by Melanie Tays
“Red.” Thud. “Orange.” Thud. “Green.” Thud. “Blue.” Thud. “Here they come to devour you.”
“Not anymore,” I mutter to myself.
I take only a moment to assess our injuries and decide that none of them are so serious that we can’t keep moving. Eason follows along easily as I get us back on the path, but he continues his little chant.
“Keep your voice down,” I whisper.
I’m not sure if he’s incapable of understanding me now or simply trying to spite me, but in response to my instructions for quiet, he ratchets up the volume and speed.
I’m glad that whatever is going to happen here is limited to an hour’s time, because I’m not sure how long I can take the adrenaline coursing through my veins or deal with Eason’s insanity.
“I wonder how much time we have left.”
But, of course, Eason has no idea and ignores my question.
“Help!” The high-pitched cry rings out from somewhere nearby. I’m not sure which of the contestants it is.
“Come on,” I say to Eason, pulling him in the direction of the screams.
The smart thing would be to run the opposite direction, but I wouldn’t be here if someone hadn’t stopped to help me in the maze. Surely I can spare a minute to lend a hand, or a blaster shot. I grasp my weapon and raise it, ready to fire at the first sign of danger.
The cries are growing louder, so I know we’re close.
“Wait here,” I instruct Eason. “Sit by this tree and I’ll come back for you in a minute.”
He does as I instruct, and I take another curve in the path. The trees clear away, and I stand at the opening of a small cave whose darkness seems to spill out and swallow the light nearby.
“Hello?” I call in a hushed voice.
“Get away from there!” It’s the same voice that has been calling for help.
I turn to the sound and look up into a nearby tree, where Mieka’s friend, Winter, is cowering. The legs of her pants are shredded, and blood covers the exposed skin.
“Winter, what is it?” I call back, unable to see the source of any danger.
“Run!” she yells.
And then I am overtaken from behind by a swarm of something that wriggles, and squeaks, and climbs, and gnaws.
“Rats!” I hiss, batting the vermin away.
It’s no use; there are too many of them. As soon I kick or stomp at one, another takes its place. They climb up my legs and arms and back, scratching and biting all the way.
I drop to the ground and roll, which shakes off some but also picks up new ones.
I take Winter’s lead and run for the trees, climbing. As the rats fall away, new ones fail to reach me. With the protection of height, I begin blasting at the horde. Normally rats don’t scare me, but I’ve never faced more than one or two at a time.
They’re coming from the cave, and every moment more emerge in a seemingly endless throng.
“Where did you get that?” Winter calls to me in awe, gazing longingly at the blaster.
“Found it near the entrance,” I reply without pausing my attack.
“All I found was this,” she complains, holding up a long, gleaming knife.
I get off another shot, but then freeze and take a closer look. I didn’t think blasters could cause fire, but something on the ground is burning, consuming the rats—which are too focused on their attack to run for shelter.
Then another burning something is lobbed into the fray, and I know it’s not the blaster that caused it.
“Get out of here, you pests!”
I cringe at the sound of Eason’s voice. He’s stomping through the underbrush and carrying a torch that he has apparently made himself in the time since I separated from him. He lights a small stick from it and throws it deep in the cave.
His strategy is working; the rats are dying. Smoke wafts back inside the cave, and soon, new rats cease to emerge. The problem is that he lacks the good sense to keep his distance, and he stumbles right into the mass of writhing, flaming rats. If I leave him, he’ll be consumed by both predators and fire.
Can people actually die during the Burning?
If the Council is willing to send us to the Ash, I can’t see how letting us die here and now is so much different, or worse—it might actually be a kindness in comparison.
I can’t risk it. I have to get to him.
I leap down from the tree and run hard and fast for Eason. He’s down on the ground, and I have to drag him to safety. His clothes are starting to burn, and I roll him on the dirt path to stifle the flames.
There are only a few rats still alive to follow us, and I squash them with ease.
Eason isn’t moving, and his breath is weak.
“Winter, help me,” I call to her.
The way forward is cleared now, and Winter scampers down from the tree. But rather than lending aid, she dashes off down one of the nearby paths and disappears.
“Eason, wake up,” I plead, shaking him, but he doesn’t respond. “Eason!” I yell into his face. “You have to wake up. We have to keep going.” I tap at his cheeks and raise his head, trying to rouse him, but to no avail.
A menacing rustling comes from the trees nearby, and I know that the next attack is heading our way. I want to climb out of reach of whatever is coming, but I can’t do that with Eason in tow.
Instead, I head for the only shelter I can see. Kicking the last of the burning rat carcasses from my path, I drag Eason to the cave where we will hopefully find reprieve rather than horrors awaiting us inside.
Once Eason is safe inside, I race back to retrieve the torch that’s lying at the mouth of the cave. With fire in hand, I return to survey our sanctuary. The cave is a long, dark tunnel. The rats that remain are dead from smoke inhalation, and there is no sign of new dangers, but outside, snarling tells me that whatever was coming for us has arrived.
