CHAPTER 40

THE CHIMNEY

When facing an impossible situation, take a breath. You can think better if your soul is centered.

—PA ABNER

The Lost Causes stood in shocked silence as the Chamelia shrank. The creature’s long snout receded, its canine ears shortened, and the dark scales that covered its hide sank into pale skin. The Shifter rose back onto its hind legs, and the yellowish eyes met Keech’s gaze.

“John?” said Duck, stepping up gingerly. “Is that you?”

When the Chamelia spoke again, its features dwindled at last from that of beast to big John Wesley, son of Edgar Doyle. “Good to see ya again, Duck. I feared we’d never cross paths again. But here we are.” John gestured to his Chamelia companion, who continued to growl at the Lost Causes. Keech realized he was looking at the Shifter who had attacked them in Kansas, the same monster Big Ben Loving had once captured with the Devil’s mark.

“We came up here to help you with the crows. The rest of our pack is…” John paused to grin, revealing rows of needle-point fangs. “Well, come see for yourselves.”

The Lost Causes followed John Wesley to the drop-off and peered down into Thunder Pass. The ongoing battle raged like a wildfire. Dozens of muskets erupted, sending up clouds of gunsmoke. More whistle-bomb explosions rolled across the canyon, sending thralls and Weavers flying. Keech even spotted a flash of gray fur as Achilles pounced at a thrall and bowled the soldier off his feet. O’Brien and Turner were still fighting strong, but they appeared to have lost ground and looked to be in trouble.

Suddenly, a chorus of bloodcurdling howls echoed across the expanse, and a throng of wolf-like creatures exploded out of the trees upriver. The beasts were long and slender and moved with the grace of mountain lions. In a flash, they made the battlefield. At least two dozen Chamelia crashed into the thrall flank, ripping and biting at the dead men.

“Would ya look at that!” exclaimed Sam.

“My pack,” John Wesley said proudly.

Down in the canyon, Lost Tucker’s Weavers bounded from their perches and rushed the Chamelia. They crashed into the Shifters, exchanging blows. Some of them scored magical lines into the ground as Black Charlie had done, opening up gashes to another place. Swarms of black spiders crawled out of the gaps and scuttled toward the Chamelia.

“Don’t worry, the pack will protect your friends,” John Wesley said to the group.

“John, how did you find us?” Quinn asked.

“That’s hard to explain, but after I changed, I followed the call of the Chamelia out here, in the West. The pack showed me how to live like this.” He gestured to his body, mostly human, but still bearing beastly quills along his arms. “After I turned, I started hearin’ voices. Those of my pack. Once I learned how to speak without talkin’, I reached out to Cut. I knew he weren’t a Chamelia, but I tried anyhow. I weren’t sure if he could hear me, but I told him to hang on, that we’d find each other again soon. I persuaded the pack to follow Rose’s foul scent, and we found this place. We was preparin’ our attack when you all showed up out of nowhere.”

Duck explained how they had passed through a door like the one to Bonfire Crossing, then she pointed to the Chimney. “We’ve come to finish off Rose ourselves, and we found the only way into this rotten place.”

“John, Coward has taken your father into the Palace,” added Strong Heart.

John Wesley’s nose twitched at the information. “Papa,” he said. “Keech, y’all need to find him. Y’all need to—” But before he could finish, he sniffed the wind, then he peered beyond them and locked his eyes on Cutter’s body. He scampered past the Lost Causes and over to Cutter’s side.

“Cut, get up!” John Wesley cried. “I came to find ya, like I promised. Get up!” He nudged Cutter’s side, gently rocking the boy’s body. When Cutter didn’t stir, growls of sorrow erupted from John’s throat.

Sam said, “I’m sorry, friend. He fought hard. Saved us all.”

John Wesley seized the bone-handled knife on the ground. Trembling, he shifted back into his Chamelia form and offered Cutter’s knife to Keech. “Take it. Use it against Rose. I’ll stay up here with Cut, hold the crows back.” He growled at the misshapen birds above, then said, “Finish this, Keech. Put an end to that devil.”

“Don’t you worry,” Keech said as he placed the blade into Doyle’s satchel. He noticed his bowler hat lying nearby and scooped it up.

The Lost Causes returned to the Chimney, stepping up to the hole with caution. Keech peered down into the opening. Darkness pervaded the drop, but far down, a faint yellow glow appeared to illuminate the bottom.

Strong Heart shed her buffalo coat. “My uncle always says, ‘Darkness only hurts if you let it.’ I refuse to let it hurt me. I will go first.”

Sam secured one end of the rope around a nearby stump, while Strong Heart tied the other end around her waist. After testing the line, she squeezed into the Chimney feetfirst. The others held the rope and watched Strong Heart squirm as she slid down.

“It’s very close!” she called up, sliding deeper into the hole.

As they played out the rope, John Wesley prowled around them, protecting the area from crows. He had shifted further into his bestial form, and when a trio of crows tried to swoop in and harass the young riders, he swiped his deadly claws at the birds, which flapped away to a safe distance.

Leaning over the Chimney, Keech saw only a profound blackness. The gang checked their grips and secured their stances. Then a sudden weight tugged at the line as Strong Heart hung free inside the Palace.

“What do you see?” Quinn asked, his voice gritty with fatigue.

“I’m hanging as high as the mountain! I see a ledge in the wall. I may be able to reach it.”

Working together, Sam and Quinn paid out the rest of the rope till only the tree stump held Strong Heart. A second later, the line shifted sideways at the lip of the hole.

Then the rope was still. “I’m safe!” called Strong Heart’s voice.

“Do you see a way to the bottom?” Duck yelled.

