Chapter 22 #2
Marquis, Serena and Freddie are still fighting, their faces caked in blood and soot. Beside them are Hollingsworth, Sophie, Gideon and Cormac, and a whole group of rebels and Guardians. And yet the air is still full of Bulgarian dragons.
‘Viv!’ Marquis shouts as we approach the Speerspitzes.
He jumps down and embraces me, his clothes slick with sweat. He smells of gunpowder and his eyes are red-rimmed with exhaustion. He glances at Atlas, then Ruth.
‘Where have you been?’ Serena says as she loads another poisonous sphere into the barrel of a Speerspitze.
Freddie stands behind her and reaches around to adjust the positioning of the gun’s muzzle.
Rebels run past as a shadow drops across the beach.
Krasimir flies over us, his neck still dripping with blood.
His talons reach for a human in his path, lifting them into the air before flinging them back down against the rock.
‘Incoming!’ Freddie shouts.
Krasimir turns and glides back towards us, his huge body glistening, his talons trailing innards.
I see Aodahn, Cindra and Aberdine move across the sky.
They strike from above, so much smaller than Krasimir but slicing wounds into his skin like hungry vultures.
More wyverns attack from the ground and when Krasimir swoops down on them they disappear into the sand, tunnelling out of sight before I can blink.
Freddie swings the gun in Krasimir’s direction but the Bolgorith veers sideways as Serena fires.
Another Bolgorith sends flames careening towards the wyverns and when Aberdine shoots upwards to avoid them, Krasimir catches her by the neck.
She convulses for several seconds before he clamps his jaw closed, then lets her drop unceremoniously to the ground.
Cindra lets out a heartbroken yowl and flies at Krasimir again just as several other rebel dragons join her.
I recognise Yndrir, another Bletchley dragon, among them.
As they attack, the rest of the Bulgarian dragons swarm around Krasimir.
I count about over fifty, all battle-worn but still going strong.
‘Retreat!’ someone bellows.
Cormac is ordering a huge crowd of gun-toting rebels to shelter as the body of a British dragon slams on to the sand. Above, its murderer breathes a ring of fire around the remains of the tents. Rebels scream, fleeing across the beach.
My eyes meet Atlas’s wild stare. ‘No human will survive this.’
He turns to Ruth and says something. She runs into the crowd and begins leading people towards the cave we just came from.
‘Where’s Chumana?’ Sophie shouts at me.
A glint of orange fizzes in the corner of my eye and I pull her into the sand. The Speerspitzes to our left erupt into flames and Serena screams, the left arm of her jacket on fire.
‘Serena!’ Marquis bellows.
Freddie throws his body on top of hers, smothering the flames with his hands, then pulls her up and drags her away from the raging fire.
I crawl across the sand to reach them. ‘Is she okay?’
Serena is sobbing, holding her arm as violent tremors take over her body.
‘We have to go back to the caves,’ I say, looking around until I spot Hollingsworth, firing with Cormac.
Freddie nods and lifts Serena off the sand as Atlas runs for Hollingsworth.
I see her argue with him beneath the flickering shadow of flames.
Then her eyes land on me. I feel something inside me shrivel.
Does she have a way of contacting Goranov from here?
Atlas shouts something at her. She gives a small nod, abandoning the Speerspitze, and he hurries back towards me.
‘What did you say to her?’
‘I told her Chumana knows about her plan,’ Atlas says. ‘And that if she tries anything, she’ll soon be dead.’
‘Chumana is—’
‘She doesn’t know,’ Atlas says. ‘Let’s keep it that way for now.’
‘This way!’ Ruth shouts, leading us back in the direction of the tunnel.
I seize Atlas’s hand and run, then stumble on a body in the sand. I leap backwards as I stare into a cold, dead face.
Ralph.
My eyes land on his empty gaze and I feel nothing. His skin is smooth and pale, marked only by a spot of blood left from a shaving cut. His chest is oddly sunken. He must have been crushed when he and Goranov fell from the sky.
But where is his master?
‘We’re losing,’ I gasp as Freddie and Marquis carry Serena past me and through the cave entrance. Ruth is running to and fro along the cliff face, gesturing to rebels and children to follow her.
‘Viv!’ Atlas says.
He pulls me into the cave. We flatten ourselves against the cold wall as more people rush inside.
Awful roars sound on the beach and inside the cave, fearful eyes glint in the darkness.
I stare out at the battle, every patch of sky and hilltop lit by fire.
Ursa is hidden away somewhere with Dr Seymour and her baby.
If the Bulgarian dragons take over tonight, will they have to live underground forever?
There are hundreds of people inside the cave, a mix of Guardians, uniformed rebel soldiers, Canna children and civilians who must have flown in from the mainland.
