The Curse of the Blessed

Chapter Twenty-Nine

*Trigger warning for depression and mild thoughts of suicide*

When we stopped for the night, I could feel my tiredness in my very bones. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep. I didn't care about dinner, though my stomach had begun to rumble grumpily every few minutes. I didn't care that we needed to send a message to the Calamity. I was exhausted.

I sank to the ground, my eyes already beginning to close, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me. Bran. He'd done things like this constantly—urging me on every time I stopped, talking me into eating a bite of jerky, and a bite of bread, and a handful of dried fruit. I was grateful, of course. Still, now, with my eyelids drooping heavily, I wished he would just leave me alone.

"I need you to give me your bird," he said, "so I can contact the Calamity."

"Oh," I said. I reached into my pocket and drew out the lump of rock. Wings unfurled, and a beak revealed itself, and it tilted its head to look at me. Gently, I nudged it toward Bran's hand. It hopped into his palm.

Bran smiled, gently petting the bird's head. "Thank you, Fyra."

"Can I sleep now?"

"If you want." He frowned and looked at me with a concerned gaze. "You should eat something first, though, or at least drink some water. Malnourishment won't help your hopeless feeling."

"Nothing will help my hopeless feeling."

"You do what you think is best." He turned away from me and stood, whispered something to the bird nestled in his hand. Then, with a quick motion, he thrust it into the air, and it took flight, flapping away over the treetops.

For a moment, I felt a flashing ember of emotion. It was beautiful to see the stone bird glide upwards—or, at least, it ought to be. Yet the feeling was gone before it could take root. I was left alone with my despair. Closing my eyes, I curled up against the ground to wait for the arrival of the Calamity.

"Fyra. It's here."

Bran's voice split through the darkness and past the dreams that had enveloped me. I awoke beside a gently crackling fire. Moonlight shone down on us, but the moon itself was invisible, blocked out by the great cloud ship hovering above us in the sky. As I watched, humanlike figures peeled away from the bottom of the ship and began to descend toward us.

I sat up.

"Are we all ready to go?" Bran asked.

Lark—who sat beside him, close to the fire, running her fingers down the nonexistent feathers of her stone namesake—nodded.

Bran turned to me. "Fyra?"

"I think so."

The leaves above us rustled at the cold wind that accompanied the descent of the mistlings. Lark strummed a chord on her violin, and the fire extinguished. She quickly and carefully placed it back into its case.

I stood. The mistlings were here now—nine of them—and three walked over to each of us. They grasped our arms. We began to rise.

I watched the trees become smaller and smaller beneath us. For a moment, I couldn't help but wonder: if I twisted my arms out of the mistling's grips and plummeted to the ground, would they try to catch me? Would Lark and Bran be scared for me, and then horrified as my body broke on the ground below?

As if they knew what I was thinking, the mistlings tightened their grips on my arms. I realized I was crying.

I shook my head angrily. It wasn't right for me to think that way. If there was even the slightest chance that they would mind, that my death would cut into them and tear their hope away, too, then of course it was an impossible course of action. I could never be so selfish. And really, I knew my birds would come to save me. Even now, they wheeled above us. I could see my ascent from their eyes. They kept trying to send thoughts to me—simple packages of comfort and hope—but it was like they were trying to sink a knife into a rock. The feelings wouldn't take. Even so, I was grateful that they were trying.

When the mistlings deposited us on the deck of the ship, the captains were already standing there. Captain Rayan enveloped me in a tight embrace before I could crumple to the ground. I could no longer hold back the flood of tears that poured out of me.

Rather than pulling away as though I was delicate and breakable, her arms tightened around me. I felt her hand on my head, gently smoothing back my tangled hair.

"I know," she said softly. "You've been through far too much."

When I was ready, I slowly pulled back. Her hands remained on my shoulders, a gentle, warm reminder that I was not alone.

"You know about Reed?" I asked.

Slowly, with a deeply mournful expression on her face, she nodded.

"And you know that we're... cursed, now?"

Another nod.

"Then-" I couldn't meet her eyes anymore, so instead I flung my gaze to the stars, glittering coldly in the darkness. "Then you know it's my fault. You know about the rope, and what I did."

"I know what happened." She sighed. "I also know that, sometimes, things just happen, and it isn't anyone's fault."

"This isn't one of those times," I told her. "It's definitely my fault. I made a mistake."

Captain Rayan reached up to brush a bit of hair away from where it had fallen in front of my eyes. "We all make mistakes, Fyra. What matters is what we do about them."

"And what if I don't know what to do?"

I finally found the bravery to look her in the eye. Her brown irises burned fiercely, her sympathy somehow ablaze with the emotion I could no longer feel—hope.

"That," she said, "is what friends are for."

I felt another hand on my shoulder, and I turned to see Lark there, Bran beside her, both of their eyes filled with the same hope as Captain Rayan's.

"We're here for you," Bran said.

Lark nodded in agreement.

"No matter what," continued Bran, "you can count on us. We all need to recover from what happened. But I think it hit you worst of all. So, for our first few days here, you'll be the priority."

"Don't," I said. "I don't want help, and I don't deserve help. I'm the one who got us here in the first place. Don't waste your time on me. I refuse to be your burden."

"You're not our burden," said Bran. "You're our friend. And no matter what comes—no matter what's happened in the past—friends stick together."

Friends stick together! Reader, can I count you as a friend? And, if so, would you be willing to vote to confirm our newfound friendship?