And so she said her one other regret in life. “I wish I would have stood up to SallyAnn. Just once.”
“Um, who is SallyAnn, and stuft?”
“A horrible person with a stupid face,” Coram said.
“Oh, I hate horrible people!” Ridge said. “Tell us, Rose! Feed my hate for this person with the stupid face!”
“I don’t know,” Rose said, suddenly wishing she hadn’t brought it up. “It’s not that simple. I mean, I guess on the surface it is. She acts like she’s better than everyone else. Her jokes are mean-spirited. She’s superficial. Anyone can tell she only cares about herself. I … I don’t like the way she makes me feel about myself.”
“What kind of a warrior is she?” Ridge asked. “A barbarian? A thief?”
“Well, she’s not exactly a warrior at all. I mean—how can I explain this better … ?” She thought a moment. “She seems like a villain, right? I mean, she made me cry myself to sleep. She made me scared to go to school. But when it comes down to it, I think SallyAnn might be in a lot of pain.”
“I’ll show her pain!” Ridge said.
“Me too,” Meadowrue said. “I wish I could have faced SallyAnn in combat.”
“That’s my regret too,” Coram added.
“And mine,” Eo said.
Rose looked at all of them, and her smile grew. She knew they would fight for her; they wouldn’t question it for a second. It warmed her more than the fever ever could. It warmed her inside and out. And it was then that Rose realized what her second regret would really be: having to leave her friends.
The farther south they traveled, the worse the weather became. Day after day, the wind picked up, the skies grayed, and the boat rocked more and more. Eventually, Rose got sick and threw up, but the event barely registered on her radar. Instead, she focused on the masses of people who could be seen fleeing their homeland. The numbers grew and grew, stretching far into the horizon.
“What’s happening?” she asked. In the distance, from where the refugees fled, everything looked dead. There was no color. The trees were bare, the grass brown. The smaller tributaries of the Zo were all dried up. It was a storm of a world.
Coram gripped the side of the boat, his entire body tense. “The Abomination. It’s getting closer.”
Rose closed her eyes for a moment and found that hidden presence within her. She hated going there. It was like falling through ice. Suddenly, her eyes sprang back open with great clarity. “It knows that with the weapons we’re a threat. There’s fear there, I can feel it. It doesn’t want to wait to face us anymore. It’s making a charge for the Castle of Witches as we speak. It wants to stop us from finding the sword. If it does that, it wins.”
“It must not be far off now.”
“How much longer until we reach the castle?” Rose asked.
“Another day,” Coram said. “Two at most. I think we can reach it before the Abomination does. It sits in the middle of the river, right at the bend. It’s like a bridge between Eppersett and Widcrook.”
“Um, I can smell its foul stench from here, and stuft,” Eo said, nose raised.
“The witches like to infect both lands with their ills,” Coram said. “They take great pleasure in it.”
“Will they have fled?” Rose asked in hope, but Coram shook his head. “No. They fear nothing. Not the Abomination. Not the end. To them, it’s all the same.”
Rose felt faint and crashed back against the boat.
“Are you okay?” Coram asked, taking her by the hand.
“Yeah. It’s … it’s just the boat. Hard to keep balance in these waters.”
“The Abomination is near, Rose. You have to conserve your energy. Whatever happens in that castle, don’t use your voice. You’ll need every bit of strength for what comes after.”
“I said I’m okay.”
But that was a lie, of course. In reality, the disease was spreading fast, and she felt very weak. Her muscles and bones ached; she felt numb, like her body no longer belonged solely to her. Since she had been infected, a great fear had been welling up deep within her and it was horrifying. The kind of fear that consumed a person—that’s how it made her feel, eaten away. When the disease eventually reached her throat—and it would very soon (she feared—no, she knew)—it would attack the only weapon she had against the Abomination. It would attack and it would win. And how could she ever save her brother if she didn’t have her voice?
