Abeke followed Shane and his forces down the tunnels—running as fast as her legs could carry her. She had seen the new ferocity of the Greencloaks. She and the others were heading straight into slaughter, but what choice did they have? If just one of them could get close enough to stop the Wyrm, maybe they would have a chance at slowing Zerif’s forces.
Shane and his Redcloaks had the advantage of animal speed and were pulling ahead of Abeke—leaping from level to level. Abeke cursed her slowness as she slung her bow over her shoulder and clambered down a pile of rubble where the path had fallen away.
“Hollow-girl!” a voice cried beside her.
Abeke dropped down to the path to see Yumaris there. The old woman’s mouth hung open in surprise. “There’s a message from below. You must follow me. Quickly! Quickly!”
She tried to grab Abeke’s hand, but Abeke pulled back. “I don’t have time for this,” she said. “Shane and the Redcloaks are about to attack the Wyrm before it can reach Zerif.”
But Yumaris ignored her. She snatched Abeke’s arm and held it fast. “You must speak to the newling, hollow-girl. Quickly!”
Abeke followed Yumaris through the battle. The closer they came to the hole in the middle of the volcano, the more violent the combat became. Redcloaks fought valiantly against possessed Greencloaks—and the sight of her former comrades fighting tooth and claw against Shane’s desperate forces stole her breath away.
Screams and snarls rang out in every direction. Yumaris dragged Abeke through a tunnel that opened into a familiar chamber—to the lava gate where Rollan had been posted with Kirat and the Great Beast summoners.
Howl and Tasha stood at the mouth of the tunnel, fending off approaching Greencloaks, the bulk of whom had focused their efforts on reaching the Wyrm.
“Welcome back,” Tasha said as Abeke ran past her and into the cavern. The floor of the cavern was littered with the corpses of snowy terns. Abeke’s eyes instantly found Rollan slumped against the wall, Essix on his shoulder.
“You’re still alive!” she said, running to him and wrapping him in a hug.
“Barely,” Rollan said. He pointed to a bloody gash along his cheek. “Parting gift from one of Zerif’s thugs, who managed to scale up through the window. What do you think? Handsome?”
“I’d say you got off easy.” She winked. “Meilin will love it.”
Rollan’s eyes went wide. “Who said anything about Meilin?”
“Enough joking around,” Kirat said, rapier in hand. “We have someone who needs to talk to you.”
Three of the summoners stepped back from the corner to reveal someone else in the room. A small girl was huddled on the ground, wet and trembling.
Niri stared up at Abeke with shimmering green eyes.
“Niri?” Abeke said, rushing toward her. She knelt down next to the girl, whose face was pale. Niri had red rings under her eyes. It looked like she’d aged ten years in the last three hours. “Mulop,” Abeke said. “You lost him.”
Niri nodded, her body shaking. “One moment I could feel him … and then he was gone.… It felt like I was ripped in half.… ” She closed her eyes and tears spilled down her cheeks.
Abeke placed a hand on hers. “I know how it feels.” She took a deep breath. “The pain fades, gets duller.” This was not exactly true, but she felt like she had to offer some consolation. Abeke looked at Niri’s thin legs, which lay motionless on the earth. Her shins and feet were raw and bleeding. “How did you get up here?”
“I pulled myself up from the cavern.” She swallowed, massaging her palms, which were also cut. “Dragged myself all the way here. I had to find you.” She blinked her eyes, as though trying to stem a fresh tide of tears. “Before Mulop—before it happened—I could hear what was happening in Sadre. I know how the trap works—it changes the tides of Erdas. Kovo and the others tried to start the trap in Sadre, but it didn’t work. Something went wrong.”
Abeke remembered how the rotating tower had stopped abruptly. “It got jammed.”
“You have to start the trap—before the Wyrm has a chance to bond with Zerif. Once it finds its host, it will be too powerful.”
Abeke straightened up, releasing a steady breath. Having grown up hunting, she knew a thing or two about traps, but this sounded a lot more complicated than what she could pull off with ropes and counterweights. “How do we spring the trap?”
“They started the trap in Sadre … by striking a bell.”