Chapter 18
Igrab Eason and, as quietly as possible, drag him farther into the recesses of the cave. If whatever stalks us outside comes in, we’ll be trapped. I head toward the mouth of the cave and string a line from wall to wall of whatever debris I can find, which largely consists of rat carcasses. Then I use the torch to set it ablaze.
“Emery,” Eason calls weakly, and my heart leaps. I race back to his side.
“Eason, you’re alive!” I am so overcome with relief that I fall down at his side and kiss him.
“I thought you were mad at me,” he says, confused. “But that kiss makes it seem like you’re not mad at me, which I like a lot better.” He tries to pull himself up, puckering for another kiss, and it’s apparent that his time spent unconscious has done nothing to clear his thinking.
“Just rest for a minute,” I tell him, pushing him back. He collapses easily against my touch. “I’m going to see if there’s another way out of this cave.”
I secure the blaster and start to walk, torch in hand, into the unknown depths of the cave. Only the next few steps are illuminated by the glow of the firelight. As I go, I’m relieved to find the cave deserted, but it doesn’t take long before I reach a dead-end.
I’m about to turn back when a flash of color against the wall catches my eye. I approach and find that one corner is filled with flowers, separated by color into vases. There are seven in all—yellow, red, green, orange, pink, blue, and white. The petals of each color of flower form a distinct shape. Each variety also varies in number, from one yellow bud on the left to seven white daisies on the right. It’s far too perfectly arranged and out of place to be random.
I pick up the vases one at a time, but there is nothing beneath them.
I consider returning to Eason. He is singing something again. When the fire barricade dies out, he’s going to draw in whatever stalks us if it hasn’t moved on by then.
I hesitate, though; I feel certain that this means something, and if I can just figure out what to do, it will take us closer to our goal. I turn away from the flowers and check the rest of the wall for any
thing out of the ordinary, but it’s just all solid stone. I step backward, taking in the scene as a whole, and that’s when I notice four circles on the ground, each the same size as the base of each vase.
Hurriedly, I race and grab the first vase—yellow—and place it in the first circle. Then I do the same with the red, green, and finally orange.
The moment the final vase is placed, the ground shakes. The vases tumble, but do not break. I’ve done something, but it doesn’t feel good. I wonder how many wrong answers I’m allowed before the cave collapses in on our heads.
There has to be a logical solution, and putting the first four vases with flowers in numbers one through four clearly isn’t it. I need to reconsider.
While I think, I run back to Eason and make sure he’s okay. He’s standing now, which is a good sign.
“Come on, Eason.”
I bring him back with me to the flower wall, so I can keep an eye on him while I work on this puzzle.
The minute he sees the colored flowers, he begins belting out his chant from earlier.
“Red, orange, green, blue, here they come to devour you. Red, orange, green, blue, here they come to devour you.”
My first instinct is to hush him, but then I realize that he may actually be giving me the answer. The colors in his chant are the order in which the birds attacked us earlier. It’s as good a guess as any—probably better than most.
Hastily, I rearrange the vases, placing the red in the first circle, then orange, then green. When I set the blue in the final circle, the cave reverberates with a loud snap. I brace myself to run if the cave starts collapsing, but that proves unnecessary. Instead, just the back wall that blocks our path disintegrates into dust, opening a path forward.
“Blazes!” Eason exclaims, and rushes through the opening before I can pull him back.
For all I know, destruction awaits whoever crosses that threshold—be it by poisoned gas, or serpents, or a knife through the heart, I can only imagine. But nothing happens, and so I follow him through.
We are outside the cave now. Light streams down from above, as do the peering eyes of Keya and a dozen others watching from above.
A new path stretches out to our right, but straight ahead is a door. There are words inscribed on it.
Speak its name and be admitted to the safety this door provides
Or continue on your quest for another means to this end
It burns, but is not seen
The fuel of the futile
The plague which springs to action and deadens reason
Which seeks to destroy what is
And once has reached its object, ceases to exist
“Eason, is there anything that burns without creating fire or light?” I ask, but Eason is staring up into the air, and unlikely to be any real help anyway. I probably shouldn’t waste time pretending otherwise. I’m on my own for this.
I read over it again, and realize that it has to be talking about something less tangible. It’s not about chemistry and fire, but emotion that burns unseen within us.
I focus on the rest, refraining from venturing a guess out loud in case we’ll be punished for wrong answers, as we were in the cave.
The fuel of the futile
The plague which springs to action and deadens reason
So something that drives people to act—to pursue the impossible without regard for logic. Something terrible—a “plague.”
Jealousy? Passion? Both are emotions so strong that they blind us to rationality completely.
Which seeks to destroy what is
And once has reached its object ceases to exist
A destructive force that is satiated by the attainment of its goal. That’s not exactly jealousy or passion which can burn on indefinitely, which are never satisfied at all.
