Everyone was shouting, but all Rose felt was panic. Whatever bravery she previously had was now gone. Suddenly, she felt weak and helpless and frightened, like the little girl she had always been. All that surprised her now was how she was able to climb so high in the branches so fast. Growing up, she had always seen kids climbing trees, and yet whenever she’d tried, she never once made it past the first branch. Now here she was scaling branches like a squirrel.
Deedubs scrambled for a foothold, his legs kicking out, breaking branches, while, beneath him, Ridge staggered to and fro for balance. “Whoa! Whoa!”
Rose, pale with terror and with nowhere else to go, gazed down at the crazed animal, his nose pulsing as he searched for her scent. His jaws opened unbelievably wide. He can swallow you whole, Rose. What were you thinking? The branch she stood on was thin and bending, her feet just inches from Deedubs. She hoped it would hold.
On the ground, Coram ran toward the leash that had been ripped from Eo’s mouth. He wrapped it around his hands several times; then, with a tight grip, he yanked hard, and Rose watched as the rope constricted around Deedubs’s neck. A second later, he went crashing down through the branches and onto the hard ground.
“Enough!” Coram yelled, his sword drawn, the tip digging into Deedubs’s neck. The animal was on his back, paws in the air, frozen. “Another move in her direction and my blade plunges deep. You understand me?”
Deedubs’s long tongue lashed out. “She is vaunted as the sacrifice, and yet she knows nothing of surrendering herself for the betterment of others. I’ve sacrificed all my life—I’ve sacrificed my own eyes—and what has it gotten me? This? Disrespect? A sword at my throat?”
“Are you going to risk everything over your ego, Deedubs? We need her alive. You know this.”
Growling, Deedubs nodded. Coram sheathed his sword, and the beast flipped over and stepped back. “I wouldn’t have killed her,” he said. “Just taken a leg or two, like meat on a bone.”
“We need her whole,” Coram said.
“Maybe so,” Deedubs answered. “But we don’t need you to be. You pull your sword on me again and I will tear you to pieces.”
“My people have killed many Cobberjacks in our day, Deedubs. I am late getting started. You can always be my first.” Before the Cobberjack could respond, Coram addressed the rest of the group. “As for a leader, we lead with the best idea. Whoever has it, in that moment they’re in charge. Every second we waste arguing is another second in which someone dies. The Abomination is southeast from here. That gives us two paths to take. One, across the Sunken Plains, and two, through the Field of Stylites. Any suggestions?” He looked around, waiting for a response, but his eyes drifted up toward Rose. He nodded at her as if to ask if she were okay.
With her legs finally sturdy enough, Rose climbed lower in Ridge’s branches, nodding softly in return, eyes quickly darting away. Don’t go all “my hero” on me, Rose, she immediately thought. Don’t think for a second he cares if you’re okay. He’s just hoping you still look appetizing enough to serve.
Meadowrue spoke up, her eyes on the horizon. “The Sunken Plains are treacherous. How many have been lost to the Underdwellers there? Their traps litter the landscape, and the screams of the captured ring out still. We should go through the Field of Stylites instead. It’s faster and safer and, with their knowledge, they may have an exact location of the Abomination.”
As Deedubs sniffed in contempt at the suggestion, Coram smiled. “Good thinking, Rue.” He waved an arm before him. “Lead the way.”
Meadowrue stepped forward, a look of hesitation on her face that said she was surprised that she would be leading anyone.
But lead she did, with Rose above her still shaking like a leaf on Ridge’s branches.
The Field of Stylites was more east than south and, according to Coram, even after a seven-mile hike across some lasting hills outside Lamarka, still a long distance away. Plenty of time for Rose to consider her impending fate. With the swaying of the branches gently rocking her like a child in a cradle, the birds’ song in her ears, she recalled the old nursery rhyme. It always sounded like a dark and cryptic little lullaby to be singing to babies, but it suddenly felt very appropriate to her. She imagined the bough breaking beneath her and herself falling right into the open maw of the Abomination. Such a chilling vision had her bolting upright, heart pounding. She gripped the branches tight, checking their durability, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.
