Rollan unleashed Essix, and the falcon went soaring angrily up into the sky.
Abeke’s body was still singing with pain, her muscles aching and her thoughts dull, but she managed to mount the wall after the masked boy. His red cloak was already gone, but when she turned to survey what was unfolding across Stetriol, the air caught in her chest. Someone must have set blaze to a toppled supply of fireworks, because another went off, and then another, explosions streaking through the city and colliding with walls, buildings, homes, bursting into flame and light and filling the city with smoke.
Drops of rain hit the ground around her, along with debris—loosened shingles, singed pieces of canvas—but the skies had yet to truly open, and the city was beginning to break and burn.
Figures were swarming through the streets, some human, some animal, their foreheads marked by the horrible black spiral of the infected. Zerif’s creatures. They moved in a kind of hive mind, like a murmuration of starlings or a colony of ants, overtaking everyone and everything they reached. At every street some peeled away, fanning out to maximize the damage, but the core was heading straight for the castle.
She strained to find the Greencloaks and saw with horror that half of them were still on their hands and knees, crippled by the latest bond strain. Rollan had been looking past her up at the sky, swaying on his feet as his vision emptied and Essix’s dark shape swept overhead. An instant later he was back, looking ill. And she could tell he’d seen the same things.
“This way,” he said, his voice tight as Abeke jumped down, landing in a crouch beside him.
They backtracked out of the alley and reached the nearest intersection just as two infected pinned a man down in the street.
Rollan caught Abeke’s arm before she could race forward, pulled her back into the shadow of the wall as one of the infected raised a dagger to the man’s neck. Instead of striking, a dark shape emerged from his cuff and slid the length of the metal, latching on to the man’s throat. He writhed and spasmed as the parasite crawled beneath his skin, over his jaw, up his cheek. And then, too soon, his fighting stopped. His body went slack and his captors let go, and the next moment he was on his feet again, the spiral pulsing on his brow.
He lunged for the nearest woman—a Greencloak—and Abeke reached for her bow, only to remember it was back at the castle. And then Rollan’s knife went whistling through the air and caught the infected man in the hand, buying the Greencloak an extra moment, a chance to get away. Rollan grabbed Abeke’s arm as the other two infected turned toward them.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her in the direction of the castle. “We can’t save everyone, but we have to save Tasha while there’s still time.”
The streets were full of shouts, but none of them belonged to the infected. That’s what unnerved Abeke most, their silence. Their mouths hung slightly open, air rasping between their teeth. But they said nothing, only came with blade and hand and parasite, corrupting all they touched, and killing what they couldn’t. And their animals—their animals—attacked, their eyes neither keen nor wild, but empty.
Vessels for something else’s will.
A dog bit into a woman’s leg, a parasite wriggling between its teeth. A marked lizard snaked across the stone. Overhead, a hawk with a black spiral swooped for Essix, but the gyrfalcon was fast and cunning and got away. Nearby, an owl wasn’t as lucky.
Please, thought Abeke as they raced toward the castle, please never force me to see Conor like this.
They raced down the streets—streets they’d so recently wandered through laughing, now a scene of terror.
Abeke and Rollan got to the castle gates hoping to find allies, but they found only more chaos. An hour before, the courtyard had been a hub of life, locals and Greencloaks working together. Now some fought together, and others grappled, and others still struggled against their own infected friends. The courtyard was a mess of bodies, several of them down, the rest fighting. Spirit animals swooped and charged, the infected waging war against the bonded, who desperately tried to ward them off.
The infected wore an array of colors, but the clothes meant nothing to them now. The fabric hung from their bodies, the collars torn, the cuffs ragged. All thought of who they were—who they’d been—was now lost to the sickness. Some looked like they might have once been criminals while others wore the marks of nobles—but now they were stripped of everything but blind service, enslaved by Zerif. By the Wyrm.
A handful of Greencloaks were trying to hold the front steps, Bern among them.
