The light in the sky burns brighter than anything they’ve ever witnessed before and dwarfs the pyre. Rubbing my eyes I see people staring in both horror and cowering as if God himself were coming to punish them.
The heat from the fire rolls across my spine and I catch a look at Henny, who crouches, hands on his rifle, blond hair out of its clip with the look of a man too terrified to even move, let alone issue orders. Through the light I see him raise his hand to shield his eyes, squinting and trying to follow the light.
Another deafening bang shakes Rondo. Nigel and Tamblin rear and pull on their tethers. Xanthos screams and throws his head back. In an instant the light fades, but the explosive bang gives way to a dull rumble. Small pieces of gravel begin to tremble under my hands. The puddles ripple.
Henny is on his feet in seconds, running to grab Xanthos before the stallion can bolt. A steady hand finds my shoulder, dragging me away from the fire. I resist at first, mesmerized by the shifting gravel and the pain flooding my wounds.
Gravel. Movement. A dull rumble. My eyes widen as the town comes into sharper view. People speak in hushed tones. Children cling to their mothers. The Kingdom Corps soldiers exchange nervous glances.
I reach up and grab Colton’s shoulder, using him as a support. My legs threaten to collapse.
“We gotta go, Frost Flea.” He points to the North and East Ridges rising above Rondo. I squint. Tiny hairline cracks snake across the mountain’s snowy face. For a moment nothing happens.
The cracks darken and sag in slow motion, rippling across the mountain’s entire side as though the mighty ridge draws a deep breath in response. The mountain slowly exhales. Hairline cracks shatter and split, breaking away. An entire snowy canvas crumbles downward, its frigid breath visible in the frigid winter air.
From the North Ridge’s fringe, the whole way across the East Ridge, the mountain face slides. Snow rises like smoke across the ridge face.
The trees, little more than pathetic matchsticks against the force, fold and twist under its violent wrath. The endless wall of snow gathers speed and surges downhill straight for us. Soldiers shout orders lost to the mighty, deep-throated roar overtaking the entire settlement.
“Retreat. Retreat, damn it!” Henny swings into the saddle and fights to keep the stallion under control. The animal paws the air and squeals, ears flat against its skull and dancing around the pyre.
Panic seizes Rondo. Its citizens scream and shove for the gates in a violent stampede. Children fall with their mothers. The Kingdom Corps opens fire. I glance over and see the terror in their eyes. The bloodlust is rapidly replaced by a sickening reality crashing down from that mountain.
I limp alongside Colton. A man falls in front of us, pushed down by the panicking others. I hesitate, reaching down and offering him my trembling hand to help him up so that he doesn’t have to be trampled to death at least . . . and receive a harsh snarl in response.
“Your choice.” Colton frowns and guides me away from the fallen man.
I close my eyes with a sigh and shake my head, knowing he’s right on that. They made the choice to stay and follow Hunter. To hail Hyperion. Nothing I can possibly say or do can fix this, and even if I could, they wouldn’t change.
Nigel shrieks and crashes to the ground, flailing his hooves and flaring his nostrils at the nightmare raining down on us. The roar grows and buildings shake around us. Gunshots fill the air and the banners snap in the rushing wind.
I place a hand against his sweaty neck as Colton drops to the ground beside me, Jericho’s hunting knife in hand. The rope splits and he tosses it to me. I guide Nigel to his hooves, feeling the panic in the mule as he dances on sorrel-splashed legs and tries to pull away.
Tamblin is freed next, Colton swinging onto the mare’s bare back and turning an eye to the mountain.
“Okay boy, do it this one time without reins and a saddle.” I reach up, gather a handful of sparse mane with my left hand and drape the right over his bare back with a painful cry as the wounded hip burns. One—two—three!
My stride bouncing in time with his, I swing a leg up and over his back. Heat radiates from his sweaty hide. I slide back and lean forward, knees clinging to him and anchoring me on. My hand swats his neck.
