Chapter 41 The Unyielding
The Unyielding
I was falling.
Flailing.
My legs dangled in open air. My arms still gripped the branch above, but with the boy clinging to me—squeezing so tight that breathing was impossible—I wasn’t sure how long I could hold up our combined weight.
And Alastor—
He’d had to release me, or risk dragging both of us down. When the shaking began, my weight had pulled him forward, over the gap between the branches, and it was only his quick thinking that had kept him from pulling all three of us to our deaths. But where—?
The tree stopped quaking, but the branch to which I clung still bounced with added weight as Alastor hauled himself up with enviable ease.
Hope fluttered in my chest. Maybe I wasn’t going to die here after all. Maybe—
The branch shuddered again, trembling with an aftershock of power, and though it was nothing compared to the last blast, the little boy suddenly snapped into a full panic.
He screamed, his little legs releasing me as he flailed.
Now the full weight of him—made heavier by the bucking and writhing of his body—hung by his arms around my neck, and I knew if I didn’t grab him, hold on, he was going to fall.
But if I took even one arm off the branch above, I wouldn’t have the strength to hold myself, let alone—
Hands grasped my waist from behind—Octavian’s hands. At the same moment Alastor grabbed me from above. Between the two of them, I was hauled up onto the upper branch, the boy kicking and screaming the entire time.
But there was something solid beneath me again. Something stable—for now.
“Get inside,” Alastor told me.
I dragged the writhing boy down the branch and practically fell against the door built into the side of the trunk. It opened easily, spilling the both of us into the dimly lit space beyond.
My entire body was trembling. The muscles in my arms, my legs, my back were already aching from the exertion it had taken to carry the boy this far. He was still cutting off my circulation, but at least he was no longer shrieking or fighting me.
I dragged us both out of the doorway, finally looking around us. The interior of the tree was far less charming than the one at Laitha’s camp, and there was little more to see than a crude set of stairs disappearing down into the heart of the trunk below.
Movement at the door drew my attention back around.
A small girl—the one who’d been riding on Octavian’s back, I think—was pushed inside the tree.
When I glanced out, I saw Alastor pull another one of the children up onto the branch beside him.
Octavian was down below, lifting them from the other side.
And when all three girls were inside, Alastor ducked in as well, with Octavian close behind him. He pulled the door shut, and though we could still hear the screaming and rumbling outside, it was muted somewhat—like a nightmare trying to find its way in.
Both brothers looked at me before shifting their attention to the children. The littlest girl had already moved toward Octavian again, tentatively grabbing his pant leg, while the two sisters clung to each other, quietly sobbing.
Octavian’s eyes flicked to me. “We need to get down. As quickly as we can.” He leaned down and scooped up the girl with one arm—leaving his sword hand free, I noticed—and moved past me, to the stairs.
I climbed to my feet, the boy still in my arms, and urged the sisters to go in front of me.
For a moment, I thought I’d have to give them a nudge to get them moving, but as soon as Alastor stepped toward them—apparently thinking the same thing—they nearly tripped over themselves to get to the steps.
I went next, and Alastor followed.
The stairs were soft in places, the wood slick with moss and mildew. An equally moist rope hung from the wall at hand level, serving as a makeshift rail.
“What is all this?” I asked. I didn’t speak very loud, and yet my voice echoed through the damp, hollow space around us.
“Service stairs, essentially,” Alastor said, his voice just as quiet. “Someone must tend to all the lanterns in the branches, among other things.”
“How did you even know this was here?”
“You never know when such knowledge could be useful,” was his reply.
None of us said another word as we descended, though the children occasionally whimpered—until the tingling shiver on my skin built once more.
“Another one’s coming!” I shouted at the same time Octavian yelled, “Brace yourselves!”
Everyone grabbed for the rope along the wall as another blast of power hit the tree. Chunks of bark rained down from above as the great trunk shook around us, and outside I could hear yet another loud crack! and fresh screams of fear and pain.
And then the trunk started to lean.
“Keep going!” Octavian shouted. “Now!”
No one hesitated, not even the young girls. Still gripping the rope, we all descended as quickly as we dared.
As the tree leaned a little more with each passing second.
We’re not going to make it.
Because the stairs went on endlessly, down and down and down. We passed platforms and doors along the way, but none offered us safety. We had to make it to the bottom—and get out of the way before the whole tree fell.
My stomach heaved as the tree gave a lurch, and the boy in my arms began shrieking again. The sisters in front of me cried out and gripped the rope.
“Keep going,” I urged them. “Quickly.”
Octavian was already well ahead, but he paused when he heard my voice, looking back up at us.
The tree lurched again.
The girls screamed, pressing against the wall and each other, petrified. I shifted the boy in my arms, freeing a hand so I could try to pry them away from each other, but that only made them cling tighter.
And then Alastor was beside me, pulling them apart, scooping up one girl under each arm. And he ran.
Because the next lurch of the tree nearly slammed me into the wall. A fresh shower of bark rained down on me.
“Hurry!” Octavian called from below. “We’re almost there!”
Almost there. Then there was hope. If we just—
The tree groaned, shuddering.
“Hurry!” Octavian’s deep bellow vibrated through me. And its urgency was terrifying, as if he knew we only had—
Another groan, another lurch of the great trunk—and this one threw my feet out from under me.
I fell down the stairs, the boy still wrapped in my arms—and we were only stopped by the big, immovable form of Octavian, the Mighty Oak, who’d come up the steps to grab us. He gripped me and hoisted me up in a single movement, lifting both me and the boy as if we weighed nothing—
And then somehow we were out the door at the bottom, just as the tree’s great roots were tearing out of the ground, pulled from the earth by the weight of the trunk as it fell.