But then I have it. I’m so certain that I don’t think twice or act with caution. I just yell out the word: “Desire.”
I wait, but nothing happens. I shove against the door in case it has unlocked without giving a sign, but it holds fast. At least nothing bad seems to happen, so I venture my other guesses, just in case.
“Jealousy.”
Nothing happens.
“Passion.”
Nothing.
“Lust,” I add in desperation.
But nothing.
“Ten minutes!” Keya’s voice echoes through the trees.
I don’t know the answer, and I can’t waste any more of our time here guessing. There’s another way around. Maybe it’s longer, but we have to try. There’s only one path to take from here, and I’m so grateful that I am spared the necessity of choosing a direction. I grab Eason’s arm and pull him along, racing down the only path presented to us.
I can feel our time slipping away, and have to fight to remain calm every time Eason stumbles over a log or root and falls to the ground. Again and again, I drag him to his feet.
The path turns and extends parallel to a high cliff. We’re getting close—I know it.
Rain starts to fall on us, and everywhere it lands, it stings and burns, leaving red welts.
“Don’t stop!” I command. Eyes blurry and body aching, I gather all of my strength and run harder, willing myself to pull us through this newest attack.
Thankfully, we escape the acid rain quickly, and it doesn’t follow us. The pain is torturous, but I can deal with it. Eason, on the other hand, doesn’t appear to notice it at all despite the angry red lumps covering his arms and face.
From another fork in the path, Jessamine and Vander appear up ahead of us. As if their presence is a cue, rocks start rolling from the cliff above, blocking our way.
Vander fires a blaster at the base of a tree, and it falls over, creating a wedge that holds the rocks at bay and the passage open. I have to admire his quick thinking and precision. He passes under the opening, and Jessamine is right on his heels.
“Come on, we have to make it before that log gives way,” I tell Eason.
But as soon as I say it, Vander blasts the log to bits and the rocks cascade down. I come to a fast halt and pull Eason back before he can be crushed by an enormous boulder.
I curse Vander. Would it have been so hard for him to just leave it alone?
I grab for my blaster and begin firing at the rocks, but they are much denser than the tree, and it has little effect on them.
“Maybe we can climb over,” I say, but when I look at Eason, he is sprawled out on the ground, and I realize for the first time how deep the gashes on his legs really are. He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s not climbing anywhere. And it’s not like I can drag him up.
I try to climb up anyway to get a look at what’s on the other side, but the rocks are too loose, and they roll beneath my feet. From ten feet up, I come tumbling down to the ground and land with a thud that knocks the wind out of me. Breathless and aching, I jump back to my feet and race to attack the pile of rocks. I have to move them—to clear our path.
I put my back to a medium-sized rock in a crucial spot to clearing the blockade, but with all my might I can’t make it budge.
It’s been at least three minutes since Keya’s announcement, maybe four. I don’t have much time.
There must be at least twenty rocks that need to be cleared in order for us to pass, especially with Eason in his condition, and many are bigger than the one I just tried and failed to dislodge. The chances of me opening this passage are probably less than zero, and yet, against all reason, I pick up the smallest rock and move it, and then the next.
And when all the rocks that I can move are cleared, I put my back against another and push with all my might, panting, muscles throbbing with exertion.
I cannot accept that my plight is in vain. If I fail now, then I’ll never be able to get the medicine to Whyle and save his life. I won’t be able to save Eason from himself. I must not fail the Burning. I must not accept things as they are in this moment. I will find a way to create a new reality. If I can do that, I will forever be satisfie
d. But the one thing I cannot do in this instant is give up the one thing I have left—the only thing that sustains me and drives me forward despite insurmountable odds and crushing obstacles.
With a gasp, I stop pushing. I know how to get us out of here, but there’s not a second to spare.
I race back to Eason, who’s drifting in and out of consciousness. With great difficulty, I coax him to his feet and wrap his arm around my shoulders, holding on to support him as much as possible. Slow and clumsy, we begin making our way back up the path. How much time do we have? It can’t be much. I just pray it will be enough to return to the door.
Eason falls to the ground, and I half-help and half-drag him back up. He groans and tries to bat me away, but I refuse to leave him when we are so close.
“Three minutes!” Keya calls just as the door comes into view.
But then Eason collapses, and this time, I can’t wake him enough to get a single ounce of cooperation. Rallying all of my remaining strength, I start to drag him. Sliding along the rough ground only tears Eason’s wounds open wider and leaves a trail of blood on the path, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing is more important than reaching that door. Fortunately, this will be over soon, and Doctor Hollen will heal him. I don’t know how much longer he can last like this.
My back aches, my head throbs, but I keep one foot moving in front of the other until my legs have turned to mush and refuse to support me for one more second. I collapse to the dirt just as I reach our destination.
It burns, but is not seen
The fuel of the futile
The plague which springs to action and deadens reason
Which seeks to destroy what is
And once has reached its object, ceases to exist
I scream the word that is my answer and my driving force.
“Hope!”