That sound—what was it? Haunting voices rising from the pit! But … how? The voices were faint yet distinct, full of sorrow and regret and bitterness and self-preoccupation. Voices of those who had no hope, who still had the longings of humanity but no possibility of fulfillment. A chill pierced my bones. Were these the voices of the disembodied souls of the corpses and bones surrounding me? Were they the voices of the damned?

I’d consoled myself that perhaps the souls once joined to these bones no longer existed. But they did exist, didn’t they? It was not unconscious oblivion—they knew, they were aware. A knot constricted my throat, and I gulped furiously for air.

I fell down as a sickening wave of terror welled up from my belly.

I stretched out on the sand, grabbing it with clenched fists. It sifted through my fingers. I could not hold the sands of death. Flies crawled on my neck, picking at my wounds.

“It’s hard to accept, isn’t it?” a creaky voice asked. I lifted my head, brushing sand from my eyebrows. I looked up at Shad. Beside him stood Malaiki, and next to her was Victoria.

“I don’t accept it,” I said. “I can’t. I won’t.”

I stood and searched the landscape, looking for someone else. Where was Quon? Had he been killed in the battle I narrowly escaped? I remembered the desperation in his voice, and my gut ached. I wished I’d made it to him on the battlefield.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

Shad looked down, and Malaiki said, “We don’t know.” Her voice cracked, and a tear ran down her cheek.

I gazed again at the abyss, at the battered remains of people who had tried to cross it, hoping to see it differently this time. The more I stared, the more I clinched my teeth.

When I had turned from all the other roads, the roads of emptiness and despair, I’d dared to hope the red road might be different. I’d dared to hope my mother’s prayers meant something after all. But here I was at death’s end, robbed of any comforting illusions.

“If there’s a king,” I shouted, “why would he do this?”

“Why do you blame the King?” Shad asked. “It wasn’t he who made the chasm.”

“Then who did?”

Shad stared at me and pointed his bony finger. “You did.”

I paced like an animal, fiercely resisting the absurd notion that I was to blame for this infinite stretch of ruin. I felt sweat pooling on the bridge of my nose. It fell like heavy tears down my cheeks.