“We have to find Tasha!” called Rollan, blocking an infected’s sword. He kicked the man in the chest and sent him sprawling backward. The infected were strong, but not agile, and it took the man several seconds to stumble to his feet, where a female Greencloak drove a dagger through his back.
“Still inside!” called Bern as he cut down another attacker, his lemur nowhere to be seen. “Find her and go.”
Abeke found a cart of weapons inside the courtyard. She took up a quiver and bow just as a woman threw herself ferally at Rollan. Abeke nocked the arrow and loosed it without hesitation; it plunged into the infected’s shoulder. But the woman only hissed and dragged the barb free, seemingly oblivious to the blood running down her front.
“Aim for the heart or the head,” ordered one of the Greencloaks. “Nothing else will stop them!”
An osprey shrieked and dove for Abeke’s face, talons outstretched, only to be taken down by another Greencloak’s arrow. But as she turned to thank the archer, the man fell to an infected with a jagged knife.
Rollan surged up ahead, vanishing into the castle, but just as Abeke reached the entrance, a wild dog sprang through. It lunged for Abeke, its pale fur marred by the black spiral above its eyes as it took her down, pinning her against the landing. She dug her hands into its scruff and fought back its snapping jaws, and then in a flash of light Uraza was there. The leopard pounced, tearing off the dog; it went rolling down the steps. Abeke got to her feet and said a breathless thanks before she and Uraza plunged into the castle.
More Greencloaks fighting. More falling. A blond woman, one of the Greencloaks from the Tellun’s Pride II, was now on her knees, clawing at her throat as a dark shape crawled beneath her skin. Abeke saw the horrible moment when the fighting stopped and the struggle went out of her eyes.
“In here!” called Rollan from up ahead.
They found Tasha in one of the great halls, cornered by enemies. Two women, a man, and a jaguar. The man was a Greencloak, and one of the women a Stetriolan noble, and none of that mattered because all of them bore the mark of the infected on their skin. Tasha’s back was up against the wall, a broken chair leg clutched in her hands, and Ninani before her with wings raised into a large white shield.
More steps were coming down the hall. Not the even tread of allies, but the lumbering tread of those already lost. Rollan spun and barred the door, shoving a shelf in front of it.
And even though Abeke knew they couldn’t go back out that way, knew the odds would only get worse with the doors open, she still felt trapped. Which, of course, they were.
“Hey!” Rollan called to the attackers cornering Tasha. “Let’s even things out!”
Two of the infected turned at the sound of Rollan’s voice, but the third was undeterred, still advancing on Tasha and Ninani. She was reaching toward the swan, a black worm in her palm.
It all happened so fast.
Ninani hissed and reared, and Abeke drew her bow and launched an arrow, piercing the woman’s hand and knocking the parasite to the floor. Tasha surged past the swan and swung the chair leg as hard as she could, missing the first time, but landing a blow the second time that dropped the woman to the ground, dazed.
“Ha!” said Tasha triumphantly, just before the woman grabbed her foot and sent her sprawling to the floor, chair leg rolling out of her grip.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Tasha as she tried to scramble away, kicking as the woman crawled toward
her, grasping.
Abeke nocked another arrow and loosed it.
Aim for the heart or the head.
The barb found its mark, and the woman fell lifeless to the floor in front of the girl.
Tasha’s face flooded with relief, but the fight was far from over.
The jaguar turned its hollow gaze on Uraza, who yowled and leaped forward, the two big cats colliding and going down in a tangle of claws and teeth.
Rollan took on one of the attackers, a woman with stringy black hair, and Abeke faced the other, a lanky teen lifting a knife. They both had loose parasites climbing over their clothes, searching for their next host.
“Don’t let them touch you,” Abeke told Rollan.
“Don’t worry,” said Rollan, turning a knife in his hand. “I’m not letting them get close.”
He slashed with the knife, but the woman dodged, the movement eerily fast and fluid. Her fingers tangled in his collar and he struggled before clocking her upside the head with the butt of the blade.
