24

Shane

the forest of Thorns was just like Shane remembered. Unburnable. Unbreakable. Impassable. The hulking black vines reared over her in a vicious snarl, thick boughs twining under and through each other in a labyrinth of gleaming thorns. The whole forest felt hungry and alive, like it was just waiting to swallow them.

Behind her, the sun was just cresting the horizon. Pink lines streaked the sky like faded scars. Dawn had come, and inside the castle, Fi was waiting for them.

“It’s time,” the Paper Witch called out. Shane moved back to stand with Red and Perrin, a restless Cinzel pacing at their feet. Red had traded out her usual dresses for a crimson tunic that flared at the waist under her wide belt, and Perrin wore a blue jerkin emblazoned with the white tower, a look of purpose on his face. One glance at Red told Shane the girl was still terrified, but there was a fierce determination there, too.

The army of Everlynd stretched out behind them. Captain Hane stood at the front of the battalion, wearing thick leather armor and carrying a massive broadsword. Shane liked the look of that. They’d decided against horsemen, but all the soldiers were armed with pikes and poleaxes, and they looked grim but ready, armor gleaming, everyone holding their breath for the first command. The red banners of Everlynd rippled in the dawn winds. Shane hadn’t seen anything moving inside the Forest of Thorns yet, but she was positive there were enough monsters in there to outnumber them two-to-one.

All eyes followed the Paper Witch as he stepped forward. He wore a snow-white robe with long billowing sleeves, and he almost seemed to glow against the black thorns. The little bell in his hair tinkled with every step. Suddenly, Shane felt she was looking at a stranger, some powerful Witch who had walked out of the old stories, instead of a soft-hearted eccentric with a habit of picking up strays. The Paper Witch raised his hands to his chest. Then he hurled them toward the forest, and hundreds and hundreds of little paper triangles poured out of his sleeves, shooting toward the thorns like a great flock of white birds.

Shane gaped. She had caught the Paper Witch sitting up late by the fire every night of their march through the wastes, folding scraps of paper into tight little triangles and scratching nearly invisible symbols into the surface with white chalk. She just hadn’t realized he’d made so many.

The paper flock hit the great wall of the forest like a wave. Some pieces snagged on the thorns and fell to the ground, cut to shreds, but the rest sailed on, spiraling through gaps in the brambles. They vanished from her sight, pressing forward to find a path.

Sweat stood out on the Paper Witch’s brow. Shane saw his knees buckle. Just when she thought he couldn’t take one more second, an ancient hand settled on his white-clad shoulder. The Paper Witch turned to face the Stone Witch.

“It is enough,” the old man said. In his threadbare robe of soft gray, the Stone Witch didn’t look like much, but there was something unyielding about him as he stepped forward, the very ground seeming to creak under his ancient feet. Shane felt Red’s hand slip into hers.

The Stone Witch knelt, burying both of his hands deep into the blackened dirt. Pebbles popped and rattled at Shane’s feet. Then, with a yell, the Stone Witch ripped his hands free, splitting the earth. The trembling turned into a great roar, the ground beneath them shaking so hard that Red lost her balance and fell into Shane, almost toppling them both.

The two cracks the Stone Witch had made snaked toward the Forest of Thorns, following the path of the Paper Witch’s birds. The roar was so loud Shane slapped her hands over her ears. The brambles began to heave, their great roots exposed as the soil slithered away. A giant slab of rock thrust up from the dirt, followed by another and then another, each massive swell of red stone breaking through the black vines and forcing them aside. Soon, a narrow channel zigzagged between the slabs, bound by sheer rock walls. The Stone Witch was literally carving a path through the cursed forest.

Shane swallowed. It was barely wide enough for three people to walk side by side, but it was a lot better than trying to float the whole army down the river.

The earth shuddered one last time, the forest groaning and then growing still. The Stone Witch sank to the ground, clearly spent. The Paper Witch looked just as bad, but he found the strength to turn to Everlynd’s army once more.

“The path through the Forest of Thorns is made,” he declared. “All that remains is to retake Andar.”

A great cry rose up from the army, men and women shouting as the red sun broke from the eastern mountains and swept over them, igniting the white towers on their flags. Shane felt the tingle of the oncoming battle in her blood. But something held her back. She would move out with the army, but Red and Perrin would be taking another path, slipping through the thorns to reach the roses that spilled from Briar’s tower.

Shane looked down at the girl she was still holding in her arms, only to find that Red was looking up at her, too, her eyes full of an emotion Shane didn’t want to put a name to in case she was wrong.

“Look, when this is over . . .” Shane started.

“Oh, save it.” Red pursed her lips, and then she seemed to come to a decision. “There’s clearly never going to be a right time for this, and I don’t want to have any regrets, so . . .” She tipped up on her toes, their lips inches apart. “I love you,” she said.

Then Red fisted a hand in Shane’s lapel, giving her a hard yank and bringing them together in a quick, passionate kiss. Just as quickly, Red let her go, backing away with a pink blush dusted across her cheeks.

