Chapter 18 – Dead Monk Valley

  The outskirts of the Bdain Araan Desert – Drift 10

  ?

  Something soft, warm, and oddly sticky pressed against his throat, vibrating like a cat. He tried to lift his hand, but only half his body responded. The rest felt slow to catch up.

  A battered part of his mind decided he was still in the dunes, still running. Was this hallucination number four? At least it wasn’t Emma this time, tied up so tightly she couldn’t move and he couldn’t help her.

  He blinked. The world grew brighter, then split into two suns.

  No, not suns. They were tails. Two lilac-pink coils moved gently on his chest, rising and falling with his breath, fading in and out.

  “Not real,” he croaked.

  The furry creature tilted its wedge-shaped head and blinked at him with eyes that seemed too smart for a mirage. A faint chirrup came from its throat, more vibration than sound.

  It had to be heat stroke. First, you saw water that wasn’t real. Then you saw creatures that were. Classic symptoms.

  The curtain moved. Harsh light drew a golden line across the floor, sending white spots into his vision. Someone stepped in, wrapped in desert cloth, with eyes darker than his classroom wall.

  Serendipity. Or maybe just another fever-made copy. He let out a shaky breath. “I never made it out of the desert, did I? I’m still out there, slowly dying.”

  “You have good friends,” she said. “And you definitely make a strong first impression.” She closed the curtains and walked across the room. The bright sunlight disappeared, and he could finally stop squinting.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  He looked at her, but her outline faded into the white blur behind her. His vision kept slipping in and out of focus.

  “Not dead?” he offered, raising himself onto his elbows. His very sore elbows. The warm weight on his chest shifted, climbing up toward his neck. He ignored it. Looking down, he noticed the bandages, rough strips wrapped up his arms, some fraying at the edges. “What—” His hand went to his face, finding the bandages before his mind caught up. “Sunburn?” he asked, pushing himself upright.

  “That’s the least of your problems,” Serendipity said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How much pain are you in? Do you need more medicine? Dice gave you some strong stuff yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” His voice came out sharper than he meant.

  “Yeah,” she said, reaching toward his head, but stopped when something near his shoulder hissed softly.

  He flinched. “Was that my head?”

  Serendipity grinned. “Not unless you’ve grown fur and a bad attitude.”

  She looked far too amused.

  “You were out for a whole drift. We found you near the Glass Canyons—in the same quadrant, even.”

  He blinked again. Something about her tone felt off. It wasn’t the words, but the pause behind them. His thoughts moved slowly, like wet sand.

  His desert runner had broken down three hours past the market. He’d kept walking. That much he remembered. He just hadn’t realized how far. Or how long. But nowhere near the canyons. She was mocking him…

  “How did you find me?” he asked, running a bandaged hand through his hair—and feeling something soft and purring.

  He froze.

  It crawled up his forearm without hesitation, wrapping around his elbow like it belonged there. Startled, he lifted it into the crook of his arm. “Is this your… pet?” he asked, baffled.

  The creature blinked at him, one eye pale gold and the other bright blue. For a moment, he remembered—the tank in the market filled with green fluid, those same eyes watching him like he was the only real thing in a glass world. Its skin was pink, with fur so short it looked almost hairless, smooth and silky. Its ears folded back like petals. Two thick tails flicked lazily across his chest. “I’ve seen you before,” he said, smiling.

  The creature stared right into his eyes. When David tilted his head to see better, it copied him.

  A mirror.

  He ran his finger along the smooth curve of its small head. He couldn’t explain it, but he was sure of one thing: this creature remembered him. For reasons he might never know, it had decided he was safe.

  “You two know each other?” Serendipity asked, crossing her arms. “That explains why no one else seems able to touch her.” She smirked, just a little. “I found her behind the market. In an alley. She was in rough shape, almost as bad as you, actually.” She nodded at the Mirrora. “Seems like you two have a lot in common. I’ll let you catch up, then. Shout if you need anything.”