“Aaahh,” said Rollan, shaking the parasite from his cloak and crushing it underfoot as the lanky man slashed at Abeke. He was too close for her to shoot, and when she brought the bow up to deflect, his knife came down hard, cracking the wood. She swept his legs out from under him, then cracked her boot across his face.
Abeke spun, searching for Uraza. The first thing she saw was the jaguar’s body slumped on the ground. And then it shifted, rolled aside, and the leopard dragged herself slowly to her feet. A gash ran along Uraza’s shoulder, and when Abeke saw her spirit animal’s lumbering step, her heart stopped with fear. But then the leopard dragged her gaze up, and her eyes were clear and violet, with no sign of infection, no parasite. Abeke threw her arms around the leopard, pressing her forehead to the Great Beast’s muzzle.
“Not to break up a moment,” cut in Rollan as he crossed to the window, “but we need to go. Tasha. Ninani.”
The girl was on her feet again. In a flash of light, the swan vanished, reappearing as a pattern of wings and the curve of a neck down Tasha’s arm.
On the other side of the room, the doors shook.
Someone was trying to get in. Abeke hesitated, glancing back.
“Come on,” he said. “Help me get this window open.”
“What if it’s Bern?” she asked.
Rollan swallowed. “I don’t think it’s Bern.”
“We should make sure,” she pressed.
He looked to the doors. “Bern?” he called out. “Is that you?” There was no answer, only a growl, and the shudder of the doors against the chest. Rollan looked back at Abeke. “Not Bern. Come on.”
He put his weight behind the massive latch—the wood swollen from the storm—and Abeke and Tasha joined him. Together they got the metal to turn, and the window swung open.
The great hall looked out onto the garden a story below, where the fighting had already spilled into the mazelike greenery. More Greencloaks fought amid the hedges and flower-covered cages, but for every one that won, two seemed to fall, and half of those rose again with vicious black marks across their foreheads. The infection was spreading. There were too many to fight.
There was nothing waiting for them down in the garden except more danger, but the garden was circled by a wall. Its top provided a ledge of ivy-covered stone. On the other side the wall gave way not to the castle, but to the city—and beyond that somewhere, the docks and the ship and the way home.
Only yesterday, Abeke had stared up at the masked stranger in red as he stood on that wall. Now she was climbing through a castle window and lowering herself onto it.
Rollan and Tasha followed. Uraza hesitated, and Abeke held out her arm, inviting the leopard back into her passive state, but Uraza refused and climbed out. Abeke didn’t know if the gesture was a sign of protection or a mark of the weakening bond. The leopard padded along the wall with her usual grace, and Abeke was grateful for the gift of her feline balance, while the rest struggled not to fall. The rain was still only a drizzle, but it was enough to slick the tops of the stones on the courtyard wall. Tasha hadn’t inherited Ninani’s grace and nearly lost her balance twice, Rollan’s hand flashing out to steady her before she tumbled over the side.
And then, halfway around the wall, a Greencloak below with a pulsing brand on his forehead saw them and hissed. He began to climb one of the trellises that ran from the garden floor. He moved with the steady fearlessness of the possessed, scaling the lattice and coming toward Abeke, when Essix dove.
The gyrfalcon raked her talons over the man’s face. He went over the edge and didn’t get back up.
“Good, Essix!” called Rollan shakily as they rounded the edge of the wall. “I love that bird.”
One by one, they leaped to the stone street below.
Abeke and Uraza both landed in a crouch. Rollan dropped less gracefully over the edge, but still ended up on his feet. He turned to help Tasha down, but to their surprise, the girl landed and rolled. There was something almost—almost—graceful about it.
“Full of surprises,” said Rollan, helping her to her feet.
Castle bells rang out overhead. When Abeke glanced back, craning to see, she thought she caught sight of a Greencloak in one of the higher towers—maybe Bern—summoning the infected, drawing their attention back into the castle and away from the young Greencloaks fleeing its walls.
There was a main road that ran from the castle to the docks, but that one was brimming with smoke and fire and fighting bodies. There were too many falling. Too many spiral marks.
