It had been four days. Four days since they met up with the Shaydos. Or had it been three? Or five? Time was a meaningless concept, a fabricated idea sentient beings created in a vain attempt to understand how the universe worked. All Vincent knew was that he was in hell. His mind was gone, and he was surrounded by a land covered in flames. He did not know who he was anymore.

  Day one with the Shaydos: Three of them stayed behind to transport The La'ark and Vincent while the rest flew off to retrieve the cabras. Glimmer was fast, faster than Madeen was. His kin were graceful flyers and their thinner, leaner forms seemed to cut through the air. Using The La’ark’s observations, they were able to “juke” the zeffyr. When it pursued them, they would change direction to throw it off. When it course-corrected, they switched directions again. The La’ark was right, the colossus seemed to have moments of blindness. It was as if every so often, at regular intervals, it sent out a ping and waited for a response. It was pinging Vincent.

  The La’ark counted. She said every twenty tults, it was cued in on his location. A “tult” was clearly a Falian unit of time. Vincent himself counted out approximately forty seconds. Every forty seconds the zeffyr saw him. And its sight lasted for about ten seconds. He knew this because it would chase after Glimmer, its maw tracking the zerok in real time. Then it would become blind again, heading in a straight line toward Vincent’s last known location. So, it could be evaded. They could trick it, kite it into obstacles and gain some distance.

  The problem was...it never stopped. It never rested, not even for a moment. Nothing posed a threat to it and nothing that got in its way stood a chance. Glimmer put a plateau the size of Devil's Tower between them and their pursuer. While they took a break, Vincent watched an orange spot appeared on the cliff face like an angry boil. Molten rock spewed from it as the zeffyr emerged and a good chunk of the cliff collapsed. They got away just in time, narrowly avoiding the shockwave. If the zeffyr ran into something that offered some resistance, its heat output exploded just as it did in The Stillwater. Its light became blinding. It summoned however much energy it needed to obliterate its obstacle.

  For this reason, The La'ark and the Shaydos avoided having it burrow through entire mountains. They never put a mountain directly between them and the entity for fear that such devastation would spell repercussions for life all around. It was a testament to The La'ark's wherewithal that she thought of these things as they were being pursued. And yet, they had to slow it down. And so the mountsides were gouged and sculpted as the zeffyr rutted their rock.

  There was no time for sleep. At most, they earned themselves twenty or thirty minutes before the entity caught up. So, when night fell, the fight continued. It was torment. Sleep deprivation was taking its toll on Vincent.

  Day two: Storms were forming. Systems were drawn in by the fires gathered like dark spectators. Lightning flashed and the air filled with stinging gases, ash, and rock dust. Small patches of forests burned, beasts fled in terror.

  Glimmer tried to keep the destruction localized in order to minimize the devastation. So, he led the colossus back and forth, left and right, overlapping the paths it had already gouged into the land. The problem was even though they tried to minimize the devastation, the chaff that the zeffyr kicked up was making the air unbreathable. It burned their eyes and scorched the throat. It was not uncommon for Vincent and The La'ark to succumb to fits of coughing and gagging. They were forced to tear sections out of their garments and use them as masks.

  Day three was when Vincent began to lose himself. He was beyond exhausted. He was little more than a husk who simply existed. He was thirsty, hungry, his chest was fluttering, and his heart was skipping. His body needed sleep. In fact, it begged for it. When he shut his eyes, he felt himself rushing into slumber. But the jostling from the flight kept him awake. And when they took breaks, there was never enough time to nap. He would get close to nodding off only for The La’ark to scream at him or for some explosion to rock the land.

  After gaining some considerable distance, they took a break. The third zerok, who was nicknamed Shadow, took over for Glimmer. The latter flew off to bring back food. The La’ark and Vincent had not eaten in days and it had taken its toll. He could not stand upright. So, they needed sustenance. That sustenance, however, came in the form of a slain beast. There was no time to cook it and nothing to cook it with. With the zerok’s help, The La’ark ripped the meat right off its bones and ate it raw. She looked feral, biting down and wriggling her snout to loosen the flesh. Then she thrust some into Vincent’s hands.

  “Eat...” she rasped, blood dripping from her fangs.

  Vincent stared at her as if he didn’t know what she was asking. Raw meat...it was unsanitary. It was unfathomable. But he couldn’t protest. He was disassociating, though he wasn’t sure whether that was the schizophrenia returning or it was sleep deprivation psychosis. He raised the meat and took a bite. It was warm against his tongue and he could taste the tang of blood. He immediately gagged.

