The Final Strife

“Hassa?” Sylah tugged on the arm she was holding, causing the torch to clatter to the ground and go out. The darkness consumed them.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Gah,” Hassa said beside her as Sylah’s splayed hands poked her in the face.

“Sorry.”

Hassa huffed beside her in response.

Sylah grabbed Hassa’s limb and let her lead her on. Her silvery scars were smooth but raised, as if the keloids were reaching for phantom fingers. Sylah’s other hand trailed along the wet walls. Every now and then her finger would slip into a groove or a crack, reminding her of the Ruta River above.

Sylah wasn’t sure how far dawn was from breaking, and for a moment she thought it was the sun up ahead until the orange hue flickered like flame.

“Hassa?” Sylah’s blood pounded around and around with the drum of her heart.

Hassa’s face was illuminated by the beckoning fire beyond. It was the face of a girl who had seen too much, felt too much, heard too much. The sorrow overflowed and etched into the lines of her face. Sylah cast her eyes away toward the fire that cackled and sucked its teeth. The darkness retreated, exposing the room as they entered.

“What is this place, Hassa?”

Smoke curled its way up toward a slash in the stone above. Larger than entire villas in the Duster Quarter, the room had been chipped and carved out of whitestone into a hexagon. The cavern spilled off at each corner into rooms and corridors. Sylah could smell flatbread cooking, and though it wasn’t her home, she felt the essence of care from whoever lived there. No slime or mold marred any surface or item; it was all immaculately clean. Sylah wiped her hands on her silver dress and noticed she still wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Sylah stood out starkly in this well-loved place.

A small sound made her jump, and she noticed four people standing in the back of the cavern behind a pile of goods.

Hassa, who is this?One of the Ghostings took a step toward Sylah. Her pale blue eyes were the most piercing color Sylah had ever seen. She was old, though not as old as the Ghosting who stood to her left. They walked with a cane strapped to their elbow and waved it as an indication they were ready to speak.

Is this her? The Stolen?The Ghosting limped forward.

The woman with blue eyes snarled.

Hassa signed next to Sylah. Yes, Elder Dew, this is Sylah. She’s the one the Sandstorm are hunting.

How dare you bring her down here?Her blue eyes seemed to burn like ice.

“Hassa…?”

Elder Reed, calm yourself, let Hassa speak,the elder with a limp said.

Hassa nodded.

Sylah, these four are the elders of the Ghostings. This is Elder Dew.Hassa pointed to the Ghosting with the crutch. This is Elder Reed. She pointed to blue eyes, who kept her eyes shrewdly trained on Sylah. This is Elder Zero, and this is Elder Ravenwing.

Sylah wasn’t sure how to greet them. She knew that the Ghostings had elders, she had heard Hassa refer to them before, but she’d never actually met one. She settled for bowing her head.

“Hello…Elders.”

Elders, Sylah is in danger. She needs to leave the city.

“Wait a minute, Hassa, I didn’t agree to leave…Anoor—”

Hassa held up her arm, her eyes like flints.

She comes here unwilling?Elder Reed signed, her expression thunderous.

Elders, I believe Sylah will be a beneficial ally to the Ghosting cause. Her need to leave the city, Hassa shot her a look before Sylah opened her mouth to interrupt, gives her the freedom to join the other Ghostings in the caves and onto the mainland.

As a sacrifice for the Tannin?Elder Reed said.