reached the tower. Had Thenxi even made it inside?

Her horns pulsed, protesting against the horrifying thought.

She scooped up her pack and ran up the stairs, brandishing her flute in front of her like a little club. If she ran into any enemies, she’d hit them before making them listen to her songs! As her anger petered out, she slowed, stumbling onto the fifth landing. Once again, the storm tried to push its way in, but this time she growled audibly and forced the headache away.

Up above, a new light flickered. It was warmer than the ghostly glow of the inset lights in the walls. That must be the top. It had to be. The tower couldn’t go on forever. Rhae pushed up the last few stories, suddenly reinvigorated to reach her goal and find Thenxi.

A large archway led into a round room, wider than Rhae had expected. It seemed farther across than the diameter of the tower, but perhaps she had only climbed access stairs, and the rest of the tower was supported by a structure she hadn’t seen. For all she knew, an entire mountain could be hidden away in the clouds and deep gloom, veiled from her sight.

In the center of the room, huddled in a heap, Thenxi moaned feebly.

Rhae rushed forward to help her, but the woman shouted her back. “It’s a trap! Come no closer!”

She skittered to a stop. “Are you hurt? I can play you a healing song!”

Thenxi put her head in her hands, groaning. “I don’t deserve your kindness, child.”

“Nonsense! You got us to the tower, just like you promised.”

“I left you. That was wrong of me,” Thenxi whispered.

Bitterness threatened to poison her words, but Rhae shook her head and delivered the speech she’d prepared. “If you hadn’t forced me to improvise, then I never would have learned firesong or deceptionsong. My tutors will be so pleased when I return to the college! They’ve all tried to get me to branch out from healing and finding songs, but I was always too shy. Without your help, I wouldn’t have found out that I do belong on an adventure after all.”

Thenxi struggled upright, revealing a twisted rope that bound her wrists together. People on the Bridge were so quick to imprison others! “Deception song? What’s that?”

Rhae brightened. “I’ll show you!”

She stretched her hands, opening and closing her fingers and rolling her wrists to warm up, then put the harp in her lap and started playing. Little tendrils of light wove around her head, hovering in the air. She pushed out toward Thenxi, and they rushed over form a pattern, twisting and interlacing to create an image of Aravind that fit into her hands. The creature of light bowed and winked at Thenxi, then dissolved into colored motes.

Thenxi cried, holding her fist to her lips to mute the sound. “My thanks, child. I’ve stayed awake all night wishing I could just see his face one last time before I died. Now I am at peace.”

“Who said anything about dying? Tell me about the trap and we’ll get you out!”

“I’m afraid that I can’t let you do that,” a new voice interrupted, a hint of threat sheathed in soft, silky tones, like a dagger gilt in gold and rubies—a ceremonial piece, but still sharp enough to kill.

Rhae turned to find the speaker. A slender man of just over medium height stood by the archway across from the one she’d entered. He held himself with the practiced refinement of an aristocrat, unless she missed her mark, but his clothes were tattered and any color in them had long since faded to a dull, dingy gray.

“Stefano,” he introduced himself, bowing.

“I’m Rhae!” she replied with a curtsey, since he seemed friendly enough.

“Forgive my forwardness, but what is a Qeren doing out here on the Bridge? I don’t see many of your clan in Laurentum.”

“Oh, I figured you were used to meetings with the Chancellor,” Rhae said, feeling proud of her clever test. If he didn’t seem surprised, it would confirm her suspicions that he had been part of the nobility. Well, maybe. She sighed. She actually wasn’t quite sure how to interpret the various possible outcomes. She wasn’t good at reading people like Taras or Errol, but she was trying her best.

Stefano lifted one hand, palm up, and tilted his head. “Indara is a bit of an anomaly.”

“An odd bird,” Rhae agreed, nodding sagely. So he was a nobleman! “And no, she’s not a relative, before you ask. Qeren aren’t all just one big clan.”

“She’s a friend, though.”

Rhae took a step back and crossed her arms. “Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Stefano said, walking forward. A grim expression replaced his earlier smile. “Your horns took on her color signature when you said her name. You’re acquainted with each other, which means that I can’t trust you, not here.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Rhae asked, pushing down the discomforting idea that someone found her untrustworthy because of her company. She’d thought she was finally moving up in the world, associating with the chancellor. This was supposed to be a real success story for the bard college.

“I could ask the same of you, Rhae. The Bridge is no place for children.”

“Did you know that her children live here?” Rhae said, gesturing toward Thenxi. “They’re wondering where their mother is right now. Don’t you care about that?”