“There’s no bell in these ruins,” Howl said. “King’s had us travel through every corridor and passage. Did they tell you where it was?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know any more.” Niri shook her head, staring up at them. “But I do know that if you fail, everything is lost.”
Rollan scratched his head. “No pressure.”
“All right,” Kirat said, stepping back. “So our first task is to keep Zerif away from the Wyrm until we can locate this bell. We can set up a perimeter around the edges of the fortress, to keep the Wyrm in the middle of the cavern floor. We don’t want it accidentally bringing this entire mountain down on top of us.” As he spoke, he drew marks in the dirt with the tip of his sword. “While the Wyrm is distracted, we’ll need a second party to sneak into the lower tunnels in search of the bell.” He turned to Howl. “I’m guessing you have a good nose. Do you think you could lead the search?”
Howl gave a lupine grin. “Try and stop me.”
“Good,” Kirat continued. “Tasha should go with you. She can summon Ninani to search places that are out of reach or might be hidden from the ground.”
Abeke was impressed. Kirat really did sound like his uncle. And more important, he had a plan.
Rollan must have read her mind. “He’s been like this since you left. I’d be annoyed if it weren’t for the fact that I know Tarik would approve.” He shrugged. “Besides, it’s nice to have someone else to blame when things go wrong.”
“Let’s not talk about things going wrong,” Abeke said.
A cry broke out from the tunnel as Howl and Tasha were knocked backward by a snarling streak of yellow. The two screamed in pain, clutching their arms. Blood seeped from long claw marks where they had been slashed through their cloaks.
Standing above them was a sleek creature with violet eyes.
ABEKE STARED AT THE BEAST, HER HEART RACING. “Uraza?” she said. It was the closest she’d been to her spirit animal since losing her on the rocky shores of Zourtzi.
The Great Beast stalked closer to Abeke, licking her white fangs. The parasite beneath her leopard brow was pulsing and black, wriggling and twisting beneath the flesh. The rims of Uraza’s eyes were bloodshot and dark. She looked like a changed creature.
Rollan and the others drew their blades.
“Weapons down!” Abeke shouted. “No one hurts her.”
She lowered her own bow, keeping her eyes fixed on Uraza’s. “I don’t know what Zerif’s done to you, but I know you, Uraza.” Her voice was shaking. “Deep down, I know you don’t want to hurt—”
Uraza roared, leaping straight at her, claws raised—pouncing to kill.
“No!” Abeke screamed, stumbling backward.
She registered a flash of red fabric and Uraza’s body suddenly hurtled to one side—veering off course and smashing against the cavern wall. The beast roared and snapped at the thing that had prevented her from killing Abeke.
Rollan rushed to Abeke’s side, helping her up.
Abeke could only stare at the swirling red cape rolling across the ground, the figure fighting to subdue Uraza. One of the Redcloaks had leaped to save her. She caught a glint of yellow eyes behind a plain white mask as her rescuer drew his saber.
“Shane,” she whispered.
Even with his heightened speed, Shane was too slow. Uraza bit down on his side, and Shane cried out in agony, dropping his sword. The Great Beast drew him off the ground and shook him back and forth, driving her teeth deeper into his flesh.
Abeke had hunted with Ur
aza countless times. She’d seen her do similar things to finish off wounded prey. But now the prey was Shane.
“Let him go!” Abeke scrambled across the dirt and grabbed her bow. This time she did not hesitate. She nocked an arrow and aimed it at Uraza.
The arrow plunged straight through Uraza’s leg.
The Great Leopard snarled and stumbled back, releasing Shane, who fell to the ground with a dull thud.
Uraza gave a gargling wheeze, as if struggling for air. Blood ran freely from her wound. She roared at Abeke and then—in a flash of bright light—vanished from her spot, leaving only a red stain on the cavern floor. She had been summoned into passive state by her new master.
“Shane!” Abeke ran to the boy, falling to her knees.
Shane moaned in pain. Dark blood soaked his side. His skin was pale and covered with perspiration.