“Now, don’t you dare go and die and make me regret saying that,” Red warned. She grabbed an open-mouthed Perrin and dragged him toward the forest. Cinzel loped after them with his tongue lolling out of his mouth like he was laughing.

Determination swelled in Shane’s chest. Red loved her. Red loved her. She suddenly felt like she could take the entire Spindle Witch’s army on by herself.

When she turned back, Captain Hane was looking at her, faintly amused. “We’d better move,” the woman said. “It won’t be long before they’re all over us.”

Shane nodded. She reached back and unslung her ax, her hands finding their familiar places on the worn handle. “Ready when you are.”

The Paper Witch and the Stone Witch looked on, weary but resolute. Hane gave a short whistle. “Move out!” she shouted. Then she and Shane led the way into the channel, and the entire force of Everlynd’s army streamed after them, weapons drawn and banners waving.

Shane was lost in a second. The stone channel banked one way and then the other, forking into side paths that ended abruptly in sheer walls, forcing them to backtrack. She could only trust that the Paper Witch’s spell had flown true as she headed for the distant shimmer of the white castle. Thick knots of thorny black vines hung above her, suspended between the jutting red stones.

The silence made her uneasy. The Spindle Witch had to know they were coming—they hadn’t exactly launched a sneak attack. So why wasn’t anybody putting up a fight?

They were almost to the mouth of a narrow passage when Shane finally heard something—or rather, felt something. It was a rumble deep in the stone, powerful enough to rattle her teeth. For a split second, she wondered if the Stone Witch was casting another spell. Then she raced out of the passage and right into the teeth of one of the Spindle Witch’s bone creatures.

The heavy skull could only have belonged to a gigantic bear. Each rust-colored fang was as long as her thumb. Far too late, she understood what she’d been hearing: the crash of massive bone feet hurtling through the rock maze. The blunt head wrenched toward her, and the creature lashed out with one burly arm.

“Shane! Look out!”

Shane dodged just in time. The yellowed claws hit the wall behind her in a shower of busted rock. She rolled under the massive shoulder joint and raised her ax, aiming for the back leg—only to find herself hurled across the channel as something crunched into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

A tail, Shane realized, gasping for breath. The misshapen bear had a tail, thick as a spinal cord. It cracked like an angry whip as the creature lurched up onto its back legs.

It was easily three times as tall as Shane. That wasn’t saying much, since Shane was short, but Captain Hane was not, and the monster dwarfed her, too. Its immense body blocked the entire passage, trapping the army on one side and Shane on the other. Ragged clumps of sleek brown fur clung to its gleaming ribs, and Shane got the feeling this one hadn’t been dead long. The stench of rot made her gag.

“Attack!” Captain Hane shouted. Three soldiers rushed the creature and were knocked back in a heap. Wood splintered as it crunched through pike staffs like they were twigs. “Work as a unit!”

“We can’t get through!” a soldier yelled.

Shane cursed. The bear had them pinned down in the mouth of the channel. She had to lure it away or it would pick them off one at a time.

“Hey, over here!” Shane shouted. Then she squared her stance and brought her ax down right on its tail, severing a chunk as long as her arm.

The bone creature reared up, the rotten strips of skin around its throat rippling as it let out a long eerie moan. Shane threw herself to the ground and dove between the creature’s legs, cracking her ax hard against the ankle and breaking off one massive foot.

“Shane, get out of there!” Hane shouted, struggling to lift one of the wounded soldiers.

Shane didn’t need to be told twice. She turned and ran, ax swinging wildly in one hand, with the bear right behind her. It smashed into wall after wall, but that didn’t seem to slow it down. If anything, Shane thought, it looked even madder than before.

She leapt a fallen slab of stone and burst out into red sunlight in a broad stone gully. She risked a glance up at the white castle, deceptively close behind a wall of thorns.

With a great crash, the bear plowed right through the stone slab. Shane tightened her grip on the ax. She was going forward. Fi was in that castle. They were back on the same side, finally, and nothing with an empty skull cavity was going to stop her from getting to her partner.

The bone creature lunged for her, its jaws so wide they were practically unhinged. At the last possible second, Shane threw herself down, rolling beneath the enormous head. Then she drove the ax into the base of the skull—right where a knot of golden thread held it to the twisted spinal cord. The neck splintered, and the body crumpled around her, pelting Shane with a cascade of falling bones and bits of rotting flesh.

“Nasty,” Shane muttered as she kicked her way out of the corpse, picking an especially slimy bit of something she wasn’t even going to try to name off her shirt. But her victorious feeling evaporated fast. At least a dozen more of the Spindle Witch’s creatures crowded in the passage ahead, every one a jumble of claws, limbs, and misshapen spines topped by pockmarked skulls. A skeletal stag pawed the stone, its antlers crawling with black lichen.

Shane’s heart thudded. There was no way she could take on that many.

The stag charged, coming straight for her.

Raised voices rang through the gully. Suddenly, the soldiers of Everlynd were streaming out of the fork, surrounding her in a sea of rippling red cloaks. Shane felt a bolt of relief as a very familiar broadsword caught the stag by the antlers. She’d never been so glad to see Captain Hane’s stern face.

