Page 8 of The Ninth Element

Pippin!My mind screams his name, but the sound is trapped, along with a cry that never escapes my throat.

When the worst of the dizziness subsides after a painfully long time, I open my eyes and blink rapidly.

Nothing.

Less than nothing.

An absolute, featureless void of white surrounds me, so thick I feel it pressing against my skin and my eyeballs. Pippin is gone, along with theothers.

I stretch out my hand, but it meets only the damp chill of the mist again and again. Each desperate grasp at emptiness only tightens the knot of pure, visceral fear in my chest. I am alone. Utterly,terrifyinglyalone.

I strain my ears, hoping to locate the Ahiras by sound, but all I can hear is the thundering of my own heart and faint, unidentifiable, muffled noises—too indistinct to understand. Or is it just the blood roaring in my own ears? I listen intently, hoping to pierce the blanket of fog. Then, an impossibly thin sound creeps through the mist.

“Arien… Arien… Where are you?”

It sounds like someone shouting from across a vast mountain range. Hope pierces through my terror. “I am here. Where are you?!”

“Arien… Arien…”The voice, fainter now, snags at the edges of my hearing. It is like an echo from a half-forgotten, sorrowful dream.

“I’m here! I’mhere!” The words tear from my throat. I lunge forward, stumbling and scrambling into the fog, flailing towards the ghost of a sound.

“Arien… I can hear you. I am coming towards your voice. Come to me!”

The sound echoes as if the call is descending from the heavens themselves. My arms thrash about, seeking something to hold onto, but all I find is the empty air. I move frantically toward the source of the voice, but my foot catches on an unseen branch or maybe a loose stone, causing me to pitch forward and fall hard onto my knees. A sharp pain, followed by the immediate warm wetness of blood, tells me I’ve scraped them badly. I ignore the pain and scramble back to my feet, trying to hear the voice again. Is it getting closer?

“Where are you?!” I shriek, and the raw panic in my own voice sends a fresh stab of fear through me. It is becoming impossible to walk, listen, and even breathe properly as the tide of terror rises inside me.

Focus, Arien. Focus.

I close my eyes again, summoning every ounce of calm I have left to regain my scattered wits. This panic, this overwhelming fear of feeling utterly lost and alone, must be caused by the mist. It feels irrational. I’ve been alone my whole life; this is not new to me. I shouldn’t be this afraidunder normal circumstances.

“Arien… Where are you? Talk to me so I can find you.”

“I’m here,” I scream back again. The voice is still muffled, still distorted beyond recognition, but its persistence is a hook in my fraying nerves.

Even this muffled, it definitely doesn’t sound like Pippin’s distinct, high-pitched tone. Then who? Who among the Ahiras couldpossiblybe calling my name with such desperate urgency? Could this be just another layer of the mist’s torment to lure me deeper into desperation and terror?

Focus, Arien. Damn it, focus!

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands against them as if to physically push out the panic.

Breathe.In… Hold… Out…

Slowly and agonizingly, a portion of the wild terror begins to ease. I force myself to think and analyze the situation. I am not really stranded in some remote wilderness; I am near the largest castle on the continent, filled with guards and soldiers. Ninety other participants are somewhere nearby, no matter how distant their voices may seem.

“Arien… Can you hear me? Talk to me. Come toward my voice!”

Relentless. The voice is relentless, almost pleading. Too desperate, even for Pippin. No one cares for me this much. Thishasto be an illusion. This time, I don’t respond. Instead, I take several deep, deliberate breaths, trying to anchor myself in logic.

I begin to walk again. I take each step with careful placement, my feet testing the unseen ground to avoid falling into some hidden chasm as I ignore the voice calling to me. Even if, by some impossible chance, the voiceisreal—though I can’t imagine Pippin would search formewith such fervor—the rest of it, the terror, the dizziness, the cold, that is undoubtedly the mist. They must be testing something specific. But what?

My thoughts drift to Martyshyar’s instructions.“The rules are simple,”he proclaimed.“Each designed to test your strength, your cunning, and your resolve.”

“Arien. I can’t hear you anymore. Where are you?”

The voice is insistent and filled with an almost believable concern andlove for me. For an insane moment, I suddenly recognize that deep timbre… the voice of Zanyar!

The idea that Zanyar Zareen is searching for me with such desperation is so ludicrous that it instantly clears my head, and I suddenly halt, standing still. A newfound realization cuts through the lingering fog of panic like a shard of ice as I recall the rest of Martyshyar’s instructions: “Mark well, this is a solitary endeavor… The stone’s ears hear only the heart’s true name…”

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