  “You need to eat,” The La’ark rasped. Her voice sounded like it had been dragged and scraped across concrete. “Open your maw. Do not think about it. Do not chew. Swallow.”

  Her eyes were heavy, and she was trembling. She was not doing too well either. Vincent forced the meat into his mouth and then she clamped his jaw shut. His sinuses filled with the soft scent of carrion. The gag reflex seized his entire body. But she held him firm until some alien function took over and he downed the whole thing. When she let go, he nearly threw it back up. But it somehow managed to stay down.

  The La’ark, satisfied, chose a place by a rock and sat down. Her snout sank into her hands. Vincent, too weak to hold his head up, let it fall back and he collapsed onto the dirt,. He closed his eyes. Sleep was coming to him, and it was coming fast.

  But then…then they had to leave again. He wanted to scream, but he was too tired to do it. Existence was misery. Being awake was agony. He saw everything in glimpses, clouds wafting past his face, flames licking the land. He could feel Glimmer trembling against his back. The zerok were incredible...and yet days of nonstop flight were wearing them out too. Their flight wavered and they became unsteady. Yet they persisted still.

  How long would this last? This nonstop pursuit? An explosion rocked the air. Shrapnel and debris flew and struck one of the zerok flyers. Vincent opened his mouth in a dry gasp, a pitiful facsimile of a cry as the Shaydos went down. It tried to recover, but it could not. It was too weak, too exhausted. As it fell behind, it drifted too close to the zeffyr's maw. It tried to escape, but its wings smoldered, caught fire, and it plummeted into the fiery abyss. Its cries were cut short as the magma engulfed it.

  Glimmer shrieked, his voice sounding like a pitch-shifted hawk wailing. The keening, loud and angry, shook Vincent’s bones. It was the first time he had heard a zerok utter a cry of grief. It was a horrible sound and it broke him. His body was shaking and he became a heaving wreck. He just wanted this to stop.

  After putting some distance between them and the zeffyr, The La’ark gestured frantically to Glimmer from her flyer. She pointed to a river that was coursing through a humongous vein of rose-colored liacyte crystals. Some of them were at least twenty to thirty feet tall. The Shaydos banked toward them. The shores were jagged and uninviting, but eventually the Shaydos found a clearing and landed.

  Vincent immediately let himself fall. He didn’t have the energy to hold himself up. His snout met the ground. There was a flair of pain, a tinge of chlorine in his sinuses, and he tasted blood. He had busted his nose but he did not care. Somebody approached him and he heard The La’ark’s voice.

  “Come, drink.” she said, “Telo’s Wing...I hope this buys us time. The presence of vast amounts of liacyte is supposed to make it harder to track its victim. Now get up!”

  Vincent allowed himself to be dragged toward the river. He looked at his reflection and saw a ghostly snout covered in chaff and ash. He plunged his maw into the water and drank. His trembling sent ripples through the surface. When he was finished, he rolled onto his back. His wings touched a few of the crystals. A transformation began to take place. The flesh on his wing darkened from the point of contact and a night-time blue spread across his body. Glowing cosmos appeared. It was a mysterious interaction only he had when contacting liacyte. It was a sign that confirmed him as a figure from these people's lore.

  As celestials bloomed across his form, he stared up at the liacyte that flanked them. They towered over him like judges. The Shaydos perched on their pinnacles and cried out in grief, wailing for their fallen comrade. Vincent turned his head. The La’ark was panting and coughing, sitting with her back against a rock. Her snout was buried in her hands. Vincent mouthed something, but no words came out. Only a dry click escaped his throat. He wasn’t sure what he was saying. Ashes danced in the air above.

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  “I...I...”

  The La’ark’s ears twitched and she looked up at him.

  “What is it?” she snapped.

  “Leave...” he paused for a moment, forgetting what he was going to say.

  “Save your words, Vincent Cordell.”

  “You need to leave me...” His voice was more like a death rattle than a voice.

  Something wet was running down his cheeks. Tears? It did not feel like he was crying, yet his eyes were wet. The La’ark looked him up and down, a scowl etched on her snout.

  “I killed them...” Vincent said, “I lied...I got them killed.”

  His voice trailed off and he drifted among scattered memories. He remembered the helmet he had been given, stained with a soldier’s blood, a soldier who died because of his lies. Somebody screamed because of a mangled wing. His knife flashed, spilling Xalix’s blood. His hands were wrapped around somebody’s neck. Teresis, the telen he killed. He was destruction. It’s why Girashnal chose him. It was his nature. And this...the zeffyr, it was somehow his collateral. But it was also his punishment.

