by Brandon Mull
Tarik placed his large hand on her shoulder. “Meilin, you are full of surprises. I’ll be slow to doubt you again, or Essix for that matter. We’re lucky to have you.”
15 ARAX
ONLY A DAY AFTER LEAVING THE RAVENS BEHIND, SCRUBBER found the first oversized prints. The land around them was completely wild and there was no longer any trail to follow. The three prints were old, preserved when Arax had stepped in a muddy patch that had long since dried.
As the others mounted up to move on, Rollan remained crouched by the prints, tracing them with his finger, trying to imagine the size of Arax. Since the prints were much larger than any the horses made, Rollan knew the ram must be enormous. What ram was the size of a horse? Let alone larger!
“Are you coming?” Conor asked from astride his mount.
Rollan looked up. Having sniffed the prints, Briggan had run up front to travel with Barlow. But Conor had lingered behind.
“Ever herd any sheep this size?” Rollan wondered, rising to cross to his horse.
Conor laughed. “We had some beauties, but none made tracks like this.”
Rollan swung up into his saddle. He glanced back at the prints. “Are we sure we want to find this thing?”
Conor shrugged. “If we want the talisman.” He kicked his horse into a trot.
Rollan nudged his horse with his heels and matched Conor’s pace, staying beside him. “The talisman is supposed to be a Granite Ram, right? At least according to Tarik.”
“Yes. Its powers should have something to do with a ram.”
“We should just sit back and let Meilin handle it.”
Conor laughed. “She was sure something back there.”
“I grew up on the streets of a big city,” Rollan said. “I’ve seen — and joined — lots of brawls. Between kids, between adults. But I’ve never seen anybody fight like her. Not even close.”
“Did you see how quick she punched? She could hit me ten times before I hit her twice.”
“And she’d block both your tries. Mine too. What are we even doing here?”
“I ask myself that all the time,” Conor muttered. “But we have our animals.”
Rollan glanced skyward. Essix was nowhere to be seen. “At least you do. What’s your secret?”
“I talk to him, I play with him,” Conor said. “You see what I do. I’m not giving him secret lessons while you sleep.”
“I talk to Essix when she’s around,” Rollan said. “I feel like she tolerates me. I wish we really understood each other.”
“I don’t know how much I understand Briggan,” Conor said. “We’re closer than at first. But he likes to do his own thing too. Run off out of sight. Sniff everything.”
“But he comes back. And he pays attention to you.”
“Essix comes when it matters,” Conor said.
“I guess,” Rollan said. “I’ve always been pretty good at reading people, you know? I had to be, living how I did. Plenty of seedy folks might have hurt me if I wasn’t careful. But with Essix helping, even more little details jump out at me.”
“That’s useful.”
“I wish I could get her into the dormant state.”
“I have the same problem with Briggan.”
Rollan snorted. “The Queen of Perfection has been doing it since we met her. I’d ask how she managed it if she’d ever talk with us.”
“We shouldn’t be too hard on her. She’s probably just shy.”
Rollan laughed. “That’s one possibility. You don’t really think that’s all it is, though, do you? I know you’re nice, and you were raised in sheep pastures, but you can’t be that oblivious.”
Conor reddened a little. “Are you saying she thinks she’s better than us?”
“I said no such thing . . . but you just did.”
“Maybe she is better than us.”
Rollan laughed again. “You might be right. She sure fights better. She has more control over her spirit animal, she’s rich, she’s prettier, and her dad is a general.”
“We’re all on the same team,” Conor said. “Whatever her background, Meilin joined the Greencloaks just like me.”
Rollan’s face clouded. “I get it. I’m the black sheep. You’re all Greencloaks — I’m not. Why are you always pressuring me?”
“That pressure you feel is called a conscience,” Conor said, holding Rollan in a steady gaze.
“I wouldn’t know about consciences. My mother didn’t teach me much before she abandoned me.”
“My father rented me as a servant to pay his debts,” Conor returned.
