I know where I am. Sol, then Lūna, then Ares. And then…

Tir.

I feel ill. I push myself up onto my knees and vomit. My back is raw and hot.

I see my bloodied sword in the dust and crawl to it, then rise unsteadily and tie the scabbard to my belt and thigh with shaking hands. I take my time with it, fighting waves of pain and nausea. Then I look up and blink in the sun’s glare.

A white desert stretches away from me, boundless and bare. The ground is the colour of bone, like a salt pan. There isn’t a tree or blade of grass anywhere. Far in the distance, a range of black-boulder mountains heave up to meet a gunmetal-blue sky.

I shield the sun’s brightness with my hands and stumble towards the mountains. Soon there is no line between the land and the sky. The two merge in a watery blur—an infinity. I’m lost in a cloud.

I think about Mother’s words.

Each world must be crossed before you reach Kronos. It will not be easy and you will lose a piece of yourself to the Falling, but this is the path.

A sudden swirl of dust—a mini tornado—and, here, rising out of the wilderness, come a pair of lean figures, warping in the heat haze.

One with two fighting sticks, the other with a knife.

“Jesus,” Vidhan says, jogging towards me. “What happened to you?”

“Where’s Malik?” I ask, head spinning.

“Search me,” Vidhan says. “The hell went down back there?”

“Reaper,” I say, finding it hard to breathe in the hot, thin air. “It came after you Fell.” I turn, show them my back, swaying on my feet.

“You’re bleeding,” Vidhan says, eyes swimming with concern. “Gotta get that poison out fast.”

“I’m OK.”

“Nah, mate. You are not OK.”

Vidhan glances at Akuji and when I stumble they each grab one of my arms.

“Malik,” I whisper.

Akuji’s voice snaps into my head. He’ll find us. He’s Malik.

I try to protest, but I can’t find my voice. My legs are jelly.

“Come on,” says Vidhan.

The desert swims. Mountains, like colossal black bones, bear down on us. We weave between thick trees with fat, beet-coloured trunks and branches that fan like roots into a mercury sky. We pass under flat-topped umbrella trees, tall as houses, like something out of an ancient, prehistoric land. They cast pools of pale shade. We stumble through the torrid heat. I feel blood, sticky on my back. The sun is a ring of white fire in the sky. I’m half awake, half dreaming, shuffling through a vast emptiness like a zombie. Floating in and out of consciousness. Here. Not here.

“There!” Vidhan cries, his voice swirling, rising from afar.

I squint into the warping distance.

A light, blinking in the sands.

Jagged shapes—reflecting the sun—like mirrors.