“Rollan,” said Abeke, “can you lead us?”
Rollan flashed an exhausted smirk and tipped his head back for an instant, eyes closed. His lips started to move, and Abeke leaned closer to hear what he was saying—second left, third right, first right, third left—as he tried to memorize the city. When his eyes flashed open again, he nodded, and they set out.
With Rollan’s help—and Essix’s bird’s-eye view—they made it through the city without being seen, let alone overtaken. All around them, swords clashed and arrows flew on the streets. Beastly snarls and shrieks were woven in with the more human shouts. Uraza prowled at Abeke’s side, ears twitching with the sounds of the falling Stetriol.
And then, somewhere between the main square and the docks, the storm truly broke.
Rain pounded the city, weighing down their cloaks and slowing their steps. The leopard growled in displeasure, but Abeke didn’t care about getting wet. They were almost to the docks, and the ship, and safety. Rollan said something, but the downpour swallowed his voice. Abeke could hardly hear over the storm, so she didn’t notice the steps closing in until it was too late.
The back alleys vanished behind them, the roads converged, and the last stretch of space before the docks was laid bare. The docks themselves were eerily empty. A dozen boats ran ashore—a mismatched array of skiffs and galleys and ships, devoid of crews, their ranks now on land, and tearing apart the city.
Abeke, Rollan, and Tasha raced as fast as they could. They were nearly to the mouth of the docks, the Tellun’s Pride II in sight, when the infected finally fell upon them. They spilled like wasps out of the cracks to every side, a voiceless army of empty eyes and marked skin, puppets on someone else’s strings.
Abeke was out of arrows, Rollan out of knives. Tasha’s fists were clenched and shaking from shock.
The infected were a wall, a cage, closing in.
It wasn’t fair. The ship was so close. It was right there, beyond a barricade of men and women and beasts.
And then, between a flash of lightning and the echo of thunder, she saw it.
A glimpse of red.
He came back, thought Abeke as the figure in the faceless mask vaulted into the fray.
And this time he wasn’t alone.
A sea of crimson followed in his wake. A dozen masked figures, all in red, the others with the faces of dogs and cats, rams and boars and deer. They came with staffs and swords and daggers, and a few e
ven seemed to have claws. They moved with inhuman speed and animal strength, slamming into the wall of enemies, forcing them back and carving a path to the ship.
“Go!” said the boy in the faceless mask.
And they did, lunging through the gap in the infected horde before it could close again. Essix soared ahead, landing on the ship’s rail as the others raced down the dock.
“Worthy! Stead! Shadow!” called the stranger. Three of the red cloaks barred the path to the docks, holding the enemies at bay with blade and arrow.
Who were they? How were they so strong? The questions tangled in Abeke’s head as they raced to the Tellun’s Pride II and freed the ropes from their anchors on the dock. The tethers fell away and the kids clambered up the plank onto the deck. Together, Rollan and Abeke forced the wet canvas of the sails open, and the ship shuddered slightly as the fabric filled with storm wind.
But even as the sails filled, the ship didn’t move.
It was caught on something, wedged by some unseen debris.
No, thought Abeke. No, no, no, we’re so close.
As if he could read her mind, the figure in the faceless mask peeled away from the fight, leaping over the infected and the barricade of his own, and sprinting down the dock toward the ship.
He took up an oar, braced it against the hull, and pushed with all his strength.
“Please,” called Abeke as the ship groaned and began to move. “Tell me who you are.”
The stranger looked up and met her eyes.
“We are the Redcloaks,” he said.
The ship slid free, jerking away as the wind caught the sails, and the stranger was gone, a blur of crimson back into the fray.
Thank you, she wanted to say, the words now lost with the rest of Stetriol.
The storm battered the water and caught up the ship, dragging it out into the bay.
Rollan leaned into the ship’s wheel while Tasha stood at the side, gripping the rail and watching her home crumble.
Abeke stared, too, feeling numb. What had an hour before been a vibrant city filled with fireworks and celebration was now a city plunged into madness and panic.