Rollan couldn’t believe this was becoming a competition. “Look, my terrible childhood is all I’ve got! Don’t you dare try to top it.”
That won a reluctant smile from Conor. “You never saw my father in a foul mood,” he joked. “But yeah, I guess you win.”
“It’s nice to win at something,” Rollan said.
Later that day, the wind picked up. As clouds gathered, the sky darkened to the uneven color of an old bruise. The afternoon grew colder, and Conor showed Rollan how to wrap his blanket over his cloak.
“You need layers,” Conor warned as he situated his own blanket around his shoulders. “Once you start to freeze, it’s tough to get warm again.”
“Think it’ll get worse?” Rollan wondered.
“I don’t like this sky,” Conor said. “I’ve only seen it like this when harsh weather is coming.”
“You’ve a good feel for it,” Barlow said, approaching on his horse. “If we were on flatter ground, I’d worry about tornadoes.”
“Tornadoes!” Rollan exclaimed. He studied the ugly clouds. Of course there would be tornadoes. Otherwise fighting the giant ram would feel too easy. “Wouldn’t they be worse in the mountains? We’d get blown off a cliff.”
The terrain had grown more rugged throughout the day. The ravines were deeper and steeper, the surrounding peaks loomed higher, and the evergreens grew in odd, twisted shapes at this altitude. They passed broad expanses of bare rock and jumbled scree. Rollan didn’t like when his horse had to walk near a drop-off, as they were now. He was allergic to the whole falling thing.
“There aren’t as many whirlwinds in the mountains as you’ll find in open country,” Barlow said. “But that doesn’t mean things won’t get nasty. We could get a windstorm. Rain. Maybe a blizzard.”
“We could probably take shelter against that precipice up ahead,” Conor said, pointing. “It’s angled to provide some overhang, so the rain can’t fall straight on us. Unless the wind changes, it should shield us quite a bit. The little pines by the base will give us extra protection. And there’s plenty of higher ground in the area to draw off lightning.”
“Whoa!” Barlow exclaimed. “Somebody has spent some time outdoors!”
Conor dropped his head, but Rollan could see he was pleased. “I used to herd sheep.”
“Monte!” Barlow called. “Conor thinks we should pause at the base of that precipice until we see how the weather is turning.”
Monte stopped his horse and scanned the area. “The boy has some sense. I agree.”
“Just you wait until we have to scrounge a meal in a bad neighborhood,” Rollan told Conor. “Then you’ll be glad I came along.”
“I’m already glad,” Conor said. A big gust almost blew his blanket off. He gripped it tightly until the wind subsided. “You might want to call in Essix.”
Rollan looked up. The sky had gotten even murkier, and he couldn’t see his falcon anywhere. “Essix!” he yelled. “Come in! There’s a storm brewing!”
The wind gusted again, and stinging pellets of grit hit his face. As the wind died down, he heard the clack of pebbles falling around him, but there was nothing above but the open sky.
“Hail!” Barlow bellowed. “Ride for the rock face!”
Something clonked Rollan on the head. It hurt even through his hood. He now saw that what he had taken for pebbles were balls of ice, growing bigger by the second.
Conor broke into a gallop. Rollan dug his heels into his horse and snapped the reins. As his mount started running, the hail began to pelt down in earnest. Hailstones battered the surrounding rocks, ricocheting wildly.
A stone hit him on the hand, shocking him with the force of it. Rollan ducked his head to protect his face. The wind gusted again, full of projectiles. Tarik and Meilin had already reached the modest shelter. Monte would get there next. Then Conor. Barlow was bringing up the rear.
A hailstone struck Rollan square in the forehead. Before he knew what had happened, he had tipped sideways in his saddle and was leaning crazily over the horse’s flank. One foot remained in its stirrup, but Rollan’s whole weight was off-balance and the ground rushed under him, alarmingly close. Tilting forward, he embraced his horse. To fall on the rocks at this speed would mean serious injuries. His horse slowed to a trot, and a strong hand grabbed Rollan by the shoulder and righted him in his saddle.
