by Mary Fan
The dagger pierced the bloodwolf’s heart, and its hot blood splashed him. Its corpse dropped onto him, and its rough fur smothered his face. He shoved it off and stood, his arms still stinging from where it had scratched him. He kicked the creature over, grabbed the hilts of his blades, and yanked them out. His pistol was nowhere in sight. It must have gotten kicked away in the pandemonium. Glad I brought a spare.
“Flynn! Oh, my God!”
Flynn turned. Kylie stared at him with alarm, and he realized he was covered in the creature’s blood. “I’m okay.”
He surveyed his surroundings. With the monsters and the Sentinels and the draugar that had entered the courtyard, all doing their best to stop the hordes of angry Risers, it was hard to tell what was going on.
But one thing was clear: the door to the Palace was still closed. A few Enchanters stood before it, shooting spells from their wands, but nothing seemed to be working.
Flynn watched as Kylie shot down one more razorbird then motioned for her to come with him. “Let’s go!”
With her beside him, he ran to the door. An unearthly howl rang out. Flynn glimpsed the side of a grotesque, almost-human face protruding from a lionlike body. Is that a manticore?
He wanted to rush to it, but it was some distance from him. As much as he wanted to help the Risers take down the monsters surrounding them, his task was to not engage them if he could help it. Once he destroyed the Source, he’d make sure the supernaturals all died anyway.
He rushed up the wide stone stairs before the Palace door. A fine gold mist shimmered at the top, covering the building’s lone entry point. Three Enchanters mumbled strange words and blasted it at once, but the gold mist absorbed their spells.
“My turn!” Flynn yelled.
He ran through the enchantment and approached the door about five yards behind it. He didn’t see any crystals he could blast away. Maybe whatever generated the gold mist was inside the building. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted, but it didn’t turn. The Triumvirate had actually bothered with a physical lock. Dammit!
He needed another solution. If he couldn’t get rid of the enchantment or open the door, he had to blow through it. Good thing he’d brought grenades. He grabbed one from his belt. “Get back!”
Flynn retreated as far from the door as he could without crossing the enchantment. He pulled the pin, threw the grenade, and bolted away. The force of the explosion knocked him off his feet, and heat seared his back. Debris stung his skin, and he landed painfully on his stomach. He lay still for a moment, wondering if he’d broken a rib.
“Are you okay?” Kylie peered down at him with concern.
“Uh… Yeah.” He pushed off the ground. Should’ve run faster.
Kylie held out her hand, and he accepted it. She pulled him up. He turned and looked up the steps. A jagged opening gaped where the door had stood. Risers rushed through, brandishing wands and weapons. The explosion had apparently destroyed whatever magical device had generated the force field.
Flynn dashed into the Palace, surrounded by rebels and the noise of battle. Somewhere in the confusion, Kylie’s hand was ripped from his. He spun but couldn’t see her anywhere. Glancing around, he realized he was inside the majestic Great Hall, an austere room of gray and white with little decoration other than the spherical light that hovered near the high ceiling and angular patterns etched on the walls. But minimalist as it was, every line seemed to have been perfectly placed. He’d known what it looked like from images he’d seen, but the real thing was far grander, and he couldn’t believe he was actually standing in the same space in which the leaders of the land had hosted hundreds of foreign dignitaries, renowned academics, and celebrities.
He turned back toward the open doorway, looking for Kylie. She’d been right beside him. Where could she have gone? He searched the crowd bottlenecking in the doorway.
Screams and panicked cries filled the air. An enormous, rotten draugr lumbered up the steps to the Palace, heading toward the doorway. The dark-haired Defiant he’d spotted earlier hovered near it, aiming her wand at its head. If she or the draugr spotted him, every Defiant would goldight to his location, and he’d be surrounded.
Flynn sprinted across the hall and turned into one of the corridors off to the side, but he felt as if he’d left a part of himself behind. Where the hell could Kylie have gone in the few seconds he’d looked away from her? What if she was in trouble?
