:?:?:? SIXFLAME ?:?:?:?

  Being yanked awake by screaming wasn’t new. Someone had stolen something. A support beam had collapsed. Someone was bleeding. The ration dispenser was spitting out mystery protein at a pound a second. One crisis or another.

  Having screams of “The tide is coming! The tide is coming!” was a little unusual, but it did the job of making me sit up.

  It was Ootu, crashing through the plant life, arms waving. It took me a moment to first remember where I was — this weird moon with its tides — and then decide if I should care. After all, the last tide had been pathetic, but no...this time was different. Ootu’s mismatched features, usually arranged in that irritating know-it-all expression, had completely collapsed. The man who always had an answer for everything was reduced to pure wide-eyed panic.

  So I did the sensible thing. I stood up and looked in the direction he had come from, towards Mosogon, which hung low in the sky like a lazy purple overlord. The view was obscured by the vegetation, but through the tangled branches I could see the horizon.

  Or rather, what have been the horizon, except that it was bouncing. Bulging up and dropping down as if someone was giving it a good pummeling from beneath.

  Oh. The tide was indeed coming. danger.

  Ootu was making a spectacular mess of his hysterics, crashing among the sleeping forms, grabbing at shoulders and cloaks, his usual composure completely shattered.

  “Get up! Get up! The tide is catastrophic!” he squealed.

  But even in terror, he couldn’t help himself. He would pull a Torcher upright, steady them with both hands, and explain what was happening, with an additional “come on, please”, before lunging at the next person. It was like watching someone try to evacuate a burning building one person at a time.

  Do something, I told myself. So I did. I grabbed the bell and rang it hard.

  “Everyone up!” I yelled amidst the peals. “Move! Now!”

  The Torchers were startled by the bell’s clanging, and their first instinct was to seek their leader. But Starcarver offered no guidance. The Vanguard stood motionless among them, his face turned east, all pretense of control gone.

  “What is the meaning of—” Brother Dawnchaser began.

  “The void speaks!” Sister Gemheart cried. “The world awakens to test us!”

  “No, you idiots!” Ootu screamed. “It’s a catastrophic tidal displacement! We need to—”

  The ground shuddered beneath us, a deep groan rising from its depths.

  “Vanguard?” Sister Coralweft’s voice cracked. “What should we—”

  “The world makes its own path,” Starcarver said faintly, still staring at the horizon.

  Another tremor hit, violent enough to knock Sister Rainshadow to her knees. The biomass beneath us rippled like jelly.

  “The Vanguard’s frozen!” I shouted. “Move or be buried alive!”

  The ground heaved again.

  “Which way?” Brother Stellaroak squeaked.

  “Anywhere but here!” Ootu cried.

  I was already scanning our surroundings. Can’t outrun the horizon. Need something solid, something anchored—

  There. I spotted what we needed. Those twisted tree-things with spreading cage-like roots. Strong enough, deep enough. Maybe. Best chance we had.

  “In there!” I pointed. “Get in, take hold and don’t let go!”

  “But the Vanguard hasn’t—” Sister Gemheart started.

  The ground bucked violently.

  “Grab the damn plants or die waiting for him!” I snarled. Brother Dawnchaser was in my way, so I gave him a good shove forward. “Wrap your arms around the roots! Use your cloaks to tie yourself if you can!”

  Sister Pathsong was already moving, hunkering down in the cage. Others followed, but Sister Gemheart was still looking to Starcarver for permission.

  The ground shuddered, almost throwing me off my feet.

  “Now!” I roared, grabbing Sister Gemheart’s arm and dragging her into the roots. “Wedge your back against the sides!”

  The world began to tilt. Finally, even Starcarver moved, his serenity cracking as he scrambled for the root cage.

  Then the ground tore.

  The rip started near the golden bud field with a sound like wet fabric shredding. Then it raced toward us, widening into a canyon that swallowed the jungle. Underground gases burst free in hissing jets that became cloud-like puffs.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Stay together!” I don’t know why I shouted that, why I thought that any of us would have a choice as to where we would end up.

  Another tear opened opposite us. Brother Stellaroak, clinging to a slender stem outside our cage, got thrown off by a violent heave of biomass.

  “Brother!” Sister Pathsong released her grip on the roots and lunged after him, trying to slide down the unstable slope in a controlled descent.

  “Hold on!” I cried, “Stay inside!”

  Sister Gemheart seized my arm, her grip bone-crushing with panic. The ground split beside us with a wet crack. Through the widening fissure, I saw Stellaroak tumbling through the mist, Pathsong sliding after him.

  “Pathsong!” Ootu’s voice cut through the chaos. I twisted to see him abandon his root, letting himself drop onto the tilting slope. “I’m coming!”

  “Ootu, no!” But he was already sliding after her, all three figures vanishing into the churning vapor below.

  The landscape continued to tilt, pulling our entire section sideways. Suddenly the biomass beneath us dropped away completely, leaving us dangling from the root cage, legs kicking for purchase. For one terrifying moment we hung suspended over empty space, the ground simply gone. Then the biomass surged back upward, slamming into us from below. Sister Gemheart screamed. In the chaos, I saw Starcarver clinging to a tree. The ground around him was folding, creating a valley that would either swallow him or carry him away. His face was a grimly calm snarl.

  Another violent lurch. The plant we clung to groaned, its roots beginning to tear free. Through the vapor, I saw the other Torchers being scattered like leaves – Brother Dawnchaser disappearing down a newly formed slope, Sister Coralweft and Sister Rainshadow separated by an expanding fissure. The landscape was reshaping itself, and we were just debris.