Over the hills and across the valleys, Coram made sure to keep close to Ridge, his eyes continually drifting up toward Rose. He seemed agitated, as if struggling with something.
At one point, after making eye contact with him, Rose, fed up with the wild speculation in her head, asked, “What, exactly, is the Abomination?”
“You really want to know?” Coram asked.
She wasn’t sure she did, but she nodded anyway.
“It’s a monstrous thing,” he said, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “All black, like it’s covered in sludge. Dripping, oozing. Eight skittering legs. Massive too. So I’ve been told, anyway—not too many people have witnessed it and lived to tell. It has a long snout that it plunges deep into the ground. And when it does this, the surrounding land is destroyed. Somehow the Abomination dries it right up, dead, like it’s sucking Eppersett’s lifeblood or something. And every time it does this, it grows even larger. I imagine it’s hundreds of feet tall by now and who knows how long? And the bigger it gets, the stronger it gets, the more death and destruction it spreads. It brings storms with it, and every few days it grows monsters out of its back.”
Rose’s eyes were wide, and she once again felt sick to her stomach.
“You see why we’re so desperate,” Coram said. “If you hadn’t come along, the Abomination would devour this entire land in only a matter of time.”
“So glad I can be of help.”
Coram, shoulders slumping in shame, glanced at Meadowrue as if for assistance. She was far ahead of the group, walking very cautiously, her swords drawn. Rose noticed she was always on her toes, ready for battle, and with little time for idle chatter. Deedubs and Eo, meanwhile, were not far behind her. After assessing his group’s status, Coram said in a weak voice, “Rose, I know you must be scared.” He glanced sideways at Ridge, aware that his old friend was the only one who could hear the compassion he currently let slip.
“Who, me?” Rose answered. “No. This is how I always dreamed of going out. Real martyr-like.”
“I wish there was another way. Truly. When the time comes, I promise you I will not be celebrating like the others.”
“That warms my heart,” she said. “Truly.”
Lowering his head, Coram kicked at the ground. “I wish you could see it my way. One life will save millions.”
“Then how about we trade places? How’s that sound?”
Coram looked wounded, and Rose straightened along the branch. She had never spoken like that to anyone, never really stood up for herself, and it felt really good. A small victory.
After composing himself, Coram said, “If I could switch with you, I would. In a second.”
“Oh, I’m so sure.”
“Aye, he would,” Ridge said. “I never met a soul with more honor than Coram Sepsix!”
“Yeah, well, the honorable thing would be to not sacrifice anyone. To find another way.”
Coram looked as if he were struck. He stumbled a bit, his hand leaning against Ridge’s trunk of a body. When he regained his composure, he slowed his pace until he was walking alone, head down, his hair hiding his face in shame.
“Sensitive lad,” Ridge said to Rose. “But when the time comes, he always does the right thing! I remember the day the great warlock Weskind went mad, by a spell of his very own no less, and he began setting ablaze just about everything in sight, and Coram—”
“Ridge …”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
The Order traveled along m
any hills, several of them rising and falling as if they were alive—Ridge said this was only somewhat true—while a little later on, a dust storm appeared out of nowhere. Not a thing could be seen through it, but objects kept slamming into Rose, nearly knocking her out of the tree. She heard them hitting every branch around her. And when the storm passed, Eo and Deedubs had furry, spindly-legged creatures in their mouths and two were sliding down Meadowrue’s swords. They were called dust flies, and this was what the group ate—all except for Rose, who was starving but convinced herself she still had her dignity.
Eventually, the land flattened out for good, sand overtaking everything, and Rose could see hundreds of pillars in the shimmering distance. There appeared to be figures atop many of them, though not one was moving. In the blazing heat, they sat as still and silent as can be.
“Who are they?” Rose asked as the Order neared.
“Those are the Stylites,” Ridge said. “Seers of our land!”
“They never come down from the pillars,” Coram said. “Their entire lives are spent up there. Morning, noon, and night. Day after day. Year after year.”