The castle was more like a pyramid. One that was upside down, its point thrust deep into the river. By Rose’s estimate, it must have stood close to a thousand feet into the sky, black and smooth, a triangular rip in space. There was no shine to it, no reflection. Any light that reached it died a quick death.
Apparently, there were several myths about the castle’s creation. Or more accurately, about its arrival. It was said by many that one day it wasn’t there, and the next day it was. This had happened over several thousand years ago, and Rose understood that there might have been some exaggeration or alterations to the story over that time. It was tough to sort through it all and come away with some kind of truth. Often, the answer was something in between the details. While some said the castle fell from the sky, like a dagger driving deep into the river, others were convinced it just blinked into existence, like some incredible magic. Stranger still, others maintained that, even now, it didn’t exist at all, that it was nothing more than an illusion. There were rumors of doors sliding open near the very top of the castle late at night and witches and other objects flying out. Some believed that the castle poisoned the river or that the witches were the reason Widcrook had fallen into chaos and darkness. Some said the castle was sinking inch by inch every year, while others maintained that there were scores of other pyramids just like this one beyond the mountains, and soon all those witches would cross over to Eppersett, wiping out everyone. That was if the Abomination didn’t get them first.
Whatever its origins, whatever its mysteries, Rose knew the castle was their final stop before facing their destiny. It didn’t matter where the witches came from or what they had planned. What mattered was that they held the sword of Tarr.
A mile from the castle, the boat stopped dead in the water. Bendi refused to take them any closer, stating he was crazy but not that crazy. Instead, he docked the boat along the river’s edge and forced everyone to depart. Then, seconds after their feet hit the ground, he had the boat turning around and heading back upriver, the water chopping at its hull.
The winds were incredible—eighty miles per hour and gaining fast. Rain fell with a force like nothing Rose had ever experienced, spiking the top of her head and soaking her clothes. Her feet were buried to her ankles, the ground one big mud trap sucking at her shoes. This, compounded with her illness, made her wonder if she were dead already. Trees fell as if a giant pushed them over, and Ridge winced with each crack of their trunks. Rose kept expecting to see the Abomination come rushing out of the gray horizon at any moment. But that wasn’t so. It seemed they had reached the castle before it had, and that meant they still had a chance. But if they didn’t find the sword soon, they might be trapped inside the castle when it did arrive, and that would spell trouble.
There were two narrow bridges leading to the castle, one from either side of the river. They must have usually sat well above the water, but now with the Abomination’s storm, the river raised fast, flooding the bridges. The Order had to cross slowly, the winds pushing against them as if to keep them back. As the sky rumbled overhead, Rose put her head down and strode forward, her face whipped by lashes of rain and sharp gusts of wind. Orange Blossom was tucked in a ball beneath her shirt, shivering and glowing like some neon heart. To the south, the storm clouds looked even worse, and they were moving in fast. It was a nightmarish sky filled with lightning and darkness. A hurricane sky.
When they reached the door of the castle, they quickly huddled behind it, dripping wet and shivering, as they discussed their next step.
“Ca
n we draw them outside?” Rose asked, her voice strained with sickness.
By the way Coram’s brow crinkled, Rose could tell he was clearly confused. “What? Why?”
“Water is a weakness for them?” Rose said, and what began as a statement ended as a question, her voice high in uncertainty, as everyone else’s face gradually began to mirror Coram’s. “Isn’t it?”
“Let me guess,” Coram said. “You got this from those screens of yours?”
“Well, yeah. Witches, they melt or something. They can’t swim.”
Coram was staring at her, dumbfounded, quietly repeating her words. “Melt or something. Can’t swim.”
“No?” She felt sick. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight. Maybe such an idea was planted in her head by the Abomination. She wished she was home in bed. Warm. Safe.
“If that were the case, why would they build their castle atop a river?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that you said there are hundreds of them in there,” Rose said, pointing with a trembling finger. “And if that’s true, we need a weapon.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? That I’m not prepared?” Coram threw down his bag and began to rummage through it. “Cortid Tarr was a witch-hunter, Rose. That was his life mission. Any witches that were foolish enough to wander outside the castle, he hunted down and slayed. Single-handedly. But one thing he never did? He never entered the castle. That, he realized, would be suicidal. There were just too many for one man to take down.”
