The pairs file in one at a time. Evan, Fitz, and I will go in last. Just as we take a step forward, William catches my arm.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says earnestly, his gray eyes searching mine. He glances into the cave and back to me again, and I see the worry there, so genuine it pains me. “It’s not your war.”
It’s not your war. I had a similar thought the last time I was here, when I was leaving the Legendborn world for good.
“I don’t want war,” I reply. “I want the people I love to be safe.”
“I thought you might say something like that.”
“You coming, Matthews?” Fitz calls. He and Evan are standing just over the threshold, faces limned in light, bodies already in shadow.
I say, “Right behind you,” and step forward into the earth.
51
THE SCENT OF rotting things overwhelms us. It burns the insides of my nostrils so much that I tug my T-shirt up over my nose for relief. The shift of my sleeves up my forearms makes me wish I had a coat; it’s freezing down here.
The others have already chosen their tunnel, so once we reach the small antechamber, we take the one farthest to the right.
We walk with our flashlights pointed down mostly, with occasional flicks up ahead, not that it helps very much. The tunnel turns vaguely left, I think. It’s hard to focus when the ceiling sometimes drops to just above Fitz’s hair and other times rises up into steep, empty columns to nowhere. Often, Fitz’s massive shoulders brush the wall, but for most of the way, the tunnel is about four feet wide. Our steps makes a crunching, scratching sound on the gravel under our feet. The sound of dripping water reaches us from somewhere out of sight. Probably where the mildew comes from. Its presence is a constant, deep green and black and slippery. We walk for twenty, maybe thirty minutes mostly in silence and single file. Fitz leads, Evan takes the middle, and I bring up the rear.
I feel a surge of relief that Vaughn warned me away from the staff. It’d never even fit in this part of the tunnel.
“Where are we, do you think?” My voice bounces in loud, jarring echoes in the tight space.
Fitz grunts. “Not sure. Tunnels aren’t a straight line. It takes about fifteen minutes to walk to the edge of campus aboveground, then another fifteen or so to the Tower.”
I’m not claustrophobic, but the thought of walking in and out of cramped, dark spaces for—at the minimum, if we’re on the direct route—another twenty minutes makes my heart pound in my ears. The sound almost blocks out the dripping.
“Do you really think Davis might open the Gates down here?” Evan asks his Scion. “If he does, and Arthur doesn’t Call Nick, they’d both be trapped.”
Fitz grunts dismissively. “He’d be out of his mind. Fighting in quarters this close would be a nightmare. I’m sure the cave is bigger, but even still. You’ve got to contain the threat or neutralize it in an enclosed space with limited exits. Tactical nightmare.”
Evan hums in agreement.
Fitz leads us into another left turn. I hear his sharp intake of breath about two seconds before I see its cause.
The tunnel opens up completely on one side, turning a narrow passageway into a path with only one wall on our left. On our right, dropping down into terrifying blackness, is a ravine about thirty feet across. Fitz’s flashlight shows us the other wall, a series of massive jagged outcrops reaching toward us like giant molars with sharp edges. When he and Evan point their beams down, we see that the ravine narrows as it drops, with stalagmites rising up from an unseen floor filled with shadows that swallow our light.
The path ahead is still four feet across, but everything about it seems more treacherous with certain death on the other side.
Fitz says what we’re all thinking: “Better hug that wall, y’all.”
We do. I hug it so much that I curl my left fingers into the bumpy, cold, slippery surface, hoping that a small handhold will appear if I need it.
We’re three, maybe five minutes into the new terrain when the skittering sound begins.
Fitz’s flashlight swings right. “What’s that noise?”
“Bats, maybe?” Evan offers.
It seems like he’s right; the skittering becomes the flapping of leathery wings. I cringe.
Evan’s flashlight pitches up just in time to catch a thick, scaly body and webbed foot before both disappear into the darkness. “That’s not a bat, y’all.”
“Well, what is i—” Fitz is struck by something solid. He grunts and goes sprawling along the path, dropping his flashlight into the ravine in the process.
I yell “Fitz!” and lean around Evan’s body, cutting my flashlight long across the wall. Fitz groans, but gets back up on his feet.
“That’s not a bat!” he roars, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the light. Heart thudding in my chest, I direct my flashlight down to his feet.
Miraculously, his flashlight must have landed on an outcrop about ten feet below us and at an angle, because a wide beam of light hits the wall and path ahead of us.
“He’s right. I didn’t see it, but I heard it!” Evan shouts. “Whatever it is, it’s strong!”
High-pitched screeching sounds bounce around the cavern, and that’s all the warning we get.
A cloud of heavy wings descends on us. I hear Fitz yell again, then, a half heartbeat later, the singing whine of his aether sword when he pulls it from its scabbard. Claws pull at my shoulders. I scream and cover my head, dropping down to the ground. The gravel digs through my pants into my knees as I cower beneath beating wings and what feels like tiny, sharp daggers.
One of them lands on my back. I thrust an elbow back and up. It makes contact with something hot and heavy that howls and dislodges itself from my shirt.
Fitz screams. I drop my flashlight so that it faces his direction and spring up, drawing my sword. The angles of the light hit Fitz just right, and then I see them.
Four flying demons the size of swans swarm Fitz’s head and torso. Leathery wings as wide as he is tall carry their bulbous bodies and long, red, scaly limbs. Their hind feet are long and bent back like a wolf, but their hands look human, with long fingers ending in black claws that slash at Fitz’s arms and face.
“Imps!” he screams.
Evan is running, and so am I. I swing at the first imp I reach, hacking off its long, pointed tail. Its screech is a railroad spike driving deep into my brain, but it flies back over the ravine, away from us. Fitz manages to drive his blade into the body of another imp. A squelching, wet sound, and the silver tip of it pops out of its back, shining and covered in black blood. When the imp falls, it almost takes Fitz’s glowing sword with him.
One of the imps flies over Fitz’s head and makes a beeline for me. I swipe high, just slicing into the soft pocket of flesh under its arm. It screeches and wings upward.
Inside my skull, my grandmother screams.
Her wail sends me to my hands and knees—right at the edge of the path. I freeze, my head and shoulders just stopping before tipping me over into the chasm.
I gasp and scramble away until my back hits the wall.
‘Protect my grandchild, Lord, oh please…’
I think Not right now! at her as loud as I can, because the imp I injured is still circling the ravine. It loops back around and flies right toward me. It’s the first time I’ve seen one straight on. It has long, curved horns like a mountain goat and green glowing eyes. I drop into a loose stance. Wait for it. Wait for it.