“What for?” Rose asked, bewildered as to why anyone would ever do such a thing.
“They seek the answers we all yearn for. Life’s mysteries are clear to them. They are wise beyond belief and at peace with the world. Not even death can faze them.”
Rose gazed ahead at the Stylites, wondering what kind of dedication this took. The figures were all incredibly thin, their skin a sickly yellow. They sat on stone pillars of varying height, none smaller than eight feet, some of them intricately carved with strange symbols and mysterious images. There were baskets tied to ropes beside them, but how often did people come along bearing gifts of bread and water to fill them with? Rose looked around as if she might find an answer, but they were in the middle of nowhere, not another soul in sight.
The Stylites all had red sheets over their faces, hanging down just past their chins. She saw the fabric clinging to their mouths and noses, revealing a skeletal silhouette beneath. The sun beat down on their backs—no place to hide. Was peace only found through suffering? If that were the case, would she ever find it herself?
The group walked through the field, and not one of the Stylites peered out from beneath their sheets. Not one stirred or coughed or asked who was there. It was an eerie feeling, like being among the dead. Rose, sitting high up in Ridge’s branches, her eyes nearly level with the Stylites, glanced into the sky. There were large birds circling overhead. Though, if she were being honest with herself, they looked more like dragons.
“Keep moving,” Deedubs said. “The Stylites have nothing to offer us. They’ve been sitting up there all my life and for generations before that. They never contributed anything to this world. Wastes of life, all of them.”
“Pa, everyone has something to offer and stuft, right?”
“Of course they do. Plenty offer an abundance of aggravation and disappointment. A burden I am quite aware of.”
Eo shook his ears as if he didn’t want the words lingering in them. Then, dropping the rope from his mouth and looking up at the top of one of the pillars, in utter defiance of his father, he said, “Um, excuse me? Um, can we ask you a question and stuft?”
The head of the nearest Stylite slowly turned in Eo’s direction. After a hauntingly silent moment, it let out a strange high-pitched moan that froze Rose’s blood. Very quietly, she shifted down a few branches while Eo whimpered and stepped a foot back, his ears and head low to the ground. The others encouraged him on, but his tail was now well between his legs. It was clear his father smelled his fear, and Rose felt pity for the peaceful animal.
Coram stepped forward instead, his neck straining to see the top of the pillar. “We … we seek the Abomination,” he said, and Rose was surprised to hear fear in his voice, not that she blamed him.
A long arm came up very slowly. A crooked finger extended, the nail long and sharp.
“That way?” Coram asked. “To the south? Through the Mid-Lands? How far has it reached?”
That awful sound again. Rose feared she would never be able to get it out of her head.
“That’s … that’s horrible,” Coram said. “But we come bearing the sacrifice.”
Even with the sheet over the Stylite’s head, it was able to find Rose. It seemed to stare at her from beneath, its breathing increasing until it appeared to be convulsing.
When it finally settled down, with a voice like a storm of knives, it said, “She is not who you think. She is the Unwonted.”
Excuse me? What now? To Rose it sounded like “unwanted.”
Coram’s eyes darted from the Stylite to Ridge to Rose and back. He looked confused, shocked, and doubtful all at once.
“I told you,” Deedubs said. “They are worthless. Driven mad by sun and starvation and questions that will never be answered.”
As if seeking payment, the Stylite lowered his basket, the chain rattling against the stone of the pillar.
Deedubs’s ears perked up at the sound. “For what?” he said, aghast. “Coram, don’t you dare give it a thing.”
But Coram reached into his bag regardless and placed several items into the basket, including chunks of the leftover dust flies. The Stylite lifted it back up, searched its contents, then said, “Something has come for you.”
“What do you mean?” Coram asked.
“The Abomination knows of your arrival. It has sent satellites, and they are near. They wish to kill all of you.”
Coram immediately unsheathed his sword, and Meadowrue her two. Beside them, Eo unleashed Deedubs, and Ridge smacked his fists together, a grin still on his face. Rose, meanwhile, quaked.