Stefano frowned. “She’s not much of a mother if she brings her children to the Bridge.”

“They were born here,” Thenxi interrupted him, a rough edge to her voice. “Just as I was, and just as my mother was—we’ve been here for generations, yet you sweep in with your grand ideas and think you know everything. How or why you came here, I do not know, but it’s not your homeland. You don’t belong here.”

Stefano took a step back at that. “You . . . live here? But this place is cursed!”

“That’s why I’m here, to break the curse. But you’ve shackled me like an enemy and now you’re lecturing me like a child. If that’s how the outside world treats people, then go back where you came from and leave us alone.”

Stefano cackled and slapped his hands together. “You really believe you can do it.”

Rhae tugged on her horn. “Can’t we talk about this after you untie her?”

“Only if she promises not to touch the Heart of the Storm.”

“I thought you agreed it was evil,” Rhae complained. “You’re not making any sense.”

“It is. That’s why none of you can go near it.”

Thenxi barked out a bitter laugh. “We can’t, but you can, I suppose? The great savior! You can touch corruption and stand strong! Once you have it in your possession, no one can stop you. Is that the plan? Take it from me and rule this place?”

“I’m not stupid,” Stefano said. “Of course I won’t touch the cursed thing.”

Rhae tilted her head. “What do you mean take it from you? And no one could stop him if he had it?”

Stefano sat down next to Thenxi. “Have you not told the little Qeren your plan?”

Thenxi scooted away from Stefano.

“Ah, the poor child is used by Indara, used by Thenxi. So trusting, so naive.”

Rhae unslung her harp and started to play softly. She struck up a new rhythm, searching for the notes she needed. In a rush, truthsong came to her, pouring through her fingers, ringing out true from the harp. “Tell me the plan, Thenxi. What are you really doing here?”

“Fulfilling your destiny, as I told you!” Thenxi said in a rush, struggling to pull as far away from Stefano as the rope would allow.

The song pushed back on her words. She didn’t know quite how, but she understood the woman wasn’t telling her the truth. Rhae sighed, but kept playing. “I’m disappointed in you. Why would you tell me that I could deliver you? I was so happy to be useful!”

Stefano narrowed his eyes at the harp, but said nothing. He stood just outside the circle prescribed by Thenxi’s rope, tapping his toe.

“Stopping the storm is our mutual goal,” Thenxi began again.

The song seemed mollified, but Rhae probed further. “What else?”

“Helping you, saving my people—is it so hard to believe that is my plan? What happened to the sweet, gentle girl who came to us?”

“You left her in a storm,” Rhae said softly. The music swelled dissonant, and she blushed as she realized that she was lying. “I am the same girl. But I’m wiser now, too.”

The harmonic hum approved. She really had gained wisdom!

Thenxi looked at her hands, clenching her fingers tight. “Saving my children.”

This time the music responded with soft, stirring notes. True, then. Rhae let out a breath in relief. Thenxi wasn’t a monster, even if she’d held something back.

“What else?” Rhae prompted.

“Ensuring that the Western crèche stays strong. Eastern has been gaining strength and moving against us more aggressively.”

“You see?” Stefano interrupted, arms wide. He gave Rhae a sad smile. “No one is pure. She wants power over her enemies, and the storm calls to her.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Rhae demanded.

“No.”

The music accepted his words. Panting with the exertion of maintaining truthsong, Rhae stopped playing. She felt drained, but wiser, as though she’d traded energy for insight. Another great achievement to bring back to the college!

Thenxi turned to glare at the tattered man. “Then why are you here?”

=+=

Errol didn’t like the look of the raft the scouts had lashed together. The trees down here were stunted, gnarled affairs that didn’t create good planks or sizeable logs. They’d cut down a few bushes and some shrubs that barely qualified as trees, but the result looked more like a pile of driftwood than a seaworthy vessel. If any more Adaro showed up . . .

Percy gestured at the first of the three rafts. “Send him out first. That way if there are any sharks in the water, he can tell them we’re on their side.”

Merv rolled his eyes. “This is why you’re a soldier, Percy.”

“What?”

“They pay ya to kill things, not to think.”

“Good point,” Percy said, drawing his knife and brandishing it at Merv. The others hooted and circled up, urging them to fight.

“At least I’m smarter than the lot of them,” Percy snickered. He tossed the knife to Merv. “Can’t believe they think I’d tussle with my mate.”