He stopped. Screw the Defiants. I can’t leave her.
He ran back toward the Great Hall. Before he could rush out of the hallway, Calhoun appeared at the end.
He pointed. “Source is the other way, kid!”
“I lost Kylie!” Flynn tried to step around him. “I—”
“She’s fine!” Calhoun blocked him. “Williams goldlighted her back to the Citadel.”
“He did? Why?”
“For her safety! Monster was about to make her its lunch, which is what’ll happen to all those people out there unless you destroy the damn Source. Now move!”
Hit by a sense of urgency, Flynn turned and ran back down the corridor. What happened to her? Did she get hurt?
Despite his questions, he was relieved that Kylie was no longer part of the battle, although he wished he could have borrowed her sense of direction. She was much better at navigating than he was.
He counted the doorways he passed, picturing the misty green map of the Palace. When he reached the fifth, he crossed the room it led to and exited the door on the other side. The map he’d spent so long staring at hovered in his mind, and he followed the instructions in his head. With its many branching hallways and rooms with multiple entrances, the Palace had an almost mazelike layout, and enchantments blocked every doorway. He was the only one who could get through them, and no one would be able to come to back him up if he ran into trouble.
He was totally alone in enemy territory.
His heart seemed to pound with the words hurry, hurry, hurry. He told himself he was on the right track even though he wasn’t sure anymore. He tore open a door. Instead of finding another hallway, the interior of a broom closet greeted him. Damn! I’m always getting lost!
Flynn leaned against the wall in a huff, taking a moment to catch his breath and mentally run through the map again. The commotion of battle rumbled in the distance—the shouts, the monsters’ roars, the magical blasts. The rushing in his blood urged him to speed his progress. People were dying out there, and the sooner he destroyed the Source, the sooner he could keep the monsters from killing anyone else.
After a few moments, Flynn realized where he’d made a wrong turn. He stepped out of the closet. Rushed, heavy footsteps approached. Startled, he hastily stepped back in.
“How are they still here?” That voice was the Gold Triumvir’s. Flynn would have recognized it anywhere. “Call in reinforcements! I want those traitors destroyed! Every last one of them—Defiants, Risers, whatever they call themselves! I want them wiped out.”
“Yes, sir.” Flynn didn’t recognize the second man’s voice, and he guessed it belonged to one of the Palace’s security personnel. “We spotted your son among the Defiants. Should I—”
“No,” Salvator interrupted. “He’s dead to me. Anyone who betrays the Triumvirate must die, and if that includes Connor, so be it!”
Flynn blinked in shock. Who orders the death of his own kid?
“Yes, sir,” the second man said. “We’re doing our best to lift the enchantment the rebels placed over the Palace. It seems they only enchanted the Palace itself, not the surrounding area between it and the outer wall. Perhaps you and the other Triumvirs could exit out the back.”
“And be caught sneaking away like cowards? No, the Palace of Concord is ours, and we cannot let those worthless rebels seize it!” Salvator’s voice faded as he walked away.
Flynn gripped his pistol, itching to pull it out. He
reminded himself that no good would come out of him running out, weapon in hand, and attacking the Gold Triumvir. If he failed, he wouldn’t be able to get to the Source, and all would be lost.
Get to the Source, break the enchantments, take down the monsters. I can’t afford distractions.
Flynn listened until the footsteps faded away. Once he was sure the Gold Triumvir and his companion were gone, he left the closet and raced down the hallway. If he recalled the map correctly, he wasn’t too off-track. He went back the way he’d come, cut through a conference room, and turned left into a hallway.
He reached the end and ran through the last doorway on the left. It led to a long corridor with pale stone walls and a plain wooden door at the end. A glittering mist of blue and green shimmered around him, filling the narrow space, and tiny white bolts zapped through the air, sending unpleasant stinging sensations through his body. As he drew closer to the door, he glimpsed the word “NEFASTUS” carved into a black stone plaque above it. Though he didn’t know what the hokey dead-language word meant, he recognized it from the map. That’s the one.