“You okay?” Barlow checked, yelling over the wind and the clattering hail.
Considering the circumstances, Rollan figured being alive was the same thing as being okay.
“Let’s keep going!” Rollan replied, leaning into the neck of his horse.
The hail was really coming down. The smallest pieces were now as large as Rollan’s thumb. Some were almost the size of his fist. He could feel the agitated breathing of the horse beneath him as they raced toward the shelter.
Rollan and Barlow reached the safety of the precipice and swung off their horses. Only when Rollan tasted blood in his mouth did he realize that it was spilling down his face from a gash near his hairline.
Tarik had Rollan sit with his back to the precipice, and the veteran Greencloak produced a clean handkerchief. Hail continued to smash down noisily, but it couldn’t hit them directly. Some fragments skipped their way after impact.
Conor helped Barlow and Monte position the horses so they would provide an extra barrier against the wind. Meilin came and crouched beside Rollan, Jhi beside her. The panda leaned over and licked Rollan’s forehead.
“Would you look at that,” Tarik remarked.
“What?” Rollan asked. Something already felt different.
“Your wound is closing up,” Tarik said. He looked up at Meilin. “Did you know what Jhi was doing?”
“I released her and asked her to help him,” Meilin said. “Jhi is supposed to be a gifted healer.”
“It wasn’t a horrible wound,” Tarik explained, “but it might have bled a lot. Thanks to the panda, it’s clotting already. You’re lucky.”
“Is that what you call it when an iceberg lands on your head?” Rollan asked.
“It’s what I call it when most of the harm is undone,” Tarik replied.
Rollan glanced guiltily at Meilin and Jhi. “Thanks. That was kind. I think I can take it from here.” He still felt a little woozy, and wasn’t sure how much panda spit he wanted on his face.
“Happy to help,” Meilin said.
While Barlow and Monte tried to light a fire, Tarik made sure everyone was as bundled as possible. The wind was howling now, but their shelter kept them from the worst of it. The hail shrank to marble-sized pellets, accumulating in drifts.
“I’ve never seen a hailstorm like this,” Monte commented after he gave up on the fire and the group huddled together for warmth. “It can’t be coincidence.”
“You believe Arax sent it to drive us away?” Meilin asked.
“If so, it’ll take more than a little ice,” Tarik said.
“Tell that to my skull,” Rollan grumbled. “No luck with the fire?”
Monte shook his head.
“Too much wind,” Barlow said. “And no good kindling.”
Between the legs of the horses, Rollan could see the hail blowing almost sideways now. With growing desperation, he scanned the skies for Essix, but couldn’t find any trace of her.
“Do you guys think Essix will be all right?” he asked, almost scared to voice the question.
“She probably found shelter before we did,” Barlow said. “Her instincts should keep her safe through worse than this.”
“The ice just keeps coming,” Monte noted.
“We’ll wait it out,” Tarik said. “No storm lasts forever.”
Rollan nodded vaguely, unsure what they should fear more — the storm, or the ram that had sent it.
The hail finally relented around nightfall. Once the wind died down, Barlow and Monte got a fire going. During the night the chill broke, and by daybreak all traces of ice had melted away.
Not long after sunrise, Essix swooped in looking as sleek and glossy as ever. Rollan welcomed the bird warmly, feeding her from his saddlebags. Despite assurances from Barlow, Rollan had imagined Essix wet and suffering, delicate bones pummeled by hailstones. The falcon acted as though nothing unusual had happened, flying away once she had eaten. Rollan accepted her nonchalance with relief.
After two more days of slow trekking, they found giant ram tracks again. This time Briggan located them before Scrubber.
“Not fresh, but not old,” Monte said after examining some of the sizable prints. “Less than three days. Maybe less than two.”
“That’s really close,” Rollan said. He motioned toward some bushes. “Just to be safe, one of us should stay here and hide.”
Monte chuckled. “Maybe two of us.”