I see a huddle of kids armed with flint knives and spot Jasper among them.
He nods at me as he watches Freddie bandage Serena’s arm.
I pick my way through the crowd towards them.
Serena has stopped shaking but her face is twisted in a grimace of pain.
Freddie has wrapped her burn in a wet handkerchief and is helping her hoist her arm into a sling.
‘That’ll keep it from getting infected,’ he mutters as she blinks in surprise.
‘We were promised planes,’ I hear someone shout. ‘Fire-breathing ones. So where in God’s name are they?’
I turn around.
‘We flew in here on a suicide mission,’ the man is yelling, his voice echoing through the humid cave. ‘We’re all going to burn.’
I close my eyes and wipe the sweat from my brow. Outside, steam is rising off the sand.
‘Our fleet of fire-breathing planes was sabotaged when the Bolgoriths attacked Eigg a few days ago,’ says a clipped voice. Hollingsworth strides into the middle of the cave. ‘Every plane we built on Eigg over the last month, save for two, was torched.’
‘Shit,’ Marquis mutters.
A soft moaning comes from the corner of the cave. It’s Edward, stretched out on the ground with George’s jacket over his shoulders, a pool of blood seeping out beneath him. I go to him, then take a step back in shock. Vomit rises in my throat. His leg is gone.
‘Pen?’ he says, looking up at me, his face as pale as sand.
‘Edward,’ I whisper.
I drop down beside him and take his hands.
‘Bolgorith,’ he says shakily, looking down at his missing limb. ‘Beecham had to tourniquet it. I’m lucky it didn’t devour me whole.’
I look at George, who stares at me with glassy eyes.
‘What are you even doing here?’ I turn my head towards Hollingsworth. ‘Have you made a habit of sending untrained soldiers into battle?’
Her eyes narrow. ‘The rebellion accepts any willing volunteer. And we were desperate.’
‘You should have stayed in London, Ed,’ I say miserably. ‘Both of you.’
‘We had to fight for our country,’ George says. ‘Looks like we’re about to die for it.’
‘It was those bloody pamphlets of yours that made me join.’ Edward squeezes my hand. ‘Your name isn’t Pen, is it?’
The pamphlets. My tiny act of rebellion actually moved people to action. I blink back tears.
‘Hyacinth always thought there was more to you than you were letting on.’
A deafening roar comes from outside and horror settles in my stomach. This is it. The battle has barely begun, but we’ve already lost.
Why did we think we could win against Bulgarian Bolgoriths?
‘Where’s the Swallow?’ someone mutters. ‘I thought she was supposed to be leading us.’
Hollingsworth gestures towards me. ‘The Swallow is—’
‘Shut up,’ Atlas snaps at her. ‘Just shut up.’
The cave goes quiet and I see Marquis reel in shock. But Hollingsworth hasn’t so much as flinched. She takes a step forward and gestures to me again.
‘Here is your Swallow,’ she says, her voice steady.
‘For months, she has worked tirelessly to win this war. She has rebelled both in the shadows and in the light, operating undercover in London and on Canna with the Hebridean Wyverns. But heroism is not always met with the victory it deserves. You have heard of the Swallow’s bravery on the radio, seen it brought to life in the lines of her likeness that fill the rebel newspapers.
And now you will witness it with your own eyes.
For she has chosen to sacrifice herself for her beloved Britannia. ’
Atlas’s hand clasps mine as my mouth turns dry. The sketches of me in Hollingsworth’s office, Serena’s radio reports . . . they were all for this. To turn me into a personality.
A martyr.
‘What’s she talking about, Viv?’ Marquis says.
‘The Bolgoriths have agreed to retreat, if they can take the Swallow with them,’ Hollingsworth says.
‘No!’ Marquis cries. He looks from her to me and then at Atlas, his eyes burning with rage. ‘Did you know?’
‘She will be honoured by the Regal Vasil, living a life of luxury and security in exchange for her blood, which has the power to keep him alive.’
Horrified gasps fill the crowd. Ruth steps out in front of me.
‘You shan’t have her,’ she spits. ‘You and Wyvernmire, you shan’t have any of our kids. We ’ent yours to take.’
‘I am no Wyvernmire,’ Hollingsworth says coldly. ‘I have campaigned to reverse the Canna project for years. I am the one who sent you those books through the smuggling caves, Ruth, along with the materials for my father’s grave. Canna’s children owe nothing to Britannia, I’ll give you that.’
Ruth scowls.
Hollingsworth’s eyes land on me and I wonder how it has come to this. Back in London, when we were studying the wyverns together, we really thought we were going to win. Her Plan B, despicable as it may be, makes sense. But I know she doesn’t want it any more than I do.