The Split Second (Timespeaker Series Book 2) by Brit Stanford

Author:Brit Stanford [Stanford, Brit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Future House Publishing
Published: 2024-02-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

ETHER

Ether hated not knowing how long they’d been walking for. They’d slept several times, exhausted, heads pounding, eyes bleary from the pain in their head and the ringing in their ears. Still, the lights directed them onward. He began to think obsessively about that empty cup he’d carefully placed outside his cell, heedlessly kicked over by guards unknowingly giving him an assassin as a neighbor. He hadn’t received any food or water since then. He may be the great Timespeaker, but he could very well die from the guard’s fear and neglect, plain and simple.

His thirst increased, and it made the unknown minutes feel like days and months. He felt the dryness calcify his throat and his stomach, and his limbs began to feel stiff with it too. They needed water.

Eventually, he fell asleep while walking, tripping and waking himself up briefly when he hit the ground. Lisbet attempted to pull him up, but he was too tired. Again, he was reminded that his Basal constitution was weaker than Lisbet’s. She sat wearily next to him, and the flashing, infuriating lights moved on, leaving them in darkness, as if unaware they weren’t still following.

“We need water!” Lisbet tried to yell after the disappearing lights, her voice hoarse and cracking.

Ether felt a vague sense of dismay at being left to die of thirst in the darkness. Then he felt guilty. “Shouldn’t . . . have . . . dragged you . . . along,” he rasped.

Lisbet shook her head. “I’d rather die here with my mind intact . . . not back in that cell like an animal.”

He must have fallen asleep again, because he woke to violent flashing in such a bright white it blinded him. Lisbet stirred next to him. She opened her eyes and squinted against the light.

Tired, he rested his head on his non-injured arm, closing his dry eyes. The lights began flashing violently again, irritating his headache. He tried to form a curse to yell at the bone, but his throat was too dry to say anything, and the air rattled through his lungs and throat. The lights jumped over his head, pointing down a split in the tunnel. Blearily, he realized they pointed down a different path than before.

Again, he tried to close his eyes, but the lights only flashed brighter. The stone above his head thundered, as if threatening to crush them like the assassins.

“Get up,” Lisbet rasped, pulling him up. “Bone won’t let up.”

Fine, he thought grouchily. He leaned against the wall and made his way slowly after Lisbet, only questioning a time or two whether he should let himself be crushed and be done with it instead of slowly dying from dehydration.

His parched throat sensed a distant humidity in the air long before he realized the hushing sound wasn’t the bone whispers. It was water.

Lisbet sensed it too, and they ran, tripping, clumsy, heedless of their scuffed hands and knees. He knew the signs of water could all be a delusion, a hallucination created by his desperate mind, but he didn’t care.

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