Meadowrue shook her head. “There are things I can’t face, Rose. I don’t want to see what rises up out of there.”
“Whatever it is, Rue, you face it. You face it and I promise you will never have to again, as long as you live.” She reached out and grabbed Meadowrue’s hand. “Fight with me.”
Meadowrue’s eyes watered, her lips shifting as if to contain her sobs. “Okay,” she croaked. “Okay. Together.” And she thrust her shovel into the ground, joining Rose.
Together, they began to dig, far deeper than Rose imagined they’d have to. Six feet down, her back began to ache, her muscles throbbing. Although it was freezing out, she was sweating. For a moment, she thought she had been led to the wrong place, that her voice, and that of Eppersett’s, had failed her. Maybe it was the Abomination after all.
But then she saw a hand.
Jumping back and climbing out of the hole, Rose and Meadowrue watched as the figure slowly clawed its way to the surface.
What finally emerged was something Rose could hardly explain. Somehow, she was standing face-to-face with a second Meadowrue, Millenten’s bow and arrows across her back.
The real Meadowrue looked ready to faint. She was woozy, swaying where she stood as the word no escaped from her mouth over and over again, quiet at first, but growing louder with each utterance. When she began to retreat, her legs almost gave out beneath her, and she was screaming the word.
Rose too backed away. Although this creature looked like Meadowrue, it was also clearly evil, its eyes hauntingly dark. They were eyes that wished to see nothing but pain in others, suffering and heartache throughout all the world. The creature’s posture was poor, as if its body had been warped by past sins, turning in on itself and discoloring, rotting from the inside out. A long, split tongue shot from its mouth like a snake, and its wings were missing like Meadowrue’s, but they throbbed and oozed.
What is this? Rose wondered. This isn’t Millenten. It must be something else. Something put here to guard the bow.
The creature headed for Meadowrue, who was now quivering so bad she dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands.
It’s going to kill her, Rose thought. Do something!
“Hey!” she screamed, tossing a rock at its head.
Hissing, the creature turned to Rose, and in that instant Rose saw it take on a different form. It wasn’t Meadowrue anymore, but Rose’s brother. Rose saw what he looked like the very last time she had ever set eyes on him in that hospital bed, tubes and scars, his body locked up but somehow walking.
Rose instantly felt weak. It was as if her heart had opened up inside her, cracking like an egg and spilling down her torso. Her bones were like ice, the blood drained from her face. She was nothing but memories now, shameful, guilt-ridden memories wrapped in fear and insecurity.
Had the creature wished, it could have killed her. But instead, it went back for Meadowrue.
Watching it come, once again in its original form, Meadowrue grabbed her sword, but her hands were shaking so badly, she immediately dropped it. She was crawling backward like a crab, saying, “No. That’s not me. That’s not me.”
Luckily, Rose was given a reprieve. No longer faced with her brother, she was able to gather herself, if only a little. Meadowrue’s other sword was still in her possession. Raising it over her head, she threw it end over end at the creature, and to her complete surprise, it went straight through its back and out its stomach. The creature howled in pain, grabbing at the blade. With fiery eyes, it turned toward its attacker and this time Rose was faced with her mother. She saw her old and hobbled and broken.
“Mom, I’m sorry.” Her voice was a croak, her hands extending in sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”
With the sword now free, the creature turned away and once again distorted itself into the dark Meadowrue.
It’s playing off our fears, Rose thought. It shifts to our greatest nightmares. That’s its power.
She looked at how horrified her friend was to see this altered image of herself. This is who she fears she really is, Rose realized. This is how she sees herself, how she imagines others view her. All her guilt, all her shame, it turned her insides into this.
As the creature neared, Rose called out to Meadowrue. “That’s not you! Rue, that will never be you!”
“But it is,” Meadowrue cried. “It is. I’m a monster.”
“No. I don’t see you that way, Rue. None of us do. We see someone strong. Someone kind. We see a friend.”