  “No,” The La’ark said. She did not elaborate any further.

  Vincent closed his eyes. His body wanted to sleep, it needed it. And yet...it had been trained to flinch at the thought of it. Sleep was death and so, it refused. His body jolted him awake because it had been trained to do so. He opened his eyes and turned back to The La’ark.

  “I’m not worth this...you have to leave me. You said..." a violent episode of coughing overtook him. "You said I would pay for my lies. Let me pay. I’m not...” He drifted a bit, trying to find his words. Why were they so evasive? “I’m not good.”

  Vincent deserved death and he wanted it. He was so damn tired...of everything. Voices whispered in his ear, caressing him, nudging him toward his demise. A silence stood between them as The La’ark considered her response. When she spoke, her voice was softened but filled with the same severity.

  “You listen to me, Cordell,” she rasped, “We need to know our enemy. We need to know you, whatever you are, your people. You want to take...to take the easy way out and call yourself brave. It does not work like that. That is cowardice speaking. It is more than you. We need knowledge…intelligence. As for your guilt…it is just and you will live with it.”

  “It’s logic...” Vincent said, “I’m the target. Leave me. Don’t do this...I’m not worth it.”

  He closed his eyes. Every time he drifted close to sleeping, he flinched. He was convinced he would never be able to sleep again. It was locked from him. He was going to be forever trapped in this limbo, a husk of a person.

  The La’ark turned out to be right about the liacyte. It bought them more time. Vincent was finally able to drift off into a state that nearly resembled sleep. He heard the Shaydos’s chirping and clicking, but they were transformed into meaningless nonsense as he lingered in the realm of dreams and broken thoughts. He kept hearing The La’ark whispering.

  “My brother will fix this...” she said, “He is the only one who can. The telen...we need the damn telen...”

  This respite from the zeffyr did not last forever. An explosion shook them. The zeffyr had found Vincent’s scent. But when it was time to flee, he could not get up. He was weak in both mind and body. He did not have the will to move. Besides, it was his time to die. In fact, he was already dead even though he still breathed. Just let it happen. Then the destruction would stop. People would stop getting hurt because of his brokenness.

  Vincent felt something nudge his arm. So, he opened his eyes and turned his head. Glimmer had his beak tucked under his arm. The zerok was panting. His breaths were dry, labored, and raspy. He took Vincent's arm into his beak and lifted him to his feet. Vincent grabbed onto a clutch of feathers and used the zerok for support as he swayed. Then he allowed himself to be taken.

  Time lapsed. He was gone. His limp body hung from Glimmer’s grip as they soared over a spreading hell. He breathed, he saw, and he heard...but he acknowledged none of it. All he knew was a land of excoriation.

  On the fourth day...or was it still the third day? Vincent did not remember night. It became irrelevant since time blended together into one endless dream. The cabras caught up. The Shaydos flew in, bringing Menik, M’kari, Tuls, Jeris, Madrian and Sperloc. Their voices felt distant as he nearly dozed off. But like so many other times, as soon as he put his head down to nap, it was almost time to flee. Somebody helped Vincent to his feet and he leaned on them.

  Voices yelled, angry and virulent. Somebody was arguing. Sperloc? Vincent could see the historian sparring verbally with The La’ark. He kept jabbing his finger toward Vincent. Spittle flew from his mouth. He could not hear the words, but he knew what Sperloc was saying: Leave him behind. He’s doomed! The others...they stood in awe of the zeffyr’s destruction. Their feet were rooted to the ground. Tuls was on his knees, clutching his chest.

  “Suffering...” he said, “There’s so much suffering...what is this? They’re wailing...”

  “Tell them!” Sperloc bellowed at The La’ark, “Tell them what he is!”

  Behind Sperloc lay a panorama of hellfire. Flames danced and spun as they wrapped around the trunks of trees. The bright oranges of the burning valleys mixed into the blackness of their smoke. Dark roiling towers reached their fingers across the blue sky, seeking to snuff the sun itself out. The La’ark walked right up to Sperloc and smacked him right across the snout. It was a raw, hollow sound. He stumbled backwards and for a moment, it looked like he would attack her.

  “Find yourself, Sperloc!” The La’ark snapped, “Because I hear a coward’s words!”

  Sperloc bared his teeth at her, so Menik jumped into action. He pulled Sperloc back before he could retaliate. However, that seemed to be unnecessary. An awareness came upon the old tuhli, he got a hold of himself and remained silent. However, he was shaking with fury. Vincent heard Tuls whispering. He could not make out the words, but it sounded like a prayer.