As Merv caught the knife, Percy tackled him. He dunked the big man into the water and they went under in a splash that soaked Errol’s bandages. They came up spluttering, laughing as they traded half hearted blows. The other scouts kicked sand at them and hollered, cheering on the roughhousing.

Errol picked at his bandage, trying to tuck in an errant roll of gauze. He wiped off the sea water and smiled along with the soldiers, but he couldn’t muster up much mirth. An intense and sudden longing for his fellow Makos washed over him. As much as he complained about fitting in or wanting to become an Eel, Shark Clan was the closest thing he’d had to family since his early childhood when his dad had still been alive. Would he even see the other recruits again? The soldiers weren’t his friends, but his throat still closed up when he thought about what would happen if he was forced to fight or even kill them. He held no ill will for them. Even if they were here to stop them, he knew it was only because of Freyman.

They’d all joined in the splashing and play fighting. Wind whipped the waves into stinging drops of water, hitting Errol in the face like tiny knives, but he couldn’t shift out of his travois to get into a better position. He shielded his forehead with his arm and held off a sigh. If he hadn’t ruined things with Taras, then maybe he could have received a healing touch, but he may never again have a chance at this kind of camaraderie.

A chilling thought struck then. What if they reported him to Grimhilt? Forget the team; he could end up before an execution squad of mages if they ruled against him. And the worst part was that he wouldn’t even have an excuse. He didn’t want to die, but deep down a part of him screamed that he deserved it, that it would be a sweet release from the guilt he was drowning in every time he saw the look of horror on that boy’s face, saw his lance explode through the boy’s chest, flinging him backward like a rag doll—

Movement in the water broke Errol out of his spiral of pain. Something rippled just below the surface, moving toward the shore faster than a sloop under full sails, no doubt drawn by the soldier’s shenanigans. “Get out! Sea monster!”

Merv glanced over his shoulder and shouted in alarm when he spotted the creature. He grabbed Percy and hauled him back toward the shore, screaming for the others to get out of the water. They screamed and splashed, jumping to the shore and dragging Errol further away from the waterline. The last soldier didn’t make it to the rocky beach quickly enough, however.

Water turned into a spray of fine mist as a dark, massive form lunged from the sea and pulled the scout underneath. He didn’t even have time to scream before he disappeared. Blood rose in the gray-green water, little ropes of deep red that soon dissipated, borne away away by the waves. After a few heartbeats all evidence that a man had been there—a being of flesh and bone, with dreams and ambitions and faults—was washed away by the pounding surf and the hissing wind that carried the ever-present threat of storm.

Percy shouted for the others to fall back. He held a short spear in his hands, braced for a fight if the creature returned, but the blank look in his eyes betrayed his sudden lack of confidence. Monsters simply didn’t lose to men with sticks.

Merv shouted down one of the soldiers who had started to drag the rafts up the shallow incline. He dropped Errol on top of a freshly-cut stump and ran back to argue that the water was too dangerous to risk a crossing. They yelled back and forth for a moment before agreeing to do things Merv’s way. Errol had assumed Merv was next to the sergeant in the chain of command, but they seemed unsure who to listen to after the attack.

“We have no choice but to go through the water,” Errol said, casting his voice across the beach with as much confidence as he could muster while hunched awkwardly on his splintered throne. Not being able to walk certainly hampered his authoritative aura.

“You’re welcome to an ocean grave,” Merv said, arms crossed. “But you’ll have to paddle on your own. I’m not going near that thing.”

“Don’t you have boats from the original passage? We would probably lose two days to the extra travel, but we could loop back around to find more sturdy craft.”

Merv exchanged glances with Percy. “Oskar didn’t exactly fill you in, huh? Thought you said you two were friends.”

“Last I heard, mages can’t open a portal here,” Errol said, wondering what he’d missed.

“True enough. We dropped from the sky above the storm and parachuted down.”

“Clever.”

Merv grunted. “Not interested in repeating that experience.”

Errol’s stomach twisted in fear, but he tried not to let his anxiety show. They were stuck here after all. Of course no mage could extract them. Getting out relied on waiting until his team deactivated the sorcery powering the storm. Until then, they were at the mercy of the monsters. Some leader he’d turned out to be. Crippled and stranded, far away from the others, pretending to work with the enemy.

He tugged at the bandage on his leg, wincing at the tenderness of the blistered skin as the gauze chafed. Mission success was entirely out of his hands now. If he could manage to be honest with himself, he’d probably never had much of a chance to help out the team in the first place. But now he was worse than useless. He’d savored the feeling of command, let it go to his head, and in the process he’d sabotaged their survival.