  She got to her feet and walked away in silence.

  The creature stayed curled in his arm, warm, soft, and strangely still.

  He let his head rest against the cushion, blinking through the haze in his eyes. His vision flickered, light blurring at the edges, lines coming and going.

  He let the panic rise. Just for a moment. Let it crawl over his chest and up his throat until it drowned him. Sunburn was definitely the least of his worry. He was almost blind. He hadn’t achieved anything. And now he was going blind from the stupid planet’s suns. The Mirrora chuffed and tucked her head beneath his chin.

  He wished this was just another hallucination—pain, helplessness, and strange creatures made from heat and fear.

  He stroked her back. She made a soft clicking sound, maybe content, or maybe something else. Then she wrapped her small arms around his forearm and looked at him. She went still, and so did he. His breathing slowed, and his heart calmed.

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  Calm down. She seemed to instill into him.

  He did.

  The room filled with stillness. Only then did the scents arrive, as if waiting for permission.

  Dried sage. Charcoal. Mint. Citrus leaves. The air was thick with these scents—natural, grounding. It was the smell of a landing pad, as if the whole planet was soaked in herbs. Maybe even the sand could taste sweet.

  Sandstone tiles lay beneath the woven pallet, worn uneven by time and bare feet. Between two, a thin line of red-tinted sand had settled, maybe brought by the wind, tracing the room’s edge like a map only the desert understood.

  The walls were unpainted, dust-colored, matte.

  Shelves lined the walls, made from driftwood, metal scraps, and anything flat enough to hold things that didn’t belong on the floor.

  Dried herbs dangled from overhead beams, twisted into small bundles. They swayed gently in the dawn air, as if stirred by breath rather than breeze. So unlike his room. So earthbound and domestic. Foreign but peaceful.

  There was no glass in the window, just a cloth shade rolled halfway up and an electric hum to keep out the heat.

  Even at dawn, the room stayed cool. It wasn’t just shaded; the walls had drunk the night air and held it. Heat pressed at the threshold and couldn’t get in. The floor under his palms was smooth and faintly chilled. For the first time in too long, he wasn’t being cooked alive. Relief settled, heavy and slow, almost as real as the pain.

  Outside, the horizon hummed in the twilight, a low sound like old machines breathing under the dunes.

  Then the first noise: heavy, angry boots. Real ones. Remulus.

  He came in like a storm, nearly ripping the dark blue curtains off. Shoulders filled the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable; his gaze locked on him like a targeting sight.

  "Oh, great," the man said flatly. "You're alive." Not a question.

  "Seems so," he answered, just as flat. Panic started creeping back in.

  "Don't get smug with me," Remulus snapped. "You left the ship without telling anyone."

  "I'm sorry."

  "You left in the middle of the day drift. On an old desert runner. Without the right gear. With radiation rising. And you didn't even think to say, 'Hey, Dice, let the crew know I'm off to risk my life in the pretty parts of the desert today.'"

  He sat up straighter, wincing as the bandages pulled on his raw skin. "I had to find—"

  "You had to do what?" Remulus snapped. "You think you can run around a foreign planet alone just because you took a few risks without your parents holding your hand?"

  His voice broke, anger turning into something even harsher.

  "You could've died." A beat. "You almost did die. And for what? Is this why you came here?" he laughed, "Dead Monk Valley? You were still within the city limits! The valley wasn't even a rumor where you face-planted."

  "I'm sorry," he said again, more quietly, feeling anger rise inside him.

  "I don't want to hear it!" Remulus shouted. The room seemed to shrink. "Did you even think about us while you were out there chasing your big idea? I brought you here. Iliana looked after you. And you just left. Picked up your sorry excuse for baggage and ran into the desert like a damn hero."

  "I said I'm sorry, all right?" He snapped back, breath hitching. "I didn't mean to get lost. I didn't mean to lose the runner…" His breathing skittered. "I just needed to find that plant!"