“Great,” Rose said. “Way to build confidence.”
Coram raised a finger, his head still in the bag. “However, after decades of battling them, he finally discovered their weakness, which is why he created the flaming sword of Tarr.” He pulled out four torches and handed one to each of them—Eo, of course, going without. “Fire,” he said. “That’s what melts them. The opposite of water. I swear, these screens of yours are going to be your world’s downfall.”
“So, four torches. That’s what we’ve got.” She wanted to cry.
“Any better ideas?”
Rose sighed and extended her torch, her hand visibly shaking. “Just light me already.”
“Can we get the door open first so that these don’t burn out?”
Rose glanced up to the gray sheet of sky. “Right.” Backing away, she waved them onward. She felt like she was about to black out. “It’s probably locked, I’m guessing.”
Everyone gave Eo some room as his armor began to glow. In seconds, the spikes rose up and plowed into the door with devastating force. Once they penetrated, they then quickly retreated, recoiling on their golden cords, the door splintering into sharp metallic shards. With force like that, Rose realized they would be inside within minutes. Though that was still more than enough time for fear to settle in. In fact, it was enough time for it to build a permanent home. She braced herself against the wall, her legs weak. Rose, you’ve made it this far, but how much farther can you go? You weren’t built for this. This is bigger than you.
The spikes were fired again and again until nothing was left but a large, deep hole. A dark mouth into which they stared.
“Now,” Coram said, grinning at Rose, “I can light your torch.”
The inside of the castle was completely black, the walls sleek and severe, angling down at strange angles, allowing for little room to navigate. It was a claustrophobic darkness, but every now and then, there would be a gleam running along the walls, like trapped lightning. The inside was alive in ways the outside wasn’t, and it terrified Rose. Her nerves quickly overwhelmed her senses, squeezing her body tight. A deep-seated fear banged against her bones looking for a way out.
“So, what happened to Cortid Tarr, then?” she asked, wiping at her damp brow.
They were speaking in whispers now, Coram leaning close, a torch in one hand, a sword in the other. “Well, yes, Tarr did have the sword, but by that time in his life, he was a bit crazy in the head—the effect of absorbing one too many spells. One stormy evening, he charged in here, mowing them down one by one. Who knows how many he slayed—there were rumors it was well over a hundred. Supposedly he made it all the way to the top of the castle before he was finally overwhelmed, sword or no sword. Days later, his body was found floating in the river. I’m not even going to get into what he looked like. Not while we’re in here. Anyway, the witches have kept the sword to make sure it doesn’t fall into anyone else’s hands. Most likely, it’s being kept at the top of this place. So that’s where we’ll go.”
“Wait. Tarr was a witch-hunter with a lifetime of experience. If he was crazy, what’s that make us?”
“Just north of crazy!” Ridge said, a tad too loud, as was his habit. The words seemed to bounce off the walls, traveling all the way to the top of the castle and back. He covered his mouth with one hand and with the other rotated a finger beside his temple.
Moments later, they found a narrow staircase in what must have been the exact middle of the castle. The steps seemed to be of a material Rose had never come across before. They were smooth with sharp edges, an obsidian shine to them, and ice-cold to the touch.
As she ascended, she held the torch tight in her hands, its flame flickering with a sharp snap. The air was cold, her breath showing. She could hear the wind blowing from outside, slamming against the castle walls. There were creaks and shudders, and she feared something was about to give. She imagined the entire building coming down atop her.
Her legs were heavy, as if great weights were tied to her ankles. Her heart beat rapidly, overexerting itself to keep her on her feet. Sweat poured down her face, her temples pounding, a spiking pain behind her eyes. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling, and her insides felt as if they were about to spill out through her skin. She wasn’t sure if this was the illness or the fear. In the dark, she couldn’t see where the white had spread, but she could feel it inching up past her chest. She found it difficult to breath. And that was before she saw something in the shadows overhead.
