Chapter 67
Its gnarled tendrils twist and writhe in the dim light as it plucks the first body from the pile, Pierre of the Dentist House.
It squeezes him tight before plunging needled vines into his soft belly.
The greedy Beast doesn’t even finish with him before going back for another, and then a third.
I can’t bear to watch as the bodies of people I knew and cared for—Meeman of the Fisher House, Augustus’s father Hephaestus—are consumed, don’t want to hear the wet, sucking sound of its feeding, don’t want to notice the pulsating purple veins growing engorged.
Those who watch are frozen in a mixture of disbelief and terror. “Everyone, get back!” Jarek yells, his face contorted. “It will leave us alone once it’s taken its fill.”
But somehow I doubt that’s true. The Verdant Beast, kept sated for over a century on our monthly bodies, has developed an appetite, reaching a maturity its creators couldn’t have envisioned.
A scream pierces the air as Nero of the Farmer House is grabbed, then constricted.
Leonidas leaps to his aid, but his sword barely nicks it.
The vines near Eden’s Gate are thicker, but they also look like they’re slower than the ones we encountered on the edge of the quarantine zone.
Easier to dodge, but hard to cut through.
I’m trying to decide what presents the most danger in the moment—the Beast behind me or Jarek in front of me—when he points at me.
“Take her,” he commands the nearest Guardians.
They surge forward, weapons glinting, but before they can reach me, a war cry splits the air, followed by Lozen vaulting over an overturned cart, her fists already bloodied.
Augustus takes advantage of the distraction to throw Tomris to the ground.
When Sal shoots out of the shadows of an alley, racing to free the prisoners with quick, precise movements, my heart soars.
Their presence, coupled with the Verdant Beast’s horror, finally jolts the village into action.
While some scream and flee, many more grab nearby items to use as weapons—wood beams, torches, pitchforks—and advance on the Beast. The strong save the bodies of our fallen, pulling them from the monster’s hungry grasp.
We are finally battling as one! I cheer on those who’ve joined the fight as I duck under a Guardian who tries to grab me.
Beside me, Augustus takes down another with a sweep of his pipe.
Even more villagers join the fray, now fighting the Guardians as well as the Verdant Beast, their desperate fury making up for their lack of training.
We might actually have a chance this time—
“Enough!” Jarek’s voice cracks like a whip above the pandemonium.
He draws his sword, the blade catching the moonlight as he moves like lightning toward Augustus.
Suddenly the Plumber is on the ground, blood streaming from a gash in his arm.
Sal tries to intervene but takes a kick to the ribs that sends her sprawling.
Even Lozen with all her training can barely hold her own against Jarek in full battle rage.
His blade slices the air in clean, merciless arcs as he holds off several villagers at once.
Now that I see the true extent of his skill, it terrifies me.
I’m searching for a weapon when a new fighter stumbles onto the scene, his movements sluggish but determined. Gryphon. The drugs I gave him have left him disoriented, but his eyes burn with purpose as he barrels toward his father.
“Stand down, boy,” Jarek snarls. “You’re in no condition to fight.”
Gryphon answers with a wild swing that Jarek easily deflects, but it forces him to step back.
“You taught me to never stand down,” Gryphon says, slurring his words, pushing farther forward. “To never show weakness.” Another swing, this one better coordinated. The words that follow are a little clearer. “Guess the lesson stuck.”
I try to circle Jarek while he’s distracted, looking for something I can use as a bo staff, but one of his remaining Guardians blocks my path. Behind us, I can hear the chilling, leathery shush of the Verdant Beast’s vines creeping closer.
“You disappoint me,” Jarek tells his son, parrying another attack as Gryphon drives him closer to Eden’s Gate. “I thought you were stronger than this. Thought you understood what needed to be done to survive.”
“Survival isn’t enough!” Gryphon shouts. His next strike draws blood, a thin line across Jarek’s cheek. “You taught me that, too. You taught me to conquer, to dominate. But you never taught me to live.”
I think Gryphon might stand a chance if he had all his faculties, but he overplays his hand. His next swing goes wide, and Jarek raises his blade for the killing strike.
“No!” I scream.
A flash of movement catches my eye. Misia had been fighting off the Verdant Beast but she turns at her son’s need, a knife gleaming in her hand.
She moves with the silent grace of someone who’s spent years making herself invisible, reaching Jarek’s side before he senses her presence.
Her blade slides between his ribs, not deep enough to kill but enough to make him howl in fury.
“My wife,” he growls, whipping around to face her. “Finally showing your true colors.”
“My true colors?” Misia’s laugh is as bitter as winter wind. “You never saw my colors at all. You only saw what you wanted to see. A vessel for your own ambition.”
If she’d hoped that would slow him, she banked wrong.
Jarek attacks with renewed fury, driving both Misia and Gryphon back.
The two of them fight together beautifully, mother and son moving in tandem, but it’s not enough.
Jarek is too skilled, too strong. And despite it all, they don’t want to hurt him.
I see the moment it starts to go wrong. Gryphon stumbles, the drugs still clouding his reflexes.
Misia moves to protect him, leaving herself open. Jarek’s blade arcs through the air—
I don’t think. I just move, launching myself at Jarek.
I feel the slap of steel against my side as his blade comes down at an angle, sparing my life.
Still, the pain is immediate and intense, and I instinctively roll away.
Lozen appears beside me, helping me to my feet while Sal and Augustus move to protect me.
Oscar, Meryl, and Eero soon follow. The nearest villagers form a half circle around us, armed with tools and makeshift weapons.
Gryphon and Misia move to stand alongside them.
Jarek is suddenly outnumbered, his back to the Beast.
He swipes at the blood running down his side from Misia’s wound, his face twisted with rage. He holds up his bloody fist. “ENOUGH!” he screams, voice echoing through the Valley, reverberating up the Wall. “I’ll kill you all myself if I must. I’m the only one strong enough to—”
He never finishes the sentence.
A vine as thick as a tree trunk unfurls toward him, its barbs reaching like fingertips. It comes from behind, wrapping around Jarek’s neck and lifting him off his feet. He slashes at it with his sword, but it only coils more of itself, cocooning him in a bristling, violet-green embrace.
“No!” he screams. “I am strong! I am—”
The vines contract.
There’s a wet, popping sound. Jarek’s blood rains down.