“It’s different now,” said Marilius. “It was just skins when I saw it.”
“But what is it?” asked Cricket. “What is it?”
“A monster, I told you!”
I quickly rubbed Zephyr’s neck to calm him. I needed him now. And Malator.
Malator? Are you with me? I asked, gripping the sword tighter.
I felt him pour into me. Like thunder, Lukien.
Rage is all I know in battle, and rage was all I felt. I silenced the others with a wave, raised the Sword of Angels, then cried out and charged. Zephyr shot forward, straight for the beast. The sockets of its two dead eyes turned against us. I drew back my sword, turning my arm to steel, spying the heartless chest of the thing, the pulsing darkness behind its stolen ribs. It hunched to meet the blow, unafraid. Zephyr galloped forward, splashing through the gore. A single bony arm came up, big as a tree limb. I ducked beneath it easily, saw my mark. .
I swung the sword. I hit the mark. And then like fire it struck me. Unimaginable, burning pain, turning my arm to water in my armor. I think I screamed. I know I fell from horseback. The sword tumbled out of my hand, over and over my head until it hit the ground beside me. I tasted dirt in my mouth. I rolled to recover, but my arm felt broken, almost useless. Cricket ran to me, grabbing my breastplate. Marilius was over her, still on horseback.
“The horse!” he cried, and I didn’t know why.
I staggered to my feet, felt the shadow of the creature, and shoved Cricket away.
“Move!” I shouted, and turned to see Marilius. His horse bucked wildly, fighting him. My own horse had tangled in the bones of the beast, its slapping reins wrapped around a pair of elk ribs. Marilius whirled his mount around to push me backward.
“Lukien, run!”
My sword! I scrambled to find it. Cricket rushed it into my hand.
“Come on!” she cried, tugging at my hair. Marilius was still in front of me. I shouldered past him to get to Zephyr, watching as my horse-my brave and beautiful horse-kicked its way free of the beast and ran.
“Zephyr, go!”
I ran forward, screaming, as the monster came at me, its ox skull animated, the four legs coming alive beneath it. Again it met my sword, and again that icy fire surged up my arm. This time I managed to keep the sword in hand, spinning for another blow. Pain roared up my arm, rattling the bones and burning the skin. Malator cloaked me in his magic. Up went the creature’s enormous hand, slapping hard against my breastplate, sending me tumbling. I shook off the pain and rose again.
“Cricket, Marilius, run now! Run!”
Marilius galloped toward me. He raised his sword, charging past me like a mad man. His blade glanced the monster’s hide and shattered. Marilius screamed, holding up his hand. I could see the red and blistered skin, already charred. He managed his horse, turning it back toward Cricket, who once again was coming for me.
“You stay there, god-damn it!” I shouted.
Marilius brought his horse in front of her, guarding her. I looked up into the monster’s eyes, those two black holes crawling with insects, and summoned the rest of my strength.
“Whatever you are, demon, whatever hell you came from, hear me-I am forever! Cursed and immortal!”
It lowered its head, its uneven horns twisting in thought, as though pondering what I was. I braced myself, holding the sword in both hands now, my sword arm still shrieking in pain. It took one hulking step, its fleshless nostrils sniffing me. Then like a dog it sprang, its goat horn fingers seizing my shoulders, forcing me down and pinning me to the dirt. I struggled, trying to drive the sword into it, but all its weight and fire pressed on me, cooking me inside my armor.
“Malator! Strengthen me!”
The great ox skull hovered over my face, and I looked into those maggoty eyes, hypnotized by the living emptiness. I swear, whatever soul I had fled my body. The monster was inside me, searching me, raging in my mind even as Malator fought to free me. The breath spilled from my lungs, filling with fire instead. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. Darkness soaked my brain, and I felt my one eye closing, closing. .
And then it was off me. It rose up, retracting its bony limbs, and with one last questioning look regarded me. Then the thing turned and stalked toward the dell. I sputtered, coughing blood from my seared lungs, fighting unconsciousness. My fingers coiled around the sword, hungry for its power.
It’s gone, spoke Malator. Hold on.
“After it,” I choked. “Marilius, help me.”
Cricket hovered over me, wiping the blood from my mouth with her sleeve. Marilius swooped down from his horse.
“We’re getting out of here,” he said. “Cricket, help me with him.”
“It’s escaping. .”
“Lukien, my shoulder,” ordered Cricket, burrowing under my arm to lift me. “Come on, onto the horse.”
I could barely feel my arm. Words bubbled from my bloody lips. “Why’d it go? It let me live.”
“Stop talking,” snapped Marilius. With Cricket’s help he hoisted me into the saddle. “Hold on to that damn sword. Go, Cricket!”
Cricket snatched the reins. Quickly she pulled the horse back the way we’d come. I don’t remember much of anything after that. My vision dimmed as I surrendered to nothingness, but I wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t die, no matter what the creature dealt me. As sleep took me I heard Marilius’s voice, at once taunting and sweet.
“Hang on, Lukien. . I’m gonna save your ass again.”
14
I opened my eyes but was still asleep, and I knew immediately that I was still dreaming. I was back in Anton Fallon’s palace, in the room I shared with Cricket. Only it wasn’t really our room anymore. Now it was much, much bigger, like a throne room, with a hall at the end where a door had once been. Moonlight pierced the window over my bed, and when I sat up I thought for a moment I had left my body behind. My head swam with magic, and I felt no pain, even when I glanced at my badly burned arm. Someone had taken off my armor and bandaged my arm and chest, and when I remembered what had happened I looked around in fear.
“Cricket?”
She was in her bed, not far from my own. Relieved, I tossed my bare feet over the bedside, then saw that she was in the grip of her own nightmare. Her body shook with fits, her eyes dancing madly beneath their lids. She was saying something, but I couldn’t tell what, gasping as she wrestled her dream. I walked across the ornate carpet, hovering over her, my hand dangling above her forehead.
“Cricket?”
I touched her shoulder, gently at first. She felt cold. I brushed her clammy forehead. Her hand shot up and grabbed my wrist, pulling me. I let her drag me down, almost to face to face, and when I looked into her terrified expression her eyes shot open.
“Cricket, wake up! It’s me.”
For a moment my voice calmed her. She released me and closed her eyes but then slipped quickly back into her shivering dream. I was confused and annoyed because I knew who had dragged me here, to this place between the worlds.
“Malator! Where are you?”
I looked around the chamber then heard his voice coming from the hallway.
“You can’t wake her, Lukien.”
My eye scanned the room. Mostly it was how I’d left it. I saw my armor tucked neatly in a pile, my boots beside it, gleaming and polished once again. The Sword of Angels rested against my wooden bed, not far from where I was-or had been-sleeping.
“Am I awake?” I asked.
“Partly,” said Malator. “Come out to the hall.”
“Why the theater?” I groaned. “Just answer me-what’s happened? What’s wrong with Cricket?”
“Just a dream, that’s all.”
“Why won’t she wake?”
“It’s her dream, Lukien, not yours. She’ll wake when it’s over.”