“Rey! Rey, wake up. Rey, can you hear me?”
His chest is rising up and down, but just barely. I stop talking long enough to hear his breath, which is wet and shallow. I wonder how long he’s been out here—why he’s so far away from the shack to begin with—but it’s obvious. He was out making sure I was training. Or trying to figure out what was taking me so long. Looking for me.
It’s my fault he’s like this.
He’s too heavy to lift with my body, but I can lift him with my Legacy. I jog beside him as his body flies through the air, lifted by my telekinesis.
He’d be so proud if he could see everything I was doing right now. If he’d just wake up.
I’ve spent the last few days honing my power and thinking of how I could survive anything now that my first Legacy has surfaced, but if Rey dies I don’t know what I’ll do. Every time I’ve ever thought of abandoning him or running away from the island on my own, I’ve always known in the back of my mind that there’s no way I could do that. Even sick and frail, Rey is the only one I have in the world, on this planet that’s not even technically my home.
By the time we reach the shack, I’m frantic. Inside there’s nothing much. We sleep on mats surrounded by netting, but his mat is elevated like an actual bed. I set him down, then scramble around, trying to figure out what I can do to help. There are a few barrels of water. I fill a cup and bring it to him, but of course he’s not awake to drink. I splash some of it on his face, but am too afraid it’s going to go up his nose and into his lungs to pour the whole cup on him. He doesn’t move at all. So I pull up a chair and wait. Staring at him. Willing him to open his eyes and reprimand me for taking too long on my run. Then we’ll cook lunch and I’ll show him how I can lift tree trunks and juggle coconuts just by thinking about it. And he’ll be happy.
An eternity passes before he speaks my name. It’s a rasp, so soft that had I not been sitting in a chair beside him with my eyes glued on his face, I might have missed it.
“Five,” Rey says again, then coughs into one of the blankets.
“Hold on,” I say, springing up. I find the lantern and flip it on, then refill the cup of water and bring it over to him. He waves it away.
“I was looking for you,” he says. His voice is weak and he only seems half coherent, like he’s talking to someone far away.
“I know.”
“I want you to listen to me,” he says, and I shake my head. He just needs to drink some water and rest and I’ll listen to him lecture me later.
“I have all the time in the world to listen when you’re better. I have nothing to do here except listen to you.”
His eyes look at me but also through me, as if he’s struggling to focus on my face.
“The Garde are still hidden,” he says softly, ignoring what I tell him. “If you go searching for them, you’ll expose yourself to the Mogs. You’ll be safer here. On your own. Until you’re stronger.”
“Rey. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Look, I have to show you what I can do now.”
He shakes his head once, and even with how weak he is, it causes me to stop moving and listen. His expression is so solemn, what can I do but hear what he has to say?
“My job was to protect you,” he continues. “I know I haven’t taught you everything I should have, but . . . I tried. I tried to do my best, but my body didn’t agree with this world.”
“No,” I whisper.
It finally seeps in that this might be the end of us.
There is something so unnatural about thinking that I might wake up in the morning and Rey would be gone. Not just out on the boat or across the island, but nowhere. Forever. I could probably count the times I didn’t know exactly where he was on one hand. His absence is inconceivable. It doesn’t compute. Suddenly I think of all the times I wished for another Cêpan or to run away from the island and hate myself.
I start to cry, tears falling in salty drops to the floor.
Rey starts gasping, and I stand, my chair falling backwards, feeling so helpless as I stare at him.
“Just tell me, what do I do to help you?”
The gasping turns into a fit of coughing that seems like it will never end. Blood trickles from his mouth.
“What do I do?” I repeat. “What do I do?”
Finally, he speaks, this time in such a low whisper that I have to kneel beside him to hear.
“Stay alive,” he says.
His eyes look more lucid now as his hand reaches out and grips my forearm.
“Five, don’t follow the Loric into this war until you’re ready. Trust your instincts.” He inhales again, deeply and unevenly. “When the time comes, trust yourself. You’re the future. Do whatever it takes to survive.”
His breath rattles again and then it stops.
And then there’s nothing. His chest doesn’t rise up. His eyes don’t open. Everything is quiet and still.
The silence is the worst thing I’ve ever heard.
“Rey?” I ask softly, then louder when he doesn’t respond, hoping that he just hasn’t heard me.
Nothing.
He’s gone.
My brain floods. All I can think about are the times I’ve disobeyed him, or cursed him—even if it was only in my head. I’m filled with regret.
I’m alone.
I run outside. It’s the only thing I can do. I’m barely aware that rain is pelting me, signaling the beginning of the wet season. My body shivers, even though the rain is warm. This tiny island suddenly feels huge and full of danger. Random thoughts keep shooting through my brain: You’ll have to do something with his body. He never knew how powerful your telekinesis had become. All the chores he’d done on this island are now yours—as I sink down to my knees. There’s distant thunder and the hogs squeal.