The Source lay beyond it. He was only a few steps away from ensuring the Rising’s victory—assuming he could destroy it. Down one grenade and however many shots were left in that pistol… Man, I hope the Source is as breakable as Calhoun thinks.
Flynn observed the door. The enchantments posed no problem, but the door itself was bolted. He considered using his last grenade then decided against it. Not only might he need it to destroy the Source, but the explosion would draw unwanted attention. His only other option was to use his sword to hack his way through the wood.
He swung at the door, over and over. Splinters flew at his face. Stale air wafted toward him through the holes he created. His arms protested the strain, and sweat trickled down his face, but he had no choice but to keep going. Again and again, he brought his blade down. By the time he’d created an opening big enough to fit through, he was so exhausted that even stepping through the splintered edges felt like a monumental task.
Despite the weariness, Flynn’s heart continued drumming the words hurry, hurry, hurry, and blood pounded in his ears. With every passing moment, more Risers could die at the hands of the Triumvirate’s monsters. He rushed down a spiral staircase, cursing it for its ridiculous inefficiency. He was vaguely aware of a distant booming sound behind him. Something must have blown up in the Great Hall. A sickening stench filled the air as he drew closer to the last step. Hygiene apparently wasn’t a priority for that particular part of the Palace.
Reaching the end of the stairway, Flynn faced a cavernous stone room. It looked like it had been carved out of a mountain. In the middle of the rocky floor lay a round gate about three yards in diameter, covered in carvings of monsters with three fangbeasts in the center. Flynn recognized it instantly. The Source. All he had to do now was get inside and figure out how to destroy the master enchantment powering all of the Palace’s security. Once he did, the battle would be as good as won. Victory was close.
Flynn approached. Knowing he’d need both hands to twist the thick brass ring and open the stone gate, which had to be plenty heavy, he started to put his sword back into its sheath. The sound of quick footsteps behind him caught his attention, and he spun, instinctively raising his weapon.
Aurelia bolted down the spiral stairs, her wild black ponytail bouncing behind her. “Flynn!”
Surprised, Flynn lowered his blade. “How’d you get here?”
“Draugr cut through the enchantments for me.” She glanced at the gate and pulled out her swords. “Don’t open it, Flynn, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Slice me up like I’m a bloodwolf?” Flynn took a step forward. If he could touch her, maybe he’d cut through the dark magic Storm cast on her mind. “This isn’t you, Aurelia! You don’t know—”
“Yes I do. Now put down the blade, and get away from there! You know you can’t fight me. I taught you everything you know, and you suck.”
Flynn considered his options. She was right. He couldn’t fight her. He wanted to rush at her and grab her shoulder or something, hoping to break the enchantment holding her. But if he tried, she’d slice his throat. And if months of trying to talk Connor out of the Defiants hadn’t worked for her, there was no way he could undo Storm’s spell by talking. But he couldn’t walk away either, not when he was so close to taking down what stood between the Rising and their long-awaited triumph.
Aurelia swung one of her swords. “Don’t make me beat you up for real.”
Flynn sighed. “Okay, I surrender.”
“Good.”
He slowly crouched, as if about to place the sword on the ground. There’s one thing you’re forgetting, Firedragon…
He sprang up and threw the sword at her. I’m unpredictable.
He pulled the dagger from his belt and threw that as well, knowing she’d be fast enough to dodge before either could actually hurt her. With Aurelia briefly distracted, he ran to the gate, grabbed the ring, and pulled.
“Flynn, NO!” Aurelia cried.
The gate flew up and crashed into the ceiling. A whirlwind of red and black smoke, interlaced with bolts of lightning, streamed out of the circular hole in the ground. The sound of rushing wind accompanied a cacophony of crackles and a counterpoint of disembodied shrieks.
Flynn looked down. A fiery abyss stared back.
Chapter 31
The Rising
What the hell? Or is that Hell? Flynn stared down at the swirling flames. Heat blasted his face. If that was the Source, Calhoun and Williams had been dead wrong in their theories. “What is that?”