“A spiraling path! I’ve untied myself. Pull the rope!”

As Sam and Quinn yanked up the line, Keech cracked his knuckles. “I’ll go next.”

Quinn sized up Keech’s girth with the knapsack and shook his head. “You might get stuck,” he rasped, then gestured to himself, Sam, and Duck. “Us first,” he added.

Keech understood Quinn’s meaning. He was the oldest, and therefore the biggest of them, and if he were to get wedged in the Chimney, he might plug up the hole like a cork in a bottle. Stepping aside, Keech spent the next few moments helping Quinn, then Sam, and finally Duck. He sent the Ranger’s knapsack down with Duck, assuring her he would take it back once he joined them.

Before stepping to the lip, Keech turned back to John Wesley, who looked monstrous in his half-Chamelia form. “John, if I get stuck, you’ll have to pull me up,” Keech said. When the Chamelia huffed in response, Keech chuckled. “Maybe shift all the way into a person before you start tugging on the rope. I don’t want you to accidentally cut the line with those claws of yours.”

“I’ll do my best,” John Wesley growled, then raised one clawed hand and appeared to concentrate. The long black nails slipped back into his fingers.

Keech lowered himself into the Chimney. For the first few feet, he moved easily enough, sliding inch by inch through the jagged funnel. Then suddenly, he stopped. The weight of his body pulled, but he was hooked on something. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and Keech felt the Chimney’s walls pushing in, as if the rocky formation were trying to squeeze him to death. He sensed he had only a few more feet to fall free, but no matter how he squirmed, he couldn’t seem to come unstuck. “John Wesley! You up there?” he called, but there was no answer.

Panic snatched at the edges of Keech’s mind, and the absurdity of it all struck him. The idea that he could come so far—face down the worst of the Big Snake, survive the battle of Bonfire Crossing and the dangers of the Perils, only to willfully wedge himself into a tiny rock funnel—was so ridiculous that he laughed.

You have to calm down, Keech.

The voice of Pa Abner came to him like a welcome breeze.

Your body is stuck because your mind is. Center yourself.

So Keech took a deep breath and focused on the problem. Looking up again, he realized that his left shoulder needed only to shift around a stubborn rock. He made the adjustment, and his body mercifully dropped another foot. A second later, Keech tumbled into open space. The rope snapped tight, squeezing his waist, and he dangled like a limp puppet on a string.

Sam shouted his name from a nearby ledge.

“I’m all right!” Keech declared. He peered around at the chamber and saw the otherworldly light glowing in the distant bowels of the Palace, illuminating the massive space beneath. A corkscrew path stuck a few feet out from the wall and ran down. It was outlined with a spectral honeycomb yellow. A loathsome stink hung in the air—a dark, moldy smell that seemed to drift up from the bottom, like a moth-eaten blanket left in a summer rain.

Once Keech had joined them, the Lost Causes descended the great spiral walkway in single file with Strong Heart in the lead. The path was only a couple of feet wide, and they had to walk sideways with their backs to the limestone walls. The sickly yellow glow in the place gave them enough light to navigate the ever-widening coil.

After a time, Strong Heart stopped. “I see images on the walls!”

The group took a moment to study the stone in front of their faces. The surfaces teemed with ancient-looking petroglyphs, graven images worn down by centuries to smooth furrows in the rock. Most of the carvings depicted wild animals, like the chiseled icons down in the Perils of Skeleton Peak, but others resembled malformed beasts with dozens of tentacles branching out in all directions. Duck pointed to a carving of a gruesome spider and said, “That looks like one of the critters that came out of the hole Black Charlie cut.”

Keech said, “We’re a thousand miles away from the Dead Rift under Skeleton Peak, but the walls here show the same monsters that chased us there.”

The Lost Causes continued their descent, splaying their palms over the stone as they slipped down the spiral. Somewhere outside the Palace, the distant eruption of another whistle bomb agitated the limestone under their hands. Keech thought he saw a sudden wiggle on the surface in front of him, like a caterpillar with uncanny speed, but when he looked closer, he couldn’t see anything but a small petroglyph of a serpent. He kept moving.

Though Keech couldn’t be sure, it seemed the tainted energy within the Palace was disrupting his focus energy. Duck and Strong Heart had their amulet shards, but he wondered what he would do when they came face-to-face with Rose. Using the Black Verse was out of the question—never again would those insidious words cross his lips—but he wished they had some kind of powers to help them stop the fiend.

“Look!” Quinn called out, his voice raw. “The spiral ends.”

They followed Quinn’s gesture. Sure enough, the walkway dropped off into nothingness a few feet away. The luminous chamber opened up beyond the spiral, and Keech caught his first glimpse of the Palace floor, a surface that seemed to produce the vibrant illumination around them. Lines that glowed an otherworldly yellow crisscrossed the bottom in intricate patterns, all of them leading inward to the same end point, a broad circular basin set into the floor like a giant bowl. In the center of this bowl stood a long, slender table, a block of white stone that reminded Keech of an Egyptian sarcophagus. Movement at the room’s edges caught Keech’s eye—a gruesome black shape skittered along the floor. A second later, he saw another. “Things are crawling around down there!”

“They look like Black Charlie’s spiders, only bigger,” Quinn said.

Duck tapped Keech’s shoulder. “Look up!” she said.

Pulling his gaze away from the terrible scuttling things, Keech glanced up, observing what they had descended. He felt his breath freeze in his lungs at what he saw.

The spiral shaft that loomed above their heads formed the very shape the Reverend’s men used to brand their victims, the shape that bound unfortunate souls to Rose’s will.

They were looking at the Devil’s mark.