Rollan worried more than ever as they followed the tracks onward. Part of him had suspected they would never find Arax. It just seemed so far-fetched to actually encounter a Great Beast. But the fresh tracks made the possibility all too real.
They followed a mountain ridge into even more jagged country. The metallic smell of granite dominated the cool, thin air, although they could still detect a hint of pine. Vegetation became increasingly sparse — small, warped evergreens clinging to life in meager patches of soil. At times, their path led along narrow ledges barely wide enough for the horses. As they traversed a section with a dizzying cliff to the left and a sheer rock face to the right, Rollan tried not to think about what would happen if his horse stumbled. It became harder to find prints on the stonier ground, but Briggan never seemed to lose confidence.
In the afternoon, they reached a precarious stretch where the horses could not pass. Everyone collected their essential gear and weapons as Barlow and Monte hobbled the mounts. They proceeded on foot, edging sideways along a narrow lip of rock, backs to the wall. A huge drop yawned just beyond their toes. Rollan envied Essix, gliding on the breeze while everyone else risked a tremendous fall. But nobody lost their balance, and Briggan practically ran across.
On the far side of the ledge, they caught sight of Arax for the first time.
Four peaks were in view, connected by lofty saddles and laced with snow in high, shadowy pockets. The ram stood in the distance, atop a knob of stone, backlit by the sun. Even from afar, they could see he was enormous, the massive head crowned by the curling bulk of his horns. For a moment, everyone stood frozen, and then Arax leaped down out of sight.
“That was a bit closer than last time,” Barlow said, stroking his lips with a nervous hand.
“I wish we had more daylight left,” Tarik said grimly.
“He saw us,” Barlow said. “If we wait to pursue, he could be long gone by morning.”
“Then I vote we wait,” Monte said dryly.
Tarik, Briggan, and Conor led the way forward. They stepped carefully down and across an incline composed of jumbled stone, like a huge rockslide that had ground to a halt.
Down where the rock-strewn slope ended with a drop-off, they came around an immense stone slab and got a clear view of the widest, longest ledge yet. One side of the ledge bor
dered the slab — the other fell away to the valley floor. Awaiting them on the ledge was Arax.
The ram stood nearly twice as tall as their largest horse. His coat was dark silver, his thick horns golden. His form was sturdy and strong, with heavy bunches of muscle at the top of the legs and throughout the neck.
Rollan gaped up in amazement. The ram’s sheer size made him feel as though he had shrunk. This animal was older than nations, and somehow that long history seemed woven into its majestic presence. This was not a creature you stole things from — it was a creature you revered. Rollan glanced at his companions, who stood awestruck.
Arax’s ears twitched. He gave a snort, and his forelegs stamped restively. Rollan wasn’t sure what the ram expected. Were they supposed to speak? Should they run? Bow down? Arax’s eyes were unsettling, yellow as raw egg yolks, with horizontally slit pupils.
“You seek me openly,” Arax declared in a resonant voice. Rollan wasn’t sure whether he heard it with his ears, or just his mind. It seemed impossible that this gigantic beast could speak. “I have encountered two of you humans before. I let you depart in peace. Why have you returned?”
“We were guided here by a vision from Briggan,” Barlow said.
Arax cocked his head. “Briggan?” The ram’s nostrils flared. “Yes, I see. I sensed uncanny presences. I recognize them now. They are different than when we last met. Briggan and Essix. Their time has come again.”
Rollan checked the sky. Essix wheeled nearby, drifting on a breeze.
With a flash, Meilin produced Jhi. The panda sat and stared at Arax.
“Jhi as well,” Arax said, tossing his head. “Uraza?”
“Uraza is not with us,” Tarik announced. “But she has also come again.”
“I welcome their return,” Arax said. “They are far from all they once were, barely saplings, but grandeur oft proceeds from lowly origins.”
“The Four Fallen have not returned alone,” Tarik said. “The Devourer is back.”
“Ah,” Arax said. “You seek counsel. Old forces have grown active. You can cage a Great Beast, but not forever. Gerathon and Kovo are stirring.”