Meadowrue glanced over at Rose. There were tears in her eyes; her chin quivered. “I messed up so bad, Rose.”
“You did what you thought was right. You were trying to bridge people. It’s not your fault. They were all too scared to see it.”
With a tortured scream, the creature turned and rushed Rose, morphing into a deranged mixture of her mother, brother, and SallyAnn. In brutal flashes, they traded body parts—her brother’s head became SallyAnn’s; her mother’s body became her brother’s; at one point, the face was comprised of features from all of them at once. The three nightmares came for her, lurching and writhing, and only at the last second did Coram step in front and shove his sword into the monster’s belly, two wounds side by side. As he removed his sword, the creature stepped back, struggling to find a form. Coram doesn’t dream, Rose remembered. There are no nightmares to draw from. With nothing to haunt him with, the creature rose up as a Kesp and charged Coram, knocking the sword from his hands and barreling him in the chest.
Coram couldn’t breathe. On his knees, he kept clutching at his throat, searching for the air that was knocked from him.
The Kesp moved in, swatting Rose aside as if she were nothing.
As it stood over Coram, it raised both its claws.
He winced as the monster attacked, his arms shielding his face. A strange sound cut through the fog, and Rose watched as a spray of gold spikes rushed forth, penetrating the creature’s chest just before it struck Coram. The spikes ripped through the Kesp with astounding force, then snapped back to their resting place on Eo’s armor.
Ridge had joined them too now, his branches wrapping around the creature and squeezing it tight.
In defense, the Kesp became a fire demon, its glow burning bright in Ridge’s horrified eyes. All at once, the branches lost their grip, Ridge withering in the creature’s presence. Eo, however, approached for a second strike, and the fire demon became Deedubs, snarling and mashing at his son.
Rose saw her friends’ confusion and apprehension, their fear. Ridge was still recovering from what he had witnessed, and Eo was unable to fire the spikes. They both were vulnerable now, defenseless. And that was when Meadowrue leapt onto the creature’s back. Suddenly, there were two Meadowrues again, one atop the other.
But to Rose, it was clear which one was which. She knew who her friend really was, and she was exhilarated when she realized Meadowrue wasn’t scared anymore.
As the creature tried to shake her off, Meadowrue raised her sword. With a scream of a thousand nightmares, she drove it into her dark self’s neck over and over again, until they both dropped.
On the ground, the creature held its throat, the blood spurting out from between its fingers. It glared at Meadowrue, struggling to speak.
“You can’t … hide who you … are. This is … you. A … killer of fairies. A killer … of your kind. Unworthy of wings.”
Meadowrue got to her feet and raised her sword once more. “You’re right. I can’t hide. And I won’t. You’re a part of me. One that I’m going to kill for good.”
And she brought her sword down on the creature, chopping off its head.
Separated, both body and head twitched and shuffled through forms until all that was left was a pale, weak creature. A shriveled, indistinct thing. It bled out on the ground, pathetic and nothing to fear.
Exhausted, Meadowrue collapsed to her knees and wept into her hands. Rose kneeled beside her, an arm around her shoulder. She was so proud of her, and she told
her so.
Meadowrue gazed up at her and tried to speak. When nothing came, Meadowrue just threw her arms around her.
Eventually, the creature was lost to the wind and the fog, leaving nothing behind but the bow and arrows. They belonged to Meadowrue now. She had earned them. Her nightmare was over.
With two of the three weapons in their possession, they headed back east, returning to the river. The third and final weapon—the sword of Tarr—was farther south. They would find it where the Zo bent, in the Castle of Witches.
But first they would need some rest. Rose especially. She thought it was just the cemetery that made her feel weak and feverish, but those symptoms weren’t going away. Almost a full day after their battle with the buried nightmares, when they reached yet another encampment along the river, her brow slick with sweat, her body shivering, she collapsed to the ground.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said as everyone gathered around. But she clearly wasn’t, because a moment later, as she tried to get back on her feet, she passed out cold.