A hard kick landed on his shin. Flynn spun to find a furious Aurelia beside him.
“It’s the freaking Portal to the Underworld!” she yelled.
“What?!”
“Shut up, and close it, dummy! Before—”
A blast of smoke hit her in the chest, and she flew back. She crashed into the wall, and her swords fell from her hands. She went limp and dropped to the ground.
“Aurelia!” Flynn rushed to her side.
He brushed her ponytail from her face, revealing a slack face with closed eyes. But she seemed to be breathing normally. He felt the back of her head and was glad to find that it was dry—no blood. She was okay, just unconscious. But what had happened to her? And what had she been talking about?
A loud scraping noise grated in his ears. Flynn looked up. The stone gate slid across the ceiling, blown by the infernal forces pouring out of the hole—the swirling red and black smoke, the crackling lightning.
Aurelia had said it was the Portal to the Underworld, but that was absurd. He’d seen the gate on the Palace map labeled “the Source.” Yet the hellish conflagration certainly looked like what he’d imagined the Underworld to be. But that would mean that he—and everyone who had seen the map—had been wrong.
Whatever that hole in the ground was, it billowed out smoke—the kind that had knocked out Aurelia. And that smoke was pouring toward the staircase, heading for the main part of the Palace where the other Risers were. He had to seize the gate from the ceiling and close the hole before those forces hurt someone else. He stood, wondering how he would reach it.
Something struck the back of his head. Hard. His vision went black for a moment. Shocked, he fell forward in a daze and crashed painfully onto the stone floor.
Maniacal cackling resonated through the room. Through his blurred vision, Flynn looked up. Calhoun stood over him, holding a rifle in his hands. His pale eyes were mad with glee. Surrounded by the swirling black and red smoke, he looked positively demonic.
“Well done, kid.” He spread his arms and shouted at the ceiling. “Nearly a century of misery—over! The Lord’s banishment—ended! It’s all thanks to you: Flynn Nightsider, the Untouchable One, the only being in the world who could have opened the Portal!”
Flynn was too dizzy from both the impact and the confusion to do more than blink in response. His mind was blank, as if every thought had been stunned into silence.
Slowly, the realization dawned on him. That was the Portal to the Underworld, which had imprisoned the Lord—and which Flynn had opened. And Calhoun, the freedom fighter he had so admired, wanted to release the monster that had nearly destroyed the world.
Cold tingling crept down Flynn’s back as horror washed over him. What have I done?
Calhoun looked down at Flynn. “Storm figured it out—that the entire revolution was an excuse to get the Untouchable One into the Palace of Concord. Tamerlane recognized the Portal on the map and was about to decipher the truth. That’s why I opened the perimeter and let in the fangbeast. But you were none the wiser, and that’s all that matters!”
Flynn couldn’t speak. Everything he’d believed in, that he’d been fighting for, had been built on a lie as grand as the one the Triumvirs had told. The Rising was as artificial as the Triumvirate—not a fight for freedom, but an elaborate diversion. And he’d fallen for it without ever suspecting its true purpose. The entire time he’d thought he was fighting for freedom, he was really fighting for evil. And not only him; thousands across the nation had been deceived by a man who had to be truly mad. Every idealistic hope for a better world and every fervent desire to change things for the better had all been puppet strings Calhoun had manipulated to bring Flynn here.
And for what? Was Calhoun a devil-worshipping fanatic? Was he hoping the Lord of the Underworld would reward him? The leader Flynn had trusted, the one he had been willing to do anything for without question and without hesitation—it had all been an act. Was there nothing true in this world?
Flynn knew he had to do something, but at the moment, shock kept him frozen as though he were chained. He stared at Calhoun, wishing everything he’d just learned were the lies.
A blast of smoke shot past Calhoun, and he jumped back. He looked over at Aurelia’s unconscious form and grinned. “Well, if it isn’t our little defector. Thank you, my little Firedragon, for leading me to the Orb. And for having the draugr pave the way for me.”