“Good timing!” Shane called, a little hoarse.

“If you were one of my soldiers, I’d have your hide for that,” Captain Hane shouted back, but Shane thought she looked impressed underneath it all. Hane wrenched the broadsword free, and a group of soldiers with pikes wrestled the stag away from them, hammering its flank. All around her, other soldiers were doing the same. Hane wiped her sleeve across her face. “At least we’re getting close.”

Shane followed her gaze. The castle soared above them, the white towers glowing in the sunrise. Red and Perrin should have reached it by now. If they could just take these bone creatures down, she’d be free and clear—

“Witch Hunters!”

Shane’s guts lurched like someone had reached inside her and yanked. A new enemy was pouring into the gully—men and women in ragged cloaks, howling as they descended on the soldiers with brutal saw-toothed swords. The Witch Hunters fought like jackals, surrounding the soldiers of the Red Ember and taking them on as a pack. But the Red Ember was fighting just as fiercely. A whip of fire seared over the crowd as Soren drove the Witch Hunters back.

A sallow-faced Witch Hunter headed straight for them. Shane spun around to meet him, catching his strike before the saw-toothed blade sank into her shoulder. The tarnished sword screeched against her ax.

“Working for your worst enemy, you sellout?” she growled.

The man’s eyes gleamed with feverish light. “There’s no wrong side when Witches are killing each other.”

“How about the wrong side of my boot?” Shane whipped her ax handle up into his chin before kicking his legs out and introducing the Witch Hunter’s face to the dusty wedge of her heel. She hoped that crunch was his nose breaking.

“Take them down!” Captain Hane shouted, raising her broadsword high. She caught Shane’s arm before she could join the fray. “Not you. You have to go on ahead. Can you break through?”

Shane gaped at her. “You’re kidding! There’s a horde. I’m not leaving you to—”

“Yes, you are,” Hane snapped. “If you don’t reach the castle, none of this is going to matter. Stop wasting time.”

Another Witch Hunter raced at them. Hane whirled away, smashing the saw-toothed blade out of his hand with her massive broadsword and then driving the pommel right into his temple. The man dropped like a stone. When she looked back, her eyes were serious, just a hint of a smile creasing her face.

“We’re all counting on you, Shane. Go.”

Shane cursed as Hane plunged into the melee, but the woman was right. With a hiss of frustration, she jammed the ax into its straps on her back. Then she raced for the gully wall. She’d never get through the knot of the battlefield. She’d have to take the high road instead—literally.

The red stone bit into her hands as she began to climb, her arms burning with the effort. Gravel slid out from under her thick heel and almost sent her tumbling into the dirt.

She scaled the last few inches by the grit of her fingernails. From above, the battlefield was a swirl of red cloaks and flashing saw-toothed blades. A couple of Witch Hunters were climbing up after her, determined to be a thorn in her side until the end.

Shane’s head pounded as she sprinted along the thin ridge of stone. The cold morning wind whistled in her ears. Every step was a gamble, the thorns bristling like a pit of spikes beneath her. She slid down a sandy incline and ducked an arch of dark thorns curled over the stone path, so low it nearly gave her another haircut.

The Witch Hunters were up on the ridge now, gaining on her. But that wasn’t her biggest problem. Ahead, the Stone Witch’s rock pathway stopped, dead-ending in a sheer drop into a churning mass of vines. She could see some of the Paper Witch’s little white birds impaled on the black thorns.

Shane eyed the Witch Hunters behind her and the drop into the black forest. The thorns gleamed in the bloody red light—but beyond the brambles, maybe ten feet away, she could see a slice of green grass, the castle achingly close now. She almost imagined she could hear Fi’s voice urging her on. Shane clenched her teeth.

She’d come this far.

On the upside, she was about to leave her pursuers behind, because no one else, not even a Witch Hunter, would be foolish enough to try this. Shane sucked in a breath just in case it was her last. Then she launched herself, legs churning, over the chasm filled with thorns.

She almost made it. Arms wheeling, she plunged into the forest at the last row of brambles, shouting as she hit the ground and rolled down the dusty black slope. The thorns tore at her arms and legs like ravenous teeth—but then she was through, hurtling into the grass, the morning dew cold on her skin.

The white castle towered above her. Black specks circled one of the towers—crows, Shane realized with a jolt. She pressed her hand to the pouch tied to her belt, making sure the Lord of the Butterflies’ precious hairpin was still in one piece.

Finally, the adrenaline hit her, cracking her face with a wide grin. She’d made it.

Shane pushed herself up and raced for the eastern tower. “Come on, Fi,” Shane muttered as she hit the weathered door and jerked the iron handle, praying for a click—“Yes!”

Shane whooped as the heavy door sprang open, and she dashed inside. The hard part was behind her. With Perrin breaking the Wraith’s hold on the castle, she was home free—

The guardsman who’d been slumped by the door lurched up all at once, pike flailing. Shane yelped as it smashed into the stone over her head.

Silver eyes glared at Shane from the guardsman’s face.

The Wraith.