Octavian dropped me on my feet and scooped up the little girl he’d set just outside the door, and we ran, ducking and dodging as the roots whipped past us, clods of soil pattering down on us, splinters of wood everywhere—
When the trunk hit the ground, it was like a clap of thunder right on top of us, and the earth shook with such force that we both stumbled.
Alastor fell into step beside us then, the two girls still under his arms. And we kept running, despite the earth rocking beneath us—until we came to the fallen platforms and walkways, the people bent and broken among the cracked boards and splintered branches.
My arms were about to give out, so I set down the boy before I could drop him. We’d have to climb over to get through—stepping on and over those bodies lying at unnatural angles, some still alive and moaning…
I nearly dropped the boy in my arms. We have to help them. We have to—
“I’m going to stop him.” That was Octavian, his rumble low and lethal. “Before he can hurt anyone else.”
My face whipped toward him.
And Alastor was already shaking his head as he set the two sisters back on their feet. “We don’t even know which one—”
“It’s Mordren,” Octavian growled. “You know it is. This is his way, not hers.”
“I don’t know anything, and neither do you,” Alastor countered. “It’s been ten bloody years. And too much has changed.”
“I’m still going.” Octavian set down the girl he carried, his other hand going to the hilt of his sword. “We brought this upon this town. And I’m going to stop it.”
“Not alone.” Alastor’s fingers had already moved to his weapon, and I swore I could hear the words he didn’t say: Never alone.
But even the two of them together, against such power…
“Let me come, too,” I blurted.
Both brothers looked at me in surprise.
“I’m powerful. You both know it,” I insisted. “If I take off these pearls, I can build up enough essence or whatever to blast him.”
Octavian shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Even if you knew how to control your power, we’re not going to put you up against one of the Circle.”
“But the two of you are strong enough to face them on your own?” By Octavian’s own admission, their greatest source of power and strength was currently unavailable to them, cursed by the very enemy they were about to go face.
“They won’t be on their own.”
Radven’s voice behind me made me jump, and when I turned I found him gracefully climbing over a pile of splintered wood. Not far behind him, I spotted Talon—and a good portion of his crew, including Ary.
Radven gestured to Talon and the others with a roll of his eyes. “That bastard insisted on following me. Claims his people can help. I told him he’d just get in our way, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“We’ve been protecting Therador for years,” Talon said, catching up.
“And how many times have you gone up against one of the Circle?” Radven countered.
“We’ve picked our battles carefully,” the other replied, not even flinching. “But we’ve never run from a fight, not when the people needed us. Someone had to do it while you were gone.”
Something flashed in Radven’s eyes, and for a split second I was reminded of the way he’d looked at me on the night we’d met—like a deadly panther, like he was imagining all the ways he’d break me if I turned out to be a threat.
So Radven doesn’t like Talon. Interesting.
But Talon was already moving toward Octavian, and the rest of his crew was close behind.
“We’re here to help,” Talon said, this time speaking directly to his old friend. “Let us help.”
The change in Octavian was subtle, but remarkable nonetheless.
As he looked at his old friend, at the people beyond who had dedicated their lives to watching for the return of the Lion Warrior and taking up his mantle while he was banished…something shifted in him. He became that hero of their legends.
He drew himself up, his jaw rising, his grip tightening on his sword. It was like their faith in him restored that piece of himself, and I felt my breath catch as he rolled his shoulders back and stepped forward.
In that moment, he might as well have had a glowing light around him and an entire chorus of angels behind him, singing his praises. There was such power, such magnetism in his very being that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.
“My brothers and I will go,” he told Talon, and even his deep voice sounded different, like it was echoing through my very bones. “But I leave another task to you and your people.” He looked to the carnage around us. “Save everyone you can.”
Talon nodded, and though he was clearly disappointed to be left out of the fight, he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned back to his crew and said, “You heard him. Start looking for survivors.”
As the group scattered, though—a couple of them moving to usher the children to safety—Talon remained next to Octavian. Despite their long history, even he looked slightly awed by his friend’s presence.
“Whoever it is has shrouded themselves in darkness,” he said quietly to Octavian. “But from what my birds have seen, I believe it’s Mordren.”
Octavian’s mouth was a grim, flat line as he nodded. He’d already guessed as much. “Just him?”
“He’s the only one we’ve seen.” He gestured in the direction from which we’d come only this morning.
“He’s to the south. At the edge of the forest. Among the shadows beneath a wild oak.
The tree has a large branch on its left side that split off after a lightning strike.
” He paused, then added, “Some of my birds will follow you. They can get a message back to me if need be.”
Octavian nodded, and without even a word between them, all three brothers turned to go.
“Wait!”
I was surprised to hear the word slip out of my mouth, and when they all turned back to look at me, I didn’t know what to say.
Let me go with you. Or even just Don’t run off and get yourselves killed.
But all of it felt ridiculous when I looked at the three faces before me: grim and determined, fierce and noble and deadly—these men were willing to go kill, to risk death, not just for revenge, or because it was the right thing to do, but because the alternative never even occurred to them.
They saw no other choice because there was no other choice, not for them.
“Good luck,” I said softly, and even though those words felt small and inconsequential in this moment, they were all I had to give them.
And I soaked in the looks on their faces one last time—Octavian, daring and heroic; Radven, deadly and lethal; and Alastor, hard and unyielding—before they turned as one and stepped into the chaos of the night.