Her mind was a dark place. A night with no stars. The inside of a coffin.
And it had the sounds to match. None. A vacuum. Nothingness.
Except for the voice.
“Rose. I found you, Rose.”
It was the darkness itself calling out to her.
Rose walked hypnotically out into the pitch. There was no floor on which to set her feet. No walls. No ceiling. Just black upon black.
“Where are you?” she asked the voice, her own words sucked into the void. “I know you’re near. I can feel you. But I can’t see you.”
“That’s because you are me, Rose. And I am you. We are one.” A sloshing sound accompanied the voice now. A persistent and steady surge.
“Who are you?” she asked, a tide of terror pulling at her heart.
“You know very well who I am.”
“Get out of my head!”
A terrible laughter screeched through the darkness, and as if there was a tear in the black fabric of her mind, Rose saw a flicker of light. And in it she saw her friends. She saw Eppersett. It all came and went in brief and blinding flashes. And with a tremor in her very being, Rose realized why: She was inside the Abomination. It had swallowed her whole.
When she came to, she found herself in a large tent. She was sopping wet and breathing heavily. It was dark, the only light coming from Orange Blossom beside her. She was on the ground, covered in thick blankets, a pillow beneath her head. Coram was standing over her, as well as someone she had never seen before.
“This is Preego,” Coram said. “She was a doctor before fleeing the Abomination.”
Preego leered at Coram. “I am still a doctor.”
“Of course.” Coram coughed, clearly embarrassed.
Preego was covered in orange fur, like a tiger, with bulging green eyes and long whiskers. Her tail was in the air, nearly reaching her head. She was beautiful, and Rose feared how many of her kind the Abomination had wiped out.
Just then, she felt a crack through her head at the thought of its name. Her eyes slammed shut, and she grabbed at her skull, a groan escaping her lips.
Concerned, Coram took her hand in his. “Rose, Preego has taken a look at you and … I’m afraid it’s not good.”
“Wait. Am I going to die?” Rose asked, almost laughing. “Don’t tell me I’m going to die soon.”
When she saw the puzzled looks on their faces, she actually did break out in laughter. It was all absurd. Since she had first come here, it had been nothing but. And after everything she had been through, she couldn’t control her emotions anymore. The laughter built and built, tears streaming down her face, tears that so badly needed to flow. What a joke, she thought. What an absolute joke.
With a snap of his wrists, Coram removed the blanket covering Rose. His gaze went from her eyes to her feet and back, suggesting she take a look herself.
Glancing down at her feet, Rose noticed they were bare. Curious, she wiggled her toes. There was something off with them, but in her haze and in the dim light, she had trouble placing it. The laughter continued, but only in her head now. It didn’t even sound like her own anymore, a depraved humor that frightened her.
Suddenly, she knew what the problem was. Her feet were covered in white.
Lurching to a sitting position, her eyes shot toward Coram. “I’m … I’m infected,” she said, recalling how her throat burned as the Voice drooled black liquid over her gasping mouth.
“Abomination’s disease,” Preego confirmed.
“That’s why I can hear its voice.” Gazing off, she said this as if speaking to herself.
Preego and Coram glanced at each other warily. “You can hear it?” Preego asked.
Rose closed her eyes, returning to the darkness of her dream. The voice was there, its mind. Suddenly, it was as if she had linked with it. “It knows we’re coming. It knows there’s only one weapon left. It’s picking up speed, gaining as much strength as possible.”
“We have to move, then,” Coram said.
“She can’t go,” Preego told him. “It’s spreading, and fast.”
Rose picked up Orange Blossom, who was in a tight ball on her pillow. “All the more reason, then.”
Preego placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve seen this disease many times. It is going to drain you quickly. You’ll have little strength. Then, when you’re at your weakest, it’s going to overtake your mind. Seize control of your movements, your actions. I’m sorry, but your time is short.”
