Princess Selene's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Ten days east of the crystal keep, Selene felt beaten. The days burned. The nights froze. Twice a storm trapped her under a rock ledge until the wind died. She had food for maybe a week more. She had no map of the eastern wilds, no landmark, no sign of the crash. Her mount, the six-legged Sixhorn, carried her over dune after dune. Every dune looked like the last. She was lost, and the four moons kept filling. That morning she pulled the reins and stopped. "I don't know where it fell," she said aloud. Her voice cracked. The Sixhorn's translucent body caught the light and threw it back at her, useless. She had promised her mother she would find what crashed. Now she would wander until her month ran out and she had to crawl home with nothing. A rustle broke the silence. A pale green creature slipped from a burrow near the Sixhorn's front legs. It had a long body, six small feet, and two antennae that swept the air. The hexweasel froze and stared at her. Its antennae twitched east, then east again, always east. The same weasel that was back at her home had followed her and her mount this far. Selene watched it. The thing wanted something. It darted a few steps, stopped, looked back at her. It wanted her to follow. She had no better plan. "Fine," she said, and turned the Sixhorn after it. The hexweasel ran fast. It vanished over a ridge, then waited for her at the top, antennae flicking. All day it led her. When she slowed, it circled back. When she stopped to drink, it paced until she moved again. The sun dropped. The air went cold. She almost turned around twice. Then the ground changed. Sand gave way to cracked black rock, scorched in a wide ring. Something had struck here hard. At the center stood a shape that did not belong to Zygori. It was tall and made of metal, taller than the keep's spires, resting at a tilt in the burned rock. Round windows dotted its silver skin. Rust streaked its panels. Fins spread from its base like the legs of an insect. Selene had never seen anything like it. This was the light that fell from the sky. The hexweasel sat at the edge of the ring and would go no closer. Its antennae pointed at the machine, then at her. Selene climbed down from the Sixhorn. Her celestial marks began to glow, bright gold in the falling dark. She stepped onto the black rock. Near the base of the metal thing, a low hatch hung open. Fresh footprints marked the ash around it. Not hers. Not the creature's. Someone had walked out of that machine and lived. Selene stopped at the edge of the footprints.