“Use the movement, use the dust, use the vibration of the sound,” Arion shouted at Suri, who stood beside her. Both of them were well ahead of the rest—two tiny bugs at the hooved feet of a horned mountain.
Suri was singing—singing to Balgargarath! Persephone knew how it was supposed to work, she’d caught on that magic was somehow wrought by vocalizing melodic sounds, but she didn’t understand how anyone could stand before such a thing and sing. Even Minna had retreated several feet, her hair up and teeth bared.
Still, Suri sang. The tune was similar to the one she’d performed before, only louder this time, shifting in rhythm and melody like someone tuning an instrument. The tiny eyes of the beast focused with some effort on the two ants before it, and it took a step forward. The ground shook with its motion. Persephone felt the tremor, and saw bigger ripples in the pool. The massive hooves dragged, slowed. The beast roared again and Persephone saw it then. Balgargarath was sinking.
The stone appeared to melt at the demon’s feet, turning into tar in much the same way as the dirt had when Arion trapped Rapnagar. This was more dramatic, a suspenseful bubbling up of viscous rock, and the sluggish descent of the hapless victim. The behemoth roared with anger and frustration as it struggled to claw forward.
“Now!” Arion ordered.
Suri’s arms went out to either side then she brought them together in a clap of her hands. As she did, the walls at the far end of the cavern mimicked her. Persephone couldn’t believe what she saw. Solid stone walls, the size of cliffs, hurtled at each other. Then an instant later—whether as an additional act of magic, or the mere result of moving the walls—the ceiling came down, teeth and all. Everyone rushed back, retreating up the path toward the Agave.
A cloud of dust and a rain of tiny rocks showered them as they ran.
“You did it!” Arion praised Suri in Rhunic. “I knew you could. It is—” She stopped and then spun around. She shook her head slowly from side to side as disbelief painted her face.
Persephone never understood the phrase to feel as if someone is walking over your grave. It didn’t make sense that someone alive could have a grave. But at that moment, as fear rose on Arion’s face, Persephone’s heart sank, gooseflesh rose on her arms, and she understood.
“Impossible,” Arion said in Fhrey.
“What’s happening?” Persephone asked.
Arion continued to look back into the collapse of the cavern in shock. “It’s still alive…only…it isn’t. It’s not alive at all. It never was. I think. I think it’s…” The Miralyith’s face blanched. “Oh, holy Ferrol, that’s not possible!”
“What isn’t?” Persephone asked, though she didn’t need the answer. Everything was made clear by Arion’s words. They were buried a mile or more beneath the roots of a mountain, across a foreign sea, and their one lifeline had slipped back into speaking in Fhrey because she was terrified.
Brin, Roan, and Moya stood oblivious to what was being said. They looked at Persephone for answers. She had none.
The dwarfs had heard, and they understood.
“But you’re Miralyith,” Frost said, bewildered.
“Miralyith are only good at killing Belgriclungreians,” Flood snapped. “Now she’s killed three more.”
“What?” Moya asked. “What’s going on?”
“It’s not dead,” Persephone said.
“What do you mean it’s not dead?” Moya stood with a hand on one hip, the other pointing at the rubble with conviction. “Suri crushed it three different ways and buried it. What makes you think it isn’t dead?” She sounded angry. Like everyone else, she wanted it to be true.
Then they felt the tremor.
Moya rolled her eyes. “Oh, by the rotten heart of the Tetlin Witch. You—are—kidding—me!”
Moya shouted at Roan to run just as Persephone found Brin’s hand and the four began their retreat, chasing the three dwarfs back up the path.
“What do you want me to do?” Suri’s small voice asked Arion.
Persephone expected some complicated magical jargon, something about gathering, and focusing, and summoning, and harmonizing. Instead, Arion shouted, “Run!”
Brin pulled—nearly dragged—Persephone along. Together they plunged back into the Agave. Once inside, they stopped and caught their breath.
Will it follow? Can it squeeze in the doorway? Of course it can! This is where it came from!
“What are we going to do?” Brin asked, her voice shaking as if she were freezing to death.
Struggling to catch her breath, Persephone managed to get out, “I don’t know there’s anything we can do.”
Moya followed Roan in and, turning back to face the opening, drew her sword. As pointless as it seemed, Persephone loved her for it. Taking another round of deep breaths, Persephone drew her own weapon and joined Moya. With tears slipping down her cheeks, Brin swallowed, and she, too, drew her blade. Roan glanced at her own side, appearing surprised to find that she also had a sword. She pulled it free of its scabbard.
“Keep the tip up but hold it back like this.” Moya demonstrated, raising the weapon level with her face. She held her arm cocked and close to her body, the point aimed forward.
“Do you honestly think it matters?” Persephone asked even as she imitated Moya.
“If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”
Persephone nodded. “Sure…okay…good point.” She was babbling out of nervous fear but what did it matter? What was there to care about anymore?
“Keep your left foot in front,” Moya shouted. “And when that thing comes at us, step forward with your right as you swing or thrust.”
“Which is it? Should I swing or thrust?” Roan asked.
Moya swallowed. “Ah…I don’t know. Whatever feels good at the time, I guess. Just try to hit it.”
“This metal is amazing.” Roan marveled at the weapon in her hands.
“Not now, Roan! Focus!”
Suri, Minna, and Arion flew through the opening, nearly running into them. Persephone couldn’t help noticing Arion was rubbing her head again.
“Where is it?” Moya asked.
“Still buried,” Suri replied.
Arion looked at the swords. “What do you plan to do with those?”
“Whatever we can.” Moya challenged the Fhrey with a glare. She was in a fighting mood.
Arion simply nodded.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Frost said to the Fhrey. “You had no problem in the forest. Quit relying on this girl. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. You need to finish it.”
“Is that why it didn’t work?” Suri asked Arion. She had a desperate, guilty expression. “Is it because I—”
“It’s not your fault,” Arion said. “I couldn’t have killed it, either. Balgargarath can’t be killed, because it isn’t alive.” The Fhrey glared at the dwarfs.
She looked back at Suri. “Didn’t you feel it? Didn’t you see it?”
“It looked…bright,” Suri said. “Like…I don’t know. Almost like…a chord.”
“That’s because it is. It’s not solid, not natural, its form isn’t made, it’s cast. It has its own song, its own pattern. It is the Art manifested into corporeal form. I’ve never seen anything like it. I would have said such a thing is impossible, but I tried to push against it and nothing happened, as if it weren’t really there, as if it were smoke.”