“My time’s been short ever since I got here.” She jumped down from the bed and nearly lost her balance. There was laughter in her head. This time it clearly wasn’t hers.
Rose bent down and grabbed her shoes, putting them on. “Where are the others?”
“Waiting on you,” Coram said.
They think you’re a leader. Rose wasn’t even sure whose voice she was hearing anymore. She placed her hands against her temples, scrunching her face in pain.
“The south is destroyed,” Preego said. “There’s nothing left. My home …” Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. She stammered, her eyes filling; then she turned away as they spilled. “It’s terrible. There’s no mercy in that thing. It comes for everything and everyone. Beautiful lands full of green, full of riverbeds and trees, hills and fields of crops. Flowers and art, unbelievable architecture, centuries of history. All of it destroyed. Like nothing had ever been there. Like we had never been there. I saw children thrown hundreds of feet through the air. I saw elderly men and women impaled by flying debris. Those that refuse to budge, they wither like the land. The Abomination is the end as we know it. It’s moving fast now. Speeding death.”
“The Castle of Witches, does it still stand?” Coram asked, his hands on Preego’s shoulders.
Preego nodded. “I don’t know for how much longer. But that place is just death inside more death. The witches probably revel in all this destruction. They welcome the end.”
“We don’t have any other choice,” Rose said. “How far is it?” she asked Coram.
“The castle? By foot? Two weeks. Three, maybe.”
“She can’t make that journey,” Preego said, nodding at Rose. “And the Abomination will reach you before you ever get there.”
Rose walked past them and unzipped the tent. The river filled the view. “Then we get a boat.”
The refugees along the river pitched in with everything they had to help the Order get a boat. They dug into their pockets, riffled through their belongings, handed over long-held valuables and jewels; they even took the clothes right off their backs. It was one of the most beautiful things Rose had ever seen. Each one of them had little of their own, but they sacrificed it all in the hopes that the Abomination would be stopped.
The boat was a piece of junk—a barely-held-together rust bucket of a thing with the color of a pig after rolling in mud for the day—but it would get them where they needed to go. It smelled like rotten vegetables bo
iling in sewage, and there were numerous critters living in the cracks and holes that Eo and Orange Blossom tried to sniff out but couldn’t come to kill. They tossed whatever they could overboard, the haggard elf they had hired to drive the boat deeming that the little varmints had no problem swimming, though Rose wasn’t sure—the elf, who was named Bendi and had but one eye, looked like he couldn’t care less about anything outside himself and money. It was enough to drive Rose belowdecks, where she spent most of the trip, usually in bed getting as much rest as possible. By now the white of the disease was up past her knees and spreading quickly, the voice growing louder in her head, taunting her, threatening her. It said she would never succeed, that she would never even reach the sword. Worst of all was that she was starting to believe it.
Someone was constantly by her side to keep her company, even if she was sleeping. If she was awake, she was above deck, where they all huddled around as if she were a fire keeping them warm. Which was funny because she did feel like she was burning up, even as temperatures were dropping.
There was a constant somber air about the group, the conversation failing to remain upbeat no matter how many songs Ridge sang. He sang one for each bird he lost; they all had names apparently, and at the moment, he had gotten through twenty-one out of the fifty-six that had lived in his branches, now unnervingly barren. There was a lot of pacing too, a lot of blank stares, and much dread. And then there was Meadowrue.
“When we’re at the end of this journey,” she said to the group, “if we fail or if we fall, the Abomination looming over us, what will you most regret?”
Everyone grew even quieter than they already were. It was quite the question, but Rose knew her answer right away: How she ran. How she always ran.
But she didn’t want to say that. She didn’t want the pity or anyone telling her she was wrong, that she did the best she could. Because she didn’t. She had succumbed to the pain of her life, and that wasn’t acceptable.
Rose Coffin Page 15