  The roots finally gave way with a bone-like snap. I released my grip just before the massive trunk collapsed, taking Sister Gemheart away with it. Her scream faded into the chaos of tearing biomass and venting gases. Gas burning my throat, I rolled and leapt. Through the chaos, I caught glimpses of the few remaining Torchers—scattered, sliding, disappearing into the mist.

  I was alone.

  The ground tilted, becoming a leaning wall, and I slid downward. My fingers scrambled for purchase on the slick surface until they found a ridge of tougher material, thin and threatening to crumble under my fingers.

  The axe!

  I fumbled for the handle at my belt. A shudder hit me moments after I drove the blade into the biomass. It held, the handle creaking as my full weight swung from it. Through streaming eyes, I spotted a thicker, matted, layered section. Wedging my feet into a web of roots, I wrenched the axe free and lunged sideways. Three staggering steps across the tilting ground. Plant the axe. Push off. Again.

  The surface ahead was stretching thin. I veered left, reading the stress patterns. An absurd memory flashed of watching the floor fail in front of me on Enclave II. Same catastrophic physics, different venue, the important thing is to keep moving.

  The ground folded upward into a ridge, and I scrambled up its buckling surface. When it began to collapse under me, I jumped right and swung the axe in a wide arc. The blade bit deep into firmer material and held fast as the section behind me dropped away. A jagged edge of hardened biomass sliced through my calf as it fell, sending hot pain up my leg. I gritted my teeth and kept moving.

  Below me, a new gap opened, widening rapidly across the surface. For one terrifying moment, I found myself staring directly into the depths through layers of torn roots and fibers, down through an immense, dark, impossible maw. A cavernous space where black waters churned and crashed, their thunderous roar rising through the widening fissure.

  The ocean below us. Oh boy.

  Let’s think about later. For now, keep scrambling. Every safe spot temporary, every ridge a valley, every valley splitting into a net of chasms. The landscape was remaking itself and I had to dance along with it or be rolled flat and spat down into the abyss.

  One massive fold of biomass rose ahead like a wave, carrying me upward. For one glorious moment I could see across the chaos, ridges and tears everywhere, the landscape shattered like my remaining faith in stable ground.

  Then gravity came knocking and the wave collapsed. I rode it down because there was no getting off. The ground slammed up to meet me and I rolled, came up running, drove the axe down again as everything spun.

  Another wave. Another desperate scramble. My arms were lead, my lungs burning. The axe felt heavier with each swing. On and on until I reached a section of steady ground, and my legs finally gave out. I collapsed, flat on my front, arms spread, chest heaving. I’d been ignoring the pain in my calf and now it flooded in all at once with a violent throb, the wound hot and angry. Blood seeped, warm and sticky against my skin. The rumbling continued beneath me but I couldn’t move anymore. Couldn’t run.

  If this patch of ground decided to split or sink or flip, then fine. Let it.

  I’d fought with everything I had. My muscles screamed from the effort, my leg was seizing up, my lungs were rife with poisoned air. The moon had thrown its full fury at me, had remade itself trying to swallow me whole, and still I stood.

  Or lay, at this point.

  There was a strange peace in it. I’d given this fight everything, and if Kabus wanted me now, it would have to take what was left of me.

  The biomass shuddered. Ah, was the moon considering my surrender? Taking its time to jiggle and weigh the scrawny human who’d refused to die, who’d hacked and jumped and scrambled his way through its tantrum?

  The tremors faded, the heaves becoming quivers. Perhaps the Torchers were right and it did have a voice, one that said with substantial reluctance, “Fine then. Keep your miserable life.”

  My fingers finally loosened their death grip on the axe handle. I lay there as Kabus slowly remembered how to be still. Too exhausted to even close my eyes, I just breathed the foul air. In. Out. Each gasp a small victory.

  When enough breath had been gained, I struggled to my knees, then forced myself upright despite the fire blazing through my sliced calf. I stood on what might have been a pretty hollow but was now definitely a hill, my chest heaving, the axe hanging loose in my trembling hand. My leg screamed. My arms were jelly. My throat raw.

  But I was still mostly in one piece, which was more than I could say for the scenery.

  Around me stretched a world remade by violence. Where the golden bud field had been, there was now a twisted plateau ravaged by artistic fissures. The root cages lay scattered across it like broken toys. No movement anywhere. No cries, no moans, no voices calling. Just the slow hiss of escaping gases.

  I took a moment to appreciate my continued existence. Alone, but alive. The world had tried its best to kill me and somehow failed. I wondered if any of the others had survived, or if I was the last one standing on this deranged moon.

  Oh ha-ha.

  Turning, I raised the axe because at this point, why not?

  The silver entity stood about ten meters away on an ugly lump of mangled biomass, seemingly untouched by the catastrophe.

  “I am Emissar,” it said.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, not lowering the axe. “We’ve met.”

  Its head tilted until it was almost horizontal, as if it had suddenly snapped.

  I opened my mouth to ask…I don’t know exactly.

  How do you do?

  Did you have a good tide?

  Where can I get myself one of those metal legs?

  This one seemed particularly relevant as blood was making squishy sounds in my boot. But before I could decide which ridiculous question fit this equally ridiculous moment, Emissar beat me to it.

  “Does the morning remember the taste of ochre?”