He sweeps through the carnage of trampled people and screaming victims as soldiers dive for cover. Dogs bark and whine, their handlers struggling to keep the panicking Rondonians from crushing them as they surge westward for the snowfield. Witherwood Lane’s gate bends as many try to climb it to flee to safety. There are too many of them, though, and the gate holds strong, only serving to crush everyone who tries. The K. C. frantically struggles to get it open, but can’t under the force.
Colton gallops by on Tamblin, pointing to the lesser-crowded southern gate leading to the storehouse street. I shiver. People struggle to climb it, many falling back and ramming it in hopes that maybe, just maybe they can push through, while others do clear it and realize very quickly that gates were also erected at the crossroads just below the square to keep them from hiding in alleyways.
The big white mare slides in the slush, galloping for the gate. Her stride hitches as she bolts past Henny and Xanthos. Strong legs propel the mare into a spectacular leap. She tucks her legs under her and clears the gate and several people trying to climb over, landing with a strong bounce on the other side.
Henny’s and my eyes meet across from the pyre’s flame. A rattling darkness descends on Rondo, frigid wind rushing from the ridges and making the animals jittery.
“One more for me, Nigel.” I grasp his mane. “Let’s go boy. One more. Just like the pipe gate.”
He rears onto his haunches and takes a few sideways strides in a clumsy lope. My heels dig into his sides. A man tumbles down under his hooves, but that doesn’t stop him. I try not to wince.
The gate comes up on us fast, some people diving out of the way, but many crowding it.
“We’re going to hate ourselves for this, Nigel.” My grip tightens. “But we don’t have a choice.”
My heels dig into his sides, sending him at the people and the gate.
His sorrel legs fold under his stocky frame. Ashes paint the sunburst sorrel splashes covering his narrow face and the white ring around his left eye black. His sparse mane sticks up wildly along an arched neck. With a grunt, he pricks his long sorrel-and-white ears forward as he leaps too early—front legs clearing the gate, hind legs, not so much.
His hooves kick and twist in desperate effort to gain some leverage. I cling to him, wrapping both arms around his neck, trying not to be pulled off by people trying to use him as a ladder over the gate. Nigel fixes his eyes forward and grunts, working those powerful hindquarters like he’s done to pull plows for years.
With a sharp jolt, the mule wriggles over the gate, stumbling as he gets all four legs underneath him on the opposite side. I try not to think about it and push myself back into a sitting position, both hands clutching his mane again.
His long legs stretch forward, hindquarters propelling him into a spectacular gallop like the big white horse he was spawned from. I look back only to see the mighty black stallion clear the gate, Henny moving the reins and swatting the stallion’s neck with a desperate shout for the animal to move faster.
I cue Nigel to run faster down the graded street. He’s more than happy to oblige the command. I cling to him and feel myself being pulled backward at the choppy strides before the mule stretches out into a smoother gallop after the big white mare.
Henny glances back at the collapsing mountain, mouth agape, amber eyes determined to escape. Xanthos lifts both front legs from the snow and whinnies.
“We’re gonna die. We’re gonna die.” Colton leans forward and looks straight ahead as the mare slides down the hill.
I work the bone roses from under my sleeve and cling to them, shaking uncontrollably. Come on. Faster, Nigel. I don’t want to die.
Soldiers stand frozen in place. Every helmet turns to the mountain. T
heir rifles tremble in their hands. A few throw down their weapons and run, shouting and trying to break the hypnotic spell cast over their comrades.
Colton and Henny exchange looks as their horses gallop beside each other as if knowing this is their last ride together. I look to the little white church’s steeple. Rondo shakes. Its buildings sway. A terrifying, rushing snow wave drowns out the screams.
The bell in the steeple rings out a haunting last cry for justice.
I swat Nigel’s shoulder, threading him between the two much-taller horses and trying to keep them from slamming into the soldiers trying to cut off our escape.
His sorrel legs stretch the farthest he’s ever stretched them into a faster gallop. We nose about as far as Tamblin’s shoulder, unable to pull ahead. I reach up, making a curt gesture for the storehouse. Our only hope is to make the South Ridge.