  “We will get through this, Brother,” he said. There was terror in it. Vincent didn’t know if the relos was trying to comfort him or if he was talking to himself. "Whatever this is…we will get through it."

  “Stop calling me ‘Brother’!” Vincent roared. He didn’t know where the anger came from, and his voice, husky from sleeplessness, did not sound like his own. There were cracks in his words. I'm a liar. I don’t deserve to be called ‘brother’.

  “I am sorry, Vincent,” Tuls said, shocked by the outburst.

  Sorry? Vincent stared at the relos. What was Tuls sorry for? He had already forgotten his own outburst. Only the unhinged rage remained, but it was quickly dwindling since he did not have the presence of mind to sustain any emotions.

  The zeffyr reappeared through the wall of smoke and ash. The zerok grabbed their riders and took off. Vincent’s body, bruised all over from the constant battering, screamed when Glimmer picked him up. But he was too weak to cry out.

  The land looked like wax that had been gouged with a soldering iron. The fires continued to climb higher into the sky. They sucked in the wind from the surrounding lands, creating eddies and small tornadoes, some of which picked up the flames and became fire spouts. Heat storms grumbled in the heavens, like monsters leaning over the mountains, ever-changing, ever-shifting. And the zeffyr, insatiable in its hunger, continued to consume anything that got in its path.

  The terrain, once beautiful and precious, was being vandalized and laid to waste. The Shaydos had no choice...if they flew too high, the zeffyr, without anything to obstruct it, would pick up too much speed. It would overtake them no matter how hard they tried to shake it off. And so, they sacrificed the mountainsides. They sacrificed the lakes. They sacrificed anything that was solid or stout enough to slow it down. How long could this go on though?

  They found pockets of liacyte and bought themselves time. But the zeffyr always learned where they were. Its arrival was merely delayed. It was inevitable, like death and time itself. In the middle of the destruction was Sergeant Dave, weeping, oblivious to the hungry inferno. Vincent’s voices jabbered in his ears and in his head.

  When he dropped to his knees to drink from a river, he saw his haggard reflection in its water. His blue tongue hang from his open maw, dangling from its side. He heard a feral dog, manifested by his psychosis, snarling in his ears, grinding its teeth and laughing. After he quenched his thirst, his face fell and hit the ground. The phantom dog continued to growl. His body was...off. Something didn’t feel right. Nausea had been building in his stomach for hours now. He crawled back over to the river and retched. Water, mixed with strings of bile spewed between his teeth and floated away. Somebody said his name. But he didn’t know who.

  “Game sickness,” The La’ark said, “We ate raw meat.”

  “Your gut is untested,” Menik said, kneeling next to Vincent. “It’s not ready for carrion. Get it all out.”

  “Help....” Vincent said before another wave cut him off. His claws clutched the ground. His body was an earthquake now. He could hear his wings trembling. When he was finished, he didn’t bother to clean himself. He simply let his snout flop.

  “Where’s the Triasat?” Tuls asked while Menik cleaned off his snout. The shandan warrior searched through Vincent’s pockets, but Vincent grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t...” he said, “Save...save it.”

  Menik looked like he was going to ignore the request, but he respected Vincent's wish. Suddenly, The La’ark stood up, alert.

  “What is it?” Menik asked.

  “Telen...” she said staring into the distance, “I have been waiting for you. You have found my brother too?”

  Vincent, through his psychosis, could sense the presence of a familiar lore. A telen was contacting The La’ark.

  “I am The La’ark. Have you heard of me? Do you know who I am? Good. I have a problem and my brother is the only one in Admoran who can take care of it. So, connect me to him...do not argue...JUST DO IT!”

  The outburst caused a violent fit of coughing. When she recovered, she composed herself and waited, even though she was chewing on unspoken expletives.

  “Brother,” she said to nobody in particular, “Are you with people?” There was a pause as she waited for a response. “Then you listen to me and listen close...” she continued. Every word had a purpose. It had weight. An almost manic expression twisted her snout. “Are you near any cities?”

  She waited for a response only she could hear.

  “Good,” she said, “Then stop where you are. Tell everybody in your caravan to flee. Tell them to run as fast as they can. And prepare yourself for a fight. Raise Sincalindre.”

  Another explosion shook the land as the zeffyr plowed through another cliff face. It had found them.

  “Why?” The La’ark shouted, spittle flying from her mouth, “Because I am bringing a zeffyr to you! So, raise your conduit, Thal’rin! Raise Sincalindre!”