“We can’t just sit here staring at our toes until someone comes to save us,” Errol said, an acute sense of guilt driving his words. He couldn’t just leave his team to die, even if the scouts gathered here weren’t his real team. The rest of them still needed him, too.

“Water isn’t an option,” Merv repeated, his voice flat. He stared at Errol, his muscular arms still crossed, a challenge in his gaze. “Unless you’d like to volunteer to feed that thing so the rest of us can get across safely.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Merv?”

The big man shrugged. “Can’t say I’d shed any tears.”

Something like a plan clicked into place in Errol's mind. Maybe he could still finish the mission. "Deal. Float me out on that raft and get ready to follow."

Percy started to speak up, but Merv silenced him with a thrust out palm. "Do as the Eel commands. Either his gambit works and we move onward, or he's eaten and we haven't lost anything of value, eh boys?"

“Sure, boss,” Percy said, throwing a mock salute.

Errol gritted his teeth but otherwise ignored Merv’s insults. He hobbled down toward the shoreline, dragging himself on one leg until it shamed the scouts into action. They propped him up on the raft, waded out to proper depth for it to float, and shoved him across the dark waters. He bobbed out into the waves, praying that his plan would work. Water crashed over the sides of the makeshift craft, soaking him with salty spray. Errol wrinkled his nose at the stench of rotting seaweed. He had to stop getting himself into this kind of predicament.

Working the paddle as well as he could with his crippled legs and torn-up stomach, Errol moved into the middle of the channel between the two man-made support islands. Without the ability to brace his legs, he found any attempts at rowing in a straight line almost impossible. He flailed, listing to the side, but he managed to right himself with effort. Slowly, stroke by stroke, he was making progress in an erratic zigzag, growing closer to the opposite shore. So far, no sign of the sea monster. Perhaps it was sated with the flesh and blood of the man it had drawn under a few minutes earlier. He cast out with his sensor field and found nothing. Becking back toward the beach, he motioned for the others to follow him. To his great satisfaction, they dutifully put out to sea.

Three-quarters of the way across, a roiling maelstrom appeared to his left. He drew in as much electrical power as he could, turning off his sensor field and devoting his entire life force to powering a supercharged lance. He should be able to channel both abilities simultaneously, but he couldn't afford the possible distraction. He needed to overcharge the damage if he wanted to survive. Their lives depended on his focus right now.

Potent energy crackled through hm. Errol resisted the urge to pull up the vital ring and double check the power of his shock lance. Live or die. No sense in worrying about numbers now. False hope was just as dangerous as despair if he lost his focus. They could be equally fatal to the team; distraction was the true enemy here, not the creature below the waves. He squeezed his eyes shut, seeking the power of the lighting storm above him. It fulminated within him, shaking his body to the marrow.

Splintering timbers and cold water hit him just as he heard the monster explode up from the depths. Errol channeled every bit of hatred and hope and shame into the bolt, unleashing a lance more powerful than any he'd ever created. It arced out from his fingertips, crackling with raw, electric energy, and sparked into the hideous beast’s side. The air clapped like thunder. Searing flesh assaulted his nostrils and he was flung backwards into the water as a sheet of white lightning split the sky.

Thrashing in the ocean, Errol screamed for help, unable to kick his broken legs. He treaded water as well as he could, all-too-aware of how weak his leg had become. Sharp agony blossomed in his side. Every movement felt like a little death. He swallowed a mouthful of bitter, oily water, and gagged, his coordination breaking down as he fought to clear his lungs of the salt and filth. He flailed and went under, the dark water pulling at him with hungry currents, chilling him with preternaturally icy waves.

A quick stroke brought him bobbing up above the surface. He gulped in a lungful of air, waving at the rafts behind him, begging for rescue, but they had turned back to the shore, fear fueling their retreat. They disappeared, swallowed up in a thick, dark mist that had crept in to cover the water.

Errol sputtered and sank again. He couldn't see the monster anymore, but fear clung to him, weighing him down. Any second he would feel the burning snap of jaws closing around his body, sharp claws tearing him to pieces before he could drown. The barrage of hyper-realistic images sapped what little strength he had. Why keep fighting the inevitable? He struggled to the surface, desperate for air even as he embraced the certainty of his death. Limbs stiff and heavy, his strokes slowed until he couldn't keep his head up any longer. He slipped beneath the waves, calling out to the Bridge in a last, desperate attempt for salvation, and knew no more.