I lean back, slowing the mule to a lope to give Tamblin the lead and thread him through the thick Kingdom Corps-filled street. Darkness overshadows us. Another livestock gate bars our path.
“Come on boy.” I lean forward and feel the mule gather himself and leap. My knees cling to his slick sides and for a moment I’m suspended over him, watching the ground rush up. Nigel’s front hooves take the landing fast. I lurch forward, almost going over his neck, before reclaiming my seat as he rocks back and bolts forward.
Tamblin surges strides in front of us, head down as if she’s running a derby. Colton leans forward, hands tangled in her mane and doesn’t look back.
Sweat soaks the black stallion. Nostrils flare and roar almost as loud as what’s rushing downhill behind us. Henny moves the reins forward, knees hugging the saddle and ponytail flagging behind him.
He draws the animal broadside the mule and looks down. Fear and rage wrestle for control deep within them, settling on determination.
A hand reaches down and seizes my buckskin sleeve just above the wound he inflicted days ago. I stiffen with a shout.
Nigel’s stride hitches, confused by the cryptic movement.
“Let go!” I dig a heel into the poor mule’s side and frantically try to free myself as we break from Rondo.
Nigel swings closer to the stallion.
The young man drops the reins and grabs with the other hand. I’m lifted halfway off the mule, left leg dangling between two galloping animals.
Terror seizes me. I scream and lean back toward the mule, throwing a punch and nailing Henny. He flinches but tightens his grip.
Up ahead, the rising forest beckons.
Xanthos tosses his head, the big animal tiring and losing ground. Henny kicks him harder and forces him ahead of Nigel. He leans almost completely over, letting go of my shoulder and grabbing the fringes across my jacket’s back.
“Get up here with me.” Stern amber eyes harbor a promise that he really is going to either pull me off the mule or drop me between both thundering steeds to be trampled.
Nigel slams against the stallion’s side, biting at the larger animal. Pain burns my leg as horseflesh pins me. The young man’s brow furrows and he makes one last effort to haul me from my mule.
“No.” I sweep a hand up. The bone roses spin and clack. The braided leather throng slips through my thin fingers. The stag charm catches against my palm as I clench my hand, halting the roses. They sweep down.
Henny shouts and releases me. The black stallion swings wide and almost into a group of fleeing soldiers before moving back onto the snowy trail.
The young man hisses and holds a palm across his left eye, blood dripping down. The right one widens in horror.
“Ragamuffin! Look out!” The command rivals a loud, thunderous crack.
Nigel squeals and goes rigid midstride, front hooves slamming into the snow. His knees fold, his muzzle goes down, vanishing under him as his hindquarters fly up and twist sideways.
Cold white ground slams my shoulders, driving my breath from my lungs. Heavy weight rolls over, his withers driving me into the snow as several hundred pounds of mule tumble over me.
I shake violently, lying on the ground, staring up at the sky. Nigel brays and scrambles in frantic attempt to get back up. His long legs grab for the snow and he trembles.
The mule manages to get all four legs back under him and crawls into a standing position. He takes a trembling step and almost goes down, favoring his left front leg. Blood pours from his left shoulder.
I look behind me. A terrifying white ocean slams into Rondo. Screams fall to the loud, vengeful roar as the buildings collapse. The church bell tolls wildly and vanishes in a curtain of white.
God forgive us all . . .
Henny lands in the snow and sprints across the path. He reaches under my arms and pulls me to my feet.
Nigel looks over at us and the rushing snow. Xanthos tosses his head and bolts deeper into the ridge, where Colton knocks two rogue soldiers to the ground and guides the mare over them.
I look to the mule and throw both hands up, giving him the one command no rustler ever should have to give.
Leave me behind.
The mule tosses his head and flicks his ears. I repeat the motion. He swishes his tail and jogs a few limping steps before stopping and looking back. The third time I give the command he bolts, clumsy strides carrying him away from us.
Henny clutches my hand and looks for anything we can use to save ourselves. After several seconds, he settles on a nearby pine tree.