“Just keep breathing,” she said, taking his head in her hands. “Keep breathing.… ”
Shane lolled his head toward her, opening his yellow eyes. “I … saw Uraza running toward the tunnel and I was afraid she might … hurt you.” He flinched, clenching his jaw tight as he gave a painful cough. When he opened his mouth again, there was blood on his lips.
“I … I’m sorry, Abeke.” His voice was so weak she could barely hear it over the sounds of battle echoing up from the tunnels below. “I’m sorry for everything.” He winced, giving another violent cough.
He did not move again.
“Not you.… Not you.… ” Abeke clutched the boy’s lifeless body in her arms, pulling him close to her chest. He had given his life trying to win her forgiveness. If she had only told him before how she felt, what he meant to her, he might still be alive.
Abeke clenched her eyes shut, letting the tears spill down her face. Tarik, the Greencloaks, Uraza, Shane … It was all too much loss. Too much destruction. Her legs felt numb beneath her. Her entire body shook as she released a rasping sob.
She became aware of new people charging into the chamber. There were shouts, and the clashing of swords, and animal roars—a short scuffle that seemed to end as soon as it had begun. Abeke wiped her eyes and looked up to see three dozen of Zerif’s Greencloaks lining the wall of the cavern, each with swords at the necks of her friends. If there had been a fight, it was a quick one—normal children were no match for trained Greencloaks.
Her eyes found a tall figure wearing a dark tunic, who was watching her with an amused expression.
“Zerif,” she said, releasing her grip on Shane’s body.
“Poor little Abeke,” the man said, stepping close to her. “How far you’ve fallen.” His tunic was torn, revealing the intersecting tattoos of his stolen Great Beasts—including the shape of Uraza. “I remember when I first found you: half-feral, fresh from hunting alone in the savannah, despite your father’s disapproval. You were meek and obedient at the time, but I could sense—deep down—that you had the instincts of a killer.”
Zerif’s lip curled in disgust. “Now look at you. A whimpering child, crying over the corpse of the boy who betrayed you. I had such high hopes for you once. You traded unlimited power for a shabby green cloak.” He shrugged. “Then again, maybe I should thank you. If Kovo had succeeded, then I might not be here right now. Commander of eight Great Beasts—oops, make that nine!” He smiled at Niri, who was still lying defenseless in the corner. “Mulop says hello.” He held out his palm to reveal a tattoo of an octopus.
“If it’s all the same to you,” Rollan said, “I’d rather you just kill us. Anything is better than listening to you gloat.”
“Now, now, Rollan.” Zerif wagged a finger. “Don’t be a sore loser. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of killing you … yet.” He gave a poisonous smile. He pointed to the boy’s chest, where the mark of Essix was visible beneath a tear in his shirt. “You have something I want. Besides, you Greencloak brats should be alive to witness your defeat firsthand.”
Abeke was pulled to her feet by a Southern Zhonghese girl.
“Abeke, meet Raisha,” Zerif said cheerfully. “I don’t believe you two have been introduced. Raisha was a wonderful assistant when I first began this little undertaking. She helped me gather so many of the Great Beasts. And then, when she herself summoned Gerathon the Serpent, Raisha became an even greater help.”
Raisha’s eyes were dark and expressionless. The girl’s skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and her hair had grown brittle and thin. Abeke tried to pull herself free, but Raisha’s grip was inhumanly strong. And it made sense. There was hardly anything human about her anymore.
“We’ll just hang on to those,” Zerif hissed as Raisha removed Abeke’s bow and quiver, heaving them around her own shoulder.
Abeke and Rollan and the other children were led through the tunnels into the central chamber of the volcano. The half-opened floor of the ruins glowed orange from the streams of fresh magma pouring into the chasm. The frozen tower in the middle of the volcano had begun to thaw in the heat, leaking streams of water that ran down through the cracks and fizzled into clouds of sulfuric steam.
The perimeter of the chamber was lined with Redcloaks, all of whom were also being held at swordpoint by Zerif’s thralls. And in the middle of the crag, perched on the edge of a shard of rock, was the Wyrm.
“Whoa,” Rollan muttered. “That thing’s even uglier up close—unngff!” He grimaced as the Greencloak holding him twisted his arm.