  Remulus paused, the silence cold and sharp. "What?" Remulus roared. "You thought what?"

  "I thought… that was it," he said, voice cracking. "I paid you. You got me to the planet. I didn't want to get you involved. And I don't have any value left. I spent the last of it on the runner."

  Silence.

  Remulus didn’t shout. Didn’t even move.

  His arms dropped to his sides, slow, like he’d only just realized they were clenched. He shifted back a step. Something in his posture softened, his will surrendering, letting go of a fight he didn’t expect to win.

  “All right, that’s enough,” said a voice from the doorway.

  The curtain pulled back, and Iliana leaned in, one hand braced on the frame. “You’re finally awake,” she said, tone a calm counterweight to Remulus’s fire.

  She looked… off.

  Her skin had dulled to a faint, flat gold. Her cheeks flushed with heat, but her lips had lost color, fading to grey. Even her movements were careful, less deliberate. Every breath looked counted.

  He blinked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not the one who tried to roast myself alive,” she said, stepping inside with a slow, almost weightless gait. She smiled faintly but didn’t answer. She glanced at Remulus, then at him, then at the Mirrora curled against his arm. The corner of her mouth twitched. “At least someone here knows how to rest properly.”

  Remulus muttered something and moved to the back wall. His energy faded, and his tension turned inward.

  Iliana walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bench near his bed, but not too close. She watched his every move, but didn’t hover.

  “You scared us,” she said quietly.

  He lowered his gaze. The Mirrora made a quiet sound and pressed deeper against his ribs.

  Iliana let the silence linger. “But you’re here now. And whatever you’re after, you don’t have to do it alone.”

  “You don’t have to do it at all,” Remulus said from the wall.

  “What are you talking about?” David asked, alarmed. “Then what was the point of all this?”

  “The point of what? Nearly killing yourself and dragging us with you?” Remulus turned, the edge back in his voice. “What would the Library say if they learned I brought a runaway heir to a restricted monastery planet and let him die?”

  He pushed off the wall and crossed the room in two strides, looming over both him and Iliana.

  “Remi…” Iliana started.

  “Don’t,” he snapped. His finger pointed at her like a loaded gun. “Don’t fucking do it.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” she said flatly, turning away.

  “I’m not letting either of you get me buried deeper than I already am,” Remulus said. “I’m on thin ice as it is. And this—” He gestured at the bed, at David, bandaged and burned. “This is lukewarm water at my feet.”

  “What?” David raised an eyebrow under the bandages.

  “It melts the fucking ice,” Remulus hissed.

  David shook his head, forcing himself upright, teeth clenched. “You don’t understand—” He lifted a hand, helpless.

  “I don’t need to—”

  “You do.” He cut him off, breath short but firm. “I have to find this compound—”

  “What compound?” said a new voice, calm, curious. An older man with dark hair stepped in like he’d been waiting just outside. “Variant 3?”

  He held a stack of gauze and a ceramic jar in one hand, and a cup of something sweet-smelling in the other. He looked like Serendipity. Same dark hair and sun-kissed skin tone. Same intensity in their eyes.

  “Forgive the eavesdropping,” he added, without sounding sorry. “My daughter told me my patient was awake. I’d like to check your bindings, if you don’t mind.”

  He crossed to the bed, unbothered by the crackling air, and set the jar and gauze on a low table. Then he offered the cup to David.

  “Drink this if you can. It’ll help relax the muscles. Especially the ones you’ve used to fight off death.” He offered a faint, dry, unreadable smile. “My name is Hayam.”

  David stared at the man. Then at the cup. Then, without a word, glanced toward Remulus.

  Remulus gave a sidelong look, jaw clenched, and stepped back, letting Hayam in.

  “No need to leave,” Hayam said mildly, inspecting the bandages. “You can continue your conversation. It seemed… very illuminating."