“Run.” He sprints for it, taking me with him.
Terror floods my veins, all sense of reason fleeing. I limp after him, clinging to his hand.
Behind us, the storehouse and Matthew’s Chevy vanish. Henny wraps an arm around me and draws me to his chest. He hooks the tree with the other.
I cling to him like a little child, too scared to fight.
Everything goes dark around us. Snow scalds my exposed flesh. Each frantic breath burns and labors. Horrifying force tears into the ridge and the trees, seizing my legs, bowling them out from under me and ripping me down.
I grab for Henny. His amber eyes flash briefly and vanish in the snow. My hand slips from his. Churning snow crashes and slams my small body end over end. I frantically claw in desperation for the surface. Unlike water, snow grants little mercy. I briefly glimpse the sky before being ripped deep beneath the surface by much stronger snow.
Please no! Help!
The heavy darkness makes it impossible to see. My hands claw around and meet resistance, unable to best the crushing weight. Cold snow presses down from all angles and I can’t tell if I’m digging deeper or closer to freedom.
The violent tumbling comes to an abrupt, bone-jarring stop. Thick snow renders any and all movement impossible, suffocating cold and a frigid silence pressing painfully from every direction.
I can’t see anything. No limbs respond. My chest heaves. Each breath strains under the crushing weight. Panicky gasps struggle for even one final breath. I move my lips in the tiny pocket of darkness holding back snow from completely filling my mouth and nose, unable to hear even the softest screams.
Chapter Forty-Seven
I’m lying in a field of endless white. Stark, pure, blinding white. Everything hurts and I can barely move.
Shh. Don’t try to move.
Cold snowflakes drift down and settle against my cheek. S-so cold . . .
Just stay there. You’ll be okay.
The white field drifts in and out of focus with the soft, Southeastern Territory-accented whispers. So much white. So cold. Is Heaven supposed to be this cold? Jericho never said. It can’t be Hell. Hell is supposed to be fiery and hot.
It’ll be okay.
Where am I? It looks kind of like our snowfield. But where is Rondo? Who’s speaking? Matthew?
My blue eyes strain, seeing white in all directions. Rondo is nowhere to be seen, like it never even existed. In the distance I can kind of see the faint outlines of metal rinds and a wooden barn. That looks kind of like farmer Addison’s barn. That can’t be right. Can it? I s
quint, trying to bring it into better focus. It looks awfully familiar though.
My eyes follow the trail from the snowfield to the rising steeple of a little white church, standing sentinel over the western side of Rondo. It stands with the farmhouse and cottage, overlooking a river of white to the east where the square and slums once stood. A shiver creeps through me at everyone who didn’t make it out in time. Tiny black dots move around the church, no doubt the few who did manage to make it over the gates.
I tilt my head back and try to sit up.
Pain stabs my chest and I don’t even get an inch from the ground before I settle against the snow, too weak to move.
Two young men shout at each other in the distance. Their arms wave and gesture wildly, the blond one screaming at the redhead, who yells back just as loudly. The words don’t make sense, tumbling into a dull roaring in my ears.
A warm hand touches my cheek and I briefly smell hay and upturned earth.
My eyelids weigh heavier. I let them fall, accepting the quiet, soothing darkness that welcomes me.
A dull clacking interrupts a dreamless sleep. Something thick and warm wraps around my body. Vibrations course under me, rolling forward and then back in time with the clacking.
Gone is the little white church, replaced by wooden boards and cold gray light flows through the tiny cracks. Straw rustles somewhere to the left. A thick wool blanket slides from my battered and bruised body. I feel a thick bandage around my midsection, covering the wound above my hip.
The world spins and I fight to stay sitting up. Everything sways. Am I moving or is the ground moving? It almost feels like the time between fleeing the pens and falling into the snow around Rondo. But that can’t be right. I was under the snow, likely still there, a cold, dead corpse.
“Aye, good to see you decided to wake up finally.” Colton sits, back against the slatted boards, arms folded around his knees. “Had us worried for a bit.”
The Bone Roses Page 28