Curious, she stood taller, raising the torch high. And that’s when she had her first glimpse of a witch.
It hung upside down like a bat, its face as pale as a sheet of paper. It didn’t have a pointed hat, as she expected, perhaps foolishly, but was bald, its head badly misshapen. Its nose was short, sunken almost to the point of nonexistence, and its mouth was a narrow slit with small but sharp teeth along with a thick black tongue. It didn’t have ears, but two tiny holes on either side, and impossibly large eyes that bulged far outside its head.
It dropped down in front of them, hissing in a way that ripped the insides of Rose’s ears. There was no broom between its legs, no cloak or cape upon its shoulders. The witch was skinny and short, its skin almost rotten in appearance, its rags loose-fitting and barely existent. Its bare feet didn’t touch the ground. Somehow, it hovered there above the stairs, waiting for them.
Meadowrue raced forward and raised her torch. Squealing, the witch reached out its hand, its fingers long with skin dangling off the tips of each and, with a wave, ripped Meadowrue’s torch right out of her hands and flung it far up the stairs. In the dark, something skittered down and snuffed the flame out.
In the blink of an eye, Meadowrue grabbed her bow and fired off an arrow. It flew right through Rose’s flame, catching fire and striking the witch in the center of its chest. The flames spread quickly, engulfing the witch in seconds. In a dozen more, there was nothing left but ash.
Exhaling deeply, Coram nodded at Meadowrue. “Nice going.”
“Yeah, well, if we lose any more torches, my arrows aren’t going to be enough.”
“That was just one witch,” Rose said, a tremor in her voice. “One of hundreds.”
“Not that there’s been a census,” Coram said. “Who knows, maybe there’re fewer.”
“Maybe there’re more,” Rose said, nearly shouting.
“Ah, yes,” Ridge said. “But we have passion! We have purpose! And that burns brightest of all!”
“I hop
e so,” Meadowrue said, pointing at the top of the stairs. “Because here comes some more.”
Rose glanced up and saw a mass of witches glaring down at her. They filled the staircase, one piled atop another. They were like one large monster, their arms and legs hanging over one another in unnatural ways. Then, as one, they came screaming down at them, and all at once Rose knew their small fires wouldn’t be enough.
Though there was nothing visible taking hold, Rose could feel the torch being lifted from her hand. She placed her free hand on it as well, pulling with everything she had against the unseen force, but she could feel it slipping from her grasp. Golden spikes and flaming arrows kept flying past her head and exploding before her. As she narrowed her eyes, the mass of witches erupted into a wall of fire, screaming and hissing and writhing. Dark smoke filled the stairway and a putrid stench clogged her nose, but the pull of the torch lightened. Opening her eyes, she watched as Coram charged forward, cutting into the burning witches with his sword and quickly rendering them to ash. The fire made them vulnerable, she realized, far easier to vanquish. Ridge’s branches scaled the walls around her, finding the witches hiding in the darkness and pulling them into the fire.
They were winning; they were actually winning. The witches were scurrying off in retreat and, for a moment, Rose thought they might actually be able to do this.
Ridge, puffed up with pride, looked at the others, a huge grin across his face. “Not bad! Not bad at all! We’ll be legends yet!”
“Don’t gloat,” Meadowrue said, the arrows she’d fired magically returning to her quiver. “They were testing us. They wanted to see what we’re about. Next time around they’re not going to be so easy.”
Well, that’s deflating, Rose thought. But she knew it was also most likely true. They had to be careful. There was no room to get cocky. That’s how mistakes were made.
They climbed higher through the castle, the wind from outside sounding more and more threatening with each step, a turbulent howl that could have been the Abomination itself. Rose couldn’t imagine what it must be like out there. It sounded like a war. Like Eppersett was being ripped from reality. There were cracks of thunder that shook the entire castle, and everyone inspected the walls carefully, as if it might fall apart any second.
Rose Coffin Page 16