“Ugly?” Zerif said, turning around. “I think it’s rather beautiful.” He placed his hands behind his back, staring at the twitching beast before them. “A creature of raw and infinite power—power that will soon be mine.”
Abeke stared at the Wyrm, which was watching Zerif with its glowing eyes. She had no idea whether the creature could understand what Zerif was saying or if it cared. The Wyrm’s expression was inscrutable, but she had the uncanny feeling that it was hungry.
“You really think you can control that thing?” she said.
Zerif gave a wary chuckle. “You ask this of the man who commands two hundred Greencloaks and a battalion of Great Beasts? The man who devastated the fallen King Shane and his ridiculous Redcloaks.” He turned back to the waiting Wyrm. “This creature understands the natural order of Erdas—it will submit to one more powerful than itself. And if it resists, I have ways to change its mind.” He slid a hand into his haversack and removed a small glass vial. Inside was a tiny black parasite—the same sort of parasite he had used to possess Uraza and the other Great Beasts. The same parasite that controlled his Greencloak army.
Abeke watched him uncork the vial and walk toward the Wyrm. “Easy now,” he said, holding the bottle out in front of him. “This won’t hurt a bit.… ”
The Wyrm did not recoil or show any signs of struggle. Instead it opened its mouth and gave a sort of chirping shriek. At once, the Greencloaks closest to Zerif marched toward him and grabbed the man by the arms, pinning him to one spot.
“Stop!” Zerif cried out in surprise. “I command you to release me!”
But the Greencloaks held him fast.
Zerif’s vial fell to the ground, shattering against the rock. The parasite, now freed, wriggled its way across the stone until it reached the Wyrm.
The huge creature extended one of its oozing black tentacles. With a touch, the parasite’s writhing shape melted away—their shining black hides melding into one.
“The parasites … ” Abeke said. “They’re part of the Wyrm.” She looked around at the blank expressions of the infected Greencloaks and Great Beasts, and thought she understood what was happening. All of them, human and animal alike, were being controlled by the Wyrm—they had a fraction of the Wyrm inside their minds.
The Wyrm shrieked again, and the Greencloaks holding Zerif pulled him toward the creature’s open mouth.
“This is not what was supposed to happen!” Zerif screamed, kicking out his legs. “I command you! Let go!” He pulled and thrashed, trying to get free, but the possessed Greencloaks dragged him ever clo
ser.
Abeke watched in horror, finally understanding.
Zerif was never the hunter, she realized. He was the prey.
The Wyrm hissed as its every tentacle descended upon Zerif—plunging right into his flesh.
“Noooooo!” the man screamed. Thin black tendrils snaked beneath his skin, flooding his body with viscous ooze. As this happened, the Wyrm itself became smaller—it was as though the creature was pouring itself into his veins.
Abeke shut her eyes, unable to watch. She wished her hands were free so she could cover her ears to block out Zerif’s cries.
He was evil. He deserved to die. But no living creature deserved this.
A moment later, the screaming stopped. Abeke opened her eyes again to find that the Wyrm was no longer there.
Instead there was only Zerif. The man had been released by the Greencloaks and now lay collapsed on the ground, gasping and wheezing. He slowly pulled himself upright. For a moment Zerif just stood there, teetering under his own weight, his dark eyes shining against the red light.
Then he spoke.
“At lassstttt,” he said in a deep, inhuman voice—one that seemed to reverberate through his every pore, “I am fully borrrnnnn.”
ABEKE STARED AT ZERIF … OR RATHER THE THING THAT had been Zerif just a moment before.
His eyes were completely dark—shining pools of ooze that swirled and shifted unnaturally. His skin was a dull gray, lined with twitching veins that pulsed and shifted as he breathed. He was not a man anymore. He was a shell.
Abeke wanted to scream, to run away from him. But Raisha held her fast to her spot, her scaly hands digging deep into Abeke’s flesh.
“What did you do to Zerif?” Abeke said to the Thing standing before her.
The Thing that had been Zerif tilted its head, an almost curious expression on its ghastly face.
“Whatt I diddd?” Its words were garbled, as though it were still learning how to use its new human mouth. “Whatt I diddd?”