FARLON

Blessed be the fall‚ because if I'm caught red-handed, my father's punishment will be far worse than anything this rabid shop owner could conjure. Coarse rock, like jutting razors, tore at the exposed skin of my stomach as I flailed, trying to anchor myself along the passing ledge before falling clear of the cliff. My shirt had ridden up, and the weight of my pack kept dragging me outward, inch by inch, like a slow execution. The strap cut into my shoulder as I clawed for anything that would hold.

"Derrick!" I yelped before the sudden jolt of my outstretched hands thankfully halted my descent as I found myself gripping a prominent fissure.

The stone bit into my fingers until my knuckles burned. Grit packed beneath my nails as I locked my wrists and prayed the rock didn't crumble with me. Still in the dying light, eyes clenched, limbs trembling, I choked back ragged breaths and willed the rock to hold. After three days of a soul-crushing trek across the supercontinent of Southern Bastian, dangling off the side of a barren mountain was far more adventure than I'd ever been willing to welcome on what was supposed to be a quiet excursion. Pebbles of crumbled stone pattered past as I glanced downward, past my hiking boots, toward the treacherous eighty-foot drop to the sparsely wooded valley below. At the far side of the mountaintop, the day's wilting sun dipped beyond the horizon as a thickening blanket of darkness cloaked me, rendering me all but invisible beyond a stone's throw. The cliff face vanished into shadow, swallowing every edge and angle. Only the thin strip of dying light at the ridge could betray me‚ if I moved wrong.

"Matty‚" a pleading whisper came from above as a hazy open palm reached down. "They're so close‚ you have to keep it down."

His hand trembled, but his voice didn't. Derrick had the kind of quiet that came from practice. After mustering the strength to lurch upward, I clasped Derrick's hand and curled myself back over the jagged cliff as he hauled me onto solid ground. Ignoring Derrick as he leaned over the edge, I lay flat against the cold stone while my panting and light-headedness slowly became more manageable. A belligerent barrage of curses and jostling brush from beneath the ledge alerted me to the scrambling Outlanders closing in as I bit down on my lip, afraid of being exposed in the slim light of the withering sun. Their boots didn't stumble‚ they moved with purpose, crunching gravel in short bursts, stopping, listening. A flashlight beam lanced across the rock beneath us, searching low like it knew exactly what to look for.

I can't believe this is all my doing. I didn't want the bracelet for its worth. I wanted it because it meant something I didn't have. Ptyrinium steel‚ the most durable element in Bastian‚ worked into a ceremonial band. Vahntiri scripture etched into its face: for family, lover, brother. A gift for anyone who swore allegiance. The shop owner's voice had cut through the market crowd, and something inside me had reached before my mind could stop it. One bump. One blink. And the bracelet was in my palm.

"Do you still have it?" Derrick whispered as the fear of losing my life became a passing afterthought. "Their flashlights, they're nearly on top of us."

Derrick didn't ask if I was hurt. He already knew the answer. He only cared if we were caught.

"Do I still have‚" I repeated as my scattered mind flushed with horror.

No‚ no, no, no. After all this, it couldn't have slipped out. Please‚ tell me I still have it.

As if tossed like a flattened pancake onto an irritated hill of ants, I thrashed while feverishly patting my pockets until my trembling fingers curled around the hardened loop in my left pant leg. Pressing my palm to the rigid object, I held my free hand to my chest and let out a deep sigh as my racing heartbeat slowed to a manageable simmer before I glanced toward Derrick and gave a reassuring nod. Rolling over, I saw the bright gleam of a full moon illuminate the broad valley of the Halivent Province beyond the ridgeline.

"Less than five minutes, Matty‚ we've gotta move," Derrick murmured as I rolled into a squat.

Seconds burned away like a countdown trapped in my thoughts as I bolted back up the ridgeline we'd come from while the probing shouts behind Derrick and me faded into the distance. Cresting the ridge's southern side with haste, I scampered down the far slope toward the Outlander encampment and the safety of our family's campfire. The campfire was a low orange pulse ahead, half-hidden behind the clay wall. Smoke crawled into the night in a thin ribbon, as if even it knew to stay quiet. Chilling gusts of tunneled wind raised bumps across my skin. Cold tears filled my squinted eyes as, despite the distance, my tightened hamstrings pumped with adrenaline.

"We're fine‚ we're going to make it," I called out to Derrick, as if to convince myself, while he ran close beside me. "Once we get to the tent, let's hit the rack and not say a freaking word about the market."

"What market," Derrick snickered.

Two shallow hills dipped into bowl-like low ground; dry bundles of brush clawed at my shirt as I juked through the foliage, and after a final hurdle over the encampment's low clay wall, it was a straight shot to the tent. Confident, I slowed to a comfortable stroll and reached to cast aside the tent flap, but a sudden curiosity made me stop and pull my hand back from the orange fabric.

"The Air Roamer‚ do you see that?" Derrick asked as I instinctively turned back‚ not in fear, but curiosity.

"What do you mean‚" I mumbled before a subtle strobe in the sky caught my eye.