“What’s he mean?” she asked, her voice as twisted as Ridge’s branches. “Who wants to kill us?”
“The creatures I told you about,” Coram answered as he rotated in a tight circle, waiting for any sign of them. “The ones that grow on the Abomination’s back. Somehow they’ve found us.”
“We’ve been tracked,” Deedubs said. “Hunted. I can smell them. There’re at least a dozen.”
“They never travel in groups that big,” Meadowrue said.
“Aye,” Ridge answered. “It’s as if something led them to us!”
Glancing around, even Rose knew the Field of Stylites was no place to fight—they were closed in with little room to maneuver and poor visuals, the pillars cutting off all sight lines. But they were in far too deep to run out for open space now. They’d never make it.
From her high vantage point, Rose thought she spotted something leering out at them from behind a pillar about forty yards out. Whatever it was standing there, it was pure white. Like a blank space upon which the world hadn’t been filled in yet. In fact, she couldn’t even be sure there was anything there at all. A glare of the sun, perhaps? With her heart beginning to beat faster, she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing for a better look. “What the—?” Her throat closed up at the sight, and her body went cold. A gaping black hole appeared in the middle of the white, and with a tumble of dread in her stomach, Rose realized it was the creature’s mouth. It had opened and inside was black—she could see the white teeth contrasted against the midnight pitch. Soon, the creature’s eyes became noticeable too, a white iris in a pool of darkness. There were black slits for its nose, little dark spirals for its ears. It’s all black on the inside, she thought. Dead.
“Coram?” she said through a choke. “Coram?”
But he didn’t answer. Sweat had broken out across his golden brow, and his eyes were darting nervously back and forth, his breathing rapid. Everyone was crouched, ready to fight, while, above them, the Stylites sat motionless, and above them, the dragons, which were clearly scavengers, flew in faster and faster circles, anticipating the upcoming battle and its many casualties.
Something ran past—a streak of light—moving from pillar to pillar. Rose could hear the patter against the sand. Whatever it was, it moved fast.
&nbs
p; “Stay close,” Coram told the group. “Don’t let them pull us apart. We split up among these pillars and we’re all dead. Everyone stay—”
Meadowrue was slammed face-first to the ground, a screen of dust billowing up all around her. Even with a busted nose, she held on to her swords, but her eyes were panic-stricken as they gazed out helplessly upon the group. Through the mist of sand and with a terrible shriek, something had grabbed hold of her legs and dragged her off into the field. It all happened so fast and so violently, Rose could only clutch her heart in horror and scream as she watched Meadowrue disappear.
“Rue!” Coram called. “Rue!”
“We have to go after her!” Ridge cried.
“Stay where you are. The girl’s already dead,” Deedubs said. “And if you go, you will be too. Along with the sacrifice.”
Nobody spoke, their eyes searching one another’s for an answer, though none came. Rose kept expecting to hear Meadowrue cry out, but everything was eerily silent.
“Be ready,” Coram said, his voice hushed. “The next strike could come from anywhere.”
“They are circling us,” Deedubs said. “Very soon now, they’re going to make their move.” He turned to his son and, for the first time, Rose heard something deeper than the usual derision in his voice. “Eo, when they strike, you fight like I taught you, you hear? You forget about everything else, forget about me, forget about your fear, and you just fight. No mercy.”
“’Kay, Pa. ’Kay. I will. I promise.”
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
“Here they come,” Coram said. “For the sacrifice! For Eppersett!”
Weapons raised, everyone turned toward the sound. Rose gripped the branches, bracing herself for what was to come. Within her chest, the beating of her heart sounded like a war drum.
A ghastly figure appeared from behind the pillars, and a gasp ran through the group. It was Meadowrue. She was in terrible shape—her face puffy and marked, blood running down her arms, a large gash on her shoulder and across her back, all of it mixed with sand. Her clothes were torn, and her swords were covered in a thick black sludge, as were the heels of her boots.
Rose Coffin Page 5
